Labradoodle & Goldendoodle Forum
Yesterday, I mowed the yard and must have picked up some kind of prickers from a bush along the way. I am not exactly sure what to call these dreaded little things that hurt to touch and stick to clothing, but I do know now that entering “prickers” on Google brings up all kinds of unrelated pictures.
One of the few times my dogs opt to stay in the house when I am outside is when I mow the yard. Most things that I do I have two nosy dogs following right behind me to see what I am up to. Even something as simple as running to the garage can become quite the ordeal when I have Fudge and Vern tag along. Usually, my quick trip is almost slowed to a stop by two dogs blocking my path as I try to get back out of the garage. It can drive me crazy. John is free to come and go as he pleases, but my every move finds me shadowed by my Doodles. It reminds me of my children always wanting to ride with me when we took separate cars. Off John would go with a smile on his face, as I contended with “front and back day or left and right day,” as my kids fought some stupid sibling battle about the seating arrangement in my car. I am not sure me screaming, “JUST PICK A SEAT!” helped in any way, since Megan would then spend the rest of the ride informing anyone who would listen that her sister just picked her seat.
Well, unbeknownst to me, a few of these sticky prickers that hitchhiked a ride into the house on my socks, must have somehow found a way to Fudge’s tail. As I sat beside her, trying to watch one of my favorite shows, Property Brothers, it became increasingly difficult to see and hear the brothers telling their client that 1.2 million dollars was not going to get them the house of their dreams without involving renovations. No matter how many times I see their familiar formula I never get tired of saying to myself, “oh dear….whatever will they do now?” If you sense sarcasm, your instincts are spot on. Anyways, Fudge’s picking and pulling at her tail and her violent shaking of her head were really spoiling my TV viewing, so I decided to give her a hand at grooming herself. Seriously, the sticky bits were so small that I almost needed a microscope to find them, but Fudge was having known of that on her tail. Meanwhile, someone could come by in the middle of the night and teepee Vern’s entire body and he wouldn’t notice anything when he woke up.
The same goes with their sleeping and eating habits. Fudge is a neat eater and drinker, but Vern takes extra care to load up his mouth with food and take it away from his food dish and promptly drop it wherever it suits his fancy. Sometimes, he manages to eat it all, but mostly he forgets to clean his kibble up off the floor. And following him drinking is at your own risk, because he either drinks every last drop serenading the listener with a disgusting symphony of slurping sounds or fills his mouth full and manages to only get half of the water down. The other half drips off his face or nose or whatever body part he managed to get wet as he violently attacked his water dish. Fudge has enough sense to wait until Vern is finished eating or drinking and has vacated the premises before she even steps near her food and water bowl. She actually waits until he goes to bed and I will often times hear her eating in the middle of the night. If she is really thirsty, she will look at me in such a way that I know she means I need to clean the bowl and refill the water because Vern just got done.
Somehow, I managed to find a dog that reminds me of my husband. Aren’t you supposed to marry a man who reminds you of your dad? Did I mix up those sayings and end up with a dog that reminds me of my husband? And no, I don’t mean John slurps his food and spits half of it out onto the floor, but he is messy like Vern. Like Vern, he leaves clues around the house as to where he has been. I can tell you what he made himself for lunch just by the condition of the kitchen when I get home and I often wonder if like Hansel and Gretel he is leaving “breadcrumb” clues around the house so I can find him. He shouldn’t worry about that, but he would never be able to lead a life of crime. The evidence he left behind would lead the police right to him every time. Just this week, I got home from being away for ten days and marveled at so many things. Plastic bottles sitting right next to the recyclable bin, as if putting them directly into the bin was just asking too much of one man. Peanut butter fingerprints on the refrigerator handle making me wonder if he used a knife to get the peanut butter out of the jar or just stuck his hand in like a bear would do. I try not to say too much, but I did mention one Andy Griffith show where Aunt Bea went away and came back to find the house neat as a pin and worried that she wasn’t needed. I told him I couldn’t really relate to Aunt Bea.
Every morning when I get up, the first thing I do is straighten every covering on all the dog beds in our house and I am not saying I am a hoarder of dog beds, but the dogs have three in just the living/dining room area. I also straighten the dog mat I have on one of their favorite chairs and the bedspread in the guest room. And if you are wondering why, it is because busy bee Vern visits every one of those spots sometime throughout the night and digs himself a comfortable spot until he gets it just right. I also pick up the afghan I drape across John’s chair in case he gets cold watching TV, because it is often on the floor, too. I have never actually witnessed John digging on his chair, but from the condition of the room when I wake up, I feel like the two of them are conspiring against me. Whenever I point out the similarities between their two spaces, John always says, “That’s my boy!” He says it so often, that once I felt compelled to add, “You know he is adopted, right?”
My sweet Fudge, on the other hand, hops up onto our bed each night and stays put. She doesn’t dig or move much and takes on the properties of cement when you try to move her over. I seriously think I could topple one of those Confederate statues easier than I can move Fudge once she finds her spot at night. Like everything else she does in life, she is a neat sleeper. The only mess she ever makes at night is the mess I make when I decide that my space has become so limited on the bed that sleeping in the guest room might be a better option. I guess we all have a little Oscar Madison in us from time to time.