Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder!

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

It’s no secret that we recently became grandparents and just got back from Oregon after our first visit with little Archer. 

The week before the visit I was in a panic about my dogs.  My regular pet sitter only watches dogs in the summer and has gone back to her school job leaving me “up a creek without a paddle.”  She said she could watch them at her house, but would be gone most of the day, and that worried me because she has cats, dogs, and rabbits, and I felt it would be safer for all concerned for them to remain at our house.  My other backup, my neighbor, was unavailable the week we were leaving to let them out during the day.  I seriously did not sleep not knowing what to do and was ready to slap the next person who said they would be fine all day without me.  Luckily, at the last minute, my groomer offered to help. 

 

Between the worry I feel when I leave my dogs and the packing to get ready, I am almost ready to give up traveling. For some reason, before we go on any trip, I am compelled to clean my house, catch up on every bit of laundry, pay bills, and run errands to make sure everything needed is in the house.  I often wake up thinking things like did I pack a belt, or a raincoat, enough socks for John, or my phone charger.  I envy those people who can pack at the last minute and get everything into one small bag.  Any trip where I would have to carry my luggage as we went along would be out for me because I would need to bring a pack mule along to help. John’s idea of packing is to turn to me as we are driving to the airport and say, “did you remember to bring my blue shorts?”  The last time I left him in charge of rounding up his toiletries before we left his sister’s house, he did as he was told, but unfortunately I did not add, “and put it in the car,” because he left it all there.  I am sure everyone could fend for themselves, but the Type A in me just knows I can do it all better and my theory has been proven right on more than one occasion. Anyways, I find the whole process so exhausting and usually by the time we hit the road, I am alternating between being a martyr for having to do it all and mad at all the other travelers with me for not realizing the sacrifices I have made to get us to this point.

 

In this case, we were headed to meet our grandson or I might have said the heck with it and stayed home.  My daughter lives in a very tiny house, but insisted we stay there with them.  Privacy is highly overrated when you are there and I feel a little like Dorothy trying to stay overnight at the Munchkin Mayor’s house in Oz when I am there.  In addition to our beautiful grandson, Megan has two French Bulldogs, Bonzai and Jazz, and two cats, Scooby and Rocky, or as I like to call them Please Stop Poking Me and Febreeze Isn’t Helping.  I am going to warn you at this point in the blog, if you love cats, please discontinue reading at this point.  In our small quarters, it was virtually impossible to get away from these cats and between Rocky meowing and leaping from chairs to beds and Scooby alternating licking himself to poking me with his head and paw to get me to pet him, I felt like I was going insane.  I starting yelling, “STOP LICKING! STOP MEOWING!” until all the other occupants of the world’s smallest place to live started mentioning that if they could just eliminate one thing from the confined space life would be better.  When I asked, “which cat is going….Rocky or Scooby?” they said they weren’t talking about a cat.  At that point, I usually picked up Archer because I knew nobody could hurt me or evict me if I was holding a baby. 

I swear Rocky was sneaking cabbage and beans when we were not looking because his trips to the litter box left me gagging.  I asked Megan if she had any potpourri I could stick up my nose or at least a couple of cinnamon sticks, but she said I was being dramatic and to try putting a plastic bag tightly over my face. It quickly became clear to me that years of living with this cat had killed her sense of smell. I slept with a can of odor eliminating spray because his bowels seemed most active when I was trying to nod off and as soon as I heard the litter being kicked around, I started spraying.  Once, I thought he had left the box, but he hadn’t, and exited rather quickly when I started spraying and hid for a while and all I could think was, “works for me.”  Every day, I thanked God I had two non-shedding dogs who knew to poop outside where animal poop belongs.

 

Megan and I have always had a bit of rivalry about who has the best dogs and we do not let a little thing like giving birth stand in the way of our competition.  Well, I am here to tell you the case has been closed and my dogs win the “Better Dogs” competition hands down.  Let me explain.  As often happens, when Grandma visits her grand dogs I decide when they turn their little smashed in faces up at me that they want to go for a walk.  Even though the two of them do not make up one Vern, I hate walking them alone.  They pull and by pull, I mean walking them should be one of the obstacles on American Ninja Warrior.  I swear their back legs are fully extended with each push and Popeye would need two cans of spinach to take these two on. In addition, if they see a person, place, or thing, they squeal like pigs.  I seriously had people doing double takes to make sure I wasn’t sticking their hindquarters with a pin as we walked.  Oh, and let’s not forget the humping.  They like to hump each other and nothing says I have no control over these dogs like having them squealing and humping on a walk. The only thing missing was a couple of dueling banjos and Ned Beatty to make me feel like I was in the middle of a scene from Deliverance. Megan told me I was dumb when I told her to get two more Frenchies and a cowboy costume for Archer and she could dress them for Halloween as the Village People. 

Towards the end of the week, I just started saying to people walking by that these were not my dogs. 

 

I love the Frenchies, but they are gassy little creatures.  Jazz likes to sleep under the covers burrowed against you and almost always, his head is facing towards your feet, which means the explosive part of him is facing your face.  The only difference between Carbon Monoxide and Frenchie gas is one is not odorless, but both can kill you. In addition, I sleep on my side and Jazz seemed to like to burrow into my chest and a couple of times when he repositioned himself I woke up thinking I was getting my annual mammogram and the technician had just said, “just one more squeeze and we are done.”  Fudge and Vern have been known to sleep on our bed, but I have never been awakened from a deep sleep thinking I somehow ended up head first in a pile of rotten eggs or my chest measurements were now going to have to be taken with a yardstick.

 

I was also warned not to start trouble with the dogs by talking baby talk to them, because they get too excited and A) it can cause more unwanted humping and B) it can cause them to snort and spray you with nose sprinkles. The only thing worse than actual nose sprinkles was when I accidentally gave myself a swirly at the Tillamook Cheese Factory when I bent over to pick something up off the floor when the automatic toilet flusher decided to flush.  Luckily, the toilet had already been flushed, so I am telling myself it was fairly clean water, but I did wash and Purell my face for about 15 minutes after it happened.  There is just something about those squished in faces though, that brings out the squeaky voice in me and I kept having to remind myself to be good so I wasn’t asked to leave and my grandson would only know me from a picture. 

 

All in all, we had a fantastic visit. Our grandson is such a love and we enjoyed being there with him.  The flights to and from were uneventful and on time, but the absolute best part of coming home was finding the winners of the My dogs are better than Megan’s contest waiting for me.

Winners!!

Losers! (but Grandma still loves them)

[Ricki and Tara (doodle)]

Great blog and wonderful photos, Laurie! It appears you and Archer are singing together in that third photo! So, so sweet! And your description of your walks with the Frenchies had me in stitches!

[F, Calla & Luca]

Boy sheila, you really know you know who.

[Sheila & Finnley]

Deep down I knew you would be doing a blog about sweet baby Archer. Why wouldn't you ? He is the biggest event of the Arnold-Vinh famlies 2014 timeline of big events !

Of course, as fate would have it, poor little guy had to share his coming out blog with two dogs. I guess he better get used to that, there will always be two dogs whose shadow he will walk in !

Loved the pictures, and the thought of you getting toilet sprinkled.

There are 3 French Bulldogs that live next door to me, so I knew exactly every little detail you described about Bonzai and Jazz. Especially the toxic odors they emit. To be fair to those cats, and what is going on in their litterbox, Frenchie's are just a stinky. Plus all that nose snorting, and blowing, making Bulldog spray.

 

I look forward to next weeks blog, about your "aquatic toe injury"

[Gail and Bailey]

Great blog and wonderful photos!!  Grandsons are the best and yours is certainly adorable!!

[Cyndi, The Boys & Callie]

Great blog, as usual.  Yours are one of the very few that I sit in my upstairs office and laugh out loud!   Archer is just adorable.  I have 3 favorites, his with Megan, the one right above when his eyes are so very bright and alert and the one of all of you.  Drew (my son) was my parents only grandchild and they lived in KY, us in Atlanta.  But they visited as often as they could and I had their pictures everywhere.  When they walked in the door, he acted like he saw them every day.  When he was 6, he started spending a week with them every summer.  The only rule was he had to be safe. Of course, he had an absolute blast.  My dad still tells the story of Drew skinny dipping in the pool feeling he was quite the man.   I think Drew was 9.  The point of all this rambling is Archer is gorgeous and even if you/John are not as close as you might like to be, he will grow up feeling you are right there!!  

[Lynda Kamrath]

All the way to Oregon? I hope you flew?  Your grandson is darling and I am sure you totally missed your dogs.  I have my nephew coming from Texas to stay with my dogs for one night while I am at a class reunion.  Not that I am anxious or anything.  Good to be home, isn't it.  Hugs to Vern and Fudge.

[Camilla and Darwin]

Aw, I love all of these pictures so much! Archer is so stinking cute and of course - so are the Frenchies!

[Karen, Jasper and Jackdoodle]

Love the pictures, Laurie! Archer is just so bright eyed and adorable! 

And there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that your dogs are better than Megan's. I've never been crazy about Frenchies (or any of the bulldog breeds) anyway, but after reading this blog, I'm thinking it would make a great cautionary tale for anyone considering getting a French Bulldog...or a cat, for that matter. LOL

[F, Calla & Luca]

Well I loved the toilet flusher part most. I believe there is a rule somewhere that what drops on the floor stays on the floor in public bathrooms. Archer is surely the winner of the award for alert and adorable. I bet his poop doesn't even smell : ) You're back and all is right with the world.

[Lonnie & Libby Lu]

Your pictures are just the best and Archer is adorable.  I like number six with his little arm over his chest! I'm sure Megan and Doc loved having Grandma and Grandpa with them at this special time.  Love this blog and totally get about being in small places! I can so relate to the part about cleaning before going on a trip. I become the MONSTER HOUSE CLEANER before we leave on a trip.  I don't even like myself, can't help it:)