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Washing the dog…

Tuesday, December 13th, 2011

Looks innocent, doesn't he?

I’m sure I’ve mentioned it a few times, but my pregnant nose is on overdrive. There are scents that I find very pleasant…like chocolate, fresh baked bread, flowers. There are other odors, that make me want to have a very violent physical reaction. In the last twenty-four hours…S making sausage and Bishop.

While the lingering odor of the Neese’s sausage would be gone from the home rather quickly after the sausage was consumed and the pan was washed, the lingering odor of Bishop…lingered. He smelled like dog. And Bishop has never really smelled like dog. That was one of those things that I really liked about him before he ate S’s birthday cupcakes. (Yeah, we can hold a grudge.)

So, last night, we started talking about bathing the dog. Our theory was that not only would he smell better after a bath, but it might end his interminable licking. Maybe he was just itchy.

We were, therefor, highly motivated about this bath. I didn’t imagine that it would be terribly challenging. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago that I had to keep a foot in front of the shower door so that Bishop didn’t barge in and join me. You may recall that he took great pleasure in licking the water off my butt. And S and I just weren’t comfortable with that. Thus ended Bishop’s shower days.

With that in mind, and because he still follows me everywhere, especially the bathroom, and since he’s known to hang out in the bathroom just waiting for me to get out, I figured…how hard could this be? That’s why I discussed it with S.

me: I think I’ll give Bishop a bath.

S: I think I should help. We’ll do it before I leave in the morning.

And so we devised a plan to clean Bishop before S left, but after Bishop had gone outside to take care of his morning needs. It was a good plan. It was a solid plan. And that’s why, instead, we bathed him at 11pm. Yeah, S is a night person. And I figured that it would be better with his help when he was ready, willing, and able.

Bishop followed me into the bedroom, but knew something was up since S had taken off his collar and his bandana. I think the poor guy was feeling naked. He was doing that kid thing, you know…where they hide in their parent’s bed. As if anything that big could hide.

We managed to trap him in the bedroom. No small feat.

S: One room to go.

And instead of Bishop walking in as I predicted he would, he had to be pushed into the room, paws outstretched, fighting it every step of the way. That’s my cooperative big baby. *sigh*

I was tired by then, but we had committed. And somehow, with our brand of teamwork, I ended up trapped in the corner of the shower with Bishop…fully clothed. I took off my shirt. S is probably not ready to see me in bright lights au natural. I’ve been very careful. Or maybe I’m just not ready for him to see me. Either way, the focus, for sure, was on Bishop.

We washed the dog. We dried the dog. And S cleaned up after the entire experience. (One of the many reasons I love this man…)

Immediately following the bath, we noticed his coat was…naturally, shinier. He smelled better. He had lost a lot of hair, so we imagined the itchy was over for him. And we waited. No licking.

We went to bed. At 3am…I awoke to S growling at the dog.

S: Bishop! Enough already. Stop the licking. Every time I fall asleep, you wake me with the licking!

me: We can send him out to the living room.

S: No, then he’ll just bark at nothing the rest of the night and keep us up.

So, the dog doesn’t smell, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Any advice for how to fix the incessant and highly annoying licking would be greatly appreciated.

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It’s a dog’s life…

Tuesday, August 2nd, 2011

Minutes ago Twix was hanging off the seal.

Know who has a good life? Yeah, that would be Bishop.

Not only does he get his food, he gets ours, too. He regularly gets eggs for breakfast and french fries and chicken. He lives very well.

He sleeps in a walk-in closet with a down comforter for his bed and a pillow. Yes, our dog has a pillow. He also has his own furniture in the living room. Yes, one formerly cream colored love seat is his.

Bishop has a fenced yard to run around in. And he has playmates galore. Lots of times Emma, the beagle, will sneak in the back yard and the two of them will run around like crazies together. Lately, Twix has taken to coming over and whining at the door until I let her in. She stays for hours on end, until I can’t take her torturing the cats anymore. They are too cute together. There’s something darling about the biggest dog in the neighborhood playing with the littlest one.

On top of all that, Bishop gets snuggled and played with and loved by the family like you can’t even imagine. He wakes me up in the mornings with kisses and by laying his head on my head. He has this way of sneaking into bed with us. There’s nothing like watching a 170lb dog sneak into bed. He’s really subtle.

Bishop and I have always been close, but since I’ve been home, it has gotten a tad extreme. He follows me everywhere. He stands outside the shower in the morning. He is nose to nose with me while I pee. And nothing puts a bigger crimp in my exercise routine than his presence.

I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Does he think I’m hurt and wants to help? Does he think I’m playing and wants to join in? All I know is that when I am on the floor doing these push up stretch things that are part of the kickboxing workout, he tries to get under me and lift me. It’s cute…and counterproductive, but mostly cute.

What can I say? I am madly in love with this dog. And that’s why we want to breed him. We need a mantle girl running around the house. We just want pick of the litter, no stud fee. So, you would think that people would be knocking down our door to breed with my big handsome boy. No luck so far. Ah, but if you know someone, contact me!

We would like our family to be complete. We’re working on that. It’s filling out nicely. I’m so very happy.

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And this is why I need more massages…

Saturday, July 9th, 2011

massage Rachel and I had massages scheduled for yesterday morning to cap off my birthday present from S. We decided to get all the really ugly work out of the way before hand. So, we were at the grocery store early. And we did the banking.

After the massage, I planned to relax and bask in my post-massage euphoria. It has been too long since my last massage. Three years. Yes, that long. In my past life, I was practically a regular at the spas. I had facials and body wraps and all kinds of treatments designed to keep me feeling pretty…and looking pretty. It takes a lot to maintain me. Apparently.

So, I was long overdue for my massage. My therapist was really understanding and determined to work out as much as he could. He had his work cut out for him. I’m a little tightly wound. Obviously.

I felt so much better, all rested and boneless. And with my careful planning, the most exhausting thing I had to accomplish for the remainder of the day was picking new sheets at Target. I was hoping this wouldn’t become an experience akin to shopping for boxers a couple of years ago. Mostly, I felt confident that I could maintain the benefits of the massage for at least a few hours.

Right.

Well, then Rachel ended up getting called in to work so we had to rush home. There’s nothing relaxing about rushing. And then I had to take a new route to pick up checks for S. I may have mentioned once or twice that I get lost rather easily? Yeah. I did…a little. And S’s phone wasn’t working. I was on my own. There’s nothing relaxing about being lost and alone.

There was, however, something really relaxing about taking an hour long nap in the living room after I completed all my paperwork and before I had to pick up Rachel. S slept on the couch. I slept on the lounge chair. Bishop slept on the floor. It was rather nice.

Then we woke up and decided to hang out with Ed while I waited for Rachel’s phone call. In the relaxing department, that could go either way. The dogs play together, Bishop, Snickers, and little Twix. They can get into a lot of mischief. And there’s always the question of who may or may not join us in Ed’s driveway. As mayor of The Bubble, he gets plenty of visitors.

So, we had been there all of ten minutes when the guys decided to blow up some more of the fireworks we had left over from the Fourth. Snickers was locked in the house because he always tries to eat the fireworks and really creates a hazardous situation for all of us. Twix chose to hide in the house because the noise was a bit much for her delicate ears. And Bishop was left to play with us because S really wanted him to conquer his fear of fireworks.

About that.

Apparently he conquered this fear in spades. He was circling S as he tried to light the mortar. Between Bishop and the wind, lighting it was no small task. Just as the fuse caught and S started to clear the area, Bishop grabbed the tube in his mouth. S startled him with yelling so he dropped it.

It was pointed right at us. And a garage full of flammables.

Keenan, Ed, and I ran for cover behind the trailer. S tried to right the tube. He couldn’t get it to stand. Quite honestly, I thought he might lose some fingers on this. Those fuses burn fast. The tube toppled again. This time, it was aimed just behind the bench.

The mortar exploded in the bushes. Sparkles showered down on the pond. And I watched and waited to see if anything was going to catch fire.

So much for my post massage relaxation plan. And Bishop’s days of hanging out for fireworks are officially over. Silly, puppy. Sillier S. Momma’s gonna need some more massages.

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Happiness is having someone to play with…

Wednesday, June 8th, 2011

If you’re Bishop. For me, happiness is watching Bishop and Twix play.

Yes, there’s a new girl on the block. She’s young and fun. No, I’m not jealous. She’s a dog. A mutt. A teeny tiny puppy. A real ankle biter. Bishop’s ankles. She gallops after him and chases him and pretty much just keeps us all entertained.

I love it. I even love her.

Twix is easy to love. She’s cute and has tiny razor teeth and puppy breath and puppy balance…which means no balance at all…and exuberance. Lots of exuberance. She reeks of exuberance.

And I have just loved watching her interact with Bishop. Yup. The smallest dog in The Bubble loves playing with the biggest dog in The Bubble. The pack is pretty cute together.

I would love to have some pictures to go along with this, but they are mostly fuzzy. Exuberance means not standing around posing for a picture. So, hopefully there will be pictures to follow. Hopefully, you’ll get to see young Twix soon.

In the meantime…find something that you can be exuberant about. It looks like a lot of fun.

Posted in Bishop tales, Happiness is... | 3 Comments »

Happiness is Bishop and his bear…

Thursday, March 31st, 2011

I was home sick yesterday. That meant I was pretty much on the couch. I hurt all over. I couldn’t stomach food. There was some fever and chills. It was the debilitating pain, however, that bothered me the most.

Mostly, I struggled to find the bright spot. It wasn’t going to be the daytime television. It wasn’t going to be the day home from work. I really needed to be there. It’s almost month ending. Dammit. And just when I was getting caught up.

Instead, my happiness came in the most unexpected of places. It was Bishop.

See, after the kids packed, they left a lot of junk. Some of it was for sale. Some of it was for Goodwill. And some of it…Bishop adopted.

Bishop loves his stuffed animals. He has always had his plush cows. We’ve bought five or six since we brought him home. And he went through a stage where he would snatch any unattended stuffed animal that was lying around the house…ours…the neighbors. That was, after all, how he came to own the pale blue and pink My Little Pony.

I came home from work on Monday and to find that Bishop had discovered the stuffed bear that Keenan had outgrown and left for me to deal with. Bishop loves his kids…almost as much as he loves his toys. The minute he saw me, he put himself in time out. He had decided he was in trouble.

We hadn’t.

We spent much time that night convincing him that it was okay for him to play with the bear. We even taught him the word ‘bear.’ As in…Bishop, go get your bear! They were so cute together.

When it was time for bed, Bishop picked up his bear and brought it to bed. In the morning, he was using the bear as a pillow. It was too precious.

Then came Wednesday. I was just trying to lay quietly. Ibuprofen wasn’t touching the pain, but the fever was good. And despite it all, Bishop made me smile.

He would toss his bear in the air and catch it. He would hug the bear and hold the bear and lick the bear. I’m so glad Keenan left that bear behind. I’m so glad someone is loving on it. I’m so lucky to have such a gentle giant in my life, and such a generous son. Who wouldn’t be happy?

Posted in Bishop tales, Happiness is... | 2 Comments »

Our little celebri-dog…

Tuesday, December 14th, 2010

It’s never dull with Bishop. Never. And preparing for the holidays hasn’t changed him. Apparently he is not at all familiar with Santa and his Naughty List. And much of the time I’m sure that’s where our boy is going to end up.

See, in the past month, since the trees have been up, we’ve played a nearly daily new game. I like to call it ‘identify the ornament.’ Yes, I come home frequently to rubble under the tree or scattered about the living room. And that’s when the game begins. So far he has destroyed my favorite Santa ornament. That poor Santa is now clean-shaven and has a crushed face. Then he went after Mrs. Santa. Her hair is completely askew, she’s covered in drool, and she’s missing a hair ribbon.

Those were just the ones we still managed to keep. There are countless others that were maimed beyond recognition and rendered completely useless. Some of them had deep sentimental value, like the one I bought in memory of Emily, the wooden ‘We Believe in Angels.’ Bishop had a lot of kennel time after that little escapade.

So, when I heard that we could bring him to the mall to get his picture taken with Santa, two thoughts went through my head. The first, of course, was that it would be so cool to show off Bishop. And the second was…was the Carolina Place Mall ready for Bishop? Naturally, I left the final decision in the hands of his father…who never made it past the first thought.

I made it home later than normal from work. Stinkin’ holiday traffic. And we rushed to get ready. I had no idea how long the lines might be. All I knew was that we were taking our ginormous dog to the mall. He could create havoc in our home with his tail and drool and size. I can’t hold him on the leash. If he really wants to go somewhere, he tows me.

Well, we arrived. Instantly, Bishop was on sensory overload. We made our way to Santa. It took longer than normal, despite the pace Bishop set. We had to keep stopping every few feet because someone wanted to take his picture or pet him or ask if he was a Dalmatian. As if! Then there was the line. He did well. I knew he would. Bishop is always fine as long as he has us nearby. Yes, Mommy and Daddy are of great comfort, when we aren’t of great punishment.

He is spectacular, our gentle giant. And so were our pictures. In fact, Santa has decided to use them on his website. Yes, Santa has gone way high tech. Feel free to friend him on Facebook. And take a look at the amazing work he does in the off season, when he’s not with the elves doing massive toy production, I’m sure.

As for Bishop, we walked him through the mall, at S’s urging. He loves to bend the rules. And in his mind, Bishop was allowed, he had business there, he had taken pictures with Santa. All I hoped to do was buy an ornament frame to stick one of the lovely new pictures in and fill a void on our tree, a Bishop created void. As for security, they believed we were done with our business and we needed to vacate the premises with our puppy-cow.

So, no ornament for me. Brisk walk through the mall for S. And the mall was once again secure at our departure.

Should you wish to hire our gorgeous photogenic puppy, contact me. It’s about time he starts to earn his keep.

And while you’re playing around on Facebook, I’m working on the Suddenly Single Journey fan page. Give me some love!

Posted in Bishop tales | 6 Comments »

He’s a sick sick boy…

Sunday, July 4th, 2010

emergency vet It began yesterday evening. We had been in and out so much between HIM working on the roof and me running errands to keep them in gloves and hydrated and fed. When we finally sat down to eat at 8pm last night, we realized that Bishop was not his normal self.

See, healthy Bishop sits on his love seat staring us down, willing us to share our meal, mouth dripping in anticipation. Healthy Bishop eyes every crumb thoughtfully, paying perfect attention to where it falls on the ground so that the moment we are done, he can snatch it up in his massive, cavernous mouth. Healthy Bishop wears a worried look while we eat, concerned that this time we really might not share with him.

Last night, when we sat down to eat tacos, he didn’t even raise his head. He was nestled into his love seat and he refused to budge. I finally lured him to his food bowl with promises of some quesadilla and left over bacon. And when I looked at his food bowl, I knew we had a problem.

me: Did you fill his bowl?

HIM: No, why?

me: He hasn’t eaten all day.

It’s one of those things that I take for granted. Bishop had shared some of our bacon at breakfast. And normally once he’s had his taste of people food, he eats his food. I fill his bowl about four times a day. Only, as I thought about it, I didn’t remember refilling his bowl even once. Ut oh. And the water was full, too.

Bishop ate some bacon then laid down on the carpet. I brought his water over to him and he drank the entire bowl. That was somewhat reassuring, but still he couldn’t be convinced to eat his kibble.

HIM: I think we need to take him to the vet.

me: I know.

And there’s always talk of money woes. We had discussed it the night before when we realized we really weren’t going to be able to get married in October unless we had a miracle. It’s not that I don’t believe in miracles, it’s simply that I doubt marriage money is high on the list of miracle priorities. I’m thinking we should be working on things like world peace, and saving the planet, and global warming, and even famine before marriage money even makes the list.

Since Richard was staying with us, HE couldn’t come. I know, but he really needed to protect the fort. Trust me on this.

We loaded Bishop. I wondered over how I would unload and reload Bishop, but I figured that these things work themselves out. And I headed off. Only…it was dark and I forgot to write down the address. That prompted my first call home. Soon, HE told me where I was going. And I remembered from an emergency visit with my ex-poodle that I was heading to the outskirts of uptown Charlotte. Oh, and not the pretty parts, the parts that mean the animal hospital is locked and people have to be buzzed in after hours. Yay.

Well, Bishop perked up when we first walked in. Yeah, he walked for me. And even sick, he makes a very imposing figure. They weighed him. He’s lost weight. He weighed 138 at his vet a month and a half ago. Last night he only weighed 135. And this is when he should be packing on the pounds, filling out.

He was running a high fever. And the vet seemed overly concerned about his stiff gait. She gave me one scenario after another as we tried to puzzle through what was wrong with him. The best she could come up with was any number of tick borne infections. Only after the first round of blood work, that I waited FOREVER for, she had a different thought entirely.

I was sitting on the floor with Bishop’s head in my lap. He had paced for nearly an hour, trying to get comfortable. He didn’t want to lay down because it was such a struggle to get up. I could tell. So, he was leaning his head on me and then he’d pace. He’d snuggle, lean, and pace. Finally, he was worn out and I convinced him that it was okay to lay down. I was rubbing his head and ears, his eyes closed, looking almost serene when the vet returned.

vet: I think he has Addison’s and may be in crisis.

This one statement could have lead to a flurry of questions, but all I asked was…

me: Do you have any literature? Is it fatal?

And then after uttering those words, tears erupted. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t turn into some overwrought pet parent, I simply had a moment where I worried over the outcome and my eyes leaked a little. I’m good in a crunch. I don’t fall apart. I keep it together for everyone.

Well more tests were run. And I called HIM practically every fifteen minutes with an update. HE wanted to talk to Bishop, so I held the phone.

HIM: You’re going to be okay, buddy. The doctor’s going to make you all better and you’re going to come home.

Bishop seemed to be more at ease after that pronouncement.

The vet returned with more test results.

vet: It’s not Addison’s.

*exhale*

vet: He has some kind of infection. I’d like to keep him over night.

me: What will you do for him if he stays?

vet: We’ll give him fluids and monitor him.

me: Well, he’s drinking for me. And I know you look at him and see this giant dog, but he’s our baby. And I don’t think he’ll do well here, without us.

She looked skeptical.

me: I had a 30 week premie. I nursed him back to health. I’ve got this. Trust me.

And apparently she did. So, I comforted Bishop while they inserted a bag of fluid under his skin. And we went home. He was so motivated to go, it was 1am by then, that he even just about climbed into the vehicle on his own.

HE was waiting for us in the man cave when we arrived. HE walked right up to the vehicle to help me get Bishop inside. We tucked our baby in and soon went to bed.

This morning his fever is down. Ironically, he’s getting breakfast in bed. The first course was 5 pills wrapped individually in sliced ham. Then I brought him a bowl of water to cleanse his palate in between courses. ( I was out of sorbet.) His main course was cheesy scrambled eggs. It gave him the strength to go outside and go potty. Then I followed with some vegetable dog biscuits for dessert.

If Laura finds the recipe, I will be making peanut butter dog biscuits to try and perk up his appetite. The lengths I will go to for those I love…

Love you, pup-pup.

Posted in Bishop tales | 7 Comments »

I’m the victim of domesticated animal violence…

Tuesday, June 8th, 2010

It’s been a rough few days for the poor baby. Let me translate. It’s been a rough few days for us.

Somehow I can’t emphasize enough that this dog, this Dane, this monstrosity of a pet…who I love as much as possible and waaaaay more than I ever imagined…may be the death of me. I know I’ve told you about stumbling over him. And while that part is most decidedly over, since he’s so big, it’s more like having a big kid than a pet, there are other challenges that come with his size.

Like all dogs, he likes to follow us around. This means we face a constant bottle neck in the hall as he realizes suddenly that we are coming back out of a room and he’s forced to walk backwards. (He’s not a fan of backwards.) He’s constantly under foot, which is more like constantly under elbow. He can stick his head in the sink while I’m brushing my teeth or washing dishes, while his feet are firmly planted on the ground. And that often means that I’m shoving his face away from the counter while I’m cooking. (That dog can drool!) He loves sticks, only his sticks are more like tree limbs. (Those he finds in abundance after Ed unloads his truck after work.) Did I mention he has poor spatial reasoning skills? Yup, nothing like having your feet swept out from under you by a dog.

Well, over the last few days I’ve been injured in three separate incidents. There was the near shiner that I told you about. HE assured me that the swelling was barely noticeable. And then HE couldn’t stop staring at it. Grrr.

Then there was the way Bishop hooked my nostril with his tooth as he spastically tried to snuggle me Monday morning. I’m probably going to eventually need a plastic surgeon. Know any good ones?

There was also my head injury on Saturday night that I failed to mention earlier.

And it is worth mentioning. For some reason, we were playing in the house with Bishop…again. And HE was on his knees on the floor. Not me. I’m too smart to get injured the same way twice. Luckily there are so many new ways to get injured that I should be set for quite some time. In this situation, I was running to get the cow that HE had thrown. It landed near the back door. And I was determined to beat Bishop there. The very real possibility that he would have his slobbery mouth all over the cow I would then have to touch was a motivating factor for my rush.

I won. I beat Bishop to the cow. Only, as I bent over to pick it up, he rammed my butt. And I went head first into the door frame and crumbled to the floor. It hurt. And it must have sounded as bad as it looked, since I heard HIM calling to me.

HIM: Um, baby? Baby!

When I opened my eyes, he was standing over me wearing a concerned look. And when I sat up, he gave my head a thorough examination. Bishop looked baffled. There was a definite ‘wasn’t me’ look on his face. After I was kissed and Bishop was banished to his couch/time out chair for playing too rough with me, the game was called on account of injury.

We had a discussion about the dangers of a rearing a Dane after my cheekbone finished swelling.

HIM: I told you that you’d have to be careful with him as he got bigger.

me: ME!? Bishop needs to be careful with me!

HE laughed and walked over to the puppy, sitting in his self-imposed time out.

HIM: Bishop, did you play too rough with Mommy?

(As if my face wasn’t evidence enough.)

There’s a real danger that I may soon end up the poster child for domestic violence. After a while, people may doubt that it’s the dog and think instead that HE is abusing me. As if. I’m more like the poster child for being on the receiving end of domesticated animal violence. Still, I love that pup.

Oh, and don’t think I’m the only one who has suffered Bishop’s mouth. HE lost a wallet…in the sense that Bishop ate it. At least he had the good sense to remove the credit cards and license first. Good puppy?

Posted in Bishop tales | 12 Comments »

Poor puppy!

Tuesday, March 30th, 2010

We’re leaving Friday morning to go to the beach. Ahh, I know you think it’s all about fun and games, but it isn’t. See, we’ll be working on wedding stuff. Specifically, we’ll be seeing the place we want to get married and talking to the event planners there.

In the mean time, there’s a lot of preparation that’s taking place. And the biggest preparation must be made for our biggest challenge, our almost biggest family member…Bishop. Such is the plight of the dog owner.

When other people leave town for a few days, no big deal. When dog owners try to leave for a few days…huge deal. Who will take care of the puppy? And he’s just a baby.

Okay, he’s more like Baby Huey. Our baby weighed in last week at 115 pounds. And I realize I didn’t exactly mention the trip to the vet. I didn’t tell you how challenging it was to get him into the vehicle. I didn’t tell you it took two of us…me and Rachel. HE was still working and met me there. (Thank goodness, otherwise I’d still be wandering around that parking lot, wondering how to load the pup.) I didn’t mention that he took up the entire back seat. Most of all, I didn’t tell you how he launched himself out of the vehicle and over my head when we returned home. Yup. Scared the life out of me.

So, we’re having trouble finding someone to care for Bishop. Laura is out of town and Ed is working a lot of hours over the weekend. And it seems like just about everyone else is afraid of the responsibility. Who can blame them?

Our baby has developed a bit of a reputation. Where other big dogs are destructive, ripping apart upholstery, gnawing on wooden furniture, soiling the carpets, Bishop hasn’t. He has two weaknesses: stuffed animals, since they so closely resemble his own toys; and food. That dog loves food. (He takes after his mommy…)

Sunday morning, I made a breakfast of cheesy scrambled eggs and maple sausage for Lonnie and Lindsay. We ate some and then they had to leave. HE was just limping out of the bedroom. So, we walked them out and like the complete trusting idiots we are, left Bishop alone in the kitchen.

He’s wiley. I’ll give him that. I heard a noise and went to investigate. Bishop bolted from the kitchen to his food bowl and tried to act non-chalant. We started to walk back into the house when we heard a louder crash. Ah. That was the sound of the pan of eggs falling from the stove to the tile floor. Excellent.

He was disciplined and kenneled. And I’d love to tell you that it works. Instead, when it comes to food, he seems to want to risk the consequences. He may always be like this. Knowing that it could be far worse, I’m hoping that consistency will eventually pay off.

And if it doesn’t…he’s hard not to love. His devotion is touching. His snuggling is moving. Really. I’m usually squished. And I can’t remember life before him. We wouldn’t have it any other way. In some ways, he’s a symbol of our relationship, another challenge that we face head on. In our world, don’t give us some wimpy…the bigger, the better.

Quick Karma:

develop compassion for all living beings

Posted in Bishop tales | 6 Comments »

That’s my boy!

Saturday, March 20th, 2010

The thing about Bishop is that he is sooo big that it’s easy to forget that he’s a baby still. He is constantly going through growth spurts. And every time we measure him, we’re pleasantly surprised with the results.

I wrote a post a while back about how I’m completely in love with him. That was when he was still somewhat small. And I’d dare say the love has grown much like he has.

While he has his moments that he’s a complete pain in the butt…like the night he ate all the cookies I had baked for New Year’s Eve, or the night he broke into Ed and Laura’s and ate everything in sight before puking all over our bedroom, or the way he treats all stuffed animals like they are toys for his disposal. (And yes, I mean disposal.) At the same time, he does things that are so stinking cute I wish I could still gather him in my arms. (I think he misses that, too.)

Ever since I moved back in, we have been developing a new routine. He likes to get up with me at o’dark thirty. He comes out and plays while I try to keep him calm and write. Then I go for a walk. There’s something comforting about seeing his big face staring at me as I walk back up the sidewalk.

Then it’s on to the shower. Bishop loves that time the best. He watches me pick out my clothes and lay them on the vanity. This was a habit that started when I grew tired of him eating them if I left them in a neat pile on the floor. Now, as tall as he is, it wouldn’t much matter where I put them, they still wouldn’t be out of his reach.

Apparently Bishop has been paying attention to my routine. As soon as I lay my clothes on the vanity, he finds a toy and puts it on the vanity next to my clothes. Then comes the really fun part. I brush my teeth while he tries to drink out of the sink. And then, I turn on the shower.

One of the things I love love love about our bathroom is the huge walk in shower, complete with a built in tiled seat. It’s perfect for shaving legs, and holding excess toiletries, and…um yeah. I love that shower. The only downside is the door swings both ways, literally. And it makes it very easy for say…a large dog…to get in.

For the past few days, he has suddenly joined me in the shower. I’ll be rinsing my hair when I’ll hear a thunk and feel his furry body wrap around my legs. Bishop loves to drink water. He licks it off the tile floor. He licks it off the tile bench. And though I have no scientific proof, the enthusiasm with which he continually attempts to lick water off my posterior would suggest that it tastes best from there.

The towel drying is one of his favorite parts of the ritual. And I like it, too, until we get to the part where he’s all impatient and decides to shake off the excess water. That usually has mixed results…given that it happens right next to the bed where HE is sleeping. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be woken up that way, either. Still, HE takes is well. Good thing Bishop is cute.

We’re still working on the training. And even though Laura has her new door, it hasn’t stopped the occasional break in. Take the other night, for example. I was standing in the driveway talking to Ed and Brian. HE was in our driveway cleaning out his truck from work. Suddenly Laura rushed out of the house.

Laura: You have a huge problem.

me: Who?

And the three of us were looking at each other.

Laura: You! Bishop just drank all of Bailey’s chocolate milk.

I groaned. Great milk and chocolate.

Laura: And it had Bailey’s medicine in it…a stool softener.

me: Oh my Lord!

And I turned around and yelled across the road.

me: Um, baby!

HIM: I heard.

He came over and we looked at Bishop. He seemed okay. And then we heard it.

me: You feeling a little rumbly in your tumbly, Bish?

Bishop looked at me for a moment…then puked. And HE and I laughed. Ed ran and retched in another section of the yard. (He has a very weak stomach.) And Brian, who is a nurse and sees plenty of this stuff simply walked away. So, I went and picked up dinner. HE hosed down their driveway. And as I drove, I marveled over the fact that it was the first mess I hadn’t had to clean up in weeks. WEEKS!

It’s a good life. I’ve never been happier. Now, if I could just master that manufacturing time conundrum, my life could be perfect. It’s so close right now that I wouldn’t want to change anything.

Quick Karma: