dripping faucet

From behind me, I heard the soft ping of splatter hitting a hard surface.  Seconds later, another drip followed.   A sort of pling…. pling…. pling sound vibrated through me.  The drops of moisture I envisioned were quietly being announced by the audible drip, drip, drip sound coming from somewhere behind my back.   I was in the kitchen preparing dinner for Amore and Dolce, as Malcolm was away for the weekend.  When one of us is traveling, all household chores falls on the other.  Supper for the dogs being one.

I instinctively knew the kitchen sink faucet had bitten the big one.  Gone on to faucet heaven.  We’d been having trouble with our sink faucet.  The swivel arm was reduced to a “left-side” only rotation, the handy-dandy nozzle handle only pulled out about a fifth of its length, and the water pressure was down to a weak flow.  The week before Malcolm left was filled so full of busy, we told ourselves we would deal with the faulty faucet when Malcolm got back into town.

Damn!  Just my luck the sink faucet died while Malcolm was gone. With a heavy sigh, I prepared myself to clearing out the underneath junk pile of trash bins, scrubbers, rubber gloves and cleaning supplies, crawling on my back to hunt for the turn-off valve.  I was going to have to deal with replacing the faucet on my own.

Another splash, louder this time, had me turning around to glare at the offensive faucet.  Only the faucet was dripless.  Dry as bone.  Nothing.  Nada.  No drip.  No mess.  Nope the problem wasn’t with the leaking faucet, but rather with the girls.  Both of which were obsessively oozing dog drool, while eagerly waiting for their kibble feast.

Dogs drool.  There’s no getting around it.  They drip, dribble, drop, drivel and drool.  Boy, do they drooooool.  One large, dog infused drip  at a time.  Times two.  Amore and Dolce both are droolers.  Both are heavy slavers. Malcolm and I have dealt with dog slobber and wet spots going on near seven years.  Ten if you include Tiamo in the mix.

Those whom know and understand dogs, know there is no telling what that dog drool is mixed with – there is no telling where a dog’s tongue has been.  And there is sure as hell no telling what a dog  has put in it’s mouth.

We have learned to discretely wipe our drooled upon hands against our jeans before greeting friends and acquaintances.  We have quickly positioned couch pillows over pools of moisture when guests go to sit on the sofa.  We have become adept at hiding all slobber evidence. We have mopped more floors than the average housewife and we have changed clothing more than a super-model on the runway.  We keep hand sanitizer in every room and in the car.  Dog drool does that to a  person.

There are two things I am thankful for… The first being, we have brick floors throughout the house.  It’s an easy clean.  And second, Malcolm got to deal with the faucet!

 

 

 

 

 

the bowls

There are two kinds of bowls in our house –  the water bowl and the toilet bowl, both providing an endless supply of hydration for our dogs. Each dog has a preference, each has a favored style of distribution and each has a unique way of sipping their fluids.

Dolce fancies running water, preferably from a hose.  She’ll crouch down, tip her head under the nozzle and “bite” the flowing water.  For the longest time, Dolce had the misfortune to have to use a standard dog water bowl, hoses not being the norm for the inside of our house.  I am now thinking she did so under duress….

On hikes, she’ll only drink from the bottle as we’re pouring the water into the canvas trail bowl, never from the nylon lined cavity.  Out in the pen, she’ll ignore the water bowls and the rain puddles and instead lap up the tiny drops of moisture emitting from the drip irrigation line stationed around the Pinon trees.  With me as I’m in the tinkering in the yard, she’ll eagerly wait for me to turn on the hose, anticipating immediate flowing water.  I chuckle over the puzzled look of confusion she gives me, as she waits for the water to run through the 150 ft. of hose, until the water shoots out the nozzle directly in her open jaws, turning her confusion into surprise.  It’s turned into a game with her as she awaits for that first shot of water to hit her, timing her mouth to open at just the right moment.

That is, until Uncle Dan came to visit and bought the girls their own running water BigDog bowl.  Dan is a long-time friend of Malcolm’s and adores the girls.  He always brings the girls a special treat when he comes to visit.  Toys, smoked bones, treats, he spoils’em rotten.  I, of course, love anyone who loves our girls, so Dan can do no wrong!  The minute Dolce heard the running water she ran in to investigate and immediately claimed the bowl as hers.  It took her all of 20 seconds to tip her head down and start biting the water.  She likes to stand to the right side of the bowl, crouch down and beeline into the fountain.  Dolce is in heaven!

Amore prefers the toilet, also known as the 1) throne, 2) the shitter or shit box, 3) the great white porcelain god 4) the can, 5) the loo, or my favorite, 6) the library.  It’s just the right height, just the right temperature of coldness, just the right size of for delivery.  She likes the master bath’s porcelain the best, as it is closest to the dog pen and her dog pillow.  She’ll stand at the bowl for a good 4-5 minutes, slurping and lapping the cool water, sometimes, draining the basin.  Amore will drink some, think a’little, drink some more, think a’little more, and then maybe drink some more again.  She’ll take her time, stare off in space for a few seconds, then dip back down to the bowl for a few more sips.   She’ll then leave a 15 ft. trail of huge water drops into the bedroom and through the house.  Thank Gawd for brick floors!

Where as Dolce likes to bite at the water we pour from a bottle or hose, Amore would rather slurp her fluids from a standing still bowl. We’ve yet to see her drink from the BigDog bowl, not even from the wide basin.  We haven’t figured out if it is the noise of the trickling water, the ripple effect in the lower basin or if she just doesn’t like lowering her body to sip some water.  Bottom line – she refuses to drink from the BigDog bowl.

Now Malcolm goes around the house flushing clean toilets, just to refill her bowl and release some “fresh” water. AND, I leave a towel close by to “wipe” the seat for later.  How spoiled is that?

mud

Dog doors are a great invention and ours was one of the better remodel decisions Malcolm and I made…

When Tiamo was still a puppy, we added a large coyote-fenced enclosure that wrapped around the back of our New Mexican styled home.  Aesthetically pleasing for the neighborhood, it fit in with the landscape.  We carefully planned the gate placement, the amount of  shade provided by the Pinon trees growing around the perimeter and size of the pen around Tiamo’s needs.  The one thing we didn’t plan, was installing a dog door for entrance from the pen to the house.  Mistake number one – however a moot point since we only put Tiamo in the pen when we left for town and couldn’t bring her.  Tiamo’s new playground was over 1,800 square feet of soft sand and shade.  Made just for her – and she hated it!  She hated being left alone outside, barking excessively.  She hated being separated from us and most of all she hated knowing Thugs, our cat at the time, was indoors while she was suffering outdoors.  She dug deep holes under the gate and tunneled out to freedom, magically appearing at our back door to come inside.  She scratched, clawed and budged her way out through any opening she could find, bending the gate frame, ripping the wiring.   We added reinforcements, new gate latches, heavier gauged wire, and still Tiamo would find a way out.  One week after we christened our new dog pen addition, we abandoned it.  Tiamo happily trading the pen for all the comforts of pillows and couches found inside our home.

For two years Tiamo’s dog pen sat empty – until the puppies were born.  The pen was the perfect dog park for eight little pups to explore and discover their new life.  We would bring the kids out to the pen during the late hours of the afternoon, when the sun’s heat was less severe. Tiamo had finally accepted the pen, enjoying the fresh air as she tenderly watched over her rambunctious brood.  The little ones romped and tumbled for hours until we brought them back in to their make-shift pen set up in the garage.  Tired and exhausted, the puppies would settle into a fast sleep for the night. 

As each puppy left for their new life with their new caregivers, Malcolm and I came to the conclusion we needed to add a dog door to the pen for our remaining three; Tiamo, Amore and Dolce.  However, our careful planning of the pen placement several years past, failed to appoint a common wall for a dog door.  Mistake number two.  We concluded after a careful study of where to place the large rubber flap, to install the dog door in our bathroom’s linen closet.  I know, it sounds weird, but our thinking was (and still is) if there came a time when we needed to close off the dog door, we could re-install the linen shelves back in and the large, unsightly dog hole would  “disappear” behind bath towels and sheets.  Plus, we could close the closet door to keep the girls in or out depending on what we wanted.

Installation day was on a Friday, right around the first of July.   We wanted to have the door installed and finished before our Monsoon season started so the girls could come in out of the rain.  Training was easy.  A little nugget of ground hamburger was all it took to entice Tiamo through the opening, with Amore and Dolce  quickly following.  It wasn’t long before each dog was barreling through the flap looking for a meatball.    The girls immediately used the outdoors as they should, doing their duty discreetly outside.   No more getting up to let one of dogs out, no more waiting in the freezing cold as Dolce sniffed for the perfect spot, no more chasing after Amore as she sensed freedom.  Life was just made easier.

Five days later, the rains came. Blessed drops of liquid fell on our parched acreage.  Never lasting very long, the afternoon showers can alternate from a gentle pitter-patter to hard torments of destruction.  The dry land will soak up the moisture like a sponge, filling its cracks with water, letting the excess wash over into arroyos and gullies creating flash floods and hazards.  Not only do our summer storms bequeath us with fiery sunsets that paint the sky with vibrant colors, they also leave us with clay dirt that quickly becomes slick, clinging to our shoes, dragging your steps with the extra weight of the mud.  It was on a day such as this, that I came home from work to find mud, lots of mud, strewn from one end of the house to the other!  There were muddy paws prints in every room, every part of the house. On the sofa, on the bed, everywhere.  The girls came running to greet me, each with a wet, muddy underbelly, each filthy and dirty, mire and sledge oozing from their paws.  and each with a huge happy grin on their face.  The new dog door was a gateway to mud and muck.  Mistake number three!

Luckily, we have brick floors.  And, we have a house cleaner.

Dolce washed up after mud wrestling with Amore

 

MISSISSIPPI MUD PIE

an ooey-gooey delicious mess!

• 1 cup butter
• 8 oz. semi-sweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
• 1/2 cup light corn syrup
• 4 large eggs, slightly beaten

• 6 oz Oreo cookies
• 1/2 cup chopped macadamia nuts
• 1 tbsp. dark brown sugar
• 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
• 6 tbsp. melted butter

• heavy cream for making whipped cream

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Lightly grease a 9 inch springform pan.  

To prepare the crust:  place Oreo cookies, nuts, sugar and cinnamon in a food processor and process until fine crumbs are formed.  Add the melted butter and mix until just moistened.  Do not over process.  Press the cookie mixture over the bottom of the springform pan, pressing the mixture up the sides of the pan about 1 1/2 inches.  Cover and chill until filling is ready.

To prepare the filling:  add butter, chocolate, corn syrup in a medium sauce pan over low heat until melted together.  Let cool.  Beat in the eggs, one at a time and then the finely chopped Macadamia nuts.  Pour filling into the chilled crust and smooth the surface.  Bake for 30 minute or until just set but still soft in the center.  Let cool on a wire rack.

Serve a room temperature with homemade whipped cream.

 

Cold!

The last few days have been bitterly cold. The car thermometer showed single digits on the drive into work, add some wind into the mix and the temp with the wind chill factor is in the negatives.  I feel like Ralphie in the Christmas Story  when we bundle up to take the girls for their walk –  can’t move!  My arms stick out and I have to turn my whole body to see to my left or right.  But the girls looove the cold and the snow, so we persevere and brave the cold, we pile on layers and layers of thick socks, silky thermals, woolen scarves and gloves, ear muffs and heavy snow boots to tread through the snow.  We hike through drifts, slip and slide across icy patches, and break new trails trying to find some virgin snow for the girls to play in.  Dolce loves to make snow angels, Amore just loves the cold.

Our reward at the end of the trail?  If we finish our trek before 5:00 p.m. – we whip up some hot chocolate with some added peppermint liquors .  After 5:00 p.m. and we go for the stronger warming up beverage – Santa Fe Sluggers.

PEPPERMINT & HOT CHOCOLATE

• 2 Cups milk
• pinch of salt
• 6 oz. semisweet chocolate (finely chopped)
• 1 tbsp. creme de methe liqueur
• 1 tsp. instant coffee granules
• 1/2 tsp. Mexican vanilla

Heat milk and salt for the hot chocolate in a saucepan over medium heat and steam is starting to rise.  Add the remaining ingredients and whisk until smooth. Continue to heat until just before the mixture comes to a boil.  Ladle into mugs and top with frozen whip cream (see below).

• 1/2 Cup Heavy Cream
• 2 tbsp. pulverized peppermints
• 1 tbsp. powdered sugar
• 1 tbsp. crushed peppermints

Beat cream, pulverized peppermints and sugar for the whipped cream to stiff peaks.  Pipe or spoon onto a baking sheet lined with parchment.  Sprinkle with crushed peppermints and place in freezer until firm.  About 20 minutes.

SANTA FE SLUGGERS

• 1 Cup Freshly brewed strong coffee (I use dark roast)
• 1/4 cup bourbon
• 1/2 oz. Kahlua
• 2 oz. bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped (not unsweetened)
• 6 tbsp. heavy cream
• 1 tsp sugar (or more, depending on taste)

Heat coffee, bourbon, Kahlua, chocolate and 2 tbsp. cream in a 1 1/2 quart saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly, until chocolate has melted.  DO NOT ALLOW to BOIL!Beat remaining 1/4 cup cream with sugar to stiff peaks.  Pour coffee mixture into two large mugs and top with the whipped cream.

 

Santa’s Resolutions

Holiday Love!

I know, I know, its January! Everyone spins some words on the past 365 days and all they accomplished, their travel adventures, job changes and family additions. They write about their plans for the next 365 days with an equal number of bucket list items, check boxes next to their dreams, wishes and hopes. Ever wonder what would be on Santa’s bucket list? What would Santa’s New Year’s resolutions be? What would his travel and vacation plans be for the next year? What would Santa do? What would Santa write about? Umm……?

SANTA’S 2013 TWELVE RESOLUTIONS

1. It’s January – In one word, January is perfect! January’s resolution is just that – PERFECT. It’s Santa’s Birthday month! A present under the tree unwrapped a cuban and a perfect bottle of Port. A perfect combination for a cold winter’s night, sipped along with a warm, crackling fire, the dogs asleep at my feet, my honey beside me. What could be more perfect! Georgia Tech just stomped USC’s ass in a perfect win at the Sun Bowl! It’s a perfect month to sleep in and take some naps. Yes, January is perfect! Life is perfect!
2. It’s February – 28 days of love – We all should resolve to spread some of Cupid’s arrows. I hereby resolve to LOVE and be loved. Tiamo arrived in February, loved from the first moment we saw her, stumbling over her front paws as she investigated her new home – from day one, she had us wrapped around every one of her paws. She added much love to our lives, unconditional, unwavering. To be loved is a wonderful feeling.
3. It’s March – Raise your glass to little men in green and rainbows, pots of gold and lucky charms. We’ll be out West, in California, raising our glass to newly wedded bliss and new beginnings. Toasting to PROMISES.
4. It’s April – The soft, little green buds bursting out on the barren tree branches to push the cold away, opening to the gentle scent of apple blossoms with the freshness of spring. I met my wife in April and my LIFE has never been the same. Good bye city life! Is not spring about new life? To LIFE!
5. It’s May – We HONOR our moms, our heritage, our deceased. We honor those who brought us life and those who have passed on. We honor with parades, pinatas, and pinned on flower corsages. We will be honoring our marriage, vows made over ten years ago. We will honor Tiamo, who passed away a year ago. Honor – a special word for those individuals who are in our lives and hearts, and in our memories.
6. It’s June – ESCAPE! School’s out, vacations starts, summer’s on! Escape with beach reads, Blue Hawaiian’s, sun burns, and summer romances. Dip your toes in the sand, sip a margarita, forget the worries sitting heavily on your shoulders. Enjoy today and tomorrow and all the next days to come. Go ahead, I double-dog dare ya! Yup, it’s time to escape on a cruise, where crystal clear blue waters abound, little pink umbrellas float on my drinks and we can escape life’s troubles and worries.
7. It’s July – Another celebration, another birthday, another beautiful sunset. Let’s CELEBRATE! Democracy! Monsoon season! Rain! Freedom! 50 + candles on the cake! Company’s coming! Fireworks! Nordstrom’s shoe sale! Yeah, baby! Let’s Celebrate!
8. It’s August – What was planted in spring is ready for HARVEST. Corn, tomatoes, and squash, lots of squash. Cabbage, radishes and squash, more squash. Peas, onions, squash, squash and leftover squash. Squash omelets, squash casseroles, squash cake. Squash in the salad, squash in the sandwich, squash in the trash – harvest is over.
9. It’s September – Summer’s end, school is back in session, Labor day weekend is upon us. We labor at work, at home, at life. Tiamo went into labor over Labor Day Weekend, delivering eight little wagging tails. LABOR. The fruits of her labor gave us Dolce and Amore. Labor. Look back at all you have done, accomplished, labored, toiled. Look around you and see the fruits of your labor.
10. It’s October – Days filled with a nip in the air, nights cooling down to brrrr, it’s cold. Nature’s colors shifting from varying shades of green to bright yellows, burnt oranges, deep reds. October fests and beer fests, ghosts and goblins, Breast Cancer Awareness month. FEEL the changes as the days shorten, the soft leaves falling into brittle brown pieces as they scatter on the ground. Feel life’s tempo slow as it readies for hibernation. Feel each breath taken. Feel the embrace of Fall.
11. It’s November – THANKS! It’s a given in November. We give thanks for our family, friends, our good fortune. We give thanks for our health, full cupboards and our good luck. We give thanks to our individual gods, our country, our communities. Give thanks to our parent’s children. They deserve it.
12. It’s December -Ahhh, December, that magical time of the year where snow glistens and children listen. Good cheer is all around us. The little kid in all of us shines bright through smiles and twinkling eyes. A special time when, Malcolm, attired in a red suit, black boots and white beard, and toting a heavy red bag filled with presents and toys, brings wonder and awe to eight little children who still BELIEVE in magic.

What would Santa do? I think Santa would say, “2013 is a perfect year to love and to promise, to honor life’s joys. 2013 is a perfect year to escape our troubles, our problems, our heartaches and celebrate the harvest of our labors. 2013 is a perfect year to feel our thanks and not just say them. 2013 is a perfect year to believe in the magic.”

Snow Angels

Snow. The girls loooovvve the snow! AND, everything that goes with snow! Dolce especially. Her eyes light up with excitement, her tail wags with anticipation, her body quivering with eagerness at the mere mention, the slightest hint of snow. The little pup in her rises to the occasion – she is ready for play! Her eyes dart from snow patch to snow patch frantically searching for the best knoll, one with the steepest incline and the most snow covering it’s side. She plows through the powder to the summit, does her flop and drop and slides down the hill. Belly up or belly down – either way, the avalanche has started! For those at the end of her slide, beware – she has no brakes, no intention of stopping, no pause in her play. 100 pounds of uncontrollable dog is about to plow into you. Back up the hill she runs for a replay of the first slide, belly plop and down she goes, legs askew, stomach on skids.

Her favorite is creating and designing snow angels. She’ll drop down in the snow and roll back and forth, over and over and over, biting at the frozen crystals as she stretches and rolls. Gets up, shakes off the ice and flurries and begins another quest for an angel.

The joy in her eyes as she frolics is worth our cold noses and numb fingers. A tired dog at the end of the day makes for a happy owner.

Left-overs

pummkinn! our favorite!

Left-overs.  We all look forward to the day after Thanksgiving – the day that produces the motherload of all left-overs!  Turkey sandwiches, turkey enchiladas, turkey soup.  And then there is sweet potato pancakes, potato balls and a lot gravy with a little mashed potatoes.  Cold stuffing, Cornbread stuffing, and just being stuffed.  Sneaking into the kitchen late at night to nab the last slice of pumpkin pie, hiding the treats and cookies from Malcolm,  standing over the kitchen sink feasting on dinner scraps rather than wash another dirty plate.

Each year, we swear on our full bellies, that the next  year we aren’t going to eat so much or drink too much.    Each year, we do anyway.  Each year, we swear we are going to cut back on the menu and each year we add another “must-try” recipe that becomes a staple for next Thanksgiving’s table.  Each year, we try to give away the left-overs to our friends and guests and each year we end up with even more left-over filled Tupperware freshly burped in the frig.

Dolce and Amore love the idea of left-overs.  As puppies, Dolce and Amore loved the left-over pumpkin  scraped out of the can not used in the pie.  Baking day still finds them at the edge of the kitchen hoping for some tasty morsel to land on the floor.  They know the rule, it falls on the floor, it’s theirs!  (Loaded with fiber, pumpkin is actually good for little puppy stommies and their digestion.)  When the chef is in the kitchen prepping for the Thanksgiving dinner, these two pray to the high heavens for dropped cheese crumbs, turkey scraps and potato peels.  They wish for an apple slice to fall, carrot chunks to plummet and diced celery to plunge off the chopping block and into their waiting jaws.  It is a contest between them which one snatches the left-over treasure first.

My favorite left-over is pecan pie.  Warm from the oven or cold for breakfast, pecan pie is my preferred holiday left-over dessert.  It’s the perfect midnight snack.  A little whipped topping, a dab of ice cream (if there is any left) and a sliver of pecan pastry.  Yummmm!

Here is my “must-try” recipe.  Enjoy!

WARNING:  Hide from husbands and dogs – will disappear off counter!

RUSTIC PECAN PIE

Crust

• 1  3/4 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
• 3 tbsp. dark brown sugar
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 4 tbsp. cold butter cut into small pieces
• 1 tbsp. cold water
• cooking spray

Filling

• 3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 2/3 cup maple syrup
• 3 tbsp. all-purpose flour
• 1 tbsp. melted butter
• 1 tsp. Kahlua
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 2 large eggs
• 1 large egg white
• 1 cup pecan halves

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

To prepare the crust –

Prepare a deep dish pie pan with cooking spray and set aside.  Place the first 3 ingredients in a food processor, and process until finely ground (approx. 30 seconds).  Add butter and pulse or until combine.  Add 1 tbsp. ice water and pulse again until combines.  The mixture will be crumbly.  Press oat mixture into the bottom of a 9″ deep dish pie pan and up the sides.  Bake for 15 minutes or until lightly browned.  Let cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes.

To prepare the filling –

Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees.  Combine brown sugar and next 8 ingredients in a medium bowl, stirring well.  Stir in pecan halves.  Mix.  Spoon filling into prepared crust.  Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes or until center is set.  Cool to room temperature on a wire rack.

 

 

Snooze button

The nose knows!

!UGH!  A cold wet nose is thrust upon my early morning dreams.  I look at the clock and try to focus on the blue digital numbers.  4:05 a.m.  There is still forty-five minutes before the alarm sounds off.  I try to ignore the persistent nose nudging under my elbow, desperately wanting and needing my 45 minutes of sleep.  Eyes closed, I feel  another nudge, this time on my hand that is dangling over the edge of the bed.  UGH! Dog slobber.   All over my hand.  I open my eyes just enough to check the time.  Dolce and Amore, with their twin noses within inches of my face, are eyeing me intently.  Two sets of eyes, shining brightly, eagerly waiting for me to get up and start the day.  My eyes raise to the alarm clock.  4:10 a.m. – 40 minutes left. It’s only been five minutes.  I close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep.

Whack!  A sand-crusted paw hits the bed, just missing my nose.  I am assaulted with dog-paw odor.  “Off”! I whisper, not wanting to wake up Malcolm.  Amore doesn’t listen and doesn’t care.  Another paw joins the first,  more sand.  I look up, Amore is peering down on me, happy dog drool dripping onto my cheek and neck.  UGH!  I go to wipe off the wet drops and smear wet sand all over me.  UGH! 4:20 a.m.  A half-hour nap is  my only hope.  Amore licks my face, a more persistent dog you’ll never see.  She.  Wants.  Me.  Up.  NOW!  I roll over, implementing the “if I can’t see you, you can’t see me” rule, feeling the rough sand  throughout the sheets.  UGH!  Amore’s  determination runs deep, she paws the bed covers, pulling my warm blankets inch by coveted inch off the bed into a soft mass on the floor.  4:37 a.m.  I am now freezing, dog-slobbered, sand-covered and wide-awake.  Malcolm is softly snoring, oblivious to my wake-up call.

Just then, Dolce leaps up on the bed, clears a sleeping Malcolm, and lands on me.  Phoof!  The oxygen is squished out of my lungs.  I gasp for breath, simultaneously pushing Dolce off me.  I manage to turn her around, only to have her victorious wagging tail in my face.  UGH!  Visions of sleeping extra minutes vanished along with all the air from my lungs.  4:43 a.m.  Not to be out done, Amore jumps onto the mattress, her paws digging into Malcolm’s legs for balance.  “W.T.F.!”  Malcolm is rudely awaken.

4:45 a.m. Five minutes til “Wake-Up with Wally” blasts out the top ten hits on FM 107.9.  I shut off the alarm with Wally and crawl out of bed, crawl being the optimal word.  The dogs are ecstatic they have early morning company.  Malcolm is grumpy from being woken up.  I am a snooze button away from being sane.

Just remember, there is no snooze button for a dog who wants breakfast!

Welcome home attack!

My job requires some travel, mostly around the state, but on occasion, I attend conferences that cross state lines.  This past week, I attended our state association’s annual Fall Conference and while the location of the conference was only an hour away from Santa Fe, I still needed to stay at a hotel for a few nights.  My wonderful hubby usually stays home with the dogs on most of my travel trips, saving us a lot of $$$$ in boarding costs and subsequent vet bills from coughs and other ailments the girls pick up at the doggy motel. This trip was a get-away from dog hair and dogs in the bed.  It is pure joy being able to stretch across the King-sized bed with crisp, fresh sheets and sink-your-head onto soft downy pillows.  As much as I love having the bed to myself, I still miss my girls! (and my husband!).  I usually call home frequently thorough out the day checking to see how they are.

It so happened on this trip, we received some rain while I was gone.  Those wet drops from heaven are a rare event in our drought stricken state.  We live among dirt roads that turn into mud roads with the slightest moisture and as a rule, we don’t usually walk the dogs when it’s raining or if the roads are muddy.  Not only because of the mess of the mud, but because of our arid landscape and our many arroyos, flash flooding from the rain’s surface water is common and very dangerous.  The torrential flood waters come from the higher ground, usually starting as a trickle and turning into a roaring river in seconds, crashing through junipers, chamiso and cacti.  We just don’t take the risk of getting caught in a flash flood.  Consequently, Dolce and Amore didn’t get their walk for three days while I was out-of-town.

The first day gone, I called Malcolm, checking to see how the girls were doing.  Malcolm reported that from 4:30 – 7:00 p.m. they waited by the window, looking for my car to pull into the drive way from work.  Up until 10:00 p.m. they went tearing through the house every time they heard a car drive by, thinking it might be me returning home from my conference.  Day two was much the same but with more edge.  It had been 36 hours since their last walk, mom’s not home and the peanut butter Kongs are outside in the rain.  Dolce is bored and Amore has way too much energy bundled inside her 100 lb. frame.  Malcolm is starting to go nuts from dealing with the dogs, wet dog smell is permeating the house from the dogs racing back and forth from the dog pen, tracking in mud and dirt  and Malcolm still has 24 hours to live through.  Amore wants company and to be entertained by day three.  She whacks her tail by the headboard at 3:30 a.m. to wake Malcolm up, barks at every car headed into town starting at 5:30 a.m. and resorted to jumping on and off the bed wanting Malcolm to get up.  There is no rest for the wicked,  Malcolm still has til’ the evening before I’ll be home.

While the rain has abated to a slight sprinkle – the roads are still muddy.  This will be the third day in a row without a walk.  Malcolm hasn’t talked to an adult in 72 hours and wants only to drink his Coca-Cola with pure cane sugar and read the newspaper in peace.  Still in my business attire, I arrive home early evening…

The girls hear my car come down the driveway and immediately start to bark, alerting Malcolm to the possibility of my return.  Malcolm becomes the stereotyped housewife who hands the baby over to dad as he walks into the house from a hard day’s work.  He clicks open the garage door, letting two one hundred pound super-charged and super-hyper canines out to greet me.  I call it the welcome attack!  Dolce has literally jumped in my arms – mud and wet dog hair attaching to my once clean trousers and suit jacket.  Amore has pawed her way between Dolce and myself, inserting her body between, over, and under any arm that could and would pet her.  Nylons are shredded, purse is dumped into a shallow puddle of left over rain water, briefcase now has a muddy paw print on the left side, my eyeglasses are a skewed from being bumped by Dolce and Malcolm has barricaded himself in the den, armed with the newspaper and a glass full of shaved ice and Coca-Cola – door locked with a “do not disturb” card stolen from a hotel on the door knob.  It takes me 10 minutes to make a path inside the house, dogs in tow and another 45 minutes to calm down the heathens. Welcome home!

Malcolm didn’t surface for an appearance for three hours.