You Save Lives, I Do Amusing Things to Our Dogs. So?

I have no one to talk to while the DNB is on call.

The Buds and I go upstairs, where I start to read. Noticing that Aikane is fluffing blankets and arranging pillows to get comfortable on the bed, I get a brilliant idea. The travel neck pillow!

"Look!" I text the DNB, sending him a photo of my handiwork.

He doesn't reply.

"BABY!" I try again. "Look at the picture!"

Nothing.

"It's so cute! I think he thinks he can't move with it on. It's ADORABLE!"

Still nothing.

Then, "Oh cute," he finally replies. "I might be putting a kid on ECMO tonight," he continues. Extracorporeal membrane oxygenation. Like a heart-lung machine.

I pause.

"I feel like you're trying to one-up my Aikane Neck Pillow."

Excuse me while I whip this pellet gun out.

I will kill All the Squirrels!

Nahoa doesn't come this morning when I call him into the house. I finally find him lying on the ground by the deck, curled protectively around a new-found Treasure.

It's half of a lollipop.

Not a little Dum Dum, because my life isn't simple enough for that, but a full-blown, carnival madness GIANT LOLLIPOP. The kind that would take you days to eat as a kid. It's swirled with colors, and small pieces of it are stuck to Nahoa's long hair. He growls menacingly, and I have to pick him up and shake him to get him to release the bits already in his mouth.

The Bastard Squirrels did it. The same Bastard Squirrels that built a nest in our tree out of TOILET PAPER because they hate us - a building endeavor that has resulted in wet toilet paper littering our yard after every storm.

Other things the squirrels have brought into our yard: sundry rolls and bread, seed pods from trees of distant lands, a veggie/turkey patty (I didn't examine it that closely), a half-eaten Reese's, cardboard containers from a variety of food items, and an avocado.

The Bastard Squirrels must die.

I think my dogs are cooking meth.

The Buds eat Sudafed!

This is an unusual departure from their standard fare: paper, socks, and plastic bottle caps. Three 30 mg tabs are gone, ripped from the packaging. The DNB immediately springs into action, instructing me to call Poison Control while pouring Hydrogen Peroxide down their throats to make them barf. Which Ka Liko does immediately. Aikane-Monster doesn't, because apparently along with his iron jaw he also has an iron stomach.

We take them to the vet and explain the three missing pills and the teeth-marked package. Although we would prefer to sit in some sort of family waiting area, the tech gently suggests we go home.

It's strangely quiet at the house. We sadly run through a list of regrets: if only we hadn't left the DNB's work bag on the floor, if only there weren't pills in it, if only the Buds couldn't smell, if only our noses never needed decongesting.

"Except . . ." I say hopefully, "We can't get them to eat a pill when they have to. Are we really sure they actually ingested those missing pills?"

We search the living room. And find two and a half pills.

The vet tells us he thinks they're going to be all right.

A Non-Exhaustive List of Random Household Items of Which Ka Liko is Afraid:

The Big Bobber Floating Cooler

A toilet paper package

My red workout ball

The makeup bag I keep in my purse

A blowing plastic bag

The top to the copper firewood caddy

The Special K Red Berries box on top of the fridge

Aikane's 4 Years Old Birthday

It's My Birthday, so, Naturally.

I'm telling you it's my birthday because I would like lots of well-wishes and presents. But also because it makes what happens next so much more enjoyable.

So I'm basking in the glow of my birthday morning, made especially fantastic by the fact that I'm turning an even number, when Aikane starts making the tell-tale Dog About To Puke sounds.

We're sitting on the couch, which is on a carpet, so I scoop him up and race toward the kitchen and its ugly, old, eezie-klean linoleum. And here's where it gets foggy. Somehow, I end up stepping in a giant puddle of dog puke. It has chunks that look like ground beef in it, which makes me wonder for a minute where in the world he found ground beef, because we don't tend to leave it lying around on the floor, but he's a resourceful and scheming fellow, so we'll probably never know. And then he pukes down the leg of my pants.

It's at this point that I should tell you that my stomach is so weak that I once doused my baby brother in perfume before I could muster the strength to change his diaper. I'm also a sympathetic vomiter.

So the foot-in-dog-puke and the puke-down-my-leg is far, far too much. I drop the dog, who is still throwing up, and manage to get myself to the kitchen sink just as my dry heaving results in some quality puke of my own.

It's going to be a special, special day.

Christmas, Revisited: You're Going to Be Jealous

I don't want it to sound like I'm bragging, but one of my Christmas presents this year was totally better than anything you got:



Oh yes. It's Painting Pets on Rocks by Lin Wellford.

The copyright on the book is 2000, which means that in this century there are people not only painting pets on rocks, but BUYING BOOKS ABOUT painting pets on rocks. The whole book is a photo-illustrated, step-by-step guide to painting the following pets on rocks: fish, Guinea Pigs, parrots, Tabby cats, black or white cats, Siamese cats, Dalmatians, Irish Setters, Bulldogs, and Yorkies. Heaven help you if you have an iguana, you'll have to freehand it.

Apparently, and according to the introduction, to many people "the idea of turning an ordinary rock into a three-dimensional piece of art was simply irresistible, and in the process of painting they uncovered talents they never dreamed they possessed." OF COURSE they never dreamed they would possess a talent for painting pets on rocks, what kind of loser dreams of that? Fronting an all-girl punk band? Preventing the zombie apocalypse? Beating any of your husband's Wii scores? THESE are the stuff dreams are made of.

Of course, one of the great benefits of painting pets on rocks is that "capturing the likeness of a beloved pet on a rock is a wonderful way to celebrate that special bond, while creating a lasting remembrance." Are my dogs the only ones that would see a painted rock and take a giant leak on it? I'd better use paint rated for grade school boys' bathrooms.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go take photos of the Buds from various angles so I can figure out how each pose might translate into common rock shapes.

The Evolution of Aikane: I Can't Seem to Use Proper Names

A Chronological Listing of Aikane's Nicknames:

Aikane
Aikane Monster
Baby Monster
Monster Moo
Monster Moonie
Moonie-Moo
Moonbeam

"Moonbeam?!" the DNB shouts when he finally realizes what I'm saying. "That is the DUMBEST NAME I HAVE EVER HEARD."

"Just try saying it," I explain. "It really just flows."

"Come here, MOON. BEAM." He calls sarcastically. "Nope, still dumb."

Next time we'll have his and hers appointments at Aveda.

Aikane's Beauty Day continues!

With the grooming done - bald patch in place - it's time for a bath. He hates bathing, so to make it sound better, I tell him it's his Spa Day. Long ago, I learned that if I'm going to end up soaking wet anyway, I may as well already be in the shower. Despite the comfort of having a Spa Day with his mommy, Aikane is still shaking as the DNB hands him in to me.

"This is the Soothing Water Bath portion of your Spa Day," I coo to him as I dip him under the shower head. He tries to scramble out of my arms.

"Now, Aikane, we will begin the Coconut Cleanse," I continue, putting him down and pouring shampoo down his back. "Because you were trying to dig under the garden fence to eat tomatoes this morning, your feet are very dirty." He makes a move to jump out of the tub. I grab him. "This Spa Day is so great!"

I pick him up again, and whisper in a soothing tone, "And for the final portion of today's water-based procedure, we have a Relaxing Rinse." I hold him under the water again. His nails dig into my back and arms.

After he's fully cleansed and rinsed, the DNB takes him from me and wraps him in a towel.

"Tell Aikane that this is the Drying portion of his Spa Day," I direct the DNB. "He loves Spa Day. And put the leave-in conditioner in his hair, too."

"You're being dried," the DNB says unenthusiastically. "Spa Day. Drying. Spa Day." Aikane scampers off, wet and unconditioned.

Stupid boys.

At least he didn't give him a butt cut.

Aikane has a Beauty Day!

I've decided to try grooming him at home. The DNB has a set of ancient yard sale clippers, which I have seen before. And I know, theoretically, how to use them. This is going to be an adventure.

I put the piano bench in the middle of the kitchen and place Aikane on top of it. He does not love this. For the next twenty minutes, I buzz away his lovely locks. I'm surprisingly good with the clippers - his hair ends up mostly even.

Until the DNB starts meddling.

I reluctantly hand the clippers off to him while I finish trimming Aikane's tail. We finally stand back to admire our work.

"BABY!" I gasp. There is a long bald streak down Aikane's left side.

"Huh," he replies. "I guess that does show."

Ka Liko's 3 Years Old Birthday

In which I make him wear a Prince Crown.

Still Life: Dog in Bowl

Can You Get a Dog-Related Restraining Order?

"He's so soft and cuddly," the DNB comments, stroking Nahoa's silky ears.

"He really is," I agree.

"I could just . . . " the DNB pauses, searching for the right words. "I could just make a purse out of him," he concludes.

I sit up straight.

"You could . . . MAKE A PURSE. Out of our dog."

"Yeah," the DNB signs wistfully. "I'd just sew his ears together." He doesn't seem to realize how incredibly creepy that sounds as he walks off.

I grab Nahoa protectively. "No more alone time with Diddy," I whisper to him.

Aikane

We're hoping that next year he can do our taxes.

I use the term "Mommy's" to refer to anything of mine the dogs show an interest in.

"Don't touch Mommy's," I proclaim, waving my cell phone at them. "Or Mommy won't be able to call the vet should you happen to be drop-kicked for chewing on things that don't belong to you."

Favorite inappropriate chew items include the caps to my water bottles. I'd been hoping to pee every, say, 20 minutes, so I started drinking more water. If I happen to leave a cap on the coffee table, or end table, or anywhere else in the world, Ka Liko will inevitably eye it silently until I look away for long enough that he can make off with it.

And so it happens that another cap is missing when I return from switching my laundry in the basement. Giving myself too much credit, I check the kitchen to make sure I didn't just leave it on the counter WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN SMART. It's obviously not there. Nor is it anywhere to be seen in the living room or in the dining room. Ka Liko follows me through the house as I search.

Finally, I look down. "Ka Liko," I say sternly. "Did you touch Mommy's?"

He looks up at me as sweetly as he always does, and cocks his head.

"Where is it? Go get Mommy's," I order.

He walks to the couch and rummages under it for a moment. Then he reappears, runs back to me, and drops the cap gently at my feet.

It's like they don't want to learn for the pure joy of it.

I conduct Bud School!

I decide the Buds need to learn something far beyond what we have taught them to date. Beyond sit. Beyond off. Beyond if you don't stop barking I'm going to sell you all on Craigslist. The final frontier: colors.

The Buds have two squeaking rubber squirrels. One is blue and one is green. They are going to learn to tell them apart.

I sit in the living room with the two squirrels. The Buds immediately sit at my feet, gazing up at me. I hold up the blue squirrel.

"Buds, this is the BLUE BALL," I say, with emphasis (it certainly goes without saying that you may insert your own blue balls jokes here).

I put it behind my back and hold up the other. "This is the GREEN BALL."

I do this a half dozen times. Ka Liko barks at me. I think this means he understands.

I hold both squirrels out in front of me. "Which is the BLUE BALL?" I ask.

Nahoa and Aikane eye the blue ball. Ka Liko stares at the green one.

We go over the differences and I hold them both out again. "Which is the GREEN BALL?"

As if they'd planned it with a wink and a nod, Aikane grabs one squirrel out of my hand and Ka Liko grabs the other. They race off, the little truants.

Nahoa sits patiently.

The Third Dog

His name is Nahoa, but I call him Nahoa-Samoa because it
rolls off the tongue so beautifully. He doesn't seem to mind.

The Buds

Aikane and Ka Liko

We will repeat this conversation in 10-15 years, when we have children.

I delegate the removal of nasty poo stains from Ka Liko's bottom!

"Why do I have to clean it up?" the DNB asks, disgruntled.

"Because if I do, I'll throw up, and then you'll have to clean up poo and puke," I explain, looking over at the dog and gagging a little.

"I'm not cleaning up your puke," the DNB states.

"I'm going to be throwing up. Are you saying you're going to make me clean up my own puke? I'm puking non-stop and you're just going to stand there watching, telling me I have to clean it up?" I'm horrified. We did NOT cover this in our pre-marital counseling.

"Well not right then. I'll tell you after you're done," he clarifies.

"You'll be all, 'Life sucks. Get used to it,' " I supply.

"Right. I'll say, 'Life sucks. At least you don't have six 3-year-olds.' "

YOU are.

I put a headband on Ka Liko!

He's working quite the 'fro since it's bath day. The good thing about treating your dogs like children is that they aren't, actually, children. So you won't ruin their tiny little psyches too much by doing things like putting a headband on them or placing a Big Bobber Floating Cooler in the middle of the doorway.

"Diddy, look at Ka Liko!" I announce, carrying him into the bedroom where the DNB is reading. "Look at this good little Bud and his headband. Do you have a headband?" I ask Ka Liko. "Do you love it?"

Ka Liko sits patiently, absently pawing at the side of his head.

"Diddy, he loves it!" I say proudly. "Look! LOOK. LOOK!"

The DNB slowly turns his head toward where Ka Liko and I sit.

"You are a constant stream of noise," he says, and turns back to his book.