fogiedom here I come
I am not quite there yet, in the get those damn kids off my lawn stage of life. I am mostly in the zone where I really really like kids, especially watching them, but it makes me very tired even though by "watching them" I don't mean taking care of them, I mean watching them--like with binoculars. Or possibly a telescope....
Middle daughter Laura brought two of her spawn over the other day and Kelly had a fabulous time chasing three-year-old Jacob back and forth the length of the house for quite a while, but Cobie had to be leashed because he is just too hurricane-y for little kids. Even with him leashed, I could never relax, because he would jump on Laura, who was holding a fussy three-month-old Jolene, if Laura was standing, or if Laura dared to sit, he'd lick the baby, sealing all her breathing holes with one swipe of his extra-wide tongue, and making her cry, which who could blame her?
But he is not even quite ten months old yet, so of course he is excited and a rowdy butt, so I was not mad at him, or even frustrated, just incredibly incredibly tired by the time the small fry went home.
(In fairness, it is my tired time of the month, if yanno what I mean.)
It was awesome though, to have company that did not come to borrow money. Even though the floor and one wall are still not mud-free, the house was not in too bad a shape, especially considering it's tired time.
Anyhow, yeah, kids. Pretty cool little critters overall. BUT...
Because of all the melt and rain, the ground beneath the back stretch of fence has receded, kind of like gums. Kelly "Houdini" Doll has gotten out there twice now. Thankfully there is no where for her to go once she's out, because of the ditch back there, and she comes right back when called...assuming I know she's out.
Well, she has come right back until yesterday.
We had the gappy section of fence temporarily blocked up in the meantime with some short lengths of fence left over from the swimming pool, but yesterday she found a new spot. I was watching TV, and had left the back door open so the dogs could have a blast racing in and out to their heart's content, but then I heard Cobie barking, which he almost never does. I stood, and then I heard the neighbor's Dane mix also barking and I knew something was up, and yeah I had a pretty good idea what it was.
Shame on me, I did not have my shoes on because I took them off so they wouldn't get wet while I was hosing off some totes that got gucked up in the basement during our latest plumbing drama, and they were not convenient because if I leave my shoes near the door, Cobie has a tendency to snag one and take it out with him, which is highly inconvenient.
So I went out sock-footin and sure enough Kelly was out, I could see her little white self bounding along on the other side of the fence, and Cobie, racing along the inside of the fence as worried as a mother hen. He stopped barking when he saw me, but the neighbor dog kept up the woofing. That dog's name should be Caterpillar because he makes the earth move when he barks.
So I call, "Kelly, here Kelly!" and wait, because that's all it has ever taken to bring her on the fly.
That's when I hear, "Here, puppy! Here puppy!"
Well the backyard corner neighbors...I dunno. Either they're a very prolific people or they run a daycare because their yard is always full of kids in nice weather. Not refined kids like what I expect in this neighborhood, either, but what I think of as roughneck kids. Kids whose clothes are worn, who get grubby, who use bad words at high volume and look around to see if they've scandalized anyone.
My kind of kids, really, because they are so much fun to observe.
Except when they are calling my dog. My inner Roseanne is about to cut loose, but I restrain her and call out. And let me say Roseanne is about as easy to restrain as Cobie on a leash, even if she is just a convenient metaphor for the trailer park aspect of my personality. "Hey. Stop calling that dog. EXCUSE ME, PLEASE STOP CALLING HER!"
"Here puppy! Here puppy! Here puppy!"
Okay, here comes Roseanne, and she's bringing her friend Joy Turner along for good measure, and oh lord what the neighbors have probably always suspected about me is about to be irrevocably confirmed, because I am going to say something horrible to that child, something with language as strong as his usual, and then--
T-moth shows up right then and marches down to the fence which is six feet tall and he has to jump to see over it. STOP CALLING THAT DOG, he bellows.
"Here puppy! Here"--
Thunder: THAT'S MY DOG STOP CALLING IT!
Silence descends, which I later realize is because those kids can't see T-moth and have no idea where this voice of a minor god is coming from. Even Caterpillar hushes.
I call Kelly. She scampers home. We resist the urge to be mad at her, because we have to reward the return instead of punishing the departure she's already forgotten. We spend a good hour playing Fishing for Kelly and Cobie to tire them out. (I got video, but I also killed my camera batteries.) Afterward Cobie dozes in the sun. He is such an outdoor dog.
T-moth has promised to fix this fence issue on Wednesday by attaching some wire fence at the bottom and partially burying it in the ground. The ground is still a bit wet, but my nerves can't take the strain. Also I can't open that darn back gate because my hands aren't strong enough to lift it and work the latch at the same time.
Getting back to fogiedom, yeah, I don't care if there's a kid on my lawn (as long as they aren't playing ball near the mural window!) But if you hear your kid hollering, "Here puppy! Here puppy!" and you don't own a puppy, it seems like you might go see what's up.
I'm just saying.
Middle daughter Laura brought two of her spawn over the other day and Kelly had a fabulous time chasing three-year-old Jacob back and forth the length of the house for quite a while, but Cobie had to be leashed because he is just too hurricane-y for little kids. Even with him leashed, I could never relax, because he would jump on Laura, who was holding a fussy three-month-old Jolene, if Laura was standing, or if Laura dared to sit, he'd lick the baby, sealing all her breathing holes with one swipe of his extra-wide tongue, and making her cry, which who could blame her?
But he is not even quite ten months old yet, so of course he is excited and a rowdy butt, so I was not mad at him, or even frustrated, just incredibly incredibly tired by the time the small fry went home.
(In fairness, it is my tired time of the month, if yanno what I mean.)
It was awesome though, to have company that did not come to borrow money. Even though the floor and one wall are still not mud-free, the house was not in too bad a shape, especially considering it's tired time.
Anyhow, yeah, kids. Pretty cool little critters overall. BUT...
Because of all the melt and rain, the ground beneath the back stretch of fence has receded, kind of like gums. Kelly "Houdini" Doll has gotten out there twice now. Thankfully there is no where for her to go once she's out, because of the ditch back there, and she comes right back when called...assuming I know she's out.
Well, she has come right back until yesterday.
We had the gappy section of fence temporarily blocked up in the meantime with some short lengths of fence left over from the swimming pool, but yesterday she found a new spot. I was watching TV, and had left the back door open so the dogs could have a blast racing in and out to their heart's content, but then I heard Cobie barking, which he almost never does. I stood, and then I heard the neighbor's Dane mix also barking and I knew something was up, and yeah I had a pretty good idea what it was.
Shame on me, I did not have my shoes on because I took them off so they wouldn't get wet while I was hosing off some totes that got gucked up in the basement during our latest plumbing drama, and they were not convenient because if I leave my shoes near the door, Cobie has a tendency to snag one and take it out with him, which is highly inconvenient.
So I went out sock-footin and sure enough Kelly was out, I could see her little white self bounding along on the other side of the fence, and Cobie, racing along the inside of the fence as worried as a mother hen. He stopped barking when he saw me, but the neighbor dog kept up the woofing. That dog's name should be Caterpillar because he makes the earth move when he barks.
So I call, "Kelly, here Kelly!" and wait, because that's all it has ever taken to bring her on the fly.
That's when I hear, "Here, puppy! Here puppy!"
Well the backyard corner neighbors...I dunno. Either they're a very prolific people or they run a daycare because their yard is always full of kids in nice weather. Not refined kids like what I expect in this neighborhood, either, but what I think of as roughneck kids. Kids whose clothes are worn, who get grubby, who use bad words at high volume and look around to see if they've scandalized anyone.
My kind of kids, really, because they are so much fun to observe.
Except when they are calling my dog. My inner Roseanne is about to cut loose, but I restrain her and call out. And let me say Roseanne is about as easy to restrain as Cobie on a leash, even if she is just a convenient metaphor for the trailer park aspect of my personality. "Hey. Stop calling that dog. EXCUSE ME, PLEASE STOP CALLING HER!"
"Here puppy! Here puppy! Here puppy!"
Okay, here comes Roseanne, and she's bringing her friend Joy Turner along for good measure, and oh lord what the neighbors have probably always suspected about me is about to be irrevocably confirmed, because I am going to say something horrible to that child, something with language as strong as his usual, and then--
T-moth shows up right then and marches down to the fence which is six feet tall and he has to jump to see over it. STOP CALLING THAT DOG, he bellows.
"Here puppy! Here"--
Thunder: THAT'S MY DOG STOP CALLING IT!
Silence descends, which I later realize is because those kids can't see T-moth and have no idea where this voice of a minor god is coming from. Even Caterpillar hushes.
I call Kelly. She scampers home. We resist the urge to be mad at her, because we have to reward the return instead of punishing the departure she's already forgotten. We spend a good hour playing Fishing for Kelly and Cobie to tire them out. (I got video, but I also killed my camera batteries.) Afterward Cobie dozes in the sun. He is such an outdoor dog.
T-moth has promised to fix this fence issue on Wednesday by attaching some wire fence at the bottom and partially burying it in the ground. The ground is still a bit wet, but my nerves can't take the strain. Also I can't open that darn back gate because my hands aren't strong enough to lift it and work the latch at the same time.
Getting back to fogiedom, yeah, I don't care if there's a kid on my lawn (as long as they aren't playing ball near the mural window!) But if you hear your kid hollering, "Here puppy! Here puppy!" and you don't own a puppy, it seems like you might go see what's up.
I'm just saying.