Miss American Pee

The Day the Tee Shirts Died

My grandfather collected buttons. My father collected sugar packets from restaurants. And I collected free tee shirts.

My shirts were neatly stacked on shelves. They came from every race I had ever run, every Lab Week UroPartners had ever celebrated, every blood drive and food bank giveaway I had ever joined. They came from gyms and hockey arenas, and from a visit to the Brookfield Zoo. They were green and gray, blue and orange, even 1960s-style tie-dye. I rotated wearing them in order. Just like with my grandchildren, I never played favorites.

Today, all of them, the would-be favorites and the also-rans, are sitting in a garbage bag in the garage, never to be worn again.

I first noticed the odor three mornings ago, about ten minutes into a session on my elliptical. At first it was so faint I thought I was imagining it. But as the shirt became more sweat-soaked, the scent grew stronger and unmistakable. I was smelling cat urine, and it was coming from me.

Our little kitten is almost sixteen years old now. She spends most of her time sleeping in her favorite spots: the wingback chair, the bathroom floor mat, the folded duvet on our bed. But when she isn’t sleeping, she is usually in one of her two litter boxes. The girl can pee.

I do my best to keep the litter boxes clean, emptying them every night and refreshing the litter regularly. Apparently not regularly enough. Maybe the litter no longer met her standards, or maybe one of the boxes had become difficult for her to reach. Whatever the reason, she eventually decided it was preferable to relieve herself on the neatly folded stacks of my tee shirts.

I know from experience that it is impossible to wash that odor out of clothing. It lingers and reblooms through Tide and Downy and Febreze. That is why all those shirts are now headed for the trash. Some of those shirts had been with me for decades, and it is a said, but necessary, parting.

From now on, maybe I’ll collect sugar packets instead..

Canine Criminal Behaviour

Cooper's on the prowl again, 
Nothing stops his thieving.
The pooch is after paper goods;
His calmness is deceiving.

Our kitchen table is the spot
Where a napkin lies inviting.
Quick as a wink it's in his mouth;
To Coop it's so exciting. 

The receipt that nestled in your purse
For the shoes you were returning.
Is now in tatters in Coopie's mouth;
His lips the pieces churning.

A check was on the counter top,
You can guess that in this telling.
It's been torn in half by a hungry pup.
In the future, please try Zelle'ing.

Like a hungry fox in a house of hens,
His appetite's unrelenting.
From dawn to dusk all paper is his;
There's no use in lamenting.

I dare not bring into this house
A document worth keeping.
Young Coop will munch it 'tween his teeth;
And the shreds we'll soon be sweeping.

Better keep the bathroom door,
Tightly closed while you are using.
Or he'll snatch the tissue from the roll;
He finds this quite amusing

Is there something we have done,
Or is it in his breeding,
That has him scoff at kibbles and bits;
And makes parchment what he's needing?

I looked up in my medical books,
Through the chapters I went paging
Until I found his condition there;
They call this "xylophaging."

I guess that we will have to live,
With this behaviour so annoying.
It's good I write my blogs on line;
No chance for Coop's destroying.

Like our blogs? Enter your email address in the box below to subscribe.

Coop the Pisher

Today I turn over the keyboard to Barb, who last wrote a blog as acting General Contractor when we were building “The Big,” back in 2016. Time flies.

“Last week, Les introduced you to Cooper, the gorgeous Labradoodle that has moved in with us. And I am here to tell you — he is still around, and cuter than ever. After almost two weeks, I can give you a checklist of what is going right, and what is going not quite right.

The Good

We have never had a dog so lovable and loving. He cuddles in my lap, gazes at me with those puppy eyes, and my heart just melts away. Of course, he only weighs about 7 pounds now, the lap cuddling is going to have to end as he grows towards his adult weight — somewhere between 35 and 50 pounds of fur and muscle.
Cooper is the smartest little creature we have ever had (sorry, kids.) I taught him to sit, stay, and come in about 10 minutes. He will do anything for a treat. The Coop doesn’t follow commands quite as well for Les, or maybe Les just isn’t as patient with him as I am. And Les sometimes forgets the all-important treats. As long as he remembered my birthday.
The boy loves to play. Whether it is with a squeaky clown, the cat’s paw-at-the-ball in the track toy (ignored by the cat,) or playing fetch with us, he is always up for a romp.
We were warned we would be woken every hour of the night by a little pup that needed to “use the facilities.” Les has sort of let me know this was my dog–my responsibility. I have my robe, my shoes, and a leash ready at our bedside. Much to all our relief, Cooper has done a great job of sleeping through the night.
I get to say his name and dream of Bradley Cooper. ‘Nough said.

The Bad

Cooper is a nipper. The skin on my hands is paper-thin and offers no resistance to those sharp-as-daggers puppy teeth. My hands are now covered from the tip of my thumb to the base of my palm with bandages. I highly recommend the Nexcare Waterproofs from 3M. Those babies stick!
Our lad is not yet much of an outside walker. But he is still very young and small, and we are yet to find a harness that fits him well. We do have some very upscale sweaters for him though!
Not his fault, but Coop had me worried last night after a round of vaccinations at the vet. He was listless, in pain, and glassy-eyed. Les reassured me that he didn’t look any worse than I did after my second dose of the shingles vaccine, and sure enough, by this morning Coopie was fine. Quite an anxious night for me though. (Les had no problem sleeping.)

The Ugly

The little puddles of pee we find everywhere. Yes, Cooper is an equal opportunity pisher–inside, outside, wood floor, or throw rug, it is all the same to him. But he will learn–hopefully before we go through our remaining 27 rolls of pandemic-stockpiled Bounty paperer towels.”

___
Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise!
___

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

//s3.amazonaws.com/downloads.mailchimp.com/js/mc-validate.js(function($) {window.fnames = new Array(); window.ftypes = new Array();fnames[0]=’EMAIL’;ftypes[0]=’email’;fnames[1]=’FNAME’;ftypes[1]=’text’;fnames[2]=’LNAME’;ftypes[2]=’text’;}(jQuery));var $mcj = jQuery.noConflict(true);

———————————–

The Headline I Never Thought I Would Write-We Have a Puppy!

I can’t say I was totally blindsided. I told you a few months ago that this might, might, might occur. But now it is real. It has happened. We are once again, now and forevermore, dog people.

When we left that cat shelter this past summer, our thoughts of adopting an older cat dashed, Barb had plenty of time to ruminate on the long drive home. By the time we had pulled into our driveway, it was a fait accompli. We were going to be getting a dog, a dog with a clean mental slate (unlike Milo,) a dog we could train (unlike Murphy,) a dog who would have it in him or her to become a therapy dog (unlike Max.)

The research began. This consisted of talking to every dog owner in the neighborhood, social-distance apart, on our ritual walks through the neighborhood. And since we live in a very dog heavy neighborhood, those walks seemed to last for hours. But eventually, we decided on a breed and a breeder, there was a litter chosen, and a date for puppy pick-up determined.

But…there was a bump in the road. Dog Trainer B, who we also found via a neighborhood recommendation, was not particularly encouraging about breeder A’s dogs, suggesting we investigate Breeders C, D, or E. Of course, we did, though anticipating that with social isolation dog demands at a peak, no other pup would be available until the spring.

Miracle of miracles! A pooch belonging to Breeder D, down I-90 out near Rockford, had just delivered a litter of ELEVEN puppies. And two were still available. Faster than you can say “Woof” Barb had her credit card out and a deposit was made. Dog days were dawning.

Ten days ago we had the opportunity to choose our newest family member in a video call–and after a bit of confusion about the gender of the two options available to us, we had our boy.

This Saturday we hit the road, arriving outside a barn precisely at 11 a.m. Two other families joined us and a pick-up truck pulled in with three chocolate-colored Labradoodles. They were practically identical– except for one with a curly, white-tipped tail and a white blaze on his chest.

And that, dear friends, is Cooper. He has a loving personality, seems to adore kids, and has evoked curiosity in the kitten. He goes to Breeder Boot Camp in December for basic training (heel and sit, not drop and give me twenty basic training.) The rest is up to us.

Will we have the first Raff therapy dog? Or just another lovable ball of fur? I promise to let you know. And let me know about your doggie success stories. We are there for each other.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise!
___