I Love Corgis!

Courtesy businessinsider.com

As you know, I am enrolled in Poetry 101. It’s been a challenge (that means you, odes), but I have enjoyed it. Thursday I did a limerick (if you want to read it, it’s my last post) about my disdain of math. It was so much fun! Because of that, I have decided to write another couple.

My pooch’s name is Maggie.

She often gets shaggy.

Still, she looks so pretty, but

My dad calls her Haggie.

We also have Wayne.

To walk is really a strain.

My sister got him dog grip socks,

But too bad he can’t use a cane.

The Elder Statesman

You already know that I am the mother of a ten-year-old Corgi named Maggie. But we also have a family dog—Wayne, also a Corgi. You didn’t read his name wrong. His name is actually Wayne. The name is courtesy of my middle sister, Sarah, which really explains some things.

When I got Maggie, the breeder said that though Wayne was older, when she grew up, my dog would rule the roost. He said females are just more dominant. Dad said that was just like people. And there was a huge eye roll, probably, and an Oh please from Mom.

But what Bill, the breeder, said is completely true. Of the two dogs, Maggie is definitely in charge. As they got older, Wayne spent more and more time sunning himself in the Southern California sunshine. Coincidence? I think not.

Wayne is now thirteen. He is now thirteen and a half, actually. My jaw drops whenever I see this saint of a dog. He is now elderly. When I look at him now I see a dog who limps and is extremely slow moving because of a bad foot.

I can hardly talk about it, but when he is in doggie heaven I hope I remember him as the rambunctious little puppy amusing himself by tossing pebbles to himself, not a deaf dog who has a hard time walking. He is my daily reminder that time marches on. That, and what unconditional love looks like: Maybe not perfect, but just right.

Wayne.

Wayne.

Guess Who?

Have you seen the CBS show “The Briefcase”? It’s definitely not my favorite, but something you can DVR for when nothing is on. After all, summer TV is slim pickings! The show’s premise is this: Two families are given $100,000. They can keep all of it, some of it, or give it all away to another family in equal or worse financial shape.

If you’ve seen it, you know that part of the show is when the couples exchange houses, trying to find about the family who lives there? Instead of telling about the person/people I chose for this post, I decided to describe him/her/them using pictures.

Here goes—see if you can figure out what sorts of person/people would possess:

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Reagan book- does that mean he/she/they like our 40th president? Are they Republican? Or just a fan of bad movies?

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David Sedaris book: Does the person or people also have a quirky sense of humor? Or are they just sarcastic?

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Tools: Are they working on something? Hobby? Both?

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Medals: They look like running medals. Are they a runner? Or did they hit a runner’s garage sale then hang them up in their own home?

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Basket of toys: Do they have dogs? Or just a child with a propensity towards grimy stuffed animals?

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Last picture: Do they enjoy gardening? Is it even their yard? If not, where is it?

Okay, these pictures represent my parents, Linda and Gary. Dad is a huge Republican who thinks Reagan was the best president ever, hands down. He enjoys woodworking and is currently redoing our living room. Mom is a runner with a quirky sense of humor, hence David Sedaris. They both love dogs (Dad would never admit it). The garden is our backyard, and they both enjoy getting dirty taking care of it.

Hopefully if our family is ever on “The Briefcase,” whoever comes through our house to gather clues isn’t offended by Reagan, “gets” quirky personalities, and loves dogs. Otherwise, they’ll be keeping all the money for themselves.

Enough is Enough!

You know the feeling when you are sick—not physically sick, mind you, you’re just wishing a particular something would leave and not return? Well, here are my things that if they left Planet Earth I would be thrilled. Warning: I’m not crazy, just random.

  • Storm Track on KABC: Since when is 1/8 of an inch of rain a storm? I can feel the rest of the country laughing at those weak Southern Californians.
  • Ripped jeans: It’s not exactly chic to dress like a slob.
  • “The Bachelor”/”The Bachelorette”: There isn’t that much crying at a funeral.
  • TLC: Okay, I admit I watch it; after all, isn’t it The Learning Channel? Still, how are “My Gypsy Wedding” and “Return to Amish” educational?
  • The word “viral”: Viral is something that makes you miss a day or two of school. Viral can’t “go.”
  • Pop-Ups: If I want you, I will click on you.
  • Game invites on Facebook: See above.
  • Christmas now beginning in September: Excuse me, but isn’t Christmas in winter?

And my personal favorite:

I’m embarrassed for them.

  • Dressing up pets as children: They are animals, after all (sorry, Maggie)!

 

Image: Pinterest

My Daughter

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What a character!

Margaret Elizabeth, my birthday girl,

Ten, and ears graying, with white eyelashes,

She sleeps a lot,

And that’s technically seventy,

An aging Corgi,

Yet my baby will always be my little baby,

No matter her age.

 

Can dogs smile?

Yes they can,

Nub, tail cut off at the quick, nub wags madly,

A glow in her eye,

Upturned muzzle,

A delighted expression on her face,

My daughter grabs a toy,

Thrilled that I’m home.

Planet Erinon

Courtesy viralnovelty.net

God designed Earth, actually the universe and even us, in six days. I would say He did a pretty good job! Although we do have problems, war and famine for instance, overall it’s a pretty good system.

But, just hypothetically of course, if I were able to design a new planet in some far off galaxy, this is what it would look like:

*Always at least 90 degrees (You can tell I’m a California girl. Anything below 80 is freezing!)

*Replace water with chocolate, preferably dark

*Dogs can talk

*Junk food is healthy; we actually depend on it.

*Cars are rubber; it’s fun to crash

*There are still humans, but not superficial; it’s what’s inside that counts.

There’s my planet. The thought boggles my mind, but the universe is infinite: who knows, maybe there is one EXACTLY like this. Let’s move!

There’s One In Every Crowd (Or Airplane Cabin)


I know I wrote about this yesterday, but I’m still steamed! On Friday’s “Good Morning America” there was a segment about people saying their pets are service animals for “emotional support” and get to now ride on planes for FREE. They obtain a vest and certificate from a training program, all online and all bogus—no doctor’s note or even proof they even need the animal. On the show the reporter investigating even tried to pass off a pig as a service animal—not even a second look by the employees. And a few times they didn’t ask to see proof he was a service animal, just oohing and aahing about how cute he was.

According to the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) signed by President Bush in 1990, it is a crime to discriminate based on any disability, be it physical, developmental, or mental.

Unfortunately, as you have with any law, you have people who try and twist it to benefit them, not the good of our country; what Wikipedia calls the “professional plaintiff”—someone who is not afraid to threaten, even bully, to get they want; always the victim. Think of the lawsuit probably twenty years ago when a customer spilled hot coffee on themselves at a McDonald’s and then sued.

In my opinion that’s why airlines allow it: they are afraid of the one person who might take advantage of the situation, either by filing a lawsuit or smearing their reputation. Now we all get to suffer. My dad travels a lot for work, and I am sure he will be thrilled smelling dog for five hours coming from the lap of someone as able-bodied as himself.

Girly Goy

My nine-year-old Corgi, Margaret Elizabeth (such a feminine name for such an unfeminine dog!), exudes tomboy. She is a boy with female parts. A goy or a birl. I look out the French doors of my room and she could either be rolling around on the grass in the backyard, as though she is having a grand mal seizure, or chasing one of the many lizards that live back there.

On my 31st birthday last July, I wanted to take her to the Huntington Beach dog beach. I could see it now: she was going to have a blast splashing and playing in the waves with the other dogs! Her inner boy could come out!

At least, that’s how I imagined it.

What dog wouldn't love spending a day here?

What dog wouldn’t love spending a day here?

Here’s what happened:

Arriving there:

Erin: Maggie, you’re going to have fun, I love the beach!

Maggie: I hope so, just not sure about this stuff under my feet. I don’t really like it.

Erin: It’s called sand. It’s hard at first, but you’ll have so much fun you’ll forget about it.

 

Answer: my dog.

Answer: my dog.

Claiming our spot:

(Watching the other dogs playing in the water. There were Labs, Beagles, and mutts. No Corgi. Yet.)

Erin: Let’s go down by the water.

Maggie: What’s water?

Erin: It’s like what you drink, but at the beach you play in it. Look at how much fun those dogs are having!

 

Maggie having no part of it.

Maggie having no part of it.

 

Without even getting a paw wet, my goy had had enough. We spent another hour at the beach, occasionally one of my family members taking her back to the water, with no success. She was braver more comfortable on the blanket.

 

What. A. Day.

What. A. Day.

 

 

When we finally left—none too soon for Maggie—my dog rested the whole way home and a lot of the next day. She was exhausted. FROM WHAT, I still wonder.

Maybe next time we’ll try the mountains. Or the desert. Or even the backyard. Just not the beach.