Hot Dog!

Back in January, after a near-miss dachshund adoption, I promised that I’d write more about how I got partial custody of Suzie, a sassy, red dachshund. Here’s the story.

               I first met Suzie at her owner’s graduation party. She belongs to Sarah, my son’s girlfriend. Suzie is as cute as is legally allowed.  She was very confident, and as I mentioned before, very cute.

               When Sarah started going to WSU in Pullman, the trouble with Suzie began. Sarah’s mom told me that she was talking to Sarah about giving Suzie away because she was working long hours, and Suzie was spending that time locked up in the laundry room, depressed and lonely.

               Later that night, I talked to Sarah about it. Understandably upset, she said that her grandmother already had a family in mind.

               She told me about Suzie’s history, and how she had gotten Suzie. At the ripe old age of one and a half, Suzie had already had four owners. She’d been removed from an abusive home, and adopted by an elderly lady. When the lady had to move into a nursing home, she gave Suzie to a family that had another dachshund. Suzie did not play well with the other doxie, so they wanted to get rid of her. One of Sarah’s friends told her about Suzie, and Sarah, who’d always wanted a dachshund convinced her mother to let her have Suzie. Now, Suzie was almost three and on the verge of be given to a fifth family.

The Suzie situation weighed heavily on me that night. I awoke the next day, with a brilliant idea. Since I worked out every weekday at a gym five minutes from Sarah’s house, I could just pop over afterwards and take Suzie for a walk. 

She convinced her mom that I’d decided this of my own free will. We worked out the details of how I’d get into the laundry room.  Sarah and Johnny left for Pullman. John shook his head at my “meddling.”

The following Monday, I went to Zumba. One hour of Zumba burns 600-800 calories, so whenever I’m done, I’m hungry enough to eat my own hand. I decided I’d pick up lunch at McDonald’s, and eat it at Sarah’s house while keeping Suzie company, then take her for a walk. Starving, I ordered a Big Mac, then drove over to visit Suzie.

I punched the code into the garage door keypad to get in, then opened the laundry room door, and greeted Suzie. She ignored me, and bolted out onto the front lawn. Then she looked up at me as an afterthought, and started barking furiously, charging at me as if she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to guard the house. I tried to get her back into the house, but she wasn’t going for it. When I reached down to grab her collar, she tried to bite me. I was quick enough to move my hand out of the way just in time. This wasn’t exactly going as planned.

At this point, a concerned neighbor came out. I explained over Suzie’s nonstop barking, that I was Sarah’s boyfriend’s mother, “You know, the dark-haired guy with the loud, green Honda? That’s my son.” They were away at college. I’d come to walk Suzie. It was such a ludicrous story, she believed me. Then she went back into her house, leaving me to figure out how to get Suzie back into hers.

Calling Suzie into the garage didn’t work, and I wasn’t about to try grabbing her collar again. In a light-bulb moment, I tore off a piece of my Big Mac and threw it into the garage. When she went for it, I hit the button and closed the garage door. One more strategically thrown chunk of Big Mac, and she was back in the laundry room.

The next day, I was not looking forward to visiting her, but if I couldn’t get her to cooperate, her days were numbered. I armed myself with doggie treats, and another Big Mac. I also made sure I closed the garage door before I opened the laundry room door.

This time Suzie remembered me. She let me put her leash on her, and we actually had a very nice walk through the neighborhood. She stayed right with me, and was very well-mannered.

As the weeks went by, she tolerated me. I bought her a KONG and hid treats in it to give her something to do until Gerri got home from work. One time I opened the laundry room door, and thought she was gone, but she had burrowed totally under her blanket. Another one of her quirks was that she hated the rain. If it was raining, she’d balk, then insist on staying under the eaves of the house and skip the walk. In time, she started greeting me with a wagging tail and friendly face.  One day after I left, I heard her howling. That was when I knew she’d finally accepted me into her doggy heart.

Eventually, we figured out it would just be easier if Suzie just stayed at our house while Sarah was at school. Two years later, she has adjusted amazingly well to living in two homes, this one with another dog and two cats. As long as she has her KONG, she’s a happy hot dog. She wakes up each morning and does what we call “the happy dance” around our feet. She spends her days perched on the couch at the front window watching the world go by and “commenting” loudly. She loves sunning herself out on the deck. John takes her and T-Bone out for daily walks through the woods. She is snuggled up next to me in the recliner as I write this, a little dog with a big dog personality, the cutest, vicious little thing ever!

Laura Keolanui Stark has been cured of her case of “wiener dog envy.” You can reach her at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.

Nesting Again

I don’t know what’s going on this year. In the past, we put out bird houses, but they were always vacant. Eventually, I gave up on the bird houses except as indoor décor.  

In April, I wrote about the Oregon juncos who built a nest in a hanging basket outside our kitchen window and hatched a family.

A few weeks ago, whoever came through the front door came in hurriedly, waving their arms over their heads, and quickly slamming the door. After observing a few of these frantic entrances, I asked my son’s friend, Dave, what was going on. He told me that a crazy bird was buzzing him whenever he came up on the front porch, and had been doing it for a couple of weeks. Then my son, his girlfriend, and my daughter chimed in saying the mad bomber had attacked them too.

Further investigation revealed that the height of the potential victim didn’t matter. Mama bird buzzed all heights ranging from 5’4” to 6’5”. Hair color didn’t seem to factor in either, she buzzed blonds and brunettes equally. (We haven’t had any redheads visit lately.)

There were, however, two curious unexplained exceptions.  Neither my husband nor I, ever got buzzed. It’s not surprising that I’m unscathed because I usually come and go through the garage.  But John parks out in the driveway and goes in and out through the front door, so it’s strange that he never got beaten with the fluttering wings.

This week mama bird’s attacks have tapered off. We’ve spotted her perching on the porch railing long enough to identify her as a house wren. Her eggs have hatched and there are three baby bird mouths cheeping to be fed.

She built her nest in a “Welcome” sign shaped like a house that’s nailed beside our front door. She really took that “Welcome” to heart despite all the traffic in and out, the porch light shining all night long, two dogs barking at anyone walking up the street, and almost continuous piano playing with two music majors home for the summer. She must be a “city” bird who loves being in the middle of the hustle and bustle of activity.

Two nests in one year when we weren’t even trying to attract birds. That’s a new record for us! I can’t help but wonder what the big bird attraction was this year.

Laura Keolanui Stark found one strand of her hair dangling from the newest nest. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.

Stubbing My Footprint's Toe

         

          I usually take my lunch to work. I only get a half hour for lunch, and I’m a slow eater, so it’s less stress. But there wasn’t anything in the house today to pack into my lunchbox, so I decided I’d grab some fast food.  Simple right?

           The closest fast food restaurant is Wendy’s. Even though I could’ve walked, I decided to take my car. The drive-through window usually gets priority, so it would give me more time to eat. I circled the building. Yay, no line!

            Most of the time, I just order a burger because my waistline doesn’t need the fries. If I want fries, I still don’t order the combo because that comes with large fries. I order the sandwich with a small fry. Inevitably, the order-taker asks if I meant that I want the combo meal, and I have to explain, “No, just the sandwich.”

          Today, I “splurged” and told the anonymous box, “I’d like a single combo with cheese, no pickle or onions, and a cup of water.” As I pulled away, I glanced back to see what the total was, and saw that the water was listed as “Dasani bottle.”

At the payment window, I asked if I could have a cup of water instead of a bottle of water. You’d think the “no pickle, no onions,” would’ve been the difficult part of this order, but it was the “cup of water,” that stirred up a frenzy.

“A bottle of Dasani comes with it.”

“I know, but can’t I just have a cup of water?”

The lady looked at me with barely restrained disbelief, as if she’d just offered me the elixir of the Gods, and I was insisting that I preferred mud, straight up. She abandoned her post and ran to get a manager.

The manager returned and pushed lots of buttons very officially on the register muttering, “It’s only five cents cheaper.”

I didn’t have the time or inclination to explain that I didn’t want the bottled water because I think we have more than enough plastic bottles littering the planet; because then I’d have to find a recycling bin to throw it out in; that tap water is good enough for me; that I like drinking out of a straw better than drinking out of a bottle. So, I let her think I’m a cheapskate, rather than an arrogant, greenie, straw-loving, pickle/onion-hating princess. I handed the money over, and pulled up to the next window to pick up the food and cup of water.

The friendly girl at the last window handed me the bag of food. Then she leaned back through the window, and gushed with an expression full of generosity, “Oh, just take the bottle anyway!”

I hesitated. I really didn’t want to be difficult. I just wanted a cup of water. Should I say something? She noticed the pause, and misinterpreted it. “Oh, was it that you wanted ice with it?”

            Before I could get any words to come out of my mouth, she proudly handed me a cup with ice and a straw along with the Dasani bottle.

How could I hurt her feelings? I gave up, took it all, and thanked her.

Sitting in the parking lot back at work, I juggled a cup, straw, a bottle, the cheeseburger (without pickles and onions), and the fries which I would’ve put in one of my cup holders, but they were both occupied. 

Instead of shrinking my lunch footprint, I managed to double it with my environmentally aware efforts. Guess who’s packing a lunch tomorrow.

Laura Keolanui Stark is making chicken salad for her sandwich tomorrow. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.