On Our Way To Crazy

Sweet tea. Gilmore Girls reruns. Sparkly pipe cleaners. Angry Birds on Aaron’s phone. Avett Brothers live albums. Boots. Our Nashville people. Messenger bags. Our newly rearranged bedroom. Sisters who mail you slippers. Our neighbor who grows crops in his front yard. The funniest youth group on the planet. Being 30.

Grey nail polish. Stacks of magazines. Mawmaw’s chocolate pie. TOMS. Elton John on vinyl. Playing Scabble online with my dad. Burt’s Bees lip gloss. Memories of Miles. Naps. Purple ink pens. Friday Night Lights. Friends across the street. Twitter. A church where you can ask questions and be unsure and fit in anyway. Rolos.

Harry Potter. Car dancing. Clementines. Adults who love teenagers. Hot pink watches. Gel eyeliner. Work friends. Mexican street tacos. Orange tank tops. Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared. Friends you’ve had for 25 years. Procrastination. Shopping on the phone with my mom.

Family in all its forms. Taking risks. Choosing to take care of yourself. The unknown. Safe places. The best husband I ever had.

It’s still pretty sad around this place, y’all. We’ve gotten a little more used to the quiet, to the empty house, to the lack of dog hair on every available surface. But sometimes we are watching football and Aaron is getting all worked up and yelling at the TV and I say, “Miles, will you please tell him to keep it down?” without even thinking about it.

Here’s something else that sucks about a house with no Miles in it: we have to clean up after ourselves. I did not realize how much we counted on that dog to eat all the food we drop around here. It’s so annoying when you throw an almost empty bag of chips at the trash, miss, and then have to sweep it up.

I miss him. A lot.

I don’t think I’ve written about this yet, but it’s been a pretty big deal around here so I guess I should make mention. Aaron has been fairly jobless since mid-July. He ended his relationship with the band and has been working to piece together some new management and consulting clients. Things are coming along slowly, and it can get really frustrating and scary, but WOW are we in a good place. When push came to shove we chose sanity over safety. And I know that was the right decision. And when we have to sell our house and live in a box on the street I will still believe that.

Did you guys watch Freaks and Geeks when it was on? We’ve been watching the reruns on IFC and I’m pretty sure it’s one of my favoritest shows ever. I love Sam Weir so much. I think there are only a few episodes left and it makes me so sad.

I have a bit of a shoulder situation. We were at a friend’s house last week, eating and playing games and hanging out. It was midnight-ish when we decided to go jump on the trampoline. We jumped for a few minutes, then laid around and talked for a long time, then jumped again. I was standing in the middle of the trampoline when my friend decided to try to do a flip. Or so I thought when I took a big step backwards to get out of her way. Turns out I was on the edge and I took a big step backwards right over the springs and fell three feet onto the wet grass. Super graceful and not embarrassing at all, right? Right.

Now my right shoulder is sore and twingy and achy and I can’t really raise my arm up. I am awesome at life.

Yesterday afternoon at the bookstore I bought four gift bibles and a David Sedaris book. I got up to the checkout and the guy said he was pretty sure I was the first person to buy that particular combination of items.

I did my first Sunday morning big church baptisms this morning. OH MY GOSH it stresses me out so much. It is such a joy to be a part of those kids’ lives and get to participate in such a big day with them. It is. But I get super angsty and anxious about doing real serious church business on stage in front of everyone. I don’t feel like I’m good at it. I can do relationships and small groups and games and serious discussions. And I can get on stage and do announcements like nobody’s business. But when I have to do something with more depth to it I panic. I truly thought I was going to have some kind of breakdown this morning.

It went fine, of course. Not great. It helps that I deal with kids, so no one thinks twice when one of them forgets to take his shoes off until the last minute and then they sit on stage for the whole service. I just can’t do eloquent and meaningful and professional very well.

I made it though thirty years of life without knowing about the amazingness of Swedish Fish. How is that possible?

Sit. Lay down. Don’t sleep on top of the sofa cushions. Quit growling at our guests. Stop trying to eat everything in my purse.

There are a lot of things we told Miles to do that he ignored. But there was one I was kind of hoping would stick. I told Miles a thousand times that he was supposed to live forever.

But he didn’t listen. Our sweet boy passed away yesterday.

Oh, you guys. My heart is completely broken. I can’t believe I live in a world that doesn’t have Miles in it.

It’s just so weird here now. Everything feels wrong. When I woke up this morning, no one was pawing at my face to go outside. I put on my pants without anyone standing on the legs trying to make me fall over. I poured a glass of milk and sat down and no one was staring me in the face hoping I would share.

It sucks.

I cannot overstate how awesome that dog was. He had the perfect temperament for us. All he wanted to do was be as close to us as possible and go to sleep. You couldn’t sit or lay down anywhere in the house without him being right on top of you. And if you made him move, he would lay down on the floor and rest his chin on your feet. His whole world centered around us, and no matter how bad a day you’d had it was impossible not to feel better around him.

I miss how his head would pop up if you said any word that sounded like treat or food or hungry. How he would go out of his everloving mind with excitement every time you put your sneakers on because there was a chance we were going for a walk. How he would sniff every corner of the house just in case something edible was there. How he would nuzzle in behind your knees when you were sleeping and then go limp when you tried to move him. How he would halfheartedly growl at people when they walked by.

The house feels so empty now. No one howls when we pull in the driveway. No one runs maniacally between us when we walk in the door trying to keep tabs on us until we are in the same room. We are still two grown adults with jobs and lives and responsibilities, but we just kind of wander around aimlessly and look at each other all sad. We don’t know what to do with ourselves.

I can’t stop crying. He truly was our best friend. We were three, and now we are two.

We miss you so much, Bub. Thanks for taking care of us.

I think Miles is kind of depressed. Possibly because someone stuck a stick up his butt this afternoon.

I took Miles to the vet today. Holy pajamas, y’all, that is an experience. The problem is this – Miles hates the car. HATES the car. But I don’t think he knows he hates the car. I open the carrier? He hops right in. I put him in the car? He’s totally fine. The car moves? END OF THE WORLD.

So we’re in the car. I am driving and singing along with Ben Folds and trying really hard to drown out the wailing and gnashing of teeth that’s going on in the backseat. We drive the thousand miles to the vet (that we unfortunately LOVE, which sucks because it’s not all that close to the house) and I put the leash on Miles and get him out of the car and into the building. I’m trying to talk to the girl at the desk and get checked in. Miles is shaking from head to toe and plotting his escape.

The exam goes mostly okay. Miles, contrary to his general demeanor, is pretty mild-mannered at the vet. She gives him shots, pokes around his ears and face, and sticks the aforementioned stick where the sun don’t shine. We were almost done. And then I made my tragic mistake.

See, Miles has been a little limpy lately. Nothing crazy, but he favors his front left paw every now and then and lets his right just kind of hang there when he’s running. So I asked about it. Which prompted an in depth leg exam, including shaving some fur from between the pads on the bottom of his feet. And that’s where it got ugly. My mellow, laid-back, cooperative dog started flopping around like a fish out of water and snapping at the assistant. Snapping at her! Granted, he doesn’t have any teeth and can’t hurt her, but still. Unacceptable.

We managed to get everything checked out and fixed up, finally, her giving me instructions on what to look for and me apologizing profusely. Then I paid them ten bazillion dollars and we were on our way.

I will tell you one thing – if you want a dog to calm the heck down on the drive back home, just hold him down on a table for a bit while someone pokes and prods him and pulls on his feet. He will be THRILLED to get back in that carrier where no one can get to him. Then, when you get home, give him a treat. And give yourself one, too. Like a hugemongous glass of wine.

I called animal control on our neighbors today. It was not fun.

I don’t know a lot about animals. I have only had one pet in my life, and his name is Miles, and he sleeps in our bed and flops all over the sofa owns a football jersey and licks our faces and I would make him three meals a day from scratch if I could. I love that dog so much.

So I will freely admit that I don’t know a lot about what is normal or acceptable care for an animal. I don’t know if it’s considered mean or perfectly ok to have an outside dog. I would never do it, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

But I do know that leaving your dog tied to a tree with no food or water is wrong. Especially when there is no dog house and the rope isn’t long enough to let him get under any shelter when it is pouring down rain outside.

Y’all, I’ve been struggling with this for a while. The dog is outside all day every day, tied to that tree. I think they take him in at night, but I’m not sure about that. They definitely don’t take him in when they get home from work. I’ve never seen him tied to the tree at night, but I’ve never looked either. I just feel so bad for him. I know some of you live where it is -50 degrees outside nine months of the year. But it’s been pretty cold for Nashville over the last couple of weeks. When we let Miles out, instead of sniffing every corner of the yard and checking for rabbits under the shed, he gets his business done and books it for the porch. And all the while that poor little dog is just laying there in the cold with no shelter or food or water.

But today was the breaking point. It has been pouring down rain all day. When I let Miles out this morning that dog had the rope pulled taut, stretching as far as he could to try and get under their swingset. I couldn’t take it. So I called.

I don’t know if it was the right thing to do. We don’t know our neighbors, but they seem like fairly nice people. I don’t want them to have their dog taken away from them. But maybe animal control coming by will be what gets them to take better care of him. Or at least, for the love, buy the dog a house. How hard is that?

3:00 pm – leave work early because I can barely hold my head up

5:00 pm – go to sleep

9:00 pm – wake up, starving

9:30 pm – eat two egg rolls, because I’m sick and I can do what I want

10:00 pm – watch lame tv

12:00 am – go back to sleep

3:45 am – wake up in a start because Miles is convinced someone is in the house and has propelled himself off the bed barking his fool head off

3:46 am – lay flat on my face and try to catch my breath and get my heart rate down

3:48 am – Miles starts whining at the foot of the bed because he can’t get back up (he’s still on the DL)

3:48:30 am – Miles comes to the side of the bed and tries to jump up

3:48:31 am – Miles only gets half of his little body onto the bed and proceeds to fall off, hitting his head on the nightstand on the way down

3:49 am – completely out of it, I go to pick Miles up and put him on the bed

3:49:02 am – not realizing his head is under the bed, I knock his head on the bed frame

3:50 am – I decide to use the restroom, since I’m already awake

3:50:05 am – not realizing Miles has jumped down again and followed me into the bathroom, I push the door closed behind me and it smacks him in the face

3:52 am – I pick Miles up and put him on the bed, this time taking care not to give him a fourth head injury in less than ten minutes

4:00 am – Miles is sound asleep. I am wide awake, composing this entry in my head and wondering if Miles did in fact hear someone outside the door.

4:01 am – I turn over so that if they break in, I’ll be ready for them

I am just not meant to get a good night’s sleep this week. The last several nights have been full of things keeping me awake. My eyelids are drooping as I type this.

A couple of nights ago I woke up around 2am to the sound of Miles rummaging through my purse looking for food. He usually falls asleep at the end of the bed as soon as the sun goes down, so I’m not sure of the sequence of events. All I know is that he was sound asleep when I went to bed at midnight. He has been known to come upstairs with us when we go to bed, only to race back down when he thinks we’re not looking to look for snacks he thinks are down there – usually a glass with milk in the bottom left on the table or a pantry door that’s not closed all the way. Did he fake sleep with the intention of going after the purse when we were sleeping? Did he wake up, see the bag and get the munchies? I have no idea.

Earlier this week I woke up from a dream and couldn’t fall back asleep. In the dream, I’d been in a work meeting at a restaurant. During the meeting, someone stole my purse. When I realized it was gone I ran out into the parking lot to find my car gone. Somehow I knew the thieves had not only stolen my car but had gone to my house and taken my dog, my Kate Spade china and my white chocolate macadamia nut cookies I have to make special trip to Fresh Market to buy. Also known as my three most prized possessions. I didn’t have my phone to call Aaron, so I ran back into the restaurant to lodge a complaint with the manager. The guy at the hostess stand was really mean to me and said it was my own fault someone stole my bag. He was also Matt Dillon.

Tuesday night I couldn’t fall asleep because I was too worked up with grief and indignation over the Mavs. Tears may have been shed.

But I think the real contributor to my sleep issues is the sun. I think it is conspiring with my blinds and my alarm clock to drive me crazy every morning. Somehow the alignment of the sun and my blinds is such that, about 20 minutes before my alarm goes off, the sun peeks through the space between the blinds and the wall and blinds me. I’m awakened every morning by the BURNING OF MY CORNEAS.

If I could just get rid of the snack-happiness of my dog, and Matt Dillon, and the Heat, and the freaking sun, I’d be well-rested. And probably much more pleasant to be around.

(This blog title is just for you, mom.)

Because we want to leave straight from work to go to the Over the Rhine/Hem show tonight, I went home this afternoon to walk Miles. The whole drive home? Sunny. Putting on the leash? Sunny. Walking down to the little park in the neighborhood? Sunny.

Waiting for Miles to go to the bathroom? THE HEAVENS OPENED UP AND THE RAIN CAME DOWN.

I, of course, had no umbrella. Miles, of course, freaked out and booked it for home. We ran back to the house, both of us soaked to the bone.

So. Fun.

Out there somewhere, I’m sure there’s a list of things you’re not supposed to let your dog do. Information about how you are supposed to be dominant and here’s how to make that happen. In fact, I know there is. I read Dogs For Dummies.

On that list, I’m sure, are things like “Don’t let your dog sleep in your bed” and “Don’t give your dog food from the table” and “Don’t let your dog completely control you”. They probably have tons of reasons why you shouldn’t do those things. Maybe the dog begins to think he is in charge. Maybe one day he’ll get rid of you so he can eat whatever he wants, including those chocolate graham crackers you won’t let him have (See! Discipline!) because they will kill him. He’ll eat them OH YES HE WILL.

We, of course, do not follow these rules. Miles? Is in charge. He’s like Charles, but with better hair.

We tried, we really did. We weren’t going to let him up on the bed. We got him a little doggie bed and put it on the floor, where he could see us but knew he wasn’t allowed where we were. When he jumped up on the bed, we made him get down. He was learning that he had his own bed, and that was where he could hang out. But, y’all, his little face is just so sad. Even when he is licking your face and wagging his tail, his eyes are sad. Sad and hard to resist. And eventually one of us (who? I can’t remember. No really. No idea.) started letting him hang out on the bed. Not while we were sleeping, but just while we were hanging around. He’s just so cuddly.

Today, that little doggie bed might as well be on the moon for all he uses it. He not only sleeps in our bed, he sleeps between us. He does not appreciate it when you make him go to the foot of the bed. He rebels by lying on your pillow. If your head happens to already be there, well, too bad. That’s what you get.

Miles was a shelter dog. When we picked him up from the house of the woman who ran the place, there were probably 15 dogs in the front yard. When she opened the door to bring him out, the barking we heard was unreal. There is no telling how many dogs were in there. The woman told us she’d just bathed both Miles and herself, but y’all, all we could smell was dog. Miles is very laid-back and chilled out, which probably served him well in that environment. That is, until mealtime.

I’m sure he had to fight for his food. He eats like he still does. As soon as that food hits the bowl, he is all over it. But his food obsession is not limited to dog food. Anytime you open the fridge, he is there, dying to know what you’re eating, and more importantly, can he have some? He sniffs at the bottles in the door and the food on the bottom shelf. And if you’re cooking, you can forget moving easily around the kitchen. He is at your feet, just waiting for something to fall. (Or for you to hand him something. Not that anyone I know does that.) He has also, somehow, learned to distinguish the sound of the pantry door being opened from the coat closet, even though they are right next to each other. Open the pantry, and his little head pops up and his ears are perked. He’s ready.

I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to give people food to dogs. But it’s just so funny. My favorite thing lately to give him has been ice cubes. He works so hard to get them chewed up, but he can’t seem to get it done before they melt. All that work for nothing. It’s like a race. A really, really funny race. He has also been known to eat pretzels, chicken, sausage, lettuce, croutons (those are especially fun because they fall apart when he bites into them and he gets confused) and pizza that was laying in our neighbor’s yard.

He eats our food, he sleeps in our bed, his sad little face dictates just about everything we do. I want, I want Miles in charge of me.