Baby Kong...

I’m a petty non confrontational guy.  I always have been.  Sure, there are times--usually when playing basketball, when tempers flare and hotter heads prevail. But overall, I just want to get through my day without problems...  

My son seems to take a different approach when it comes to his toys.  Things standing in his way do not deter his path.  He does not go around, he goes through, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.  Toy frogs, grasshoppers, kangaroos?  Punks jump up to get beat down...  

For example, here's a picture of a sweet, mechanical puppy dog.  It sings songs, giggles, and says things like let’s dance, or let’s play.  It also says things like, uh oh, when it is tipped over.  It’s been saying uh oh a a lot recently.  That’s because my son is a menace, and his method of operation is to make sure nothing is left standing while he's in the room.

Anything in his path will end up on its back.  That’s just how he rolls.  He’s a drooling, laughing, tongue wagging terror.  His only goal seems to be leaving toys disabled or dismantled.

Hopefully it’s just a phase.  He’s a little boy, right?  Boys like to shake things up a bit.  I mean really, really shake things up.

He’s like baby King Kong, coming to town to make sure all these cutesy talking, battery operated animals know what’s up.  Puppies get pummeled into submission, he holds no sympathy for singing giraffes on wheels.  Monkeys, lions, anyone else better keep it zipped, because his elbow is just itching for a good thrashing.  

I’m not bragging, quite the opposite really.  I mean, he's just a cute little guy, whose sweet little laugh melts away any worries I may have. Even though the other day I caught him biting his lower lip, patting his palm with his fist and kind of nodding his head as if to say, You want some of this?

Why My Wife Can't Have Nice Things...

My wife has great taste, and she likes nice things.  In a perfect world she would have plenty of nice things in the house.  Pristine light colors would shine throughout, delicate and fragile items would be left safely on shelves.  The laundry room would smell of flowers and toilet seats would remain forever fastened down securely.  Instead she lives with me and two male dogs.  Even our cat is male.




Mason

 She likes hand towels and nice smelling soaps.  I like doing yard work and picking up the first thing I can find to wipe the dirt off my hands.

She likes seasonal smells and glade plug-ins.  I come home from basketball sweaty and smelling less than seasonal.

She likes dryer sheets and lavender smelling detergents. My socks sometimes get crunchy and need to be tapped with a hammer before washing.

She likes accent walls and themes that flow throughout the house.  I like sports.

And now we’re having a boy.  That leaves her sufficiently outnumbered.  In a house full of males she tries her best to keep things presentable. 

The other day we were putting together the dresser in Simon’s room when my wife said simply, “Your shoes!” I realized that I was still wearing my shoes, the same shoes that I'd worn to walk the dogs through the mud and the puddles as they had played creek, rolled in the grass, and frolicked in the woods.  I looked down at the untarnished white carpet and then back up to my wife like a child caught in the act.  Crap.

I gently eased off of the white carpet, shamefully removing my shoes in the hallway when I noticed Mason--our puppy, stretched out on the bed, sound asleep on the white comforter. This is why my wife can’t have nice things.

New Tricks..

We have two dogs and a cat.  The cat stays outside most of the time and is very low maintenance.  Our oldest dog Bruce, is an easy going 6 year old lab mix who likes to eat and take naps.   

 

But then there’s Mason. Not quite two years old, he's part Husky and part God only knows what. Mason is pure bred crazy and a full-time mess, a tongue wagging terror with the energy of a hummingbird washing down speed pills with Red Bull. 

                                

He's up at 7 every morning and stays full steam ahead until 9pm when he falls down and goes promplty to sleep, or as we say, charges.  He's eccentric, quirky, and extremely active, or as his want ad would read: full of life! Not that I've ever thought about it in my head.

But sometimes I do worry what will happen when we welcome a little one home in a few months, I’m not sure what kind of progress we can make in such a short time as I thought we would be just a little further along in the maturity department by now.

At night, he climbs into our bed and  sleeps at our feet (I know, it's our fault for letting it go on for far too long). My wife, in an effort to get him to sleep on the floor, bought him his very own dog bed, just like his brother Bruce.  But something tells me he didn't like that idea...

He is a dog that only we could love, and I suppose that's why he's still with us.  I'm not sure anyone else would put up with him.  As bad as he can be, it's hard to stay mad at him when he curls up next to me, looking up with his bright blue eyes as if to say, Man you're a sucker...

So as our life with Mason goes on, our progress slow but detectable--at least to us. My wife has taught him a few tricks and is optimistic about what the future holds. As we continue to work with him, I will continue to hope for a miracle, that his 2nd birthday brings disipline, calmness, and obedience...or at least two out of the three.

 



 

 

Bad Dog

Over the weekend Anne and I traveled to the nation’s capital to meet up with family.  We decided to head up Saturday morning and come back that evening, which from Lynchburg, Va. makes for a pretty long day.

Our biggest dilemma was our puppy Mason.  We had just purchased a new couch and we weren’t about to leave him at the house unattended.  We dropped him off that morning with a friend who had agreed to watch him, which is no small undertaking.  It didn’t take long for things to go downhill. 

Just as we parked and were heading onto the metro to take to the National Mall we received a frantic phone call.  Mason had escaped and was galloping through the neighborhood heading for the main road.  There was a search in progress, as a growing party of concerned neighbors was combing the yards and streets.  Feeling helpless, we discussed heading back before realizing that it wouldn't do much good.

The next call eased our worries somewhat; Mason was lying in the street but not letting anyone near him.  As we are sitting in a crowded subway car, Anne starts to whistle into the phone.  And then, in her sweet Mom voice:

Come here Mason, Mason!  Come here boy! Come on Masey....come here!

At this point people were starting to stare as my wife tried to coax our dog into a house that’s four hours away via speakerphone.  I slid down in my seat and stared out of the window, distancing myself from this crazy woman sitting beside me.

Our third phone call brought better news, Mason had been captured, but the damage was done.  Our sitter, who has two young children and a dog of her own, informed us that she would never again watch our little monster. 

He would spend the rest of the day on a leash inside of the house. Our friend (hopefully still) had spent two hours looking for him while she was suposed to be at a birthday party.  Mason, the dog that only a parent could love, had just lost his first sitter.  We can only hope that our child will fare better.

Mason and the couch

VS.    

My wife recently informed me that she refused to be pregnant on our old couch.  I joked that she could be pregnant in the kitchen and almost got my head taken off in the process.  So of course we bought a new couch.  Our thinking was that she would be home this summer and supervise our highly energetic and at times destructive puppy, Mason.  After two setbacks, the couch that we purchased in early June, will—barring yet another setback---arrive tomorrow.

To say our old couch needs to be replaced is an understatement, we are almost too embarrassed to put it out on the curb.  Let's see, there's the exposed foam, multiple rips, tears, and worn spots that may have been on the cushions since the late eighties.  A tattered couch cover does little to hide hideous object that we use to sit on.

With two dogs it can be difficult to keep anything clean.  But I have many great memories that go along with that old couch.  What can I say?  I'm a sentimental guy.....I’ve spent many a Saturday watching football on that sucker.

So as we start the second trimester with a new couch we begin the waiting game.  How long until Mason chews it up?   I think (pray) Mason's past that stage but I’ll definitely be holding my breath for a while.