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Casa de Muddy Pawz at 4:00 a.m.

  • If ya can’t shoot em…hug em.

    Wake up call from Micah – 3:38 a.m. (Mommy, I gotta poop and I can’t open the door.  See?  No thumbs.)

  • Rick usually sleeps til around 6, so I had to stay quiet and busy, so I putzed around trying to find clothes in the dark.  Can’t water because the hose valve is near enough to the bedroom window that it wakes him up if I turn it on.
  • 4:00 a.m. – What the heck.  May as well walk the dogs.  Both dogs ramming me to get their leash on and go first, so I bounced around between the two until I got Nala’s Gentle Leader on her mug.  Held Micah back with one foot in his chest til Nala got through the door, jumped out after her and quickly closed the door.  Took 2 steps and she saw Merriwether, one of our two cats and bolted after the poor ole geezer.  He dove under Rick’s car, and I nearly did a face-plant on the car door before I got “the princess” under control.  Meanwhile, Micah started howling by the door.  Quick-stepped back to the door, cracked it, patted Micah on the head and promised he’d be next.  Nala hot-stepped it down to 38th, up to Montecito and back again.  Dead dark..not a soul awake save me and the dogs…a good thing, since I later discovered I had my t-shirt on inside out…and backwards.
  • Home again.  Nala’s leash off.  Micah’s leash on.  Nala dove into her bowl for a drink (up to her eyeballs) and it sounded like fat kid doing a belly flop into her water bowl.  Splash-splash-gulp-gulp-splooosh!  Water everywhere.  She hit the doggie door.  Micah and I sprinted out the front door…right into Baggins’ face…kitty #2.  Baggins hissed at Micah and he simply gives the cat a confused look and cocked his big head.  Off we went.  Micah wanted to pee on every blade of grass that any other dog has peed on in the last 50 years.  Constantly pulling him off pee spots, we forged ahead.  Micah, stay close…stay close…good BOY!  (MORE PEE!)  Down to 38th, up to Montecito, over to 40th and back again.  Pee, pee, peeee!  And when we got home, I dropped the leash and he went right outside…and peed…of course.  Must have been saving it for days.
  • 5:20 and I wanted to brush my teeth in the worst way, so I tiptoed in and got my toothbrush and ran 4 drops of water over the toothpaste.  I stood outside by the barbecue and brushed my teeth, remembering that there’s an ingredient in toothpaste that’s harmful to dogs, so I spat in the garbage can and in the 1956 barbecue.  Tiptoed back in, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, rinsed off my toothbrush in the kitchen sink.  Tripped over Micah in the dark in front of the bathroom door while attempting to put my toothbrush back and ran into the chair in front of my vanity…and heard Rick rustling.  I really didn’t want to flush, but dammit, I had to pee now after walking two piddling dogs!  Turned on the light and noticed the t-shirt tag at my throat.  (Aw geeze!) Turned it right-side out…and frontwards.
  • 5:45 and he’s officially making morning noises.  You know…those strange guy noises that men make when they wake up.  (Grumble, grumble, snort…)   I punched the button on the coffeemaker and went outside and turned on the hose.  There was enough light to see that my zucchini has sprouted.  Rick headed toward the patio door with his coffee and I quickly scooped two piles that magically appeared on the lawn since returning from the walk and it stunk like a barnyard.
  • I checked e-mail while Rick was in the shower, fed the cats and washed out the dogs dishes (there are 10 of them).  My husband always emerges from our room looking crisp and neat and tidy with a ray of sunshine glinting off his smile.  I usually have mascara under my eyes, eggbeater hair and dog spit dripping off one elbow.  He gave me a smooch (I don’t know why…I wouldn’t have kissed me!) as he tossed his badge on, grabbed his briefcase and hit the bricks.  The dogs immediately started body-slamming each other and acting foolish out back.  I grabbed the camera and caught some cute shots of mastiff war as the sun broke over Camelback Mountain.  I finished watering and inspecting my seedlings and, damn, it was warming up quick!  It wasn’t even 7:30 and I was already all sticky.
  • I DID get a bath.  Fed the dogs, picked up cat dishes, and at least 14 phone calls later with our vet, pet insurance, people insurance and various tech support people, I got back to my computer, answered some e-mails, checked Facebook and did my Lumosity lessons to keep my brain functioning at at least 30% capacity.
  • Printer wasn’t working, so spent 45 minutes on the phone with Tech Support to get it working again.  (Crawled under my desk twice for that…)  Fixed the printer, but the scanner died.  Picked up poop again.  Took off the damned bra. I did not pay $75 to have cardiovascular surgery via underwire.
  • Phone!  My prescription was ready!  Up to Tatum and Shea to pick it up and a quick stop at Whole Foods for laundry detergent and organic everything for the dogs.  Got home in time to wash dog dishes (yes…ten…really…) and feed dogs again.
  • Woopsie…PHONE!  Forms were ready at the vet.  Quick run to Dr. Bracken’s and home again.  It was now “Africa-HOT” and my hair is sticking to my forehead and neck!
  • Granddaughter Ashley called, just leaving from her latest ultrasound and it’s a BOY!  She’s just so excited; she’s about to pee her pants…but she’s pregnant…she has an excuse.  I don’t. Hit the door running, leap-frog two dogs…and peeee.
  • While on the phone, I noted that the dogs were milling around the back yard, and I had just ended my call when Micah decided to sample his “leavings”.  I bellowed.  One does not bellow at one’s beautiful dog…or even at one’s homely dog.  But I bellowed loud enough for our blessed puppy to patooey what was in his mouth approximately 6 feet into the lawn and belly-crawl into the house to his casa (kennel)…which is where one goes if one eats their leavings and gets busted in the act.  This was not the highlight of my day.
  • 15 minutes later, I let Mr. Pottymouth out of his casa on leash and marched him to the back yard hose where we cautiously, but thoroughly sprayed what leavings were left out of his mouth.  He refused to look at me for the rest of the day and actually turned his back on me.  The nerve.  The hand, shoe and deck sanitization process followed the oral lavage, and the dog smelled civilized again.  I, however, smelled like something between a gym bag and a dairy farm.
  • That lovely task behind me, it was time to start dinner, pick up dog poop, feed the cats, make the bed, for heaven’s sake, straighten the house and…there was Mr. Wonderful pulling in the driveway.
  • I looked like I’d been ridden hard and put away wet.  Never got my make-up on, hair in my eyes, standing in sweat, drool and dog food stained garb, I greeted my poor, hard-working husband with a frosty beverage and listened to his download of a hard day at the office.  He didn’t even have a wrinkle in his shirt.   I did not love him at that moment.
  • I simply smiled and  thanked God that he didn’t ask, “So…what did you do today?”  I would have simply cried into a slobber towel.
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Posted by on June 14, 2012 in Muddy Pawz

 

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Baggins

Mister Baggins

 In May of 2002, I was lifting weights in our side yard when I felt that someone was staring at me.  I sat up on the weight bench and looked around.  Nothing.  No one.  The third time I paused, I noticed two tiny heads with bright eyes peering out at me from between two fireplace logs at the top of our woodpile.  One was black with piercing green eyes and one was white with markings of a Siamese.  Having lost our 17 year-old Siamese, Ness the previous fall, I could hardly wait to tell my husband.

“Rick!  We have two tiny kittens outside!”

“We are NOT having another cat in this house!” <pause> “Where outside?”

“They were in the woodpile!  They must be from that feral black stray.  Come see!”

We scouted the back yard and found no kittens.  Mama kitty must have moved them.  Later, cleaning the windows in the spare room at the front of our house, I spotted the kittens swatting at a thin spray of water from our irrigation valve and pouncing on evil blades of grass.  I called Rick to the window to see them, and he watched much longer than he meant to.

“They are cute, aren’t they?” he said.  “Look at that little guy killing the grass!  Grrrrrr!  Haha!  Well, we’re NOT feeding them.  Got that?  Not!”   (Yup.  Got it, Sir.)

A few nights later I was getting ready for bed and Rick had disappeared.  I looked all over the house and in the back yard with our Doberman, Houston and our Bouvier des Flandres, Tanker.  No Ricky.  I finally checked the front porch, quietly opening the door, as I had a hunch that proved to be correct.  There sat Rick on the bench out front, feeding two tiny, fluffy little souls…albacore tuna…from a crystal dish.  He caught me peeking at him and simply said, “Shut up.  They were hungry and they’re still not coming in the house.”  I sat down next to him watching “Mr. Tough Guy” now hand-feeding the tiny guys bits of precious albacore from his fingers.  Rick then informed me that the black one was to be referred to as Mister Baggins and the white one was Frodo and our front garden was their Shire.  I know when to keep my mouth shut.

Tragically, we lost little Frodo a few months later when he ventured out of the shire and was hit by a dragon in the road.  I thank God I wasn’t home to see it and thank my neighbor for lovingly taking care of his tiny little body.

Baggins learned from the tragedy and now 10 years later, sticks pretty close to the shire.

Oh, yes…he’s still here despite the decree from our faithful leader.  You see, Baggins grew, the seasons changed and it started getting pretty chilly.  One evening as we relaxing in front of the tv with Houston and Tank sprawled and snoring across the floor, we heard the doggy door flap shut.  We looked at each other, looked at the dogs, shook our heads and went back to watching our program.  Out of the corner of our eyes, we caught a black shadow.  Baggins calmly strolled through the living room, hopped over the 117-pound Bouvier, skirted around one neurotic Doberman and proceeded down the hall to our bedroom.  He glanced over his shoulder once as if to say, “Minions, I have arrived.  I am taking over.  Carry on.”   Ya gotta love cats.  They live their lives with attitude.

 A year later, he was pushing the Bouvier aside to taste what the peasants were eating, camped out on Rick’s lap, tap-danced on his keyboard and generally owned us all. 

Dinner with Tank

One evening, a few years into his takeover, Houston, our Doberman was sleeping peacefully in an overstuffed chair that was angled in the corner of the living room opposite the sofa.  As Rick and I relaxed after a long day at the office, we watched Baggins walk into the room, assess the situation and in full kitty-stealth mode, slip under the overstuffed chair.  Now, Houston was edgy at best, likened to a neurotic cobra on Mountain Dew.  One does not poke the cobra whence it sleeps.  Evidently Baggins felt he had the genetics of a mongoose in his kitty-veins, because as we watched our beautiful cobra coiled peacefully asleep, over the back of the chair appeared “ninja-kitty” from the armpits up.  Ever-so-quietly he reached one black paw forward as far as he could…and thumped the Doberman hard on the top of her head, disappearing like a puff of smoke.  Houston leapt to her feet in the big chair, ready to strike, trembling with eyes darting left and right.  Rick and I sat frozen, too astonished to move!  Sensing no immediate danger, Houston once again settled into the soft cushion of the chair and had no more than closed her eyes when Baggins came over the rounded arm of the chair, thumped the Dobie’s skull hard and disappeared under the chair again!  Houston again jumped to her feet in full, fierce attack form…to nothing but air.  After his third attack on the fearsome guard dog, Baggins evidently bored of the sport and marched off to conquer yet another world.

 Houston and Tank went over the Rainbow Bridge and we are now on our third and fourth English Mastiff.  Baggins remains, has brought us three more strays and is neither intimidated nor amused by over 300 pounds of canines. 

 If you would like to meet Mister Baggins, he can be located at the kitchen door at 3:30 pm each day awaiting his dinner (warmed 11 seconds in the microwave), or at 8:00 pm tapping his Rolex and stepping under the noses of two Mastiffs, overseeing the preparation of his evening snack.  If you happen to work late, you can still see him retiring for the night with his attendant, Mr. Tough guy, who will be tucking him into his fluffy bed with two soft blankets…on the hood of his Range Rover. 

Cats actually do rule the world. 

© Copyright Mary Watson 2012

 
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Posted by on March 8, 2012 in Muddy Pawz, Uncategorized

 

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Banana Nut Bricks

The following is a copy of the e-mail I sent to my husband this morning after the smoke cleared…

Ya know…I’ve always made really great banana nut bread.  Remember?  You even photographed some, Hunnie, and put the pictures on the internet to show your friends.  You were so proud.

I don’t know what happened to the last two that made them go all “heavy masonry” on me this past weekend, and I felt bad about that.  Banana Nut Bread Failure.  I took some solace in your blaming it on the odd double yolk in the egg. It was so very kind of you to suggest that it might make great biscotti for our coffee.

So this morning after you left, looking all spiffy in your white starched shirt…off to deal with the monkeys in the pickle factory, I was so grateful to you and for you.  (There goes my husband…bringing home the bacon and the bones.)  I decided I would (by God) make you some awesome, photo-ready banana nut bread that you SO deserved.

I thought, “ What a great way to start the day with warm golden loaves baking and our two beautiful English Mastiffs at my side and Christmas carolers on the stereo.  Now what did I do differently the last time from my usual?”  Well, originally, Olivia (my mentor) taught me that I could throw all the ingredients into the Cuisinart and make much less work and mess and be finished in half the time.  Last weekend, I used an old fashioned mixing bowl and a blender.

Determined to do it RIGHT this time, I pulled out the Cuisinart, put all the dry ingredients in, using a different can of baking powder and a different kind of salt, measuring very carefully.  I mixed the dry ingredients, and remembered I didn’t have enough nuts.  I dashed to Fresh and Easy and got a bag of pecans.  Came home, tossed in the oil, milk and bananas and as I was putting in the last banana, the milk started leaking out the bottom of the Cuisinart, onto the counter and spilling down the cabinets onto the floor.  Not a problem.  Mastiffs are the BEST at kitchen clean-up!  We call it “Hoovering” here at Casa de Muddy Pawz.  Micah lapped it off the counter and my elbow while Nala took floor, shoe and cabinet duty.  Yeah…”Out of the kitchen!” failed again and I was frantically trying to clean up the milk with approximately 300 pounds of mastiffs shoving me this way and that.  I thought, “Quick!  Throw the lid on the Cuisinart and blend it in!”  It worked!  The leaking stopped, but now I had no idea how much milk was left in the batter.  So I just put “some more” milk in, slapped the lid on and very quickly mixed until it looked like banana bread batter should…I hoped…if I remembered correctly.

I mopped up the dog spit from the counter, floor, cabinets, shoes, and poured the batter into the greased pans.  I stuck my finger in the batter for the mandatory taste test.  Hmmmm.  Banana mud.  I had left out the sugar.  <slap>  I scraped and poured the batter back out of the pans into the leaky Cuisinart, threw in a cup of sugar and hit “blend”.  (Micah likes that sound.  A lot.  He wants to INSPECT that sound, and besides…the machine smells like bananas and milk.)  I threatened Micah with the antique whip hanging on the wall as I ran to the bathroom to wash banana batter from my hands, sweatpants and hoodie.  Back to the kitchen.  Puppy looking like I actually USED the whip on him.  Nothing worse than dog guilt.  I put the batter back in the pans, not giving a rats ass whether I needed to re-grease them.  NUTS!  I forgot the frikkin’ NUTS!  Batter back into the Cuisinart.  Whir-whirrr-sniff-sniff-sniff.  Back into the %$@* pans, slopping batter everywhere, screaming, “I don’t CARE anymore!” and threw them in the oven…dripping.  Nala reentered the kitchen and helped Micah Hoover up any new drippings.  I threw everything in the sink, perfunctorily inspected the Cuisinart, wiped it down and collapsed in a chair.

I just pulled the loaves out of the oven.  They are golden.  The tops split beautifully.  They weigh less than 14 pounds each.  I avoided electrocution, Urgent Care, dog murder and burning myself. Banana Nut Brick

Ya know what?  I’m okay with that.

 
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Posted by on November 30, 2011 in and other things..., It's a Brand New Day

 

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Turkey, Theft and Puppy Tails

Oh, No!  The very worst happened.  Ricky’s monitor died when he was all geared up for a day off work and over a half-day of playing World of Warcraft.  He threw on his sweats, grabbed a cup of coffee and an energy drink and then, first thing on Thanksgiving morning, turned on his computer…black screen…kaput.  We checked store hours for Fry’s Electronics and Best Buy and discovered they were closed, as their people are more interested in turkey, stuffing and the inevitable pumpkin pie and green bean casserole than dragon-slaying and the decapitation of various orcs and trolls.

Quick-thinker that he is, Rick recalled that he actually works for the I.T. division of a major airline!  He sped down to the office, snagged a monitor off one of the technician’s desks, flashed his badge to security and said, “I’m stealing this monitor for 24 hour, Jim.”  Jim said, “Okay, Rick!”  (Attaboy, Jim…)  He vowed to stay up til midnight and go to the Black Friday sale with the horde at Fry’s Electronics to purchase a spiffy new monitor and return the stolen goods to the I.T. department before the victimized tech got to work.  He popped in the hot monitor and proceeded to happily slay and raid.

Luly came over and did a wonderful job cleaning our house with her daughter Stephanie, and side-stepped any further rubber dog poop pranks from Rick.  As soon as she finished, we fed our two cats and both English Mastiffs, the HoneyBagder-Nala and the My-Micah-Happy-Birthday-CGC puppy.  We dashed out the door, bearing mums and poinsettias to stuff our faces at our dear friends’, the Slanskys (the finest people on the planet).  What a beautiful dinner they served!  We were joined with all our favorite Slanskyettes, their progeny and five dogs (residents and guests), one of which peed on my new black sneaker within the first hour.  Since it was a Chihuahua and the most it could produce was an eighth of a millimeter (i.e. half a drop), pretty much no-harm-no-foul, although its owner seemed to feel that was the best thing that happened since man went over Niagara Falls in a barrel.  (Oh, ha ha…)  I poured a glass of red and carb-loaded rather than driving all the way home to retrieve our mastiff puppy who would surely pee on her (and her little dog, too)…and eat them both, understanding fully that “karma happens”.  Stories by the fire in the Slansky’s back yard following dinner, where I miraculously managed to avoid setting myself on fire and replaced the scent of dog pee with wood smoke.

We didn’t make it home until well after dark.  As we walked in the door, scouting for the inevitable
mastiff-puppy demo work, the first thing noted was the standard black rubber office trash bin had somehow made it through the doggie door and was relocated into the back yard in several pieces.

Trashcan Puppy

As Rick picked up the remains of the standard-issue black office trash bin, a police helicopter swooped and circled directly above our home with a spotlight.  (We’re talking just above power lines, here…)  My first thought was, “Monitor theft!” and the second was, “Trash can assault.”  An officer called out with a megaphone from above, “This is the Phoenix police!  We have a K-9 unit and officers surrounding you, and if you do NOT surrender, you will get bit!”  (I so wanted to correct his grammar…”BitTEN, Officer!  Bit-TEN!”)  Even though we had our two mastiffs assisting the DogFather in the back yard clean-up, I had visions of a German Shepherd sailing over our back gate and tackling my husband in error.  Thankfully, he came inside without too much coaxing.  We watched the helicopter hover over a home a street or two north of us and then finally lift and sail away.  Another successful arrest by the Mountain View Precinct and their K-9 unit!  (Clap-clap!)  I donned my flannels, ear plugs and went to bed, leaving Rick to the slaying his dragons and orcs on World of Warcraft (WoW).

I awoke at seven with the DogFather and Micah still snoring softly beside me.  Oh, no!  Did he make it to Fry’s?  Is the technician’s monitor still here in our house?  Ruh-roh, Rastro!  Making as much “accidental noise” as possible, feeding dogs, opening and closing doors, slapping a K-cup into the coffeemaker and feeding cats, Rick’s feet hit the ground before 7:30…still enough time to get the monitor back in place at the airline before the tech arrived.  Then off he sped to battle the Black Friday masses at Fry’s Electronics for a replacement.  (Good luck with that.)  I stood in the doorway with the HoneyBadger and My-Micah-Happy-Birthday-CGC-Black-Friday-Puppy and waved.

As I later learned, he didn’t have the VERY best of luck with the return of the “borrowed” monitor.  He got it back through security, tip-toed into the technicians’ offices <picture Daffy Duck on tip-toe here…> and…woopsie… the techies were already there.  CURSES!  Mark, the victim techie had his back turned as Rick stealthily crept behind him to his desk. (Sloooowly he crept…step-by-step, inch-by-inch…)  Suddenly Mark spoke in a low, controlled but firm tone…”Don’t.  Even.  Think.  About.  It.”  Rick’s chin went to his chest and shoulders slumped…guilty…busted.  Mark turned to him and said, “One question.  Was this WoW-related?”  Rick responded, head low, “Field test!  It was…uh-uh-uh a FIELD test…uh…well…yeah.”  With a voice I could only relate to as coming from the Lord on High, Mark said, “Thought so.  Just.  Put.  It.  Back. And. Clean. That.  Mess.”  Rick put.  Rick cleaned.  Rick apologized.  Rick left.  He just returned with a sparkling new 23” Viewsonic monitor and is under his desk where the dust bunnies live.  All is right with the world.

I need a new trash bin and my monitor just went out.

Happy Holidays!

 
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Posted by on November 25, 2011 in Muddy Pawz

 

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DOOMSDAY

It was ten years ago, but it seems like only yesterday!

“DOOMSDAY!”

That’s what Ricky said when he got up this morning.  The first word out of his mouth was, “Doomsday”.  You see, we both took off work this morning off to go get our marriage license, and for one certain confirmed bachelor, it was a devastating experience.

He was quiet as a mouse driving to the courthouse in downtown Phoenix until he parked the truck and we started walking toward the courthouse. That’s when he asked, “Do we HAVE to do this, Honey??  Couldn’t we just sacrifice a pig or something?”

“Yes, Ricky, we HAVE to do this, and no, we’re not sacrificing any pigs.”

“How ’bout a lamb?  They used to do that, ya know…instead of getting married, they’d just sacrifice a pig or a lamb or a goat and wash in the blood or jump over a broom or something and call it good!  Just like that, they’d be married!”

“No, Ricky.  They don’t do that anymore.  Besides…those little parasites and stuff…you just can’t…and there’s the Humane Society, PETA and all those activists!”

“Well I know how you like ancient history and ceremonies and stuff, and I just thought…”

“No, Ricky.”

Approaching the courthouse steps, Rick said, “I think they’re closed.”

“No, Ricky.  Go ask the guard at the door.”

“Marriage Licenses?  Right down those stairs, Sir.  Empty your pockets into the dish there,” the guard directed.

“Why’d they have to search us??”

“It’s a courthouse, Ricky.  Walk.  See?  Right there’s a sign that says ‘Marriage Licenses’…”

“DOH!  Dear God, what am I doing???”

“Rick, just take the clipboard and we fill out this form.”

“Guys first.  Guys always go first. Okay?  Got that?  I am NOT losing control.”

“Okay.   Now my part’s done, let’s take it to the lady at the counter.”

Approaching the counter, Rick looked plaintively at the clerk and asked, “Ma’am, I just have one question…”

“Yes, Sir?” she responded.

“Is it too late to RUN?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied.

“You women are all in cahoots.  I knew it all along.”

“Have a seat, Sir.  We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Are you SURE we can’t sacrifice a pig?”

“I’m sure, Ricky.  Sit down.”

The Deputy of the Court appeared from behind a cubicle wall.

“Rick and Mary?”

“Oh, God help me.”

“Ricky!” (Swat!)

“Please review the information and make sure it’s correct.”

“It’s correct.”

“Can I run now?”

“Ricky….”

“Okay I need you to raise your right hands…”

“Ricky, raise your hand.  All the way.  Above the table.  Stop bending it at the wrist and raise your hand!” (Punch!)

“Ow!”

“Do you both solemnly swear that the information you have given to me, a Deputy of the Court of the State of Arizona, on this form is the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

(nudge)

“Yes.”

“Sign here, please.”

“Ricky, stop shaking like that!”

“Can I sign it in BS&T?”

“BS&T?  What’s that mean, Honey?”

“Blood, sweat & tears?”

“Knock it off!”

“Ma’am, I need a witness,” I said to the Deputy.

“Yes?  For what?”

“Please witness that he is signing this document of his own free will; that I have no weapons on me and that both of my hands are above the table.”

“Chuckle…”

“There you go.  That will be $50, and the person who performs your ceremony will fill in the rest and return the lower half to us.”

“Are we done?”

We walked out of the courthouse and Ricky kissed me right in front of God and everybody and said, “My life is over.”

We walked to the truck holding hands and drove away….head-on into traffic on a one-way street.  If I didn’t know him better, I’d have said he was rattled or something.

God help us.

The rings should be here in a day or two from the designer, and I’ll keep in touch about the “blessed event”.

 

 


© Copyright 2011 Mary Watson

 
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Posted by on August 3, 2011 in It's a Brand New Day

 

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A Muddy Pawz Christmas Carol

On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me…”Honey, please decorate the tree.”

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee… 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeee…30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to meee…one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the 7th day of Christmas, my true love gave to meee…3 days o’ raining, 2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeee…8 muddy paw prints, 3 days o’ raining, 2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree

On the 9th day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeee…9 Windows updates, 8 muddy paw prints, 3 days o’ raining, 2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeee…10 loads of laundry, 9 Windows updates, 8 muddy paw prints, 3 days o’ raining, 2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey please decorate the tree.

On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeee…11 WoW heroics, 10 loads of laundry, 9 Windows updates, 8 muddy paw prints, 3 days o’ raining, 2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey please decorate the tree.

On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeee…12 bins of ornaments, 11 WoW heroics, 10 loads of laundry, 9 Windows updates, 8 muddy paw prints, 3 days o’ raining, 2 cats a-mewing, 2 Mastiffs pooping, one mortgage payment, 30 pounds of kibble, 20 cans of cat food and Honey, please decorate the tree.

On the last day of Christmas…I fed the dogs and cats, mopped up the muddy paw prints, folded all the laundry, deleted a WoW character (85 gnomie warrior…Alliance), blew up my monitor, found my umbrella, cleaned up the yard mess resulting from of 30 pounds of kibble, paid the danged mortgage, stowed bins in storage…and put up the flippin’ fake tree.

(We need more dog food.)

Merry Christmas!

Copyright Mary Watson 2011

 
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Posted by on December 15, 2010 in and other things..., It's a Brand New Day, Muddy Pawz

 

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