Since I have no time to write on subjects that don’t involve dating in random cities strewn throughout the United States, I’ll instead post some photos of Skye I found on my computer while searching for some specific baby photos of Finley, which of course I was an utter failure at locating.  Not to worry–no doubt I’ll stumble across the baby pics when searching for photos of Fergie eating our vacuum cleaner at a later date–that’s pretty much how stuff works around here.

At any rate, back on topic.  It’s official–there’s some major Fergie hound missing going on around here. I actually find myself following Skye around, hoping she’ll do a no-no, and my son has taken to asking, “When’s Fergie coming home?” on a regular basis.  Meaning about once every ten minutes.  Even hubby admits that he misses our naughty liver girl.

And since I couldn’t ever get Skye to perform any misdeeds in front of me (she’s more of a closet bad girl, that one), I had to instead settle for looking at these photos I found.  Still no misbehavior, but they are kind of cute.

So without further ado, here’s Skye performing her patented spin moves:

One day, she’s basking in the sun without a care in the world:

The next, disaster strikes in the form of an absent hot tub cover:

It’s like the epitomy of the Project Runway slogan, only in reverse: One day you’re out, and the next–you’re IN! And I guess Skye is a glass half full kind of girl, because this is the second time she’s made a splash and yet she’s already back in the saddle, sunbathing on the hot tub again.

Or maybe she thought we needed a little excitement around here, since Fergie and her crazy brother Leo are visiting “Nana” in Colorado. You see, my family is entirely insane and to ensure we demonstrate this adequately, every few months my dad takes various dogs on interstate road trips between California and Colorado. I wouldn’t be surprised if a clause of “Do you, Jerry, solemnly swear to rent a variety of minivans and drive the family hounds thousands of miles each year to different households, purchasing them burgers along the way and letting them sleep on the hotel beds with nary a complaint, so long as you both shall live?” was added in to my parents wedding vows. I guess that would involve some special telepathic gift on my mom’s part seeing as how we didn’t have Ridgebacks until after I graduated college. Which could explain why I was always getting busted in high school before I even got the opportunity to do anything wrong.

Anyway, we said our good-byes on Saturday. Leo was in his crate less than a minute before wreaking havoc on his bedding:

And Connor says good-bye to Fergie:

It’s really nice to share the chaos for awhile but I have to admit—we miss our little Ferganator.

As far as WW goes, Just call me indecisive…..

Babies…

Dogs:

1)  Do not pronounce the word with all the clarity of someone who just downed a pitcher of Everclear martinis.  People will look at you like you’ve been smoking crack in a closet for the past five years.

2)  Do not be foolish enough to choose two words if you are easily confused.  Uttering “callipygian” at the grocery store probably isn’t wise, as I’m fairly certain even the most well-shaped watermelons do not have buttocks.

3)  Do not forget your words, and thus mangle them into some kind of non-existent hybrid-word.  For example, “Brobdingnagian” and “callipygian” are difficult enough by themselves.  Creating “Brobipygian” is not only completely unnecessary, but makes you sound like you just immigrated from Mars.  And the cashier at the pet food store will stare at you.

So, in the interest of maintaining a few remaining shreds of dignity, I’m going to practice my words a couple thousand times before breaking them out in public again.

Apropros of nothing, here are some photos my hubby took over the weekend:

Believe it or not, I was there first.  Apparently, the only good spot can be obtained by squishing in-between me and the side of the couch.

I suppose the other couch was toxic or something, because notice how many hound dogs are on it:

Guess who finally moved?  Worthless Ridgebacks.  Oh, so sorry to have disturbed you, Skye…….

Skye:  Mom should be banned from Target.

Fergie:  I sure hope this visor’s tasty.  Then again, I eat beer cans.

Peanut:  I’m pretty sure I like visors about as much as I like bunny ears.  Notice my demented look?  Oh wait—I always look like this.

Peanut:  Getting angry now…..

Peanut:  Wait a second—aren’t you the one who put this thing on my head?

Peanut:  Yeah, that’s right—-RUN!

And I had every intention of putting this special Target purchase on my daughter for an Easter photo.  Of course, they immediately got devoured by my closet, never to be seen again.  Until today.  Come to think of it, I forgot Easter photos entirely.  Oh well, there’s always Christmas.  And as long as a Santa Bunny craze is sweeping the nation this year, I’m all set.

At any rate, I’ve decided to get my money’s worth out of these things.   I like to think of it as an unconventional temperament test.

Skye:  You bore me with your undignified human tomfoolery.

Now I’m ignoring you.

Fergie:  Yeah, yeah, this is great.  So when do I get to eat them?

Finley:   Yeah, yeah, this is great.  So when do I get to eat them?

Peanut:  I hate bunny ears.  Come to think of it, I hate cameras.  And photographers.  In fact, you have exactly three seconds to start running.

See?  Those Target dollar bins really are useful.  You just have to be creative.

 Well, that’s not 100% accurate.  Actually, my baby started solids when we were in Utah, before we got to Colorado.

Here I was, so proud of myself for delaying solids.  Not that I started Connor super early—he pigged out on his first bowl of rice cereal right at six months.  But this time, I wanted to be more patient.  I waited.  And waited.  And researched.  I carefully read all the websites and articles, and then picked out a few things to start with.  No overly processed grains for my little girl, no sir.  I was going to start with wholesome organic avocado, bananas, and maybe a little sweet potato.  And I was going to wait until around eight months.

So, what happened in Utah?  Well, apparently, Finley wasn’t interested in waiting.  Basically, she decided to take matters into her own little hands and feed herself.  Of course, her choice didn’t quite make my list of top ten super baby foods.

Instead, Finley’s first foods were comprised of this:

In case you’re wondering, “this” is a dog toy that Fergie won lure coursing.  Fergie, being the dainty little hound that she is, promptly destroyed it in about three seconds flat once we got back to the hotel room.  Of course, the fuzzy stuffing exploded everywhere, and I obviously missed a few of the fuzz balls.  So Finley just helped herself.  Yum.

She followed that meal the next day with a bit of paper, at which time I threw in the towel and decided to start her on real solids.  You know, the kind she might actually be able to digest.

Here are a few photos from Colorado of Leo and Fergie helping “clean her up” after she dined on some bananas.   So thoughtful of them.

 Oh, and for the record?  This is what Finley thinks of avocado:

I guess the dog toy was tastier.

But it gets better. Then, you are lucky enough to share a hotel room with your parents, your two kids, and three hound dogs, one of which is about as quiet as a building-full of screaming toddlers. And for the next three days, you get to rise and shine at the blink of dawn, all to take said hound dogs, not to mention the other three dogs in your aunt’s room across the hall, to a dog event known as lure coursing. Sound fancy? Well, basically, it’s three dogs chasing a piece of white plastic bag all over a few acres of dirt. All the while, you’re trying to balance both kids naps, keep dry from the random rainstorms that blow through, and not absorb all of the dirt in the state of Utah into your pores. And of course, you happen to have the only naughty hounds that don’t come when the race is over, so you have to chase them all over creation just to get them off the field.

And that was just the first three days.

I’m thinking they’re not going to booking this as a 5-star get-away anytime soon.

All the while, hubby is lounging away at home, blissfully soaking up the silence (well, except for his night-growling Rottweiler), hitting golf balls, and drinking beer. And befouling my blog.

Does this seem fair to you?

More to come, inlcuding photos from this so-called “vacation”………

But all of that’s okay, even expected, when you’re breeding puppies.  Not so much when breeding humans.

So, all you dog people, beware—-and try not to breed for these things:

Exhibit A:  My husband and my son—take a look at those knees, that posture (Eek!  The physical therapist in me cringes).

Exhibit B:  My toes and Finley’s toes (Yes, you need to get past the fact that I haven’t had a pedicure in, oh….never, to appreciate that we both have the same long, crooked, and just plain ugly toes.  Actually, I take it back—I’ve had one pedicure in my entire life.  And obviously, it shows.  But seriously—how do women sit still for those things several times a month?  Sigh…and I wonder why my kids are fidgeters).