So we'd had Luie for two full weeks. Two weeks in which he attempted to destroy every piece of paper in the house. We'd forgotten what a big boy who is nearly completely untrained in the ways of indoor living can do to create havoc.
The peeing and the pooping training were going fairly well. The wild chases of poor Gus were being handled, mostly by Gus, who was learning to give back as good as he got. But the chewing of everything that would go into his big gaping mouth -- now that we were not handling as well. Luie's need to put everything that could be shredded into his mouth was so incredibly pervasive that we couldn't contain it.
And then Hubby had to go to East St. Louis on some business over a Friday night and leave Gus and Luie in my "worn out from teaching" hands. We handled dinner just fine. We did the walk for pooping in the park after dinner just fine. We did the bed-time walk just fine. Except I was really tired so I went to bed at 8:30 p.m. Luie usually gets a 10:30 to 11:00 p.m. walk. Instead I slept right on through.
When I had gotten home from school that day I left my school bag on the floor as usual. It's a big rolling bag which no normal Schnauzer could ever get into. And in it I had forgotten that Hubby had put six huge candy bars purchased from a couple of students selling things for the soccer team.
Luie, ready for some action, around 11 p.m. or so had jumped out of bed, found my school bag, stood up on his incredibly long hind legs and gotten into it. Out came nearly a pound of ham, a huge slab of cheese, and the candy bars. And he proceeded to chow down.
Yes, of course, I was at fault. I should have put the lunch things that hadn't been eaten that day in the frig. I should have realized that Luie would be called by the food. In my defense, I was exhausted, I had completely forgotten the food was there, and . . . it had been two full years since I'd had a Schnauzer in the house who claimed every piece of food he could find.
So Luie had a supreme feast. Gus remained sleeping by my side -- this I know because he can't get back on the bed by himself. I woke up at 1 p.m. to find Luie bouncing off the ceiling. I stumbled into the bathroom (for the usual 1 a.m. relief) and watched Luie frantically running circles in the house. At least by then I had had enough sleep to be suspicious.
In the living room I found the school tote -- still upright but empty. All six -- huge -- candy bars, all the ham, and all the cheese missing. I looked at Luie dumbfounded. How had one skinny blind Schnauzer pup managed to eat all that?
And then I realized just how much chocolate he could have ingested and my heart sank. Luie continued to run zigzags around my legs, skidding past the kitchen tile, tearing into the bedroom to see if Gus would jump off the bed, and then leaping on four legs back to me.
Digging around in the living room I found five of the chocolate bars intact. Only one had been completely unwrapped and devoured. Sighing, with relief and exasperation, I hooked Luie to his leash, got Gus off the bed, threw on my oldest jeans with a tee, stuffed my feet without socks into my brand new athletic shoes, and out the door we went, off to the park.
Around and around the track in the park we trotted Luie. It was so dark we couldn't see the path but still we stumbled on. Did I worry about muggers and rapists? Well, a little -- but little Luie kept the pace at a steady trot. Gus dragged along behind, wondering why his peaceful night had been so rudely interrupted.
I hoped Luie would throw up but he seemed to feel super fine, just exhibiting a very sugary intensively high. I hoped he would poop but nothing passed through him. He did pee a lot. After 45 minutes or so of this, I stuffed both boys back in the car and we went home, Luie doing the dance of joy, hoping from front to back seat with abandon.
Back in the house, Luie was intend on getting to the water bowl which to his digust he had emptied before we left the house. Before I could even get the bowl to the faucte and to my amazement, up he stood on his hind legs and preceded to drink in huge gulps from the toilet bowl. Even big, old Wolf who could do most anything had never managed to get his body far enough into the toilet to get water! Eventually his thirst slackened, off he charged to gather toys.
Back in the bedroom, I stood, arms akimbo looking at little Luie. The initial vet bill had not been cheap. We had an opthomalogist appointment on Tuesday which was $100 just to walk in the door. Did Luie need the emergency vet now to make sure the chocolate hadn't done any damage?
Luie continue to bounce happily from room to room, dragging his toys, the dirty underwear, the foil from all that chocolate around with him. I went to the kitchen and got the long cloth leash and put it on him and then I crawled with Gus back into our warm, safe bed. Luie continued to dance -- but this time only a short distance from us because he was tethered to my wrist. If he had a seizure I figured I could feel it. If he got sick I hoped he would be near enough so I would know.
From 1 a.m. Gus and I lightly dozed, Luie tugging the leash to its maximum, me tugging him back inside the bedroom door. All the rest of the night, Luie kept up the dance. At 8:30 a.m. he flinally fell into a deep, deep sleep at the foot of the bed.
Never once was the boy sick. When Hubby came through the door at 5 p.m., I pushed both dogs at him. I promised him a home cooked dinner if he'd only get Luie to finally poop in the park. Off he went, two dogs happily trotting beside him. But it wasn't until Sunday morning that little Luie finally did the pooping -- three huge piles by report.
Seems our boy can ingest just about anything . . . just like the Wolfman before him. I've learned, yet again, that all food is fair game. And we're all learned that being blind just isn't much of a handicap if you have the will and the agility.
On Wednesday I came home, settled in at my computer desk with my $149 text book, and accessed the on-line final for my graduate course. About three hours into it, I suddenly realized I really didn't give a flying fig whether I passed or not, quit researching every question carefully, declined to edit the final answers (on one of the matching questions I entered E twice and thus missed every one of the items), blasted out the essay answers and submitted the darned thing.
For me, his is not THE Voice -- that voice belongs only to 
my husband. However, this voice belongs to Hubby's best male friend and they have been singing together since 1966. He came as best man to our Wedding (left) and he came again to sing for our 25th anniversary (below). We meet now, every couple of years, and we celebrate the milestones of our lives both together and apart.
Interestingly, my high school is in the middle of a big old controversy. Seems my vice-principal may have done something to upset a very outspoken liberal gentleman.
I almost said no Christmas cards from us this year. It's just seemed too much trouble and expense. The stamps run at least fifty bucks. That doesn't count in the cost of the cards themselves (always bought on sale, of course). And I couldn't come up with a Christmas letter. Heck, I didn't even have a Christmas note. So for the past month, I've been dithering around, trying to justify to myself that a year without Christmas cards was acceptable, just this once, anyway.
The news keeps reporting how many layoffs are coming in the next couple of months. The economic outlook is darned scary. My stomach churns every time I hear Citibank is laying off another 500 people or that the Morton's Steak House in our exclusive shopping district just shut its doors for the final time. I remember how I felt working in construction and I was told that my job was being phased out and I would be unemployed in under two months. As the major support of my little family, not being employed felt quite frightening.
We had a little sprinkling of hard snow balls (not flakes exactly, just little tiny puffs of snow) that fell from the heavens this morning and the wind chill index was 24 degrees. The wind was whistling and it was darned cold but, of course, there was no accumulation of snow.
It's hard to update here because I'm tired so much of the time. A lot of writing is required in my grad class -- writing that I'm not doing very well, actually. Co-teaching a world history class, teaching English 3 / 4 and a reading study skills class, and acting as case manager for 13 kids takes a heap out of me every day.
I'm teaching again in the classroom, not just collaborating, and let me tell you, it's hard, hard work. I co-teach a 90 minute block of World History and the class is large. Today it was also hot. We have so many students who either don't speak English or don't read the language that it's hard to keep them up with the 10 or so who actually can move ahead in a relatively speedy fashion. I'm the disciplinarian. I'm the coach making sure that each student gets the drill, finishes the assignment, and tries his/her hardest. That means I'm on my feet and moving all 90 minutes.
d of people and once he is used to where things are normally placed, he jumps and chases and plays vigorously.
Dearest Itty Bitty Pretty Fritty:
Last night, lying in my bed of cough, sweat, and mucus induced misery, I flipped though the TV channels to find something to keep my mind off how much my forehead ached, the pain being caused by the roots of my teeth in my gums, and the almost uncontrollable tickle in my throat. I settled happily on "The Glen Miller Story" a movie I hadn't watched in 55 years.
My dad, working for the local newspaper, used to get movie passes for the opening night / week engagement of the big movies in town. This was when going to the movies was an event. Your mother wore stockings (and girdle and garter belt), your dad wore his suit, and you wore your Sunday shoes. You drove downtown to the big movie theater -- each of which were done of in gilt and stars and had velvet seats even in the balconies.
nu. You were warned by Mother that you couldn't order extra things like desserts or salads. Mother always ate the green stuffed pepper. Dad, who didn't like stuffed peppers, had chow mien. I liked the crispy noodles so much that I could ignore the mostly steamed celery in the dish and I would order my own plate of the gooey stuff, too. You were also allowed a milk and roll. Odd, having milk and a roll with chow mien -- but you got filled up. Then we'd walk to the theater.
I am crawling out of bed this evening at 6 p.m. to walk the doggies once last time on my own. Then in my un-air conditioned auto, doggies and I are driving in 90 degree heat to get hubby from his wonderful stay in D.C.
I piled out of bed this morning at 4:10, flipped on the light, went to the john, swallowed a handful of pills along with a caffeinated diet coke, and fumbled my way to the car, after checking to make sure the U.S. Air flight was still flying. Hubby who had packed everything last night took his own morning meds, pulled on his clean undies, long pants, a shirt, some socks with loafers, yoked the dogs to their twin's leash, and picked up his suitcase. We made it to the car by 4:25 a.m.
Things are a bit slow around our house. We seem to be experiencing summertime indolence. We have not exactly become slothful, but we certainly fall into the lethargic category.
