In the category of "Mommy Blogs": a chronicle of my life in Chicago and wherever it takes me. Stories from my past.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Is there a pet psychic in the house?

I don't know what happened. I just spent about thirty minutes writing a dissertation about how our dog, Ollie, needs a little bit of counseling - and it's gone, completely gone. I'll quickly give you the highlights as I don't have time to recreate the whole thing:

1. Our dog can't be left alone for any real length of time (i.e. 3 hours)
2. We must Ollie-proof the apartment when we do leave.
3. If we don't I may find my cheesy, used breast pads shredded all over the floor. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, they smell like gruyere after awhile, which is why I now have a hard time with the whole Swiss family. I wonder if another woman's old milk would smell like cheddar. Ah well, a subject for another time.
4. We made the mistake of RUNNING ERRANDS today - were gone too long.
5. Came home to find our bed sheets shredded - like a crazy murderer had been there - or like Freddy Krueger, who, when analyzed, fits into the category of crazy murderer.
6. They were really nice sheets - a wedding gift - and I now know that I can never have anything nice.

Case in point: My old favortie shoes.
We were driving to a birthday party for a friend, and I had made the cupcakes. They were precariously balanced on a tray that I carried in my lap when we were rear-ended. Icing was everywhere, including my shoes. I thought it was funny, so I took a picture:


I made the mistake of leaving them out overnight. I thought nothing would happen. We were home, and Ollie's not crazy when we're home, right?



Baby's awake!

Is there a pet psychic in the house?


At 9:17 PM, Blogger Greenthumb said...

We can't leave Harlow out while we are gone and she won't do the whole crate thing. I finally went to Ikea and bought two gates that swing and latch and put them up in the back hallway about 8ft apart. When we are gone, she goes in there with her bed and quilt. She can't do anything but lay there, so she sleeps.

She destroyed my new tennis shoes, one chair seat, one sequin pillow, all my wooden kitchen utensils that were on the counter in the container, kitchen towels, because there was food or something yummy. It got so frustrating and now we all are hapy.

At 11:38 AM, Blogger Susie said...

My comments, in no logical order:
Well, mama, if you put icing on your SHOES, that makes them food. Duh!
I hope you were not hurt in the accident.
I would think that, loving cheese as you do, the breast pad thing could be a little disconcerting. I do remember those days.
You may just have a bad dog, there, my friend.

At 8:44 PM, Blogger LadyBug said...

I'm with Susie on the whole icing-on-the-shoes thing....that DOES make them food. Heck, I probably would've eaten 'em!

I haven't noticed a cheesy quality to the smell of my used breast pads, just plain old soured milk smell, I think. But, then again, I'm not a cheese connoisseur. Does gruyere smell like soured milk?

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