Corey left for Las Vegas today. I think his nerves got the best of him last night.
2:30am
"Beetle, my stomach hurts. I need the dog up here on the bed."
"(mumble grumble) ok..."
"Oliver.....Oliver.....Oliver....."
Our 75-pound Oliver jumps up on the bed and settles in between us.
"Beetle, move over. You're crowding him."
"But I'm at the edge of the---"
"Shhhhh."
There is something about a man and his dog.
...and there's something about a dog's ability to gain full access to the best spot on the bed.
Showing posts with label oliver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oliver. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
It's the sound of love...and angry beavers
It's almost hilarious how loud and chaotic our house is.
Almost.
As in "I would find this hilarious if I wasn't crying from sheer frustration-slash-exhaustion from needing a friggin' minute of silence already".
Equally knee-slapping funny: my house consists of myself, one grown man and a dog.
And possibly a nest of centipedes yet to come out of hibernation.
So between Corey and Oliver I find myself in a never-ending cacophony of ultra-loud talking, licking of one's privates, blaring music, random gibberish and the shaking to death of Christmas Bear. At some point you would think one or both of them would tire and curl up in a ball at the foot of the bed.
No.
That never happens.
There is always a panting head hovering withing five inches of my face at all times, and I am never unaware of Corey's location in our apartment:
"What time is your meeting?.....WHAT?!" shouted from the bedroom.
Or:
"Who was on the phone?.....WHAT?!" shouted from the kitchen.
These days I come home around 10pm and I find all of the questions and gibberish and licking and panting are bottled up and saved just for me in that magical hour of 11 o'clock which I normally devote to, you know, sleeping.
Hi-larious.
But deep down, like way down in there, past my secret love of Hootie and the Blowfish and sleeve tattoos I know this is just how the boys show me I'm missed.
And loved.
And special.
...
...but I really would like my sleep back.
Almost.
As in "I would find this hilarious if I wasn't crying from sheer frustration-slash-exhaustion from needing a friggin' minute of silence already".
Equally knee-slapping funny: my house consists of myself, one grown man and a dog.
And possibly a nest of centipedes yet to come out of hibernation.
So between Corey and Oliver I find myself in a never-ending cacophony of ultra-loud talking, licking of one's privates, blaring music, random gibberish and the shaking to death of Christmas Bear. At some point you would think one or both of them would tire and curl up in a ball at the foot of the bed.
No.
That never happens.
There is always a panting head hovering withing five inches of my face at all times, and I am never unaware of Corey's location in our apartment:
"What time is your meeting?.....WHAT?!" shouted from the bedroom.
Or:
"Who was on the phone?.....WHAT?!" shouted from the kitchen.
These days I come home around 10pm and I find all of the questions and gibberish and licking and panting are bottled up and saved just for me in that magical hour of 11 o'clock which I normally devote to, you know, sleeping.
Hi-larious.
But deep down, like way down in there, past my secret love of Hootie and the Blowfish and sleeve tattoos I know this is just how the boys show me I'm missed.
And loved.
And special.
...
...but I really would like my sleep back.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Our Son
"Hey, how's it going?"
"Fine."
"You have rehearsal tonight?"
"Yeah."
"Did you eat your pizza yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Ok. I'm down at Bensons (pet store). Gotta get our son some treats."
"Our son??"
"Yeah. Our son. Oliver. He's 57 years old."
"Oh Corey..."
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
On Oliver and life's little adventures
My darling little Oliver-dog.
Mama's little tootie pie.
I believe I've had my last "kiss" from this mutt for a very, very long time.
You know what you did, Oliver.
You know how sometimes you find yourself in that "perfect storm" kind of scenario where your mouth is open mid-sentence just as your dog is jumping up to lick your chin where he found a dallop of ice cream the day before and you end up with a tongue all up in there?
Mmmhmmmm.
And then you get all grossed out but still semi-ok with it because "dogs have the cleanest mouths in town, for realz"?
Right, right.
But then there is a brief moment when you remember that time you caught him sampling cat doody and your insides curdle ever so slightly?
Yeah. Me too.
See, our little munchkin has been having some digestive issues lately; in that he walks away from the pooping grounds with a dingleberry clinger, a poo-nugget, if you will.
The first time he brought his little friend inside and deposited it in the form of a poo smear on the carpet.
The second time Corey managed to dislodge it while still outside.
Thank goodness.
And this last time, just last week, Oliver-dog took on the big boy responsibility of removing that little dangly crap nugget himself.
What a big helper!
Only Oliver does not have hands. Or fingers. Or a plastic baggy to place over and protect anything that must go near that region. He has his tongue. That multipurpose tool he uses clean, eat, and collect pee scents from neighborhood shrubs.
Grrrreat.
So there I witnessed my nighttime cuddle-bug, hunched over, going to work on that turd like his life depended on it.
And maybe his life did depend on it. Because how comfortable can it be to lay around all day with this thing just hanging out down there?
Anyway, to end a long story that could have been made very short about seven paragraphs ago, I ended up grabbing a piece of ice and stepping in to assist. Successfully.
However, I would say none of us walked away from that situation as winners.
But life-lessons were learned that day.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
It's all fun and games until someone gets weird
You may not know this about Corey, but he's an 8-year-old on the inside.
Way down deep inside.
Like past the aches and pains and never-ending stream of gas of a nearly 40-year-old.
He chases fire trucks and watches airplanes take off from a parking lot near his office. And at all times we have several of those horrible 79 cent pizzas sitting in our freezer.
It's fun. And most of the time I get a kick out of his little quirks.
Then we had some crazy person hiding in the bushes next to our apartment building.
Corey Lucas went on the case.
The night we found the guy Oliver was actually the one who rooted him out of the bushes. He barked his big boy bark and the guy slowly walked back through the parking lot toward the street.
I watched the whole thing unfold from the safety of our bedroom, so I could see him slinking by, and then sprinting around the front of our building.
To say this dude was a creepster would have been flattering.
Corey ran upstairs.
"Did you see that?!"
We tried to spy on him through the windows as he seemed to be casing the small high school behind our building but it was too bright inside. So I turned off all the lights.
Still too bright. I put out the candles.
Nope, not good enough. I unplugged the tree.
And then we were standing in pitch black.
Corey called the police.
"I'd like to report a suspicious subject."
They put him on hold.
Meanwhile, creepster was walking up and down the school's steps. He twirled a little bit. Then he jumped the fence and headed back toward our building.
Still on hold....
He came back to the school. Found a rock. Oh no! Is he going to use that rock to bust in the school's windows?!?
No. He just wanted to stand on it and spin in circles.
Finally we get through to the cops. Corey tells them what happened, but in running to find my phone and tape the whole strange scene I lost track of Dr. Creepy so we couldn't say which direction he went.
Dang.
After hanging up Corey decides to take the law in his own hands. He suits up Oliver in his walk attire and the two of them head back downstairs. For 20 freezing (literally) minutes they walk up and down the sidewalk looking for the perp. A few cops drive by, but no one is able to locate the guy.
Corey finally came back upstairs. He realized how cold he was. All the excitement must have turned off some senses in order to heighten others.
Grown up cops and robbers will do that to a person.
....
What happened to Mr. McCreepin, you ask?
Not to worry. We found out the next week our strange friend is actually a student at the school.
Yay.
Way down deep inside.
Like past the aches and pains and never-ending stream of gas of a nearly 40-year-old.
He chases fire trucks and watches airplanes take off from a parking lot near his office. And at all times we have several of those horrible 79 cent pizzas sitting in our freezer.
It's fun. And most of the time I get a kick out of his little quirks.
Then we had some crazy person hiding in the bushes next to our apartment building.
Corey Lucas went on the case.
The night we found the guy Oliver was actually the one who rooted him out of the bushes. He barked his big boy bark and the guy slowly walked back through the parking lot toward the street.
I watched the whole thing unfold from the safety of our bedroom, so I could see him slinking by, and then sprinting around the front of our building.
To say this dude was a creepster would have been flattering.
Corey ran upstairs.
"Did you see that?!"
We tried to spy on him through the windows as he seemed to be casing the small high school behind our building but it was too bright inside. So I turned off all the lights.
Still too bright. I put out the candles.
Nope, not good enough. I unplugged the tree.
And then we were standing in pitch black.
Corey called the police.
"I'd like to report a suspicious subject."
They put him on hold.
Meanwhile, creepster was walking up and down the school's steps. He twirled a little bit. Then he jumped the fence and headed back toward our building.
Still on hold....
He came back to the school. Found a rock. Oh no! Is he going to use that rock to bust in the school's windows?!?
No. He just wanted to stand on it and spin in circles.
Finally we get through to the cops. Corey tells them what happened, but in running to find my phone and tape the whole strange scene I lost track of Dr. Creepy so we couldn't say which direction he went.
Dang.
After hanging up Corey decides to take the law in his own hands. He suits up Oliver in his walk attire and the two of them head back downstairs. For 20 freezing (literally) minutes they walk up and down the sidewalk looking for the perp. A few cops drive by, but no one is able to locate the guy.
Corey finally came back upstairs. He realized how cold he was. All the excitement must have turned off some senses in order to heighten others.
Grown up cops and robbers will do that to a person.
....
What happened to Mr. McCreepin, you ask?
Not to worry. We found out the next week our strange friend is actually a student at the school.
Yay.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Dog Fights and Downpours
Oliver has had a rough week.
His life is one big routine of walk, eat, drink, watch me get ready for work, eat, sit, lie, walk, lie, eat, sleep.
Starting last Friday we've thrown in medication two times a day, constant digging through his ears, checking is gums, staring at his eyeballs. We roll him over every other minute to check his rash; is it spreading? is it getting better? why is he wet? ohmigosh is that pee?
Then last night the poor guy was attacked.
By a Boston Terrier.
Corey let Oliver out to do his business while I waited inside.
No big deal. They do this every night.
But this night I hear a blood curddling scream come from outside. It was definitely a dog. But what dog??
Oh Christmas candy, that dog has finally killed something.
I seriously thought my dog, who has aggression issues toward most dogs, had finally done damage to some poor, innocent creature.
The shame...the anguish.....the vet bills!!
I ran out the door, so did my neighbor.
"Was that your dog??"
The rest of our building was already outside. Including one of the neighbors holding his little -4 lb Boston Terrier. He was upset. Corey was upset.
Oliver was confused.
I was confused.
It wasn't until we were back upstairs and Corey had texted our vet before I found out what happened: the teeny little dog was also outside doing her business when O-dog came down. Being super excited to see who he thought was his friend, her brother, he rain toward her. She, being not entirely pleased, lunged at him, grabbed ahold of his neck and did not let go.
Enter dog screaming.
Corey and another neighbor were able to seperate them.
I checked for damages and judging by the seriously awful sound of his screaming I was looking for missing chunks of skin, maybe a tooth.
Nothing. Just some redness, a little bruising, and one littttle tooth hole that produced half a drop of blood.
Fine. Everyone was just fine.
Except Corey. And the neighbor who owned the dog.
But boys will be worriers.
...
This morning was the icing on the cake. Out for our morning walk I noticed dark clouds rolling in.
After everything that's happened, wouldn't it be just great if it rained on us?!
Famous last thoughts. It did rain. And it was not great.
Oliver and I were stuck in a downpour a little less than a mile from our apartment.
Do I wait it out under a tree?
(rains harder)
Do I run all the way home?
(rains even harder)
I ran with my glasses in my hand, Oliver shaking off every 10 feet, water in my eyes, cars driving by most likely commenting on how dedicated an athlete I am.
Corey was waiting for us on the porch with a few towels.
...
Great way to start the day! Possibly a hint of what's to come for the weekend? Let's hope not.
His life is one big routine of walk, eat, drink, watch me get ready for work, eat, sit, lie, walk, lie, eat, sleep.
Starting last Friday we've thrown in medication two times a day, constant digging through his ears, checking is gums, staring at his eyeballs. We roll him over every other minute to check his rash; is it spreading? is it getting better? why is he wet? ohmigosh is that pee?
Then last night the poor guy was attacked.
By a Boston Terrier.
Corey let Oliver out to do his business while I waited inside.
No big deal. They do this every night.
But this night I hear a blood curddling scream come from outside. It was definitely a dog. But what dog??
Oh Christmas candy, that dog has finally killed something.
I seriously thought my dog, who has aggression issues toward most dogs, had finally done damage to some poor, innocent creature.
The shame...the anguish.....the vet bills!!
I ran out the door, so did my neighbor.
"Was that your dog??"
The rest of our building was already outside. Including one of the neighbors holding his little -4 lb Boston Terrier. He was upset. Corey was upset.
Oliver was confused.
I was confused.
It wasn't until we were back upstairs and Corey had texted our vet before I found out what happened: the teeny little dog was also outside doing her business when O-dog came down. Being super excited to see who he thought was his friend, her brother, he rain toward her. She, being not entirely pleased, lunged at him, grabbed ahold of his neck and did not let go.
Enter dog screaming.
Corey and another neighbor were able to seperate them.
I checked for damages and judging by the seriously awful sound of his screaming I was looking for missing chunks of skin, maybe a tooth.
Nothing. Just some redness, a little bruising, and one littttle tooth hole that produced half a drop of blood.
Fine. Everyone was just fine.
Except Corey. And the neighbor who owned the dog.
But boys will be worriers.
...
This morning was the icing on the cake. Out for our morning walk I noticed dark clouds rolling in.
After everything that's happened, wouldn't it be just great if it rained on us?!
Famous last thoughts. It did rain. And it was not great.
Oliver and I were stuck in a downpour a little less than a mile from our apartment.
Do I wait it out under a tree?
(rains harder)
Do I run all the way home?
(rains even harder)
I ran with my glasses in my hand, Oliver shaking off every 10 feet, water in my eyes, cars driving by most likely commenting on how dedicated an athlete I am.
Corey was waiting for us on the porch with a few towels.
...
Great way to start the day! Possibly a hint of what's to come for the weekend? Let's hope not.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Weekend Wrap Up: Happy to see Monday
Sweet mother of pearl am I glad this past weekend is ov-er.
Corey probably is too, but for different reasons.
Allow me to elaborate.
As you might remember, I've done a lot of work with our local soup kitchen to plan two of their major fundraisers that fall within a month and a half of each other. The first was the festival in the park in August, the second a huge breakfast served to thousands of attendees of a balloon festival held this past weekend.
The planning that went into the two events was exhausting enough, but the actual events themselves were both equally physically exhausting.
Starting at 3:30am my dad and I started the days prepping food and working with the 80+ volunteers; we had an hour to fill 8 chaffing dishes with scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes and sausage. Then four tables had to be lined with OJ, coffee, hot water, milk and every kind of condiment you would ever need.
Minus mini Tabasco bottles. But we have to have something to shoot for.
The weather was terrible and none of the balloons lifted off. But on Sunday, at least, they were blown up.
Which means there were still plenty of people lining up at 5am for an all-you-can eat feast.
Which means there was lots of scrambling of more than just the eggs.
Which means I was exhausted.
Needless to say, several naps were in order.
By 1pm on Saturday I had already worked six hours and napped for two.
...
And on Corey's end, he was in charge of monitoring Oliver-dog 24 hours each day for bruising in his ears, eyes, or gums that would immediately send us all to the doggy ER.
"I had to google what a Golden Retriever's ears are supposed to look like just to be sure."
"And?"
"He's fine."
For some reason, Oliver develops this weird rash on his undercarriage that lasts for several weeks and then disappears. Corey took him to the vet on Friday just to finally find out what it could be and was surprised when the vet thought he had a serious blood disorder.
Corey left the office with several hundred dollars in vet bills, a 3x per day medication and a special shampoo to be used that day.
For a guy who has never owned a dog in his life, let alone bathed one, the whole process took a lot out of him and I came home Friday night to towels strewn across the floor, dog hair in the drain and a wet dog running wild, sliding all over the wood floors in our apartment.
Corey also had instructions to monitor Oliver closely and keep him calm and confined until his blood work comes back this week. If anything about him even slightly changed Corey was told to take him to the ER immediately.
Confined, yes. Calm, no.
But I guess it's a good sign he still has the same amount of energy.
...
So now here we are, Monday...again. But this week we have a weekend of leaf peeping, granny visiting and a world's largest garage sale to look forward too.
Happy Ending.
Corey probably is too, but for different reasons.
Allow me to elaborate.
As you might remember, I've done a lot of work with our local soup kitchen to plan two of their major fundraisers that fall within a month and a half of each other. The first was the festival in the park in August, the second a huge breakfast served to thousands of attendees of a balloon festival held this past weekend.
The planning that went into the two events was exhausting enough, but the actual events themselves were both equally physically exhausting.
Starting at 3:30am my dad and I started the days prepping food and working with the 80+ volunteers; we had an hour to fill 8 chaffing dishes with scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes and sausage. Then four tables had to be lined with OJ, coffee, hot water, milk and every kind of condiment you would ever need.
Minus mini Tabasco bottles. But we have to have something to shoot for.
The weather was terrible and none of the balloons lifted off. But on Sunday, at least, they were blown up.
Which means there were still plenty of people lining up at 5am for an all-you-can eat feast.
Which means there was lots of scrambling of more than just the eggs.
Which means I was exhausted.
Needless to say, several naps were in order.
By 1pm on Saturday I had already worked six hours and napped for two.
...
And on Corey's end, he was in charge of monitoring Oliver-dog 24 hours each day for bruising in his ears, eyes, or gums that would immediately send us all to the doggy ER.
"I had to google what a Golden Retriever's ears are supposed to look like just to be sure."
"And?"
"He's fine."
For some reason, Oliver develops this weird rash on his undercarriage that lasts for several weeks and then disappears. Corey took him to the vet on Friday just to finally find out what it could be and was surprised when the vet thought he had a serious blood disorder.
Corey left the office with several hundred dollars in vet bills, a 3x per day medication and a special shampoo to be used that day.
For a guy who has never owned a dog in his life, let alone bathed one, the whole process took a lot out of him and I came home Friday night to towels strewn across the floor, dog hair in the drain and a wet dog running wild, sliding all over the wood floors in our apartment.
Corey also had instructions to monitor Oliver closely and keep him calm and confined until his blood work comes back this week. If anything about him even slightly changed Corey was told to take him to the ER immediately.
Confined, yes. Calm, no.
But I guess it's a good sign he still has the same amount of energy.
...
So now here we are, Monday...again. But this week we have a weekend of leaf peeping, granny visiting and a world's largest garage sale to look forward too.
Happy Ending.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
My favorite things....right now
In order to make up for what is lacking in my posts these days (substance), I'm going to try to feed you little tidbits o'stuff.
This first one is about the junk I really like at the moment.
Enjoy.
...
Farmers market spinach: green, firm and not slimy. I never knew this is how spinach is supposed to be.
Corey talks in his sleep too: "Hey Corey, you should probably get up, we need to leave soon." "Will you please stop talking?! You come in here like a hurricane and....sorry Beetle, I'm only half awake."
Trivia night at the bowling ally: if it looks country, sounds country, then it must be country. I don't care. I do trivia in a bowling ally and I love it.
Corey's secret chicken recipe: can't tell you what's in it. Secret.
Falling asleep to Matlock.
Falling asleep to Matlock via YouTube on my phone when Matlock is not more easily accessible.
Oliver: even though he attacks other dogs because he is a grumpy old man. This implies there are moments where I don't like him. That would be correct. I don't like him when he attacks other dogs.
Buying new pens: I love office supplies more than you'll ever know, my friends.
...
Until the next tidbit, tah-tah!
This first one is about the junk I really like at the moment.
Enjoy.
...
Farmers market spinach: green, firm and not slimy. I never knew this is how spinach is supposed to be.
Corey talks in his sleep too: "Hey Corey, you should probably get up, we need to leave soon." "Will you please stop talking?! You come in here like a hurricane and....sorry Beetle, I'm only half awake."
Trivia night at the bowling ally: if it looks country, sounds country, then it must be country. I don't care. I do trivia in a bowling ally and I love it.
Corey's secret chicken recipe: can't tell you what's in it. Secret.
Falling asleep to Matlock.
Falling asleep to Matlock via YouTube on my phone when Matlock is not more easily accessible.
Oliver: even though he attacks other dogs because he is a grumpy old man. This implies there are moments where I don't like him. That would be correct. I don't like him when he attacks other dogs.
Buying new pens: I love office supplies more than you'll ever know, my friends.
...
Until the next tidbit, tah-tah!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Weekend Wrap Up: A Week Behind
True to form, I am a week behind on Memorial Day Weekend News. My valid excuse: blogger would not accept my pictures. It was one heckuva weekend.
And it started Friday with me, artist of the month, hanging out at the store where I sell my jewelry, meeting all of my three fans.
By "meet" I actually mean hanging out in the back of the store with the finger foods because I get super embarrassed by compliments.
And because I like to snack often.
Highlights of the night:
- Food.
- Cupcake truck parked outside.
- I may have accidently served wine to minors.
- Met really fun people.
Up next: long hike up the highway to Corey's hometown for some fun in the sun out at camp!
And by "fun" I really mean wading through water to get to camp and standing on the deck saying, "ooooooh my gosh I can't believe all this water!" We instead spent the rest of our time at his parents' house, on the porch, chattering on about all the goings on.
That is, until his mother, Bonnie, and I left to get our toes done.
A girl simply can't not get her toes done at least once in her life. This time was actually my second, so I know from previous experience that my foot is not actually supposed to be rubbed raw, but boy do my nails look purdy.
Next I took a ride with the in-laws to one of the most fun houses I have ever been inside. The most fun being Susan Feliciano's house on the corner of Olive and South in my old LBC neighborhood. It may be because I was young the last time I was there, but that place had more nooks and crannies than an English Muffin.
Bad joke. My apologies.
So off we go to the house of Bonnie's old friend, Olga, who unfortunately passed away earlier this year. She was in her 90s. Olga did not have children and only a few family members to pass treasures on to, so the rest of her belongings were scheduled for the dumpster.
I think this is tragic. And I may have said so a few dozen times as we looked through old photo albums of relatives no one will ever know. I would have l-o-v-e-d to have sat down with my grandmothers, looking through pictures of relatives long passed, and then taking those pictures to my children, all seven of them, and telling their stories, but I'll never have that chance. So instead I settled on taking pictures of Olga's mother and father, their pictures were labeled and in places where they would be looked upon often, sparing them from a dirty, stinky fate.
She had a room full of sewing equipment, closet upon closest full of clothes, and a drawer of medical supplies from her husband's dental practice some 70 years ago. To say I enjoyed learning about this woman through the stuff she collected is totally understated. I wanted to go through every hat box, drawer, closet, but it would have taken hours and our lungs just weren't up to the dust.
So off we went, with a few treasures and a slight cough.
Even though we were having a good time, I was still there to get some work done on my jewelry (big craft fair coming up this weekend.)
My big helper stepped in.
Out of 1627 felt balls I needed for the show he rolled six perfect balls. I was so proud! And then I forced 13 more on him. I believe he is now regretting this move from business manager to assembly worker.
Too late for that, Cor.
Oliver had a great time. Although he wasn't able to get his annual romp in Lake Champlain he did avoid a horrible rash on his undercarriage from floating duck poo and cutting open his paws on zebra mussels. And he had a cat to stalk.
This cat.
He is as friendly as he looks. As in, not at all.
I may or may not have used an unrolled sleeping bag as a buffer when trying to pass him in the hall to avoid being mauled.
Oliver is much braver. They stood face to face. His ears were perked with an invitation to run and play and eat out of each other's bowls. Kitty just stared and growled.
Funny how animals understand each other's signals, even if they're part of a different species.
Can't fault a brother for trying. But I wouldn't mention that to the cat.
Corey and I were a little bummed at not being able to barbeque at camp, wake up to water lapping on the shore, and consuming flaming marshmallows covered in chocolate and graham cracker. But the weekend redeemed itself, and we were pleased as punch to spend time with family.
...
In the next Weekend Wrap Up: why four half glasses of wine may cause you to do something embarrassing in church the next day.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Oliver-dog
Because I'm a total Lame-O blogger this week, I give you....
..
...
......
A post from 2009.
Enjoy dear friends.
...
Corey and I own a dog. Oliver.
Also known to me as Oliter, buddy, bud, buster bottoms, sugarkins, and psycho.
Also known to Corey as dog.
If he had an online dating profile it would read:
My name is Oliver, I am a 4 year old golden retriever who loves the outdoors. Although I'm a cancer, don't expect me to be independent. I will latch onto you like a tick, which I've had. My hobbies are: swimming, hiking, rolling in the grass, rolling in the snow, eating stuff people drop on the floor, cuddling, and chasing my back foot.
I am looking for friendship, anything more is physically impossible. Pee on a stick in Congress Park if you're interested and I'll track you down.
..
...
......
A post from 2009.
Enjoy dear friends.
...
Corey and I own a dog. Oliver.
Also known to me as Oliter, buddy, bud, buster bottoms, sugarkins, and psycho.
Also known to Corey as dog.
If he had an online dating profile it would read:
My name is Oliver, I am a 4 year old golden retriever who loves the outdoors. Although I'm a cancer, don't expect me to be independent. I will latch onto you like a tick, which I've had. My hobbies are: swimming, hiking, rolling in the grass, rolling in the snow, eating stuff people drop on the floor, cuddling, and chasing my back foot.
I am looking for friendship, anything more is physically impossible. Pee on a stick in Congress Park if you're interested and I'll track you down.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Differences
I have a dog. His name is Oliver. He weighs almost 80 pounds.
My aunt has a dog. Her name is Sophie. She weighs as much as my make up bag.
Oliver sits on the ground.
Sophie might lick your fingernail.
Oliver needs an hour walk each day.
Sophie keeps trim by running from the front door to the back door.
Oliver snacks on used tissues and other garbage goodies.
Sophie can't be bothered by icky things.
Oliver has thick golden fur on his chest.
Sophie is a girl. Girls just don't have hairy chests.
Oliver stands over four feet tall.
Sophie can't quite reach my knee.
Oliver wants to french kiss everyone who comes through the door.
Sophie wants to kill everyone who comes through the front door.
Oliver is successful.
Sophie is not.
...
We can learn an important lesson from our dogs: accept our differences and focus any negative feelings on more worthy targets.
Squirrels.
My aunt has a dog. Her name is Sophie. She weighs as much as my make up bag.
Oliver sits on the ground.
Sophie sits in laps.
Oliver will die if he is not pet, touched, or talked to every second he is in your presence.
Sophie needs her space.
Oliver prefers to hold your hand in his mouth. Also your foot, wrist or face will do.
Sophie might lick your fingernail.
Oliver needs an hour walk each day.
Sophie keeps trim by running from the front door to the back door.
Oliver snacks on used tissues and other garbage goodies.
Sophie can't be bothered by icky things.
Oliver has thick golden fur on his chest.
Sophie is a girl. Girls just don't have hairy chests.
Sophie can't quite reach my knee.
Oliver wants to french kiss everyone who comes through the door.
Sophie wants to kill everyone who comes through the front door.
Oliver is successful.
Sophie is not.
...
We can learn an important lesson from our dogs: accept our differences and focus any negative feelings on more worthy targets.
Squirrels.
Friday, March 4, 2011
He should be ashamed
Sorry folks, no Friday Confessions this week. I was exceptionally well-behaved.
But I did want to mention an incident that makes me shake my head in amazement:
Tuesday night Corey lost Oliver.
Not as in roaming the cold streets, but in our bedroom.
See, we have a nightly routine. I go to bed first, turn down Corey's side of the covers then Oliver jumps up and we snuggle until I fall asleep. Or until Oliver rolls over (ugh, men). Then Corey comes in, O-dog jumps down and falls asleep on Corey's side of the bed.
Always.
Unless the dog comes back on the bed. Next to Corey.
(Aunt Cindy, before you think we're allowing a big, smelly, dirty dog on your beautiful quilt let me first say we only allow Oliver on the sheets. There are two layers of stuff between your masterpiece and O's stank.)
So, Tuesday night was a back on the bed night.
Except Corey forgot.
He wakes up in the middle of the night. Does a little stretch and looks over to where he expects to find the dog. Only he's not there.
A tad perplexed, he calls for him, "Oliver? Oliver-dog?"
There was a rustle under the covers.
"Oliver...is that you?"
Corey lifts them up and finds an eyeball looking at him.
The dog was snuggled right up against him the entire time.
I'm not quite sure this man should have children.
But he will.
But I did want to mention an incident that makes me shake my head in amazement:
Tuesday night Corey lost Oliver.
Not as in roaming the cold streets, but in our bedroom.
See, we have a nightly routine. I go to bed first, turn down Corey's side of the covers then Oliver jumps up and we snuggle until I fall asleep. Or until Oliver rolls over (ugh, men). Then Corey comes in, O-dog jumps down and falls asleep on Corey's side of the bed.
Always.
Unless the dog comes back on the bed. Next to Corey.
(Aunt Cindy, before you think we're allowing a big, smelly, dirty dog on your beautiful quilt let me first say we only allow Oliver on the sheets. There are two layers of stuff between your masterpiece and O's stank.)
So, Tuesday night was a back on the bed night.
Except Corey forgot.
He wakes up in the middle of the night. Does a little stretch and looks over to where he expects to find the dog. Only he's not there.
A tad perplexed, he calls for him, "Oliver? Oliver-dog?"
There was a rustle under the covers.
"Oliver...is that you?"
Corey lifts them up and finds an eyeball looking at him.
The dog was snuggled right up against him the entire time.
I'm not quite sure this man should have children.
But he will.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Just A Good 'ol Boy
Since the temperature up here in the land of snow and frozen solid lakes has begun it's gradual decline, Corey and I decided it was time to fire up the trusty hot box.
However, the hot box was not so hot. It was cold, and it was spewing cold air into our already cold apartment.
After a few choice words and 30 straight minutes of click, fan, click, off, click, fan, click, fan and some other weird noise, click, off, click, click, click, Corey called our landlord. Who called the heater fixer. Who said he would be at our place in the early morning.
He wasn't. And as Corey and I left for work, we were assured he would be there to fix it at some point during the day.
Hey, no problem. Obviously our landlord trusts the guy to be in his buildings unsupervised. And we trust our landlord. Soooo....
....yeah. We have a dog. A friendly dog that just happens to be completely unpredictable when meeting new people.
He could:
- Bark his sweet, golden head off.
- Wag and pee profusely.
- Hang out in his "room," until you're gone.
- Shove his toy in your hand, leg, crotch until you throw it for him.
So, Corey left the guy this note, just in case we ran into a number 1 situation:
We hoped for the best.
And then we came home to confirmation that our boy is not entirely psycho.
Phew.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Happy Birthday!!
A celebration is planned for Sunday, at which time he will run around with his cousins, swim in my parents' pool, and eat meat flavored ice cream. Mmmmm.
Then we will go home and I will cry that my Sugar Dimples is one year closer to...you know.
Jeez, who invited Debbie Downer to the blog?
Happy Birthday Oliver Dog!!
...here's to 20 more years!
please.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Oliver Lucas
The following pictures are of the best dog in the world.
Just look at that face.
Yes, he still jumps up and kisses me right in my mouth when I come home.
I consistently lift a pound of blond hairs from my floors every week.
And he has developed a habit of sleeping and drooling on our bed when we are not home.
But he is the best.
How can I be so sure, you ask?
Just look at that form.
That physique.
You can almost see his thoughts.
"Who is the most dry person here..."
"LOVE. RUN. FAST."
"When do I get to snatch your hot dog?"
It is so obvious we belong together.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
This is one dirty....
Stinky....
I've-been-rompin-through-the-mud-n-slush-b'cause-it-feels-good-between-my-toes....
Tired.....
Exhausted.....
Dog.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Un-salute
Let me clear up something from yesterday:
Just because I think President Roosevelt is one cool dood for making wide open green areas for me to run around like a carefree pre-teen doesn't mean I'm not super annoyed that my dog can't go one stinkin' hour on my day off without whining and giving me those "we both know where I want to go" eyes. We both do know. He wants to be in one of those dadgum parks.
So, thanks again for those parks, Mr. Roosevelt. (If you were alive to read my remarks I hope they would come across as sarcastic, because that is my intent.)
Just because I think President Roosevelt is one cool dood for making wide open green areas for me to run around like a carefree pre-teen doesn't mean I'm not super annoyed that my dog can't go one stinkin' hour on my day off without whining and giving me those "we both know where I want to go" eyes. We both do know. He wants to be in one of those dadgum parks.
So, thanks again for those parks, Mr. Roosevelt. (If you were alive to read my remarks I hope they would come across as sarcastic, because that is my intent.)
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Wanted: Kitty Katt
I'm going to come right out and say it: I need a kritter.
A fuzzy little kritter that eats, drinks, and is excessively neurotic, like me.
Something I can chase around the table, bark at, maybe even snuggle with when no one's looking.
Just not a hamster or gerbil. They look like furry turd chunks.
Or a guinea pig. Too hairy, too paranoid.
I do like chinchillas, or as I call them: balls.
And I like squirrels, especially for dinner with a marmalade glaze and side salad.
But please no mice, rats, or raccoons. Cute, scary, cute (respectively), but nasty scavengers.
I would prefer a meerkat, because they're fidgety like me and can sing.
But I could settle for a regular cat that sleeps all day and claws at my face.
Thank you,
Oliver
A fuzzy little kritter that eats, drinks, and is excessively neurotic, like me.
Something I can chase around the table, bark at, maybe even snuggle with when no one's looking.
Just not a hamster or gerbil. They look like furry turd chunks.
Or a guinea pig. Too hairy, too paranoid.
I do like chinchillas, or as I call them: balls.
And I like squirrels, especially for dinner with a marmalade glaze and side salad.
But please no mice, rats, or raccoons. Cute, scary, cute (respectively), but nasty scavengers.
I would prefer a meerkat, because they're fidgety like me and can sing.
But I could settle for a regular cat that sleeps all day and claws at my face.
Thank you,
Oliver
Friday, January 29, 2010
Oliver
My dear, sweet, energetic, easily distracted boy.
I love him.
Even when he licks my face while I am sleeping. After eating a bowl of his food.
Or when he pees all over me the second I walk in the door.
I still love him.
"Oliver, go get your ball."
He knows what this means.
"Go get it!"
He runs out of the room. A man on a mission.
Chomp, chomp, chomp.
He wanders back in. Says hello. Burps.
"Oliver. Go. Get. Your. Ball."
Oh yeah. Runs out. Slides on the hardwood.
Shlurp, shlurp, shlurp, shlurp.
All that thinkin' made him thirsty. He trots in.
"Hey. I said I need that ball. GO GET THAT BALL! I mean your ball, go get YOUR ball."
He runs around the apartment, up and down the stairs, and back into the room.
He forgot.
"Ball."
Oh, yeah. Runs out. Brings Christmas Bear held oh-so-gingerly by the bear's pom-pom nose.
"That is not your BALL."
huh?
"BAAAAALLLL."
huh?
"Ball! Ball! Ball! Go get your BAAAALLLLL!!!" (not crazy. encouraging. there's a difference)
Finally! He finds the ball in his toy basket. I pat myself on the back. Sometimes it just takes a little craz....uh, encouragement.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A canine complaint
Dear God,
My folks tell me you’re responsible for all the squirrels and cats running around outside. I have a few concerns I’d like to share with you.
First, the squirrels are jerks. They get me to chase them, and then they run up trees. This is not fair; I am not equipped to run up trees. Also, the one that I almost caught tasted like dirt. The dead one I play with at home tastes like polyester fiber fill. You might want to check your recipe.
Second, the cats are mean. And they have sharp feet. I’d like to say I enjoy our staring contests, but really they creep me out. I still haven’t recovered from the time that neighbor cat swatted at me and I screamed like a Pomeranian. It was scary, and the squirrels still laugh at me. Like I said, they’re jerks. Do the cats know I’m a dog and can eat them?
What I’d like are squirrels that are slow and dumb like my cousin Maggie and taste like bacon, and cats that I can snuggle with.
Thank you,
Oliver
My folks tell me you’re responsible for all the squirrels and cats running around outside. I have a few concerns I’d like to share with you.
First, the squirrels are jerks. They get me to chase them, and then they run up trees. This is not fair; I am not equipped to run up trees. Also, the one that I almost caught tasted like dirt. The dead one I play with at home tastes like polyester fiber fill. You might want to check your recipe.
Second, the cats are mean. And they have sharp feet. I’d like to say I enjoy our staring contests, but really they creep me out. I still haven’t recovered from the time that neighbor cat swatted at me and I screamed like a Pomeranian. It was scary, and the squirrels still laugh at me. Like I said, they’re jerks. Do the cats know I’m a dog and can eat them?
What I’d like are squirrels that are slow and dumb like my cousin Maggie and taste like bacon, and cats that I can snuggle with.
Thank you,
Oliver
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