No Bark, No Bite, No Problem

It was nearly 30 years ago and I was bringing dinner to my (then) boyfriend (now husband).  My parents were out of town and I was dog sitting my childhood pet, a wonderful male toy french poodle named Pepi (short for Pierre), so I brought him along for the ride.  Pepi loved going for rides in the car and it was time to introduce him to the young man I was dating.

Pepi, the coolest poodle on the planet

While I was just starting to experience life, Pepi, at 17 years old, was experiencing his twilight years.  Every time I looked at him, I didn't see the aging pooch with silvered fur.  I saw a cute little black ball of fluffy puppy fur who could perform circus tricks, who loved sticking his head out of the car window on road trips, and who slept next to me at night and was my protector.

Yes, it was time for Pepi to meet my boyfriend.

Because my boyfriend only had 30 minutes for dinner, I would bring his meal to him and we would eat in the car together.  This night's meal was grabbed after picking up the dog, so it was a Wendy's cheeseburger and fries, both of which were Pepi's favorites.

Keeping the dog's head from burrowing into the bag and gnoshing on the french fries wasn't so difficult since he was captivated by the drive down the highway.  He even waited patiently for my boyfriend to walk out to the car and to be introduced.

My boyfriend took a liking to the dog immediately.......... but apparently the feeling was not mutual.  Maybe it was because my boyfriend wasn't sharing his fries or a tiny bite of meat from his burger.  Pepi became perturbed enough he started to make his presence known.

It started out as a cough here and there from the dog.  Within a minute or two, the little cough turned into the sound of the dog coughing up his toenails.  As the coughs became more and more gross sounding, we noticed they were perfectly timed with my boyfriend's bites of the burger or fries.

"Geez!  Is the dog ok?", he asked after being grossed out by a particularly nasty coughing fit from the dog.

The tone of that question was not lost on the dog.  It apparently irritated him that this man was usurping his time with me, and he wasn't willing to share his fries either.  The dog decided it was time to launch a full assault.

Within seconds the aroma in the car took on a much more pungent scent.  As I quickly rolled down the windows, my boyfriend gave me a questioning look.

I smiled as I said "it was the dog."

"Yeah, right.", he replied.

Just as I was about to deny that the source of the smell came from me, the dog coughed and quite loudly passed gas.

"Oh my GOSH! What have you been feeding that dog?!" he cried as he hopped out of the car in search of fresh air.

Between fits of laughter and with tears running down my face, I reminded him of how old the dog was.

"Are you sure he's not dead already.  From the smell of things I think your parents had him stuffed and filled with robotics to make it look and sound like he's still alive." he asked.

After the aired had cleared a bit, he got back in the car and finished eating.  With his lunch break over, he leaned over to give me a kiss before he got out of the car.  The dog gave him one last parting shot with a particularly gross cough as he simultaneously passed gas.

"Dear lord!  I can actually taste that one!" he yelled as he scrambled for the door handle.

Laughing hysterically again, I called out to him "I don't think the dog likes you because you wouldn't share your fries........."

"I will make sure to buy him his own order next time so I can breathe." he said.

After I got home and settled for the night, my sweet little dog snuggled up next to me, just like when I was younger.  About that is when I had a realization: the dog had not coughed or passed gas once since my boyfriend got out of the car.  With that I laughed myself to sleep.

Pepi may have been too old to back full grown man up in a corner in a show of protection, but he figured out a way to get him out of the car faster than a speeding bullet.  He was one very cool dog and friend.

The Dinner Party

Today while waiting for my son to get out from choir rehearsal, I spent a few minutes talking with a friend. She was telling me how her husband had invited clients  to their home for dinner and it was the first time she had to do a "formal" dinner. It took me back to the first dinner party I'd had to do for my husband.

We lived in Little Rock, AR (technically Maumelle, AR) and my husband decided he wanted me to cook beef tenderloin. Knowing this was an expensive piece of meat and we were on a shoe-string budget, I got in the car and drove to the local Walmart located in Toad Suck, AR (yes, that is the name of the city) and got all the fixings for dinner.  I drove home and made the most beautiful, juicy beef tenderloin you'd ever seen with sides of homemade garlic mashed potatoes and fresh green beans.  A melt in your mouth dessert was also ready and waiting to finish off the perfect meal. 

My husband called to say they were running late, so I stuck the tenderloin in the oven to keep it warm until they called to say they were on their way.  Just before they pulled up to our home, I took that beautiful piece of meat out of the oven and laid it ever so gently on a cutting board.  I set my Lenox China serving platter next to it and proceeded to ever so carefully slice the meat and artistically display it on the tray. On the 3rd piece, and with the dog at my feet whining and drooling, a slice of steaming hot tenderloin slid off the fork I was using and before I could catch it, it landed smack dab on top of the dog!  The dog started yelping and took off running - with an EXPENSIVE cut of meat still stuck to her back. 

Hearing Mike's voice getting close to the door, I took off at a full run after the dog.  We needed that piece of meat or somebody wasn't eating!  Halfway across the kitchen I was able to catch her back leg which caused the meat to fall off her back.  I retrieved the juicy slice, which now had my dog's long hairs attached, before she tried to eat it .......and before they walked in. I ran to the kitchen sink and quickly picked and brushed all the dog hair off that slice of meat and served it for dinner. 

Everyone raved about how the meat was perfectly seasoned and cooked to perfection.  I thanked them and told them I had used a new seasoning.  Tears were brimming in my eyes as I tried to stifle my laughter. And the dog? She was fine - and her coat look quite lustrous and had just a hint of the perfume:  Eau de Beef Tenderloin.

Ambushed!

Taking a walk down Memory Lane, although these days it seems to be a shorter stroll......
It was New Year's Day and we'd just moved in to our Arkansas home the day before and had gotten blasted by a foot of snow. We had a little Silky Terrier, Lauren, who was much shorter than the depth of the snow, so in order for her to attend to her needs, we had to take her for a walk out onto our quiet snow-plowed street.

As we were returning from our walk and were remarking on the quiet stillness of the winter snow, we were suddenly, and without warning, pelted with snowballs. We aren't talking 1 or 2 throws here, we are talking about an all out ambush by the neighbors!! 2 families, who, from the number of snowballs in their arsenal, and the size of the snow fort walls they'd built, must've spent HOURS devising and implementing a plan of attack!

What they didn't know was that I'd spent 4 years in Buffalo, NY and could make snowballs faster than they could blink!  In my family I was the snowball maker while my brothers were the snowball throwers.  My parents, who were in town helping with the unpacking of boxes, heard all of the commotion and faster than Superman, my Dad came out to help us battle the villainous neighbors! Being from West by God Virginia, he was an expert not only at making snowballs, but with throwing them with great precision.

In the end, we won on more than one front that day. We beat those rascally neighbors at their own ambush but, more importantly, we established a friendship that has lasted over 13 years and withstood many moves on all of our families.

by: Christie Bielss

The Case of the Missing Shoe

My sneakers have been the talk of my family for over a year now.  I bought them in Florida on a family vacation in 2008 and they have been the best sneakers ever.  So lightweight you almost feel barefoot, made extra-wide for my sasquatch width feet, and have big holes decoratively placed around the entire shoe so that your feet can breathe, ok, maybe not so much decorative as strategically placed so your feet feel cool on hot days.  After 5 years of wearing them almost daily, those strategically placed holes have become the bain of my family's existence.  They think they're more like deadly, ozone depleting, blow holes that shove the smell out every time I take a step.  Or, even worse, when I take off the shoes instead of the odor only coming out the hole where you insert your foot, the odor comes out from all sides, so there is no safe haven from them.  I have to admit they have developed a slight fragrance to them, but I can't smell it when they're on my feet.  Recently, I thought my family had become very sensitive to the sappiness of some commercials because as soon as I'd sit down and relax with them after dinner, their eyes would all start to water.  Mike and the kids brought to my attention that said eye-watering ironically coincides with when I take off my shoes.  This from the same people who throw their still wet clothes or towels in the hamper where the mold then grows to such an extent that when it's laundry day, I have to battle Godzilla as soon as I open the hamper lid.  Last night after having worked all day on the kitchen renovation, I needed to pull my car into the garage and went to put on my shoes but only found one - the other was missing.  Being different from my kids, I like to take off my shoes together in one place and not have to go on a search and find mission for a lost shoe.  But at my age it certainly wouldn't be outside the realm of possibilities to find it inside my toothpaste drawer or in the medicine closet. I looked under the dinner table, the sofas, behind the swivel rocker, end tables and tv cabinet.  I even went so far as to go into my bathroom to see if I'd left it in there by mistake.  Nothing.  Completely baffled I sat down to try and remember where I might have left my shoe when all of the sudden there was a tap on my shoulder.  It was my son.........holding my missing shoe.  "Are you missing a shoe Mom?", he asked.  Completely bewildered and wondering what he was doing with my shoe I replied "Yes, how did you know and why do you have it?".  He smiled "Well, apparently Sophie (our puppy) is a thief and stole it.  She must've grabbed it and jumped up on my bed with it before the odor caused her to pass out.".  "Did her jumping up on the bed wake you?".  "Nah, the smell of the sneaker woke me up out of a sound sleep.".  Ah well, at least my sneakers are easy to find.........

by: Christie Bielss