We currently have three dogs in our home.
(1) Jack Russell Terrier named Pixie, the dog that we have had since shortly after we got married in 2001. She was just a bit of a thing, just weaned, and lo we loved her.
(2) Golden Retriever/Border Collie mix named Smoky, just over a year old now as of a couple weeks ago. He is black, black, black save for a patch of white on his chest and his back paws. Having been raised only around small dogs he believes to be somewhere in the weight range of 15 pounds, though in reality he weighs around 70 pounds presently. Ever met a 70-pound dog that thinks he’s teeny? He’s a MONSTER with paws that like to slap at us as if he was just demure and prim.
(3) Schipperke/Pappillon mix formerly named Allegro, renamed Stanley by my children. This dog is essentially a wind-up toy that barks nonstop and makes me insane. He’s not a permanent fixture in my home, thank gosh, or I’d lose my frakking mind. Everyone, please pray his owner is able to take him off our hands soon before it becomes a “me or the dog” scenario. Do I sound cruel and mean? Let me tell you that every single soul that has ever dog-sat this dog for the owner basically comes away with the same feeling. I used to feel terribly guilty about my feelings, but I realized that my frustration with him is likely not even recognized considering how much he ignores me and prefers to try to be an actual physical part of one of the children. Think tick or leach-esque where he’d only be truly happy if he was someone attached to them.
Anyway, the point of this post is not that, but I thought I’d give you a bit of a back story.
So last night Kalina and my niece spent a special night at grandma’s house. For some reason, even when I had both girls with me, the topic du jour was dogs. Dogs this, dogs that. My niece exclaims from the back randomly, “I’ve seen a chi-weaner before!” Kalina explains Smoky’s differences. And on and on it went.
Well, I received a call later that night from my mom who shared the following conversation with me.
Kalina: Stanley is a Papillon mix.
Niece: Yeah, well, Cricket [their dog, of course] is a Chihuahua.
My mom: No, honey. Cricket’s a Jack Russell.
Niece: Oh, yeah, that’s right.
Kalina: Pixie’s one of those too. Except they don’t really fight. You know, they don’t wrestle.
My mom: [trying not to drive off the road from laughing].
/Scene
Jack WRESTLE. I still find this amusing. Apparently AJ also thought they were Jack Wrestles until I explained to him the spelling differences.
Kids are fun.
And Happy Mother’s Day to all moms in all forms everywhere. It’s an amazing and demanding “job”, and the women in my life do it with such grace. Love to you all. And you. And you. And you.
