Sunday, December 1, 2013

Yoo 573 - Thanksgiving

Let me tell you about our Thanksgiving, though this particular Thanksgiving might be more commonly referred to as "The Day That Roscoe Decided Our Tent Needed A Doggy Door".

It began several weeks before when neither of us secured boarding for Roscoe. I procrastinate, especially with things that cost money, and Greg can't plan more than a couple days in advance. So Thanksgiving morning we both awoke with a few problems to solve before driving down to Houston and Greg's family dinner.

Problem 1:  There's a cat in our bathroom. It can't stay there alone for days and it also can't be in the same vehicle as dork dog. He would eat it or kill us all trying.

Problem 2:  No one loves Roscoe. I mostly kid, but no one wants to spend Thanksgiving fending off a dog from their food. Or worrying about a strange dog eating their walls and chewing on their socks. Roscoe would ruin Thanksgiving unless he wasn't there or had constant human adult supervision.

Problem 3: We still hadn't baked the pumpkin pies.

Not exactly show-stoppers but definitely hurdles. I gathered an armful of pillows and blankets to head downstairs and continue my procrastination in front of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade broadcast. Shortly after I came up with my solution.

Teagan's Solution:  I stay home and watch the dog AND the cat. I'll bake the pies and then send Greg off to Houston with one of them while I keep the other and settle in for a quiet Thanksgiving, watching the National Dog Show with Roscoe, eating pumpkin pie, and planning my Christmas shopping.

It sounded absolutely blissful to me. Greg vehemently opposed it. His solution required much more effort.

Greg's Solution:  He begs his cousin to watch the cat. We bake the pumpkin pies and then load up the car with EVERYTHING and our tent and head down to Houston together. We'll just keep Roscoe in the backyard the whole time and then sleep back there with him at night.

His plan had several fatal flaws, the most piercing of them being "we'll just keep Roscoe in the backyard". Roscoe is a really good dog except in situations where he's a really bad dog. Those situations include him being present in any and all environments where he feels he could potentially be left abandoned, he feels he is being excluded from fun, and places that include new and unfamiliar stimuli. Unfortunately this would encompass and include all of those.

I knew it was a horrible idea and I told him exactly what would happen but he was understandably blinded by pure resolve to spend Thanksgiving with his family AND his wife so I took the laissez faire approach and just went with it.

The 4-hour drive there was the apex of our holiday. The sun was shining, caffeine was surging thru my system, Greg was letting me sing-along to all of the songs, traffic was minimal, and Roscoe was passed out in the back.

Then we arrived and the stock market crashed.

A summary of the next several hours: Roscoe went crazy in the backyard. There was a squirrel and he never forgot about it. He barked loudly and inconsolably all thru the prayer and dinner. Then he did this thing where each bark trailed off into a whiny wolf-howl punctuated by 10 interchanging accents and fermatas. He tackled our nephew to the ground when he tried to sneak him some turkey. Twice. I sat outside with him in the freezing cold for over an hour attempting to calm him down. He scratched incessantly at the door when I left to thaw my fingers. The saddest, furrowed brow was ceaselessly etched on his puppy face. It was constant chaos and crying.

At one point, the bubbly, blonde-haired toddler of a family friend was standing at the back window watching Roscoe and, clear as day, proclaimed "What the fudge??" except she didn't say fudge. It was hilarious for everyone but the girl's parents. They were mortified and played the "where did she learn that??" game.

Still, ignoring all of these warning signs, we continued with our plan and set up the tent just before dark.

Roscoe continued with his plan to be uncontrollable...and destructive.

After the tent got set up and shortly before we made the decision to pack up and head home, Greg came to me, grim-faced and sullen.

"Roscoe ripped a hole in the tent."

My attention immediately snapped from amazon and some early shopping but with enough time to turn on the filter that lies between what you want to say and what you actually say. "Well is it a big hole?"

"It was big enough for him to crawl in..."

And it was. We technically have 3 doggy doors in our tent now. One entering the vestibule. One entering the mesh. And one finally entering the tent. Our dog is awesome. Basically I have a really fun repair project waiting for my attention.

So we threw in the towel, but not before grabbing leftovers. In hindsight, I would have taken the extra 5 minutes and brought along The Crate De Roscoe. He feels a lot more secure in it and also it would have solved all of our problems and afforded us a pleasant weekend with family.

Hindsight is so ill-timed.

It wasn't the Thanksgiving we would have dreamed of, but it was a story.

** Also of note, the kitten escaped when we took it our for some fresh air. We chased it for a solid 20 and then gave up. Whatever. It made it's choice. We set out some food and I'm hoping I don't see it lying dead somewhere ever.

Have a great day :-)

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