his "Westminster" pose...doesn't LOOK like he'd be licking random grease traps does he?

It’s summer. Spencer is 13 years old. He has cloudy eyes and selective hearing. He has ruined every single one of my antique oriental rugs and now he’s working on ruining the hardwoods. He needs a full time nurse to help him wipe when he poops. And he cannot walk on the hardwoods because they are actually laminate and he just belly flops and can’t get up. Yeah, that’s my dog…He’s fallen and he can’t get up. Real funny except in the middle of the night when he falls in his own pee AND poop and then can’t get up. Cold showers at 3am but not for the same reason as they used to be.

I have made many concessions for this mutt. I have rolled up the rugs. I have spent a small fortune on baby gates. I have invested in dog beds…that’s right, beds. Because he’s a picky sleeper. I have barricaded the stairs so he cannot go upstairs because he throws himself down the stairs and I know he will break a hip one of these days. Basically, he is now confined to one room. The fancy livingroom (which isn’t so fancy anymore minus the rugs and plus the pee and poop).

Last fall I had new storm doors installed. I had my heart set on the full length screen door but I knew that would be a major temptation for Spence. He has never seen a screen door that he didn’t plow through. Still, I talked myself into the full length, stupid expensive, screen door. In the winter, it was a full length glass door that Spencer left nose prints all over. I changed it out, put the screen in, bought yet another heavy duty baby gate to go in front of it and figured I was brilliant…or at least smarter than Spencer.

I was wrong. Oh so wrong. First of all, to get out of my front door, you had to open the door, then the baby gate, then the screen door,go through, while holding the screen door open but closing the baby gate and/or the door all the time yelling at Spencer to “GIT” because he is deaf and trying to escape. It’s a process. One which I am sure the neighbors enjoy watching. Anyway, I have to be vigilant as Spencer loves to roam and the street is busy and the neighbors don’t care for him pooping in their yard and going thru their garbage. I don’t blame them. I don’t like it either.

But Spencer has gotten old. So old that his fur never grew back from his last trip to the groomers last year. He is now a short haired dog with some long hairs here and there. Kinda like an old man with the nose/ear hair growth…He was really acting as if he wasn’t all that interested in escaping or even doing his routine where he does a dive roll through the screen door. The baby gate was pretty secure. I became complacent. I thought he was too old for his antics of yesteryear. Can I be any wronger?

Emma: I'm sorry. Me: for what? Emma: for having a dumb brother.

The other day we were out and about and I had left the front door open with the baby gate closed and the screen door locked. I got a text from my neighbor who lives 5 house down that Spencer had just come up for a visit and he walked him home and shut the door. WHAT???? How is that possible????? I got home and there is Emma laying in the backyard waiting patiently for someone to let her in. No one knew she had also escaped because she is smart and simply went to the backyard to wait for us to come home. She  looked like she knew she was in trouble but she is kind of the asskisser of the pack and was already acting all contrite and remorseful. And what did she do with her time alone outside in the big wide world? Nothing. She waited for us in the backyard. Spencer on the other hand just HAD to go visiting. Lucky for him he decided to visit the guys who like him, or at least tolerate him.

So, exasperated, I close the front door. I am beaten, I give up. Spencer wins. I can’t have nice things. No antique rugs, no full length screen doors.Wait a second… wait one gosh darn second… I am the human here… I am the grown up… I am THE MOM!!! I say open the front door and live life!! That damn dog is not allowed to rule this house!!! And for a few days, I think he understands that I am in charge and what I say goes and I say he is NOT allowed to go THROUGH the screen door ever again! Yeah, he gets it. And just incase he doesn’t I shut the front door every time we leave the house.

All is well…until today. I open the door, I give my warning (which even I am sick of hearing) about not leaving the house, to which Spencer just rolls his rheumy eyes, and I go upstairs. I get a text from my neighbor UP the street that she just sent Spencer home and he is at the front door. WHAT???? I know deja vu right? I run down stairs yelling at the kids that Spencer is outside and I open the baby gate and the screen door, (which now is really just a frame of a door with some screen kind of hanging from the corner), fully expecting to find the arrogant mutt waiting. He’s not there! I send the 8 year old down the street, the 12 year old up the street and I go to the back yard. He couldn’t have gotten far. It had literally been possibly 15 seconds from my neighbor’s text to me arriving outside. No Spencer. No Spencer anywhere. After 15 minutes I start to get worried. He is kind of blind and sometimes deaf and the roads are busy. I know all he wants is food or better yet garbage or nirvana would be something big and dead to roll in…half and hour, still no Spencer. The 12 year old thinks she has picked up his trail as she found a steaming pile of poop right in the middle of the sidewalk around the corner and down about a half a block. At this point, I am driving around, alerting all the responsible dog owners who are out walking their well behaved dogs on leashes. Imagining the worst, that he has been hit by a car and is being taken by ambulance to the ER and that he is uninsured, I drive slower and yell louder. I don’t know why I am yelling because he only hears what he wants to but that is what dog owners in the movies do when their dog is lost.

About 45 minutes and at least 10 trips around the neighborhood, I pull in to the driveway and see that Emma and my 8 year old are sitting on the sidewalk and my 12 year old is walking toward my neighbor who has Spencer by the collar. Relief. I wanted to hug him and kick him all at the same time (Spencer that is, not my neighbor). My neighbor had been driving around looking also and he decided to go home and check his yard again when he saw Spencer’s butt in his next door neighbor’s yard. As he rounded the corner he caught Spence in the grease pan of their grill licking away as if it were his job. My neighbor introduced Spencer to the new neighbor, making sure that the new neighbor understood that Spencer was harmless albeit annoying and then he hauled my dumb dog home.

Spencer was in the mood for some barbeque. It is summer after all. Turd.

P.S. for all of you who may think that I don’t feed Spencer enough please refer to http://ellie072.wordpress.com/2010/03/09/spencer-the-addict/ which will give you an idea of what Spencer is, which is not underfed.

I pile Emma and Spencer into the car and which sounds like the easy part. Emma has to walk around the car at least 3 times before attempting the jump into the back seat. Sometimes she can’t decide which side of the backseat she wants to sit. I don’t see how it matters at all as she always ends up on the floor. I try the driver’s side back door…no go. The passenger side…nope. Back to the driver’s side…uh, no. Back to the passenger side…maybe….um…ok. And she’s in. Spencer gets his front paws onto the door jam and waits for one of us to lift his hind end into the car. It took me a few minutes to catch on to the fact that he was actually waiting for the rear end lift. He’s too proud to ask outright. I boost his butt into the car and he gets up on the seat waiting for me to roll down the window.

Emma is laying on the floor and Spencer is swaying with every turn of the car, knocking his head against the sides of the window. Every so often he falls on top of Emma and then steps all over her getting back up onto the seat. It’s just loads of fun.

We get there, to the dog wash, and unload. I didn’t know what to expect, but as I walk into the small room, I am so impressed!! It’s like what the real dog groomers use!!! A ramp, to a shallow tray that is waist-high, a hose that is connected to a machine that will do shampoo (oatmeal, flea and tick, or tearless) conditioner, fragrance and rinse. Then there is another hose that is a blow dryer!!! And yet another hose that is a vacuum with a comb attached so that you can actually vacuum the hair and water off the dog!!! So far, I am thinking that whoever devised this ingenious set up should be running the country!

I have seen the dogs on tv do this sort of thing….the run right up the ramp and then stand patiently as they are suds up and hosed down. Spencer immediately knows I am up to no good. He turns right around and stands patiently waiting for someone to open the door and let him out of this insanity. I turn him back around and try to encourage him to go up the ramp. Yeah, that’s not happening. Ramp walking is some sort of special skill that Spencer does not have. So, I help him. I put his front paws onto the ramp,and his backend immediately falls down. This is going to be a two person job, just getting him into the bath area. I grab the front, my kid grabs the back and we lift him onto the bath table. Spencer was amazed. He though for sure he was going to get out of this without getting bathed.

Let the bathing begin! I even heard of a cool new trick where if you hold a dog’s snout they won’t shake!! I am totally feeling like a professional now!

And on to the rinse….he is enjoying this, really…this is his happy face.

The best part in my opinion (not necessarily Spencer’s) is the blow dry! Imagine, no wet dog smell!!!

He is looking so handsome! And the best part is all of this washing and drying takes 8 minutes and costs 5 dollars!!!! Oh happy day! No more stinky mutts!!!

I think he looks devine…he thinks he has been through hell and he is NOT in the mood for pictures

Now, Emma has been watching this entire process. You would think she would have understood that she would also have to climb the ramp and get suds up, rinsed off and blown dry. Alas, Emma was simply enjoying watching the entertainment that is Spencer. Giggling quietly to herself….

As we lift Emma up to the bath, I realize that maybe there is some merit to agility training. Time to get soapy Em! How come I always get stuck with the undercarriage?

And a rinse…

And the blow dry….

Over all, it was a good day at the dog wash.

We even made some new friends….

warming up his vocal chords....

Except that even after the sirens have gone, Spencer keeps on with his improv blues concert. He sings the next verse, the chorus, verse 3, chorus, bridge, verse 4, chorus and BIG finish. This is a 5 minute production, no matter what time of day. During the daytime, we all enjoy Spencer’s rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariot. At night, not so much. And now we have added Eddie to the mix who has a set of pipes on him that could put Frank Sinatra to shame. They have yet to put their vocal stylings together, but once they do, watch out YouTube!! No doubt they will go viral.

I was wondering where my animals get their singing ability from. Even Emma will talk to me every once in a while. Mainly when she is starving. She won’t tell me when she has to go outside, preferring my favorite oriental carpet to wet grass, she’s particular like that (bitch). And Cecelia is a screamer. Like a B movie star screamer. WAY over dramatic. They are my animals so they must get it from me I think. But I am NO singer (see:http://sparklingbytheway.wordpress.com/2010/04/23/im-a-star/).

Despite or maybe because of my lack of talent in the singing department, I have always sung to my animals as they really can’t complain. I mean, they can but then they won’t get fed so they just put up with it. They get that far away look in their eye, I know they are in their happy place in their mind and they wait until I am done with my serenade or tirade depending on who is interpreting. I sing opera…. To my animals….. About my animals.

My dad used to do this all the time. He had a great voice and when the saturday afternoon opera would come on the radio, he would sing along, changing the story from Romeo and Juliet or Tosca to the cats peeing where they shouldn’t or the neighbor’s dog baking, or  dead birds on the front stairs. The best was a full length opera about my mother cleaning the cat litter and yelling at me that I should be cleaning the cat litter and me singing back at her that cleaning cat litter was gross and I refuse. Dad would sing all the parts and it would always put us in hysterics. Sometimes he would grab one of the cats and act out the opera with the cat as the star.

So, when Spencer sings, I sing back. When Emma pees on the carpet, I sing about how much I hate her peeing on the carpet (think Jesus Christ Super Star-like Damned for All Time tune). Eddie is exactly like the scene from Say Anything with Jon Cusack outside Ione Skye’s window with the boombox. He rushes out of the house at night when I let the dogs out for a potty break and then about 3am he stands under my window meowing so loudly that I have to get up to let him in or risk the neighbors calling the cops. Eddie always sounds like he is about to die if we don’t let in him in RIGHT NOW!!! But he’s still a kitten so, he hasn’t learned how to modulate his voice.

Sometimes I try to sing nicely to Cecelia and she just yells over me until I stop. One time she was eating and I started singing about how pretty she is but the fact that she is so mean just ruins it all (to the tune of O Fortuna) and she literally lept off the counter and skidded to a stop inches from my face with her claws out. Apparently she is overly sensitive about her miserable disposition.

We are a very musical family. Cecelia also plays the piano, in the middle of the night, and not very well, but who am I to discourage her? I’m glad she is taking an interest, although, it is rather creepy to hear strange, disjointed piano music in the middle of the night….Emma keeps time with her nails on the pergo floor, Spencer sings lead and Eddie sings back up. I wonder what my new neighbors think of the vocal stylings of Spencer and the Terrific Trio plus me. Whatever, it is enriching the lives of my animals and that is all that counts. They may think that the real words to Figaro are “Icannotbelieveyougotinthegarbage yougotinthegarbage yougotinthegarbage Whydoyoualwaysgetinthegarbage getinthegarbage getinthegarbage the GARRRRRRRR    BAGE!” but they will recognise the tune and that will come in handy at dinner parties. They won’t feel like backwoods hicks. My dad always said to keep my elbows off the table because if the Queen of England ever came to dinner then she would be offended and I would be embarrassed. I have sent her an invite, waiting on an RSVP and teaching Spencer and the crew a lovely version of I Dreamed a Dream to rival Susan Boyle. Spencer’s got talent!

King Mouse Killer

But if he farts he might just blow Emma into space...

So, Spencer is now on thyroid medication. It has done nothing for his garbage can diving. He is still farting to beat the band and he hasn’t lost a bit of weight. But, he is more active, although, I can’t see how that is a good thing. Spencer is 12 and a half years old, a time when he should be slowing down but instead, he is speeding up.

He has gotten into the habit of sleeping upstairs with us. He starts in one bedroom, eventually farts himself to another and still another. Waking me up with every room change because he is so damn loud. Then, about 2:30am he stands at the top of the stairs and whines. Every    single     night. For at least 20 minutes before he finally takes the plunge and throws himself down the stairs. He’s going to break a hip but he doesn’t care. Generally, he stays down stairs for about 10 minutes then lumbers back up the stairs, which takes about 5 minutes and falls down in my room with such drama.

Now, I always figured once my kids were sleeping through the night, I would sleep through the night. I didn’t count on Spencer being a night owl.

Last night was a full out party here at the Spencer abode. At 1am, Eddie decided that I should know he caught a mouse. So, he brought himself and the mouse into my bedroom where he proceeded to torture the mouse in every corner of my room and then under my bed. I finally turned on my light and caught Eddie with the mouse in his mouth looking at me like a deer caught in headlights. I just looked at him and said please take that outside, to which he replied with a mouth full of mouse that he would and he left.

Spencer slept through the entire mouse episode. He even slept through one of his own farts. I shut off the light and tried to go back to sleep, tried not to think about the status of the mouse, or the smell of the Spencer fart…just drift back to sleep…drifting….sleep….POUNCE!!! Eddie lands on my head!!! Ofcourse I sit up with a small squeal thinking that the mouse is still in his mouth, which scares Eddie who launches himself backwards off of my head onto Spencer who just grunts and Eddie runs off to the hallway. I turn on the light to make sure that there is no dead mouse on my head or in my bed. When I am finally satisfied there are no mouse guts anywhere, I remake the bed, shut off the light and wait for my heart to stop pounding while I silently curse all animals for disrupting my sleep pattern. Ofcourse, by the time I finally find REM again, it’s time for Spencer’s nightly whine at the top of the stairs. He’s whining, I’m crying and Eddie thinks this is the perfect time to have a parade because he is the King Mouse Killer. So, Eddie is doing his flying squirrel impression, jumping from my bed to my desk and then skidding across my dresser and Spencer is hurdling himself down the stairs and I am vowing to drop them all off at the farm up the road because I hate them all.

Within minutes the house is quite again. Eddie is curled up sound asleep in the crook of my knees (as I am in the fetal position, still crying, wishing death on these rotten animals). I get up to use the bathroom, and figure I should go find out where the mouse is. I go down stairs and there is Spencer back to back with Emma. Neither of them wakes up, they are just sleeping peacefully and I suddenly remember why I don’t get rid of them. They really are sweet and it looks as though Spencer comes downstairs nightly to sleep with Em. What a good boy. He takes turns in all of our rooms, then goes down stairs to make sure his sister is ok and then comes back upstairs to be with us again. Really thoughtful of him. Spreading the love and the farts. I go back upstairs and crawl into my warm bed where Eddie has graciously stayed sleeping keeping my foot space warm. As I snuggle down with the picture of Spence and Em sleeping so sweetly, I hear Spencer start his trek back up the stairs and I smile as Eddie comes up and snuggles into the bend of my arm with his little paw on my chin. And I smile for the unconditional love. And then I grimace as I remember that Eddie’s paw was most recently wrapped around a dying mouse. I rolled over with a sigh because this is my life. Unconditional love from bloody paws and fart dog. If I don’t get the bubonic plague the gas attacks from Spencer will eventually kill me.

In the morning, I started to worry about where Eddie may have hidden the mouse. I HATE the smell of decaying mouse and Spencer LOVES it. I figured I would have to go on a dead mouse hunt as soon as I got home from taking the kids to school or Spencer would find it, roll in it and then we would have to bathe him and that is a whole other blog. But as luck would have it, just after I told my youngest the story about Eddie and the mouse, and how I was unsure as to the location of the mouse, she walks into the hallway where she promptly says “Um, I found the mouse!!!” I said “Oh good! Where?” and she says “Right under my foot!!!”. So, we change her socks and I call up my oldest to get rid of the mouse. She comes armed with grocery bags and Clorox clean up. As she is scoping up the mouse, she is squealing and laughing nervously and gagging which is making me laugh, gag, and squeal even though I am in the other room.

Having pets is not only a family affair, it is a party every night! What was I thinking adopting all these animals? I wonder if I will ever sleep through the night. Maybe I should just surrender and get out the disco ball and start charging for the Nightly Spencer Party….I could make a fortune!!!

Eddie's first night at home

 Eddie (Edwardo Fransisco) has joined the family. He was also briefly known as Danny, Dickens, Fritz, and Sam. I have never thought of “replacing” an animal. I mean, when I was a kid and one of my sibling cats died, I always thought we should go right out and get another cat. My parents never agreed with me. They said getting a new cat would not relieve the grief of losing the one we loved. Great lesson. And very true.

My thought was this : Tommy was such a snuggler. He was a real cat who we could pet and pick up and he loved us. Cecelia is a poor substitute for Tom. She was trying but she was still just mean as all get out. We were all having kitty love withdrawal. So, I went online to our local shelter’s website…just to see if they had any full grown orange cats. And there he was! He had been brought in last February and was fixed and ready to go. Good with pets and kids! Off we went to meet Dickens (that was his name) It helped that he was born on my dad’s birthday. 

We went in and sat down in the cat room and Eddie came right over and curled up on my daughter’s lap. That’s it, he’s ours. Now, I was thinking that he was a year old and  he was all grown up. It has been over 20 years since I had a normal cat. Cecelia was a kitten when we got her but she is so far off the scale of being normal, she doesn’t count. Home we come with Eddie spaghetti who is not fully grown, physically or mentally come to find out, he’s still a kitten. 

Spencer and Emma looked at me like I was nuts. Cecelia looked at me like she was going to kill me (that’s her standard look though) and Eddie looked at Cecelia with absolute happiness on his furry little face. He had been living in a room with 20 other cats and kittens and I believe his greatest sorrow was leaving all of his playmates. So, upon seeing Cece, he jumped with joy and ran right to her. She was unprepared for such enthusiasm but quickly regained her bitchyness and swatted him so hard he fell backward. Eddie was not deterred though. On the contrary, he was encouraged!! He came back at her with a friendly slide and squiggle. This went on until Cece finally ran away mumbling under her breath about stupid little kittens. Eddie just smiled and squiggled some more for our entertainment. 

Eddie has made himself at home. Spencer and Emma have taken to him. When they go out, he goes out. He does keep us up with his kitten antics and when he is bored or scared he just stands in one spot and meows as loud as any Siamese. He likes to curl up in any tight spot. He loves to sleep under the covers or on top of my head. He is a good boy. He is no Tommy, but he is definitely all Eddie. 

But I have to tell you that I believe his real name is Julio. Makes much more sense to have a Cecelia and a Julio…and yet, he answers to Eddie. So Eddie he shall be.

 Well, our sweet little Tommy died today. He was the most precious marmalade cat ever. I already told you all about his perfectness in this post:http://ellie072.wordpress.com/2010/03/09/tommy-the-terrific/ He was always willing to give, not just receive, love. I would pet him and then he would pat my face with his little paw. He never hissed or scratched. He was beautiful inside and out.

I woke up today, like any day. I took the kids to school for their last day of school. Then I headed to the bagel shop. When I came home, both Emma and Spencer were sitting in the livingroom, just quietly sitting there. This was very odd because usually when I come home, Spencer is barking like an idiot, as if his barking will get me in the house quicker and Emma is always jumping and dancing for me. I have a welcoming committee every time I open the door. Doesn’t matter if I have been gone for days or for minutes. One day I walked out the door and walked back in 10 times just to watch them jump up and bark, all 10 times. Anyway, this day, I had no welcoming committee. I found this strangely foreboding. I said hello to them and asked them what was wrong. Again, on an ordinary day, my talking to them would have sent them into hysteria because they think me speaking directly to them means food or a walk. But this was no ordinary day and they knew it. They just sat there looking at me with pity. I didn’t know why though.

I went upstairs to start my day and I missed a call on my cell. I listened to the voicemail. It was from my neighbor asking me to call him back immediately. So, I did. He asked me to come outside. I knew it was bad. I asked him right then who had died and he said Tommy. My step slowed. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to deal. But then my step quickened. Maybe they were wrong. I approached a group of my neighbors who were standing around my Tommy. One of my neighbors had covered him with an tee shirt. There was nothing I could do except cry. There was the sweetest cat in the entire world, laying dead on the curb. I petted him and told him I loved him. He was still warm and so soft. I literally lost all sense of what to do next. Thankfully my neighbors made gentle suggestions like getting a box. Which they then kindly provided. And they placed Tom in the box with the utmost care and reverence. And they brought him home and we put him in the cellar to await a burial.

After they left, I cried some more and Em and Spence simply curled up with me. Their reaction was so obvious. They knew when it happened, they must have heard it happen. They were reacting to the loss of their brother. Anyone who thinks that animals don’t have souls or experience life as we do are just wrong. The night before this, as I was shutting off the lights in the family room, Emma, Spencer and Tommy were lying in a circle on the floor and I petted them all goodnight and told them all how much I loved them and how awesome I thought they were because they obviously loved each other also.

In the days that followed we were all in a fog. The grief was tripled for me. Tommy was the last living connection to both my dad and Jim. He was their cat. He had such a sweet and loving personality that it was always like dad and Jim were still here with me. Now with Tom gone, my dad and Jim have gone again too. This sucks to say the least. And Tom was not just an average cat. He was the one comfort the kids and I had through all the human deaths we had experienced. Just a little soul of unconditional love at it’s finest. And the really sucky part was I had to tell the kids on their first day of summer vacation.

You might be wondering about Cecelia and her reaction. She grieved also. She actually climbed onto my chest and licked my tears. Just because she is quirky and mean doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings too. She and Tommy had become family. Tom tolerated Cece as much as she tolerated him. And Cece knew, she saw how much joy Tommy brought to me and the kids and their friends and the neighbors. She was sad and she tried really hard to be a comfort to us as Tommy would have wanted her to be. She spent every night on my bed and the days in a spot that was between all of our bedrooms. We still couldn’t touch her or look at her, but she was there and in her world that is the best she could do.

I told the girls and we all cried. Em and Spencer right along with us. My neighbor came over and dug the hole for us. And we buried Tommy right next to the shed. I planted some orange flowers that reminded me of the color of his beautiful fur, we said our prayers and our goodbyes.

Now we begin our mornings without the sweet little taps from our sweet Tommy. We have no soft, purring machine to snuggle with. There is yet another tremendous loss in our daily lives. Spencer misses his brother who he would play chase with whenever Tommy came through the door. The only consolation we have is that Tommy knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was loved. We told him daily, hourly, how much he meant to us. He was totally secure in that fact. Tommy gave us so very much and taught us so much. He is up there with dad and Jim now. Making them happy and passing along our love to them. I have no doubt. Rest in peace Tommy Salami.

Can you find (essence of) Spencer in this picture?

When we lived in the middle of the woods,Spencer spent every day laying in our creek. I was always worried that he would be swept away in the spring because it flowed so fast and got so deep. He obviously had a sense of self-preservation because he never did get swept away. He would splash down stream to where the deep pools were and fish to his heart’s content. He always smelled like fresh fish mixed with wet dog. Lovely really, if you are the type who likes fish and wet dog. Personally, I don’t like either. This was also before I started keeping him shaved so he was a long-haired dog who was wet and fishy smelling with tons of burrs in his fur making really intense dreads. He was like a Rasta, fish smelling, wet dog. Still didn’t appeal to me.  He didn’t swim, just laid down and let the water flow over him,very Zen like. Emma, on the other hand,only went into the creek when it was absolutely necessary. Like to chase down a deer or bark at someone walking by.She was definitely not a water dog despite looking exactly like a miniature Newfoundland.

So, last summer I decided that we should treat Spencer and Emma like normal dogs and take them to the beach for a swim.Because Spencer loved water as evidenced by his years of laying in the creek. We have a private beach where dogs, and people, go to swim. I thought this would be so fun! This is exactly what dog owners do! I have seen them do things like this and now I was going to be one of them! I pile just Spencer into the car with the three kids and drive the 5 blocks to the beach. I didn’t want him to get too tired walking the 5 blocks and I wasn’t really sure how he would react to being out in public with other dogs and people so I wanted to be able to make a quick get away if he decided to be a turd.

Now, you know how Spencer reacts to being on the leash. He is insane with the jumping and the running and trying to yank my arm out of socket. We pile out of the car and Spence sees a huge open field and other dogs playing frisbee and catch and he takes off. Never mind that I was only half out of the car and I have to get the towels and the kids, I am being dragged across the field pausing only long enough for Spencer to sniff some tail or pretend fight with his new best friends. To the onlookers, he must seem like an untrained beast  who should never be allowed in public and I must seem like the stupid dog owner who doesn’t know the first thing ’bout trainin no dogs! And those onlookers would be correct.

Picture it…me dragging Spencer towards the stairs that lead to the water, him dragging me towards the family picnicking on the ground, me screaming at him to come on, be a good boy, stop, go, cut it out, don’t!!! He smelled food and there was no stopping his single-minded pursuit. No matter that it wasn’t HIS food, or that he didn’t even know the people whose food he was trying to share. The parents were less than friendly to this big ole smelly mutt tromping through their well laid picnic. The kids fell backward giggling and trying to pet him. He would pause to get a couple of ear scratches and head pats but he was focused. I am still amazed that at 12 years old he still has the strength to drag me where ever he wants to go. He isn’t aging, it is strange. Like Dick Clark in dog form.

Anyway, we have been at the beach for exactly 5 minutes and Spencer has already managed to make 3 new friends and I have 10 new enemies. Story of my life. Spencer finally realizes that he is not going to be invited to the feast and allows me to drag him towards the water, where he sees more… DOGS!! All of the sudden he is doing the dragging as we head for the steep, narrow stairs that lead to the 2 foot strip of sand. He is in an almost full out gallop with me digging my heels into the ground and being pulled towards the stairs anyway. Tripping, skipping and jogging, doing fabulous leaps over people sunbathing on towels. I’m sure we were quite the sight.

I stumble down the stairs, screaming for Spencer to slow down. He is ignoring me. Without being able to take off my skirt or flip-flops I am dragged into the water as Spencer does these doggy belly flops further and further into the water. He has locked his radar onto one dog (who looks similar to Emma ) who is playing a rousing game of fetch with a Nerf ball. His owner has watched our progression from the top of the stairs, into the water fully clothed and he is laughing right at me. Spencer finally reaches water that is deeper than he is tall and realizes that maybe he doesn’t actually know how to swim. I am waist deep, fully clothed and now my idiot dog is whimpering and scratching at my legs to get him out of this predicament.

Muttering under my breath that I hate him and he is really the biggest jerk I have ever known and that is saying something cause I know ALOT of jerks, I drag him towards shallower water. The kids have finally caught up with us and were laying out the towels and asking me where I went, because I had just disappeared out of the car! Where had I been, I start muttering…I take off my wet clothes and flip-flops and have a little talk with Spencer. Spencer, I say, we are here to enjoy this beautiful lake on this beautiful day. I want you to look around  and concentrate on how the other dogs are behaving. Do you see, they are having fun, LISTENING to their owners and NOT trying to steal anyone’s food. Now, I want you to behave the same way. Let’s go have a swim, shall we?

I stand up and Spencer drags me right back to the dog with the Nerf ball. He is standing on his unmanicured toe nails to keep his head above water. He has no idea what to do except try to sniff the other dog’s butt which just happens to be underwater. What a dilemma!! He tip toes around to the back of the dog and dunks his snout, but can’t hold his breath long enough to actually get to the butt. He tries again and again, no luck. The other dog’s owner is laughing so hard now he can barely speak. Yup, that’s my dog…thinking he can sniff submerged dog butt. The other owner tosses the ball out into deeper water and Spencer actually starts to go for it! Well, lookey here! I DO have a real dog!! But only for a second cause as soon as he starts his doggie paddle he starts sinking and whining. Spencer is too fat to swim.

So, he makes a U-turn and makes it back to me. I tell him it’s ok, he just needs to do it, keep paddling. All dogs know how to swim! He looks at me with total disdain that I let him make a total fool out of himself and he starts walking slowly towards the shore. I am walking behind him, realizing  Spencer is not your average dog, he never has been. Maybe he will never be a beach dog, or a dog who plays fetch, or enjoys frisbee. But he is sweet and funny and I really shouldn’t be embarrassed by his antics, cause really, he IS a good boy. And as I look up to see that he has made it to the shallowest water, right where a couple of kids are trying to catch some minnows, Spencer is taking a huge dump. Ofcourse he is. And it is floating right there and the kids are yelling “EW GROSS!!! THAT DOG JUST POOPED IN THE WATER!!!”

I had nothing to scoop out the poop with, I was getting dirty looks from all the other dog owners and Spencer had zeroed in on a tiny little Scottie and was taking off up the stairs to sniff some butt…leaving me behind to absorb the humiliation.

Let’s recap shall we? Arm out of socket? check. Picnic crashed? check. Dog butts sniffed? check. Floating poop? check. And so ends our day at the beach. Spencer, the biggest  turd I will ever love.

When I was done with the laundry, Emma and I came back in. I assumed Spencer was upstairs with the kids, farting up a storm. I came upstairs and sat down to watch Grey’s. Cecelia came upstairs and was acting funny. She was jumping up on my desk, and then she attached herself to my bedroom screen. Like full body, spread eagle. That was strange. But she is a strange cat, so whatever. Then she stood in the hallway and meowed like she was trying to tell me something….what is it girl? Is Spencer down the street?

Being the non confrontational person I am, I just ignored her antics. I did start to wonder where Spencer was. He usually makes the rounds at bedtime. He will stay with the littlest kid till she falls asleep, then he goes into the center child’s room till she shuts off her light. Then he comes into my room and snores and farts until I kick him out at which point he goes and scratches and whines until the oldest wakes up and opens her door to let him in. The oldest is the only one of us with the combination of big bed/ tolerance for Spencer so he usually winds up in there with her. But tonight, I haven’t heard his farts, snores, or floor shaking crash when he lays down. I assume that he is downstairs getting into the garbage. Haven’t I learned not to assume? Because when you assume you make an “ass” out of “u” and “me” = ass/u/me.

I wasn’t too concerned. All the doors were shut and locked and I knew he hadn’t come out with me and Emma. Maybe he is having some alone time on the couch. He is 12 years old now, sometimes he just needs to be by himself, on the couch where he is not allowed to be. All of the sudden, I hear the screen door bang. Odd, I think to myself. All the kids are in bed, asleep. Maybe it was the wind….then I hear a bang on the front door. How very strange this is. Then I hear Spencer barking. Outside. Really? No. Can’t be MY dog outside my front door, barking to be let in. Because MY dog knows he is not allowed out on his own. MY dog knows to go on a walk he needs to be with a grown up and on a leash. MY dog can’t really osmose through a solid door. It can’t be MY dog.

I open the front door and Spencer trots in like it’s everyday that he takes off for an hour and a half and then knocks at the front door to be let in. He heads straight for the water dish, no remorse, no explanation. He assumed that I would come let him in when he knocked. Spencer is the only male who continues to surprise me. Just when I think he is too old for mischief, I find him knocking at the front door. Lord knows he peed on all of the spring tulips on the block. I know he got into someone’s garbage and no doubt he rolled in something dead. When will I learn that Spencer is who he is and no amount of talking or explaining will change him. He is 84 dog years old now and he feels he has reached an age of maturity where he gets to decide what he does with his time.

And isn’t that what we all want? We all strive for the age where we are able to go where we want,when we want, without having to answer to anyone. And we all want someone to be there when we come home, to open the door for us. Spencer is a lucky dog. I think it’s time he had his own house key.