A Love Letter to the Dog.

I am dedicating this entry to our beloved Gabby, who today, turned 5 years old, but still has the nub-wagging, bum-shaking exuberance of a puppy.  Gabby came to us when she was just 14 months old. For some crazy reason, we had decided 4 cats weren't enough and we needed to add a dog to this chaotic mix.  And so sweet Gabby, this is a love letter to you~

Dearest Gabby,
You've been with us four out of your five years here on this earth, and not a day goes by that we don't think that your presence  has enriched our lives every moment of those four years. Even when you're naughty, which I'll get to later.

I remember what felt like kismet in how you were brought into our lives, and how we were allowed to 'try you out' for the weekend--Labor Day weekend of 2007.  We took you hiking with us in New Hampshire. By the end of the day, you were exhausted, sprawled out in the backseat of my car, and I knew I wouldn't be able to give you up. You were ours.

I remember your first night home with us, Terry working late, and you did NOT like your crate. So I slept with you, hugging you on the floor of our apartment. And then when T came through the door late, I knew you'd always protect me, as you barreled forward, your deep startled bark probably waking the neighbors.  

You needed some training. You were, well, a little nutty. Not in a bad way, but you are a Rottweiler after all, so even though you are a lovebug, you needed some basic obedience. You and I went for six Thursdays, where you splendidly became a quick learner and followed everything I commanded. You also mastered the Gentle Leader, which has since become our favorite training tool. (No people, it is NOT a muzzle. Sheesh) 

It wasn't long before you embedded yourself fully into our lives and hearts. You became my shadow; my backseat copilot. My buddy to take everywhere and do everything with.  Remember getting up at 6am and driving to the dog park for half an hour of play before work. I do! Suffice to say, the kit-tehs were less than thrilled by your arrival. I think they are still wondering when you're going to leave. Except Winston. You somehow managed to make him love you. (A common tailless nub bond, perhaps?) I still find it amazing that you won't walk down the hall if you know big, bad Franklin is blocking your way.

We soon discovered your love of swimming--whether a shallow pond in NH, to the icy winter waters of the ocean, or by launching yourself from a rock to get that tennis ball we threw into Acadia's "Bowl".    You love the beach. You love to run and you somehow make your 80lb self look graceful and gazelle-like in doing so. With you, we have explored so many places that turned into favorites.   Gabs, you may not remember the first time we took you camping, but we do.  

It was, of course, at our favorite serene Mt. Desert Campground in Somes Sound. You waited patiently as we set up camp, exploring every nook and cranny surrounding our site. How your nose must have been in overdrive! So many new smells!  We set up the air mattress and that night, expected you'd sleep on your LL Bean dog mat.  No sooner had we settled precariously onto the mattress, you launched yourself smack dab in the middle, nearly sending us both flying into the sides of the tent. You readjusted until YOU were comfortable and there you stayed. Of course, that's when I learned that you make *the* best blanket ever. We never get to experience that at home since the kitties own the bed.  You make everything fun.

You do have your quirks.  As much as you love water, you hate rain. Especially wet grass.  You're stubborn and willful. (But then again, so am I)  You seem to sometimes have selective hearing. You have an incontinence issue that comes with being a spayed female. Isn't being a girl tough?

You have your naughty moments.  You've eaten entire sticks of butter, wrapping too, that were meant to just be softening on the counter. If we're cooking and need to drain fat from say, ground beef, we can't leave the bowls out or you'll slurp them down, giving us a greasy smile of satisfaction while you smack your lips.  You are a carb hound. You love pizza crusts. You love finishing our DQ ice cream cups. You adore a Jordan Pond House popover.  

But you have healthy habits too. You know the moment I split open a freshly ripened avocado.  You suck down cantaloupe. Your soulful gaze doesn't waver when you're watching us eat, hoping that the even the smallest crumb hits the floor.   You've found that Gman has learned to 'feed' you from his highchair and you stick close to him at all meal times, not yet bored with soggy Cheerios or graham crackers. 

You're G's biggest fan. If we let you, you'd lick him up one side and down the other. You're gentle and sweet and maybe sometimes slightly overeager, but you're the one he gives his smiles away for free to.  And you're the one who was the recipient of his first 'Mama'. You've been so patient this last year, as our routine had to change due to this tiny, sometimes loud, being that all of a sudden demanded all of our attention.

I remember, especially during the long cold winter, you looking at me, with those warm chocolate eyes, as if to say, "Ma, I'm bored.  Why aren't we meeting Buckley and his Human at the field for some ball play?" What can I say? I couldn't bring out my 7 month old for an hour or two of dog play when it was 15 degrees out. But I understood, Gabs. I always understood.

Guess what, tho, Gabs?! It's summer! In a couple days, we'll be in our favorite place; where you will no doubt, as you have for the past four summers, reign supreme as the Belle of Bar Harbor.  You will get to swim at the Bowl, strut down Main Street, splash in the fountains, and be admired by all.  And then it will officially be summer, and the Gman will be able to toddle around, while we resume our play dates for you and your buds. I promise.

So happy birthday, sweet girl.  And here's wishing we have at least 5 more happy years with you ahead of us.  We love you.

I am Momma: chef, chauffeur, groomer, stylist, snuggler. A day in the life of...

Another week draws to a close. My nightly rituals are done.  The kitchen is officially 'closed'.  I reflect upon another day passed.  It begins waking to the shrill beep of an alarm, unless my bodyclock  alerts me first.  Those first few waking moments are spent intently listening for any murmurs, chats, sniffles or coughs that may come from G's room just down the hall.  

I drag my weary self downstairs, first peeking in to make sure he's still tucked snugly in his crib, and hasn't managed to escape to unknown places in the middle of the night.  I may cover up his little toes with the blanket, and replace the giraffe in his crib that he inevitably tossed out during one of his midnight soliloquies.  

Gabby, tuned in to the very moment I put foot to the floor after getting up from bed, is already waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, nub wagging, her favorite stuffy fox or polar bear in her mouth, offered to me as a thank you for beginning the day.  The ritual is the same. Empty her bladder before my own, fill water bowl, serve breakfast, all the while listening to the first gurgles of wakefulness. Shower. Get dressed.  If I was lazy the night before (read: too drop dead tired) then I've saved the tedious task of washing G's cups, plates and spoons til now, inwardly groaning at myself for the 10 extra minutes I could have added to the morning had I just done it last night.  What's that? Chatter coming over the monitor. The Prince has awoken!

Snuggle, change diaper, get dressed.  I could do this with my eyes closed, which is almost what it's like since the blackout shade in his room keeps it dark as night, except for the glowing yellow moonbeam nightlight.  A quick goodbye to sleeping daddy, and it's a mad rush to stuff him in his carseat with favorite riding companion, gather his diaper bag (hopefully I've remembered to restock it the night before), my work bag, and off we go.  

For 25 minutes, we commute together, sometimes chatty, sometimes not. I drop him off at daycare. Each day it gets a little bit easier, despite doing it for nearly three months now.  But my heart still gives a squeeze now that he's able to wave bye bye and seems less interested in me leaving and more interested in what toys await him. (But isn't that what I would want for a peaceful goodbye?)

My work day goes by, and soon it's 4:45 and I'm off to pick him up and see his squinchy smile when I walk through the door and he notices I've arrived. He mad-dash crawls to me, then stops short at my legs, kneeling in front of me with outstretched arms.  My heart squeezes again.  On the ride home, I like to think he's telling me about his day, until the chatter stops and I assume he's decided that NPR's "All Things Considered" is no match for having spent the day listening to London Bridge is Falling Down. I hear the gentle snore that usually accompanies his carseat catnaps. 

                                                                         

Arriving home, like every day, Gabby hears the car and anxiously awaits at the door to greet us with her "release the hound" moment of unabashed enthusiasm.  I rush to get his dinner ready, thinking back to what he had for lunch so I don't, God forbid, duplicate anything.  Then the challenge begins.  About half the time, he's fine and manages to eat a great dinner, without much fuss. The other half? He loses it.  He's tired, his teeth are bugging him, and nothing I can do appeases him.  Except yogurt.  Have I mentioned that? He is *obsessed* with yogurt.  Yobaby 3 meals in one to be exact. (I mean who wouldn't love a plain yogurt mixed with green beans and pear combo?) It's amazing what I've dipped into this yogurt to get him to eat, thus fooling him (or so I think) into believing he's just getting the yogurt and only the yogurt.  

Once dinner is done, it's time for a stroller ride around the neighborhood to walk Gabby.  This dog has been so patient with us all year, the least I can do is get a walk in before the boy's in bed!  And on a warm Maine summer evening, it's a delight for all of us.  Except for the pesky blood-sucking mosquitoes.  And nasty black flies.  Well, almost a delight.  

I try to point out all the things we see on our walks, but I wonder if he gets bored hearing me say "look at the trees! and the pretty purple lilacs! and the lush green grass! and the mailboxes, lawnmowers and cars!"  Now home, Gabby is still hungry, and, despite having cleaned up whatever of G's dinner made it to the floor, gets fed and watered.  In the meantime, G is reacquainting himself with the living room and all the things he left behind this morning. Pulling books of shelves. Throwing blocks across the room. (Seriously, this kid has the makings of an excellent arm)  Enticing me to play our latest game.  This involves me chanting the theme to "Jaws", which somehow, he has totally understood to mean "I'm coming to get you and eat you up!"  Then he's off! Frantically crawling away, hysterically laughing and occasionally looking back to see how close I am to catching him.

Soon enough, the thumb is lured into the mouth, like a magnetic force, signalling sleepy time.  Of course, some nights it's prolonged by bath time, and since he's discovered the fun to be had in splashing, and then crawling around stark naked after baths, this process can take much longer than anticipated.   We make our nightly trek upstairs, saying good night to daddy (if he's not working), to the kitties, the dog, and sometimes the little boy in the mirror who looks suspiciously like G.  Since there is no more bedtime bottle, more time to snuggle and read stories. 

The must-read is Sandra Boyton's "Moo, Baa, La La La". I *heart* Boyton's books.  Clever, witty, and easy to memorize and make into silly songs.  For some reason, G is especially hooked on this one.  If I try another, he leans over the side of the rocker, whispering "Ba ba ba ba" which signals "where is my book?!" And if I don't get it fast enough...

As I've said recently, it's become my favorite time of day.  I breathe in the delicious scent of his freshly washed hair and it reminds me that he's still this perfect little being, and as tired or hungry or whatever I may be, I wouldn't trade these moments for anything.  And when he gives me that toothy smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eye, and smacks his lips in his own attempt to blow kisses, it's then I wish I could freeze the moment so that down the road, if he's a moody, angst-ridden teenager, I will look to this very moment when we knew nothing but cherubic sweetness.

So we say goodnight to his stuffies, gets his multiple kisses from me, and clutches his favorite giraffe (by the tail no less).  Lulled by his lullaby cd and the ocean waves sound machine, he's out.  Yes, actually it really is that easy and has been since day one.  Or maybe day 60.  This kid is definitely a product of his instantaneously-asleep-when-head-hits-pillow parents. By now it's nearing 7:30-45ish and depending on whether or not I'm home alone will decide the effort I put in to making dinner.  


Then it comes. The first moments to relax.  I'm a nerd.  I dvr Jeopardy! if I know I'm going to miss it by putting G to bed.  I figure it balances out the rest of the bad reality or dvr'ed tv I may watch that night. I don't last long though because all I can think about is how comfy bed will be and how I really want to get in more chapters of my book before fatigue completely settles in.  Let the dog out for one last pee.  I peek in G's room, amazed that he's always in a different location in his crib then the last time I checked, but no less peaceful looking.  I always whisper "i love you, sweet boo!" and blow him a kiss. My day is done.  I relish in the comfort of my soft warm bed, surrounded by furry kitties--one at my side, one at my legs, and one, actually the 20lber, nestled comfortably on my head.  I try to read, and only when I get to the point where I've read the same paragraph over and over again, do I realize it's either lights out, or a reenactment of Tom and Jerry's eyelid-propping toothpick trick.  And the latter just takes too much effort.


As I go through the day in my mind, and prepare for the next, I feel myself completely relax for the first time all day, and much like the advice given on a shampoo bottle, prepare to "lather, rinse, and repeat" for the next day, the next, the next...And I wouldn't have it any other way.