Get Off My Lawn!

It’s overcast, chilly and drizzly outside; the kind of weather that begs you to stay in bed with a cup of tea and watch Lifetime movies all day. I was snuggled in the warmth of the down comforter with our two little dogs this morning, feeling kind of sleepy and unmotivated…until Jack walked into the bathroom and turned it all around.

Jack: Aaaahhhh!

You know how mothers can tell what a baby needs based on its cry? This wasn’t quite as sharp as a cry of pain, but more sharp than the cry of shower water suddenly getting cold. I was puzzled.

Me (giggling): What happened?
Jack (not giggling): I STEPPED IN SHIT!!!

(Bad dog, Frankie! BAD DOG!)

I’m still laughing about it.

Frankie is the dimwit. We brought him home a little over a year ago. Next week he will be two.  He had some difficulty with grasping the whole housebreaking thing when he first got here, but he eventually started scratching at the sliding door with his cute little paw when he needed to go outside, so we (foolishly) thought the problem was solved.

Not so much.

I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but I’m pretty sure his random ‘accidents’ are really ‘on-purposes’. They tend to happen when he’s been left alone for too long or when we’re not paying enough attention to him. His all-time favorite room to defile is the one that houses the pool table; specifically, the Oriental rug under it. A friend of ours had a little dog that would have on-purposes on the Oriental rug under his pool table. He described the rug as ‘Vietnamese camouflage’. Truer words were never spoken. I used to wonder if the intricate little flowers on the rug trick him into believing he’s in a field, but I am now certain that he senses that it’s more valuable and difficult to clean than his fallbacks, the throw rug in the upstairs bathroom and the hardwood floors in the dining room and the office.

I am at a complete loss as to how to effectively combat a dog with passive-aggressive bowels. Some have suggested beating him into submission, which is not an option (mostly because he would bite me…kidding…not about the biting, though). Rubbing his little nose in it isn’t an option because that’s just gross. Also, I’ve heard you have to actually catch them in the act and correct them on the spot (pun intended) to effectively train them not to do it anymore.

Unfortunately, Frankie’s landmines are just the frosting on the cake of my completely chaotic and disorganized life. In addition to my home and my car being in a constant state of disarray, I have suddenly – and quite unexpectedly – become a bubble-headed moron. Also, I’m cranky. Well, crankier.

I don’t know whether it’s the fact that I’m pre-perimenopausal or I’m just feeling the pressure of the 62%-full DVR (no, seriously, that’s a LOT of pressure!), but I’ve noticed I’m forgetting things (like, for instance, what I was going to say…halfway through a sentence) and I’m Andy Rooney-style annoyed way more often than normal.

A few weeks ago, I was walking down Main Street. Main Street is definitely not a good place for cranky people. The traffic is insane, the parking is a nightmare and, because it’s in the middle of a college campus, it’s riddled with adorable, fresh-faced, idealistic students.

My eyeballs start to convulse at the thought of them.

On this particularly beautiful, sunny day, I spotted a group of giggling students holding a “Free Hugs” sign. Evidently, they were part of a promotion for a business I will never use. At first I thought they were trying to steal people’s wallets. Then I started wondering what kind of illness (or bedbugs!) they might be spreading.  I was practically elbowing senior citizens out of my way to avoid them.


A few days later, someone posted a Facebook status about how much he wished he was in Disneyworld. My comment was something along the lines of ‘Ugh. I can’t think of anything more miserable than being surrounded by hundreds of snot-nosed 5-year olds.’


Seriously? What’s wrong with me?? I’m way ahead of schedule. This isn’t supposed to happen until my mid-60’s at the earliest. Before you know it, I’ll be blurting out unfiltered, offensive opinions about everything from people to religion to politics.



3 thoughts on “Get Off My Lawn!

  1. all this sounds perfectly reasonable to me, but then again I’m 63. I don’t to eat with or play with kids under 12.Disney World holds no appeal to me whatsoever. I’ve never been! The sight of a family with kids in a restaurant (with the exception of McDonalds) has me headed for the door…And of course Frankie is not doing shits on purpose, That’s what teenage boys do and think it’s funny..We had a rash of that behavior at Cab for a brief period and it was totally gross! Poor Frankie like ever other living creature suffers from separation anxiety disorder and needs a healthy does of prozac or zanax….BTW I stepped in two piles of cat vomit on my way to the bathroom at 2 a.m……………….

  2. Yes, he really stepped in dog shit.

    MJB – he doesn’t display any other symptoms of separation anxiety. He never freaks out and damage things when we leave and he often has on-purposes while we’re home (like this morning, for instance). He’s definitely being spiteful.

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