Growing Pains

There comes a time in every child’s life where someone question’s their well being, and the parent instinctually wants to fight. In this case, the child is Brinkley.

It was just another day at the park. Saturday brought beautiful weather so it wasn’t a hard decision to take Brinkley on a walk through some trails to tire him out rather than deal with him constantly putting slimy toys on my shoulder.

We WERE having fun. Trails were something new for Brinkley. Brandon and I watched as Brinkley led the way through the weaving rocky trails. Every 30 seconds Brinkley would turn around, make sure we were still following, and wait in place if he thought we were too far away. He would stay on the narrow trail the whole time except to pee. His instincts chose the paths and the paths led us to a beautiful lake filled with fisherman and row boats.

Proof of fun being had:

I have to give Denton credit, I didn’t think the 50-cent-double-well-drink city could be so gorgeous.

The three of us were having a good time until we walked through the dog park before leaving. Brandon tossed the mud colored tennis ball a few more times while I watched all the dog have their play dates. All of a sudden, a lady walks up to me, and in a disturbed voice says, “Oh my, does your dog have a hip problem?”

Cue internal Becca wanting to punch someone for the first time in her life.

No. No he doesn’t. My 7-month-old puppy does not have a hip problem.

While I am trying to rationally come up with a halfway polite answer, the lady then answers herself.

“Oh yes, he definitely has a hip problem.”

This isn’t my child. I didn’t create this adorable dog out of my own genes. But that doesn’t matter. This lady was accusing MY dog of a hip problem. She was bluntly telling me what was the matter with my dog.

A lot of feelings arose once these words left her mouth.  A lot of them probably weren’t necessary. A lot of them probably weren’t her intentions. Either way, whether she meant to or not, this lady made me a crazy woman for the rest of the day.

My thought process the rest of the day:

Who does she think she is? Is she Supervet? Did she study Golden Retriever hips at Harvard? Oh honestly, she thinks she knows my dog better than me? Who wears green stretch pants anyway? Go home and organize your embarrassingly large collection of jean jackets. Believe me lady, if he had a hip problem I would know about it. Come to think of it, he has been laying on the couch for three hours without moving. Maybe he does have a hip problem. Oh my gosh, my seven month old dog has a hip problem. The stupid lady with the grown out roots was right. Will Brinkley be able to have his first birthday party? Maybe I should take him to the emergency vet. I should cook him some bacon. He loves bacon. He needs it for his bad hips. I’m going to cook bacon.

I’m sure that when this happens with an actual child, the feelings are exponentially stronger, and the mean and insane thoughts are even more severe.

After a long shower and a beer, I calmed down long enough to realize Brinkley was fine but tired. He didn’t need to go to the vet, and if he has a hip problem, the vet will let me know and we will address that issue when and if it happens.

But, as of now, Brinkley has no hip problem. He runs like a free spirited, clumsy puppy who is getting used to his rapidly growing body. The evil woman who managed to ruin half of my Saturday did teach me something though.

Whether it is because of a hip problem or something else, one day Brinkley will not be an invincible puppy. He will be slowed down or in pain for one reason or another. There’s nothing I can do to change it. All I can do is give him all the love in the world, cook countless strips of bacon, and let him sleep on my bed even if it means lint rolling my bedspread. 

More Brinkley:

Brinkley Timeline:

Wiggly Field

I'm going to begin this post by acknowledging what many might think. Yes, I am lame. I would rather curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and my dog than be at a smoky bar filled with people who are trying too hard. And while this may be lame, it makes me very happy. As does taking Brinkley to Wiggly Field on the weekends.

Wiggly Field is a dog park in Denton that has more charm each time I go. I have been to a handful of dog parks since getting Brinkley and none can compare to the fun had at Wiggly Field. I've been trying to think of the reasons why and have come up with a short and sweet list.

1. The people. Most of the owners at Wiggly Field are cute families and normal people. They aren't crazies who are overly obsessed with their dog (and I'M saying this). The people who are crazies aren't dog obsessed but literally crazy Denton folk, who are wildly entertaining.
2. The dogs. I think there's something in the water that makes the Denton dogs love water. Brinkley can always find another dog who wants to frolic in the pond, regardless of the weather. 
3. The location. Unlike most of the other dog parks I've been to, Wiggly field has ponds, trails and trees. This provides a much more exciting view than the Plano dog park which features dried grass, mounds of poop, no trees, and plenty of fire hydrants. 

Anyway, this post wasn't really meant for anything more than to post a string of pictures of Brinkley having the time of his life at Wiggly Field. And me having the time of mine with fancy iPhone picture editing apps. Enjoy.

Brinkley’s First Christmas- and lots of other stuff

So, it’s been a while. Turns out that having a puppy means a lot less free time. Especially when you spend all that free time throwing a tennis ball. To be completely honest though, the biggest reason for my lack of blog posts is my lack of desire to be on my computer once I get home from work.

Needless to say, there’s a lot to catch up on. Brinkley is now around 65 pounds. I can open the door and he will go potty without me having to go watch. He sleeps in my bed, taking up most of it. Most importantly, he has found the love of his life- bacon.

Brandon and I were in line at Whataburger one afternoon when the cashier for the drive thru line saw Brinkley and Major in the backseat. She told us to hold on while she ran away. She came back with treats way more exciting than the dry but thoughtful treats Chickfila gives dogs. She came back with two juicy pieces of bacon. They were swallowed whole by the two dogs, but the taste remained in their mouths, making them lick their lips for over half an hour. It was no coincidence that the next time Brinkley saw the orange, vintage looking logo in the drive thru line he rolled down the backseat window attempting to order all the bacon they had. It was so hysterical that I couldn’t stop laughing which I’m sure convinced Whatburger that I was on crack.

Besides finding love, Brinkley has matured in a lot of other areas as well. He is usually very calm and happy unless he gets bursts of puppy in him where he runs around the house. He loves to chew bones and chase tennis balls. His favorite days are those spent at Wiggly Field- when we play fetch with floating toys in a big pond. He will swim for hours before collapsing. His disgusting and muddy self will then get in the backseat of the car and give me a look that only belongs in an SPCA commercial with “The Arms of am Angel” playing in the background. Proof found here:

Brinkley is now at the age where he can sit through movies. His favorite? Cowboys and Aliens. Let’s be honest, he’s been a Harrison Ford fan since he spent his puppyhood obsessing over Hans Solo. I’m not even kidding though. I have never seen a dog so into a movie. He couldn’t look away. He sat on the couch watching for a solid 30 minutes. And once his head got tired, he laid down but continued to watch. Not even Brandon and me laughing distracted him. What a grown dude.

While acting grown up, I have to often remind myself that he is still young and having a lot of firsts. His first Christmas was this week. I attempted to create his first Christmas card but Brinkley was being a Debby Downer. My idea was to wrap him in Christmas lights and have him pose in front of the tree. Ha. Turns out Christmas lights are another thing he is afraid of. They just made him pant, and try to run away- while being plugged into the wall. Failed pictures here:

He did enjoy lots of time with his Lady and Man (grandparents) during Christmas though. He was spoiled with two stockings filled with bones, toys and treats. While he was amused by the tissue paper, I was amused by the “My Golden Retriever is smarter than your honor student” bumper sticker and Brinkley mouse pad.

I guess it’s that time to take off his blingy, red and green jingle necklace and prepare for the New Year. Stay tuned to find out what Brinkley’s resolutions will be. I have a feeling he will stick to his much better than I do to mine.

More random photos:

Stay at Home Mom

This weekend I pretended to be a stay at home mom. I never got to have one, and I’m not too sure if I will ever become one, so this weekend was something rare.

My mom was a teacher so it was better than a busy business mom who worked 9-5 most days of the year. We had our long Christmas break and summer vacation and we always made the most of it. But she and I both missed her being able to come participate in Field Day or her being able to get laundry done during the day instead of her folding it, and me lying in the warm pile during the weekend.

I am now the business mom, whose puppy spends days in the crate. I still come home for lunch to let him out, feed him lunch and play, but our time is limited. My weekend plans revolve around things I can do with Brinkley around so that he and I can enjoy our weekends together.

This weekend, while we were at my parents, I was giving my mom a Pinterest tutorial. We were scrolling through ideas for decorating for her Thanksgiving parties when I remembered I had a recipe for homemade dog treats. When I found out my mom had all the ingredients I knew it had to be meant to be.

Stay at homes bake goodness regularly, and so on Sunday so did I. I slaved over the treats for a whole 15 minutes in the kitchen, the hardest part being having the patience to use the small cookie cutters until all the dough ran out.

Twenty minutes in the oven, 5 minutes for cooling later, Brinkley had some homemade loving in his mouth.  I even got really stay at home mommy when I had the idea of packing some up in a cute clear bag with ribbon for a friend of Brinkley’s.

I tell myself that Brinkley eats these slower so that he can savor the taste, but that would be lying. So I’ll say he devours these even faster than his puppy Cheetos.

For anyone curious on what these look like, or wanting the recipe, here it is. My brother even informed me that he would eat these as a healthy snack. Ha.

Homemade dog treats:

Brinkley 1 month and 3 months. 

 

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 4^th 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

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.

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!