Tag Archives: Brittany

How long must I resist letting her sleep on my bed?

Sadie: looking for love

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summer hiatus?

You could call it a hiatus. Or you could call it being really fucking busy with two kids and two dogs during the hottest days of Summer 2010.

Sorry readers, for being MIA for a week.  I have a few bits of breaking news.  Or perhaps I should say, as we do in the biz, “lessons learned.” (The “biz” to which I refer is, unfortunately for my spirit and my soul, IT consulting. Information Technology consulting. Makes me want to light my hair on fire, but it does pay the bills.) 

Lesson Learned #1: Do NOT Leave Treats in Pocket of Running Shorts (see Figure 1)

Figure 1. My (former) best running shorts

I walked into my closet and surveyed the clothes in a heap on the floor, pulled on a pair of shorts thinking I would go for a run, and discovered them to be… wet? Odd, right? I mean, the sweat from 2 days ago would have dried by now… so I look down and… am immediately reminded of my grey fleece. Samson (The original Brittany, if you haven’t been following) ate both pockets of my grey fleece when he was about 2 years old, probably going after the cheddar cheese we used to train him. So having the reaction only a dog-lover could understand, I smiled and laughed and had my daughter take this picture. Silly dogs.

Never mind that this set me back at least one week of running — which I have to say, worked out in everyone’s favor. Kids went to the pool after work more frequently, and I wasn’t dragging one of the poor dogs down the Arlington bike path in 90+degree heat. (A week? A whole week? You don’t have any other shorts? Those of you asking these questions must not have children and may God bless you for taking time away from your quiet weeknight to try and understand, but I just don’t have the energy to explain it right now.)

Lesson learned, Sadie and Dub.  Lesson learned. 

I now have my eye on a new pair of lululemons.

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BREAKING NEWS

It appears we have been approved to adopt a Brittany.

I know this because we are going to get our dog this weekend.

Oops… did i say “dog?”  It’s because I’m still getting used to the idea… our plan has changed a bit. We’re getting two.

Brittanys.

This weekend.

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the home visit

Linda showed up at our house at 7:30-ish. That was our agreement over email, complete with the “ish.”  “Ish” is my way of warning that I have two children under six, work full-time, and am no stranger to adult attention deficit.  If you’re late, or early, I will understand. Time management is an oxymoron in my world.  Add “ish” and at least I’m self-aware.

Linda pulled her Camry right to our front gate and waved out the window.  I imagined the scene as she saw it — lovely daughters, just slightly dishevled, eating popiscles on the front porch swing and giggling. White porch dappled with light from the setting, summer sun.  Dear husband (DH) watering the new azalea bushes. My lipgloss? Fresh. Light.  I may have heard music.

“Hi there,” I called through  my most fabulous smile. 

Then, “you gonna shower now?” I whisper-hissed to my husband through said, sparkling smile. 

Linda is a volunteer for American Brittany Rescue. She conducts home visits with families interested in adopting, and oh, I was interested. At that moment there were only two forces driving my behavior.  The first — less force really, than prim old-lady voice inside my head —  was my maternal grandmother chirping, “you never get a second chance to make a first impression.”  (Seriously, the man ran five miles and smelled like a hunk of cheese.  Expecting that he think ahead and be showered was not exactly an expectation on par with those of aStepford Wife.)

The second force, truly a force, was the deep hollowness I have felt for the last three months. We euthenized our Brittany, Samson, on March 5, 2010. He’d been suffering from cancer.

DH sighed his you-realize-you’re-being-ridiculous sigh and acquiesed to my shower request.  I responded with a slap to his behind. I’m-no-stranger-to-ridiculous. 

My two-year-old pressed her melting, half-eaten rocket pop into my palm.  “Can I watch a show? Pleeeeese?” 

And Linda — this ABR angel with perfectly separated Maybeline lashes who had the power to fill the chasm in my heart — crossed the threshold to our home.

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