# 41: So This is Awkward

Hi. It's been awhile, hasn't it. Wow 5 months? Really? You look good. Have you lost some weight? ... This is a little awkward, meeting you like this. I've been meaning to write, you know. No, really I have! I even started to write once - about the wedding. But it got so long (it's sitting right around 10 pages) and I didn't want to bore you. I mean, our wedding wasn't boring, but nothing went wrong. And stuff going wrong makes me seem funny. I'll eventually post the wedding story, but I need more time. I want it to be accurate, but I also want it to be entertaining and 10 pages of "and then we went out to eat with our parents" is not entertaining. (Except maybe to our parents - hi parents! I can't believe I have four of you now!)

But I admit that I have been slacking. So! Here is what I've been up to since April:

1. I became Mrs. Sir


2. My husband and I went to Jamaica for our honeymoon (This is the view from our room.)


3. Got me a new computer as a wedding present from my dear husband (Oakie says "I'm stealin' ur internetz.")


4. I read the new and last (sniff) Harry Potter (Oakie enjoyed it but felt there were one or two instances of misrepresentations of character.) (And no, I did not pose him for this picture.)


And finally -
5. Worked. And worked and worked and worked and worked. In fact, I would say that since we got back from our honeymoon, I have stayed late at work 75 percent of the time because I have so much work to do. I even brought work home to do this weekend - which is nuts. Everyone knows that weekends are for sleeping in late and going to the movies (which just goes to show you that I am in no way ready to have kids).

Hmm. Besides the wedding, I have been a boring-ass person this summer. No wonder I haven't updated. ("Dear online journal, Today I worked a lot! Love, Me")

Anyway, I'm glad we're talking again. I kind of missed you!

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#39: A Good Dog Story or Two

Have I talked enough about our dog yet? Probably. But these days its either all about the puppy or all about the wedding and I've already managed to obsess here about our distressing lack of officiant involvement, and nothing has really changed on that front, so I figured it was time for a good dog story or two.

Back a few days ago, Pokie-dog and I walked down the sidewalk, happy as clams. Oakley swung the leash that connected us, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, jogging his little puppy-jog that makes his floppy ears bounce around at a dangerous level of adorable. As we passed one of the ground-level apartments, there was a crash - something large made contact with the window from the inside. Barking and some fairly intense growling followed, and I could see two rather large dogs jumping at the glass of the patio door, as if they were trying to make their escape and gorge on our carcasses. Oakley, however, seemed unfazed and kept trotting along, occasionally sniffing the ground, smiling his puppy-dog smile, oblivious of the canine chaos erupting mere feet from us.

Next door to the terrible beasts was a little smiling old woman, tending to her flower box. I smiled at her, and she smiled at me and then at my dog. Then my dog, the dog who was unfazed by the fierce barks and crashes that continued next door, saw the little old woman and began to growl. All of the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his ears flattened against his head. He bared his teeth at this little old woman and lunged - growling, snarling, ready to attack. Luckily I had a good hold of the leash and was able to quickly drag him down the road as I shouted my apologies to the little old woman who looked at me, repulsed.

Big scary dogs? Of no concern to my dear Oakley. But little old ladies who look ready to invite you in for a spot of tea and perhaps a freshly baked cookie? They are the enemy. Old ladies and kittens - the new threats to our society. Oh and balloons. The dog haaaaaaates balloons and the suspicious way they bob up and down along the ceiling. The one and only time a balloon entered our apartment, Oakley threw such a HUGE fit that we had to banish the balloon to the bathroom, where he couldn't see it. For weeks after the balloon had deflated and been thrown away, he still barked and growled every time we opened the bathroom door.

We have a strange dog.

Sir was out of town a lot last month, so Oakley and I spent a lot of quality time together. This led me to find out that our dog is not only weird, but damn demanding. He stands at my feet in the kitchen and demands whatever I'm cooking by making this "rrrah, rrrah, rrrah" half-bark and wagging his tail, like "I'm asking nicely, now GIMME." Oakley is also very vocal about when he wants to go out on our balcony. Like most dogs, I'm sure, he'll stand at the door for awhile and stare at us. If we make no move to open the door he barks, if we ignore vocalizations, our 45-pound bundle of love pounces on top of us on the sofa (resulting in my almost losing the "i" and "o" key off this keyboard. Luckily Sir still knows how to fix stuff). Because it's been chilly here, when Oakley finally gets let outside, very often he only lasts a few minutes before he's scratching at the door to get back in. But apparently dogs' short-term memories aren't that great because in another couple of minutes, he's barking to go out again. It's a really fun game for us to open and close the damn door every 5 minutes. This is why we usually just leave it open. And crank the heat up to 76.

Oh, and we've also started letting him sleep up on the bed with us.

Dog: 538, Humans: 0
















We like to call him our little tyrant.
(also note: world's ugliest couch)

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#36: Oakie Pokie Pumpkin Head!

About two months ago, Sir and I up and adopted a dog from one of the local no-kill shelters. Our new puppy-dog is a lab/collie mix, which means that my once obsessively clean apartment is now completely buried under a layer of wiry black dog hair. Here's a quick run-down on the newest and hairiest - yay! it's not me anymore! - member of our family:

Name: Oakley

AKA: Oak, Oakie, Pokie, Oakie Pokie, Oakie Pokie Pumpkin Head (hee. I made this one up. It's perfect for fall!) (Why, yes! I AM a huge dork - thank you for noticing!), Puppydog, Fella, Bubba, Buddy, Precious Puppy, My sweet boy, YOUR dog, Puppy? Puppy. PUPPY!, DOG, and/or Argh! Stop eating the pillows!

Weight: 45 lbs and not an ounce over or Sir and I get a talking to from the vet about obesity in canines.

Age: In the vicinity of 1 1/2 to 2 years

Personal History: He was a stray when he was brought into the shelter. That's all we know about him besides what we can imagine from some heartbreaking scars on his neck, throat, and stomach, and also the BB pellet someone shot into his groin (most likely as he was rolling over to get a belly scratch). (My poor puppy!)

Personality: Despite having been abused, he is a very loving, active pup. He loves new people, especially women (don't ask me, I have NO clue), and has a great doggy smile.

Loves: Cuddling on the couch in between the humans; hot dogs; belly scratches; running with Sir; pulling the stuffing out of minuscule holes in pillows; grabbing a dirty sock or pair of underwear from the hamper to chew on; and his toy lobster that goes, "Squeaky. Squeaky? Squeakysqueakysqueakysqueakysqueaky. SQUEAKY. Squea. Ky." (repeat x 1,000,000). He also loves car rides. He will jump into the car before Sir and I are anywhere near ready to leave and we have to offer treats (see above re: hot dogs) when we get back home so he will get OUT of the car. (Of course every time we go somewhere he either gets tons of attention and treats - i.e., the vet, pet store, or obedience training - or he gets to play at the dog park or visit the ocean. I guess I wouldn't be too keen on being back at boring-old-home either.)

Hates: His crate (and we've tried all the "get your dog to *heart* his crate" strategies: feed the pup in the crate, put the pup in the crate with a yummy treat or favorite toy, leave the crate open so the pup will go in on his own, etc. He still turns into a limp blob of puppy fluff when we try to put him into it.); cats; and sleeping in on weekends (although he is getting better about this. He actually gave me the stink-eye this morning when I got up to walk him at 5 am.

When we got Oakley, Sir and I both swore we'd never become "those people" who refer to themselves as the dog's Mommy and Daddy and dress their animals up in silly outfits. Heh. Guess what happened? Not even a full 24 hours, people, and we were already trying to teach Oakley the "Where's Mommy?" "Where's Daddy?" trick. And I am avidly trying to convince Sir to let me dress Oakley up for Halloween. He is such a cute little bugger! He'd make an adorable little rapper. (Oakley from da 'hood. Doesn't that have an adorable ring to it?)

We've Oak in obedience training, too. I like to call it "SuperNannying" our dog because our trainer is a delightful little British woman who has more energy than it is right to have on an early Sunday morning. And she calls Oakley "cheeky." Delightful? Yes. Oakley adores her. As he does most people who hand feed him treats.

Oakley does not, however, adore the neighborhood cats. By the force with which he pulls on his leash and the tenor of his bark, he obviously considers cats as much a threat to society as any WMD. And I never realized how many cats live in our neighborhood before I started walking Oakley in the early morning hours.

OAKLEY VS. THE SOFT FUZZY ITTY-BITTY KITTEN

Scene: Darkened neighborhood streets, sparsely lit by glowing streetlamps. Time is approximately 5:40 AM on a weekday. All is quiet.

[Oakley and I walk along. La la la.]

[Soft furry itty-bitty kitten sits on porch steps 5 feet away]

OAKLEY: OMG! CAT! THE HORROR! DANGER, D.A.N.G.E.R.! HE'S GOING TO EAT YOU!

ME: Shut it! You're going to wake up everyone in the neighborhood, dog.

KITTEN: [Licks paw daintily]

OAKLEY: [attempting to pull the leash, as well as my arm, off of me] CAT IS DEADLY! MUST EAT CAT BEFORE AM EATEN! LEMME GO! LEMME GO! RAAAAAAWR!

ME: DOG! STFU.

KITTEN: [sits and looks fuzzy]

OAKLEY: KILLLLLLLLLLLER!!!!

ME: [grabs Oakley's collar and drags him away from the house with the kitten]

OAKLEY: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! BARKBARKBARKBARK! HATE CAT! BARK BARK

KITTEN: Mew?

It is stories like these that leads me to think Sir and I will not be adding a feline to our household any time soon. (Not to mention Sir's intense allergies.)

But we do have our own Precious Puppy! (Who is probably at this very minute in my kitchen eating my dish rag.)

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