Did I Just What??

The other morning I got up to take Spot out to relieve himself. When I returned, a half sleeping Jack asked, “did you just poop?”

“Did I just poop?”, I asked, wondering if he had really just asked me that.

“Yeah, I want to know if YOU just pooped,” he replied, sarcastically. “No, I said, 'did he just poop?'.”

“Oh, yeah, he pooped. I didn’t, in case you were wondering, though.”

“I wasn’t and I’m still not, thanks.”

And This is How My Day Started....

I'm a snooze button gal. Every morning the alarm rings at 6:40 and I hit 'snooze' again and again until 7:00 or 7:10. Since Jack usually doesn't have to be up until 7:45 or so, he finds this somewhat annoying (no idea why). This morning, I actually got up after hitting snooze once because Spot was asking to go out anyway. I took him out and then decided to snooze on the couch for a few more minutes. I was joined by my darling cat, Kitty.

Now, I've shared my home with Kitty for 8 years, and with Spot for 5 and a half, so as you might imagine, I've had my fair share of gross or unappealing pet-related experiences (Spot just peed on the recycling last week, for example - indoors). But what happened this morning takes the cake. Kitty was walking all over me making sure I was petting her in just the right places when all of a sudden I smelled something that wasn't so pleasant. "(Sniff, sniff, sniff), what is that?", I asked myself. Then for some reason I decided to touch my face - I don't know why. It was simultaneously a good and bad decision. The bad part of the decision was that in touching my face I got cat poo on my hand. The good part is that I got cat poo OFF MY FACE. Kitty must not have cleaned up very well after dropping her last deuce, and somehow managed to leave the remnants of that last potty visit on my cheek. In a state of shock, I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the light and checked my face for more poop (I hope that is the only time I ever say those words). Seeing none, I washed the watery brown goo off my hand with an excess of soap. Then I did the same to my face - soap, soap, soap it up!

Given that Jack sometimes thinks my pets are difficult to deal with, part of me didn't want to tell him what had happened. But the bigger part of me - the part that had just gotten cat poop on her face and needed to tell someone - won. I ran upstairs, woke him up, and told him this story. Then, despite my many assurances that I had scrubbed my face excessively, he refused to kiss me goodbye. Rude, don't you think?!

His love is so conditional.

Help! It's a TICK ATTACK!

I know Jack is working on a post about his visit to Hickville, USA, but since he's a little slow at posting, I figured I'd humor you with a story about said visit.

As I mentioned, I grew up in the country. My hometown is 80 miles from a McDonald's, okay? I think we may be the only such community. And yes, I am using distance from a McDonald's as a measure for how rural a place is. In my case: very rural.

Well, as is often the case in the country, there is a decent amount of wildlife where I grew up. There are deer and moose and coyotes, all of which are beautiful and majestic creatures....and then there are the less majestic creatures, like wood ticks. They're pretty gross and I don't particularly enjoy them, but they're sort of a fact of life up there. Since Spot and his 2 doggy cousins were out and about exploring the countryside quite a bit, they were bound to get a tick or two. Or ten. Or thirty. So one afternoon Jack and I are lying in bed watching TV with Spot wedged between us. Jack is petting Spot absentmindedly and I'm nearly asleep when all of a sudden I get smacked on the arm:

"Honey, honey, wake up. WAKE UP. Is this a wood tick? IS IT?" (pointing at Spot's head)

Sleepily, I feel around on Spot's head and determine that yes, he has a wood tick. I pull the tick off and go to get rid of it. In the 30 seconds I'm gone, Jack has completely torn apart the bed, feeling all over for any sign of rogue ticks roaming around.

"Jack, ticks don't really like to attach themselves to lifeless sheet sets and comforters. They much prefer to be on a living being - like dogs or humans."

Immediately his shirt is off and he's running to the bathroom to get a look at his skin in the mirror. I follow him and he says "ARE THERE ANY ON MY BACK? LOOK! LOOK! ARE THERE? CHECK MY BAAAACK!"

Seeing none I say "no.....and are you okay?" Honestly, I was trying to control my laughter at this point. You would think he had just had a close encounter with a tiger or something.

"Well I don't want to get Lyme disease!! "

"You can't get Lyme disease just from seeing a tick, honey. They have to bite you, and then hold on for quite some time. I'm pretty sure you're going to make it there, tough guy."

We've been back for over a week and he was never actually bitten by a tick, but I wouldn't doubt it if he's still doing a pretty thorough check every night anyway. City boy.

Jill Quizzes Jack: Part I

(Q) If Jill could be any (non-human) animal, what would she be?

Jack's Answer: A dog. Specifically a Boston Terrier. If this were to happen, then Jill's unnatural love for her own Boston Terrier, Spot, would seem a little less weird. Emphasis on "little."

Jill's Response: Eww, you just made my love of my darling Spot into something dirty, not to mention illegal. And you're wrong anyway - I'd totally be a chimpanzee. That way my emotional outbursts and throwing of poop wouldn't be nearly as frowned upon as it is now.

(Q) If Jill could pick any one super power to have, what would it be?

Jack's Answer: The ability to clone people. (See next question for rationale.)

Jill's Response: Um, I don't even think that is a "super power" in the traditional sense of the phrase. Wouldn't someone with cloning ability be more of a "mad scientist" type, not someone with a super power? Your rationale better be good.

(Q) What's one thing about Jack that Jill would change if she could?

Jack's Answer: There's only one of him. If Jill could have her way, she'd surely clone another Jack or two.

Jill's Response: Seriously? THIS is what you think I would change about you, sweetie? I don't think you even answered the question. Making another Jack wouldn't really change anything about YOU, would it? It would just double the thing that I wanted to change in the first place, which is less than ideal if you think about it.

Let's Talk About POOP, Baby!

Jack and I will often walk Spot together in the evening right before bedtime. If the weather is nice, this can be a lovely ending to the night, and we dilly dally while Spot finds the place that is special enough to receive his waste. We chat, we stroll, and it’s all very nice. When the weather is NOT nice, as has been the case for the past 5-6 months, we are not quite as patient. In fact, we are downright impatient, and want Spot to hurry it up and go as fast as possible so that we can run back inside and be warm and comfortable again. Spot usually doesn’t care what we think, so he takes his sweet time either way.

The other night was one such evening, and it occurred to me that I have a habit of yelling strange things during my conversations with Jack when I want Spot to do his business:

“Jack, don’t forget that tomorrow we said we’d go to – SPOT, POOP ALREADY! - that happy hour with Katie and her husband, okay?”

“Yeah, I remember. That should be fun.”

“I think it will, yeah. – POOPY POOPY POOP, SPOTTY WOTT! – Also, we should think about what we want to do this – I SAID POOP – weekend. Any ideas?”

“Well, I was thinking we could maybe go on a bike ride at some point.”

“YOU ARE SO SLOW, JUST TAKE A CRAP – Ooh! Great idea. We should also – SERIOUSLY, GOOOOO POTTY! – grab a drink at that new bar downtown.”

The conversation doesn’t miss a beat, which I think might be odd. Like, if someone walked by and heard this and didn’t see the dog, they would think I was mental, right? Or maybe even if they did see the dog?

Anyway, this whole scenario gets even funnier when Jack and I are having a more serious conversation … you know, one that shouldn’t be littered with screams about fecal matter (as opposed to all the many conversations that should be). It sort of concerns me that Jack doesn’t even notice this happens. I mean, I had to point it out to him how strange it is. I guess he’s just getting used to how weird I am, and that’s probably good. I’ve been holding back the really weird stuff for when we got to this point, so I think it’s about time I can really let loose now…

Sometimes It's Just Better to Say Something

"Remember back when I used to think you grew dark chest hairs sometimes?"

Having just heard this for the very first time, I practically yelled at Jack: "You thought I what??"

"Well, you know how sometimes you'll hold Spot, and then you'll get some of his hairs stuck on your chest? I thought that was your own hair. Your chest pubes", he explained.

"You thought I was capable of growing man-hair on my boobs and you just kept that to yourself?"

Thinking this was funny now, he said, "I would have said something eventually...you know, when we got to be more comfortable with each other. But early on I thought it would hurt your feelings if I asked you to pluck your chest hair. I mean, what if you wanted it there, like you were proud of it? That would have been rude of me to ask."

"How many girls with hairy boobs have you dated?! I mean, this is just ridiculous! When would you have said something? I am embarrassed now that you thought I was all manly and you never said anything!"

"Well, finally I realized that sometimes the hair was there and then it would just disappear, so I figured out that it must have been Spot's. Don't worry, it wasn't THAT long that I thought you were masculine, honey."

"Oh, great. Just great."

Jill Knows Her A-B-Cs

Hola. Jack here. Normally my posts are rather light (i.e., stupid). But today’s is quite heavy: Jill has a serious problem, and I’m not sure how to help her.

What is Jill’s ailment, you ask? She can’t stop spelling words out loud.

It all started innocently enough. Jill’s dog can’t spell, you see. So when Jill wanted to slip something by Spot, she’d spell it out.

“After lunch, maybe we should take him to the p-a-r-k?”

Or, “since it’s 3:00 a.m. and snowing outside, I think it’s your turn to take him out for a w-a-l-k?”

Recently, however, there have been a couple of disturbing developments. First off, Jill is starting to think Spot has a bigger vocabulary than he does. I think Spot’s vocabulary consists of six words: treat, water, out, walk, park, and potty. Jill thinks Spot’s vocabulary consists of thousands of words, including m-e-d-i-c-a-t-i-o-n and g-r-i-l-l-e-d-t-e-m-p-e-h. And quite frankly I’m not the best speller, so it’s getting hard to keep up.

Secondly – and most disturbingly – Jill has started spelling words out loud even when Spot isn’t around. Last week the two of us were dining at a nice restaurant when Jill casually asked, “Will you give me a back rub tonight after I take Spot out for his w-a-l-k?” Concerned – and confused – I quickly checked under the table to see if Spot had in fact actually sneaked inside the restaurant without me noticing.

I wish I was making this up. But I’m not. Please help.

House Rules

I spend a decent amount of time over at Jack's place, so over the course of the past few months, I've gotten fairly comfortable there. He is nice enough to let me bring my dog, Spot, along anytime I come over, and he doesn't fuss about how the second we enter his place, Spot runs into the bedroom and makes himself at home right on Jack's pillow. Ok, he fusses a little bit, but not as much as he surely could.

Anyhoo, while I feel very welcome at Jack's, there are also a few things I've learned about him that were surprising at first. For starters, there are strict rules regarding the toilet paper:

1. Toilet paper must be positioned such that the user pulls sheets off from the top, sometimes referred to as "over", as opposed to "under". Should toilet paper be replaced in such a way that it does not comply to this standard, the replacer shall be promptly notified and must remedy the situation immediately.
   
2. Should a user need to replace a roll of toilet paper, there is a conveniently located roll near by in a place called "on deck". If the replacer uses the on deck roll to replace the original roll, that person is bound by law (under threat of severe punishment by Police Officer Jack) to additionally replace the "on deck" roll. Replacements for "on deck" rolls can be found in the hall linen closet.

And those are only the ones I've learned so far - there may very well be additional rules that have not yet been communicated to me. About TOILET PAPER.

Other rules I've picked up on include:

• If you make fun of the contents of Jack's fridge, you lose the privilege of consuming whatever might be in there.
  If Jack says he's going to cook for you HE DOES NOT WANT YOUR HELP AT ALL. Don't you dare try to help him chop vegetables or do anything even remotely helpful. Even if it takes what feels like an eternity, don't get any ideas - he will do it himself!
• Do not assume that just because Jack lives there, he wants to clean up after you.
• Do not get mascara stains on his bath towels. For some reason he did not like this the first 100 times I did it. I thought he'd get used to it, but he never did.
• Do not let Spot poop on the white carpet.
• Should Spot poop on the white carpet, don't say "meh, you have other stains anyway".

So I guess you could say he's pretty uptight. It's a good thing I'm so flexible and caring, because I've learned to accept these little quirks about him. He's had it easy by comparison - I hardly have any house rules. Spot has several, like "I get to go where ever I want when ever I want and feed me now and then take me out and then I want a biscuit and now let's take a nap and gimme some attention and rub my belly, and then TAKE ME ON ANOTHER WALK!" Easy, right?

If Jack Killed Spot...

Jack had a dog when he was growing up, but he's never had a pet as an adult. I've had a kitty of my own since I was 21, and have had my dog, Spot, for about 4 years now. He is one of the greatest joys in my life. He is like my baby, and I can't imagine my life without him.* I think the intensity of my feelings for Spot has at times been surprising to Jack (and basically everyone else), and perhaps difficult to understand, but Jack has been a great sport about letting Spot be a part of the time we spend together.

Recently, Jack even started taking the leash when we take Spot for a walk. On one of these occasions, he let Spot get a little too close to running out into traffic for my comfort level (my little baby isn't the brightest about cars - he thinks they look like big dogs and wants to go play with them, I think) (Spot, not Jack). Um, anyway, after I screamed something like "OHMYGOD he just got really close to running into traffic! You have to keep him closer to you!", Jack asked the following question:

Do you think you'd break up with me if I let your dog get hit by a car?

If you were responsible for the death of my beloved dog, yes, that would probably be a deal-breaker.

Even if it was a huge accident and I felt TERRIBLE?

Well, I'm just not sure I could get over that, and I think I'd harbor some resentment toward you even if I knew you felt bad. Just don't do it, and we'll be fine, okay?

I don't think he liked my answer. I also don't think he remembered my answer because a couple weeks later he asked if he could take Spot off the leash so that he could chase bunnies better. In downtown. On a patch of grass the size of my bedroom. IN DOWNTOWN. I said no, which is good because moments later Spot almost dragged Jack out into traffic chasing one of those bounding bunnies.

What do you think? Could you forgive your boyfriend/girlfriend if s/he let your dog** get smooshed like a bug?

Could you forgive your significant other?
	Yes
	Maybe--if s/he felt REALLY bad about it
	No way no how, hit the road, Jack!
Free polls from Pollhost.com

___________
* And no, I don't feel like a big loser for admitting that. Bite me.
** If you don't have a dog and/or don't like animals (i.e., you have no soul) (just kidding) (not really though), think of something else you love and use that for the example, please.

Drop It Like It's Hot

The other night, Jack took Spot out for his evening walk-slash-potty trip. When he came back in he said "Of course when I take him out he does a HUGE number 2!" I laughed because, well, poop is funny.

The next day, we were walking Spot together when my little doggy finds a nice patch of grass, squats, and drops a big one.

As I went to pick it up Jack goes, "Ewww, that is just like mine from last night!"

Shocked, I replied, "Did you just tell me about your poop?!?!" I wondered if we had somehow reached a new level of intimacy without my consent. I thought you had to be served papers or something if this kind of talk was going to start happening.

"HIS POOP THAT I PICKED UP LAST NIGHT", Jack retorted. "Why would I be describing my poop to you??"

Oh.

Well, he really should be more specific, shouldn't he?

You can imagine he had a hay day with that little misunderstanding.