Gotcha

Today is Scout’s Gotcha Day anniversary. 3 years of love with my mama dog.

When we went to the shelter on “Clear the Shelter Day” (just to look) we had no idea we’d come home that night with her. I said I wasn’t getting a dog that day. Eric knew better.

The boys wanted a ginormous Dalmatian that A) was known to jump over walls and B) was not a fan of Dobby. That was a hard pass. I wanted a larger dog and, honestly, I was looking to fill the void of Anthony being away at school. I was looking for comfort.

The shelter employee listened to us and said, “Well we have an older dog. She’s been here a while. I don’t think she was taken care of. She’s been bitten by flies. She’s kind of shy. She just needs a loving home. Do you want to meet her?” Yeah, it was love at first sight.

She’s afraid of loud noises, especially fireworks. Like petrified, barrel down a door scared. She’s also not a fan of fly swatters. If we’d let her she’d gladly live in the pantry or a closet – with the door shut behind her. Outside, she prefers to hide under the bushes. Inside, she hangs out in the tiny alcove between Eric’s office and the garage door. If she can, she’ll sneak upstairs and hide in my closet under the hanging clothes or try to get under his desk. The smaller, darker, more secluded the better.

At 13, she’s developed doggy dementia; she randomly barks at the wall. She also doesn’t like when Charlie looks at her. He knows she hates it. He does it anyway. #asshole His favorite game is to watch her while she’s eating. She barks with her snout deep into the bowl sending kibbles flying. It would be funny if it weren’t so damn loud.

She’s really struggling lately. Her legs aren’t working like they used to and she really has to think about standing up. It’s a process. She gets so excited when she sees the leash but a walk means to the end of the driveway, rest, and then back into the house. Gd forbid she actually sneaks upstairs. Getting her back down is an ordeal unto itself.

And OMG THE HAIR! I had no idea a dog could shed so much and ALL YEAR! She’s a lot grayer now. But aren’t we all?

She doesn’t come up and nuzzle like she used to; you have to go to her. But that’s ok. I talk to her and scratch her head every time I go to the bathroom. Maybe that’s why she’s decided to make the alcove her personal spot.

I know my time with her is limited and when the day comes when I have to say goodbye, I will be devastated. I hope we’ve filled her golden years with love & comfort because that’s what she’s given us.

Off to give my Scouter extra cookies and nuzzles & tell her how much she means to me.

Shoe-ly you Must be Kidding

It’s been a while since I posted about shoes.  It’s not that there haven’t been shoe-nanigans a foot (Ha! Mom would have loved that one Juj).  It’s just that I’ve been a bit preoccupied with myself lately.

Generally, you can judge my mood based on my choice of shoes.  Hightops? I was willing to commit to the extra effort needed to get my non-bending foot in the shoe.  Not an easy task.  It also means Aaron has not stolen all of my socks.  Low top Converse or my Vans – I recognize the need for shoes but I just can’t totally commit right now.  Flip flops? I HAVE to wear something… No shoes? That can best be described as I have no intention of getting out of the car.

Lately it’s been flip flops or nothing.  Basically, if I have to put on shoes, the answer is no.

The pile of shoes on my porch has grown.   Aaron was asked to clean his room and he did.  Only problem is he bagged up everything as “trash”.  Fearing the worst, I went through every bag before they were disposed of.  I came away with MULTIPLE pairs of perfectly good shoes (including several pairs that were basically new).  For some reason, they are all still on the porch.  I probably should do something about that.  Tomorrow.

The singles are still there as well, including a few additions.  On a recent trip to the Converse store I discovered that they take old shoes and grind them up to make playground surface material.  How cool is that?  Have I taken them down to add them to to the collection box?  Nope.  But I saved this picture on my phone to remind me.

Because the pile of shoes that I literally walk past multiple times every day isn’t a big enough reminder?

For as long as I can remember we’ve had a basket at the front door to collect shoes.  We’re just not a big shoe wearing family and generally the first thing we do is SHOES OFF.  After years of being annoyed with the overflowing basket of shoes (mostly mine – not going to lie), Eric bought this monstrosity.  I FREAKING HATE IT!  Don’t get me wrong, he meant well but… If I could figure out another solution I would.  I swear, as soon as these boys move out, this thing is going, too! And notice, most of the shoes are near it, not on it. Also notice – there is at least one lone shoe there. That would be Aaron.

And, to top it off, the basket is still at the front door.  Actually, the shoes have begun to migrate over.  Apparently, they’re not a fan of the rack either.

Yesterday, Aaron showed up at my office during the break from his dance class looking for food and water.  “Mom, will you drive me back up to my class?” No… wait, where are your shoes?  He left them in class and walked across campus barefoot.  90 degrees plus outside.  Asphalt the whole way.  Dumbass.  Why does he keep doing this????

While we’re talking about Aaron, he got a new job and he’s already planned out what he’s buying with his first check.  Shoes (high heeled drag shoes, but still, shoes.)  The boy who can’t remember to wear shoes is spending his entire net worth on shoes.  It would be like me opting for raisin cookies.  Insanity.

There’s currently a pair of blue seude-ish high heeled boots on my pool deck.  Isn’t that where you keep yours?

It’s not just Aaron though.  Anthony’s taking ceramics over the summer.  Yesterday – “Damn it, I forgot closed toed shoes.” Today, I specifically asked him if he had his shoes before we left.  “YESSSSSS.” Complete with eyeroll.  I even suggested to him that he keep a pair of Aaron’s porch shoes in the car on the off chance he forgot again.  Narrator: indeed he did not have his shoes nor did he put the extras in the car.  As Juli says, “This is me not caring.”

Last week, WWIII broke out over… shoes.  Anthony is convinced that Aaron is stealing the insoles from his work shoes.  Aaron witnessed the dogs eating said insoles (he didn’t stop them but that’s another issue).  We’ve all witnessed the dogs eating insoles and shoes and socks…  I found one of the insoles in the backyard with a guilty looking dog nearby AND the shoes in question were literally chewed on.  Apparently, the dogs like shoes WAY more than the rest of us.  Did any of this abate the fight? Nope.

A week later, I am sure he’s still harboring resentment over Shoegate 2018. Likely because the outcome of his fight with Aaron was a side battle with me that ended in him walking the 2.5 miles to work when I pulled my car over with an ultimatum to let it drop.  Walked to work no big deal.  With no insoles?  You’d think after 19 years he’d know that when I say, “Don’t make me pull this car over”, you should take that shit seriously.  I would have even stopped at the store and bought him replacement insoles if he wasn’t being such an ass.

For the record, if Anthony had used Eric’s  damn shoe closet, the dogs likely would not have eaten the insoles/shoes.  I’m not saying it’s not needed.  I’m just saying it’s an eyesore and I hate it.

So friends, I’ve already kicked off my flip flops for the night. And no, they’re not on the rack. They’re actually in a whole other pile nowhere near the front door. Yeah, I have issues.

Finding Dobby

My children have a knack for “finding” things.  Justin dragged a filthy hubcap home from a walk.  We have a street sign, too.  The tweedles once brought home a toilet. Don’t ask.

And, of course, the animals.  Common yard lizards.  A giant turtle the pet store was going to throw away.  A bearded dragon in the recycling.  And dogs.  Yes plural… dogS.

The first one was Fontana, the porch dog.  “He just followed us home.” Neutra wanted nothing to do with him, so on the front porch he lived… for about a week until he either ran away or some kindhearted person rescued him.

Not long after the week with Fontana, this happened.

“Mom we’re bringing home a dog.”

Wait, what?

“She was tied to a tree at the park (with a sign that said FREE), we couldn’t just LEAVE her there, could we!?”

Well…

That was seven years ago today.  Seven years with Dobby, our first HOUSE dog, hence her name.  Prior to Dobs, dogs lived OUTSIDE. Because… dogs.  Wylie, Corbu, Neutra, Harley.  Dogs were also not little.  For better or worse – Dobby changed it all.

In 2014 we came home to her missing – hysterically checking the pool to make sure she hadn’t fallen in and drowned – hearing from a neighbor she’d been hit by a car – checking the internet and seeing her jailed, leg in a cast – trapped at the shelter until they reopened DAYS later – ugly crying picking her up – surgery to repair the leg and hip – and then back to normal as if it was all just some horrible dream.

She wasn’t the last dog they brought home.  “Mom, I got a dog.”  I thought Aaron was kidding.  When will I learn?  And then, of course, bringing Anthony back home last year meant adding Charlie to the mix, too.

Before Luna, she was Eric’s dog. His bird hunting (and occasionally catching), adventure seeking, carpool copilot.

Now, Dobby’s more like me.  Middle aged.  A bit bigger in the butt than she used to be.  Yeah we can go on an adventure OR we could sit in the recliner and nap rather than “be productive”.  She’s my armrest dog.  And like me, she puts up with this shit…

Although, we’re both not sure why.

“Can’t screw these up” Cookies

OK I’m not much of a chef. No one, and I mean NO ONE, is signing up to eat my cooking.

What can I make? Baked chicken. And even E would argue that one.

Boys are hungry? There’s always cereal. Or scrambled eggs.

But when it comes to baking, I’m the one. And one of my go-to recipes is based on cookies E’s grandma made. I’ve altered it over the years and you can add and subtract and still literally not screw them up!

Want them healthy? Add wheat germ or flax. Have a variety of chips or candy pieces leftover from other recipes? Throw them in. Granola or toasted coconut? Sure, why not. No nuts? That works.  Like nasty ass raisins? I guess you could put them in, too. Not sure why you’d want to though. YUCK!

Last night, I was craving cookies but after taking the butter out to soften, I discovered we were out of eggs. When we got home from the grocery store, we were short the soft butter. #thanksdogs

Try #2: today, we’re short on oats and vanilla. No problemo.  And chips? A mix of peanut butter, semisweet, and dark that finished off 2 bags I found in the refrigerator drawer. I offered to throw mini M&Ms in but E said, no.  Next batch – if the kids (and E) don’t finish off the bag.

The original:

Unlike most recipes, this one is so forgiving you don’t have to be precise about measuring, no sifting, and don’t bother folding in the chips and nuts. It makes no difference so just dump it in and go. Why can’t all cooking be this easy?

Today’s batch came out thin and crispy probably because I ran out of oats. (BTW you can use quick cook, steel cut… heck I’ve even used packets of instant oatmeal.)

Bake until you can smell them – or for those that insist on timers (REALLY?) they bake for about 10 minutes.  And don’t be my children (or dogs), cool them for a few minutes on a wire rack or you’ll burn the hell out of your mouth.  You’ve been warned.

What do you need besides the ingredients? A decent mixer, cookie sheets, silicone baking mats, cookie scooper (mine is from Pampered Chef), and a wire rack. You probably should have a place to hide them from your “helpers”, too. #thanksdogs

Want to REALLY kick these up a notch? Make cookie sandwiches with either frosting (gag) or ICE CREAM! Dip them in chocolate and you have homemade It’s Its. OMG!

These cookies are my absolute favorite.  Besides how easy and quick they are to make, they hold a very sentimental place in my heart.  Whenever E and I would go up to visit his grandparents, there were ALWAYS cookies in the freezer waiting to welcome us after the 4 hour drive.  A freezer literally filled with Pringles cans of cookies.  And, chances are a can (or 2) was snuck into the car as we pulled out of their driveway a few days later.

So, unless your dogs have eaten your butter, go bake cookies for your loved ones.  Or yourself.  No judging here.