Cheerio Gubner!

Today has been an ugly day. Literally. Rain, snow, sleet, but no hail. Needless to say, I didn't want to leave my dog out to fend for himself amongst the wild, unruly forces of winter. I mean really. Have you watched the news? Southern California is moments from being washed into the deep blue sea. Seriously. Batten down the hatches. Duck and cover. Run for your lives. It's every man for himself around here!

Lest you think I am the crazy lady who is unaware that my dog is in fact an animal, regularly licks his own junk and is completely capable of surviving outdoors, I'm not. Well- not usually. I really just didn't feel like dealing with a wet dog after work. He's got long hair, shaddup!

Anyhow- Freddy spends most days bouncing between the backyard and the garage, so I rarely have that sinking feeling that most indoor pet owners feel when they realize that mischief and mayhem have taken place in their absence. I got a hearty helping today. Immediately after walking in the door, I came across some very suspicious activity.

It was hard to tell what was touched, because clearly everything was touched.

I guess he felt like the toys at the bottom of the basket had been neglected for far too long and made it his personal mission to right that unspeakable wrong.

At least his heart was in the right place. That's a book on temples. It started out on the coffee table on the other side of the room.

Shortly there after I scanned to the other side of the room, made three very significant realizations and am greatly flummoxed at the personal/public ramifications of these things.

A) My dog is a closet eater.

B) While he is 23lbs and is less than two feet tall, he has an amazing capability to scale bar stools that are pushed in and counter surf when left without proper adult supervision.

C) Even though he is a distinctly German breed, he enjoys (dozens of) English baked goods.
So naturally, I am left wondering a few things...

Is that look of shame when caught eating somehow able to be passed between human and pet?

Does he know I skipped out on ward temple night?

In spite of his clear lineage, would Frederic von Schnauzer M.D.* have a German accent or British?

*M.D. (mad dog)

They Only Come Out At Night

So- I had a metric crap-ton of errands to run the other day. Since many of them could be loosely described as 'work related' (What? I wear shoes at work.....and there was a sale! Back off) it only seemed reasonable that I get them done during my conference period and lunch. It really is convenient that the two flow together, let me tell you! If I did my errands after work, that would mean I would have to postpone the meeting of The Great C-dub. Simply, out of the question.

Anyhow-Earlier that day, on my drive to work, I made the upsetting discovery that my eyebrows and she-stache were a little more out of control than I normally allow them to be. Since there was a salon in the same parking lot, I stopped to remedy the situation ASAP.


In perfect Vietnenglish the lady said to me, "You sure you don't want me wax the rest, whole face?"

I stammered about with various renditions of, "UUhhhunnn ohhh, whaa? Work. Go. No thank you." In my mind I was thinking, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO EFFING MEAN?"

She didn't say, "Do you want me to...," like it was an off the cuff remark. She said, "Are you sure you don't want me to...." Like I should really put some some thought into this, if I have not yet done so.

Is it possible? Could I have survived 31 years of life, being pretty self aware, almost bordering on self conscious, and not known that I look like this?

Seriously? What. The. Hell.

Shoot. I knew I should have given Jacob more of a chance.

Uncooperative Little Bugger!

All I wanted was for him to have a happy birthday. Is that too much to ask?

I made him a hat. My mom got him a new towel for his baths. I think she just wanted me to stop using her towels on the dog, but I am grateful nonetheless. He doesn't seem very appreciative. Spoiled brat.

I can't figure out how to get the video of him tearing apart his hat to load properly, but know that it was pretty funny. This is the closest you will come to seeing him wear his bee-utiful birthday hat. He certainly didn't appreciate all my work. He wouldn't even wear his birthday hat!


Some dogs are so touchy.

* The other title for this post was going to be, "Dear Professor, This is why my Research Design Proposal, Literature Review and Lesson Study are not finished. I hope you understand." but that seemed a little long.

I Gotta Man

I revel in the cliche that I have become, 30ish, single, and obscenely attached to my dog. I wouldn't have it any other way.(Well, I might, but whatever.) However, my craziness is not the point of this post. My crazy dog is the point of this post. (guess that line is a little less clear than I would like to admit)


I have had him for almost two years and he seriously makes me more happy than just about anything else in the world. He is a schnauzer. An awesome little schnauzer. Everything he does, he does 100%.

He wags his entire body. You're leaving the room? Freddy darts ahead to check and see where you are going. Going up the stairs? Freddy will race up ahead of you to make sure everything is okay up there. Trying to sleep? Freddy will bound around your bed and pillow....just to make sure there are no intruders. No danger of that, sadly.

That cute little purple bear he is sitting with? That's the Cancer Bear. It was a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. He gets that stupid thing in his mouth and thrashes it about like it personally killed his mother. Nobody is more committed to fighting cancer than Freddy.

Don't even get me started on the "YOU CAME HOME FROM WORK TODAY.......WOOOO HOOOOOO" greeting. It's wholehearted and awesome.

I've often wondered about getting a little sister to keep him company while I am at work. And her name would be Fiona!! Cute, huh?

He has had other dog buddies, so I didn't think it would be that big a deal. This week, I learned how very poorly that might really go. Turns out, I have raised an insanely jealous and pouty dog.

I met a friend at the park who brought with her all FOUR dogs. Two tiny ones and two GIGANTIC, very excited, hyper, jumping boxers. We decided to let the little ones run amok, because they weren't causing too much damage, and we would set up a man-to-man defence with Apollo and Sasha.

I was dealing with Sasha and inadvertedly ignoring Freddy. Once I noticed what I was doing, I tried to make up for it and split my attention, but it was too late. Freddy was having NONE of it. I would call him and he would stop, make eye contact with me, and then absolutely turn his head away, put his nose in the air and go anywhere but the direction I had called him. It was so sad. I'm not sure, but I think if he could have sprouted a thumb, he would have definately flipped me off. You would have thought I sold him down the river by the disappointment in his eyes.

Bottom line, I don't think that Freddy has a little sister in his immediate future. I can only deal with disappointing so many people at once....and right now, as the only remaining single child in my family, with zero prospects in sight, and therefore zero chance of offering any grandchildren....my corner for disappointment is full.

After all, there are worse things than a dog who's fat but happy......just like his owner! Even if he's a little bit spoiled.

Seester? He don't need no stinking seester!

Freakin' Monkeys

Some day's I am the monkey. Today however, I am definately the dog. Freakin' monkeys.

Hand Over the Chocolate

Back at Christmas I had a party and had a huge pot of chocolate fondue. I put the leftovers into the fridge and promptly forgot about them. The other day I pulled it out and trashed it because there was very little chance that I would ever use it again. After all it's chocolate, not gold.

Whilst getting out of the shower I heard a huge crash, but being that my smelly dog has never gotten into the trash before...I didn't put together what the little piece of crap had done. In no hurry, I got dressed and went down to see what the deal was and I found him basking in the garbage, belly full of chocolate. All I could think of was the veterinarian anti-chocolate propaganda which said my dog was going to die. And soon.

There may have been tears shed, and frantic phone calls to MaurySue, who takes much delight in my new found love-o-dog, but probably not my numerous phone calls in the middle of the nigh. Her dad is a vet, therefore she gets many frantic phone calls. It just makes sense. Like it or not;)

She said that Freddy wouldn't die unless he ate a whole bunch, like 2lbs. This news didn't settle my nerves, because he very well may have. Poor little guy just sat at the back door waiting to go out. I let him out and took him for a walk, but there was no significant bowel business going on. We came back in and he just went straight to the door again.

It was raining and I wanted to go to bed. I literally drug him up the stairs so I could put him in his crate and planned to let the chips fall where they may. Right at the top of the stairs he projectile vomited, took two steps and puked again, walked to the TV in the loft and puked ALL OVER the entertainment center. Seriously, he weighs 22lbs and the piles (because they were piles not spots) of vomit more than exceeded what any reasonable person would expect to come out of one 22lb dog. I couldn't be mad at him because a) I was too busy semi-crying because I thought he was going to die and 2) it was kind of my own fault because he was trying go out.

Bottom line- turns out dogs really do get sick if they eat chocolate....but they would have to eat a TON before it would kill them. The darker it is, the worse it is for them. Go figure. Now ya know.

If you need a steam cleaner you can borrow mine. I have one.

Consider Yourself Warned

As promised...the Christmas recap. I've never been good at being brief. Be prepared. (I'll explain the blinding blur of red in a minute.) My mom, dad and I all flew up to the Great Pacific Northwest for Christmas this year. Even though it resulted in the above picture, it was so much fun to be able to hang out with my sister and her crazy kids for the holidays, but oh my goodness, getting there was a freaking joke. It's a good thing Betty-Lou had us at the airport 3 hours early!


To begin with, for one of my finals at CSUN we had to complete the application for the National Board Teacher Certification. Part of that super-fun process was turning in a copy of your drivers licence along with the packet. Needless to say- for a good two weeks, I have been driving around sans licence and didn't notice until Brenda, the dear old ticket agent, asked for it. As it turns out, a social security card, gym membership and Costco card will get you on a plane.

Then, Brenda informed us that even though I made a reservation, and called to confirm 4 times, the dog could not be checked as cargo on my flight. Apparently, we were on an Express Jet that seated less than 50 people. The cargo hold is not pressurized or heated. If the dog didn't explode, he would freeze to death. Thanks for that pretty picture, Brenda. She was as nice as she could be, but I nearly lost it when her 'go to' explanation for how this happened was that I must have gotten the "dumb ticket agent" when I called.....all four times.

There were no other flights available and we live nearly 2 hours from the airport, so taking the dog to one of my brothers wasn't really an option. Freddy is a miniature schnauzer...so when Seniorita Super-Helpful asked if he would fit in a carry on I believe my response was something along the lines of, "At this point, he will." Maybe there was an explitive and tears here...I cant' really recall.

Moments after she sold me the bag for $80 and charged me the standard $75 fee to carry the dog on she said, "Oh wait- come to think of it, I don't even think pets are allowed in the cabin of the express jets at all." Three phone calls, a supervisor and a mysterious 30 minute disappearance later, she said that they would make an exception and let me carry the dog on. Nice of them, huh? We made it to the gate just in time to get the dog in the bag and get on the plane. My dad folded the dog, nearly in half, and got his body in the bag. I shook him down and shoved his head in while my mom zipped it shut. He took it like a champ.

There we sat for a good 45 minutes before they made an announcement that our pilots have not yet boarded the plane. The flight they were on hadn't even arrived at the airport yet. Super! Once they finally did show up my dad noticed that the ground crew started tossing all of our bags off the plane. Apparently- someone put too much fuel in the tank and we were too heavy to take off. They told us that we either would have to remove passengers or bags. They chose to toss bags but no worries, we would be able to pick them up the next morning. They would 'be sure to get them on a flight later that day.'

Wondering what the dog was doing all this time? Drooling and farting. It was some of his best work. The WHOLE flight!! I was gagging. Most of the people around us were fairly good sports. However, the guy behind me did start coughing at one point and asked, "What in hell's name do you have in there?!?" Luckily, the flight attendant was a fairly disgruntled employee and let me unzip him so he/we weren't miserable the entire time. We eventually got to Portland...and sometime around noon the next day, so did our luggage.

They offered to switch my flight home without a fee. I could leave Portland, stop in Salt Lake, switch planes in Vegas and after about 18 hours of traveling, arrive in LAX. Ummm no. They refunded me a whopping $100 for my flight home and I had to spend $270 to fly home on Alaskan Airlines. It was basically my most expensive Christmas on record, but Alaskan gives you fresh cookies...so that ain't bad.

As for the ridiculous blur of red....that is my sister's idea of cute. I understand it on people under the age of 10. They are so dang cute in their matching PJ's. Adorable, really. I am just not sure if it keeps it's cute in adult sizes. King size, if you will. There is a near life size Mickey Mouse on my back, just FYI.

Brendan was really worried that Freddy would try to eat Charlie, their new cat. I am proud to report that Freddy was a perfect gentleman the entire time. Suck on that Caesar Milan!

And really- why do the people in my family think it is so funny to take pictures of me when I am sleeping? This is becoming a bit of a Christmas tradition....but really, Christmas with kids is exhausting! Bikes, Wii's, karaoke, that's a lot for a non-parent!

You Can't Hug A Fish

The King family has not had the best track record with pets. This is probably the reason that for a very long time I was anti-pet, but I've come to terms with my issues. I started to detail each one of the major catastrophes, but in doing so, I realized that we sound like horrible rotten people. Therefore, you get the nutshell version. (So it might be a big nutshell, whatever). Judge us if you must.

The dog that lasted the longest was a white chow/Samoyed mix named Kasper. We must have had him for about 14 years. My younger brother, Jonathon, grew up under the cloud of knowing that if push came to shove, the dog had seniority; and we, being the outstanding siblings that we were, never let him forget that. Kasper had a little wiener dog friend named Wendy, but she didn't last nearly as long as he did.

I grew up in the day's before xbox and the like, so we resorted to playing baseball in the backyard. When looking back, I realize there were two major things that went wrong with the game. 1) We didn't have enough people to have an actual pitcher, so we resorted to the ever faithful 'self pitch-ee' game. 2) We used the dog's ball.

My older brother, who has been over 6 feet tall since about the 6th grade, was up to bat. He tossed up the ball and swung for the cheap seats. The ball bounced on our makeshift home-plate, Wendy sailed down the first baseline. I don't remember what the ruling was on that ball, but that's neither here, nor there.

Then, when I was about 8, I was skipping out to the car and our brand new kitten followed me out of the house. She had the bad habit of wandering in and out of your ankles when you were trying to walk. I was usually pretty aware of where she was, but not that day. Poor little thing didn't stand a chance. I don't think I have skipped without guilt since then.

Moving right along, we had one cat get hit by the trash truck and left on the sidewalk in front of our house, one got eaten by the rottweiler who belonged to the ex-con's down the street while they, being the hood rats that they were, sat in the back yard and cheered, and one cat escaped to the desert near our house.....that one may have been part tiger, so I am sure she's fine.

My younger brother inadvertently drowned a bird. He didn't fill up her water dish and the poor thing had to lean over so far to get water, she fell in and couldn't get out. We, also, had a basset hound that for some reason, I can't remember why, we couldn't keep. My dad gave her to one of his students and she mysteriously 'disappeared' the very next week. We think they may have eaten her. And finally, we were camping on the beach one year and we decided to go for a walk along the cliffs of the cove. We heard the pop of what we thought was just seaweed.....but it wasn't. My sister stepped on a drowned rat and popped all of it's guts out of his back end!! She took off her shoe, threw it in the ocean and refused to walk back by that spot. She changed her tune once she realized that her choices were go back or be crushed against the cliff walls by the rising tide.


My point in telling you all of this is that my nieces and nephews are dying for a pet! I am DYING to get them one for Christmas, but harbor and overwhelming fear that the King family curse will be passed along. I had hoped that it would skip a generation, but I don't think that is the case. Before they moved from Vegas, they came out to Calif for a weekend visit. While gone the freaking cat sprouted thumbs and somehow opened a window and clawed her way through a screen! My niece prayed for a good two months that Sandy would find her way home. When she came to terms with the fact that might not happen, she changed her prayer to, "Please help Sandy find a home where she will be safe and they will love her."

My sister has tried to pacify them with fish but my 4 year old nephew called her out on that the other day. Hilarious. "Mom, you can't hug a fish, or take a fish for a walk. You could only take a fish for a walk when it was dead.....and then you hafta to drag it. (Begs the question, does he have any experience with that?!?!) When could we get a pet with some legs?" If you could only hear that everything he says is said with a Scooby Doo accent, you would realize how adorable he is.

Bottom line....screw the King family curse, but keep the Humane Society on speed dial.

Children don't walk past my house.....they RUN!

In true Freddy form, my 23 lb, ferocious beast bolted out the door today before I could get a sufficient monkey grip on his leash. And as is just my luck, a group of neighborhood kids were in the street playing.

My dog is pretty much harmless, but everything he does, he does 100%. He doesn't walk. There is no option for meander, wander or stroll; everything is done in overdrive. (I'm not a completely irresponsible dog owner. We're working on his manners, settle down!) Freddy spotted the kids and made an absolute B-line for them. He wasn't being mean, just wanted to check out what was going on.......at about 40 mph. Needless to say, every single kid began screaming bloody murder and scattered to the wind. All the while, Freddy just stood there looking around trying to figure out where they were going.

A random passerby may say that they were running because they were scared of the wonderbeast that is my dog. I say it's more likely that the screams were a result of their collective guilty conscious needing an escape. Every time I go out and clean up the yard, there are more and more random rocks lying all around. In it's normal state, there is nary a single rock in my backyard landscape. However, my neighbors yard is decorated extensively with rocks. And on more than one occasion, I have come out and caught the little buggers red handed poking my dog with sticks. They knew he was lose and were worried that he had come to settle the score.

A better person would have reprimanded the dog.....not I. Since he lacks the opposable thumbs requisite for throwing the rocks back, this was his little act of revenge. I secretly reveled in the chaos and mayhem that Freddy exacted this afternoon.It may not have even been that secretly, because their mother saw me giggling all the way to the car. I loved that she yelled to her kids, "That's what you get! I told you to stop teasing that dog!"

I think if Freddy could talk, he would say that revenge is sweet.....very sweet.