An Easy Mystery to Unravel

I don’t know HOW many times I’ve told Steele, “We have a new puppy in the house. Please remember that while he is being trained, we need to take extra precautions and not provide opportunity for him to create mischief.”

“I KNOW, Mom, I know.” This is usually the reply I get, accompanied by an ever-so-obvious-eye roll. “It’s not just a matter of KNOWING…you have to FOLLOW THROUGH.”

I rarely chastise him about his hurricane aftermath inspired choice of bedroom and bathroom décor. Nor do I nag him on a daily basis about tidying up his bathroom. ALL I ASK is that he make it a point to CLOSE THE DOORS to those rooms before leaving the house, ensuring that Benny "the Jet" does not have access to the temptation that exists within them. Simple, right? So why do I come home on my lunch break to find THIS?!

The older dog, Maggie, just sits there on her perch, with that clueless look on her face. I know she egged him on. She likes to see him get in trouble. And he provides ample opportunity to oblige her, believe me.  He has also discovered that people think he's adorable when he carries around stuffed toys in his mouth.  His get-out-of-jail-free-cuteness-toy-of-choice for this incident was his dinosaur.  Well played again Benny, well played.

The Honeymoon Is OVER!

Okay, so a few posts back I introduced that adorable little fur ball of fun, Benny. Everything about this new member of our family is charming...irresistably darling. We have forgiven him for chewing on our toes, leaving puppy chow crumbs on the floor, or leaving a puddle behind for us to step in…all at the bat of those big brown eyes. But yesterday…oh yesterday…Benny just went a little too far…

Check out my pretty new “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” shoes. Don’t you just L-O-V-E them? Well I do! I got them last week. I woke with anticipation to wear them for the first time yesterday. I carefully selected an outfit to pair with my new shoes because, well, you KNOW that it’s ALL about getting a great pair of shoes and then putting an entire outfit together to compliment them. I get dressed and pull out the pièce de résistance…and that’s when I lost it.

“BENNNNYYYYYYYY you ROTTEN little ball of TERROR!!!!!! Where is he?!?! I’m going to BEAT him with my new shoe!!” He slowly rounds the corner into the hallway and we meet face-to-face, like a stand-off in the old country westerns. He, with his rotten cuteness and I with my damaged Gianni Bini red patent leather mary jane pump. SOMEONE was not going to make it out alive…SOMEONE with four stubby little legs and a bark that mimics a squeaky toy. He took his first shot… cocked his little floppy ears up, tilted his head to the side and gazed at me with the innocence of a newborn child. I was determined not to waiver. I marched toward him with the shoe in my hand, prepared to teach him a proper lesson, and then…he lost his balance and fell over like a little piece of freshly chopped timber.

My heart welled up and I began to giggle, which only made him roll over on his back and shoot those eyes at me from the upside-down cute angle. I was defeated. He had won. How could I stay mad at this little guy? Lesson learned. I can’t compete with that action. He owns me, and I should have known better than to leave my closet door ajar. Well played Benny Bop…well played.

He’s Got Electric Boots and a Mohair Suit

Our family dynamic has taken an interesting turn into retro cuteness with our newest addition…Benny “the Jet”. He’s an adopted eclectic mixture of terriers and other small breeds with a personality that packs a punch! Mischievous, playful, inquisitive, and full of spunk, this little guy has owned our house…and our hearts since the day we brought him home.

The name, you ask? Well, his name was initially Elvis Aaron Presley (because there is a little hound dog in all of us). So we were on the long drive home when the radio chimed in with Elton John’s classic tune, and wouldn’t you know…little “Elvis” sat up, cocked his ears, and started howling. It was the funniest thing ever. The song ended and he quieted instantly. I began to tease him saying things like, “Elvis? Do you like Benny and the Jets?” And every time he heard the word Benny, his little head turned and his ears stood at attention. Needless to say, Elvis had left the building and Benny was here to stay.

I know, right? Benny “the Jet” Miller. It sounds a little mafia. But you don’t know the half of it. Yesterday I brought him home a bone and he was chewing it and using the blunt end as a teaser toy for our other dog Maggie. At some point my cousin Del looks over and was all, “O-M-G that bone looks like a cigar in his mouth!” Yes people…Benny “the Jet” Miller went all gangsta, and earned his street cred. This little guy means business.

For Halloween, Benny surprised us with this uncanny impression of George Burns.  You're Welcome.

Won't YOU be my Neighbor?

So the other day my "special" dog Maggie decided to bolt through the front door into the neighborhood. It was trash day and there was a smorgasbord of rotten people food displayed at everyone’s curbside and ripe for the taking. My arms were full of shopping bags and I did not have time to act quickly enough to stop her escape. There she was, eyes widened with excitement, tongue waving in the wind, smiling from ear-to-ear as she rounded the front corner of the house and disappeared from my view.

I yell, “Steele!!! Maggie just took off! Hurry, run and catch her before she becomes road kill!” From the opposite end of the house I hear the quickening pace of bare feet thumping on our hardwood floors, then the front door slams, and silence.

Can you tell we have this drill pretty much under control? Yep, it happens every couple of months, and sporadically enough to warrant letting our guard down and trusting that her “wild” days are long past, only to be disappointed time and time again.

I take a deep breath and begin putting away my things, confident that my son will prevail in the battle of wit and dexterity that is no doubt occurring on my front lawn at this very moment. And, as expected, about five minutes later Steele walks in, Maggie cradled in his arms panting and licking him between grunts.

So I tell him, “Great job as usual, babe.” And he’s all, “Well, I met the new neighbors!”

Me: New neighbors?

Steele: Apparently there’s a new Arabic family moving in down the block. You know, the really conservative dressers with all the robes to cover everything but half their face?

Me: Yeah, how did you meet them? Were they walking around the block?

Steele: Not exactly. I was so caught up in catching Maggie, I didn’t notice where I was running. Maggie would stop running just long enough for me to get like two inches from her and then she would bolt in the other direction. So I finally outsmarted her and grabbed her and I was like, “Aha! Gotcha ya little stinker!” And then I looked up and I was pretty much face-to-face with our new neighbors. I was in their garage...while they were moving their things in...standing between them and their front door.

Me: Well, did you say ‘Hello, welcome to the neighborhood?’

Steele: Not exactly, I kinda just said “Sorry.  Excuse me. I was trying to catch my dog.”

It was at this moment that my son put Maggie down on the ground and I realized what had just transpired down the block. My 14 year old son, in his haste to save my dog from her own stupidity, ran out of the front door wearing nothing but Looney tunes lounge shorts and a look of determination.

Me: Well, did you say anything else?

Steele: The lady was trying not to laugh at me. I couldn’t blame her. It’s not every day you‘re welcomed to the neighborhood by a half-naked teenager chasing a retarded dog in circles in your front yard. But she was nice, she said ‘Nice to meet you.’ And I told her it was nice meeting her too. Then I left as fast as I could.

Me: Hmmm, maybe we should make them cookies one day soon.

Steele: Or maybe we should just avoid them from now on.

Welcome to the neighborhood!

Stupid is as stupid does

Let me take a moment to introduce you to Maggie “Doodlebug” Miller.  The photo here pretty much sums up our little simpleton…so cuddly, so sweet, and oh so very DUMB.  This was her response to the “SIT” command.

Sit Maggie

We first learned of her condition a couple of weeks after we adopted her.  Concerned about a guttural hacking noise she kept making, I brought her to be examined for what I suspected was some sort of respiratory infection.  After careful observation and testing, the vet was like, “Maggie here is perfectly healthy.”  And I’m like “But what about the horrible hacking noise?” And, as if on cue, Maggie takes a few steps, trips over her own foot and let’s out that sound.
 
Me: “See?! That’s the sound!”

Doc: “Well that’s just a bark.”

Me: “A bark…really?  It sounds more like she's chaneling the spirit of a toad with laryngitis.”

Doc: “It seems as though Maggie has what is called an abbreviated mental capacity.”

Me: “Are you saying my dog is retarded?”
Doc: “Basically.”

Me: “And that affects her bark.”

Doc: “You’ll probably find many idiosyncrasies as she develops.  But as far as her health goes, she’s good to go.”

Great.  Just what I needed. The Forrest Gump of cocker spaniels.

So I present to you the list of “idiosyncrasies” revealed:

-at adult growth, she is 20 lbs dwarfed from her normal breed size

-one ear is half the size of the other, this is typically disguised by her long hair, but sometimes we ask for a summer cut at the groomers, and she pretty much just walks around looking like her head is cocked to the side all the time.

-sudden energy bursts cause her to run wildly back and forth across the yard, sometimes colliding with the columns on the back porch

-she usually barks ferociously at her reflection in the glass door as she walks by

-one time she charged at her reflection and became so frightened by the display that she avoided that room for the rest of the day

-she humps our other dog, Mojo, when she wants to play because to her it is a form of wrestling

-she runs through the dog door at full speed and sometimes misses the hole

-when she hears Mojo alerting with his bark, she mimics the barking, but instead of focusing on the cause of his barks, she swings her head in a Stevie Wonder-like motion while staring off into space

-she pees herself a little every time someone with a baritone voice greets her

"Ooof!"

Over the years we have adapted to our doodlebug.  Her antics warm our hearts, but the grunt-barks are still so annoying.