Pandemonium at Petco!

Again, back story first. My car collision was more than two months ago, but I am still “enjoying” the pain-numbing effects of a Fentanyl patch, such as lack of energy, emotional instability, forgetfulness that my arm doesn’t work right yet and frequent break-outs as a sweaty mess when I do too much.

Fast forward to yesterday when I attempted a fieldtrip because one dog is late on his rabies shot and the other dog is due.  The close and handy Petco (read: not in the ghetto) only has a shot clinic on Friday night and we had a conflict. SO, my two daughters and I along with the two pooches planned a mid-morning trip to another not-so-handy and not-close-at-all Petco (read: in the ghetto).  Little did we realize that everyone who lives in the slums also decided to get their dogs’ rabies shots yesterday morning.  The pain patch + 2 squirrely dogs + Petco full of dogs and “interesting” people = pandemonium to the third degree.

We parked in the lot and discussed who would hold the leashes while we crossed traffic and entered the store BEFORE we opened any of the doors.  That was the only moment when things went down as planned.  Being unable to hold a yanking-leash in my right hand, I held onto my little girl’s hand.  My big girl held the wiener dog and had the rat terrier on a leash. So far. So good.

As we entered the store, Ringo, the wiener dog decides to announce our arrival with his big-dog voice and won’t shut up, which invited all the other dogs in the store to welcome us as well.  I glanced to my right and saw the clinic table set up and three people in line. We made our way down the center aisle of the store with our heads glued to the right as we were overcome row after row at the length of the line. Finally toward the rear of the establishment, we discovered our place right behind an over-fed and under-socialized huge yellow lab.  At our arrival, the lab went ballistic barking and pulling his owner off balance (a full grown man) to get to our puny doggies.

Breathing deeply though my nose to gain composure and accept the fact that we were in for a long wait, I suggested to my eldest that she get a cart to put our doggies in for their own protection. In the blink of an eye, the red leash on the rat terrier was handed to the little nine-year-old hand that didn’t close in time to stop the escape of Trixie.  Without thinking (obviously) I screamed, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” which was pretty obvious….. she was not holding the dog leash.  It has been many years since I have moved that fast.  Trixie was running with her ears back and her tail tucked and was bee-lining for the front door. It must have been quite a sight for all the people standing in line seeing the teeny white dog dragging a red leash followed by the flash of a woman at the end of the row. Near the registers I was able to step on the end of the leash and clothesline the AWOL fugitive.  Trixie’s head stayed in place and I’m sure she was trying to figure out why her tail just passed her head. While reaching down to grab the red restraint, my sun glasses tumbled out of my purse and made a sizable raucous to draw more attention to the woman who couldn’t control her tiny mongrel.

Victoriously I gathered my glasses and my hound and casually walked back to the rear of the store not making eye contact with anyone who just witnessed the overthrown departure (read: hot sweaty mess, shaky hands, emotionally volatile).  A ten-year-old terrier wasn’t going to get the best of me.  No sirree.

As previously planned, my eldest went to retrieve a cart to protect our pets.  Meanwhile, back in the ghetto, Jim Bob’s homemade collar on the fat yellow dog gave way and the mutt pounced on my pup.   His owner sluggishly slurred, “Well, how’d that happen?” as he slowly made moves to re-tethered his pooch.  That dog was going to have to get through ME to have one mini sniff at my dog’s rear end!  Not happening.

At that moment, I didn’t care how lofty the fines were for not meeting the deadlines for rabies shots.  “We are leaving NOW,” slipped out through my tight lips and we made our way back through the shop, crossed the poorly planned parking lot traffic and went home.  Before collapsing on my bed I took three ibuprofen (because stabbing pain was searing through my arm) and two stool softeners for good measure.

Come back next week for Friday night’s version of Rabies Shots 2nd Attempt.

 

Dr. Doolittle, I Think Not

Never have I been accused of being an animal lover.  We had a few pets during my childhood in suburbia Northern California, but never a dog and only once for a short time, a cat.  The kitty caused my brother’s eyes to swell shut, so she didn’t stay long at all.  But I did have the joy of picking out Meow Mix back in the day when the Meow Mix song was popular, hence making me popular. I was nine, it didn’t take much.

Fast forward to  my ten-year-old daughter praying every night that God would change her mother’s heart (ME!) so that she could get a dog.  I about coughed up a lung the first time I witnessed her heartfelt petition to the God of the universe.  Anyway, the two-year vigil ended with God changing my heart… and for the past 9.5 years we have had Trixie, the Rat Terrier burrowing into our hearts and lives.

Foolishly I read Dr. Doolittle to my children years ago.  Unmistakably, that was a cockamamie move on my part. Yes, we did do a stint with younger boys who NEEDED tadpoles, then frogs of course, lizards, mice, a hamster named Teddy, chickens, fish, turtles, and a hermit crab named Elvis.  Truly I felt that I did my time.  Of course there were requests for a horse.  Thankfully we live in an HOA that doesn’t allow for horses.

Then Christmas 2011 did me in.  It was December 23rd at 10:15 p.m. and my husband and I were sitting on the blue couch when my cell phone notified me of the arrival of a message.  Who would be texting me that late?  Of course it was a friend who had a friend who had a baby wiener dog FREE for Christmas.  Good grief.  We were sitting ducks.  The next day I called another friend who got a baby wiener dog for Christmas the previous year and DIDN’T keep it!  I gave her all my reasons for not taking the free dog, and she solved each dilemma as it arose…. we would need a crate.  She had one.  We would need a doggy door.  She had one.  And her reason for returning the puppy was because she was never home to train it….. she pointed out that we are ALWAYS home.  We homeschool.  We don’t leave the premises unless it is for church or a library trip.  So we got sucked into Ringo the wiener dog who has been snuggling with us for over a year now.

I still cannot believe I have two dogs.  Linda Ann Crosby… NOT a dog person, has two dogs, and probably will have two dogs for another five to seven years.  Unbelievable!  I can hardly believe I am writing a blog about dogs.  I am not a dog person.  Didn’t I already say that?

So the moral of the story is DON’T READ DR. DOOLITTLE to your kids if you truly want to do little.  BAM!

Me and Bob Barker are like this X!

That was my fingers crossed, in case you were wondering about the X.  You remember from The Price is Right…. at the end of every show when Bob looks into the camera and says….

Well, we took Bob’s advice… against Ringo’s wishes.  There will be no baby wiener dogs sired from this house anymore.  I made the appointment for a Saturday morning… when I was out of town.  (See?  I’m the nice mom AND the smart mom!)  I left detailed instructions and came home to Mr. Weeney wearing the cone of shame.  He was a little whiny, but not bad.  Pain medicine in peanut butter was a slam dunk of a hit!  Come to find out, he also had baby teeth that were four months late in falling out so those were pulled too.  Rough day in doggy land.  Both ends.

Ringo is very loving… but not so bright.  Today was day #6 with the cone of shame and he is still running to the doggy door only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the cone that doesn’t fit through the door.  And to make matters worse, yesterday was his first birthday.  Nora asked if she could make him a puppy cake.  So sweet, but no.  She did pick out a chewy, noise-making stuffed raccoon for Ringo.  But it terrified the dog!  Made us all laugh.  Our other dog, Trixie, loved the raccoon and claimed the birthday gift as her own.

(Side note:  never in my first 35 years did I ever imagine that I would be a dog owner…. or blog the words “our OTHER dog”.  Inconceivable!)

And so, Ringo continues to slam the backs of our legs for four more days of doggy cone duty.  Never a dull moment in this house.

At least he can hold his chewy rawhide bone.

It’s ALMOST Comical

Yes, I’m talking about one more glitch in the adoption process.  Yes, we have adopted the Colombian Princess.  Yes, it is final in Colombia and recognized in the USA.  She is ours. We are hers.  Done…. with papers to prove it.  She is an American citizen and we have a pretty paper to prove that too. BUT, we are in the process of re-adopting in our state so we will have an US adoption decree, an US birth certificate and the final name change decree, which the courts in Colombia wouldn’t allow. (Even though she asked for her name to be shortened, they wouldn’t change it because she was over 5 years old.)  We all know how important it is to prove that you are a natural-born citizen OR have hundreds of thousands of dollars to cover up that you aren’t…. but I digress.

I assumed re-adoption in Arizona would be easier than an international adoption.  It is slightly. Of course we had to get our fingerprints done for the ninth time.  Since our eldest daughter turned 18 in the process, she also got to join in fingerprinting fun.  More financial statements.  More home visits.  More paperwork.  You may recall a blog about the need to prove that our dog had the rabies vaccine too.  (Do they really think the type of people who go trough this whole rigmarole to adopt a child would not get their dog protected against rabies?) Seriously.

We are so close to getting our final court date here in AZ, but come to find out, we didn’t have an English translation of the Sentencia, the final Colombian Adoption Decree.  Ironically, I could not get a straight answer out of anyone at the County Attorney’s Office as to whether this translation had to be certified and/or notarized.  Our social worker was eventually able to pull some strings and get some answers for us.  We sent the Spanish version off to our friend in Colombia for translation, and we received an email back that said there is a mistake on the original, official, final, Colombian Sentencia.  This is almost comical.  Thankfully, our friend could go to the court and get it changed, so we don’t have challenges later.  OF COURSE this includes more time, more money, more paperwork.  Really?

If you are adopting from Colombia, make sure you get a translated copy of the Sentencia BEFORE you leave Bogota!!!

One translating step forward and two adoption process steps backwards.  Some day we will be done.  Some day.

It’s a Wienerful Day!

Mr. Wienie arrived yesterday and two girls are VERY excited about having a new puppy.  They named him Ringo Max Crosby, after two great male musicians and a make-up brand.  Perfect.  To make it even more perfect Gymboree had a wiener dog line of clothing out!  :o) 

So far this is a timid little doggy that is submitting to our first dog, Trixie, quite nicely.  He doesn’t know how to bark yet, but oh can he whine when we put him in the crate.  Crate training is not for the faint of heart.  Nor for those who don’t like to wear earplugs. 

He is just darling when he runs and jumps.  We only had a little black collar with rhinestones on it… so a more masculine collar along with an engraved tag are the order of the day tomorrow. 

Ringo has already had eleven visitors and everyone made sure they pet Trixie!  Such thoughtful friends!

Larisa has wanted a dachshund puppy for YEARS.  I’m not even sure how many years.  Lots.  Needless to say, she is one happy camper.

Can you say Haboob?

Our re-entry to Phoenix, after a cool and lovely trip to Northern California, was not only welcomed by the largest haboob (sand storm) in recent history… but HUMID heat.  Whatupwitdat?  It’s supposed to be a dry heat.  We’re famous for DRY heat.  We got into our van on the day after we arrived home and the thermometer was burning the number 118 into my sweaty eyeballs.  Nora, my 7-year-old, who is experiencing her first Phoenix summer, whined, “Why couldn’t we just stay in Tahoe?”  I wondered the same thing!  Dry 107 is NOT the same as humid 107.  Not even close.

Photo credit to Dan Z. http://www.flickr.com/photos/55358384@N04/5907025323/

My plan to have the garage cleared for my van’s shady shelter through the scorching months has not yet materialized.  It’s too hot to clean the garage.  Why didn’t I think of this in January???  I went out there quickly at 7:00 am and analyzed the situation.  Biggest obstacle: city-certified rolling trash AND recycle cans.  They are huge… and stinky on occasion.  All the other junk (hockey nets, weight bench, bicycles, hockey equipment, kayaks, huge alternative fuel gas tank, shop vac, etc.) can be put on the unseen side of the house in the backyard.  But the non-attractive rolling trash receptacles have to be accessed on different days and dragged to the road.  “Put them behind your side gate,” is the logical answer.  But we have Houdini, the escape dog, as a beloved pet.  Not only is our side gate double supported with plywood on the back (because of Houdini breaking the slats to escape) but there are cinderblocks on both sides of the gate, so Houdini won’t push through.  There is a 4×4 buried in the ground under the gate as well, to hinder dig-through escape attempts.  Houdini is only 11 pounds.  But she is a wily and surprising 11 pounds.

So, my plan is to keep the cans in the front yard on the side of the house that is least visible from the road.  AND, get this, put a huge pot with a prolific plant in front of them.  We have Nazis on our HOA board, but I think this might work.  Afterall, we haven’t received a letter from them in at least two months now.  The letters have come regularly… for six years…. every few months… for basketball hoops… wrecked cars in the driveway…. cars parked in the street… weeds…. garbage cans NOT behind the gate… and my personal favorite, 50 pink flamingos standing in our yard.  Hey, the pot-with-prolific-plant shield is worth a try so I can get the van in the garage.  I’ll keep you posted.

Linda, Linda, Quite Contrary

Garden Update #2.  The good news: Plants are sprouting!!!  The bad news: the dog buried a sock in the green onions.  Boooo!  I’m so impressed with the power in a seed!  Life… all dried up and shriveled… bursting forth into green goodness.  Does my heart SO good.  I go out several times a day and stare at the garden barrels.  Here are some photos to make you purely envious of my amazing gardening ability. (We’ll see if we’re all envious after the Phoenix sun does its duty in June and July!)

That is the spinach popping up their little heads toward the sunlight.

Little peas all straight in rows. (Thankfully I could see those seeds.  The carrots aren’t in straight rows at all.) Next is a cute and dainty green bean doing its thang.

Those pictures were from Saturday.  Here are the pictures from TODAY… only two days later!

Peas on the left and beans on the right.  The no-man’s-land in the center is going to be peas too, but they were planted 4 or 5 days later than the rest.

Bringing up the rear of the photo montage is the two zucchini plants…. soon to be the SOLE zucchini plant.  If you have ever planted and harvested this yummy squash, you know the SECRET to raising zucchini….. you only need ONE plant per family!!!  We learned the hard way, 18 years ago, when there were only two of us and we planted eight zucchini plants.  I believe we lost some friends that summer after we filled their car with the prolific vegetable!  Good times!

Most Talented Mother of the Year!

The City of Phoenix gives out cultural passes at the libraries so uncultured people can go to museums and attractions for free.  They are trying to upgrade the average Phoenician’s cultural experience.  And it’s working.  At least in this house.  “If it’s free, it’s for me!” is a famous quote from my sister…. and I borrow it on occasion.  When the homeschooling bus hits a bump in the road, we go on field trips. It’s a no-brainer…. get out of the house… pronto!  The get out of jail free passes are so handy!

Last Spring, when Spring fever was burning our house down, I gathered passes to the Natural History Museum and the Children’s Museum in Mesa, Arizona.  My then-16 year old daughter was NOT interested, so we kidnapped a fellow 12-year-old friend and ventured off for a day of cultural learning.  I was quite astounded when my then 13 and 11-year-old sons believed me when I told them that they were to assemble ALL of the mammoth sized wooden floor puzzles of dinosaurs in the museum.  They did it.  And I didn’t laugh out loud once.  Then they panned for fake gold for 45 minutes in the hot sun.  If wonders never cease.  They were probably thinking that if they didn’t use up their time, I would drive them back home to their math books.

We exited the Natural History Museum and discovered a gigantic music shop across the parking lot.  It was enormous and contained every musical instrument known to me… and a few more!  Hundreds of horns, drums and guitars in all shapes and colors.  The boys wandered in awe claiming which ones they would buy!  At one point I heard a banjo call my name.  It was just sitting there tempting me like a piece of white chocolate with almonds… I had to touch it and taste its goodness.  The store was pretty noisy, so I figured I could get away with a bit of pickin’ and grinnin’.  I know just enough about stringed instruments to stay in one key…. and then it happened…. my unknown inner-banjo talent played like hot grease on a skillet.  I laugh just thinking about it.  I picked as fast as I could and all three boys turned to face me in absolute amazement… jaws all hanging slack.  “I didn’t know your mom could play the banjo!” our guest spit out.  Without taking their eyes off of me and my banjo, both my boys responded, “I didn’t either!”  It was priceless.  I didn’t know I could play the banjo either.  Well, I really can’t.  But I am a supreme faker.

My boys are writing a book called “The 100 Funniest Things” and my banjo playing made the list!  (Right next to the dog eating a pancake off my son’s head……. don’t ask.)

Tahoe Traveling Tidbits

Somehow Crosby road trips never go down without a hitch… and I’m not talking about the trailer hitch.  What was supposed to be a 14 hour road trip turned into a 17 hour saga.  Of course, you are privy to the nitty-gritty details right here on MSJ! Lucky you.

Somewhere north of Coso Junction and south of Bartlett on Highway 395 in the interior of the great state of California we stopped for fuel and when I hopped out of the car, curious if I could still feel my feet, I heard a hissing noise.  Even though I needed to desperately visit the restroom, I silently investigated the sound until I determined that it was coming from the front left tire.  Not good.  No, not good at all.  I informed Captain, My Captain, and went inside.  My husband did indeed solve the problem somewhat temporarily with Fix-A-Flat …. and tire repair job in an aerosol can.  Amazing!  The hissing behind us, we ventured back onto the 395.

Sadly, a vibration began not long after the F-A-F was sprayed into the tire.  The vibrating increased until Bishop, CA.  We love Bishop, CA.  If you haven’t been there, you are missing not only the certified purest water in the nation, but an award-winning bakery with the Original Sheepherder Bread and a lovely park with a creek and baby duckies. We stop there every year… both directions.  It has remarkable views of the Sierra Nevadas to the west and another nameless mountain range to the east… and snow-covered peaks.  Lovely sight to behold.

A tire shop was needed… badly.  Rick decided to leave Larisa, Keeve, Trixie (the dog) and myself at the wonderful park and take Austin to go find a tire.  We didn’t really plan the park adventure very well.  We had no cell phone, no watch, no money, no knowledge of where Rick and Austin went, no food and we discovered later, no cardboard or sharpie pens to make signs that read “Stranded, Starving, Sad.”  We figured we could make a few bucks while we waited, but no.  We weren’t even prepared for that!  Larisa did have two water bottles, but at 91 degrees, they didn’t last long. 

At the park, we were resting peacefully (before the panic, the realization that we were indeed stranded, and the hunger set in) on a bench watching mothers and toddlers feed the ducks in a small lake.  The scene was right out of some romantic movie with Weeping Willow trees, a gazebo and everything, except I was on the park bench with my daughter, son, and our dog, not my lovable husband.  Anyway, Trixie was behaving quite nicely….. until a maintenance man drove by on a golf cart.  She took off like a shot, between my legs, under the bench and after the man.  Her leash is one of those retractable thin rope kind that only work on dogs less than 12 pounds.  Stupidly, I grabbed the rope and felt the burn on my pinky finger almost immediately, but not quite fast enough to let go and be free from rope burn.  Owwwie!  Stupid dog.  Now I was stranded and wounded.

We moved to the bakery patio on main street, hoping to see our van shortly… with a new tire.  The kind lady behind the counter, wearing the little Dutch white hat pinned to her hair, did fill our water bottles several times for us.  And there were samples put out every 20 minutes of sticky buns, chili cheese bread, the award-winning Sheepherder bread and shortbread cookies.  At least we wouldn’t go into a diabetic coma!  Well, come to find out.  It was while we were sitting at the bakery we realized the extent of our unpreparedness.  We did spy a cardboard box behind the store adjacent to the bakery that we could have used for a sign, but we still didn’t solve the no-sharpie pen problem.  We played “Name someone who has that car” for 90 minutes as each car drove by.  We named almost everyone we know, but in Bishop there are a LOT of truck drivers, so Pastor Dan and Regan won.

Eventually Rick did return and the tire with the hiss was not the vibrating problem at all.  The right front tire developed a bulge, probably because it was not receiving the same attention, love and care as the other front tire… so it caused the vibrating front end, hoping for some love.  So, two new tires later…. Rick came to save us and thankfully ended our bakery loitering situation.

See?  Crosby road trips are the BEST!

Random Photos

I was uploading pictures off my camera yesterday and came across some interesting photos.  Here is a picture of our dog, Trixie, on top of the TV cabinet…. six feet up in the air.  Poor dog. 

I haven’t figured out why my kids take pictures of stuff they shouldn’t be doing?  Don’t they realize that it is my camera?  Who do they think is going to download the pictures???  I thought they were smarter than this, but obviously not.