No, No It's Not

It has been a long and harried week around here. Extremely busy and stressful with high highs and low lows. There were appointments to be kept on top of track meets, mysterious hive breakouts in the classroom and field trips. All the normal stuff, plus some bonus monkey wrenches thrown in for good measure.

I have been up well past my bedtime just about every single night. Last night was no exception. Once I did get to sleep, I was woken up around midnight and it was a good hour before I was back to getting some blissful Zzzzzzs.

4am comes around and it's time to start my day. I grab my coffee and open the back door in the darkness to let Matilda The Hun out for her morning constitutional before she manages to make me spill my mug all over myself.

Of course, Matilda decided to turn it into a real morning constitutional and take herself for a walk through the neighborhood. Great! Now I have to get a robe and shoes on and go collect her in the blackness while trying to navigate the minefield of fertilizing goodness that she left in her wake.

Reclaiming the 100 lb. beast and dragging her back into the house, I discover that Smallest Weasel is awake and wanting to cuddle up with me because she is cold. Only she's not cold, she's burning up.

Within minutes of cuddling, Smallest Weasel starts running for the bathroom before she has an explosive experience in her pants. I may have to fumigate to get rid of the stench. No sooner do I get her back to the couch than she is running for the bathroom again. This time battling time from things coming out the other end. I run behind her and hold her hair back, while trying not to upchuck myself. Hmmm, I guess those hives aren't to mysterious after all and are part of a virus. Smallest Weasel won't be going to that really awesome, super cool birthday party today that she was invited too.

Hmm, better wake some more Weasels up for the two track meets and gymnastics class. Matilda is ringing the potty bell at the back door again.

It's 7 am and I am already haggard. Mr. Weasel makes his entrance into the living room after having leisurely woken up on a warm and sunny Saturday morning, just as I am cracking open a silver bullet. "Isn't it a bit early for beer? Even for you."

No, no it's not.

Will I Ever Learn?

If you let Smallest Weasel sleep in your bed because she had a bad dream, she is going to fall back to sleep very quickly and start dreaming that she is a kick - boxer.

When Smallest Weasel is going for the take down sweep in the ring all night you better believe you are going to wake up with bad back pain on the only day that you have available to get some yard work done.

So, despite knowing better you will start working in the yard and Boy Weasel will ask if he can give the 100 lb Mastiff puppy a bath in the yard. You will say yes because you are delusional with pain and Boy Weasel will get the dog wet and soapy before the dog decides that she is afraid of the hose and Boy Weasel realizes after being drug around the yard that he is not strong enough to hold her back when she bolts away in fear.

You will then step in to hold onto the dog and finish her bath. You will soon realize that you are not strong enough to hold back a scared 100 lb puppy either and wind up falling flat on your face and aggravating your back pain on the front lawn.

Soon your neighbor will need a ride to drop off her car for repairs and will ask you to help out and you will.

You will drop off your neighbor just in time to realize that two Weasels and a stray Weasel friend need rides to two separate track practices and that dinner is not yet prepared because you didn't plan it yet.

Mr. Weasel will agree to take care of dinner on the grill while you play chauffeur.

Once all the Weasels are home safely and Mr. Weasel has fed them, it will be bedtime for the youngest Weasels and yourself. You will take your pain medication and lie in your bed grateful for the comfort. As the medicine starts working a severe, violent and loud thunderstorm will begin.

When the storm moves in, Smallest Weasel will come to you afraid and want to sleep in your bed. And when Smallest Weasel sleeps in your bed, you just know that you going to wake up with back pain but you also know that you are going to get a blog post out of it.

My Dog Is Book Smart

It's just a crying shame that she can't read.

Since coming to reside in Weaselville last September, Matilda The Hun has been a wonderful and much appreciated addition to our home. She is sweet, loving, devoted and has proven to be easily trainable.

She breezed through Puppy Kindergarten and quickly learned the basic commands that she would need to make a smooth transition to her new home.

There have always been some things that just seem to confound her though. For instance, unlike most dogs, Matilda will not cry at the door when she needs to go outside to take care of business. So, we made accommodations by teaching her to ring a bell instead. All good.

Weighing in somewhere around 100lbs and growing, Matilda fails to understand why the cats have shunned her attempts to play with them. We taught her 'leave it' and she does, giving the cats a chance to shoot up the stairs and take cover under the safety of a bed. All Good.

Matilda has figured out how to nudge my laptop out of the way when she would prefer to rest her head in it's place.

Her latest conundrum though, is hysterical to watch. That is until she wakes me up with her crying at 2 am because she has managed to find herself trapped in a room, with an open door! Really, I am not pulling your leg.

Doors, even when up to open 1/2 way, have proven to be a nemesis that always gets the best of her. It doesn't matter what side of the door she is on or whether she would have to use her nose to pull the door open wider or simply nudge the door forward to gain entrance or exit. Matilda will stand there and whine for someone to help her, much like a toddler who can not reach their sippy cup.

This is dog that is tall enough to snatch up food from the kitchen table while still planted firmly on the floor with all 4 paws. This is a friendly, easy going pup that gives people the sudden urge to cross the street rather than cross her path, just from sheer size. This is dog that knows her way to her best buddy St. Bernard's house and how to knock on the door to gain entrance for a play date in the yard and yet couldn't find her way out of a wet paper bag if there is a door involved unless it is completely unobstructed.

She fits in perfectly in Weaselville.

Dad Would Be Jealous

Growing up we always had dogs. Dad was a lover of good dogs and by good he meant large, personality filled and well behaved. He was a big fan of the run of the mill, grungy mutt. A punt-able pure breed was nothing more than a glorified cat in his mind and Dad was not a fan of cats, much like Mom wasn't much a fan of pets of any species, with the exception of rock.

The dogs were always Dads responsibility and companions. He enjoyed their companionship and personalities, trained them well and loved them very much, but was never a doggy-daddy. He always looked on them as a dog. A loving pet that had a place in the family, but not that of human.

There was the occasional dog of a friend or neighbor, that he would have admiration and affection for, as long as they were big, well behaved and had strong personality (see above).

I have always had a natural affection for dogs and I inherited Dads penchant for enjoying big dogs. As a matter of fact, my dog affections are almost exclusively reserved for medium to large breed dogs. The one exception being a sweet little rag-mop, belonging to this lady, who had enough personality to win me over and help start a beautiful friendship.

I actually seem to have inherited many of my Dads traits, from my love and defense of cheap beer to my early morning rising and enjoyment of peace, quiet and coffee at obscene hours of the morning. As I sit in the quiet, alone with my thoughts, my trusty laptop and my dog, my mind wanders back to thoughts of my Dad. I think of how much I miss him and how much I truly enjoyed him. I think of how his relationship with his grandchildren would have been and I think about how I believe that Matilda The Hun would receive his stamp of approval.
Matilda is big and strong, relatively well behaved, loyal and loving and has a personality all of her own. She is clumsy, clunky and awkward. She is playful at times, but often resembles a bump on a log. She's incredibly smart, but has earned the nickname 'dummy', Ultra friendly to every man, beast or child as balanced with becoming protective of her family.

Not only do I think that Dad would approve and enjoy her, I think he would even be a little bit jealous.

Happy Fatherhood Friday! I encourage you to visit Dad-Blogs and click the FF links to get some great reading material on everything Fatherhood.