Tag Archives: pets

Pot Pot.


So this is my dog.

But not really just my dog. 

This is my first born son.  My baby.  The shape of my heart.  This little fuzz bomb gave me my most treasured gift, the title of “mom.”

So last night after dinner it was time for his walkies, and Jr. wanted to go along in the wagon.

The Mr, who always takes Potter out the garage door and hooks him up to the leash, went to go dig the wagon out from behind The Mr-Mobile, and off went the doggie right behind him, as always.

Except I guess my darling hub didn’t notice that Potter-pie was behind him.

Wagon extracted, I was getting Jr settled in when The Mr went inside to get the dog.

“He came out with you, honey.”

“No he didn’t.”

At this point I wheel Jr to the driveway and start calling for Potter.  The Hub goes in the door while stating over his shoulder, “don’t go out there and call for him, because he is inside.”

(Yeah, no.  And now I am panicking, because my beloved Binkeh Baby Doggie is not coming to me and I cannot see his black fluffy perfection anywhere.)

Off I ran, around the outer circle of our little ‘hood, then around the inner one surrounding the pocket park, Jr rumbling along behind me in the wagon.  He pointed out that we were bypassing the playground, but at the same time kept saying “Pot-pot run way Mommy?  When we find Pot-Pot?”

At this point I didn’t know the answer to that question, and I am sure I had the desperation of a junkie looking for a fix in my eyes as I passed neighbors taking their evening strolls and asked each one about a fluffy little black dog on the loose. 

I returned home because I remembered that I didn’t have my phone, and that is the number listed on his collar and on his microchip info, and as I was loading Jr back into the wagon, The Hub walked up with Potter safely on his leash.

He had wiggled his way into the next door neighbor’s back yard, where The Mr. found him sniffing around where some bunnies had been.  Why he didn’t come when I called him, I don’t know.

Cue the crazy relief crying break down from Mommy.  Followed by an entire night of me having at least one hand or foot physically touching his puff, so I knew exactly where he was.

Now Potter is not a runner by any means.  He isn’t one to go bolting off if he steps outside the garage or anything, which is why I was so mortified when I looked around and I couldn’t see him anywhere.

I could see the relief on The Mr’s face too, but of course I got a giant eye roll for my blubbering display.

Don’t care.

Quite simply, I can’t do without my baby dog.  I had to seriously fight the urge to jam his puff into an Ergo and wear him to the office today, where, much to my dismay, I had to come for an actual physical meeting (which happens once in a blue moon, so of course it would be today.)

What can we take from this tale?

2 things:

  1. Maybe that crazy person carrying her little dog around in inappropriate places has a better reason then we imagine.
  2. When your wife says the dog is outside, the dog is outside.  When your wife says anything, that anything is right.  You are welcome.

:::::snuggling best dog ever and providing another treat:::::

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Long weekend in the burbs; a brief synopsis.

Day1: a neighbor cat murdering bunnies in the back garden ; fighting the crowds fun in the sun at Boulder Creek Festival; “energy gummies” that came with a crash like the hangover of a frat boy’s graduation night bender, (this was a rookie mistake on my part, I am rusty with my Boulder rules- NEVER take anything a crunchy girl on the Pearl Street Mall gives you, even if she’s a legit vendor;) exploding mason jars of beer in the back seat of The Mr’s Jeep and some very unfortunately-placed wettness on my pants from said jars; assembly of a patio storage box that made putting the Cozy Coupe together seem like stacking Jr’s “1,2,3” blocks; “all natural mosquito repellent” that does NOT repel; and a carpet of dead/dying insects on the floor of our garage that can only properly be described as “of Biblical Proportions.” Off to quite a start.

Day 2: a morning greeting that included a monster toddler poo blow-out before my first cup of coffee even got cold waiting for me to drink it; a short trail hike to a favorite pizza joint, during which I discovered everyone thinks that even a hike on a joke of a trail in the foothills is “outside my comfort zone,” :::cough cough::: Colorado Native here :::::throat clear cough::::: ; a lounge singer version of 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop”; finding that the uber-sucky-to-assemble patio storage box has a faulty lid that I will have to replace (sigh); getting scraped on one of my extra large bug bites by Jr’s shoe, causing an explosion of itchtastic-ness that resulted in actual tears; and the errecting (giggle giggle, tee hee,) of a bug zapper on our property. (If that isn’t suburban, I don’t know what is.)

Day 3 is just starting, but it is going to include The Mr. using an electric hedge trimmer that is probably too much tool for a trimming newb perhaps overkill for the job at hand, (pray for my shrubbery.) Maybe we will make it to the overcrowded concrete swimming hole pool, maybe we will just keep doing what we are right now: running as fast as we can in circles screaming “I’M A DINOSAUR!!!!” (ok, that’s not really what I’m doing… but we can revisit that statement after a few long-weekend-bonus Mimosas.)

Happy Memorial Day, Suburbia.

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Dear Neighbor Kit-eh. Just Sayin’.

Dear Neighbor Kit-eh,
You are very fluff-eh and cutie-wootie.  So much so that I have to talk funny to properly express it.
But can I as a favor of your fluffieness?  Can we maybe think of a place to put our small dead things that does NOT involve my back garden?
For instance, nothin’ says lovin’ like leaving that crap on your owner’s front steps for her to find.

Kthxbai, Kit-eh.

Just Sayin’.

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