Wiggles reads

I didn't pose this photo, I promise. The book was closed and she was snuggled up sleeping when I left the room. I came back to find that she'd opened the book with her paw and apparently had a hard time getting past the cover page. She's downright exhausted.

Boodas for Obama

The original Booda, complete with her new "flower power" collar:

And the Junior Booda, who's still learning how to read:

doggie day care

Faithful readers will recall that when I first arrived at ISU, I had a wacky schedule, so I decided to put Annabelle in day care one or two days a week so that she wasn't home alone for 12 long hours and so that she could socialize and make friends and do up her hair pretty on those mornings. This routine ended when my schedule became more manageable, and since then I've noticed that any time Belly's in a large group of dogs that she doesn't know, she gets anxious. She shows this most often by walking away from the other dogs and staying off by herself. Or trying to leave wherever she is.

So when S. and I talked about taking Wrigley to Doggie Day Care because she so desperately loves other dogs and she equally desperately needs more stimuli, I was concerned about my big girl. On the one hand, I wanted to take her because I wanted her to go with her little sister and have fun and I couldn't bear the idea of putting just Wrigley in the car and leaving Belly home. But on the other, I kinda knew she wouldn't like it. So when we toured Paradise Pets--a different place from Belly's original day care, as this one is much closer--I told them about my concerns about Belly and asked them if they'd please let me know if it seems like Belly's miserable. Because lord knows I can't deal with that idea. S. and I decided we could afford to take them one day a week, and we chose Thursday because it's one of the days the staff grills hot dogs for the dogs. I shit you not.

Week 1: When I drop the girls off, I remind the staff that this is their first day and that I'm concerned about Belly, so please keep an eye on her. When I pick them up later that day, they tell me that I was right about Belly, that she did what I said she'd do, which is hang away from the other dogs. So they put my horse in with the little dogs and she seemed to do okay. Wrigley, of course, had a blast.

Week 2: When I drop them off, I again remind them about my concerns about Belly, and they remember that she did well with the little dogs, so they'll do that with her if it seems like that's what she wants. But when I pick them up later that day, they tell me that Belly was in with the big dogs. This leads me to believe that she was doing better.

Week 3, this morning: When I drop them off, Wrigley is so excited I think she's gonna pee herself. All Annabelle wants to do is get to the door. As in, the door to go back to the car. She so very clearly doesn't want to be there, and one way to know this for sure is that she refused a cookie. She does this at the vet when she's scared to death. So I wavered at first because the woman told me that lots of dogs do this when they first get there, especially when there're lots of dogs coming in at once. So I said okay, she can stay. But then when the guy tried to take her back and she resisted with all her might, I had to say no. I wasn't going to force her to stay. Wiggles went, never looked back, and Annabelle RAN to the car. I brought her home, took her for a walk in the neighborhood, and left her home.

My big girl, it seems, is not up for any more changes to her routine. I'm glad I didn't make her stay, but at the same time, I feel horrible leaving her home alone.

I guess I knew from the start that this plan was really for Wrigley, that Belly probably wouldn't like it, but it breaks my heart nonetheless. Nothing worse than seeing my girl scared.

This afternoon, while Wiggles is still play-play-playin' at daycare, I'll make my big girl a hot dog of her very own.

George W. Bush is toast

Or maybe kibble.

Here's a real conversation that S. and I had this morning.

Me: Honey, did you see George Bush in Wrigley's bowl this morning?

He: No.

Me: Where was George Bush when you got up?

He: In bed with us.

Good thing I captured Wrigley with George Bush in her food bowl. Otherwise Daddy never would've believed she'd been trying to eat him.

See, here's the thing. Wrigley's not allowed to have stuffed toys because she immediately decapitates them. But last night she brought me Annabelle's new stuffed lion and she looked so pathetic that I started looking around for something I could give her instead. Belly never plays with George Bush, so I gave Wrigley that. She was thrilled. She immediately started gnawing on him, running around the house flinging him around, bringing him outside and then back in again.

When I told Wonka about this this morning, she asked if Wiggles had decapitated him.

Me: Nope, but one of his legs is hanging on by a thread.

And those legs are wearing red cowboy boots. Deee-licious.

Nessie lives

This is from last week's swim and I just love how Belly looks like the Loch Ness monster rising from the depths. Last night we took them swim-swim-swimmin' again, and Belly actually wanted to chase the ball in the water. We'd brought the ball for Wrigley because on land, Belly couldn't care less about the damn ball. That's child's play, she says. But in the water, suddenly it's something to chase.

Their swimming last night made my heart hurt, they were so damn cute. Two little black heads, swimmin' side by side, workin', workin' so hard to get to the ball. When Wrigley'd bring the ball back to us on land, Nessie stayed in the water pretty much looking like she does in the picture here, and when we'd tell Wrigley to sit before we threw the ball, Belly sat in the water.

They kill me, these girls.

entertainment

What's better than watching a dog chase her own tail?

The look she gives you when she pauses, as if to say, "you have no idea what you're missing."

that new little baby girl of ours

Let's talk, shall we, about the number of nicknames this stinker girl has acquired in the almost-four months she's been home.

Most important and really not even a nickname anymore because I call her it ALL. THE. TIME: Wiggles

Mac was one of her early nicknames because she walks around the house with her bone--or any other toy--hanging out of her mouth like McArthur with his pipe. And then she says, "I shall return."

Wiggy.

Wigglesworth. Which leads to the corresponding Bugglesworth for her big sister. Wigglesworth and Bugglesworth. Freakin' cute.

Wiglet.

Piggie Nose.

S. came up with this one: from Rigs to Rigatoni. Our little Rigatoni girl.

really, she's not at all spoiled

I was planning to take a picture just of the three Nylabones lined up in such a pretty row. Cute in itself. As I was about to click for the shot, Wrigley stuck herself into the pic with her little piggy nose as if to say, "Yeah, I line up my bones. You got sumthin' to say about it?"

how our doggies got their Deutsch names

Last weekend it was time to cut Wrigley's toenails and since she's not Annabelle, well, we do that here at home. S. holds her down while I cut them. It was kinda nice out, so we went out on the deck to do it. Belly watched from afar.

Wrigley has both black and white toenails and the one I cut too short was white, for crying out loud. The blood, it was red and it was gushing. We bandaged her foot up a few times that day. When it was time for our evening walk, I suggested we put a boot over the bandage to make sure it stayed on. She thus became the one-booted wonder.

S.: She could be a kicker. And with her little white beard, she needs a German name. Like Horst.

A.: How about Helmut? I've always loved that German name.

S.: Helmut works.

Then we realized, probably at the same time, that the name is indeed perfect because we could make it into Hellmutt. Two l's, two t's and we got a whole new meaning. She is the mutt from hell. Julia used to call Annabelle Hell's Bells. Now we've got Hell's Bells and Hellmutt.

On the way to the park, both girls stick their heads out the windows of the car, Belly barking the whole way. Lately we've noticed that her voice is getting pretty hoarse. With the trips to the park and the daily scolding of her little sister, it takes a lot out of her. Thus was she christened Horst.

Hellmutt and Horst. Two beautiful girls.

on pots

There comes a time in a coffee drinker's life when she must finally say goodbye to the glass coffee pot, what with all its warnings about hurting others and its utter fragility. In the last year, I've broken at least three coffee pots. I didn't even realize this last one was cracked. I was in the shower when the coffee was brewing. When I got out, S. said there'd been an incident with the coffee. I immediately ask him what he did (and was scolded for doing so). He was innocently making his breakfast when he noticed that coffee was spilling all over the counter. There was a massive crack on the bottom of the pot. So, after walking the dogs for an hour at a new park, it was off to Target we went. I could've gotten a stainless steel pot, but my experience with those tells me they're impossible to clean. So we got this:

Plus, it's so cool to push the button to pour the coffee. And there's no spillage, as there sometimes is with a regular pot. And nobody can hold this one over my head. It cost a little more, but in the long run, probably worth it.

Yesterday afternoon I had some fun taking short videos of the dogs chomping away on their Nylabones. At one point when I was filming Belly, S. called out to me to ask if I was ready for Wrigley to come back in the room. He was cleaning my bathroom and didn't realize I was taping Belly. I said no, and you hear him in the background saying to Wrigley, "Cleaning a toilet one-handed--it ain't easy." And I can't help but laugh out loud.

Both videos came out too dark to post, but I did ask S. to take a pic of me and the baby girl before she turns one. Her birthday is Wednesday, exactly 2 months after we brought her home.

night and day

Belly: smart

Wrigley: not so much

Belly: anxious at times

Wrigley: not so much

Belly: thinker

Wrigley: not so much

Belly has always been my sweet, sometimes anxious, pooper stinkbutt with a big ol' smart bump on her head. She's very sensitive, and every time she's ever been hurt or sick, she's been very expressive about it. She communicates. And she does the pathetic look like no other. She's been working very hard to perfect it.

Wrigley, on the other hand--if she were fat, I'd be able to say she's fat, dumb, and happy. She has what could be a smart bump on her head but I'm thinking we might soon be able to confirm that it's really a shrunken dunce hat. She's just a happy, happy girl with not a care in the world. The day we brought her home she jumped up on the couch and wanted to wrestle. There was no adjustment period. There's also no pathetic look. It's just kind of a dumb, huh?

We have a trainer coming over tonight to help us train the Wiggles. I wish it were Cesar. I'm starting to get a bit of a crush on him. He's so no-nonsense. He'd have a field day with my relationship with Belly, but I know he'd straighten out the WiggleButt pretty quickly.

I mean, I knew our new doggie would be different from Belly (how could she not?), but I guess I wasn't prepared for such a happy-go-lucky doggie. A dog who really does get up each morning excited about all the possibilities for a new day. New sniffs! Toys! Walks! Food! Opportunities to steal food! Oh BOY!

aftermath

When I had had Annabelle for just a few months and we were living in an apartment on Green Street in Syracuse, I came home one day to find her water bowl completely empty save for a couple feathers stuck to the bottom of it. There were feathers stuck in her coat. When I went to the bedroom I saw a scene not unlike the one that follows here:

When I got home from school yesterday, no more than two minutes before S. did, I walked into the living room to this. It was a little bit funny. When I heard the garage door open, I went downstairs to greet S. and told him I wanted him to experience what I had just experienced. "I don't wanna experience anything," he whined. "Tell me."

"Nope. I want you to have the same surprise I had."

"I'm not going upstairs. I'm gonna stay down here all night."

All of these feathers, folks, were from HALF a couch pillow. Dang, they stuff those things real good. Poor Petula the Penguin. She was covered and she had no way to escape.

We'll be finding feathers for at least the next week or so. I've blamed it all completely on Wrigley, though when I was telling Nan about it last night, she suggested that maybe the girls were playing tug-o-war with the pillow. Belly tells me no, it was all Wiggles. And while Wrigley was making this mess, Belly coached her, telling her what it was like when she had done the same thing. Back when she was a baby.

two beautiful girls

Wrigley looks so regal in this pic, but really, she's a clown. Don't let her fool you.

Wiggles

Here's our newest little baby girl. She's adjusting remarkably well. This photo of Belly and Wrigley playing in the back yard is from right when we got home from the Humane Society. I am so so happy to see Annabelle playing with another dog. She hasn't played with a dog in at least two years.

Wrigley looks up to her big sister, follows her around, and loves the scent of her butt. They also love that they get treats when the other one does something good.

Wrigley loves loves loves her daddy. They've bonded instantly, and she's gonna be a huge help as we continue to mourn Mulder and Scully.

Um, Annabelle is strange. She hasn't seen her crate in at least four years. Last night she got in it. She's missed it, she wants us to know. Or, you could say she's looking to recapture her youth. She had us cracking up. Look at this pathetic face.

Happy to have our Wiggle girl home. Happy to see our girls getting along so well. Happy that we've chosen such a happy happy girl. Happy new year.