Tag: boston terrier

Feeling Like Number 2

Most of the time I abide by the creed that I’m number one but for some reason I feel like number two today. I’m not really sure what I did to deserve this either. I mean, I woke up in a pretty good mood. I had the day off from work (always a good thing), the sun was shining on a cold, crisp day in mid January and I had just cleaned the Keurig the night before so I knew the coffee was going to be fresh. I anticipated a quiet day of doing absolutely nothing but being in my nice warm jammies and socks, drinking coffee and watching TV. Sadly, things just went down hill from there.

Although my initial thoughts were to spend the entire day on the couch my wife had other plans. Today, in addition to it being a holiday for her and a vacation day for me it was also garbage day and since I had the day off she I had decided that before coffee I should quickly go out into the yard and gather up the number two my Boston Terriers had deposited in the yard over the past week. Not a pleasant job mind you but one that needs to be done regularly before the mole-hills becomes mountains if you catch my drift. Number two is also not something you want lying around in your garage for another week until trash day rolls around again.

So, as the Keurig started to percolate I slipped on my best pair of sneakers, coat and rubber examination gloves, grabbed a large plastic bag and made my way out onto the frozen frontier.  A man on a mission.

As I made haste around the perimeter of my yard extracting and being extra careful not to step into any stray number two I couldn’t help but think about the number one reason I hurried along: the fresh coffee that awaited me. The reward I’d receive for collecting number two.

Having finished the job I tied the bag of number two up and placed it into the garage. Feeling victorious, I quickly went upstairs to remove my sneakers and get back into full “day-off” mode. But just as I placed my sneaker on the bed to adjust my sock a disturbing aroma began to fill my nose. It was number two… but from where? I hastily looked to where my sneaker now sat and confirmed that even though I thought I was careful, number two had somehow made it onto my sneaker. And now, not just on my sneaker but also on my bed as well. And to make matters even worse, it was the side of the bed that I sleep on.

So I went into the bathroom and cleaned the number two off of my number one sneakers. Once finished, and with stage one of caffeine headache (or lack there of) beginning to set in, I tore the bed linen off, put it in the laundry basket and hastily made my way down to the laundry room to clean the number two linen.

As the hot wash cycle began I made my way to the powder room to wash up and finally partake in cup of coffee number one. I began to wash the last remnants of number two off of me and at that moment I heard my daughter yelling from the other side of the door. “DAD…Are you almost done?” Now I don’t know about you, but from my experience when someone is standing outside of the bathroom door asking if you are almost finished it usually only means one thing. Yup, number two.

“I’ll be out in a second”, I said as I finished rinsing my hands. But number two waits for no one and apparently she decided to go upstairs and use another bathroom instead. So, with number two now gone from the yard, my sneakers, and in the process of being cleaned off the linen I finally made my way to the kitchen to my awaiting coffee.

I slowly raised the coffee cup up to my lips fully anticipating heaven and the angels to start trumpeting but instead heard the heart wrenching call coming from upstairs:

“DAD, the toilet won’t flush!”… Yep, as if you haven’t already guessed, more number two.

Without even taking the time to enjoy the first sip I put down my #1 Dad coffee mug, grabbed the plunger from under the sink and made my way upstairs.

So that’s how my day has been so far and why I feel like number two. Oh, did I tell you that I had to take the dogs to the vet today too? And you’ll never guess what the vet wanted to do while we were there? I’ll  give you a hint: It has to do with number two.

I sure hope my day gets better.

I hope yours does too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For The Love of A Pet

It was just your typical blistering hot Sunday afternoon in July. I had just completed mowing half of my lawn and cultivating the care packages my dogs had deposited on it. Now I needed to take a break lest I die of heat exhaustion

As I sought refuge from the heat of the summer sun and with nothing else to do, I found myself in my office looking at old books and magazines I had accumulated.

After going through quite a bit of the outdated stuff I never look at and pledging to eventually get around to throwing a bunch of it out, I noticed an odd volume I hadn’t seen in quite a while. Much to my surprise, amidst the guitar song books and fitness magazines was an old photo album.

As far as I’m concerned, family photo albums are useless most of the time. They just sort of lie around and take up space. Oh sure, there’s plenty of memories in every Kodak moment. But the unfortunate thing is, the only time most people look at photo albums is right after a loved one goes off to college, gets married or passes away.

Even then, the manual of memories is only useful for short-term therapy. Once the grief of the separation has been accepted the book, much like the family bible, goes back to collecting dust. But on this afternoon for no apparent reason, marriage or death included, I decided to have a look-see.

I began by taking a trip down memory lane through my old baby pictures. Ones I’ve looked at hundreds of times. Nothing really “new” to see there. I quickly passed through photos of long ago Christmases and summer days at the pool but all that did was remind me I still needed to finish mowing the other half of my lawn. I was beginning to understand just why this book is only useful for therapy.

As I turned the page again I came to section of pictures from my youth that made me forget about the lawn. For there in front of me were photographs of the pets I had growing up. And one photo in particular caught my eye immediately: Me and Susie.

Susie was the name of my first cat. A white cat with one green eye and one blue eye. A color combination that’s not at all uncommon in white cats but back then it was the coolest thing to tell your friends that your cat had two different colored eyes.

I recalled how, thirty some odd years ago, if I would hold my hand out above her with my palm facing down, she would jump up and rub her head across it. I bet not many cats could do what Susie could do. To a seven-year old boy, she was something special.

As I remembered all the good times with Susie, I soon came across another picture. This one taken a few years later of me and another cat, Fuzzy. Ironically enough, Fuzzy was the offspring of Susie and pretty much adopted me as his own. Where ever I went, Fuzzy went. He was my home boy and we were tight for years.

Of course, seeing those two cats now opened the floodgates of the pets I’ve owned over the years. I began seeking out pictures in the album of all of the critters that have gone through life with me.

There was Sheba: the Siberian Husky, Scruffy: the mutt, Mitzi: the black kitten I found under a car and wound up keeping. And the list goes on.

More recently, there’s been Timmy: the Shih-Tzu, Baci: the Pekingese and Stanley:the fat, orange tabby cat. I even had another white cat a few years ago named, wait for it, Snowy. She didn’t have Susie’s eye combination though. Her’s were both green. All of these pets have long since gone off to the Rainbow Bridge but hold a special place in my heart.

The funny thing is, looking at all these pictures didn’t make me sad to realize that they were all gone. It was different kind of therapy. Looking at their faces and remembering all the good times we shared together was encouraging. It only helped reinforce what I already knew: I’m a huge pet lover.

Today, my pets include two Boston Terriers (Sparky and Bruno) and two cats (Samantha and Marigold) in addition to Pokey my 25-year-old cockatiel, which I discussed in a previous blog.

I enjoyed getting to spend some time with the pets I’ve had over the years. It’s hard to imagine what life would have been like for me without them growing up. Sometimes you need that little reminder that you’re human and have compassion. I suddenly couldn’t wait to get outside later and play fetch with my dogs.

As I closed the photo album and started to head back outside to the lawn it occurred to me that maybe what they say about animal companions is true:

Pets aren’t our whole life, they just make our lives whole.

Feel free to share your pet stories in the comments section.