Growing up, my father was a firm believer in using a carrot to dangle in front of me rather than a stick. He felt he would get the desired results with less fuss if he used the carrot. Except the carrot had to be something other than a carrot due to my motivation desires.
Oddly enough, the four-footed one can and is motivated by carrot sticks. Or slices, or shreds. She likes carrots. Need to distract her from something outside? A carrot piece comes in handy. Mailman coming to the house and you need to get the parcel from him, give her a carrot stick and she will happily munch along and ignore the mailman.
Come home from grocery shopping get forget which bag the carrots are in? Have no fear, the four-footed one will find the, for you. She will stick her head in every bag until she finds them. And then she will tug them out, drop them on the floor and give them kisses or a wee nibble. I learned that lesson the hard way a few weeks back, when she took a bite from each carrot while I was putting other items away. In all faIrness, she snuck the bunch past me and into her kennel which was in another room.
So clearly with her the carrot stick is the answer!
It would seem my neighbors are a fan of getting their steps in. And I. All for walking and getting a your steps on, but honestly how many trips do you need to make from your front door to the car in an hour?
Well, the answer to that question is ,if you are my neighbors, fort you-three times. And for the record they go back and forth for half hour intervals intermittently throughout the day.
No, I don’t really keep track of them, but my dog does. And so do my other neighbors. Think of it as the Neighborhood watch. The watch group informed me that this is a day thing with the new neighbors.
Now I don’t really mind what you do, to each their own, but when you park in front of my house right in the dog’s line of vision, I tend to take notice. Normally the dog doesn’t bark much, but this is too much for her to remain silent and just watch.
Naturally the new neighbors do not appreciate her barking. And they have pointed that out. To which I have pointed out if they’d park in front of their house the issue wouldn’t exist. Yeah not the most ideal conversation, but I dare say they have since moved their car.
When I was a young child there was nothing better than homemade cookies. Homemade cookies, fresh from the oven, were like treats on demand.
Have a crappy day at school? Nothing a chocolate chip cookie or peanut butter cookie couldn’t fix. Horrible weather outside, leaving you trapped indoors? Cookie to the rescue. But the best time to have a cookie was when they had been made for no reason. None other than the fact that I enjoyed cookies.
Cookies were like a hug without actually getting a hug. And the wild thing was, my mom wasn’t a fan of making them. When I was older and I’d ask for a cookie, she’d tell me to make them myself. She hated the work that went into making them. (Cakes, buns and such were another story.)
I don’t make cookies all that often myself. I know I could and no they aren’t hard to make. But there is only so much a person can do In a day. And when I get the notion to make them, most often times I don’t have the ingredients. By the time I’m back from buying everything I need, I no longer want the cookie.
Still, there is a part of me that when presented with fresh, homemade cookies reverts back to a young child relishing the simple glory of all that the cookie holds.
Can we talk about air fresheners dear friends? I know I know, some times you need to do something with your room’s atmosphere. Maybe the house smell so I keep a giant fish fry and you’d rather it not smell like that. Perhaps your car smells like wet dog and you’d rather not have that lingering scent long after the dog is out of the car.
I mean the types and sources of aromas that can assault your delicate sense of smell are vast. And not all of them are just the variety you’d call unpleasant. Some of them can make you or worse, vomit.
Naturally you use any method you like to clean the air. Maybe you use an air freshener that smells like a pine forest. Perhaps you like the scent of rain and fresh linen. Or a bouquet of wildflowers. You have a lot to choose from.
And I know it may have crossed your mind to take your bouquets of wildflowers and mix them with the scent of rain and fresh linen with just a hint of clean cotton. But friends please, beg of you not to do this. It’s truly an assault to the nose. And worst, that smell of fish fry is sitting right underneath it all, wafting through the breeze of you pine forest. Making my eyes water, my nose go on strike and my taste-buds deciding they would have rather not known how pine forest scent tastes.
Can we instead be subtle with these items. Please? Thank you.
Some people can sleep in their bed and wake up with barely messed up sheets. Other people sleep on their bed and wake up with the bed in such disarray they might just have to make it from scratch again.
When Beloved wakes up, it looks as if a tornado has gone through the bed. Pillows will be scattered across the floor, sheets in twisted messes here and there. Sometimes the mattered isn’t even fully on the bed any more.
And when he wakes up,he’s always refreshed and some how surprised at the violence and distraction of his sleep. He will say he didn’t even moral that much, he had such a relaxing sleep.
Try sleeping next to that and I promise you won’t be having a relaxing or refreshing sleep. You may in fact discover that you can’t sleep with all the flailing, tossing and turning involved. So when he wakes up all bright-eyed and well rested, you look like a zombie in dire need of coffee.
The fix? Separate beds so his sleeping tornado is confined to, well, his room and you can be rested and relaxed with the added bonus of not having to make that mess back into a bed because you neither slept in that bed, nor did you make the mes. You were resting peacefully in your neat bed.
Etta James sang about a Sunday Kind Of Love, the kind, she said that would last past Saturday night. To me Sunday speaks of pot roast and I really don’t want a pot roast kind of love.
I have yet to have a good pot roast you see. I’ve had okay pot roast, so so Yorkshire puddings and passable veggies. And thus I cannot understand why dear Etta was going to settle for pot roast when she could have found something that fed her while tasting good.
To each his or her own I guess. And for Etta I guess that was pot roast. Not that I’m against a love that lasts forever or past a Saturday night. And I’m not against a love that’s on square, with someone to have and to share. But I am very grateful that Beloved is not, well, Sunday pot roast.
Not that Etta would necessarily think my version of a tasty meal is the cat’s meow. Some people are pot roast people, some like roast chicken and some like not knowing exactly what all they are eating.
So while I understand Etta’s sentiments, I really don’t want that kind of love. And thankfully I don’t have that. I have a love that’s just right for me. And I guess in the end, that’s what Etta’s was singing about, even if it makes me think of pot roast Sunday meals!
The four-footed one’s bed needed a cleaning and a fluffing up today. So I took her toys out of it, pulled out the bit that cannot go in the wash and washed the rest. Now typically the four-foots one rarely uses this bed. It is where she drops of fun omen of Her toy story and allows them to rest. And once and a while she even hops into this bed and curls up with her toys for an hour or so.
Naturally since this bed is unavailable to her it is the very one she wants, scratch that, probably needs. And of course everyone must be made aware of the tragedy that has befallen her world. This needs to be repeated every few seconds, just to make sure no one is missing any of the story.
When the bed was washed, and dried to a nice state of fluffiness, the four-footed one sniffed it and walked away. No doubt because it smelled clean. So I out in the usual toys and went about my business the way one does when one has things to do.
A few hours later I noticed it was awfully still in the house. Still and silent. So I did a check to see what the four-footed one was up to. At that first glance, she was sleeping in her fresh bed. Aww, how sweet right? Except when I looked all around the room I discovered a potted plant was no longer potted. And a path of dirt lead back to the bed. Where she was happily resting with dirty paw prints all over to show her work was done and the bed was back to how it should be.