I have two dogs, Emma and Sammy. I have mentioned before that Emma is obsessive/compulsive but it isn't her fault. She is an Australian Shepard/border collie mix and should really have a job herding something but is instead forced to live in a townhouse with us. Since we refuse her constant attempts to herd us into an organized group she must focus her energy on something that will cooperate... the ball or the frisbee. She is very dedicated to both these things to the point where she spends long periods of time lovingly licking her frisbee, god love her, she's got her dress on backwards!
Sammy is a different story. He is a rescue dog who came into our lives when he was three months old and I was fostering dogs for the Animal Rescue Foundation (ARF... get it?) in the Bay area. We have no idea who he was with before as he was left on the doorstep of ARF with his mother, in the middle of the night, covered in poop and dirt and obviously traumatized. We added to his trauma by separating him from his mother so that the first night he was away from her was the first night he was with us. I think he decided since she was gone we were his new family and that's when he formerly adopted us. It took us a few weeks to get the memo that he was now ours, we even put him up for adoption once but he was having none of that and we finally got the message.
Anyway, something happened to Sammy before he came to us that was not good. He was definitely either abused or completely neglected except for the attention someone gave to cropping his tail without the benefit of a veterinarian's help. Bastards. He is a sweet boy if you know him otherwise he comes off as being a little scary and he is also very serious except when he and Emma and I go for our morning hikes where he lets his hair down and allows himself to have some fun. He also doesn't like chaos or ruckus' or crazy behavior. I am telling you this for a reason, I really am.
You see, I have a temper. I know for those of you who know me this may be news to you but I do. Fortunately, it is a flash temper, fast to explode and fast to die, (at least I think it is, Duffy may have a different opinion on that subject but this is my blog, only what I say goes.) and I like to think that over the years it has mellowed and that I'm not so quick to lose it. (Again, Duffy may have a different opinion but we will never know.) As you can imagine, Sammy does not like it when I lose my temper, he either jumps up and growls at me as a warning to cool it or he leaves the room and hides under our bed. This really isn't making me sound good, is it? Yes, I am getting to the point.
I am training for the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic which is a bike "race" that was conceived by a lunatic. It happens every year on Memorial Day weekend and goes from Durango to Silverton, 50 miles and 4,000 feet pretty much straight up from Durango. I'm still not sure why I think this would be a fun thing to do. I blame my friend, Alicia, who I'm pretty sure talked me into this on one of our rides when I was oxygen deprived and would have agreed that robbing a bank was a brilliant idea. The problem is I have committed myself to this goal by signing up for the Iron Horse training at the Rec Center so backing out now would expose me as the wuss I am at heart and I'm not really ready to step out of that closet just yet. At this point the training consists of spin classes three days a week until the weather warms up at which point we trade the virtual training for the real thing.
I have to be at the rec center Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7AM for an hour of spinning fun and then again on Saturdays. (We are finally getting to the heart of this matter... really) Last Thursday as I drove home I was fantasizing about the breakfast bagel sandwich I was going to make with MY poppy seed bagel, scrambled eggs and some melted cheddar cheese. Yum. I had an appointment in less than an hour so I was a bit pressed for time and got right down to business as soon as I fed Sammy and Emma. With them happily devouring their yummy kibbles in the kitchen under my feet, I started to assemble the necessary ingredients for my feast. To my horror I found the bag MY bagel had been in EMPTY, sitting on the counter, full of discarded poppy seeds. (It's not my intention to point fingers here but I will say Keiran doesn't like bagels so I think we can be fairly certain who is responsible for eating MY bagel.) I let out a controlled exclamation of despair but quickly regrouped. I could still have my scrambled eggs, that would work. I opened the fridge and discovered the unthinkable.... ALL THE EGGS WHERE GONE. (Again, Keiran is too small to cook his own eggs so we all know who the culprit is.) This was too much. I let lose with a string of obscenities that would have made George Carlin blush and I did it in my loud voice. (I was pissed and I was hungry, what do you want from me?)
Remember how I said the dogs where busy eating their breakfast while this tragedy was unfolding? Well, when I let lose with that string of obscenities in my loud voice, I scared the piss out of Sammy... literally. He stopped eating and peed all over the kitchen floor. Emma continued eating but with her tail tucked so firmly between her legs she's lucky she didn't take a bite out of it. I felt terrible after I stopped laughing... poor Sammy, he never gets a break.
