The Pooka Life

As painful and awkward as high school was, it produced some of my absolute best friends. These are people who, even though I may not see them or even speak to them regularly, I hold close to my heart. They, more than anyone else, helped to shape who I am and the values I hold dear.

It seems like ages ago and at the same time it seems like yesterday.

I remember we had our own breakfast club. Not like the movie, it was actually all about breakfast. We’d enlist the help of a parent and sneak into a friend’s house early on a Saturday morning and invade the kitchen, cook up a storm, and then surprise and wake our friend with a tray of food and laugh, laugh, laugh. Of course, everyone in the group was eventually hit but there was something wonderfully funny about sneaking into a buddy’s room and watching him blearily open his eyes to find everyone peering at him. Simply hilarious.

And How to Host a Murder parties where we’d all dress up as strange characters and try and deduce whodunit. Trips to Disneyland with walkie-talkies so the car pooling cars could stay in touch, wicked games of Hearts where no mercy was shown, and mixed tapes full of techno 80’s music.

Laura taught me to flirt, Jean taught me to cherish, Felix taught me to annoy, Lisa taught me to sing, Mike taught me to love, Roy taught me to relax, Heather taught me to try, Marilyn taught me to plan, Christine taught me natural beauty, and so on and so on until I became, well, me.

Kitchen Mess

Our kitchen was a pit last night. Dishes piled in the sink, food splatters on the stove, tupperware filed with growing green stuff. Just out and out gross. I will admit that I was partially responsible. I’ve been handing my dishes to Kevin at night under the assumption that he was cleaning them. And, as we all know, when you make an assumption, you make an ass out of yourself and umption..

So I spent twenty minutes loading the dishwasher, scrubbing the counters, and mumbling mild obscenities to myself. Kevin, smart man that he is, grabbed the dog and went for a long walk that lasted well through my cleaning tirade. Upon his return, he found me still grumpy so be began to do his Christopher Walken Weapon of Choice dance imitation. He knows that melts me every time.

Our First Growl Class

Yesterday was a big night at the McLaughlin household because it was the first night of Growl Class. This is a dog class for pooches with anger management issues. Strangely enough, Artie was the star of the night which we haven’t quite figured out.

We adopted Artie about a year ago from the Oregon Humane Society. One morning, they opened their doors to find a man standing outside with Artie. He was hitting him and telling him to shut up. The reason for giving him away? Chewing and digging. Hello, he’s a dog! Of course he’s going to chew and dig. We gave him an unlimited rawhide supply and a stretch of dirt and he’s a happy boy. But when he was first processed, the workers figured out he came from an abusive owner pretty quickly. He totally ignores yelling – just goes deaf and pretends not to hear anything and when he gets scared, he shuts down. Literally. Reminds of a bad Lifetime made for TV movie were the abused woman curls up and rocks back and forth muttering to herself. He’ll lie down, tuck his tail and paws underneath him, and won’t budge or look at you for anything. You pretty much have to leave him alone until he unwinds and is ready to interact with the world again. Because of this unusual background, he had the dubious privilege of being one of the longest guests at the Humane Society. He was there over 3 months before we came and rescued him. Thankfully, our shelter is a no-kill shelter so they’ll hold dogs indefinitely if needed.

We’ve worked really hard with Artie at home and he’s overcome a lot of fear. He trusts us and feels very comfortable in our neighborhood. As he has gotten comfortable, he’s regained quite a bit of spunk. He now barks at strangers and tackles other dogs willy-nilly. So we decided our next step was to begin socializing him with other dogs. We don’t like the park because you get a pack of 10 dogs running rampant into the street and terrorizing small children. Next, we tried to enroll Artie in doggie daycare but he failed the entrance exam by barking at the dogs. The owner of the daycare, however, suggested her Growl Class which is a way to learn to control your dog around strangers in a controlled environment. It sounded good to us!

So Kev & I left work early yesterday to get the pooch ready for his first day of class. First, each dog must wear a t-shirt. Supposedly, it helps calm them down having a shirt hugging them that smells like home. Next, each dog must wear a GentleLeader which is a special head collar that works just like a horse harness. It loops around their snout and allows you control of their head. As we have learned, most dog fights start with staring. If one dog doesn’t look away, it’s a sign of aggression. The GentleLeader allows you to control your dog’s head so you can break eye contact and avoid most scuffles. After the GentleLeader, each dog has to wear a muzzle. Artie doesn’t like this but so far he’s been a sport and let us get away with it. Then, you have to have two leashes – one attached to the GentleLeader and the other to his collar. Finally, a third leash is attached to the collar only this rope is also bolted into the wall at the school. Each bolt is spaced so that the dogs can’t reach each other. Finally, you don’t feed your dog dinner before class and you bring lots of “high value” treats. Artie got chicken breast sauteed in a light olive oil with rosemary. Yummy.

It was so interesting to watch! They walked each dog in one at a time and bolted them to the wall. Once the dog settled, they brought in the next one. Every time a dog entered the room, every dog in there went crazy, barking and lunging. If they weren’t bolted to the wall, there would have been one wild dog fight last night. Every time one dog moved, it set off every other dog in the room.

Every dog but Artie.

That’s right, our pooch decided he wanted none of this craziness. He curled up under our chair and never made a sound. Not a single bark or lunge. We were stars. After a couple of minutes, we started putting him through the paces. Sit, lie down, shake, roll over. He was simply awesome. While the other dogs were straining their leashes trying to eat each other, Artie was calmly watching us, waiting for the next piece of chicken to fall. By the end of the night, I was sort of hoping he’d act up. I mean, the whole reason we were there was to learn how to curb him correctly. It was as if he sensed this and decided to go against the grain. Instead of being his usual trouble maker self, he was docile and obedient. I have a feeling that after a few more classes, he’ll feel comfortable enough to start acting out.

But I have to admit, it felt good to realize that even though he is a spaz, he isn’t that bad. And, of course, it was pretty cool to have everyone commenting on what a good boy he was. Our dog? A good boy?? Yup. That’s my dog!

Volvo Update

The good new first. The Volvo is fixed. Yes, between my brains and Kevin’s brawn, we managed to install a new heater blower for the old Ovlov and she’s running right as rain. No thanks to my parents. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Saturday morning we awoke with a mission. It was Fix-the-Volvo Day at the McLaughlin household. The weather was holding clear and we set up the tools, repair books, and coffee before getting to work. It took us about two hours to remove all the paneling, glovebox and random screws before we even got to the old motor. Some of the instructions talked about removing the radio and dashboard but it was looking like we weren’t going to have to do that. While we were deciding if we wanted to follow the instructions or just do what looked right, we realized we were missing a needed wrench so Kevin decided to take a quick trip to the hardware store. I decided to call my dad and seek his expert advice while Kevin was gone.

You see, during the shower valve replacement, we desperately needed some outside help and my dad, who is the quintessential handyman, was lying around on some remote beach in Hawaii unable to help us. This time, however, I got his itinerary. They were going down to San Diego and then heading up the Big Bear. They promised to have their cell phone with them so they could be reached as needed.

Let me point out this devious point – they promised to have their cell phone. Sneakily enough, they made no promise as to the workability of the cell phone. This may seem like a fine point, but it will become important later.

So first I tried my sister who told me they had left half and hour ago. “No problem” I thought, “I’ll just try their cell.” Sure enough after 3 rings, my mom picked up.

“Hi mommy! It’s Chrissie.” I began innocently enough.

“Oh, hi Chrissie, I don’t know how long I can talk, the battery is almost dead on our phone.”

Battery almost dead?!?! I quickly learned that my parents had decided to let their cell phone battery run down to get a full charge.

“Well, can you plug in the charger?” I asked with just a hint of panic.

“Um, I’m not sure where the charger is,” my mother replied, “I threw it somewhere in the backseat. Here, let me give you to your father.”

“Hi Chrissie, what’s up?” my dad answered.

“OK dad, here’s the deal. It looks like we can get to the motor without taking out the radio and dash like the instructions say. Should we go for it or following the instructions?” I asked, aware of each passing second.

“Oh, well, here’s what you should do. Be sure and …….”

Yep, you guessed it. That’s when the cell phone hit empty. I tried calling back a few times with no luck. We were on our own.

Now, some of you might ask, “Why Chrissie, why did your parents decided to let their battery run and not have a charger ready when they knew you would be calling for help?” That, my gentle readers, is the million dollar question. Why would they decided to drain their phone on the one day they knew I would be calling? Isn’t it strangely suspicious that my mother, the most prepared woman on earth, the same mother who carries a bottle of water and a pair of tennis shoes in the trunk of her car in case of emergency, would toss the charger willy-nilly into the backseat of the car? How could my father, who is constantly reminding us to check the oil and only use premium gas, heartlessly cut all communication during our time of crisis? I have no answers to these questions gentle reader.

As I stood in the kitchen, dumbfounded, listing to the voice recording at AT&T telling me the party I am trying to reach is currently unavailable, I realized it was up to me. That’s right, I was about to walk out onto the tight rope of auto mechanics without a safety net. My parents had cast me aside and I was going to have to face the harsh world of car repair alone.

I decided to throw caution to the wind. Tossing the instructions to the side, I instructed Kevin to leave the radio in place. We were going to do this my way. And we did.

Six hours later, the Volvo was blowing air like no tomorrow and my parents had recharged their phone and called back. The bums.

The moral of this story? Next time my parents tell me they’ll have their cell phone with them, I’ll be sure to ask if it will be charged.

I did, however, discover two awesome Volvo sites: the brickboard and a local company called ipd. And, we only had one screw left over when everything was finished. Not too shabby!

The Pooka Life

I got asked out the other day. Now, in my heyday, this wouldn’t have been odd at all but having been married the last two years, I haven’t been asked on that many dates so this one threw me for a loop.

My boss buzzed me in my office and asked to me run to a trademark search for a client he was meeting with. After I received the results, I walked down to the main conference room to drop them off. I knocked and was waived into the meeting.

“Mr. Client, this is my associate, Christine McLaughlin. I had her run a search for XYZ, Inc.”

We shook hands and I smiled at him, handed over the results and made to leave when he said to me, “I’d like to buy you a beer later if you want to.”

Now, I admit, I have meet men who check me out. It’s some natural male thing I don’t think they can control. But most of the time, they’ll do a discrete ring check just to see if I’m still “on the market”. Since I am a good girl, I always wear my wedding ring and I find this discourages most men from pressing. But Mr. Client, either he didn’t notice the ring or he didn’t care.

Flustered by this strange invitation, I sort of laughed and nodded and then quickly exited the room. Of course, my boss has now told everyone in the office and they now refer to him as my Beer Buddy.

The only logical explanation I can come up with is that my wedding ring isn’t big enough. I have informed Kevin that, for the sake of our marriage, I need a bigger diamond. He says he has taken it under advisement. I’m thinking this is a good sign…