Surprises enhance our lives.
A recent surprise included tolerating two dogs inside my pet free home. It is bad enough people walk around outside, step in spit, vomit, and other human expulsions. Then we enter our homes and walk on the floors and carpets with those same crud-laden shoes.
Our first home had carpeting throughout the house. Hubby’s wife wanted people to remove their shoes before entering the house. “No. We are not Japanese,” Hubby declared. At the time, it was not worth an all-out battle. Some battles are not worth the damage. Of course, unlike his wife, Hubby did not mind dirt.
When we visited Hungary, this lady’s uncle expected everyone to remove their shoes in the entryway before walking into the rest of him home. Hubby complied without a murmur of dissent. Darn his hide!
Anyway, our daughter’s two miniature Hounds of the Baskervilles, also known as Chocolate and Mochi, held court in our recreation room. Thankfully, there is no carpet in that area.
Chocolate is a well behaved, but sneaky creature. She knows dog-grandma does not want her up on the couch. And yet, the minute DGM leaves the room that sly hound settles on the sofa and burrows under the throw. So all one sees is the throw bunched up in the corner of the couch. On the plus side, Chocolate is an older dog, whiny for attention, but housebroken.
On the other hand, Mochi, who resembles those Chinese dog statues, is a baby. Sharp teeth. Loves to nibble on toes or the nearest body part, which may include a boob or two. And, she is not fully housebroken.
We took turns taking her out for hoped-for potty breaks, but most of the time, the darn dog just pranced around—no noticeable expulsions from her rear end.
The other day, our daughter noticed Mochi getting into her pre-pooing dance. Then the Hound of the Baskervilles started to squat over Chocolate’s bed. As the excrement poked out the backside of the four-legged creature, our female child grabbed up the dog under the front leg pits (armpits in human terms), and ran for the back door, yelling, “Open the door! Open the door!”
We managed to unlock the door and get the pooch-baby outside, with merely two small blob accidents inside before the finale dropped outdoors. Phew!
Our children potty trained themselves, with a little effort by the parents. We must give credit to the non-verbal encouragement of installing the potty chair in the bathroom. When we used the facilities, the training child sat on the potty, and we chatted. Mommy called such chats, our pot parties. (Insert shrug.) Do not judge us. It worked.
After the humans and the Hounds drove off, the lady of the manor swept up dog hair. Then she mopped the floor and wiped down the leather couch and recliners. After that, she washed the throws. Lysoled the heck out of the throw pillows before she managed to relax.
Mind you, the dogs are adorable, but not something this lady wants to deal with every day. This woman has her hands full with the chickens. Now, once again, the house is a no four-legged creature zone.
Now that we are back in our solitary life, you would think things went back to normal. Perhaps. The thing is, your usual, and the lady of the manor’s normal are lightyears apart.
For example, we all experience the occasional song or commercial jingle that sticks in our heads, sometimes for a day or two. But what if there is nothing to trigger such an event? This morning, the lady of the manor woke up with the Beatles tune, “Rocky Raccoon,” playing on a loop in her mind as she became fully conscious. The song continued playing all day with brief breaks.
How that particular song appeared in her mind is a mystery. She only listens to Beatles music in her car on the satellite radio station dedicated to The Beatles. And she has not driven anywhere in several days.
It seems even her subconscious is a Beatles fan.