Sunday Morning

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There are mornings when the dog is smushed between us.

The sun breaks through the blinds with rays that warm our blanket tangled bodies.

Silent breathy snores, and the low mumble of a fan.

Picture perfect in my eyes.

Simplistic in others.

Too me?

This is the life.

~ Wandering Girl, “No one can take this from me


Photo: via Newton

Boys Home Alone

post-it

A 3M Post-It Note. Picture not to scale. The post-it is actually 1″ x 2″, dwarfed by the two-foot high, 45-quart, air-tight, dog food storage container which sits underneath it. But, the Post-it punches above its weight class.

3 Words + a few symbols = Irritation.

She doesn’t think I will give him the right dosage.

She thinks I’ll overfeed him. You’re cutting his life short by giving him all these snacks.

3/4 C (Dog Food) + H20 (Water) + 1/4 C Green Beans (to help him with his digestion).

Mom and Eric are on a road trip for the weekend to see family. Rachel is in the city with Friends.

Dad and Man’s Best Friend Zeke are Home Alone.

Back to the Post-Its.
[Read more…]

Guess.What.Day.It.Is?

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The Kick off of the 2014 World Cup
Here’s our very own Zekester waiting for the U.S. game…


Photographer: Thank you Susan


Happy Birthday Zeke

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Six years ago today, Zeke was born.

Who knew?

  • That a dog would eat (and enjoy) carrots, broccoli and cauliflower? (Incredible.  Better eating habits than the kids.)
  • That a dog could steal chewing gum from the counter top, unwrap it and eat it? (How?)
  • That a dog would bark, snarl and snap at the King of the Household to protect the others? (Why bite the hand that earns the cash that buys the food that feeds you? Repeatedly?)
  • That a dog would know every day at high noon, it’s Peanut Butter in Plastic Kong time? (How?)
  • That a dog would sleep under the covers at your feet, every single night? And then move up to share your pillow later on at night? (Who needs central heating in the winter? Or a comforter for that matter?)
  • That a dog could be so afraid of Andie, the black and brown tabby cat? (Come on Zeke. Man-up.)
  • That a dog could spot anything in the sky but would miss a deer 20 yards in front of him?
  • That a dog would lie down in front of his Momma, lift his paws one by one, and let her clip his toe nails. And then do a full-body wiggle between her legs after it was all done? (King’s Dog enjoys pedicures. Something very wrong here.) [Read more…]

King’s Orders: 72° F. Period.

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I glance at clock. It’s 1:12 am. I see that Zeke is sprawled out and nestled next to his Mom. Room is airless, sweltering – – think rain forest. I turn over, fluff my pillow, kick the comforter off my legs to let some air in, and lie there. Too early to get up.

I read somewhere that if you stay motionless for 15-20 minutes, your body will enter sleep paralysis. Your body will believe you are asleep but your brain is still functioning. I’m staring at the clock. And lay motionless. One minute. Two minutes. I’m glaring at the digital clock. What’s wrong with me? 15 minutes, huh? No chance. This chassis is built for motion.

I notice the cable box flashing. Researchers say that to get a good night’s sleep, you need to increase darkness, which means turn off all lights to avoid suppressing melatonin, whatever that is. So, I take inventory.

  • Digital LED clock: large fire engine red lettering.
  • Cable box and its Greeks: LED light in a soft blue hue.
  • Television: red dot power-off button.
  • Apple Wireless Router: Pea-sized, lime green, LED power-on button.
  • Laptop: LED soft yellow charging button. (FEED ME. FEED ME.)
  • Blackberry: Laying face down. I can see the notification light blinking Red. (READ ME! READ ME!). No. No. Don’t pick it up.

The only thing not emitting light is the stack of unread books on the night stand. And this too gives me anxiety.

I hear footsteps in the attic. And then a laugh. Followed by undecipherable words. I lie and I listen. A predator waiting to pounce.

[Read more…]

Running. Man and Running Dog.

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6:50 am. 67F. 87% humidity. Mom’s gone for the weekend visiting family.  Zeke’s not happy.  Mom walks him every day.  Every single day.  Three times a day.  2 1/2 hours a day.  Daily routine – I wave to them from the couch as they head out the door.  This morning, he’s out of sync.  Discombobulated.  He sees me gearing up for a run.  He scrambles into his cage and lies down.  He’s knows what’s coming.  I grab him by his collar and drag him out of his cage.  He snarls, baring his teeth.  (I don’t need this sh*t. I don’t want to go either but we’re going.  Pure Bred Running Dog who hates running.  Owner is carrying him to the car.  What a picture this is.  He looks me in the eye – not a happy look.  I glare back.)  I shift his weight to my left and pull him tightly to my chest to free up my right hand.  I reach for the door handle of the car.  And, pull my lower back.  And grimace.  Oh, boy.  I open the door.  Heave him into the back seat.  And curse.

I fire up the car.  Shift uncomfortably in the seat.  Lower back.  Hmmmmm.

I back the car out of the garage.  Zeke climbs from the back seat to the front.  And starts licking my face.  “Sit down.  No bloody kisses. (He knows that I’m pi**ed.) He sits down in the passenger seat. His seat.  And sulks.

And we’re off.  Mianus Park. Plan: 5-Mile Trail Run. We arrive at the Park, leash up, and walk through the entrance.  He pulls back on the leash and lies down on the bridge.  He will not move.  He will not accept a treat.  (Oh, yes.  A test of wills.  Just what I need.)

Another dog owner walks by.  One older German Shepard Mix.  Another is a happy looking mutt with tail wagging furiously.  (Did she just give me that look?  Like, how’s that pure bred workin’ out for ya?)

I stop pulling on his leash.  He’s now lounging, looking down at the river below.  (How many shades of humiliation are there?)

I decide to pull a Mom and talk nicely to him.  “Come on buddy.  Let’s go for a nice walk in the woods.  Come on.  Let’s go.”  (Oh, for God’s sake.  I can’t do this.  Is this what I’ve come to?  Man-up.  206 lbs of fighting machine against this 70 lb beast and he’s got the upper hand.  No chance.)

I look at him.  He looks up at me.  His tail swishing on the bridge deck.  (Is he smiling? Could this be funny?)

“You are going to come.  Right now. And run.”  (Our last visit to this Park was not a great show.  And an Elephant never forgets.  And this one has a plan.  I will not let him off leash to have him lie down in the grass at the bottom of the hill forcing me to back track.  No sir.  Not me.  I will drag him for five miles, if that’s what it takes.) [Read more…]

Who’s the King?

bed

I sneak a peak at the clock. 2:30 am. Early, even for me.

I’m teetering inches from the edge of the bed. Drifting in and out of consciousness.

I can hear his breathing. It’s too hot for him to sleep at our feet, under the covers, a winter pastime. So, he’s up on the pillows. This was cute as a puppy. Beastly now at 67 lbs. And he’s a leaner. On your legs. On your back. On whatever is in the way. But lean he must.

He dreams. He’s running. His paws and legs kicking. Faster. Faster. Faster. A bear pawing a tree, roughly ripping slabs of bark and digging his claws into its sinews. Or me.

Enough. Bleary eyed I grab my pillow and get up. He’s watching me warily and emits a low growl. He remembers our weak kneed attempts at re-training to have him sleep on the floor. That ended badly. For us.

I trudge up to the attic.

I toss. I turn. I toss. I turn. 3:00 am. Hopeless. I can’t settle. Doesn’t feel right.

I waddle back downstairs. Linus with his pillow and blanky in tow.
I crawl back into bed. He turns. Licks my face. Rolls over. And leans against my back.

I gently lean back into him.

Damn dog.


Image Source: Themetapicture.com

Related Posts: More on Zeke

Merry Christmas

Good morning and Merry Christmas!  As I was getting up this morning, I crossed paths with the kids who were just going to bed.  Instead of the kids hovering around the tree at 5am waiting for Mom and Dad to get up, there was Zeke…locked in on his Christmas stocking.  (Of course, Zeke has to have his own stocking.  Of course it’s monogrammed with his name.) Our bird hunting dog won’t hunt birds, he won’t retrieve tennis balls, he’s scared of cats and the dark, but that nose knows precisely where his treats are.  He wouldn’t break his stare for the first photo.  And after telling him that he had to wait for Rachel and Eric to get up before he could get at his stocking, his shoulders slumped, he dropped to the floor and cried “no fair.”

So, Zeke and I played loops of Sean Quiqley’s Little Drummer Boy at a HIGH decibel level.  Hoping that the kids would eventually roll out of bed and we can get this party rollin’.

[Read more…]

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