Thursday, February 9, 2012

The Dog Pound

The house we currently live in attracts dogs, much to Charlie's delight. I feel like we live in a dog pound.

Seriously, though.

The first day we were here we spent it painting various rooms. I looked out the window and there was a large Great Dane, with her six very large puppies, prancing around our fenced-in yard. The gate was closed, and I kept searching for an opening somewhere in the fence. They were such big dogs that I was too intimidated to go make their acquaintance.

The second time we had a visitor, I was on my way back from a run and saw some sort of Husky breed in our yard. Again I was intimidated and had Charlie in a stroller so I waited and waited for the dog to get far enough away to head in.

The third time we had an over night visitor at this pound. A really skinny, beautiful, and abnormally sweet Pit Bull was curled up by our front deck one night. It was brought to our attention as some friends were leaving, and came back to ask us if we had a dog. We felt so bad for the shivering, obviously neglected dog. We fed her what food we had, gave her water, and let her come in and sleep in our laundry room (since it was below freezing, and she didn't have ANY fat on her). The next day she went running with me. I came back and left the gate open and she disappeared. It was a sad relief.

The fourth time we had a German Shepard sitting on our front porch barking at any car that drove past the house. I was so confused with this one. It had a collar and just sat there protecting our dog pound. I was again intimidated to leave the house with Charlie, but we had to go pick Sean up from work. I carried Charlie above my head and loaded him in the car. By the time we returned our little protector had left.

This fifth time was my favorite. I was out for a four mile run, yesterday, when suddenly I passed a house with several loud and ferocious dogs (the house looked like an eery one you'd see in a creepy movie). All of a sudden two little puppies came running across the yard, crossed the street and started following me. I tried taking them back three times, but they insisted that they wanted to go for a run. They followed me all the way home. The little things ran three miles. I fed them (by this time, the dog pound has plenty of food to feed it's tenants) and gave them water. They were friendly, but afraid to come too close. Sean said that is a sign that they have been mistreated? I am not familiar with dogs, although I should be by now, so I didn't know. Charlie LOVED these little puppies. I fell in love with the copper one. As they started following me, being rebellious and not wanting to go back to their home, I called them Laman and Lemuel. Then, the more playful they became, I started calling them Sean and Phillip. We sat on the back deck and the three of us played with them. Charlie would hold his hands out for them to lick and would shriek, with delight of course, when their little tongues would cover his hands and then his face. He LOVED it and would cry when we would take him away from them. They stayed in hotel laundry room and then were taken to a dog clinic this morning. Sad. We liked these ones. (We did attempt to take them home two more times, but were wondering if they were just dropped off at that random corner, cause they didn't act happy to be back at 'home'.)

Anyways, we've been able to do a little dog sampling, and will have fun when we actually get to choose a dog one day to keep.

Trying to get pictures, and they thought my lap was open for relaxation.

Snuggled up on my lap. I am a sucker.

A happy, thankfully temporary, surprise for Sean to come home to.

Insert happy 11 month old shrieks

Hotel laundry room, Charlie's face and hands, and anything else that the dogs have touched have all been properly sanitized!

Monday, February 6, 2012

Bad Decision

I enjoy going to thrift stores.

One day I found a little battery operated book at a thrift store. It plays various songs as you flip through each page. Some of the songs are 'Old MacDonald','Hey Diddle Diddle', 'Hickory Dickory Dock', etc.... I bought it.

Bad decision.

Charlie isn't really amused by it, but it usually gets pulled off of the shelf with all of the other toys.

It has no 'off' button.

Usually I clean the toys up and put them back on the toy shelves, after Charlie goes down for the night. I switch all of the toys to the 'off' position, that toy being the exception because it can't be switched off.

Two random nights, in the past month or so, haven't been pleasant ones. Around 2-3 am I'll suddenly get chills down my back as I hear "Old MacDonald had a farm E-I-E-I-O......".

The possessed toy goes off all on it's own. You never know when it's going to start singing.

The first night it happened, I was WAY creeped out, but I got out of bed to fix the problem. I was imagining mice running across the toy, setting it off.

The second night it happened, I was WAY creeped out, but so was Sean. He got the privilege of being woken up by the possessed toy. He got up to deal with it and told me he was imagining Chucky was standing by the toy, ready to greet him.

The toy is going back to the thrift store.