“Mamma I wanna Pug”.

I was shocked when my son began asking for a pet, specifically a pug. I still do not know why he chose a pug over the broad spectrum of other available pets, but I looked into the matter. After discussing it with my husband, I asked the vet at a Junior League meeting what she could tell me about pugs. She replied that they were short, stocky, and prone to obesity. What was my husband’s response? “Sounds like a Dowd. Sign us up!”

Shorty after receiving the green light from my husband (please refer to a previous post entitled The Cat), I contacted the Pug Rescue of Northwest Arkansas. I was told I needed to submit three letters of recommendation, a background check, pictures of our home inside and out, and summary about our family and activities. Geez, you want to give me the damn dog or what? I had to describe the personalities of the children, including The Blonde (again please refer to The Cat). We also had to list and describe all other pets.

We had to talk about The Cat.

Yes, the cat came back. It must have been some kind of hellacious living conditions for that cat to come back to us, but it did so after about nine months of being MIA. The Pug Rescue of NWA informed me I needed to have the cat declawed since pugs have bug eyes and our chosen pug had a tendency to “bug” cats.

This part of our adoption process occurred during a time when my mother was having radiation treatments in Florida. I left a list of items Hubs needed to take care of while I was gone. One item on the list was to take the cat to the vet. Imagine my surprise when the Vet called and told me it wasn’t our cat. What the hell? Did he just pick some random cat out of the neighborhood, cram it in the Suburban and drop it off at the vet?

The vet informed me, through her laughter, that this cat had already been declawed.

Sure the cat came back a little thinner, but it really looked like our cat. We all have our family secrets, this one happens to be ours.

When I returned home from Florida we decided on a certain pug named Albert. I was told by the Pug Rescue of NWA that Albert was a mild mannered dog who slept 20 hours a day, couldn’t swim, had eye drainage issues, and mild skin allergies. Bring. Him. On.

We were also told that Albert was housebroken. My aching ass housebroken. Mild skin allergies actually mean he is allergic to grass. Being allergic to grass is a real bitch when you are 8 inches tall and you poop in the yard. We bought him a doggie life jacket to wear in the boat at the lake, but he just ends up looking like an old canister vacuum because the life jacket has a handle on the top and his legs are too short to jump from the boat to the dock. He can be running one moment and fast asleep on the floor the next. He is also partially deaf. Someone could come in our home, steal everything inside it and terrorize the family. He would sleep through it all. If you turn on the stove, the fool barks for 20 minutes.

He is Perfect.

Thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.

NOLA

What to do, and not do, in New Orleans.

After spending what seemed like two house payments in New Orleans only to lose the game, I have a few words of advice.

10. Do not laugh at the co-eds who are sleeping 16 in a room with nothing to eat but summer sausage and saltines. You were once like them.
9. Never look the test tube shot girl in the eye. She will not leave you alone. You don’t need everclear and tap water to have a good time.
8. Hand Sanitizer.
7. Burn your boots when you get home. You will not get the smell out of them.
6. Call the hogs in every cab, bar, restaurant, and bathroom you visit. They really like that.
5. Never write the address of your tailgate spot on a girl’s arm in black sharpie. Her boss will not like that Wednesday morning.
4. Every Ohio State fan you meet does not want to be asked, “Can you lead me to the closest tattoo parlor?”
3. Bring your own toilet paper. Paper towels are not a good substitute. Ever.
2. Do not use the Rickshaw under any circumstances. I guess if you like panic attacks and seeing your life flash in front of your eyes it is a good mode of transportation. Every part of my body was tense while on that thing. Even my ovaries were tense.
1. The horses do not want to be ridden. Even if you “Just want to hang onto the tail.”


Thank you for reading my post. Go Hogs.