I Used to Like Dogs...

This past weekend Guy and I went to Santa Fe for a friend's wedding. The day before we left we had Tivo installed. I mention this only because this is a story about two dogs.

We have two dogs: Texas, a dachshund I found 10 years ago wandering a state highway in Waco, Texas, and Trout, a kelpie we adopted from the SPCA three years ago. Texas is a world of dog maladies - epilepsy, discoid lupus (cauing some nasty-ass nails and weird skin funk), a bad back (needing surgery once), and a broken hip I never knew about. Yet he's so easy, relatively speaking. Trout, on the other hand, has been stressful from day one: she barks at any little thing, even if we are home and tell her it's OK; she can't tell the difference between and intruder and a guest, resulting in excessive barking with every person who comes into the house (fun party dog!); she has seperation anxiety; she developed some weird bladder thing where she was peeing daily in the kitchen; she started protest SHITTING in the kitchen; and, oh yeah, she has epilepsy too.

Since Berch was born, life with Trout has become very stressful. Before the baby, I was Trout's biggest champion. Guy would freak out on finding piss in the kitchen, or Trout barking non-stop at someone walking by, and I would be the voice of reason, calming him down, suggestion ways we could learn to live with this lemon of a dog. But then the baby came and Trout lost her ally. Maybe it was because she figured out when I was breast feeding or trying to put the baby to sleep, and thereby essentially unable to run across the house and yell at her over and over again to STOP BARKING. So just as Berch was drifting off to slumberland while feeding, Trout would start maniacally barking at some phantom squirrel she throught she saw outside, leaving me to make a lose-lose decision: let her bark and wake the baby, or yell at her to shut the fuck up, and wake the baby. She also loves to walk right next to me, and often right UNDER me as I try to walk down our somewhat unsafe back stairs. And she doesn't listen to me, only Guy.

On Wednesday, when the Tivo guy came, at first I thought I could leave her in the house and she'd get over the initial spate of non-stop barking. But no, she kept barking and barking, and finally I had to lock her in a room in the basement while the installer worked. As I sat upstairs I could here her alternately barking, scratching at the door, and THROWING herself at the door. This was doubly stressful because it reminded me of a recent night when friends brought their dog over and we also had to lock Trout up because she never managed to chill out with the other dog. Ultimately, our friends left early because it was a drag listening to Trout balefully bark every 3 seconds from the basement room. And as I sat there Wednesday afternoon, listening to her bark/scratch/lunge, I replayed the past few months and years of this dog completely circumscribing our lives. The friends who will no longer watch her because she will piss and shit in your house because she's stressed or pissed of we're not there. The fact that I can't even walk her anymore because she freaks out when you pass another dog and I can't control her lunging and barking while preventing Berch from getting toppled in the ensuing melee. The fact that we can't even camp with her because she barks at all the other people in nearby campgrounds. Oh, and we can't drive with her anymore either, because she doesn't realize that if she jumps from the way-back to the back seat she will step all over Berch and hurt him. So any drive with her means that I am yelling, top volume, "GET IN THE BACK! NO!! GET IN THE BACK! THE BACK!!" he entire ride. And I started to think about how, for now, Berch doesn't understand that we are "yelling" - he actually smiles when Guy or I are are yelling at Trout - but soon we are going to start making him cry and causing psychological harm because we're always yelling at Trout around him.

Then on Thursday, I went to drop her off at the expensive kennel we are reduced to using because she sucks so mightily, and had an incredibly stressful ride to Lafayette, constantly watching the rear view mirror to make sure she didn't hurt Berch by climbing over the seat, constantly screaming at her, visions of the truck flipping over because I was busy trying to keep her in the wayback instead of driving. After arriving I discovered that she was missing vaccinations and they wouldn't take her. After what amounted to a travelling nervous breakdown or me as I drove all over Oaklnad getting her shots, calling other kennels and dogwalkers, crying to Guy and Judy (who said, "I'd love to help you, but we can't have Trout stay with us ever again.") we decided that she needs to go.

It's a weird thing, as a lifelong dog lover, to realize that I have in some way failed this dog. Or maybe the dog has finally beaten me. Even when we were running her day and night, she was a hard dog to deal with. She was tolerable before, but her pissing and shitting in the house kind of threw us both over the edge. Now, we can't have people over because she won't stop barking at them. And I find myself screaming at her all day for either barking or not laying down when I ask her to, or for rushing past and under me, nearly tripping me, as I try to walk down the stairs carrying Berch, despite all the times I tell her to stay at the top until I tell her it's her turn to come down. It has become hard to lover her, and she is the #1 cause of stress and fights in our household these days.

In any case, there is my rant. Not much of a good story, I am afraid. But there it is.

Oh, My Aching Back

Wow. Guy and I entered a soccer tourney together yesterday and this morning I needed help getting Berch into the jumpy seat. Somehow, our mid 30s non-gym-jogging-type team managed to win 2 and tie one, leaving us to play the 4th playoff game. I think at that point we were all sort of "WTF??!!??" It was nice to get out for a whole day of activity and to see the old team again. My Monday night teammates are more old workmates of Guy's who don't even work with him anymore, but this tourney was members of the original VFFC (the Velvet Fog Futbol Club) from when I learned to play soccer a few years ago.

I contacted a friend about a possible full time position at a company near our house. I could conceivably ride a bike to work, which would be awesome, but I'd be working full time, which would mean both Guy and I would miss the best of the Bean. Yesterday the kid was broken from 5pm on, and I was once again reduced to putting a pacifier in his mouth to help him fall asleep because he was so overtired and beside himself. I'll need to start looking for some freelance first before I make a decision on that.

I think I am still tired. I fell asleep at 8 last night, in the chair reading the NYT. Guy tried to wake me to watch Six Feet Under and I said, "Garrrlugh" and got up to go to bed. I had an athletic cut tank top on, which I took off so I could remove my bra, and apparently I put it back on backwards (so that was what that choking feeling on my neck was). Guy mentioned it to me but at that point I was under the covers and falling back to sleep, so backwards it stayed. And this morning I was BEAT, trying to stay asleep as the Bean chirped and squealed next to me in bed and Guy was shaving his head in the bathroom. I heard Guy come in and say to Berch, "Hey, let's let mom try to sleep!" and I thought, awww, he's taking him into another room to let me sleep a little more. Instead, letting me sleep consisted of moving Berch out of the range where he could pull my hair over and over and over.... I decided to get up shortly after that.

What a Day

Actually, it wasn't such a bad day.

This morning Guy and I met with a potential nanny share, and I think Guy and I were both uncomfortable with the fact that the couple is obviously far wealthier than we are. House was gi-nourmous, in Rockridge (richy-rich) and filled with the kind of dark wood matching furniture that you know cost a fortune. We both got the impression that despite the woman's claims that she was flexible, etc, she really wasn't. She was kind of a tweaker - when we arrived she had just finished jogging and her daughter was asleep, and there was this sort of weird panic she emitted, as if our arrival had disrupted whatever her usual routine is when she finishes jogging and her daughter is still asleep. In any case, they're both lawyers and obviously worried that some day one of them may be in a position of promenence where having a nany paid under the table is a liability, because they are paying taxes on what they pay the nanny. Me? I seriousy doubt that anything I do in my future will be adversely affected by anything resembling Nannygate, so let's keep it as cheap as possible, folks!

Afterwards we went to breakfast. Well, yes, ultimately we ate breakfast. Berch needed a nap so we parked away from the breakfast spot with the hopes that he'd go down on the walk. Once we got to the place we were greeted by a sign I am sure I've seen a thousand times: No strollers allowed. Which led us to go to a crepe place where we both ordered Eggs New Orleans (poached over crabcakes and english muffins and spicy Hollandaise). Except that the english muffins were untoasted and the crabcakes were microwaved, not fried. I mean, does anyone eat untoasted english muffins? In any case, we learned both of our lessons: the crepe place sucks and having a baby in a stroller will severely limit our breakfast options moving forward.

And then, Guy and I spent a few hours painting the dining room. It's a gorgeous shade of pale orange, which may sound awful, perhaps, but looks great. The Bean once again acommodated us by napping 2 more times after we returned home and being an all-around good sport as he played with his gymini. I've started propping him up in a sitting position so he can start building up all those torso muscles, so when he work from the second nap I got him all set up in the living room then went back to painting. I looked back in and there he was, sprawled face down, not moving. I rushed over, fearing the worst, only to find him perfectly content where he fell over, staring at Texas. Bad Mommy.

And on that note, I'm out.

I need a shower

One thing I have discovered over the past four months is my greater tolerance for my own body odor. Without a job or even a specific thing I need to look decent for each day, I sometimes find I am on day 3 or 4 without a shower. And let me tell you something, folks, it's been HOT here lately. And I've been doing yard work and painting the dining room, so all of this combined means ... well, it's not good.

So today was another day of scattered attentions - I am determined to strip the hinges and doorknob plate of the front door back down to the brass, so every few days I slather on that nasty Jasco stuff and wire brush it, make sure I gather up all of the corrosive pieces scattered about, and then... move on to some other project. Today I bought the paint for the dining room, but managed only to prime the one wall I painted before Guy and I decided the color we chose was hideous. I called it salmon, but he very accurately called it, "Remember that Crayola Crayon called 'Flesh'? It's like that." In any case, after priming I moved on to folding the clothes that have once again remained cleaned but folded for three days now.

Hey, the Bean is up. I think a lot of entries will end this way.

The germination of a cult

So this is what I wrote 13 months ago:

So ends the first work week. To say the least, it was underwhelming and has only more firmly convinced me that I need to find a new job, and perhaps even a new career. We'll see. At the moment I want to try and learn to post pictures here.


That was the second and last post of a blog I started right after I was married. Since then, my entire life has been slapped upside the head and I am going to attempt to readjust. This evening, it's exceptionally hot for the Bay Area and to make matters worse, I am covered in the unsettling sweat of a person who drank too much last night. In any case, that post above? Kind of funny, as I was laid off 2 months ago, right in the middle of maternity leave. So, in fact, I AM trying to find a new job, albeit under vastly different circumstances, like, now when I calculate salary I should just deduct $20K from the total, because if I want to work I need to have Berch in childcare. Which costs. A lot.