Eastery Things

Now with all of the “extra energy” (from all of the awful running) I have, I decided to make some Easter goodies (that I can’t eat because of all of the awful calorie counting). 

Poppy was napping.  What a life.

As soon as she heard the mixer she came over to sniff around for some butter.

She gave me her “please feed me because I am so cute” pose.  That dog barfs like every day, so I did not feed her any butter.  Poppy decided that the baking was boring, and not lucrative in a food kind of way, and that it was exhausting to sniff around and beg and whine like that.  So she went back to the couch for a little naptime.

I’m not even kidding about that dog, either.  Naptime is all the time. 

Anyway, I made up the dough and put it in the fridge for later, then started on the peeps. 

Henry and Ella helped me dip the peeps in chocolate and put on the sprinkles.  Those peeps…they just sat there staring at me. 

They had to dry, so I started on the cookies.  Oh cookies.  How I love thee.

I rolled out a bunch of the dough, and began with the cutting. 

Cutting and cutting and cutting.

And then piping and piping and piping.

They did not quite turn out the way I had planned.  In my head, they were way better.  I’m pretty sure I always set myself up for failure that way.  

 

Meanwhile, Poppy continued to nap. 

Poor, poor Poppy.  She has it so rough.

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Eastery Things

How we found out Poppy eats stuff.

So it was Christmas Eve morning.  Poppy woke up, stood up and barfed.  And there were all sorts of unmentionables in that there barf.  So I figured she would be feeling much better after that barf.  It’s hard to digest trash, after all. 

After some time and some negotiation, she ate her breakfast.

Then I took her for a nice long walk, and when she did her business, I noticed that there were all sorts of things in her doody.  I could specifically make out at least three small legos.  I briefly considered recovering the legos because honestly, I can’t stand the thought of having an incomplete set, but I decided that was just plain gross. 

Then Poppy barfed up all her breakfast.  And she did not look good, at all.

Do you know what you have to do when your dog is very sick on Christmas Eve?  That’s right.  You have to go to the Emergency Vet place (the super-fancy-all-sorts-of technology vet place that is really, really expensive, but really your only choice).  I have been there only once, with my old buddy Coco.  He never came home.

They ran tests with their fancy stuff.  

She was not in good shape was the diagnosis. 

I told them all of the stuff that had come out of either end of her.  It was kind of funny going down the list, but not really, I guess. 

I went home, and waited for them to call me with some news.

As it turns out, she had a severe infection.  She was a very sick little dog.  She suffers from “dietary indiscretion.”  (As do I, only I limit my indiscretions to the edible types).

She came home late on Christmas night.  And she seemed just like her old self.  She unfortunately learned absolutely nothing from the event.  Today I found her with a dime-sized plastic googly eye, and a small clam shell, the size of a quarter. 

Right now, she’s sitting over there, on the back of the couch like a cat, staring out the window at the falling snow.  She looks for squirrels, and deer, and any kids that could be running around our back yard.  And if she finds any she barks like crazy.

It’s hard to imagine this house without her now.

How we found out Poppy eats stuff.

A Poppy Post

Yesterday was the second straight day of rain.  I think it was starting to get to me.  Poppy needed to go out, again, in spite of the fact that I had already taken her out, like, a million times.  She just wanted to go out and sniff around, and some days that is fine, but since we don’t have a fence, and I have to walk her, and it was pouring rain and chilly, I wasn’t in the mood.  But I was less in the mood to clean up pee and/or poop, so I took her out.  Again.  I figured I would get the mail while I was out there.  So I grabbed an umbrella, and the leash, and an empty bag for her little terds, and out we went. 

As I expected, she just ran around sniffing.  I know she is looking for the deer terd pellets in the yard.  She has memorized their location and heads straight for them upon entering the yard.  But since I was savvy to that and wouldn’t let her over there, she just decided to see if she could find the bunny that surely lives in the shrubbery.  After a few minutes of this, I told her she had better get to business or we were going inside.  She continued to jerk me around.  She finally pooped, and I cleaned up her mess, and decided to head over to the mail box with my terd bag and umbrella to get the mail so we could go inside.  But she decided otherwise.  She decided to bolt in the opposite direction, which nearly tore my arm off (okay, not really, but for a 17 pound dog, she is mighty strong).  I pulled her back, and tried again to pull the mail out of the box.  She attempted to rip my arm off again.  I pulled her back again.  I got the mail, and headed to the door. 

You have to picture me, now, people.  I am walking in the rain, with my umbrella, a massive amount of mail, and a bag of terds which is swinging back and forth like a pendulum, and I’m holding the leash of a dog that has decided to go all helter skelter on me.  She was running around all over the place, and jerked me again, which made the mail fly everywhere.  So I bend down to pick it up, and the umbrella, which was wedged between my chin and shoulder, has now fallen on the ground and I’m getting poured on and the pendulum terds are swinging back and forth in front of my face as I’m bent over.  So I gather up the mail, and the umbrella, and I swear to you–I kid you not–she does it again and the mail goes everywhere again.  At this point I had had it and I gave her a little taste of her own medicine and gave her a good jerk.   

She turned around and looked at me like what the heck lady?! 

And then I felt mean.

We went inside.

She shook off all her wetness in the living room of all places. 

Boy do I love this dog.  I looked at her and her whole little sausagey body was wiggling as she regarded me.  I think she was trying to figure out if I was going to kill her or not.  But I was looking for forgiveness for losing my temper.

I sat down on the floor. 

She slinked over to me, and climbed into my lap, and licked my chin.  She has the most beautiful shade of chocolate colored eyes.  She looked at me with those eyes, and those long, floppy beagle ears and she knew she was naughty. 

That’s the thing with dogs.  They just forgive you.  And you forgive them.  You wrap your arms around them and feel their tail wagging, thumping your ribs, and their entire body wiggling, all that frustration just kind of melts away.

We spent a lot of time curled up on the couch together after that.  I watched her sleep, and stretch, and wondered how I could ever get frustrated with that little creature.

Lately, I think a lot about Coco.  Since he left us more than 6 years ago, I have felt certain that I would never have the same bond with another dog.  But as the days pass with Poppy, I can tell you this:  if there is another dog that can worm her way into my soul, it is Poppy.  She is not the same, but she is good.  She is smart, and forgiving, and happy.  She is friendly, and funny, and loyal.

She is leaving her little footprints on me.  I can feel it.

A Poppy Post

Reminders

They are always there, and they creep up when you least expect it. 

Twelve years ago, we got a puppy.  A chocolate lab puppy.  A big, hairy, floppy eared, clumsy, slobbering fool of a puppy.  He was awesome.  We named him Coco.  I fell head over heels for that silly old dog. 

One day while I was at work, Coco took it upon himself to rearrange all of my cookbooks, and give them a fresh new look.  He tore most of the covers to shreds, and scattered them about the living room.  I came home to a carpet littered with quarter-sized shreds of cardboard.  And a dog that was mysteriously absent from the cookbook carnage. 

Mm-hmm.

Well, I LOVED my cookbooks and we couldn’t afford to replace them at the time, so I kept them.  The recipes weren’t damaged, just the covers.  There are recipes in the books that I go to every holiday, or special occasion, but other than that, I don’t open them much throughout the year anymore. 

It’s always kind of a surprise when I do pull them out, and they cause me to stop and remember that dog.  And that always makes me smile, but it also leaves me with a little bit of sadness.  He wasn’t here with us nearly long enough. 

Part of me really wants another dog.  And part of me is afraid that no dog is ever going to measure up to that Coco.        

 

Cookbooks, slobber, dog hair and all.

Reminders