The Bob/Penny Crime Syndicate

Glad to report that Bob and Penny are getting along much better these days. Penny got a little bigger. And she found her claws. So now the wrestling is more of an even match, and all in good fun. Which usually concludes with a snuggle or, at least, détente.

Which means, of course, that they are now partners in crime. They pin me by weighing down the blankets on either side of me, so that getting out of bed in the morning is like crawling out of a sleeping bag. They collude to trip me up as I carry laundry on the stairs. And most importantly, anything, on any surface, is now within their grasp.

I previously commented on Bob’s prodigious counter-surfing skills. While impressive, he still needs to keep his back paws on the floor. Penny is not similarly enslaved by gravity. And, just like babies, cats are instinctively fascinated by batting things over edges. Catch a few viral videos if you doubt me.

I’m not a big fan of cop shows, but even I know that organized crime bosses usually get nabbed by something relatively innocuous like tax evasion or inhibiting interstate commerce. Not sure there are canine/feline equivalent statutes. Even if there were, Bob would just look at me quizzically and Penny would walk away huffing “Jeez – humans!”

So the best I can do is minimize the probability of the really bad outcomes in the gangland that my home has become. Poisons, breakables, sharp things. You know, the usual suspects.

Meanwhile, one thing is quite clear, which is obvious to anyone who has ever lived with both a cat and a dog. The cat is clearly the brains of the operation. And occasionally needs to remind the lesser species of that fact.

 

“Nothin’ to see here, ma’am”

Bob has to accept a little embarrassment in order to access the really good stuff at the back of the counters.

In other words, you gotta let go of control and accept help, in order to reach further.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

Siblings

Well, it’s been over a year since my last post. No apologies.  I was kinda busy. Retired, bought a house, lung surgery (I'm OK), got a cat. And it is on this last point that … well…

Penny. Named after the part I played in Urinetown. There are pictures on Facebook and whatnot, but that’s not my point here…

Bob is a freaking bully. The first couple of months I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep Penny because of him. Because she was so small and he was so, well, mean. Bob’s a whole lot bigger and stronger than Penny, and there are times when his lizard brain instinct takes over and he goes into predator/prey mode. Thankfully, Penny’s found her claws. And so they’ve figured out how to play nice. And occasionally snuggle...such joy....

 

But sometimes lizard brain still takes over and I have to pull him off her and pin him down. I’m learning to accept that this will never change, because you can’t change instinct. The best I can do is override it, time after time after time.

So yeah, I have to acknowledge that Bob is actually a dog, not a saint. And he’s been seriously pissing me off lately. But I still love the big ole tank. I love Penny, but I’m a dog person at heart. Which is not an easy thing to admit – having favorites. No, not favorites. Simply acknowledging where my REAL loyalties lie.

Bob, this has been a really hard lesson for me. I love you, but I’m still gonna make sure your little sister has the sanctuary and love she deserves. So back the f*ck off.

With a stone in my gut..

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob. Oof.

p.s. Yes, this is a little autobiographical...

 

Routines and Priorities

For my health, I have recently made some pretty major lifestyle changes. One repercussion is that I get up about an hour earlier than I used to, and there’s a bit more puttering around before I leave for the day. After several days of “Did I take my pills this morning?” and “Shoot, I left my lunch in the fridge!” I finally seem to be settling into this new routine.

Bob, resourceful dog that he is, has taken this opportunity to adjust his morning routine to align with HIS priorities. I had assumed that his top priority on waking was the same as every other mammal on the planet – to pee. So after “Mommy first!” my next step was to drag him out the back door. Then I’d delay getting in the shower until he started scratching, lest he inevitably do so the moment I got lathered up.

However, chow hound that he is, Bob’s top priority is actually breakfast. Then he jumps back on the bed for a snooze while I shower, undisturbed. Once wrapped in my warm robe and slippers, THEN I drag him out the back door while I putter.

“How is this possible?” I hear you cry. “How can a dog wait to go out first thing in the morning?” Well, it turns out that Bob has the bladder of a…a… Why don’t we have some animal colloquialism to comment on this particular bodily function? Like “Can drink like a camel” or “Lithe as a cat” or “Farts like a cow”? Well, Bob does indeed have prodigious storage space. I once had a day trip for work, leaving before 6 am and not returning until after 9 pm. I’d made arrangements for someone to take him out late afternoon, but for a variety of reasons that didn’t happen. After 15+ hours, I arrived home to find Bob contentedly curled up on the bed. None of my senses detected any indication of an accident. Sure, when I finally did take him out, he really went at it. But I remain amazed that he held it that long.

Well, maybe this will be Bob’s legacy – “Has a bladder like Bob.”

I reflect that many of these posts comment on Bob’s habits of elimination. But isn’t that sorta true of all parents of toddlers (which Bob is and always will be)?

The point is – Bob’s unique gift gives him the freedom to rearrange his routine according to his priorities. While I may bemoan the things I don’t have, I can remember that what I DO have allows me that same freedom to rearrange my routine and to live according to my priorities.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

p.s. Happy Thanksgiving from Bob and Bob's Mom!

 

Curled up

I do not think it is possible for Bob to be more curled up, smaller and sweeter. My heart just aches with how much I love him. Or, as Woody Allen said in "Annie Hall" I LURVE him..

 

As I have explained previously, I do not and cannot have children. This lurve I have for Bob gives me a taste of what it would be like. My sister in law once said "I expected to love my children, I did not expect to be IN love with them. But I am."

 

And that's how I feel about Bob. A love so deep it hurts. No, just pulls. Stretches. Reminds me to breathe.

 

Good lesson.  Thanks Bob

In Between

Wow. Crazy Bob Mom to post so soon. Was told something today that puts me "In Between" again. Uncomfortable. But Bob, You're resilient. And I just need to be in the in between. Just breathe. Wow. This Sucks. Ok. Breathing,,,

Good Lesson.  Thanks Bob.

Pee and Matter

Nerd side comment...energy and matter are related by the expression e=mc^2.  Energy IS matter.

So I was walking Bob this morning. As always, he pees big time as soon as we're outside. And for the rest of the walk (giving him time to poop) he sniffs aggressively and lifts his leg everywhere. Even after I inform him that the tank is empty. Instinctively, he needs to leave a mark.

As a rescue dog, Bob is obviously "fixed". Will not procreate. I too have been "fixed". I alluded in an earlier post that a "bunch of shit" happened two dogs ago. OK, so here's the deal. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. You do not mess with ovarian cancer. So I was "fixed". Ten years later, medical science had advanced and my particular tumor was re-diagnosed as "benign." Um, great. A little late, guys.

Rest assured, I have not taken to peeing on the sidewalk. But I DO leave a mark on this world, even without kids.

Be Like Bob lesson: I matter

Good lesson. Thanks Bob.

Bob's Foreleg

No witty, insightful essay this time. I just snapped this picture last night because I was marvelling at how muscular Bob's front leg is. Jeez. No wonder he's such a tank!