Ah, the Pageantry!

Well, I was hoping to post another photo of a completely shaved Primary Dog, but it turns out he really does hate having his legs messed with. I must have sat on the floor for an hour, letting him eat treats near the electric trimmer, then on the trimmer when it was off, then on the trimmer when it was on, etc., but he's still afraid/annoyed when I put the trimmer near his legs. I wonder if the groomer accidentally nicked him in the past. Oh, and the sweet doggie really hates having his collar pulled. That much I already knew, but I'm forgetful sometimes. No bites, but he did remind me with a slight growl. Wouldn't it be great if a dog could tell people about his past? "I'm terribly sorry, but some meanie used to yank me around by my collar when I was a pup. I've never really gotten over it, but don't take it personally." I would love that. Also, hmm. Maybe I should make more friends.

So in lieu of a dog picture, which probably interests me more than it interests you (if it does at all), here are some other swell images.

From the lovely rose garden at Balboa Park.

A beautiful princess, probably having her photo taken for her Quinceañera.

The kiddo, scoring a run.

And It Took Me Only Two Hours (Cough)

Here's the primary dog, mid-shave. He requested a modesty patch, so I gave him one, even though his privates are pretty teeny. Don't tell him that, though; he's sensitive.

I shaved almost all of his main body down to fuzz, but I had to quit because he's a bit snippy about having this leg fur trimmed. He may wind up with some groovy go-go boots. Either that, or I'm going to muzzle him and just get it over with. I wonder how the groomer does it.

Most likely the primary dog will get to keep his (trimmed) head and tail fur. No sense in depriving him of all his cuteness. Let's face it: The guy's looking like one of those scary hairless cats and enough is enough.

The auxiliary dog has escaped the trimmer, although she probably wishes she were getting a haircut. The girl will do anything for attention. That ho.

As Promised

So here they are: Auxiliary Dog and Primary Dog. Don't they look happy? No, those aren't their real names. They're afraid the media will start camping out on our doorstep if I reveal their true identities. I tried photographing them at their own level, but they were impossible to work with. Camera in front of them = scary. Camera over their heads = treat! Alrighty then.

Primary Dog (the white one on the right) is the one who's getting shaved. He's a maltipoo or something like that, and his fur is extremely fine and fluffy. This means MATS GALORE. Add nonstop growth and you're in for some fun. I already shaved his underside down to his soft, pink skin. The kiddo thought it was funny when I shaved the dog's p*nis, but that's what the groomer does, and with good reason. 'Nuff said about that! Auxiliary Dog's fur grows to just one length (seen here at maximum length), so she just needs washing and brushing once in a while. What she lacks in coat management difficulty she makes up for in whining, people-food sneaking and indoor puking. The girl's got skillz.

I must admit I'm having fun shaving Primary Dog. There's something very satisfying about watching the mats fall to the floor and seeing the pooch shake and prance around the room. Granted, it's nothing like the major mat cases on Animal Cops, but he does enjoy the attention and the subsequent lightness/freedom.

So now you know what I'll be doing this weekend. Well, besides watching my son play in the minors invitational game on Saturday morning and maybe getting my nails done for the first time in forever. (I wonder if the dogs would tolerate nail polish. Hmm.)

You want my glamorous life. I know it! :-)

I May Need to Put Sunblock on the Dog Soon

I got paid yesterday and hauled the kiddo to Wal-Mart for a few essentials. While there, I got the urge to treat myself. I bought a can of macadamia nuts and was reminded of the scene from *It Could Happen to You* in which Bridget Fonda learns that the cop wants to split his winning lottery ticket with her in lieu of a tip, as he had promised, so she goes shopping, comes home to her super-cute-yet-humble apartment, sighs happily and opens the jar of macadamia nuts she splurged on for the occasion.

I kinda got a kick out of that association. Then I came back to reality and bought an electric trimmer so I could shave my dog.

Photos forthcoming.

At Odds

The other night as I was taking the dogs out, someone approached the condo gate and waited. He had a small, familiar dog with him; it was the Yorkshire Terrier that belongs to the girl next door. I let the guy in and he thanked me. I said nothing. The Boyfriend had returned.

He'd been tossed out after disturbing the other residents, scaring his girlfriend, and generally proving he needed anger management classes. Now apparently he's back in my neighbor's life. I'm on pins and needles, wondering how long it'll take him to revert to his aggressive behavior.

There's forgiveness, and there's being a sucker.

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I've been missing my boy while he's been in Missouri with his dad. They're back tonight, and I'll be meeting the kiddo at school tomorrow morning. I can't wait to give him a good squeeze. My ex scheduled his vacation on my time, and although we'd agreed two months before the trip that we would swap time, the week before the trip, he'd unceremoniously broken the agreement, insisting that the language in the Court Order meant he didn't owe me any time in return for taking my time. I argued about it at first, then told him if that's how he wanted to interpret the Court Order, I'd remember that when planning my vacation next year. I'm sure he doesn't think I'll schedule a trip, much less on his time. I've surprised him before.

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A co-worker moped into the office today and told me she needed a hug. When I hugged her, she felt like a skinny kid. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was sad that her oldest child had graduated from college and was headed for law school. Was she sad that he was all grown up? Well, partly that, and partly because she didn't want him to be a lawyer. She sees being a lawyer as incompatible with her kiddo's Christian upbringing. I assured her that there are a lot of good, ethical lawyers (my family law attorney is one, occasionally to my disappointment - oh, I kid!), and she wasn't convinced. Look, I told her, what about immigration attorneys? Estate planners? Things like that? Maybe, she admitted.

After a few more hugs, she told me her youngest son, a teenager, had hit a home run that weekend. "Great!" And broken the rear window of a car. "Oh..." A Lexus. "Eek." And a bunch of other parents had run out to the lot and taken pictures. "Hoo-boy..." The hole left by the ball looked like a cartoon, all jagged and centered. (Okay, I thought that was kind of funny.) She said she asked the league rep. about her liability for the damage, and the rep. said she wasn't liable because cars park at their own risk in the lot next to the ballfield. Indeed the parking lot next to the ballfield where my son sometimes plays has big signs stating exactly this. Still, she went out to the lot to talk to the car owner, and he had already gone. The whole thing is eating at her and she feels responsible, despite having been told by the league rep. that she's not. She's an admirably ethical and yet overly accommodating person by nature, and she's not sure what to do at this point.

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At work/church we have a Spanish-speaking co-custodian. She's learning some English and I'm reaching for my high school Spanish; we manage to meet in the middle. This morning she gestured and explained: "En el cuarto del hombres, la agua...dañado."

Dañado, dañado...I didn't know that one. "You come," she said, so I followed her to the men's room. (I did at least know that much of what she had told me.) Once there, she showed me a urinal that was flushing continuously. "Ah! Dañado! Okay!"

I love lightbulb moments. Damaged. The urinal was damaged.

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It has occurred to me lately that we're all dañado in one way or another. Some of us cope with it and move on; some of us continue making the same mistakes over and over. There's forgiveness, and there's being a sucker.

I'm walking the line between the two.

Good Fences Probably Do Make Good Neighbors

Today my grumpy Russian neighbor was driving down the condo driveway as I was rushing to the Dumpster in my pajamas, with a large, newspaper-wrapped handful of dog poop that I'd just picked up outside. We never talk, she and I. Well, I take that back. One time when I was headed out for a walk with the dogs and the kiddo, I noticed her hose lying in the driveway as water streamed down to the street. I left it alone, figuring she'd just finished washing her car (against association rules, but whatever) and would shut it off shortly. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, we returned from our walk and the hose was still there, still running. I turned off the water and Mrs. Grump came storming out of her garage, berating me for turning off the water because she was still using it. Um, what? I told her I'd thought someone had forgotten about it because the water was just running down the driveway, and then I left her alone. That was my most significant interaction with her before today.

So she's driving by and I'm in a hurry to toss the poop before it somehow falls out of the newspaper and I have to recollect it, and she rolls down her window to lay into me about the dogs peeing in the plants on condo property. Um, what? There are four other pet owners in the complex besides me. I'd just taken the kiddo to school after a bumpy morning and I had about thirty minutes to shower and get to work, so I shouted, "I'm trying not to [let the dogs pee in the plants]!" even though I and everyone else couldn't care less about it. Then I just walked away while she was still talking. Straw, meet camel's back.

Of course, in the shower I imagined myself handling the situation a little differently, telling her she had a lot of nerve being critical of anyone's behavior, considering she never attends association meetings, put a nonregulation satellite dish on her balcony, refused to have the association's handyman make outside repairs to her unit (insisting on some other guy instead), and tortured her direct neighbor for years with loud fights with her husband (all of which could be heard through the shared wall). Sort Clint-Eastwood-slash-condo-association-president, minus the guns.

There's nothing like waiting until you're alone to say everything you wish you'd said to someone's face. Ah, yes.

In other news, while out with the kiddo this afternoon, I drove through a swarm of bees. The first time I did that, I was on a surface street and it was just A Little Weird, but today we were on the freeway and the bees thwopped rapidly against the windshield, which qualified as Downright Creepy. I almost swerved to avoid them, but realized in a microsecond how futile that would be. The kiddo, who is deathly afraid of bees, was engrossed in playing blackjack on my cell phone (we'll be taking up drinking after he gets the hang of gambling -- don't worry) and didn't even notice. I, however, was a little on edge afterward and jumped each time I heard anything that sounded the least bit buzzy. I've seen one too many specials on killer bees. Plus, I had a bee once in my car and I don't recommend it.

So that's the news from Lake WTF, where the women are apiphobic, the men are oddly distant, and the children are cute as a button and addicted to electronics.

Marketing Geniuses

Just when I think I have my son's favorite toys all figured out...

Something else catches his fancy...




...and we spend yet more time at the store to amass a collection of plastic.