Can anyone provide me answers to the following questions:
Why does the dog have to poop in the yard 3 minutes after I have cleaned up all the poop piles?
What do you do with a brillo scrubber once you have used it once and it is there all damp and threatening to get rusty? Is this a one-use item?
What do you say to strangers who want to give you stupid advice about your dog (or child)?
You know there's a story about the last one, don't you?
Goldie and I got in the Subaru Forester of LoveTM to go to the bank and then the beach. Sunroof open. Sunroof is about 18 square feet of open space (huge!!) but leaves the dog in the shade.
Parked at the bank for 30 seconds, filling out deposit slip.
"Excuse me" I hear someone say in a kind of peevish tone.
Oh, crap. This is the bank where lots of vagrants hang around the bushes. I look up at a nervous looking red-haired woman.
"Can you roll down your window so you can hear me?" she says, looking mad.
Dude. No. I am not in the habit of opening my car window for random parking lot women.
"I can hear you through the sunroof," I said.
"I'm a veterinarian and your dog is going into heatstroke. He is shaking and panting. It is very important that you give him some air."
Me: blank, hateful look.
"You REALLY NEED to give him some air if you care about him."
Me: blank, hateful look.
Normally I'm a lot kinder and more engaged. It's not that I don't appreciate the concern. Well, yeah, it is - I don't. And I especially don't appreciate the tone. And I didn't think she was a veterinarian or she wouldn't be making random, blanket statement every time saw a dog sitting in the back of the car panting after 5 minutes in the car on a 63 degree day with a huge sunroof open.
Goldie trembles. In the car. That's what she does. I have spoken to her about it and she will not stop. Going in the car sets off her trembling device and there is no way to short-circuit that.
And she pants. She pants about 80 percent of the time in the car - day, night, raining, freezing, whatever. The car is an exciting place for my girl. But when she goes by the beach where we walk almost every day, she pants like a divorcee on a date with George Clooney. Ok, maybe not that much. But a lot.
The upshot? The check got deposited. Goldie got her walk by the beach. And I talked to the stupid red-haired woman in my head all the way out to the point and back.
Update: I forgot that I should have simply pulled out my Air Book and written her advice down. Silly me.