Patti Soldavini

Archive for December 29th, 2011|Daily archive page

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Sister Act

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners on 12/29/2011 at 6:58 pm

If you think I’m just another biased dog owner who thinks their dog is the most beautiful, think again. I have genetic proof that Olive is a Supermodel. The photo you see above is of one of Olive’s sisters, “Watchpoint ‘n Camelot’s Reward,” (AKA “Gem”) who recently received the Best in Sweepstakes, Winner’s Bitch recognition. I am sure that Olive would have been up there had her reproductive organs not been plucked by the Hysterectomy Fairy. The names at the bottom of the caption are the names of Gem and Olive’s parents, “Stewie,” and “Lacey.” I liked the idea of Olive competing in dog shows and potentially winning acclaim, but when I thought about the reality of what it takes (time, money, travel, etc.), I decided I liked the idea a lot better. On some deep psychological level, I think I also decided that I didn’t want such a regimented life for Olive because I hate regimentation. Maybe not fair to Olive, but I don’t hear her complaining. I hear only the hmmm-humm rhythm of contentedness as she snores deeply while splayed out on the top of the couch. “MOVE OVER DING-DONG. I’M COLD. MAKE SOME ROOM FOR ME.”

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Dog Laundry

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 12/29/2011 at 6:29 pm

"HEY, my laundry's done."

Yesterday, as a friend of mine gets into my car she loudly inquires, “DID THE DOG SHIT IN HERE? IT STINKS.” This is a friend that I have known for the better part of my entire life so I behave as I have been conditioned to behave under circumstances that I have come to know much too well over 35 years. I roll my eyes and say “NO, THE DOG DID NOT SHIT IN HERE. AND SHE HAS A NAME. DON’T REFER TO OLIVE AS SOME GENERIC CUR.” And then I pile on the rhetorical. “I DON’T SMELL ANYTHING.” Privately, I’m thinking that it’s probably the seat cover in the back that needs to be cleaned. After all, that’s where Olive’s dirty feet first touch down after we leave the dog park each weekend. Why spoil the fun and mention this to my friend. I’ll just let her enjoy the aroma that has ignited her delicate olfactory sense. So today, I march through the house like a disgruntled, underpaid maid, collecting all of Olive’s winter wear, bed linens and towels. Don’t forget the stinking car seat cover, I remind myself as I casually sniff her parka and wonder, “WHY THE HELL DO ALL HER THINGS SMELL LIKE DAY-OLD LAMBCHOP?” I gag slightly as I pull my nose away from her expensive red wool sweater. How ironic that I love the taste of lamb but cannot stomach the smell of it cooking. It must be a weim thing. This is what I imagine, my tiny-furred pooch smells like when she sweats. Jesus, I better be careful when I’m out with her at night. If she smells like a lambchop to the coyotes that freakishly scream at the moon every night, I might as well just put Olive out on a platter. (Don’t worry Olive, Patti will always protect you from four-legged and two-legged boogeymen just like she protects you from yourself every waking minute of every day.) As Olive’s coat, sweater, car seat cover, towel and fleece blanket are drying, I have a  flashback to high school days; doing the laundry at home and accidently throwing my mother’s sweater in the dryer. She wasn’t too happy when she needed a magnifying glass to find it. It was so small, it would be a tight fit on a cabbage patch doll. Excuse me while I go retrieve Olive’s $40 red sweater from the dryer.

 

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