The dog next door


My kids have wanted a dog for a really long time. But not as long as I have wanted one.

There have always been valid excuses: When I was younger it was that I worked really long hours, far from home. And then it was that I was too busy with three young kids. Finally, it was that my two–and then one–elderly cats needed to be let to pass on quietly, without the stress of a puppy in their lives.

As Cally, my beloved 19 1/2 year old cat, took her last low, rattly breaths, Jilly went over to say goodbye, patted her head, then looked up to me and asked plaintively, NOW can we get a dog?

Well, not just yet. Summer is too frenetic for us this year to make me want to bring in another family member. But soon after. . .

Fortunately for all of us, we have had a dog all along, just he’s not quite “ours”. He’s our next-door neighbor’s dog, a big black lab named Bailey. From the moment he appeared as a puppy, he has been part of our lives even if we don’t house him, feed him, take him to the vet or even walk him. (my husband says he is the perfect dog for these reasons)

Thankfully we have the best neighbors ever who don’t even blink an eye when they find one of us in their yard (again) playing/patting/talking to Bailey. They know if Bailey hops his electric fence after a deer or rabbit, that we’ll bring him home, happy that he is safe. Last week, Bailey even came into our cat-free home for the first time and I marveled at how huge he seemed in our kitchen. (mental note: I’ll need a smaller dog if I hope to keep my food from disappearing off the counters).

There is no question that Bailey loves us as much as we love him. If I call his name, he does the whole-body wiggle in anticipation of my visit, and last winter, after not seeing him for a while, he practically spoke to me as I crunched across the snow to say hello.

And if an unfamiliar car or stranger comes up our driveway, he will bark with the ferocity of the best guard dogs out there. Only our driveway, though, not his own. I doubt he’d do anything to a stranger other than lick them, but it always makes me feel a little safer when I hear his booming bark.

If all goes well, by the fall, we’ll have a dog of our own to love. But, one of the first things we’ll do when we bring our new bundle home? Introduce him to Bailey to insure that they become fast friends.

Fine dining is disgusting

We just returned from a long, multi-course dinner without the kids (yay for vacationing near a babysitting aunt!).

The kids wanted to know exactly what I ate as soon as I got home and was tucking them into bed.

And that is when I realized that there are many foods that sound pretty disgusting if you have to explain what they really are.

“Well. . .I had oysters, with sour cream and caviar on them.”

“WAIT! What is caviar?”

“Um, fish eggs. They were red and black!”, trying to sound cheerful.

“BLURGH!!!! You ate FISH EGGS?!?” Their eyes widened in shock and awe.

“Well, yes, but they were on the oysters. Which were raw and I slurped them down off the shell.”

“WHAT?!?” (looks of disgust all around) “OK, what else.”

“Well, I tried Uncle Ray’s escargot. It was really yummy. And chewy.”

“What is THAT?”

“Um, escargot is snail.”

(imagine the reaction)

Next time, I’m telling them I got the pasta.

Homeland security


We’re leaving on a trip soon, and I’ve put the children in charge of packing their own carry-on backpacks with toys, books and craft projects that will keep them occupied on the plane or in the airport.

Before I sent them off to start packing, I gave a little speech about not packing anything liquid, like lotion (my middle would be sure to pack hand cream), or sharp (my oldest is bound to grab her nail clippers at the last minute and toss them into her bag).

It’s a good thing I’ve decided to also go through their bags to make sure they don’t bring, say, every stuffed animal, but nothing to read. Because, while glancing at my son D’s bag, I noticed he had packed rocks.

Pretty heavy rocks that would cover the palm of his little hand.

I was just about to call him over and tell him that rocks really aren’t a great thing to have to carry through an airport when I realized what the rocks were in: His homemade catapult.

Let’s all spend a moment to consider how airport security would have treated finding a homemade catapult filled with rocks in it (for easy firing!) when they came upon it.

I think we all know whose bag I will be packing on my own now.