No Cookie! (Life with a puppy)

This new puppy has been really good for my diet. What's better for changing one's mindset than walking around yelling, "No Cookie!" about two dozen times a day. It's true, I've lost three pounds since bringing this pooch home.

The boys begged for a year. I really had no intention of getting a dog and in fact, had pulled a “Kendall” on Kendall and a “Nelson” on Nelson. I looked right at them, nodded, and didn't hear a word they said. The puppy idea was so far from my mind that it crept up on me from the front.

One minute I was free, leaving the parakeet and a mountain of food in his cage and the cats and a mountain of food in a corner and taking off for entire days, weekends even. The biggest mishap was coming home to find the bird missing a few tail feathers. (His fault, never the cats.) But the floor was clean, there was no wrestling match in a crate and most definitely, no one had napped in the water bowl.

The next minute, I was scooping poop with a toy shovel, could leave the house in no more than 4-hour shifts and doing a lot of yelling. I'm not sure what happened in those 60 seconds. Someone told me that every boy needs a dog. Then I realized they were ages 8 and 10 and, if I wasn't careful, I'd be talked into a dog right about the time they left for college. 

Then a whole bunch of people told me not to do it; it was as bad as a newborn. That's when I knew I had to have one. 

So the hunt began. My husband — the dog person — barely looked at the puppy pictures presented for his approval. He said “no” and turned the TV channel.
I was mystified. He was playing this better than I believed possible. Somehow, the cat person was convincing, nay begging, the dog person to get a dog. The more I said I wanted a dog, the less I actually wanted one. I hate to admit it, but I envied his style.

Under duress, he finally agreed to the one with the green ribbon around her neck. I won the argument I wanted to lose. Cookie came home three weeks later to much fanfare and a new dog bed that has yet to be slept on. 

Her insatiable urge to bite came within the first hour. She bit the boys, she bit the chair, she bit the air, she bit me. We were only off duty when the cats were in the house, the softest, scratchiest thing of all to bite. I soon learned to wear sweatshirts, my hands cupped in the sleeves, sweaty but safe in the depths of those first hot summer days on my new No, Cookie! diet. The boys took the other route and designated one good shirt for her to put holes in if she could catch them. It's taken a toll on us all. It's been two months and my children's hands look like those of a 60-year-old mechanic.

Carrying off shoes came next. Just one of any given pair. Enough to give me hope that we could leave the house on time, enough to fell me on a daily basis. After that, she inventoried the food bowls on offer and decided only cat food would do. Even if her food bowl was full. Especially if the cats were watching. 

Just when I thought we might be in over our heads, the boys started searching for dog tricks on YouTube. The same children who can't take the time to make their beds had that dog doing three tricks that very day. The biggest crowd pleaser is shouting, “Bang!” and watching her roll over, face up, playing dead.

It's a good trick, one we played many years ago with my mom's dog. Cookie looks pretty cute like that, all curled up and helpless-looking. Also, she isn't biting anyone for a moment. In fact, I can reach down and rub her belly and darn if she doesn't have the cutest brown eyes. Let's face it: those boys are good.

Review: The Husband's Secret

The Husband's Secret by Liane Moriarty

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Read the hardcover of this book - what a beautiful cover. I was surprised with the depth and intricacy of the plot lines, impressive. I would have liked her to go deeper into the emotional impact of the many characters/twists/turns but by NOT doing so, I was able to read it faster, enjoy the ride of the plot line instead of weighing the consequences too much. Really loved the twists and turns. Loved hearing from all diff. characters throughout the book. Read it! Light enough to move along yet complex enough to satisfy.



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Money Man: How to find inspiration for a race

It’s our health issue and my sister and I both like to work out (bike or hike or run or walk). Nothing too crazy although we sometimes teeter on the brink of obsession — inspired by “incidents” along the way.

Mud, Sweat and Beers 2010, complete with jammies.

Here’s an example:

In our first mountain bike race, Peak2Peak at Crystal Mountain in 2006, we were treated to the unlikely sight of a man in stiff blue jeans. Us, in our $100 spandex shorts and $100 jerseys. Him, in his Levis. Passing us. Easily in the first mile. Up a hill.

But it wasn’t the jeans. It wasn’t the hill he sprinted around us on. It wasn’t the 20-year-old bike his gold-stitched denim pockets sat upon. It was the shocking jangle of chain as he whizzed by. From his wallet. His chain wallet. Sticking out of his back pocket.

This is when an obsession was born and bred on the hard-packed trail of a ski resort. We looked at each other and reached consensus with nary a word: He was going down.

We’re happy to say that there was a resounding comeback in that race. We caught the Money Man and his wallet later. (Six miles later, a sore spot in this story.) But we passed him on the climb out of the valley and never saw him again. And we were smart enough not to look back to see how close he might be.

That led to an obsession to beat all men wearing denim jeans and translated to many more miles on the trails over the next few years. Then came Mud, Sweat and Beers at Mt. Holiday.

But, before race day arrived, as our obsessions are wont to do, we faltered. This biking thing was hard and really, we were in it for the fun. So, when we stumbled on a rack of Disney jammies en route to Brick Wheels for spandex shorts, it created the perfect storm: We decided we’d wear our spandex shorts, but (light bulb!) hide them under matching pajamas.

What would be funnier than two grown women in striped Snoopy pajamas in a mountain bike race?

Everything apparently.

No one, and we mean no one, acknowledged our getups on race day. It was awkward but we marched on, proud to be creative in a world of disc brakes and sponsored jerseys. As we jostled for the front of the back of the pack at the start line, we got a few sidelong looks but still, no laughs.

On the trail, it got worse. We were talking and riding and enjoying ourselves when suddenly, it happened. The unimaginable.

We started passing people. There we were, faster than last year, our training paying off! We were ecstatic (understatement) and put the pedal down!

But there was something in the air with each person we passed. Something not good. Something close to distaste and perhaps, yes, there it was, straight-out disgust. What’s worse than being beat? Being beat by a couple of girls in Peanuts nightwear.

We had, unwittingly, become Money Man.

We passed men and women in $100 spandex and $100 jerseys. We passed them left, right and center and picked our way out of the front of the back of the pack to the back of the front of the pack. We were on top of the world. The Money Man obsession had paid off in spades

In the end, our time was so unimpressive that we couldn’t scare up a look of envy at the finish line. And, granted, it was the last time we rode a race out of “uniform.” But still, it was a memorable race. We were Money Man for a few miles that May and the obsession took hold.

Now we enter races here and there — biking races, 5ks, tris, whatever the passing obsession might be. And, while we never see a podium, it’s still hard not to love the thrill of getting out and trying. Who knows where we might be if not for the jangle of the Money Man?