A Time to Laugh

 Our dear pup is no longer a pup. Happy Birthday, Sugar!

Sugar got her second-ever haircut today and her first at-home-haircut. I’m pretty happy about this. I saved us $40 (less the cost of the clippers, but they’ve already paid for themselves and then some) and kept the family tradition of at-home-grooming. The traditional Westie lion-cut is kinda complicated since no one tells you how to do it, so you just have to look at pics on the web. We’ll fix the long spots on another day.

Mix Carolina Red Clay and Westie Pup and stir gently. 

So Santa popped in briefly at Isaac’s 2nd birthday party. Isaac had been talking about it all week. But up until this point, Santa had been a distant man on a couch on the lower level at the mall, Rudolph’s owner, a cheerful face on a coffee mug, or a little stuffed toy that the dog liked to steal. When he actually knocked on the door and walked in (looking and sounding vaguely like Uncle Steve), even though we were in Mama’s arms, we weren’t so sure about this experience. Isaac’s face flushed. He was stunned. No lap sitting for this good little boy. His eyes wide open, he took it all in, but he didn’t want to actually have to sit on his lap.

The older girl cousins were in on the secret, and they played along, sat on their dad’s/Santa’s lap, and Isaac observed. He eventually and politely blew Santa a kiss and gave him a neck hug, but always within reach of his safe lovey (Mommy’s neck).

So today when we asked if Isaac wanted to leave cookies out for Santa, he was none too sure about this. “No Santa Claus? . . . Bye-bye.” As far as he was concerned, his toy life was complete. Why invite in a stranger in an unfashionable get-up and who hadn’t seen a razor in years?

And yet, Santa(s) is/are up. It’s now Christmas. The Little Tikes tool thingy from Grampa and Gramma Lewis is assembled and wrapped. The stockings are shoved together. Daddy thought his was the Christmas tree stocking and mine the Santa Claus one, so they are mixed up, but whatever.

The Daddy Santa is struggling to assemble the pedal car from Grandpa and Grandma Kaminski. I started it because . . . . well, I’ll explain that in a minute, but I started it, and Grant, then, arrived to finish it. It requires some kind of pounding, I think.

Sugar has a present of her own this Christmas Eve — another urinary tract infection. Sigh. . . . Always on a weekend or holiday, it seems. Grant went out to retrieve another dose of the medicine (hence my trying to assemble the car) after having to be pushy with the Emergency Vet. But we got a higher dose of the same stuff, and we pray that this will cover it.

We put her in the pedal car box while working on it. I guess it was a good idea. We don’t need that box again. She left us a little pile and puddle of Christmas cheer.

Poor little pup. She had a UTI. And who knows for how long that had been bugging her. Between fixing that and changing her food to Iams, I think we finally have a handle on the potty thing. It was pretty hilarious watching two grown adults — one pregnant — running after an incontinent dog in the dog on Thursday night and Friday. We had no power due to the worst ice storm on record, and that’s when we discovered her problem. As we were stepping over her piddle puddles.

But now, we can actually communicate. A backwards hop, a sudden glint in her eye, or just a plain old fashioned race to the door, and she’s out like a flash. You have about a 2-second grace period to respond. Otherwise, she just goes where she is. She is a dog of wee little bladder after all.

When you adopt a Retriever, the initial conversation looks like this:

“We’re so happy to have you here, m’dear. Now, there’s the potty outside. Here are our property lines; please don’t cross them. And do shut the door when you come in. Thank you.”

And it’s done. She’s trained.

When you adopt a significantly more “well-bred” and smaller pup, the ongoing conversation looks mostly like this:

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I’ve single-handedly decided that a tether outside during meal time will rescue my sanity. Guilt free. “If you resent it, change it!” the parenting gurus say. So I’m changing it. I will not clean pee or poo during a meal.

And if doesn’t matter if she’s just done it all outside. She’s still got some. She’s ALWAYS got some.

If you walk into the speech wing today, I’m the one arfing “Jingle Bells.” It’s really a duet, but I’m the only one actually barking the
tune.

We do that to forget about the smell of the doggie diarrhea.

Fun day.

There’s a level of Dante’s Inferno reserved for flatterers. They reside in a sea of excrement.

This week, I think I’ve been through this level.

I’ve also decided that “tomato staking” a puppy is the best way to set her up for potty success. Until the poo comes out, the leash stays on and the linoleum is the only choice in surfaces.

A new family member has joined us this week! Little Miss West Highland Terrier White. Born 08/07/05. She fit all the qualifications for us, and we’re still getting to know her. But she is still just “Doggie.” We think Isaac has settled on “Sugar,” but we want to think through this some more. Here are our ideas. What do you think or maybe you have a better one?

Hermione
Scarlett O’Hairy
Aberdeen
Blossom
Frosty
Marshmallow
Snowflake
Clawed D’pussy (It’s supposed to be a play on “Claude Debussy.” It’s too cat-like, but . . . .)
Noodle
Micestro (She is a ratter in her heritage.)
Cheerio
Chiclet
Coconut
Cookie
Muesli
Snickerdoodle
Sugar
Tapioca
Blossom
Iona
Vixen (After Santa’s reindeer. Since she is a Christmas dog.)

We also thought of “Kimsis.” “How do you spell that?” I can imagine someone asking in the future. “Well, C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S, of course.” “Kimsis” is how Isaac says “Christmas.”