Do Pet Shops Sell Beer?

A couple of months ago, I came across these outfits and my brain's light bulb suddenly emitted a dim light and dull buzzing sound – professional photos of Luna and Emilia together would be brilliant!  (perhaps I failed to mention the low-wattage of said light bulb.)  I mean, seriously, how difficult could it be to get a 9-month old puppy, sporting clothing nonetheless, and 4-month old baby to sit perfectly still and look cute for the camera?  (This is a rhetorical question, right?) 

Needless to say, we’ve had trouble finding photographers willing to take pictures of babies and pets together.  (I couldn’t fathom why!)  Well luckily enough, the pet store down the street had a photographer come in a couple of weekends ago… professional background… the whole nine yards.  As predicted, Emilia was a perfect angel and months of plying Luna with an absurd amount of treats and praise after responding to a command paid off!  (That layer of sarcasm is finally dry, time for another coat.)

After strategically taking the first appointment following a 1.5 hour gap, we punctually show up with a well-fed, napping baby and a well-exercised dog.  (Man, we are so on top of things… *high five*)  Too good to be true, right?  Well we unsuspectingly walk in the pet store to find the photographer’s computer crashed and the 1.5 hour gap has now become obsolete. *commence ticking time bomb*  15 minutes becomes 30, 30 minutes becomes an hour. 

By this point, an exhausted Luna has found her second wind and taken on the role of bird pecking at shiny objects, while Emilia could be summed up with the phrase “the beast has arisen”.  So as Jeremy burns out his arms bouncing Emilia in the lead-weighted car seat carrier, I’m chasing a leashed Luna around the store after she conveniently finds the bulk bins of every dog treat in creation, clothes lining all those in her way.  But before the last remaining ounce of sanity could kick in and convince us to pack it in, it was finally our turn...    

Then clouds suddenly parted and angels began to sing, because Emilia was in a grand ol’ mood.  *cue the rustling of the canvas backdrop by a store employee*  Luna, on the other hand, was petrified by the sudden movement of the canvas backdrop and there was no amount of bacon-flavored shoe leather that was going to get her to sit anywhere near it.  So as Jeremy and I pull out every tactic imaginable to coax Luna into posing for a picture, Emilia is just sitting there smiling and cooing away.  Let me take a moment here to emphasize sitting, as in sitting up on her own for the first time ever.  Never mind the fact that she’s on a white canvas backdrop with a professional photographer, camera at the ready.  Consumed by the canine circus act, she was already mid-face plant before our synapses managed to connect at what was transpiring. 

A whopping three pictures, one tortured dog, and a "better them than us" audience later, it became obvious that this effort was futile.  In a moment of pity, the photographer offered to take photos of just the baby (sweet, we may be able to salvage this after all), yet just as we were setting her down *bleeeeh*, Emilia proceeded to spew all over herself and the photographer's canvas... 

Do pet shops sell beer?



Baby in dog bed, dog in clothes.

We've already started setting aside therapy funds.





I'm preventing Luna from running off

while Jeremy is ensuring the baby doesn't eat it when she does...

great family photo!

Dog and Dish

Having recently entered the realm of parenthood, Jeremy and I are routinely asked 'what we think of being new members of the parenting scene'.  Evidently parenthood unwittingly grants you membership to this club of solidarity, in which virtual strangers will stop you and ramble incessantly about the quality of pumps and pumping in the work place (I, and my therapy bill, only wish I were making this up).  I mean seriously?!? ...I don't even know your name and you're talking to me about breast pumps!  I teach spinning classes too, but random personal trainers don't come up to me and discuss their wicked case of athlete's foot.  Yet unbeknownst to me, this public display of unsolicited advice is completely acceptable, because supposedly I know the handshake and Pee-wee's secret word of the day... "mortification" (*cue loud screaming*)!  So as Jeremy and I, along with two of his male co-workers, stood there in utter disbelief at the one-sided conversation unfolding in front of us, I quickly realized that I needed to demand reimbursement of my membership dues.  Now if a parenthood club exists, which entitles an individual to empathetic nods upon looking down at your shirt while paying for coffee and realizing you have day old spit up crusted to the front (never mind the fact you haven't showered in three days), I'm totally game!

Truth of the matter, the bulk of the individuals we associate with are disgruntled PhD students, recovering disgruntled PhD students, and parents of the four-legged persuasion.  Now, before you go too hog wild here, I'm referring to dogs.  Case in point, last night was spent at a Dog and Dish party.

Dog and Dish Party [dawg n dish pahr-tee] -noun : an over-glorified potluck in which dog owners convene on an individual's home with their dog and a dish (savory or sweet), then take in the mayhem that results when roughly a dozen dogs play in a confined space. 

The latest Dog and Dish soiree took place at Tucker and Gatsby's house, aka Ann's house.  FYI - In the world of dog ownership, you always refer to the dog(s) first, the owner's name is always an after thought which is learned approximately six months after your dogs start playing together on a daily basis.  Or perhaps sooner with the assistance of an iPhone memo, in which the owner's name is once again jotted down after the name, make and model of the dog (i.e. Luna - rust-colored Vizsla puppy - Amanda and Jeremey... for good measure, you generally misspell the owner's name).  Time to put the A.D.D. in check, back to the Dog and Dish.

Bartleby crossing his legs, sitting back, and enjoying a cold one!

(extremities courtesy of Will)

Have a seat?!?  Well, don't mind if I do.

Let the wrestling match begin!!! 

Our child happens to love watching the dogs wrestle!  We think she has a little SE DC in her, but we may have to draw the line when she asks for a Michael Vick poster and attempts to start a dog wrestling ring in kindergarten.  But then again, it would probably eliminate us from the birthday party invite list and having to endure unruly children in large numbers hopped up on sugar and caffeine.  Score! 

Discussing our guilty doggy pleasures.

So unlike the clearly absurd discussions of the parenthood club, us dog owners debate which dog would taste better in the event we were forced to eat them, the awkwardness of getting a dog snout up the rear, and the guilty pleasure of picking up steaming hot turds on a cold day.

The Cardinal Rule Has Been Broken

Just as certain books were omitted from the Bible for various reasons, so too were particular commandments from The Ten Commandments.  Understandable.  After all, "The Fourteen Commandments" wouldn't have necessarily commanded the same respect nor had the same ring to it.  Besides, who would want to chisel more than ten of them into stone?  Talk about laborious.  Not to mention, limiting them to ten prevented children the world over from 'taking names in vain' as they toted those stone slabs home from school prior to the ubiquitous use of paper.  However, one of the original fourteen commandments should be reinstated.  In addition to "thou shall respect thy mother and father", should be the fundamental commandment "thou shall not poop in the tub whilst taking a bath with thy mother"... the Cardinal Rule has been broken.