Fave photo of the week

Brianna brought my granddog Hunter over for a visit this past week so he could play with Mickey and Lyla for a bit. After an hour or so of running around in the yard, the trio decided to hang out with me while I worked on the computer.

This is what I saw each time I glanced over my shoulder:

Left to right: Mickey, Lyla and Hunter.

Today's question:

Dogs and cats live for their naps, and I recently read that one-third of American adults nap on a typical day. Do you take naps?

My answer: I don't nap, not even on weekends, although I probably should. In fact, since being laid off from my full-time job more than a year ago, I've taken exactly ONE nap -- and I was sick. It's not because I'm high energy and don't need to recharge; it's because I feel guilty for not being productive. (Yeah, I got issues ... or so I've been told.)

Dog days of winter

Day 10. Jim and I are officially at Day 10 of trying to make the adoption of our granddoggy work. We committed to 30 days before throwing in the towel. We're a third of the way through.

And let me tell ya: It's been hell.

Here's the story: Back in October, I introduced you all to my newest granddog, Lyla. Andrea had adopted her -- against my advice, I must add -- from the Dumb Friends League. Lyla's a sweet little girl, a black lab with what the vet thinks is a smidgen of pit bull. Which is okay with us. Our Mickey is a pit bull we rescued and love to pieces.

But a lab/pit bull living in an apartment is not okay ... with any of us ... especially Andrea, who came home to disasters nearly every day after work.

So when Andie couldn't take it any more, Jim and I offered to take in our granddoggy, to give her a home with a yard where she can run and play and expend the copious amounts of energy with which she's been blessed. We'd been considering adopting a dog in the near future anyway to give Mickey a buddy when Hunter moves away with Brianna, so giving Lyla a new home was a good idea for all of us.

Except that she's a maniac. When she came to live with us on December 5 (not that I'm counting the days or anything), she had "submissive urination" problems. And she wanted so badly to be loved -- she'd been a stray before Andie adopted her -- that she constantly jumped all over everyone in hopes of getting a pat on the head or a tummy rub.

In the past 10 days, we've cured her of both those issues ... pretty much.

What we've not yet cured her of is her obsession with chewing. Anything. And everything.

In the past 10 days, Lyla has ruined:

• FOUR dog beds (three of them brand-new, three of which I've managed to sew back together)
• a volleyball
• one of my shoes
• a Christmas pillow, handmade by my dad's wife
• a Christmas mouse doorstopper thingee, handmade by a now-ex girlfriend of my brother's (not an ex because of Lyla; she became an ex a few years ago)
• the basket that holds the dog's chew toys -- which she obviously found more enticing than the toys

We've never owned a dog with a major chewing problem. And it sucks.

But, that's not the worst of it. The worst of it is my stupid cat Isabel. She's a big ol' chicken, and now that there's a maniac dog confined to the downstairs -- as it's been too cold for the dogs to be outside all day -- Isabel is scared to go down there.

And down there is where her litter box is.

So she's made the two bathrooms on the main and upper floors her personal potty place.

Which is disgusting and stinky and frustrating as hell. Yeah, at least she's using the bathroom, but it's not HER bathroom. And I hate, hate, hate the smell of cats and cat pee and cat yuck, and have worked very hard at keeping the cat smells at bay while owning two cats.

So I'm washing rugs and scrubbing floors and spraying Lysol to a degree I've not had to do in years, if ever. And I've carried Isabel down the stairs, against her will, to the litter box several times, to let her know it's okay, she can make it -- without being eaten by a maniac dog.

Then I shut the bathroom doors to keep her out of them, feeling pretty safe in the fact that my trips carrying her down the stairs taught her how to sneak to her own potty on her own, without being noticed by the dogs.

This morning I took Jim to work, praying -- literally -- the whole way that Lyla will not chew up the beds in the dog room while I'm away. I get home, dash through the door, run to the dog room to find ... Lyla and Mickey chilling in the dog room, being good doggies.

I let the dogs outside and head back up the stairs, thinking we've made it over the last hurdle.

Only to find that in my haste of booking through the door and down the stairs to the dogs, I had missed the pile of cat poop Isabel had left on the rug at the door ... that being the nearest rug to the bathroom she could no longer access. That being a rug that now had cat poop smeared across it and onto the tile from my opening of the door over it.

I freaked, grabbed Isabel and rubbed her nose in it (yeah, I know it probably does no good) and yelled and yelled. Which caused Abigail, our other cat, to yell and yell at Isabel and chase her out of the room. Then I cleaned up poop -- which is far worse than cleaning up chewed up dog beds.

I'm at a loss. I'm sick of chewed up stuff and even more sick of pooping and peeing from a chickenshit cat. Lyla is overcoming her problems; Isabel's are only getting worse.

We're at Day 10. I'm not sure if I will make it another 20 days without booting one or the other of them right out the door!

We are NOT having a very happy holiday season around here!

Regardless, here's ...

Today's question from "The Christmas Conversation Piece":

If you had to choose which animal to murder on Christmas Eve, which would get the ax: the cat or the dog?

HA, HA! That's not really today's question! Here's the real one:

Besides the reindeer, which animal(s) do you associate the most with the Christmas season?

My answer: A donkey ... because he gets down on bended knee at midnight on Christmas Eve, along with all the other barn animals. Right?

Holiday weekend

My daughters haven't been adults long enough for me to be so used to their overnight visits that it feels like no big deal when they come to stay the night. It still feels special, like I'm hosting a guest, not my child.

Saturday I found myself changing sheets in the guest room for Andrea, the room that was hers for the six months she lived with us in our new house before moving to the big city to live on her own. She decided to come home for the weekend -- which was a little odd considering this is my party girl and this was a major party weekend ... but I didn't ask questions, I just prepared the guest room.

As I tucked in corners and plumped the pillows, I kept thinking about how weird it was that just 20 years ago I was prepping my baby girl for Halloween with costumes and makeup and now I'm preparing for her to be a guest in my home. It made me realize that I've not yet gotten the knack of being older, of having no trick-or-treaters in residence, of my daughters being visitors.

Halloween has never been an eagerly anticipated, grand affair in our house. We enjoyed it, of course, and we participated in the decorating and parties and trick or treating. But I never felt like it was THAT big of a deal. Now with Andie coming to visit, it felt oddly like a special holiday, like now that we were all adults -- the girls and Jim and I -- our Halloweens would be celebrated differently than in the past, with more gusto, more emphasis on family than partying. (Which, again, I find a little odd since Andrea in particular is indeed a partier!).

Andie arrived with a guest for the weekend. She'd asked in advance, and I'd said yes, but it was still a little disconcerting at first to have her bring Lyla. Her new dog. My newest canine grandbaby.

My newest canine grandbaby who created quite a stir with Mickey and Hunter.

 

But they all made nice relatively quickly ...

...and took off to explore the yard together.

And we took off to the movies together -- one of our favorite family activities! -- to see "Paranormal Activity." (Which Jim and I thought was much scarier than the girls did, but we've not been desensitized by the "Saw" movies and "Hostel" and 231 remakings of "Halloween.")

Then we carved pumpkins ... outside. Which we've never, ever done. But the weather, typically snowy and cold on Halloween, was incredibly warm and perfect for pumpkin-carving on the patio.

Then we roasted pumpkin seeds and waited for trick or treaters -- that never came, despite the scary lure of our pumpkin-lit porch:

So we watched scary movies in the dark and ate the Halloween candy meant for trick-or-treaters.

Then Andie went to church with us on Sunday, which always feels special, to have one or more of our kids sitting again with us in the pews of the place we've worshipped for nearly 25 years, the place where she was baptized.

And she watched the football game with Jim and Brianna then sat outside in the sun with me. An old boyfriend of hers stopped by to visit while she was in town ... and ended up staying for Sunday dinner.

Then the weekend was over. Andie packed up Lyla, hugs were shared and she headed back to the big city. Our Halloween weekend guest was gone.

Although she's still my child, Andie was indeed my guest. And it was special. And despite having no little costumed kiddos in my house or trick-or-treaters ringing my bell, this Halloween goes down in my book as one of my favorite ever.

This post has been linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.