I went to Tractor Supply the other day in search of dog food with no added coloring — as advised by my vet — for my dog, Mr. Sensitivity. After I waited in line and got up to the checkout counter, I noticed my two boys were hiding items from me.
“What do you have?”
They laughed as they produced dog toys from behind their backs.
“Are those for Rex?”
“No. They’re for us!” they exclaimed.
“Put them back.” I’m not buying those.
They, then, proceeded to scream, cry and throw tantrums (gaining everyone’s attention in the store) because I am quite possibly the meanest mom in the world. What kind of mother won’t buy her children dog toys after all?
Perhaps if they would’ve promised to chew on them quietly in the corner, I would’ve been more tempted to give in. But, instead, I could see the situation play out in my head of the boys fighting with the dog over the toys, or squeaking them until I pulled out my hair and threw the toys (or the boys) out the door.
But — at least now — I know what I need to get them for Christmas.
Dog trainers encourage you to make a clear distinction to your dog between yourself — the master — and him, the dog.
But, no matter how hard I try, my dog hasn’t seemed to grasp the fact that my children aren’t dogs themselves. And, considering their behavior, it’s no wonder why.
Just the other day, I ordered my oldest son to clean up the orange JELL-O he dropped and left on the kitchen floor.
Then I turned around just in time to see him lapping it up off the floor with his tongue.
You would think from the line of cars backed up at the exit off the Interstate, the parade of taillights, the overflowing parking lot, outdoor tents, and the NASCAR car parked out front, we were going to DisneyWorld.
Unfortunately, for us … we were in a land far, far away. While I was looking at the long, meandering line, I was sad to remember there was no Space Mountain, Pleasure Island or even Butterbeer at the other end to comfort me.
Instead, we were waiting in line at the opening weekend of Cabela’s in Lexington. Which — apparently — is quite an event in and of itself.
Of course, we’ve been to Cabela’s — every store we ever pass in fact — but, my husband said we just had to get out and see the latest and the greatest. And he assured me he would find some great deals, as he lured me with thoughts of those cinnamon and sugar almonds I like so much. The kids cheered wildly when we told them where we were going.
Boys. Need I say more?
So not only did we have to drive two hours to get there, fight the crowd, and buy toys for both big and little boys alike, I have to admit, the store was very similar to all the other stores … perhaps we could have saved time with some online shopping?
But my oldest son was quick to point out to me that at this location we got to see a lion about to eat a gazelle, (something we hadn’t seen before). His fascination with animals eating other animals is slightly disturbing, but I’m glad he takes such an interest in nature.
Now, you would think between the children gawking, and onlookers snapping pictures on their phones, we were actually at a zoo — yes, there were even people petting some of the animals.
Far be it from me to tell anyone these animals are actually not alive anymore (because, nobody else seemed to know).
Yes, while I’ll admit, the medical community would probably frown at the conclusion I’ve drawn, let me take a moment to make an argument for my case.
I didn’t have allergies before I moved to Eastern Kentucky. (Apparently, I was living a life of bliss, and I didn’t even know it.)
My husband, however, grew up as a regular allergy shot taker, and now laughs as his allergies are minimal, while mine have not only developed, but keep getting worse
In fact, I’ve joined the ranks as a full, year-round allergy sufferer. All year. Yes. Something bothers me, all year.
This is why I blame my husband entirely for my problems, and have therefore determined allergies are contagious — or, perhaps, something that’s in the water — seeing as, these are the only things that makes sense.
