Posts Tagged "Booker"

Puppy Conversations (Sort of) | The Sleep Challenge (Mine)

Dear Kid,

It was a long, long night.

I was awakened at 1:30am by “rrrrr..rwo-arf! rrrrr..rwo-arf! rrrrr..rwo-arf!!”

To be clear, there aren’t many things I can think of that warrant being woken up at 1:30am. Perhaps, “Mom, I won the election for President of the United States!” or “The baby’s been born” but other than those I can’t think of much.

Even “I have a plate of fabulous chocolate for you” can wait until a more reasonable hour, chocolate shortage notwithstanding.

So “rrrrr..rwo-arf! rrrrr..rwo-arf! rrrrr..rwo-arf!” didn’t even make my top 10 list.

After several minutes, I got (groggily) out of bed, stumbled over to the window, and looked out. I expected to see a herd of deer holding an Occupy meeting or possibly a squadron of attack drones. I saw absolutely nothing.

I therefore did what all good moms do: I ignored the puppy (the barking had stopped when I got up) and collapsed back into bed.

Exactly what the puppy didn't look like last night. DearKidLoveMom.com1:47 am

“RRRRWWWooooof! rrrrr..rwo-arf! Wooof Woooof WWWWWoooooffffff!”

I pried an eyelid open. Dad really needed to sleep, so I kindly did not put my foot in the middle of his back and push. Downstairs, the puppy switched from barking to whining when he heard me.

Me: What?
Puppy: Wwooof! Woof!
Me: There will be no barking. What do you need?

I expected him to charge out of his cage. He sauntered. Then he trotted over to get a toy.

Me: Seriously? Show me what you want.

The puppy made sure I followed him as he trotted happily through every room on the first floor.

Me: The middle of the night and you resort to canine-speak? The one time when it would really be helpful for you to talk to me?

So I took him for a walk. It’s cold at 2am in December. There didn’t seem to be any urgency on his part, although he did spend extra time sniffing around our mailbox.

I took him inside, told him he’d been a good doggy for utilizing the outdoors to the fullest extent, put him back to bed, then put myself back to bed.

2:15 am


“Yip! Yip!”


I went back downstairs. This time he was clear.

Puppy: You put me away without breakfast
Me: It’s the middle of the night. No breakfast
Puppy: I would like breakfast
Me: I would like to sleep. Guess who wins?

So I curled up on the sofa, the puppy curled up on his favorite pillow, and we slept.

I’m still wondering if he heard something outside, if his clock was off, or if he just wanted to sleep on his pillow.

Doesn’t really matter. I explained that this was not a game I approved of and we ran him like crazy today to tire him out.

I hope. Must. Go. Sleep.zzzzzzzzz

Love, Mom

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Puppy Conversation | Ricky the Yorkie Comes to Visit

Dear Kid,

Puppy: Mom
Me: Yes, baby
Puppy: I think that’s a dog
Me: Yes, sweetie, that’s Ricky
Puppy: He’s very small
Me: Yes, he is very small, why don’t you come say hello?
Puppy: I would like to say hello
C: Ricky, darling, I’m not going to feed you to Booker. Say hello nicely
Puppy: It smells like a dog, but it’s a very small bit of fluff

You woke me up from a nap for a photo shoot? DearKidLoveMom.comPuppy: I think it’s not a dog
Me: His name is Ricky
Puppy: Ricky is not a dog
Me: I thought you said he smells like a dog?
Puppy (whispering): He’s on the furniture. Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture
Me: So what do you think Ricky is?
Puppy: I’m not sure. He’s not a moose.
Me: I agree with you there. He is not a moose.
Puppy: And he’s not a cat
Me: True. Definitely not feline
Puppy: He’s either a water buffalo or a purse
Me: What?
Puppy: I’m pretty sure he’s one of those
Me: Stick with being cute

Puppy: I like Ricky the Purse
Me: You decided he’s a purse?
Puppy: Yep, I figured it out because Auntie C carries him all the time.
Me: And that makes him a purse?
Puppy: Well, she wouldn’t be carrying a water buffalo

Puppy: Mom
Me: Yes?
Puppy: I smell food
Me: You always smell food
Puppy: I smell good food
Me: Food always smells good to you
Puppy: I smell THAT food
Me: That’s Ricky’s food
Puppy: I would like some of that food
Me: I understand, but you may not have that food. That food is Ricky’s food
Puppy: But it smells delicious
Me: But it’s not for you. It’s not Booker food
Puppy: That proves he’s not a dog

We had a lovely visit.

Love, Mom

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History, Access to Locker Rooms, and an Extremely Satisfying Bowl of Oatmeal

Dear Kid,

Have you ever noticed that History is full of Big Events (wars, natural disasters, the occasional Nobel Prize) but that life is made up of little events (breakfast, sunflowers, and the occasional hug from a child)?

In a way, that’s sort of a mismatch, don’t you think?

I understand the importance of mentioning Sir Frances Drake completing his circumnavigation of the world (1580) and the 1st Grand International Rifle match (1874) and several nuclear tests (a variety of years), but why don’t we ever mention something like “Bob Smith had a bowl of extremely satisfying oatmeal” or “James McKinney ended his craving by eating a pickle.”?

It’s important to remind ourselves of the big things that have been accomplished like NY District Court Judge Constance Baker Motley ruling that women sportswriters cannot be banned from locker rooms (1978). But why don’t the history books mention that On This Day In History MaryEllen Donett ruled that her two sons and a neighborhood boy couldn’t exclude their sister from their impromptu basketball game?

It’s a conundrum.

The Sleeping Philosopher. DearKidLoveMom.comI was going to ask Booker about it, but he’s sleeping. Also his usual answers to questions like that range from “How about a tummy rub?” to “How about a snack?” so I’m unlikely to find an answer there.

Or, perhaps tummy rubs, snacks, and an extremely satisfying bowl of oatmeal are the real answers and History just hasn’t figured out the right questions.

Love, Mom

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Big Deer versus Little Dog | DeerKidLoveMom

Dear Kid,

Me (drying Booker’s feet): You owe Dad an apology.
Booker (lifting his right front paw): What for?
Me: For waking him.
Booker: Did not. He was going to get up to watch Olympic hockey.
Me: Nonetheless, you owe him an apology.
Booker: He yells louder at the TV!
Me: This foot please. You need to apologize.
Booker (confounded and frustrated): The house, maybe the entire Universe, was under threat of imminent attack!


Half an hour earlier, there were four deer on our front lawn. Big deer. Really big deer. Booker sprang into action. And by “sprang” I mean “exploded.”

He barked. He yipped. He made sounds a dog five times his size would envy. He jumped. He shook. He tried to claw his way through the dining room windows to get to the deer. He made more noise than an entire pack of trained hunting dogs could make. I thought he was going to expel a kidney.

Synchronized deer turned their heads to stare (ooh! New Olympic sport: synchronized skiing!). They seemed slightly curious about all the mayhem but basically unimpressed.

Booker raced from window to window giving the impression an entire battalion was arming itself for an assault.

Seriously Little Dude, Deer vs little dog DearKidLoveMom.comThe look on the largest deer’s face clearly said, “Seriously little dude?” After a few minutes, the pack moved off down the street.

Booker upped the volume (which I didn’t think was possible). The commotion registered a 3.4 on the Richter scale.

I finally got a leash on him and we went out for our morning walk. By which I mean I walked, he pulled on the leash and tried to track the deer. This involved a good deal of Serious Staring, Sniffing, and Surveying and did not involve actual Deer Sighting. (The deer may be condescending, but they are not stupid.)

Which brings me back to our conversation.

Me: You owe Dad an apology for waking him. (And the entire Tri State area.)
Booker: I was protecting the house.
Me: The house is fine.
Booker: It is now.
Me: The deer were not interested in the house. You owe Dad an apology.
Booker: I protected all the bulbs you planted last fall.


Booker got a few extra bits of kibble in his breakfast.

Hope you don’t need to defend your territory as ferociously today.

Love, Mom

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