Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Safety First


It’s safe to say my level of crazy has once again reached new heights. What did it this time?  A bone.

I don’t have kids, but I do have a dog. And right now, that is enough for me. Randomly it hits me that I am in charge of this living things life. In charge of it’s safety and happiness. I’ve got the food, cleaning, and training under control. It’s the safe and happy part that I lose my mind over. This living, breathing puppy just wants to make me happy. And I could cry when I think about it because I’m a very emotional person. Something so little, so loyal, and so harmless has latched onto me. Now I must protect it and be there for it. ….a little overwhelming sometimes.

The most recent example of this was last night. I’d had a long day at work, and really wanted to enjoy the Cowboys game. I decided to hang out with my friends at “Monday Fun Day”, which I have never done simply because going meant putting Brinkley in his crate. When getting home from work, the last thing I want to do is think about putting him back in his crate. Nights are when we play and cuddle. I knew that I was going to be dog sitting him and Major the rest of the week though so I decided to go.

On my way home from work, I kept thinking about Brinkley’s happiness. My scale of happy for him is how much does his tail wag? Being in his crate probably wouldn’t make it wag. So what would make it better? A bone. He loves bones.

I’ve never let Brinkley have a bone in his crate. I’ve always feared he would choke on it while I was gone. But I wanted to make him happy so I put two bones in his crate to enjoy while I was gone.

Brandon reassured me all the way to Monday Fun Day that Brinkley would be fine and at first I believed him. I said a prayer out loud asking God to watch Brinkley and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I ordered a beer to help me relax and I watched the cowboys. About every thirty minutes my mind would wander from the conversation at the table to Brinkley and his bone. The sounds of him pathetically gagging on a bone haunted my thoughts. Every thirty minutes turned into every fifteen, ten, five, two. Eventually it was pretty much all I could think about.

Brinkley don’t die.  Where is our check? Brinkley just go to sleep. The Cowboys need a new center. I will never forgive myself if he is dead. I would never have kids. I was supposed to make him homemade dog treats this weekend and he won’t be around for it. I’m going to be so dependent on antidepressants. Brinkley, please be alive.

I’m fairly confident that it was obvious that I was no longer having a Monday Fun Day by the look on my face, because Brandon took one look at me and insisted that we leave immediately…after the Cowboys get a 4th down.

I said my goodbyes, and skipped hugging because it would take too long. I walked to the car, got in the passenger seat, and immediately started bawling. Not quiet, random tears. I sounded like a raccoon getting hit by a car. I probably looked like one too with my mascara all over my eyes. Except I would have to be a naked mole rat with raccoon eyes or something because my face gets super red when I cry. I was wailing, uncontrollably. I tried to explain to the baffled Brandon what was wrong but I could barely take breaths between the bawling. I finally was able to scream, “I DON’T WANT BRINKLEY TO BE DEADDDDDD”.

I’m sure this is shocking but Brinkley was still alive. The sight of him jumping in my lap and wagging his tail made me bawl more, obviously.  The unnecessary traumatizing night was enough to allow myself to let Brinkley sleep with me in bed all night.

To be honest, I don’t have a moral to the story. I can’t say that I won’t ever give him a bone in his crate again because I think that is irrational. But I also can’t honestly say I’m ever going to be calm when thinking about it. I don’t know how parents can be sane when letting their kids grow up, but I have a newfound respect for them.

All I know is I should probably apologize to my unborn children in advance for their ridiculously paranoid future mom.

 I'll go ahead and be a normal mom for a second and just post cute pictures of my dog:


Brothers bonding over bones


I'm soooooo comfortable


Sleepy boy has advanced to riding in the backseat!


Seriously, he sleeps like this.


"Umm, Mom, can we get me some more bones please?"


Enjoying a wonderful Sunday afternoon


Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Max: AKA Ninja Cat


 You’ve been introduced to 2 out of the 3 animals of the house, but I have yet to formally introduce Max. And with the story I have, this is as good of a time as any to do it.

Max is the cat of the house, and the oldest animal. He has been around for it all. Anyone who meets him, cat lover or hater, has to agree that Max is an exception to cats in general. Yes, he is a cat, but he doesn’t really act like it. He is a bit of a mystery, and completely fascinating. Because of this, I’ve determined that Max really needs his own honey badger video.

For the sad people who haven’t seen the video, here it is.



Max is unique like the honey badger. He sits on command. When he runs, he can sound like a herd of elephants. He is obsessed with the smell of bleach and house cleaners. He even drinks out of the toilet.

All of this makes him exceptionally hilarious to have around. But recently, he has been on a mission to get outside. He will dedicate hours to sitting by the front or back door just waiting for the opportunity to sneak out.

When he does manage to get out, all he wants to do is relax. In the backyard, he will jump up in a chair, lay down, and you’ll see him just taking in the world with his green eyes while his tail just bounces back and forth consistently. Because of this, you never really worry when he escapes, you just get annoyed if he decides to make it harder to pick him up by hiding in a bush.

So on Sunday morning when I didn’t wake up to Max’s HOWLING to get in the bedroom door, I immediately assumed the worst. A quick run through the house was made, checking all of his typical lounge spots. In the baskets, behind the blinds, the entertainment center. Walking around the backyard was next seeing if he escaped when the dogs were let out around midnight. No sign of Max. Panic starts to sink in.

The worst part? My brother is out of town and this is his cat. The cat escaped when I was in charge of the animals. Awesome.

Because he is a ninja cat, it is pretty easy for him to get out anytime the door opens to let the dogs out. He has escaped at night before, and found sitting in his chair lounging the next morning. The fact that he wasn’t around the house or yard wasn’t only strange, it was terrifying. He had never not been around.

Before the dreaded call to my brother happened, I decided to walk the neighborhood. Brandon watched one side of the street and I watched the other. Roads were driven with fear of seeing a dead cat. Sidewalks were walked with cat toys in hand and repeating “Max” in a high-pitched tone mimicking his meow.

After the call was made, Justin suggested getting tuna, Max’s favorite snack to see if he would show up.  No luck. I ran to Walgreens and got more tuna, along with some anchovies, shrimp and salmon….trying anything and everything. I spread the juice over the sidewalks hoping it would spread the smell. The pungent reek of the anchovies didn’t bring Max, but it did attract other cats.

After hours of no luck, I decided it was time to make signs. It didn’t help that Max didn’t have a collar on. It also didn’t help that these were the only two pictures of Max available.




 Do we want to use one of him sleeping where you really can’t tell him apart from any other cat, or do we want to use the one where he looks like he could kill you?

The first night was rough, getting our hopes up every time a cat would go for the tuna bait and then run away once the door opened.

I got a call on Monday from an unknown number and as I answered I tried not to get my hopes up that someone found Max. A young boy answered and asked if Max was still missing. When I said yes his response was “okay thanks bye.” Two minutes later he calls back asking if he could have one of Max’s cat toys for his dog to smell so they could walk around and look for Max.

I was really in no position to say no, plus it would make for an even better story if Max was found that way. It would be my pleasure for the kid to exchange the cat for money to buy a new video game. I gave him the address and told him I was on my way home and I would call him when I got home. Justin got home first and I told him to set a toy on the front porch. He saw three fifth grade boys sitting across the street with an old dachshund just waiting for the toy to be set on the porch. Dachshunds. The perfect cat hunting dogs.

Another night with no Max and hope was dwindling. Luckily the next-door neighbor trying to repair something in his backyard and SCREAMING cuss words constantly and repeatedly was a much-needed laugh.

Tuesday was back to work day and hope was pretty much gone.

Wednesday morning arrived and I was woken up by Brinkley barking at 6:30 am. He insisted on going outside an hour early. I let him out of his crate and opened the back door to be stunned by the sight of Max sitting at the door looking at me.

As if he was about to run off again, I grabbed him as fast as I could and I heard the familiar squeal come out of his just like every time I pick him up. I ran quickly to Justin’s room screaming “IT’S MAX! IT’S MAX!” and cat and owner embrace. Since he has been home, all he has wanted to do is drink water, and A LOT of it. His water bowl was refilled three times in the first hour and after it was empty again, he resorted to finding a Dickey’s cup filled with water to stick his head in and drink.

I’m writing this a few hours later and the high still isn’t gone. The ninja cat is back. He is now again around to hide and sneakily attack Brinkley then run off. It’s almost as if he was just waiting for our faith in him to be gone so that he could come back and say “HA HA suckers, told you I was a honey badger.”

I will gladly give him credit for surviving in the “wild” for three days, but let it be known that if it were up to me, he would have an embarrassing hot pink bell attached to his neck so that he would be too mortified to ever try the stunt again.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

A Major Help

The dog is out of control. Not in a bad way but in a “wow, you really don’t run out of energy do you?” kind of way. He isn’t running away, or chewing on things he shouldn’t, or doing anything horrible. Okay…. He peed on my bed….twice….that was bad. But besides that, the dog just has more energy than he or I know what to do with. Bye Social Life (the little bit I had left), I’ve got to go make my dog tired!

Here is a list of things I have been trying as tools to tire Brinkley. Any other suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

  • Walk A: Standing still while Brinkley continually attempts to attack his leash
  • Walk B: Dragging Brinkley in the grass behind me on a walk while he plays tug of war on the other end of his leash.
  • Walk C: We both actually walk, but he has the leash in his mouth.
  • Laser Tag: Having Brinkley chase the laser pointer around in the back yard at night. Amusement time before giving up? 2 minutes.
  • Tug of War: This could last as long as you want it to, and as long as you can stand his pathetic growl. Not the most effective at wearing him out, but does some damage to his energy level for sure.
  • Fetch: You may get one or two good runs out of him before he is distracted by a blade of grass or bark..
  • Swimming: The second most successful tool. Put him in the pool (obviously supervised with someone else in the pool) and tell him to do a lap. He will swim in a big circle then sit on the pool step.


If all of this fails to reduce his energy level, then I bring out my secret weapon, the most successful tool of them all.  I bring out the big guns. Major.




This is major. 55 pounds of Boxer. He is my brother’s dog, and my saving grace when I am exhausted and can’t handle hyper Brinkley. Major is four years old, and the best word to describe him is…..lovey. He will sit in your lap if you’ll let him. He would kiss your face with his slobbery mouth all day long if he could. He would hang out in your fanny pack all day every day, if he could fit, and if you were into that kind of thing.

While I typically give major a hard time for wiping his thick, bits of food filled drool on my pants during my lunch break, I honestly love him to death.

Major has more patience for Brinkley than anyone else. Brinkley uses major as his personal chew toy and Major sits there happily. Brinkley will sit on top of Major’s face and he will sit there happily. Brinkley will bite at Major’s jowls and ankles and Major will sit there happily.

Major is not only patient, but basically Brinkley’s babysitter. He will consistently play and wrestle with Brinkley until Brinkley is worn out. And just like a babysitter, Major usually lets the little kid win.

So let’s all give Major a round of applause, silent rally towel, snaps, a bow, and a whoop whoop!! Thanks Major!