Don't judge a book by its cover

And don't judge a dog by how cute he is...







The Little Dog evidently had a sweet tooth today because he
left this in the pantry for me:







Not getting his fill by eating 4 Godiva truffles, he also ate 15 oreos.

And should you be concerned about his consumption of chocolate, rest assured that the Little Dog is fine. In fact, he has surpassed his nine lives and is proving to be immortal. It seems that eating thumbtacks, a tube of caulking, double A batteries, 30 days worth of progesterone, and chocolate will not harm this dog.

(And we're deep-down glad about that because he is pretty cute!)

Haikus from a new Mom

Week One:

You were very loved

Before you were even born

Welcome to the world!

Week Two:

Sleep has been exchanged

For holding this sweet baby

What a lovely trade

Last night (Week Three):

Baby sleeps all night

Mama stays awake checking

Oh the irony

And some Iambic Pentameter from the Little Dog:

I can't believe they brought a baby home

She's always in my spot on Daddy's lap

Who is this mistress stealing all my love?

Did they forget that I'm the baby here?!

I will not have a thing to do with her

In hopes that one day she will go away

And in the meantime, I will sit and sulk

And find more things to chew on in the house

Not All Dogs Go to Heaven

This one will not be there.

I'm thinking that the Little Dog's picture is posted on the pearly gates of Dog Heaven with a big circle around it and a line slashed through.

This dog does not qualify.

Because he eats everything.

I mean it. EVERYTHING.

His latest antic? He decided to have Cella's school supplies for dinner. The menu included crayons, markers, pencils, and erasers.

And for dessert? He found my purse and ate birth control pills.

At least we know he will not procreate.

You would think 14 pair of shoes, a tube of caulking, thumbtacks, a double-A battery, 2 pounds of chocolate, a cell phone earpiece, no less than 20 packs of gum, a tube of toothpaste, a clothes hamper, 3 library books, makeup, and countless homework, plus his latest choices, would be the death of him.

But no, he's fine.

The happiest, healthiest, cutest darn dog you'll ever meet.

Go figure.

He is kinda cute, isn't he?

Wonderful Lazy Tuesday

I spent the day at home, accomplishing just enough work to say that I did something, but mainly resting. Our Nanny came and took ChellBell swimming, and the house was very quiet most of the day. It was interesting to see what our house must be like while we are at work.

The Big Dog slept all day except when his senses told him that there might just be a squirrel in the yard, and then he would get up, lumber around to the closest window, and begin barking loudly at the squirrel (or the yard if there was no squirrel) just to make everyone knew that a Big Dog was waiting inside.

The Little Dog is a cat-napper. He sleeps for just a short bit and then walks around looking for someone to give him attention, either trying to pick a fight with the Big Dog (just to have someone to play with), or coming over to see if I would scratch his ears. Then he'd lay down for another 15 minutes and start his little social parade all over again. I am convinced that this is where the shoe chewing and bad behavior must take place when I'm gone -- it cures his boredom.

Interesting that both dogs will snap out of the deepest sleep when the refrigerator door is opened. I know people say that dogs have a keen sense of smell, but my dogs have bionic ears. No bag of chips or pantry door can be opened without the dogs waking up and racing downstairs to beg for a treat.

Chris and ChellBell are back home, dinner dishes need to be washed, the TV is on, the dogs are no longer tired (on account of them sleeping all day). The phone is starting to ring, and there is no more quiet in this house.

Ah, but it was nice while it lasted.

Back to work tomorrow...

Month-o-Love Day 7: Now you see it, Now you don't

Day 7: I heart...

Washable Markers

It has come to my attention that I am 7 days into this every-day-blog-about-things-I-love endeavor, and a very special member of our family has not gotten the least bit of spotlight.

And the Little Dog is bitter.

So, believing that bad press is better than no press at all, he made a blog-worthy mess in ChellBell's room tonight.  Either because he really thinks that markers taste good, or he is just in desperate need of attention.

I can't imagine that either is true.  But for whatever reason, he left this mess for ChellBell:

What are we going to do with the Little Dog and his absolutely-no-good ways?  We've been asking that question for the 598 days we've had him.  I keep thinking that one day we will just have had enough, and off he will go to another home or right back where we found him (having been returned twice already) at Operation Kindness.

But then he looks up at us with that marker-stained mouth and big eyes.  And he curls up in Chris' lap sweetly.  And then I call to him, and his short, stubby, Schnauzer tail starts wagging really fast, because he's just so stinkin excited that someone said his name.  

So I'll get out the carpet cleaner and get the mess up, thankful that this mess is one we can fix.  And we'll roll our eyes, call ourselves crazy, and go on loving the Little Dog.

And being very very thankful for washable markers.

Month-o-Love, Day 5: a walk in my shoes

Day 5: I heart...

A great shoe

Everyone has their vices. Their downfalls.  The things to which they just can't say "no".  The things we can't bear to deny ourselves.  And I'm sure I'm not alone in announcing that shoes are on my list.

I'm not a crazy, buy-in-mass-quantity shoe lover.  I do not have rooms and rooms of shoes.  But the shoes I do have... we have a relationship.  Yes, me and my shoes.

It has been tramatic to watch the little dog eat 13 pair of my shoes (yea, um, about $1000 down the drain) in the last year. But I am slowly but surely rebuilding my collection.  And between you and me, I have a favorite.

These tangerine flats.  They are the most amazingly comfortable, feel-like-butter shoes ever. Being relatively short, I tend to steer toward shoes that can at least make me 5'4, preferably 5'5. But I'll give up a few inches for these shoes.  And the color makes me happy.

So if you need to take a walk in some new shoes, you might want to skip on over to Tory Burch to do a little shoe shopping.  I sense the beginning of a beautiful new relationship... 

Lost

My friend Becca will read that and think about her favorite TV show.

My Mom will read it and think about people who need Jesus.

Chris will read it and think about the Baylor-OU football game.

Lost can mean a lot of different things.

But this morning it meant our dogs.

It all started with a way-too-quiet morning. Do you ever just get used to the normal "noise" of your house, and then suddenly panic when you realize that it is too quiet? A quiet ChellBell or a quiet dog in our house means someone is up to no good. And it was too quiet in our yard this morning.

On account of the iron gate being wide open. And the dogs not being in the yard anymore.

Our house backs up to a greenbelt, which backs up to a park. And with the unusual quiet having lasted for maybe 10 minutes (we figured that out once we figured out that it was too quiet), there was no telling where big tweedle dee and little tweedle dum had ventured off to.

Maybe the dogs weren't lost. They weren't looking for home, worried about where they were (although I can just hear the big dog say, "we're going to get in trouble", and the little dog respond, "come on, live a little!"). They were just out roaming.

Maybe it was the dog owners who were lost. Without a clue of where to start. On foot or in car? East or West? Park or Neighborhood? Clueless and Lost. Sad and Worried. Did I mention that neither dog had a collar on?

I'm happy to say that after sweet prayers from ChellBell and a 20 minute drive, Chris came home with both dogs who were one block away, together, sitting on the sidewalk. Perhaps waiting for the school bus or simply resting from their big adventure.

And now the house is back to being full of barking and growling and dog noise that we just ignore. But wouldn't wish away. (even the little dog!)

Sick as a Dog

The Little Dog. You know him well. And his need to eat things that were not meant for eating.

Last night he changed his ways and actually ate something that was meant to be eaten. By people. Chocolate. You know from earlier adventures how much the Little Dog likes chocolate.

Let me set the stage.

ChellBell is preparing for "7 events for 7 years" AKA "the birthday party of the century". She has chosen 7 friends who will each get 7 presents and participate in her favorite 7 things to do between 6pm this Friday and 2pm the following day. It involves a lot of preparation. And pink things. And snacks. And pink snacks.

So to be on the ball and get a few things done ahead of time, we made our way to the candy store last weekend. And for the record, there is no need to take ChellBell to Disney again, because we essentially get the same response from the CandyFactory at the mall for several thousand dollars less. We ran from bin to bin getting every pink candy we could find. Pounds of it. I mean POUNDS. With a capital L and a capital B. Let's just say we had about 2.4 pounds for every girl who will be at the 7for7 extravaganza. We HAD. not We HAVE.

Because the little dog helped himself.

To, um, about 2 pounds of pink M&Ms.

No doubt they were yummy.

And then the fun began. I didn't get home from work last night until around 8:15. And he had already puked 4 times. And for the next 3 hours and 28 minutes the puking continued. Everywhere the dog could go. We locked him in the bathroom, and he puked. 6 times. So we took him out of the bathroom to clean and bleach it. And he puked 8 times. Twice on the sofa.

I'll spare you the vomit count. It was not pretty. Didn't smell so bad, actually. But no fun to clean up.

With all the frustration the Little Dog has put us through, we decided at the on-set that we would not take any money that could go toward replacing the now $845 worth of shoes he has eaten and have his stomach pumped. If it was his time to go be with his Maker, it was time.

Evidently, his Maker didn't want him either. And he survived. And he is fine.

And I have a hunch that this will not be the last story about the Little Dog. So stay tuned...

Dogs have all the luck

Over the weekend, the Little Dog got a hair cut. A much, much, much needed hair cut. We've hesitated to cut his hair considering what happened last time he got his locks chopped.

The Little Dog before:



















The Little Dog now:














It's not fair how he can just go get a hair cut and look half his normal size when he is done. Why doesn't this trick work for me???

Dogs have all the luck.


PS. Could one, hypothetically, sell a dog on Ebay?

Return of the Little Dog

You've been missing the Little Dog, haven't you? I have failed to report his recent and frequent backslides in the efforts-to-cure-his-chewing-up-other-people's-stuff. But here's the summary:

I am now down a pair of black patent sling-back peep toes. Actually, just the one for the right foot.

I am down a Steve Madden black sandal. Just the left one.

Perhaps I could pair the remaining shoes together, although there is a 2" difference in the heel, so walking might be a bit tricky.

My black ballet flats now have no ties on them.

The dog obviously has an incurable need to chew on my black shoes.

Tonight's adventure did not, thank goodness, involve another pair of shoes (seriously, even Nordstrom is getting tired of my replacement purchases). Tonight took the Little Dog to a bag of Jolly Ranchers in ChellBell's room. He ate them all except for the pieces left hanging off his scruffy face. (Can you see the big cherry piece in this picture?)

Remind me why I have kept this dog?

My child is an honor student at blah blah elementary

Remember the old bumper stickers that people used to actually slap on their cars in the 70's? Imparting crucial words of wisdom to fellow drivers like If you can read this you are too close or Honk if you love Jesus. Texans are very proud of themselves because, well, they are Texans. So we have our own special bumper stickers like I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could and If you don't like the weather in Texas, give it an hour and it will change.

And this week we should have all had shirts made with that last saying on it, because change it did. We started the week at a balmy 76 degrees, wearing shorts and getting in the mood for spring. Then Tuesday brought the first snow of the year. Wednesday's high was back up to 65 degrees, and then another snow on Thursday, with some parts of the area getting almost 9". We're still in the 30s today. And tomorrow we'll be back in the 60s.

So if Texans act a little confused, cut us some slack. We never know what to expect. And we never know what to wear. Layers. and layers and layers and layers.

So despite the fact that Dallas Blooms begins today, we'll "spring forward" tonight, and Easter pictures with the bunnies are next weekend, it seems like winter is finally here. Here are some pictures of us playing in the snow earlier this week.

No more Leaping

No more leaping for joy over the little dog's improved behavior. While supposedly "napping quietly" in my room last night while I enjoyed a lovely dinner with some friends, the little dog ate a double-A battery chased by three packs of Orbit bubblemint gum that had yet to be taken from the package.

When Chris found him, there was battery acid on the carpet and a little residue on the dog's tongue. But he had fabulous breath!

(And for those actually concerned about the dog's health, we monitored him all night, and he is doing well. Didn't even throw-up. What is this dog made of????)

LEAP-ish kind of year

Leap Frog

Lords a-leaping

Leapin' Lizards

Look before you leap

Leap of faith

It's Leap Year, so today is our extra day -- our freebie -- to enjoy the month of February just a little bit longer. While we're leaping, here are some things I am Leaping for Joy about today:

Our construction is finally finished, and besides a little bit of touch up paint, we are DONE with home improvement for a while. (And if you know me, you know that is a total lie, because I will always find something to improve upon around the house. My patience and pocketbook indicate, however, that it probably will not be on this scale for a long time).

The little dog has been behaving himself. Quite well, actually. He even gets to sleep on the bed with us now (one of Chris' great ideas -- couldn't resist that little face...). He is getting to roam the house while we're at work for the first time today. I'll let you know if we're still leaping for joy in about 9 hours.

There were extra boxes of Tag-a-longs, so I ordered four more.

Sweet times with sweet friends.

What are you leaping for joy about today?

Knights of Arabia

Can't wait to get home and see what my floors look like after having the crew in all day. I'm not expecting much, since this will be a multi-week project, but anything will be better than the carpet with the hole in it (though we won't have direct access to China now, which is disappointing).


ChellBell had such a hard morning saying goodbye to the little dog as we took him to the "Doggy Hotel" for a few days of rest and relaxation (let him chew up someone else's carpet for a few days). We weren't given documentation of the little dog getting a rabies shot when we adopted him, so he may have to get another during his spa get-away. ChellBell just kept crying, "Please don't give my dog an Arabian Shot! That will hurt him!"

EPTx2= Erroneous Puppy Teething on Early Pregnancy Test

The little dog ate a pregnancy test today. A used one.

The more I think about it, the weirder of a person I seem to myself. Am I the only woman compelled to keep the positive pregnancy test that alerted us that a baby was on the way almost 7 years ago? It's not like it was laying around on the bathroom counter this whole time. It was in a sealed Ziplock in a box of BabyChellBell-related mementos.

Still, maybe that's weird.

To my defense, I had decided to part with the EPT earlier today in a fit of cleaning. Seriously, now that we have the 6 year old princess herself, the first pee-induced indication of her arrival is really no longer necessary. So the sealed Ziploc, along with other things no longer needed, were waiting in the trash can ready for permanent removal.

Why the little dog picked the pregnancy test, I will never know. (Oh, he also ate a tube of hair gel that was in the trash can -- judging by his new hair-do and the smell of his breath, there was still a bit of gel left in there). I can't let the little dog kiss me at this point. I think it will be a while...

When God closes a door, He opens a Window... Chris does the same thing.

We've been having some issues with the door that goes to the back yard. Not actually the door, just the doorknob. So being the Handy Mandy that I am, I went to Lowe's and bought a new handle and lock set. To my surprise, I successfully changed the lock on the back door. But when it came to the handle... well, that was a different story.

The point is that we've had the new knob/handle to install, but I couldn't figure it out, and the old one has mostly done its job, so no new doorknob.

Chris got up at 6 AM with the dogs this morning and found himself unable to get out the door to the back yard. The knob will turn, but the little latchy-thing doesn't budge at all. So, being half asleep and surrounded by yelpy dogs, he picked up the little dog and ordered the big dog to follow and traipsed through the front yard, around the side of the house, and through the back yard gate.

Did I mention he was just wearing underwear?

So I get a call from my sweet husband at work today, who says in his studly-man-of-the-house voice, "Well, I fixed the door problem..." Which surprised me, because he'd had a miserably busy day, and I was amazed that he'd found time to fix it or call someone to come out to the house.

And then he continued, "When you get home tonight, just open the window by the kitchen table and let the dogs climb out." (Like some kind of new -- HUGE -- doggy door. And oh, yippee, it's 35 degrees outside!) And if that isn't bad enough, he adds, "The little dog got it the first try, but I had to show the big dog how to do it a few times before he would jump out."

Unfortunately, I do not have any footage of Chris demonstrating the Doggy Door -- um, window -- but I do have a clip of the poor, confused dogs, just wanting to come in the back door.

PS. I found Christmas stockings for the dogs this weekend at Old Navy. The red one says "Naughty" and the green one says "Nice". Perfect!

How much is that Doggy in the window?

I know you check the blog every few days waiting for a new story about the little dog. And for a while, you've had to put up with my personal impartations of my view of life, because the little dog has actually been quite -- well, moderately -- good (though it's all relative at this point). Hope you haven't been disappointed.

But I guess the little dog heard your sighs and needed to be in the news again. So here's your update...

On Saturday, the little dog went to get a hair cut. We had waited way too long to have him groomed, but honestly, the verdict was still out on whether or not he was going to remain in the family. Seeing that he hadn't really torn, chewed, or ruined anything of significant value in a while, we decided to invest. So off he went. And he returned weighing about 3 pounds less from the hair cut and looking like a smart little Miniature Schnauzer.

I guess he wondered where all his hair had gone.

So he went searching.

And looking.

And digging.

For some reason, he decided to dig in the middle of the family room.

And he dug.

And dug.

And dug some more.

And now there is a 5 inch hole in the middle of the family room. Through the berber and the carpet pad, exposing the slab.

So I guess we will be getting new flooring this week.

And as for the little dog, well... don't worry about him. With his new, smart hair cut, I'm sure he'll be adopted quickly when we take him back to the rescue shelter where we got him.

Oh, look, a gift from your Mom

Chris' parents are very practical people. Practical people give practical gifts. No complaints here. It's how we got our paper shredder.

The paper shredder was really novel at first. Who knew we could turn into kids in a candy store just by watching the simple act of our electric bill being chewed into a million pieces.

And then the staple hit. Literally. Shredders don't handle staples well. At all, actually.

And that was the end of our shredder.

Poor Chris, he's been ridding of our secret documents and bills by hand lately.

But this morning, we had a great idea:

And now the little dog has a new chore. (I knew he'd be good for something...)

You Should Have Been in Pictures

But instead, you got into MY pictures. And ate the negatives.

Remember negatives? Vaguely? I had all but forgotten about them until last night. My memory was refreshed when the little dog came prancing into the kitchen with a stream of negatives hanging out of his mouth. He looked at me as if I had sent him on a long scavenger hunt, and he had won. Want to know where they came from? A storage container in my closet that he somehow opened. We can either guess that he's the only dog on the planet with a pincer grasp, or, more likely, that he chewed the bin open with his sharp little teeth. This was one of his hardest jobs yet, because not only did he have to get into that storage bin, but then he had to chew open the little film container where the negatives were stored.

I can't even scream at him for being s-t-u. (That's code for "stupid" at our house, because we're not allowed to use that word...) At this point, I would definitely settle for s-t-u, versus e-v-i-l and d-e-s-t-r-u-c-t-i-v-e.

ChellBell's word for the little dog is the best. Disaster. Or Deesaster if you happen to spell phonetically. Seeing how un-s-t-u this dog is, she put a sign on her door to clearly communicate her thoughts (honestly, if he can find the negatives in a film container in a storage bin, surely the dog can read):

You Are What You Eat

Therefore, the little dog is now a cell phone charger, a hands-free earpiece, a 4 square inch portion of a hamper, and a big stick.