Crappity-Crap. New Puppy. All My Fault.

(Post and photos copyright 2011, Dawn Weber)

Sh#t. My dog does.

Every two hours.

She's adorable, though. And if you're going to crap yourself, cuteness helps.

Here at the Lighten Up Center for Useless Information (LUCUI), we have a theory about this (of course we do). Baby animals are irresistible so that someone will clean up their poo. And put up with their wailing. This ensures survival of the species.

We have our own new little mess machine. Her name is Suzie. She's a two-month-old, mixed-breed mutt. As you can see, I put quite a bit of thought into the decision to adopt a dog:

Dawn: Sees Puppy.
Dawn: Sees Big Brown Eyes! Twee Furry Face! Pouchy-Pup Belly!
Dawn: *MELTS*.
Puppy: Sees Dawn *YAPS!*
Dawn decides: Puppy must live with her. Now.
Puppy: *YAPS!*
Dawn: Picks up Puppy to take home
Puppy: *YAPS!*

And that? Was that. According to the husband, this is my usual method of choosing pets.

"You see a cat, you bring it home," he says. "You see a dog, you bring it home."

You'd never know Suzie is a pet. To hear all the conversations at our place this week, you'd think we had a newborn human baby:

"Did she eat yet?"

• This is very important information. Because the timing of the food is directly related to the timing of the poo. We must enforce strict schedules - Suzie doesn't particularly care where or when she makes a deposit. But I care. I care a lot.

"Did she poop yet?"

• Again, with the schedule. The last poo is directly related to the timing of the next poo. Because sh#t happens. In Suzie's case, it happens EVERY TWO HOURS.

"My God! Get that outta her mouth!"

• What an advanced palate has our puppy! Safe to eat? Suzie says yes! Yes, please! To electrical cords, Legos, my son's underwear, flip-flops, tissues, my underwear, fingers, toes, the husband's underwear...Edible underwear? They are now.

"Uh-uh. No way. It's YOUR turn to get up with her."

• Getting a puppy was my idea.This comes up often. It comes up at 12 a.m., 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. Comes up EVERY TWO HOURS. She whimpers from her crate, the husband's foot creeps under the covers to my leg and...*KICK.*
  I've had smarter ideas.

And I should have known better. I've been through this before.

But...but...

The Big Brown Eyes! So precious! While yapping in the crate...
The Twee Little Furry Face! So adorable! While chewing holes in socks...
The Pouchy-Pup Belly! So irresistable! While producing more poo...

Yep. Babies are cute for a reason. I've said it before, I'll say it again.

God - He's no Dummy.

'Twas a Night Full of Witch-mas...

(Copyright 2010, Dawn Weber)

Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. Some assembly required.
Yes, gather your unassembled toys and your tools, folks. Soon will come that special night when reindeer fly, children dream, and parents assemble gifts. All. Night. Long. For such a wondrous, joyous, never-flippin’-ending occasion - and since I’ll be very busy that evening - I have written a poem. No, no, don’t thank me. Just send help. Please?

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the joint,
My blood pressure had reached its full boiling point
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Visions of working toys danced in their heads.

And me with directions, and him with his tool,
Got me thinking "For this? I deserve some new jewels."
Down by the tree there was nothing but work,
Me yelling "Not that screw, you big, clumsy jerk!"

Then right beside me there was such a clatter,
I said "For $%* sake what the *#@$ is the matter?"
He tossed the pliers down and said "Ouch!",
Then threw himself over, kerplunk, on the couch.

The moonlight on top of his sorry sad head,
Made me feel bad for nasty mean words that I'd said.
"C'mon honey," I told him, "let's just hit the hay.
Tomorrow we'll do this. There’s hooch on the way!"

He shook his head no. “We must get this done.
If their toys aren't together, they won't have much fun!"
More rapid than arrows, my cusses then came.
I whispered them loudly and spoke names in vain.

But as parents will do, we wanted to please,
And met with directions writ all in Chinese,
We went on ahead through the night with our mission,
Me trying, but failing, to stop all my bitching.

And then, in a twinkling, we fell fast asleep.
The parts strewn around us, a crazy-quilt heap.
As I slept, I dreamt of the big man in red,
Perched at the foot of my childhood bed.

His eyes, they still twinkled, his dimples, still merry,
And I felt just like I was back in the 70s.
But as I looked down at myself in my dream,
I saw belly and hooters and wrinkles extreme.

I said "Hey Santa, it’s work, now that I'm older,
It’s crazy, I’m tired, please, rub my shoulders?
These toys, they're messed up, missing parts, bad directions...
Got the sprockets and whats-its all in the wrong sections!"

He spoke a few words, before getting his start,
“You have to stop buying these toys from Walmart!
Cheap junk made in China, we all hate it too…
Those elves end up fighting like they’re from the zoo.”

And laying his old hands on top of my head,
Right there in my dream on my little-girl bed,
He told me “I know that - at your age - it’s work,
But you gotta stop calling your old man a jerk.”

He sprang to his feet, disappeared from my sight,
And I drifted and dreamed on through the cold night,
Then came the small footsteps, and I thought “Oh crap!
Their presents, they are not finished - or wrapped!”

I nudged the old man, by my side on the floor,
As the kids’ little footsteps drew close to the door,
And what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But assembled, wrapped toys - and a six-pack of beer!

What a jolly old elf, that Santa still is!
Christmas is for all, not just for the kids.
What else did I learn, my valuable lessons?
Less Walmart, less witching - cut back on the cussin’.