Posts Tagged ‘Emily the Dog’

Daily Terror

Friday, February 6th, 2009
I am not as bad as they say i am.

I am not as bad as they say i am.

This is my nephew Dash. He is laying on the couch with the dog that I refer to as “The Jack Russell Terror.” My sister went to the Atlanta Humane Society and said, “Give me the worst dog in here!” Then, she asked me what I thought, and i said, “Great choice!” And now we are stuck with her badness.

Emily (the dog’s given name) is so bad that she can jump over our chain link fence. When she stays at our house, we have to put one of those bolts into the ground and chain her to it. Back off Peta – she gets daily walks or runs when she is with us and doesn’t spend long on the chain. When I run with her, by the way, i am sure it looks something like it would look if I tried to run while holding an angry cat in a box. The alternative would be to let her run loose and possibly be hit by a car, which I may say i want to happen, but I don’t really want to happen, as i am a big softie. She is so damn smart, though, that she learned to dig up the stake, and run around the neighborhood with a chain and a bolt dragging behind her. Then we tried a cement block as the “stake.” Nope, she just kept on jumping and jumping against the chain until the cement block was moved gradually across the yard and she had jumped over the fence. (Luckily with enough slack in the line to land unchoked on the other side.) I came out the door and looked over and she was sitting, wagging her tail, pleased as punch with herself on my side of the fence.

People, this dog is B-A-D bad.

The funny thing, though, is that as soon as the sun goes down, she seems to just fall out wherever she is, exhausted by the ever-constant movement of each of her days.  After the sun goes down, the Terror goes to sleep. She cuddles on the couch. She does not chew, or bark, or chase my cats. She is sweet.

Okay, so that is your dog story for the day. Now i will have to write up something about all the other family pets, or they will be jealous. So, basically, don’t read Dogwood Girl for the next week if you aren’t a pet lover, or don’t have a fetish for cat ladies.

Oh, and I will be gone this weekend. All weekend. No kids. Only chicks. In a cabin. In the mountains. Sunny and nice weather. Unlimited provisions.

Yes, I am excited. This ain’t gonna be no Girls Gone Mild.

Dispatch from Hell

Saturday, October 27th, 2007

Hell is the wonderful municipality of Warner Robins, GA, a town built up around an air force base. It is full of concrete and really ugly buildings. My father said he would never come back here after he finished high school and moved back to Savannah, where he was born. He is back, because no one counted on my grandfather making it to 92 years old, and Pop still lives here. So, now, mom and dad do too. My sister and I are in complete agreement that once Pop dies and Mom and Dad get out of this hell hole, we will never come back again. EVER.

We are watching Pop this weekend while Mom and Dad get away for a couple of days. So far, today:

5 a.m. I wake up to hear Rollie and Pop talking on the baby monitor. Pop has gotten up to go to the bathroom, which we were under the impression he can no longer do on his own. Evidently, he can, and the walker woke up Rollie, who thought it was Lisa and yelled out, “Lisa!” which promptly woke both Lisa and Tiller. I run upstairs, wondering what the hell is going on. Everyone is awake. Pop is sitting on the toilet with the door open (awesome) and Tiller is crying out and Lisa is asking me what I am doing upstairs. We get everyone calmed back down, with admonitions to Rollie that he shouldn’t get out of bed until the sun comes up.

5:15 a.m. I am back downstairs in bed with the dog. My stomach hurts like shit. I am trying to go back to sleep. I realize that my stomach hurts because it is upset and then I spend the next 3 hours in and out of the bathroom. I never fall back asleep.

8 a.m. Everyone is up and clamoring for breakfast and the dogs need to go outside and i feel like crap. I slap raisin bran on the table for the kids, while Lisa takes the dogs out, because I just can’t risk being that far away from the bathroom.

8:15 a.m. Pop calls and wants someone to get his breakfast and his insulin shot for him. He gets the shots at every meal and before bedtime. Lisa takes pity on me and takes both kids and her Jack Russell Terror, Emily, with her. I lay on the bed with Quint and try to enjoy quiet despite cramping stomach.

8:20 a.m. My mom calls. So much for my stolen moments without children. She wants to know what Lisa wanted. I don’t know, but will have Lisa call her.

8:30 a.m. Lisa yelling, “No, Emily! No! No!” Lisa is saying over baby monitor.

8:40 a.m. Everyone comes back downstairs, except Pop, who never leaves his Lazy Boy. Lisa freaking out. Emily ate rat poison. After determining that children never came in contact with rat poison, I google “Dog ate rat poison.”

8:50 a.m. Lisa and Emily get in car to go to vet, where she will be given something to make her puke up the poison, and a shot of something to counteract the effects of the poison.

8:55 a.m. I venture out to the carport so that Rollie can ride his bike and Tiller can play with sharp and poisonous stuff, of which there is a ton, because my grandfather has not thrown out a single item since about 1935. Quint gets his leash caught up in the porch furniture he is tied to while I chug Pepto Bismol. Tiller runs around at breakneck speed with a stick and then falls and skins both knees, just as Rollie barrels down the slope of the driveway, narrowly missing my Grandma’s c. 1980s Cadillac with 19,000 miles on it. Yes, Grandma has been dead for five years, but why get rid of a perfectly good Caddy only driven to the Beauty Shop on Thursdays and church on Sundays? Swerving to miss Caddy, Rollie’s bike flies out from under him and he lands smack dab on his ass, then gets up wailing. He climbs up into my lap for consolation, as I juggle Pepto and a dog leash, and Tiller then comes over to give him a hug, too, which was sweet, but only makes him shriek in my ear.

That’s just a taste of a few moments in the alternate reality that is my Grandfather’s house. Things have gotten better since about ten. Emily is going to make it, and the medicine might even make her sleep for the afternoon. Lisa took Tiller and Rollie to the store to get stuff for dinner and to give me a break from them. Both dogs are sleeping. Pop doesn’t need lunch and a shot until 1:30. Lunch for him is easy, because he eats the same lunch every day: 1 pimento cheese sandwich, one small can of baked beans, and one can of Vienna sausages, all cold and out of the can. Puke-O-Rama.

Certainly things will continue on this upward trend until 3:30, when Cocktail party kicks off, at which point Bulldogs will disappoint me, and I will hopefully be over my stomach deal, so I can drink my sorrows away with a few Saturday afternoon beers.

Hope everyone else is having an awesome Saturday. With less poison, poop, barking, and did I mention the pooping? than we are experiencing here.


Saturday, August 18th, 2007

Check it. Lisa gots her a new pup. Introducing, Emily the Dog:

I gots me a new chair:
And here are a couple pictures to show off my favorite part – The reversible throw pillow. I love how it looks all folky. My friend Nat once told me that girls are either florals or stripes, and she is a stripe. I think, though, that some of us can be in between the two, or waver back and forth between the two, and that’s what i love about the pillow. It goes both ways.

Aw, yeah.