Dog-saster Stories: Part 1 (I hope there's only 1)

So it was brought to my attention that when I introduced you to Cash, I didn't tell you about one of his character flaws.  In my frenzy to tell you all about his nicknames and how much he loves his mama, I totally spaced on telling you:  Cash likes to eat.  Cash likes to eat everything.  Cheese, turkey, hamburgers.  Another thing I forgot to mention:  Cash likes to shred paper.  Magazines, printer paper, he doesn't care.

Put those two things together and you've got a story on your hands, people.

Late this summer my parents and brother were up from Little Rock.  Everyone, including my sister, was staying at our house for the weekend.  We went to dinner at Herman's, a really cool locally-owned steak place here.  I'd be remiss if I didn't let you know that my mom actually took care of the original owner, Herman (obviously) during one of her college professions as a nursing home worker.  But I digress.

Herman's was fantastic, and after being gone about 90 minutes, we came home.  When we walked in, I noticed a lot of paper on the floor.  Then I noticed that they were tampon applicators and wrappers.  I laughed.  My sister must have left a box in plain sight in her luggage and Cash, of course, sought it out and ripped it up.  As I began to pick up the wrappers and applicators, laughing with everyone (there were seriously a lot of them), I had a revelation.  Something was amiss.

The tampons themselves.

My heart fell.  My mouth got dry.  This was not that funny anymore.  Perhaps he had hidden them somewhere?  He can be a little OCD, maybe he stacked them all up in a pile?  While I had my mini-freak out, Ryan grabbed the leash and the dog and jumped in the car.  I hopped in too and we didn't talk the entire way to the emergency vet, about 7 miles away in Springdale.

I called ahead to let them know we were coming.

"Yes ma'am, this is Lauren Lowe.  My boxer Cash ate about a half a box of tampons, so I'm on my way in.  Tampons.  Yes.  Yeah, like, tampons.  Uh huh.  Half a box.  Really.  Yes, half a box.  No he didn't just eat a tampon box.  I mean like the tampons themselves.  Yes, I'm serious.  Thank you."

 So in we came.  The receptionist politely asked a lot of questions.  When did he eat them?  How long has he been alone?  How many do you think he ate?  What materials were eaten?  The last question stopped me short.  I began to realize that Cash had literally stripped open each tampon, removed it from the applicator, and then eaten the cotton.  How freaking weird is that?  I don't think the receptionist believed me.

They took him back and I ran to the restroom and grabbed a cup of coffee.  As I was walking back into the exam room, the vet was telling Ryan, who was white as a sheet, "Yes, the reason we are concerned is because, well, I don't know if you know this or not, but tampons swell when wet.  So that could cause a blockage..."  Ryan looked at me with murder in his eyes.  I'd left him alone to talk tampons with someone.

About 45 minutes later, the vet came back in.  "Well, Cash threw up 15 tampons.  No applicators, no wrappers.  Just 15 tampons.  He should be good to go.  We can't guarantee you won't find a 16th one out in the yard, but he should be fine now."

So $200 later, we left.  $200 and an entire Saturday night gone for a dog who pops tampons like they are candy.

But look at that face:

This may be hard to believe, but I can't do it all

I know I make this look easy.  Fabulous job, gorgeous family, healthy social life, amazing fashion, impeccable decorating...do I really need to go on?  But even the obviously perfect need a little assistance sometimes.

As I'm sure you've picked up, we have a little bit of a farm at Chateau Lowe.  Apparently, we love pets and we don't know when to say no (Read:  Apparently, Lauren loves pets and Ryan doesn't know when to say no.)  Unfortunately, we also are obsessed with keeping a super clean and highly organized house and we get frustrated when we can't attain a level of clean to our standards.  Frustrated as in cry, scream, and throw things.

So, after much discussion, debate, budgeting (ugh...another post), and just a smidge of arguing, we decided to get a professional house cleaner.

Johnna came highly recommended from our longtime hair stylist.  I think Ryan was sold when she revealed that she has an Italian Mastiff.  Joy.  First of all, we need someone who can come into the house with our two bigger dogs and not require us to take them to doggie daycare for a day.  A second of all, trust me.  We need the kind of woman in here who understands the mess these mastiff-y dogs can make.  No amount of slobber or hair can deter this chick.

Johnna came today to clean the entire house from top to bottom.  She cleaned light fixtures, blinds, showers, floors, moved furniture, dusted, unloaded the dishwasher, and washed and folded our clothes.  When we got home from Alli's dance class at 7:45 after working all day, something strange happened.  I realized I had absolutely nothing to do.  So now it's 9:30 and I think I'm going to go to bed happy and at peace.  Because the blinds, after 3 years, are finally really dusted.

I swear, I've already decided a home cleaning service is like a must-have monthly expense.  It's as important as electricity and gas.  Only slightly less important than cable and shoes.  What is better than a person coming twice a month with the sole intent of scrubbing your house from top to bottom?  It's like my own personal nirvana.

Meet the Pets: The Cash Edition

It's that time again!  No, not time for your favorite self-loathing posts - it's Meet the Pets!!  Since you already know about Ginger and Lola, let's continue our chronological progression and introduce you to James Cash Lowe!

Cash trying to steal the leash

We acquired Cash on February 14, 2007.  At the time, he became our fifth (yes, fifth) pet.  We had two wonderful dogs who you will one day hear about named McGwire and Callie.  So Cash was dog #3 and pet #5 at Casa de Lowe when he came on board.

Let me tell you, for Cash and I, it was love at first sight.  Ryan surprised me and drove me to Bentonville (which seemed like a really long drive at the time).  We walked into a house where there were 3 adorable boxer puppies.  Cash promptly walked up to me and curled up in a ball to sleep on my feet.  He also happened to be the spitting image of one of the boxers I had growing up named Amos.  So we scooped him up and took home.  On the way, Ryan decided to name him Cash after his favorite singer Johnny Cash.  I was in charge of his registered name, which became Two Lowes Famous Walk the Line.  "Two Lowes Famous" is in reference to us and mirrors my parents when they named their boxer "Two Ways Famous James Amos."  And then "Walk the Line" for, of course, Johnny Cash's song by the same name.

He always has loved to curl up

Much like Lola, Cash is quite attached to me.  He follows me around the house, sleeps next to me all the time, and comes when I call him no matter who else is calling him/feeding him/snuggling with him.  I cannot help that animals naturally flock to me.  I'm like Ace Ventura or something.

Through his nearly four years in our home, Cash has aquired more nicknames than any other pet.  I'm not sure if "Cash" is easiest to play off of, or if we say his name more than any of the rest of them, but I'll do my best to list them for you and give you some frame of reference for them:

1. Cash Bash (rhyme)
2. Cashman the Trashman (because he used to, and still does sometimes, tear things up)
3. CC  (for Cassius Clay, a boxer)
4. CC Deville (developed from #3, guitarist for Poison)
5. Cashtastic (sounds cool)
6. James Cash (my boxer growing up was James Amos)
7. JC (short for James Cash)
8. JCC (James Cassius Clay)
9. Cashie (because he's so cute)
10. Cash Money (because that's how we paid for him)
11. Cash Money Millionaire (because I'm that hood)
12. Bubba (because he's Landry's big bubba)
13. Cashtabular (I don't know)

I stopped.  I have more.  

Cash has been a great dog.  Unlike his brother, he is easy to shame.  He ducks his head and makes a sad face when he gets in trouble.  He also wiggles his body almost in half when we walk in the door because he's so excited to see us.  Ryan can even make him talk when he's all wiggly - it sounds like "a-roo-roo-roo."  I'm trying to get him to say "mama."

Cash is also a bit of an athlete.  When it's cool, he runs with us.  He's also an excellent jumper.  We call him our little reindeer.  And he hates being dressed up.

I will post this one and spare him the bumble bee picture

And there you have it.  Yet another Meet the Pets is drawing to a close.  Get excited - the final is coming up.  If you liked Lola and Cash, but loved Ginger...you're really going to love Landry.

What's Yo Fantasy

Obsession time.  No, no.  Settle down.  This isn't one of those posts.  This is about fantasy football.

I was asked to join a  fantasy football team at work.  Initially I scoffed at the idea.  I am a Cowboys fan.  Seriously.  Big time.  I have no time or interest in creating a roster of random people and then watching them week in and week out.   And I have no interest in rooting against the Cowboys in the event that I play members of their team.  And remember?  We Lowes are busy during football season. 

 And then, I realized that Ryan could actually manage the team and I could trash talk.  I do love me some trash talk.  So I agreed.  And then, draft day commenced.  I was unable to attend draft night but I sent Ryan with some very specific instructions:

1. Get every Cowboy you can.  Specifically:  Miles Austin, Dez Bryant, and the defense.  My favorite current Cowboy, DeMarcus Ware, is an OLB.
2. Under no circumstances should you obtain Michael Vick.  He is a dog murderer and an Eagle.  We have completely different principles.
3. Under no circumstances should you obtain Donovan McNabb.  Anyone who in good conscience can be a Redskin and an Eagle in the same career has no business being associated with me.  I cannot possibly wish this man well.  
4. In fact, let's avoid all Redskins and Eagles.

Ryan did a great job.  No Vick, no McNabb.  He got Romo and Bryant.  We've done all right - had some heartbreaking losses from Week 1 where we scored the second highest points in the league and lost to the guy with first highest.  And then last week when I benched Devin Hester and he had his best game so far.

We decided to work on revamping ourselves a little this week, so we entertained some trades.  My criteria for a trade:  Does he wear a blue and silver star every Sunday?  No?  Then he has no business joining my team.  Ryan tried to reason with me: "It's supposed to be a dream team!  You are supposed to have the best of the best across the league!"  Me:  "How is that no exactly what  I'm saying?"  Ryan:  "You can't have a team full of Cowboys!"  Me:  "Jerry Jones does."

There's no reasoning with me on this.  Week in and week out  I stomp around cursing the non-Cowboys on my team and act like I'm Cameron Diaz in Any Given Sunday.

She's such a bitch in the movie, I love it!

So, fantasy football?  Yes please!  But I'll only like you if you represent.

 

GO BOYS!

Get me off the couch

It's one of our rare weekends off this fall - our Hogs are off this week (and so are our Dallas Cowboys).  I should be leaping at the opportunity to get some projects done - painting the hallway, thrifty shopping, budgeting (blah), or reorganizing.  Or, since it's 70 and sunny, I should be outside, playing kickball with Alli or getting my run in.

Instead, I am laying on the couch.  Watching completely meaningless football.  I don't generally think SEC football is meaningless, but this is Kentucky @ Ole Miss.  Totally worthless.  And here I am, just watching.

So I thought, I'll be as productive as possible from the couch.  I'll blog!  But I am too lazy to even pick a topic to blog about.  So I just started a rambling post.  And now I'm tired of  it.  Maybe I'll get up soon and give myself something to blog about.  Maybe not.  Stay tuned.