However, there is a point to me bringing up these ridiculous movies, 'This one time, at band camp...' It was pretty funny. The writers of the script mocking what everyone does at some point, tell stories about someone or something over and over again.
This is my life with Stanley.
Yes Stanley the Super Pug. I tell you, life with a dog just adds something. Chaos is too strong, excitement is a little overrated, he is busy; Pugs in general are, but I don't know what the word I am looking for is, brain freeze.
I know for sure that it's not like having a cat. Cats can pretty much take care of themselves. If you are super duper lazy, you don't even have to feed them everyday. Just get them those self feeder bowls and tell them to go to town on the toilet water. And I love me a cat. Most especially a nice fat one, who's jelly just rolls over the edge of wherever they are perched. Makes me feel skinny on my worst of days.
She is an emotional eater. You can find us during that time of the month in the basement watching Lifetime movies together feasting on sundaes and doritos.
Stanley is a good dog. He is full of energy and definitely is our little herder. When we come home he has to make sure all his little ducklings have arrived safely, and will sniff and circle all of us. When we bring the kids in at night if they are sleeping, he will go in after us to check on them, jump on their beds, lick their faces. We really appreciate that. It's cute, I suppose, if you like that whole children freaking out because the last thing they knew they were in the van and now they are being attacked by slobber thing, we get.
He is pretty well trained. He comes running back when you call him no less then 79 times, and threaten to never ever take him anywhere again, and to not sneak him leftovers or scraps from the kids plate when the boss isn't looking. I mean I put my life on the line here, the least he can do is not cruise the neighborhood looking for the perfect spot to lift a leg to and just go right out front.
Stan apparently also thinks that he is a better parent then me. If the kids are on the swings, riding their bikes, if we are lifting them into the air to fly, or if they are partaking in an activity Stan deems is dangerous, he gets all sorts of crazy. Barking that loud, high pierced bark that is sheer panic. He nips at their pant legs and will not stop until they are safe, in front of him, on the ground. I swear he looks at me with such disgust when they do these things. As if he is saying, 'you dumb girl, who made you a mother, how on earth do you think it is ok to risk their lives in this manner, here I go to rescue them again for you!?!?!'
But we love him. He really smells sometimes and gets this nasty junk in his little wrinkles of his face that I have to clean out regularly. He also snores and snorts alot, and he really does have a mind of his own. But he is devoted to us, and for that, he is a good little dog.
So without further ado...
This one time we took Stanley to PetSmart. Kendall was dying to take Stanley to a store he could actually go in. So we get all in there and Stanley did love it. I mean I swear he had a smile on his face the entire time we were in there. He properly pissed off the cats, the birds, and got to sniff the other dog shoppers rear ends, it was bliss. So we get ready to leave and I have to pull him out the door. Me, three kids, one in a stroller, two just in la la land, and one unruly dog. So we get to the van, I hook Stan's leash to an armrest, and as I am buckling in the kids, this dog wiggles himself out of the collar. All I see when Kendall says, 'hey look there goes Stan back into the store!' is his tail end bouncing through the automatic doors back into dog heaven. No joke. So I do what every bad parent would do, pull up to the front of the store, lock up, and go back in. And there he is, sitting in an aisle with a poodle, pawing at a bag of dog food. Needless to say, we are never going back to PetSmart with Stanley.
This one time we had Stan in the car and we were on our way home. I stopped by the local pizza joint and picked up some hoagies for dinner. I was so excited to get home and eat this hoagie for dinner. They smelled so good. I was even thinking, 'wow, they smell so good tonight for some reason.' I rationalized that I was big and pregnant, I wanted to eat a hoagie so bad, and the smell was just getting my cravings going. We begin to unload and I notice a piece of lettuce on the floor of the van, follow it with my eyes, a trail of lettuce! I look at the bag the hoagies were in and it looks like I left. But I jump in, look around the side of the back seat and there is a heap od lettuce and tomato, and a dog finishing the last bite of a hoagie! I was enraged! He had eatens someone hoagie, but who's hoagie? I ate cereal that night. Stanley went straight to bed with no supper, other than my hoagie digesting in his little loins.
This one time I was taking Kendall to school. On most mornings we take Stan with us. This way we can appease him with a car ride, and he can appease me by taking his morning pee on the way out to the car, killing two birds with one stone. So we are driving there, get there, tell Stan to, 'stay,' which he really get swimmingly now, and we unload and go into drop Kendall off. We turn and wave to Stan, he is in the drivers seat, watching us go. We get back, I am loading up the boys, tell Stan to, 'stay,' he listens to my command. He sniffs the boys hello, is circling the van smelling for Kendall, as he always does. Ethan is not moving into his seat, and I say to him, 'Come On!' not realizing at that moment that this is a command I also give Stanley, that he obeys. 'Come On,' means, get out of the van, it's your turn, move it pal. So he leaps out, nose to to the ground in search of the missing child. I turn and again, I see his rear end going right through the door of the preschool. Awesome. Again, I quickly buckle in the boys, whip around to the entrance, lock up, and run inside. Stan is sniff, sniff, sniffing all the giggling children on his way to find his beloved Kendall. I snatch him just as he is about to run into her classroom door. As I am walking away I can hear Kendall proclaiming, 'that was my crazy dog!' Crazy, alright. Thank goodness she didn't didn't put Mom in that sentence as well.
All in the life of owning a dog, I suppose. Something tells me this is just the beginning of a long line of band camp stories with dear Stanley. Having a dog is just sometimes sheer pandemonium. There, that's a good word.