Because it is winter and we are, for the most part, in hibernation mode and just watching endless hours of television (Downton Abbey, Justified, Arrested Development), I don't have a lot to report. Work continues to be work. School seems to be proceeding apace -- at least, I haven't gotten any reports to the contrary from the Powers That Be and the kid keeps bringing home papers with A's on them, so I'll assume all is well.
By the end of last week, I suspect I had several people ready to call the SPCA on me. First, I complained on Facebook that Miss Amy Pond barks like mad when we crate her up for the night. Now, yes, we could just not crate her, but there are issues with that. We have to shut off the downstairs to enclose our cats, one of which has a terrible penchant for peeing on our upstairs rugs. If we close Amy down there with them, no only will she go bonkers chasing them around all night, but she's also a chewer and there's no telling what our house would look like in the morning. If we let her sack out with us upstairs, that means I have to get her up and outside and fed at 4 a.m. -- and she is not a quiet child. She is high-energy, and upon being let off the leash is about as likely to follow me downstairs as she is likely to jump on the bed and attack my sleeping husband with claws and kisses. So, no. I am full-on ready to go Shock Collar on her, but thought there might be cheaper/less nasty avenues. Well, I was half-right. Apparently there are collars that are motion sensitive and spritz the dog with something stinky (citronella, lemon, essences vary,) when they start yapping. These cost about as much as a shock collar, and I wondered about their efficacy. Nobody who responded to my Facebook post had tried one, but they all had opinions about what I should do instead.... which, well, thanks, but that's not really what I was asking about, now was it? I am perturbed by this. If I ask you, "What is your name?" I don't want to hear that you were born in Pago Pago.
After that bit of amusement, I then went home and took her out for some exercise. Because she is a strong little thing, but also rather obstinate and much more interested in barking at the deer than in chasing the tennis ball, it occurred to me that one way to wear her out would be to weigh her down before walking her. So I fashioned a harness and hooked her up to the Young Prince's wagon, then told him to park himself in it and let her pull.
It was rather amusing. We walked three blocks and she was just fine, trotting along, keeping up with me, la la la. Then we went to turn the corner, and I could actually see the realization dawning in her little black face that OH MY GOD THERE IS SOMETHING ATTACHED TO THE BACK OF ME PANIC PANIC DANGER. I made her sit. She sat, staring at it warily. I made her walk. She started shimmying sideways to keep an eye on it. I made her walk faster, and she broke into a run, trying to get away from it. Well, of course, you can't get away from something that is hitched to you, so the noise scared her more. The Young Prince tumbled out, and for once laughed it off instead of adding to the problem, which earned him several brownie points from me. I made her sit again. She did. We walked home without further incident. Once we got to our yard, however, I had Thomas get out, and the change in noise sent her all bucking bronco terrified.
So we have dialed that back a bit. I am now dragging the (empty) wagon myself, to get her used to the noise. After a few minutes of that, I hook it to her on a longer rope and make her walk. I believe that eventually she will be well-suited to haul firewood and other assorted stuff. And hopefully be too tired at night to kick up her Infernal Abandonment Racket.
On the other insubordination front, the YP hit a milestone over the weekend when we busted him looking at nudie pics on his DSi player. A bit of prodding led to the expected (and highly embarrased on his part) answers of "I was curious/no, I don't do this on school computers/no, nobody in real life has asked me to get naked, nor have I asked anyone else." So there is that. I think he was most surprised that we weren't angry. Little does he know that his father had to do the first round of chatfest not only because, well, it's a Boy Thing, but also because I was hiding in our bedroom with a pillow over my head trying very hard to keep my laughing muffled.
Only other news of note is that Saturday was a Winterfest school event that I got suckered into volunteering for from 10-4. Imagine, if you will, five hours of Kidz Bop music and one hour of cleaning up. (Can anyone explain the point of Kidz Bop to me? Why not just have compilations of the real songs? I mean, these aren't kid songs, and they aren't particularly kid-ified. Seriously, how do you make Put a Ring on It or California Gurlz relevant to a 9-year-old? You don't! So why make a 9-year-old record it, rather than just letting all the other 9-year-olds lip sync along in their own hairbrushes? Do I sound old lady curmudgeon here? Or sane?) Still, the kids seemed to have fun, and the Young Prince showed valor during the raffle drawing by consoling a kid smaller than him who started crying about not winning a Transformers prize.
He's growing up, that one. Shudder.
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