Saturday, August 14, 2010


While this is a dog post I assure you it's not all puppies and rainbows. Turn back now if you can't handle life and death discussions regarding pets. It's also signficantly longer than the average post here at Blondes, Poop & Mascara. I'm feeling inspired. You'll see why.

Just before our 1st wedding anniversary, she showed up as a gift to Mrs. Blonde in the spring of 2005. A perfect white little cotton ball ready to love and be loved. And, she did. And, she is. Tremendously so really! Six years ago our little white westie, Chloe, was born into our family. Our first baby if you will.

I'm a dog person. (Which isn't to say I'm not a cat person. I don't dislike cats. But, I don't like them either. Where was I...yes. Dogs.) I've had a dog in my dwelling place my entire life except a few years in college. I've always loved it that way. They are after all man's best friend. But, their stories don't always end well.

Frosty (Westie): My first. Great little dog! I must have been 6 years old when I came home from the 1st grade to be told that he had to "be put to sleep" due to horrific skin conditions. Truth is, the dude was absolutely miserable most of the time. Scraping open sores to ease his pain. Sad scenario. Dead.

Cookie (Jack Russell Terrier): She had this crazy mixture of hair types. Long straight around her neck and slick throughout. Equals = a lion mane. Good stuff. She was high energy. A jack russel; high energy? I know. She'd had a litter of puppies; was let outside for a potty break and never came back. Dogs don't leave their young. Stolen. Gone.

Dundee (Jack Russel Terrier): One of Cookie's pups. Of course I named him after the hottest cinematic sensation of the day. Three weeks after moving him (and our entire family) from the city where I spent the first seven years of my life to the countryside where I spent the next 13, he got hit by a car. On Friday, the 13th. SOB never even slowed down before Dundee was plowed down. Not even a brake mark in the road. My Dad buried him in our pasture. Dead.

Yeller (Mountain Feist): Naming a dog after Old Yeller takes two things. Integrity (because that movie is full of it). And, ignorance...because the dog gets rabies and then a bullet to the head. Yeller had a calm temperment. He was incredibly strong for his size. We used to pick him up by whatever toy he was clinging to and dangle him in mid-air while he tugged and flipped about. He was a sturdy sidekick. He stayed inside most of the time. But, when he was in the back yard, he played with his big friend...

(1/4 Huskey, 3/4 Timber Wolf, yeah you read that right): Bad ass dog! Huge! He never came inside. Well, when my brother and I were home alone he did. But, a 120lb wolf dog isn't the most elegant creature traipsing through the house. We could practically ride this beast like a horse. In the snow, he pulled us around on our sleds. People feared him. We adored him. One spring, it's theorized that he and Yeller got into a yard treatment chemical that was to have been killer on weeds yet safe for animals. Turns out, it wasn't safe. Seizures started up. Then, more regularly. Bear's seizures soon became accompanied by anger. Before long, he wasn't safe. My Dad couldn't trust him around us boys. He was euthanized farm-style (.22). Dead. Yeller - the same fate. The brain damage was too much. Dead.

Muffin (Jack Russel Terrier): She's the mainstay. Sweet. Kind. Not spastic-Jack-Russel in the slightest. When we would sing, she would howl with us. She ate food from my Dad's mouth. That's too much. I know. But, it was always funny. She had several litters of puppies. We loved it! Even watching her birth them was awesome. By the time the tumors became too much for her body to handle, she'd lost an eye in the battle, had her sinuses rearranged and been with us for over a decade. Not that there wasn't with the others, but a special deep set of tears came to pass when she did. Dead.

Butch (Jack Russel Terrier): One of Muffin's pups. A classic Jack. Good looking dog. Fine manners. Just a few weeks after I met Crystal in the late Spring of 2003, I got a call from my crying mother. He'd gotten into a loose bag of chips in the bathroom trashcan. While foraging for crumbs the bag got stuck on his head. He couldn't get out. Trapped; he suffocated. My heart still breaks for this guy. A disturbing end to his story in every way. Dead.

Then there's DOZENS upon dozens of coon dogs. Mostly Walkers. Some Curs. Skunk, Jim, Susie, Horny (my Dad named him), JB, Chopper, Pac, John, Slammer and there were more.

Mrs. Blonde's had one dog. Ever. Just one. Noel (Maltese) lived to be 37...alright...14. But, that's it. Just one dog. Recounting my dog days when Crystal and I first met, she thought my stories (and possibly me) to be completely insane! And, you probably do too. That's fine. So do I. They're not the norm. But, they're mine. Most are tragic. All involve loss. Yet I gained so much from them!

I'm a dog person and Crystal is for certain dogs. Noel and Chloe being a couple of them.

And, we have Chloe. Right now anyway. As you can read in the blog header, we jokingly began referring to her as our "White Afterthought" after LA was born. We're man enough to admit that at this point, she's become the thought after the after thought. And, that's just not right! She's perfect. Seriously. Adorable. Great with the boys. Leash trained, but you don't even have to use one. She just stays alongside you outside. Stays off the furniture (if you want her to). Goes for runs with us. Loves to ride in the car (and boat). Enjoys cuddling. Knows several commands by hand and/or voice. She's happy. All. The. Time. She's everything we ever wanted. Which is why it's so hard to consider seeing her go. And, why it's so right seeing her go. She doesn't deserve to not get the right amount of attention. We've neglected her.

Flipping through all our photos of her tonight, I approached the "2010" folder. Guess how many photos in almost 900 featured Chloe? ONE! And, that's only because she photobombed a photo I was taking of Boatboy.

To add to it, we started to notice a few months ago that whenever Boatboy is near her for very long he starts sneezing like crazy! We haven't diagnosed him as alergic to dogs. But, we know he can't be around her. [NOTE: Please don't mention this to LA or Boatboy if you personally know them. The last thing we need is for his alergies (or him) to be blamed for anything.]

As of yesterday, Mrs. Blonde found Chloe, what is likely to be her future home: A dog-loving single guy who has a Jack Russell and wants some more company for the two of them. We're all meeting each other tomorrow to feel out the fit.

As I type this, ol' girl is sleeping on the floor next to me and I'm feeling all "It's not you it's me." But, I'm 100% satisfied that her story hasn't ended like the others before her. Still pacing steadily ahead, she's just ready for another chapter.

-Mr. Blonde

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Wednesday, August 11, 2010

#1 turns 4

While we never really want to admit it, us Gen X parents, some cliches about family life aren't cliches at all. They're shared wisdom. "Time flies" is one worth authenticating.

Never in our wildest dreams did we imagine when
this guy was born that he would some day be the oldest brother of four! He's gone from our first little baby boy to our first pre-K bound little man in what seems like a flash.

Happy Birthday, LA!






We just love you and love watching you grow up!