Five Other Things

So some other things happened over the weekend or since I quit detailing my life minute-by-minute for you folks.  Here is a list:

1.  The dogs went to Groomingdale's and got baths and Mac got a haircut.

2.  Little Mac bit David's three-year-old niece and made her bleed.

3.  I drank some of the wine cube.

4.  I learned a lesson about oversharing in a nail salon.

5.  I called 911.  On three cows.

Let's go down the list, shall we?

1.  So I take the dogs to Groomingdale's.  Coop gets a bath and shedless treatment (waste of money but each time I remain hopeful that instead of lessening the amount of fur he loses for, oh, two hours or so, it will somehow cure him of fur-loss and I will never have to vacuum my couch again).  Mac gets a trim because her fur was so long she was like a cross between a lion and a wildabeast.

(Which reminds me of this time I went to camp in seventh grade and only one girl in our cabin did not yet shave her legs and we called her "Wildabeast" behind her back because seventh grade girls are total bitches like that, but it totally didn't cramp her game because one night she came back to the cabin with all kinds of hickeys and had to have a long talk with the counselor while the rest of us took our Bic razors and went to shower.)

Anyway, I got home to a message on our answering machine that went something like this:  "Little Mac is kind of hesitant about going into our dryer, so we are going to just let her air dry and it might take a little longer before she's ready to go home."

Which I knew automatically was an exceedingly polite way of saying "Your dog is a fucking Tazmanian devil who tried to rip us to shreds when we attempted to guide her into the doggie-dryer and so we are going to lock her into a cage by herself until you pick her ass up.  And also whatever tip you were planning to leave is not going to be big enough."

They do a great job, because she looked adorable when I picked her up.  You would never know just how vicious she can be.

Srsly. Do not fuck with me.

2. Which brings me to Little Mac biting David's niece.  Taylyn is a dog lover and although Cooper welcomes attention wherever he can get it, Taylyn was more interested in the cute little package that is Little Mac.

Don't you just want to love her and squeeze her?

Her is only sweet when her is sleeping.

 Unfortunately, Little Mac is like a peanutbutter cup with a razor blade inside.  You want to keep her away from the kids because they find her irresistible.  I would catch Taylyn trying to swipe her hand down Little Mac's back, ever-so-gently, just petting her for a second to see if she could touch her before Mac would start growling.  That's a risky game to play.

It's true that Mac usually gives a growling warning before she springs on you, but this was first thing in the morning, and Sister is not at her best first thing in the morning.  Moreover, we were all in the sunroom, so it was kind of crowded, and we had three different conversations going, and one of them involved shouting to David's grandpa since he doesn't hear so well, and Little Mac was overstimulated and overcrowded and she can't see well because of her cataracts and still there's no excuse for her.  What happened was simply that Taylyn tried to pet her, and Little Mac bit her on the hand, hard enough to break the skin.

I was mortified, but Taylyn's parents were (thankfully) very chill about it.  Taylyn barely even cried.  David gave Little Mac the "If you were a German Shepherd, you'd be dead by now," talk and tossed her in the other room (as a means of discipline this is admittedly ineffective, but we are at a loss.  Confrontations with Little Mac only have one winner, and it is always Little Mac.).  It was SO embarrassing.  Little Mac, of course, was unfazed.  She has no shame.

3.  The wine cube.  It's pretty good!  I mean, maybe not the awesomest wine I've ever had, but just as good as the cheap stuff I usually buy.  Wine cube is a winner!

4.  So I was back in the nail salon (I know, mistake number one) and this time when the dude (it was a dude this time) asked if I had kids, I said no.  But only because I wanted to stop the conversation before it started, having just had a revelation based on this experience:

When I walked into the salon and was choosing my color (OPI Shanghai Shimmer), it was very crowded.  Lots of people there, but everyone in the nail salon heard the following conversation:

Lady at Nail Salon (to guy working at nail salon):  What's your name?

Nail Salon Guy:  Tom.

Sharon:  Oh, I used to be married to a Tom.   My name is Sharon.

Tom:  Shar-on.  What happened to your husband?

\Me (to myself):  OMG inappropriate question, Tom.  What are you thinking?  He's either dead or they're divorced.  Either way, the story is probably not a really happy one.

Sharon:  We got divorced.  He had a thing for teenagers.  He was having an affair with the babysitter.

Tom:  Oh!  (Awkward silence ensues).

Me (to myself):  OMG.  Wow.  Sharon is just going to put her shit out there in the nail salon.  I do not need to put my shit out there in the nail salon.  I just put it out there on the internet instead.


Also the other lady working in the salon asked the woman next to me in the pedicure chair if she had kids, and that lady said, "No.  Never had time."  And I thought, There's probably way more to her story than that, but she doesn't feel the need to put her shit out there in a nail salon either.  She should start a blog.


The lesson here is that sometimes you can talk about your baby who died, and sometimes you can just read your People magazine and make as little conversation as possible.  And you don't need to feel weird about it either way.

5.  The cows.  When we were driving home from the lake, I cried for a while, and then I stared out the window, and then I was staring at three cows walking down the side of the highway.  They were following pedestrian rules of walking on the side of the road, against traffic.  A tight little threesome, trottling along the shoulder of the highway, just on the outside of the yellow line.

I started looking around frantically for some supervision for these cows.  A cowboy?  A ranch hand?  An Amish kid?  Somebody had to be in charge of these cows.

There was no one.

I was worried about the cows being hit by a truck and hurt or killed.  What if one of them panicked and darted into an oncoming vehicle?  David was more concerned about what a cow would do to a car than what a car would do to a cow.

We decided I should call the highway patrol.  I dialed 911 and had the following conversation: 

Operator:  911, what's your emergency?

Me:  Well, it's not an emergency exactly.  I need to report three cows on highway 44.

Operator:  Three cows?

Me:  Yes.  They are walking on the side of the highway, on the shoulder.  By themselves.  We passed them at mile marker 139.

Operator:  Eastbound or westbound?

Me:  Um, well they're westbound, but they're on the eastbound side of the road.  In the middle by the median.

Operator:  OK, I'll let the highway patrol know.

Me:  OK, thank you.

I felt all important since my call was taken seriously, and I imagined the operator quickly putting herself through to highway patrol:  "I have a report on three renegade cows, westbound on eastbound 44.  Pick them up, stat."  Or whatever word police use for "stat."

Poor cows.  I hope they were OK.

So those are the five most interesting things to happen to me of late.  Just filling my various roles of irresponsible and overindulgent dog owner, enthusiastic boxed-wine drinker, bereaved parent who avoids oversharing, and concerned citizen for cow and highway safety. 

So what's up with you?  Have you recently (or ever) dialed 911?  Saved a cow?  Been bitten by a small dog?  Been appalled at (or guilty of) oversharing?  Do tell.