Thankful

Holly, I am thankful for you. I am thankful for your poofy hairs and the way you bark viciously at anyone or anything who even thinks about knocking on our front door, right down to the UPS man. I am thankful for the way you bounce out from under the bed and around the room every morning. I am thankful for your sweet brown eyes and your furry paws that look like little boots. I am thankful for the way you eat one little piece of dog food at a time- what a good example you are for your brother who swallows his whole! If only he would slow down long enough to watch you.

Paddington, oh how I say so many thanks for you! I am thankful for your wet nose that is forever and forcefully nudging me for attention. I am thankful for your eye mole (and for the fact that it seems to be staying the same size). I am thankful that your waistline is slightly smaller than it was this time last year (down 3.5 pounds!). And most of all, I am thankful that the vet seems to think we will one day kick these heartworms once and for all.

Love,

Your Mom (who you two better be thankful for too! Not everyone would let you sleep ON the pillows, you know.)

Tequila

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Trouble.

For the past three days, I've been holed up in my condo with my two besties and my two pets, hiding from the blizzard that has ravaged the South. Naturally, three consecutive snow days practically beg for several consecutive batches of margaritas. (See below for our special recipe.)

As I was bringing my glass to my mouth to enjoy my first (of quite a few) frozen margs, I was shocked when Paddington, who had been peacefully curled with his head in my lap on the couch, lifted his head and stuck his snout directly in my goblet and began to eagerly lap up the tequila-laced margarita.

At that point, there wasn't much to do except quickly pull the glass away and laugh, accepting that fact that my dog has a taste for tequila.

Lauren's Special Margaritas

1 package Minute Maid frozen lime juice

1 bottle Corona Light

2-3 shots of tequila, (preferably top shelf, of course)

1/2 blender full of ice

Oh, the tears...

I had to repost this. Please, please take a moment to read this touching story. It brought big, monster-sized raindrop tears to my eyes before I was beyond the first graph.

http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2010/10/21/man-saved-by-god-and-by-dog-who-says-grace/?hpt=C1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNvmAw2Tp5c

If this isn't the perfect display of the old man's best friend mantra then I don't know what is.

These two save me each and every day.

...Right after they finish arguing over the remote.

Breast Buddies

We're thinking pink for Breast Cancer Awareness Month... Are you???

The Eyeball

I see you. Why are you still awake? Go to sleep.

A Love that Encompasses (Almost) All

Holly left a whisker in my bed.

Not a hair, mind you, a whisker. A spiky, black whisker.

Now, normally, between my own copious amount of hair shedding and that of my pets, I am not one to be grossed out by these sorts of things.

But a lone whisker left in my bed? This was hard for even me to deal with.

I just had to tell someone.

Doggy demands

"Mom, please stop trying to blog. It's taking your attention off of me and I don't appreciate it."

Java Chip Frappucino

I love Starbucks' Java Chip Frappucino ice cream. It's my go-to splurge item.

I recently learned that apparently, it's Paddington's, too. Please see the following as evidence:

Guiltily sneaking the carton away from his mom in hopes that he will not be deprived...

Checking out the remaining contents...

Using the back of the couch for leverage...

Really going at it...

Feeling bereft upon realizing he'd finished it all...

Just making sure to not leave any droplets behind...

Dry as a bone.

No wonder he's gained 14 pounds since coming to live here. We're working on it.

The Great Shave

As soon as April rolled around, I started talking about getting Holly shaved for the summer. I do this for many reasons, including, but not limited to, the following: her health, in that I do not want her to overheat under all that hair in the Georgia summer, my carpets, my sanity, etc.

So off to the groomer the pups went for baths, grooming, and in Holly's case, a haircut of the most epic proportions.

When I dropped my sweet pet off that morning, she was an animal hidden underneath 10 pounds of fur and adorned with frondy ear hairs and Grinch paws:

When I retrieved her that afternoon, they gave me back a skinny minnie whom they were calling Holly:

I said, "That's not my dog. Please go find the correct pet and bring her to me."

It took a while for the shock to wear off.

Holly, however, has taken quite well to her hair loss and enjoys bouncing around outside and then lounging on the cool hardwood floors that she can now detect.

What a little nugget.

Sherlock Holmes or an expressive mutt?

This is my dad's dog Cletus. His front paws stick out in opposite directions as though he is perpetually posing in the second position, and his underbite is noticeable from approximately a mile away.

Doesn't he look suspicious? All he needs is a pipe and a fedora and he could star alongside Rachel McAdams in this year's Sherlock Holmes. Plus, his sense of smell would help him solve mysteries.

Meet the Predecessors

Before Holly and Paddington, there were a few other chows in my life... The ones who started it all.

This is my beautiful mom at age 22, sitting on her parents' front porch in good ol' Tallapoosa, with the two sweetest balls of fluff. (Please note her footwear - blue jellies!) She worked for a while at a Pike's Nursery, and one day, someone left these pups there in a cardboard box. (!) Well of course, they promptly found themselves a home with Mom, and became known as Winnie and Teddy.

Two years later, I came along. This is me at age 6, hanging on my swing set, which I got for my birthday that year. (Please take a moment to note my acid-wash jean jacket.) Posing for the camera below is Winnie, Holly's poofier predecessor. (And she'd been shaved in this picture!) Doesn't she look like Grendel? Lord, I miss her.

This one was taken in our very leafy backyard. The lion on the right is Teddy, an absolute bear of a dog. Oh! They were so sweet.

The pug on the left is Cindy, whom I named after my aunt's best friend and spent my entire childhood smothering with love. (She's an exception to the blog post on chows, but a very key ingredient in my childhood, so you get to hear about her anyway.) I was known to paint her toenails with neon polish and trim her fur in designs. Poor thing. She lived a very long life for a pug, and died on Independence Day when I was 15.

On the right is Paddington's predecessor Pooh. The resemblance between these two is absolutely uncanny. She came along a little after Winnie and Teddy.

Tee hee.

Pets enrich our lives in so many ways. How can you not smile when you see faces like these?!

Winter Wonderland

When it snows in Georgia, it seems the whole world comes to a halt. Finding myself off of work two hours early due to the "blizzard," I thought I'd take the pups for a jaunt to see how they'd react to all the white fluff.

Paddington ran down the stairs as fast as he could, while Holly and I carefully tiptoed our way to the bottom.

Paddington had no qualms about being knee-deep in snow, but Holly was less than enthused.

"Can I still pee on this lamppost, Mom?"

"What about the plant I usually pee on here? Where is it?"

Snow on the stairs made for a long hike back up to the condo. Holly was not amused.

"Do I really have to walk back up those stairs through all that cold white stuff? My paws are too dainty."

This is a very bizarre snowman that a neighbor built... Please note the mohawk.

But... Look at these sweet pawprints! They were my favorite part of the snow day, I think.

World War III and the Aftermath that Followed

Christmas in my family is chaotic. Divorce doesn't really make for fun holidays. And traveling with two 50 lb. Chow Chows doesn't really make things any easier. And so, I usually make my trips minimal. I'd like to tell you about my latest holiday saga. Sit back and feel free to laugh at me.

December 24, 2009

I got off of work and threw my amply-loaded bags in my truck. (Yes, I drive a truck. You may not have known this about me yet.) I then began the extensive undertaking of also loading my pets in next to my luggage. Now, Holly's a great car rider. She sits up straight in the front seat like a little human, alert and ready to bark at any passer-by. Paddington, however, isn't quite as accustomed to the high life, being an ex-stray and all. He prefers to wander the car, hopping from seat to seat, attempting to gain control of the driver's seat every now and again. As this is the case, I was a bit concerned about our first two-hour drive home together. Fortunately, he was able to find a spot in which to settle, bizarre though it was:

And so, for the entirety of our drive home, Holly sat in the front seat, docilely keeping me company, and Paddington sat on my luggage.

We made it to my aunt's, where we would be staying in the Wild Wild West, recreated (aka my 4-year-old cousin's bedroom):

Holly didn't seem to mind the decor.

December 25, 2009

Christmas morning. After the festivities (which we will skip here, as they consist mostly of the hysterics of my dysfunctional family) the whole herd of us got ready to make the trek out to good ol' Tallapoosa, Ga., where the head honchos reside. The pups were going with, so we headed out to my aunt's big backyard, where I enjoyed being able to let them run freely without having to walk them on a leash. Previously, the cat of the house had been contained in the laundry room, so I didn't stop to consider her whereabouts. Unfortunately, it was then that I named my downfall.

Meet Peanut.

You see, while Paddington's fault may be car riding, Holly's is cats. She like to chase them, threaten them and dominate them, in no particular order. As I stood on the porch rambling on to my aunt about the perks of having a fenced in yard, I neglected to keep a close eye on my dog, and it took me a moment to realize that World War III was breaking out down below.

Holly spied her prey and dashed across the yard towards Peanut. Peanut tried to climb a tree, but much to her dismay, she has no claws with which to climb, and fell backwards, with hind legs still attached, to the ground. When I finally became aware of the scene taking place, I clambered down the stairs in my cowboy boots to break up the fight. The thing is, with a cat shaped so much like a basketball, it's hard to get a good grip, and she kept slipping through my fingers. When I finally picked her up and out of harm's way (read: Holly's fangs), she turned her head, presumably to thank me, and instead bit into my thumb as though it were a steak. (Or a fish? I suppose a cat would prefer a fish.) Not being a cat person, I immediately dropped Peanut, gave Holly the first death stare she's ever received for me, and dashed for my aunt, the doctor. (Well, physical therapist, but still. She knows stuff.) In sum, it was on Christmas Day that Holly and I had our first fight.

Peanut went into hiding for the next 36 hours.

December 26, 2009

At the insistence of multiple family members, I went on to spend 2 hours and 45 minutes in an emergency care clinic, where I was so unimpressed with the nurses that I later wrote a very nasty online review summarizing my treatment. :-) Don't scoff at my pain, you rude nurse, you!

The pups, however, must have sensed my pain, because on the ride home, they melted my heart. The two of them spooned in the front seat all the way back to Athens:

Needless to say, my fight with Holly didn't last long. How could I stay angry at that sweet face?

Peanut probably felt differently.

And thus, Christmas in the life of Caroline. It's a good thing I love Jesus, or I might swear off the holidays altogether.

P.S. I ate three clementines today. Is that unacceptable? I figured it was better than eating three pints of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, which is what I felt like doing on this Valentine's Day weekend.

Paws

On any given day, Holly can often be found curled up in her favorite sleeping spot - her cave underneath my old brass bed. My favorite thing to see when I get out of bed in the morning, or when I get into bed at night, is the sight of these paws sticking out from underneath the bed:

Because of this anti-social, cave-loving behavior, a friend of mine once nicknamed her Loch Ness, which unfortunately has since been added to the lengthy list of endearing names I have for her. (Truly, it's surprising the dog does not have an identity crisis.)

Here's a close-up of the cutest paws in the world. Sometimes I like to think of them as "Grinch paws" due to all the sprouts of hair, like Mr. Grinch's fingers. We have to keep them trimmed or else she slides around the hardwood floors.

On another day, I'll tell you all the other lovely perks of having such a hairy dog. Get excited.

Snuggling

There is nothing like having a pup on either side of you on a very cold January evening to keep you warm.

Goodnight, blogworld :-)

The Mystery of the Moving Food Bowl

A couple of weeks ago, I came home from work and was greeted by this sight when I walked in the door:

Now, let me preface this by giving you an idea of how my condo is set up. You walk in the door and are immediately facing the stairs. You can then walk straight through the living room area to the kitchen, where the dogs have their food and water bowls. The downstairs is very long and narrow. So, you see that the kitchen and the stairs are opposite one another.

Now, you might be wondering, "Why was the food bowl on the steps?" I wondered the same thing that day, and again when it happened a week later.

I continued to wonder about this bowl-moving phenomenon until today, when I witnessed something that quickly solved the mystery.

Once a week, I give my dogs wet food as a special treat. Today happened to be that day, as I was out of all other kinds. I put two separate bowls on the ground in the kitchen and went to eat my lunch on the couch. Paddington joined me while Holly began to eat. When she finished, having clearly had enough, she came to lie down in the living room. Paddington, seeing that she was done, began to creep towards the kitchen, all the while glancing over his shoulder to keep one eye on Holly. Holly had barely sat down before she was up again, racing him to the kitchen so that she could not only have her wet food, but his as well. (Can you tell which pup is the Alpha in our house?)

However, Paddington wasn't giving up that easily. Before I could tame her greediness, Paddington rushed through the living room, bowl in mouth, heading straight for the stairs. At about the third step, he lost his grip and dropped the bowl.

Mystery solved.

Meet the Pups

Meet Paddington. Does he appear nefarious? Yes? He is. He's been a con man from the start.

Meet Holly. Have you ever seen a sweeter face? (All holler: No! Never!) Truly, it's not possible. Those eyes!

I feel it only fair to warn you that if you become as addicted to this blog as I hope you will, you face inevitable exposure to many, many stories about these two.

What lovenuggets.