AwkwardBlonde: August 2010

I love my Texas (even though I was born in Detroit and raised in Arkansas. . . don't say it. I know.)

Texas is my home of 25 years. I adore Dallas, and this great state, as much as any 1800s pioneer. Texas is big sky, flat land, hot summers (which I cannot bear), incredible shopping, great food, wonderful culture, lifelong friends, and soothing, comforting, southern life -- a lovely life both personal and professional.

Texas is incomparable. It is difficult to explain it to those who haven't lived here. They wonder why we're so proud. Texas is honorable. It is reliable. And sturdy. Texas is unique and distinct. Texas is a whole lot of dichotomies rolled into a big, happy family. But I've got to tell ya, the summer heat is truly horrible. I think the only reason people live through it is because of all of the other great things.

Seriously, I don't know how the 1800s pioneers did it. I would have curled up in the fetal position and told them to leave me on the side of the trail. It gets too dang hot for livin'!

I have to tell you -- when the hot weather breaks I immediately become a new woman. Life is good again. Life is bearable! All of a sudden, without any kind of encouragement, I am running around getting all kinds of productive things done, and I'm ready for more! I can't call it "Fall," but I can call it a "relief!"

This late summer weather is such a wonderful relief! Thank You Texas!!

I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry. I'm not quite disciplined enough to do this blogger thing consistently, but I promise to do better.

The last time I wrote I promised to introduce you to my boys, Reggie and Reuben. Here's the story:

My daughter and I lived in a house that was in a prominent location. The house was broken in to a couple of times -- interestingly enough, it was always at the beginning of a school year, and we just happened to live a couple of blocks away from a junior high and high school. Dang kids.

At that time I was working 45 minutes away, so imagine the freakoutedness in getting a call from your 13-year-old daughter, who is sobbing and scared, telling you that she just got home from school and someone has broken into the house. Words cannot describe.

After this happened for the second year in a row, I finally listened to the friends who suggested that one of the best deterrents to break-ins is a barking dog. So one Saturday morning, my Sweet Pea daughter and I drove to the SPCA to find a dog.

It's important to know that we had strict requirements for this war against crime:

It must be a female dog. Male dogs pee too much in too many places.
It must be a trained adult dog. We don't know what we're doing, so let's get a pre-'made' dog.
Obviously, it must be a dog that barks. Duh.

The SPCA staff was great. Once they learned what we were looking for, they helped us look for female, adult dogs. They suggested that we put the selected prospect in one of their offices and close the door. Then we should approach the door and knock.

This way we would know if the dog was a barker. Genius, right?!

Problem was, none of the dogs barked.

So we gave up and decided to head home, because Sweet Pea had a Choir Retreat to get to by a specific time.

But the way home led us directly by the puppy cages.

Side note: Sweet Pea and I had been loyal Scottie owners for years. We LOVE that Scottie look-short legs, black fur, long nose, intelligent eyes-and that overall terrier look. I also love those unkempt-looking Jack Russell terriers. I read Henry & Ribsy, by Beverly Cleary as a child and loved it, so any dog that is white, spotted, and scraggly is the perfect All American Dog to me.

So anyway, these puppies were precious, terrier-looking, 6-weeks-old, and begging to be loved.

Immediately, no discussing or debating, Sweet Pea and I each had our hands on our favorite puppy -- she had a cuddly, black Scottie-looking thing and I had my perfect "Ribsy."

After very little consideration (take them in a 'visitation room' and see how they behave, blah blah blah) we were buying those suckers like there was no tomorrow.

We loved them desperately on our way home (actually, speeding to the parent drop-off for the kids going to the Choir Retreat).

After dropping Sweet Pea off with the lone parent who was willing to wait for the delinquent student, I headed for home. And the 'Ribsy' dog proceeded to poop and vomit all over my car--he made sure to hit all the seams and cracks that are hardest to clean. And he did it with gusto, my new little man.

How on earth did we go to the pound with such stringent requirements, and end up with the EXACT OPPOSITE of what we required??

And there is a good reason why we wanted a pre-trained dog. . .we SUCK as dog disciplinarians.

Therefore, we own lovable brothers, named Reuben (black one) and Reggie (white with spots) who are overall good boys, but who know absolutely no commands. They follow my directions because I've trained them with treats, but these poor souls are pretty undisciplined.

Reggie

Reuben

They've also got some major dominance issues with each other. Reuben has short-man syndrome and is always bullying his brother, who will only take it for so long. Because of this, they spend most of their day outside and then everyone comes inside to their comfy dog beds at night. You should see us, 2 adults and 4 dogs, all on our beds.

And do you know what?. . .We've had no more break-ins! GOOD BOYS!

More fun dog photos: