Despite the fact that my floors look like they drastically need an intervention from a dermatologist, I have been able to see some advantages in stripping the carpeting all of the way down to our concrete slab. It’s been nice to not give a flip about muddy pawprints that blend in quite well with the other blemishes. And Wonderbutt seems to feel very strongly about not peeing on concrete. Having no floor makes it easier for me to excuse myself from inviting anyone over, which kind of leads to making it easier for me to neglect the rest of the household.
Dimples found a new advantage, yesterday, when she was bringing her scooter through the house to return it to the garage. (Don’t ask me why she couldn’t just take it directly into the garage.)
“Hey, Mom,” she suddenly asked. “Why can’t I scooter in here?”
“I don’t know. Why can’t you?” I responded, thinking this was leading to one of those nine-year old kid punchlines that make no sense.
“You told me I can’t. But that was when we had carpeting.”
“You mean, I can? I can scooter in here?”
That’s not what I meant, actually. I was just acknowledging that I had said that and it was eons ago, back when carpet that had not been peed on or chewed to pieces by Wonderbutt still covered our floor – back when I actually cared about my social life and what the floor looked like.
But I couldn’t really think of a reason not to.
Go for it,” I said, after making sure she still had her helmet on.
But it was too late, because she was already zooming around the living room with Wonderbutt fast on her heels. And that’s when she realized just how brilliant her idea was.
“Hey, I’m getting exercise AND so is Wonderbutt. And this floor is so much smoother than the sidewalk out there.”
There was no denying that Wonderbutt was getting a workout. I’m not sure if he was chasing Dimples or the scooter, but he seemed determined to catch one of them. And I have yet to find a con to having a wiped out Wonderbutt. Unless it’s the absence of things about which to blog.
Completely carefree, oblivious to any small obstacles such as furniture or the unwitting Mrs. P.I.B., Dimples made her rounds. I prepared myself for the inevitable broken bone – weighing the odds of whether I would be making a trip to the vet or the hospital and wondering if one of them would take both patients if the inevitable double disaster occurred. Miraculously, Wonderbutt managed to stay clear of the wheels while Dimples showed us how worthwhile all of those years of private scootering tutoring had been.
“I’m going to try skateboarding tomorrow,” Dimples finally said, after both she and Wonderbutt had their tongues hanging out.
For a brief moment, I flashed on an image of our living room transformed into a skate park – a mecca for all of the neighborhood kids with a few modifications for skateboarding dogs.
Whizzing around 81-year-old MILlie as she falls asleep on the sofa watching T.V., placing a ramp to make leaps over Cap’n Firepants in his armchair, crouching down to smoothly wheel right under Mrs. P.I.B. How much more Extreme can Sports get? It doesn’t take a genius to realize how much money we could make off of this enterprise.
My whole problem had been looking at our domicile as a place to which we could invite our own friends to eat dinner and relax comfortably. I really don’t know why I’m so narrow-minded.