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At Least He Hasn’t Eaten the Phone Yet
Wonderbutt
If our bulldog, Wonderbutt, could send text messages:
Speaking of Balls…
It has been awhile since I have shared a home with a persistently Obsessive Compulsive Dog, but our bulldog is quickly reacquainting me with the fine points of dealing with an O.C.D. Not to stereotype or anything, but every O.C.D. that has lived in our household has been male; we’ve even hosted an O.C.C. (Obsessive Compulsive Cat) – who also happened to be male. I don’t really know what this means, scientifically, but our track record is definitely not good.
Our current O.C.D., Wonderbutt, has recently developed a fixation on a ball. The kind you roll. (If this is not why you are reading this post, I am sorry to have disappointed you.) Anyway, this ball was originally purchased for Mrs. P.I.B., our 11 year old Golden Retriever, as Wonderbutt kept ramming her in the side of the mouth to steal her tennis ball – even if he already had an identical tennis ball in his mouth. In a shocking turn of events, it turned out that Wonderbutt much preferred the new super-duper rubberish ball, and Mrs. P.I.B. was more than happy to stick with the stinky, old tennis ball that Wonderbutt now spurns. Everybody’s happy, right?
If you know the Firepants Family, and I think you do, you know that there are precious few moments when everyone is simultaneously happy.
Wonderbutt loved the new ball so much, we worried that he would give it the kind of attention that he gives all of the objects that he adores – endless licking that evolves into chewing and, before you know it, there are tiny pieces everywhere and it’s a miracle the dog hasn’t choked.
So, we rationed his time with the ball. We would play with him until he sprawled out on his stomach, panting, and then gently remove the ball from his jaws and put it somewhere out of his view and reach.
Wonderbutt did not like this routine. So, one day, instead of bringing the ball back to us, he started racing around the house with it. My daughter, Dimples, was happy to comply with this new game, chasing him until they were both out of breath. But, we still got the ball in the end.
The other day, Wonderbutt led Dimples on a merry chase around the kitchen table, and then blasted through his dog door to his outside pen. The Poop Pen. I am fine if he brings a toy out to his Poop Pen. But, as far as I am concerned, that should be a one-way ticket. No toy returns allowed from the Poop Pen.
This ball, however, was an exception. It had outlasted any other toy Wonderbutt has ever owned, and I didn’t want to sacrifice it to the Poop Pen. So, we coaxed him to bring the darn ball back in, washed it off, and put it away for a couple of days.
Wonderbutt is like an elephant, though. In more ways than one. From then on, as soon as he got hold of the ball, he would race with it to the Poop Pen.
Dimples got the brilliant idea of closing the dog door during a play session one afternoon. It really was smart – until she forgot that she had closed it, and wandered off to do other important things.
Concrete floors are very slippery when wet. And Moms who slip and slide on concrete floors are very upset.
Sometimes I think, “I am a human being. No dog is going to outsmart me.”
Then I go outside and clean the Poop Pen.
Cornered, Wonderbutt watches Dimples’ hand slowly creep toward his mouth.
It’s Party Time
It is Fiesta season here in San Antonio. Our cousin, Mr. Globetrotter, was visiting from Houston this weekend, and asked, “What exactly is Fiesta?” Everyone – okay, it was only 3 people, but I still felt a lot of pressure – looked at me. Not because I am particularly smart. I just happen to be the person who has lived in San Antonio the longest out of the four people who were in the room. Which, apparently, gives me no special powers, as I quite honestly had to say, “I have no idea.”
Wonderbutt can't wait to devour Mrs. P.I.B.'s Fiesta flower halo. He is the only family member who seems to understand the true meaning of Fiesta - eating.
Here is what I do know about Fiesta:
It is approximately 10 days of parties and parades.
We get off school on Friday for a “Battle of Flowers Parade” – which no one I know actually attends.
When I was in college, my sorority worked at one of the Fiesta events. I volunteered to sell tickets. We were locked in a wooden booth about 9 square feet to keep us “safe”. One night, we were told to stop selling tickets because there were too many people inside. When we announced that we could not sell any more tickets, one not-so-congenial drunk threatened to set fire to our booth with his lighter. I can pretty much trace my fear of being confined to that one intoxicated pyromaniac.
If you are younger than 10, your favorite part of Fiesta is the cascarones, the hollow eggs filled with confetti. It is customary to break these open over someone’s head. Many people do not understand that you are not actually supposed to use the person’s head to crack the egg. Hence, there are many people walking around with concussions and multicolored circles falling out of their hair.
photo credit: Nongbri Family Pix via photo pin cc
If you like crowds of people stumbling into you with towers of beer cups, Fiesta events are the place to go.
If you like live music, Fiesta events are not the place to go – unless you also happen to enjoy crowds of people stumbling into you with towers of beer cups while you are trying to listen to good music.
If you like stumbling around with towers of beer cups, it’s probably best if you don’t attend the River Parade, where your chances of stepping off the sidewalk into 6 feet of water is increased by 10 for each beer cup you have in your stack.
As you can probably tell, I am not sold on the whole Fiesta extravaganza. Other than the day off from school, I am pretty ambivalent about this city-wide event. It’s fun to see everyone in a good mood. But, I can’t imagine why parades, drunks, and excess amounts of fattening food do not excite me.
After all, I moved here from New Orleans.
Just in Case You’re Wondering
Why do we put up with the Willful Ways of Wonderbutt? I often ask myself that question. Particularly at moments like this:
In a strange way, it almost looks like a piece of art...
Wonderbutt is certainly not the only one in the household who behaves strangely. Perhaps you have lived with pets that do not suffer from any sort of psychological disturbances. I have never had that pleasure. It’s entirely possible that I am the reason for each one’s idiosyncrasies. So, I partly suffer their insanity out of guilt. But, I have to say that, 99% of the time they give me joy. And that makes it all worthwhile. And makes me both remorseful and greedy.
Today, I arrived home to one dog – Wonderbutt. I am normally greeted by two. My first thought was that Cap’n Firepants might have accidentally locked Mrs. P.I.B. outside this morning when he left for work. My second thought, which was probably a bit unfair to Wonderbutt, was that our overly boisterous bulldog had given our sweet 11 year old Golden Retriever a heart-attack.
But Wonderbutt, the Tattle No-Tail, quickly led me to the hallway, where I found this:
Mrs. P.I.B. has always suffered from the delusion that being closer to our bedroom makes her safer - even if we aren't home.
It briefly stormed today, inspiring Mrs. P.I.B. to storm the gate to the Forbidden Section. Although brave enough to leap over it once, Mrs. P.I.B.’s fear of repeating such a hazardous undertaking trapped her in the hallway.
Since we had prudently closed all hallway doors this morning, knowing there was a chance of rain, Wonderbutt saw no benefit in taking the risk, himself, and, in an unusual turn of events, became the Good Dog.
Mrs. P.I.B. panted exaggeratedly on the other side of the gate, despite the fact that the storm had passed long before and there was absolutely no threat to her well-being other than herself.
I took pity, and moved the gate, allowing Wonderbutt to barrel through to the Forbidden Section while Mrs. P.I.B. jumped over him to get out. On the other side, she seemed to reconsider this decision, particularly when she saw how delighted Wonderbutt was to replace her.
I set the gate aside, and allowed them to both romp beside me while I made my way to the computer. As soon as I was seated, Wonderbutt plopped down on the floor beside me, and Mrs. P.I.B. curled up in the hall. They both put their heads down and went to sleep.
When you realize that you have the power to bring contentment to two living beings with your mere presence, it gives you a certain sense of worth. And, believe it or not, that is far more valuable than a smelly old couch with lumpy cushions.
I guess we will find out in about another month how it compares to a brand new couch and a husband who is nearing the end of his tether…
Shut the Door!
Yesterday, I picked up Dimples from her after-school care, which happens to take place in her school cafeteria, and drove the ten blocks home.
When I stopped the car in the driveway, Dimples said, “I have a Safety Patrol meeting at 5.” In the school cafeteria. It was 4:40.
After we spent a couple of minutes arguing in the car about whether she had ever mentioned this meeting to me (she says she did, and I forgot – which I’m pretty sure is true), and why she could not have reminded me this morning or, at the very least, before we pulled out of her school parking lot, we went inside the house.
Wonderbutt was, as usual, quite enthusiastic about our arrival. He had managed to pull two cushions off the couch, and was proud to show off his accomplishment.
After I made a hasty bathroom visit to “freshen up” and Dimples gobbled down a quick snack, we did a u-turn out the door – leaving behind a completely befuddled bulldog.
When we arrived at the meeting, I sidled up to the Patrol sponsor to find out how long we would be there. I knew Wonderbutt was not going to be pleased with our sudden entrance and exit, and I was pretty sure that leaving him alone for an hour would have disastrous results. The sponsor assured me that it would be 20 minutes.
It was 15. Feeling slightly encouraged by this unusually short meeting, and only somewhat put-out that I had wasted my time over-transporting Dimples, I drove us both quickly home.
“He’s not barking at us!” Dimples said, happily, when our feet hit the porch. To her, this was a good sign. To me, this meant he was far too busy doing dastardly deeds.
Sure enough, we entered the house to find shredded newspaper in every nook and cranny.
Ironically, the primary object of Wonderbutt's wrath was the Food section of the newspaper.
“Where did it come from?” Dimples asked in astonishment.
I walked into the kitchen. The pantry door was wide open. Inside our pantry are the recycling bins. Mystery solved.
Except – who had left the pantry door open? Surely not the person who, months ago, firmly taped this sign on the door…
We also keep plastic grocery store (H.E.B.) bags in the pantry. Wonderbutt loves to eat those.
Oh, and we keep snacks in the pantry. Like the one Dimples ate right before we left for the Patrol meeting.
“Oops,” said Dimples. Without a word, she began to pick up the mess.
Today’s score: Dimples- 1, Mom – 1 (thanks to Wonderbutt )
Back to the Drawing Board – Before it Gets Eaten
I mentioned a few posts ago that we had been furniture shopping. Our bulldog, affectionately nicknamed Wonderbutt, has thoroughly annihilated our sofas in his never-ending quest to make our home inhospitable to guests. We felt like we needed a new plan, and Step 1 was to order new couches that will a.) deflect dog hair, 2.) have no removable cushions, and III.) not smell like Wonderbutt.
The danger of this plan, of course, is that Wonderbutt will find new ways to sabotage our attempts at interior decorating. Crating Wonderbutt has been recommended by many fans. But I must tell you that, with Wonderbutt, crating was a disaster. He does not like being treated like a dog. His vengefulness is tenfold when he is crated – resulting in daily crate cleaning and sterilization, belligerent bulldog baths, and house defumigation. Even when his crate was cleverly positioned so that he could go in and outside whenever he wished, he continued to soil his crate in defiance of his semi-imprisonment.
Our new plan is to restrict him to the kitchen while we are gone, using the baby gates that keep him from entering the Forbidden Section of the house. This plan has many potential perils, I must admit. There are table and chair legs aplenty for him to chew on. In addition, there are numerous cabinets to explore and windowsills on which he can gnaw. But we have decided the kitchen can be our sacrificial lamb as we haven’t really invested anything in renovating it – yet.
In order to make his kitchen stays more pleasant, we have decided that, upon the arrival of the new furniture, the old sofa cushions will be retained. I plan to toss one into his area every day before we leave, and admonish him not to destroy it. As soon as we exit the house, I expect, he will begin to decimate said cushion – hopefully concentrating so well on that project that he will live the rest of the kitchen alone.
We have also ordered a clever little dog bed cover to give him an alternative to sleeping on the couch. We can stuff it with the old cushions or pillows – or even with Dimples’ old crib mattress. The cover was fairly inexpensive, so I won’t feel devasted if he manages to pierce it with his sharp little teeth. And, the bonus is that you can have it personalized. I was very tempted to use one of the predetermined phrases – such as “Danger Toxic Gas”, but settled on a simple “Wonderbutt” logo instead.
Do I think that this carefully considered plan that we have devised will work? Will we finally be able to invite guests to our home in larger numbers than the current one safe place to sit that we have now?
Sure – at least for a week or two.
Since I have used up all of my torn up couch pics in previous posts, I was cruisin' for a pic on the net, and found this poor woman's blog post. What struck me was how much this couch resembles ours. Maybe it's not the dogs' faults. Maybe there is a certain type of couch that just begs to be destroyed... http://www.thehousecreative.com
April’s Dead Rubber Post
Well, we all knew that it had to happen eventually. Life caught up with me, and I ran out of time to create a hastily cleverly composed post for today. So I am going to bore entertain you with a few pics of Wonderbutt as a puppy that I just found.
Wonderbutt with Cap'n Firepants. Note the pristine carpeting upon which they sit.
Probably his first time ever on grass.
Looking over at his big sister, Mrs. Pain in the Butt
Mrs. P.I.B. introduces Wonderbutt to Big Mean Kitty - soon to become his arch nemesis.
And Wonderbutt now (well, in February at about 17 months old):
He cracks us up when he sits with his back feet tucked in like that!
I’ll be back tomorrow with more finely crafted features from the Firepants Family!
The Wascally Wabbit Escaped!
Dimples and I came home to this on Friday:
It took us a moment to identify Wonderbutt’s new toy. He proudly led us to the remains of the toy and its companions.
Lovingly gathered with his other toys at the perfect spot on the stairs for ankle-twisting.
In case you have not figured it out by now, it was originally a collection of Easter Bunny straws that Dimples had washed had laid out on the counter on a paper towel to dry. It had been there for two days before Wonderbutt decided that the straws were meant for him. Because that’s why we put things on the counter, you know. To keep him entertained while we are gone.
This one straw was "passed over" by Wonderbutt for reasons unknown.
I did try to get a holiday photo that would be a bit more appropriate.
It won’t surprise you that Wonderbutt would not cooperate.
Wonderbutt does all exploring with his mouth.
It's going to be another colorful day in the Poop Pen. Sigh...
Mrs. P.I.B. tactfully pretended not to see the Easter Bunny when he/she came to hide the eggs.
But, if the Easter Bunny did not make it to your house, this may be why - he/she was assaulted by Wonderbutt. It was not a pretty sight...
That dog is determined to dismantle society as we know it – one calendar page at a time.
You Can’t Find this Stuff at Macy’s
Although Fredericksburg may not compare to Rodeo Drive in California, it is known for being a Texas Hill Country shopping mecca. After heartily imbibing Grape Creek wine on Saturday, we returned to downtown to be certain we did not miss out on any one-of-a-kind-items-that-must-be-had-at-any-price.
I think Cap’n Firepants and Mr. Globetrotter made it one block before they ditched Mrs. Globetrotter and I for another round at Fredericksburg Brewing Company.
What do they sell in Fredericksburg? These signs will give you an idea.
It seems that after "Couture", the sign maker realized that he was being too specific, and decided just to close up his summary of available items with "Everything."
One place Mrs. Globetrotter and I had to investigate was Dogologie, which, I suppose, fits into the “Everything” category -although it does sell canine couture. That’s where we met the cute pup I featured in Sunday’s post. You can probably guess from the name of the store what type of products are sold there. I was actually shopping for a gift for Mrs. P.I.B. (who turned 11 on April 1st) that would be Wonderbutt-proof. I am hoping it will be another candidate for a P.A.W. Award from Wonderbutt.
Cute pup from Sunday's post. Or a short-nosed, long legged rat. You decide.
It turns out that Dogologie is not the only animal-friendly store in Fredericksburg. Several stores have resident canines.
This beauty was NOT excited about having her picture taken.
One even had some newborn kittens.
Potential Parenting Problem Miraculously Avoided by Absence of Feline-Addicted Firepants Family Member
Our animal encounters were the only part of our weekend get-away that Dimples was sorry she missed (other than seeing our Globetrotter cousins). The Cap’n and I were thankful that Dimples was not present during the kitten sighting. That could have resulted in a major schism in the Firepants family from which we, and the town of Fredericksburg, might not have been able to recover…
