Remember....I'm a professional...no really, I am...

So my moment of Terrible Dog Trainer Zen today:

Kate the Toller learned how to undo the latch on the gate...because she's ridiculously smart like that. She and her BFF, Chloe the border collie, come tumbling out. Chloe is a Good Girl, and immediately ran up to me and followed me back into the house. Kate is...well, her alignement is more Chaotic Good. She means well. She has a spectacular recall most of the time, and even a really pretty finish, but today did not fall into "most of the time". And besides, there were cats to chase. She ran under my truck and out the other side, gaining a nice black grime streak on her coat. Then she followed a cat under the horse trailer, where she spent a good 5 minutes taunting me. She streaked across the yard, barreled under the deck, and then finally ran under our garage building (there's a crawlspace there--probably full of huge spiders and snakes and whatever else). And there she stayed. 

I called to her sweetly, creeping over to the opening (did I mention the spiders the size of my head?). She poked her now dirty and cobweb covered head out and gave me a big laughing smile. I lunged for her (brilliant, I know...). She feinted, and retreated under the building. I offered food. She took it and darted back under. I called her names and sweetly told her (with some profanities mixed in) about all of the creative things I was going to do with a certain naughty toller once caught. She laughed at me. No really. She did. I asked for nose touches (figuring I could slip a lead around her as she nose-touched). She's smart. She nose-touched for the treat, but waaaay too fast for a catch. I made some inappropriate comments about her hypothetical parentage (Sorry, Kate's breeders Stacy and Til -I didn't mean them! I really do know she's not the hybrid spawn of a dingo and possibly satan. And I love her very very much! Usually!). I reminded myself that I AM A TRAINER and can blame no one but myself for this. I had an entire crisis of faith in the 15 minutes my dog remained under the building laughing at me. I pondered my life choices. I considered a career in accounting instead. (I would be horrible at accounting.)

Finally, I decided to make a show of giving up, thinking I would lure her out by feigning disinterest. She streaked out past me and back under the horse trailer. I stormed up onto the deck in disgust, and then, in a moment of inspiration, I called the cats. "Here kitty kitty!". They came running to the deck (at least Pavlov wasn't lost on them!), followed by a certain naughty toller, screaming in delight. I slammed the gate shut and caught her. 

So...I guess I need to work on recalls with distractions...also, I'd like to point out that Chloe is a very very VERY good girl. And Kate is getting another bath this week.  🤦‍♀️

Left: a very very very good girl--Chloe the Border Collie
Right:  possibly the illegitimate spawn of a dingo and satan--Kate the Toller

#notollerswerehurtinthemakingofthispost #foundaholeinmytraining

How we really maintain order in our household....

Ok, everyone, please take your seats.  Yes, yes, the couch is fine.  Or the floor.  Come on guys, settle down!  There are plenty of nylabones for everyone, but if you must chew, please chew quietly, and do NOT attempt to steal your neighbor's nylabone.  Again, there are plenty to go around...SETTLE DOWN PLEASE!!!

I would like to welcome everyone and thank you all for attending this quarterly household meeting.  As we have just concluded our third quarter of 2018, we have seen some changes.  We will try to get through this all quickly, but there is a fair bit to go over, so I appreciate your patience.  Poundcake, that is NOT your nylabone.  Yours is right in front of you.

Chloe, the new girl

We have a new member of the household.  Everyone, please meet Chloe.  Chloe is a border collie from....ok, now LOOK.  Do I NEED to remind everyone that we are an EEOC compliant household and we do NOT DISCRIMINATE based on breed, type, coat length, or AKC group?  Am I clear?  Ok, then.  Chloe is a border collie.  Until recently, she has been solely focused on AKC conformation.  She has achieved her championship title, and is here looking to grow in new directions.  She will be taking on rally and obedience for now.  She will also be introducing herding to our list of sports.  Let's all give her a warm welcome.  No, Chewie, not THAT warm a welcome.  We've talked about this....

Moving on!  It has come to management's attention that there is some discontent over the quantity of food found in your bowls in the evenings.  A few of you have become a tad bit heavier than is healthy, and your rations have been reduced accordingly.  You will still receive plenty of snacks and nylabones to chew on.  This is for your own good, and it is not up for discussion or debate.  Along those same lines, we have moved a few of you to a salmon diet.  You should already be seeing these changes reflected in your food bowls.  Please privately (and POLITELY) see management if you have any questions or concerns.  <...>  Yes, Kate?  Those are your supplements.  You are supposed to eat those, not stash them under the blanket in your crate.  I understand, but they are for your health. <....>  We will just have to continue this discussion after the meeting.

On Monday, October 29, we will be holding Feline Sensitivity Workshops to discuss the ongoing issues of feline harassment in the workplace.  Human Resources has received some complaints of inappropriate gestures, loud barking, "toller screaming", attempts to hump, and even a few very questionable text messages...Chewie......

Look, the cats provide an important service to the household.  Not only do they identify and (occasionally) dispatch pests, they also monitor the day to day household arrivals and departures, keep the squirrels in line, and monitor the activities of the rest of the neighborhood.  In addition, they provide tasteful footprint decor to the hood and windshield of any vehicle that enters our driveway.  Their hard work is deserving of our respect.

Please note that attendance of these workshops is mandatory.  There will be a sign up list in the main bathroom.

The fourth quarter meeting will be our traditional holiday party.  There will be a secret santa gift exchange.

One more thing:  the incidence of "accidents" inside the house has gone up.  I understand that we have experienced a few weather issues (tornadoes, hurricanes, etc), however, please continue to make an effort to keep our home as clean as possible.

Announcements

Guys, I'm going to read these as they are written, and in no particular order.

Popcorn, the House Goblin

Popcorn would like to request that the larger dogs please stop referring to her as the "House Goblin".  She is a Staffordshire Bull Terrier--a proud and noble breed that pre-dates the American Staffordshire Terrier, and surpasses them in intelligence, charisma, and....wait...who wrote this?  POPCORN.....




Ok, I am going to need to pre-read these, aren't I?

Cherry, American Staffordshire Terrier

Cherry will be hosting a meeting of the Politically Active and Hungry Canines (PAHC) tonight in the living room.  Discussion topics will include the decrease in dinner portion size across the board, coupled with the expectation that we perform at the same level.  If my dinner bowl gets any emptier, my heeling is going to start to lag.  I may need to...just...wander across the ring and sniff the floor instead..I'm just saying....






Ok, Cherry, I got it.  MOVING ON...

Kate the Duck Toller

Has anyone seen the latest BarkBox?  One of the stuffed squirrels is missing and....HEY WHO TORE UP MY BELOVED STUFFED GHOST SQUIRREL?!?!!  I BET IT WAS ONE OF THOSE...CATS....

(Kate, please calm down.  It was not a cat.)

I WILL BARK AT THEM!  BARK AT THEMMMM!






Right then!  That concludes this meeting.  Remember to sign up for a Feline Sensitivity Workshop!  Hello?!?!  I'm STILL TALKING!!!  Nevermind.  Dinner will be served in your crates in a few minutes.

Hurricanes...

It seems that we are finally at the end of Hurricane Michael, the Virginia edition.  When they suddenly started talking about this tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico becoming a hurricane and aiming for the Florida panhandle, we glanced at the news, but were otherwise detached from it.  I mean, this is Central Virginia.  Storms come here by way of Virginia Beach and Hampton Roads.  Then the storm suddenly because a Cat 4/5, and they were saying that it was going to hit us as a tropical storm.  Um, no.  Has anyone looked at the map?  Hurricane/Tropical Storms/Big Whirling Messes hit us from the Atlantic.  Then the weather people were all, "No really, pay attention!  Big wind!  Rain!  Hello?"  They weren't wrong.  Fortunately, we have not lost power (though it flickered a bunch of times) and all of our trees have so far opted to remain in the original (upright and rooted) positions.

It's not like Central Virginia doesn't do hurricanes.  We just like to leave the bulk of the heavy lifting in that department to the folks further east on 64 (sorry guys!  still love you!  seek shelter, m-kay?)  There was Isabel, which I did not get to experience due to a spectacularly timed trip to St Louis for our AmStaff National Specialty (which included a fair bit of time in the hotel room staring at the tv watching the local news spend about 2 minutes total discussing how Virginia was getting straight up hammered by Isabel--what a shame, and now for sports!).

And there was Hurricane Charley, which, my google-fu says occurred in 1986 (which seems about right--I would have been 11 years old).  My dad had taken a week off, and we were going to Chincoteague.  This was going to be my dream vacation, mainly because it involved a beach, ponies, and books that I had been obsessed with (Misty of Chincoteaque, of course!).  When they forecast the hurricane, my dad, an avid boater, licensed commercial captain, Coastie, and a generally fearless person, was not going to be deterred.  I seem to remember my mom not being nearly as excited about going to visit a coastal town during a hurricane, but we were assured that it wasn't going to be a big deal, and we were going.  We loaded into the White Whale, a 1980-something Mercury Grand Marquis with a massive V8 engine, power everything, and maroon pleather seats (this served as our family car--most of my early road trip memories involved the White Whale).  I remember the road and bridge leading INTO Chincoteague being oddly empty, but the road leading out...well....less so.  The bridge had a large flagpole, and on it flew two red flags with blacks squares on them.  Dad cheerfully informed me that 2 of those flags meant "hurricane".  I remember looking at those flags as we drove past.  Cool!

When we got to Chincoteague, it was a ghost town.  All of the tourists had cleared out.  Interestingly, though, none of the locals were gone.  This was heartening--they had probably seen a thing or two and they weren't too concerned.  We got dinner in a local restaurant.  We were the ONLY diners, which meant that the service was great!  We checked into our hotel, and they gave us a second floor room and advised us of the highest point in the parking lot that almost never floods, and we parked the White Whale, wished it luck, and went in for the night.  No one was too concerned for the car though--it was a beast, and would take more than a measly little hurricane to destroy it.

I don't remember much of the hurricane itself, other than it being very windy and rainy, but I do remember seeing a Coast Guard Cutter cruising the very flooded creek from our second floor balcony (the water had flooded to the level of first floor of the building and the power was out).  Remember, USCG Cutters are not small (65 ft or greater), and, from our balcony, we were at about the same level as the guys on the deck, which felt a little odd as it cruised past our hotel room, shining its lights into the windows.  I'm pretty sure Dad thought it was the coolest thing ever.  It was, in all honestly, pretty damned cool.

The next day, the storm was gone.  The sun came out.  We had all of the tourist stops to ourselves, including going to the Pony Farm and getting to see a still alive but very decrepit Stormy of Chincoteague do one of her many shows in which she drank a Coke from a can largely by herself (she needed a human to open the can).  And we got to see Misty!  Kinda.  Misty was dead, and had been for a fair bit of time, but nonetheless, we got to see her.  See, they stuffed Misty.  As in taxidermy.  I'm really not a fan of taxidermy.  I think it's creepy as hell.  But, if you are going to stuff your beloved pet (or other random critter), at least attempt to do it some justice.  Make it look life-like...or at least, make it vaguely resemble the animal that it originally was.  Don't...don't do this:

This makes me wonder if the taxidermist had ever even seen a horse in person.  Then they put her on display in a single wide trailer/museum with semi-functioning air conditioning (at least, I remember it was only semi-functioning that day).  This sticks out in my mind because my dad was making Musty of Chincoteague cracks for the remainder of the trip.  Actually, he still makes Musty cracks any time Chincoteague comes up in conversation.  It made an impression on all of us.

Anyhow, once Stormy passed on (oddly enough, not of laminitis, despite her multiple Coke-per-day habit), they couldn't resist having her stuffed too.  At least they went with a different taxidermist (at least, it looks like they did?  Still horrifying, but in new and different ways!).

Ok, I have really wandered off from the topic of hurricanes, but if you are curious, our power is still on (a few more flickers), the wind is still really blowing, and, to our knowledge, all of the trees on our property are still standing.  I'm going to bed, y'all.  

It's a sign...

We put a sign on the Porta Potty (which is still in the same spot in the ditch on the side of the road by my house).  I thought the neighborhood association would have said something by now, but they are eerily silent.  I have a theory on the potty, but no clue if I am at all correct in this.  For those that have asked, yes, I have called the phone number on the door of the potty, and there has been no answer (it goes directly to a generic answering machine).  But my theory is that the property that it is in front of (ie, across from mine) actually belongs to the next neighborhood over.  And they might be building a house on it.  I haven't seen any sign of them actually doing anything with the property, and there is no path through the woods that would lead someone to this potty, so I could be completely wrong here.  But there are surveying stakes that seem to delineate a piece of the woods there.  I'm wildly speculating here, folks.  But if it does belong to the property, which only backs up to our road, and they are building on it, there will eventually be workers using it (who presumably will get to hike through the woods and battle the spider webs, poison ivy, and whatever else, basically forging their own path to get to it).  Either way, I decided to start decorating it.  Surely this would get a response from the neighborhood association, right?  I mean, I have seen them slow down in their golf carts to look at it...

 So I waited by my email (ok, I didn't.  I'm way too busy for that, but I did frequently check my email, and that counts).  <<crickets>>   I think it needs more...something.  Did you know that you can purchase, from Amazon, for the bargain price of $7, a dummy security camera?  It's true!  It even comes with a little red led blinky light inside.


I totally bought one.  Did you expect any less?  I mean, I will definitely get at least $7 worth of entertainment out of this, especially if there are eventually workers materializing from the woods to use it.

The fake camera should arrive today, and I will probably wait until Friday (after the rain from Michael passes) to attach it.  If this still goes unnoticed, I think my next step is a trip to the Dollar Tree, where I hope I will find some of that autumn leaf garland stuff.  I'm open to suggestions!


UPDATE!  THEY MOVED IT! 

They didn't move it far.  It is now sitting a couple of feet back from the road, and looks like someone actually made a bit more of an effort to level it.  They also left the sign on it.

Also, it looks like they are, in fact, clearing the woods behind it (though any worker wishing to visit the potty will still have to walk through about 30 ft of forest).

We have indoor plumbing, tyvm!

As part of my effort to share with the 3 of you what randomness gets posted on my facebook, I feel like I really need to tell you about our new Porta-Potty!  It is the prettiest shade of turquoise and it was gifted to us by the gods?  neighbors?  who knows! at some point on Thursday.  I was not here for the arrival of our new turquoise throne because I was off being a responsible adult (I was spending the afternoon at my business with another dog trainer friend drinking wine and training our own dogs--we try to do this once a week, otherwise the only dogs we would ever train end up belonging to everyone else.  Also, it gives us a chance to catch up, vent, and did I mention that we drink wine?  I'm off topic here.) working really hard at my business.  But it was there when I got home.

We didn't ask for this new potty.  Our plumbing is in good working order, and, honestly, had we requested one of these, we probably would not have placed it at a somewhat disquieting angle sitting in a ditch.  It doesn't even look like anyone bothered to level it.  But here is the thing:  We live in a nice rural neighborhood on Lake Anna.  There are two kinds of houses on our road--million dollar lake-front houses with docks and tiki bars that look out over the water, and small ranchers that sit on wooded properties and do not actually touch the lake.  I am a dog trainer.  Before you guys get all excited and quit your day jobs to pursue your dreams of talking sense into the neighbor's aggressive chihuahua, please note that I am not a millionaire and I do not live in one of the fancy houses on the lake.  But...someone about forty years ago decided that this neighborhood needed a road association and a community dock.  This has morphed into a Property Owners Association (again, for the upkeep of the dock and roads), and, as of this summer, the wealthy homeowners are trying to convert our little POA into a full-fledged Northern Virginia style Home Owners Association, complete with neighborhood covenants and everything.  Obviously those of us that live in the small houses not directly on the lake have very little use for the wealthy retirees telling us what shrubs we can plant and how often our homes must get new siding.  There have been some spectacular neighborhood emails going back and forth.  One of the neighbors has obtained legal counsel.  The POA has also obtained legal counsel (which they paid for by essentially draining the treasury of the POA...I'll get to that later...maybe).  All of this culminated in the annual meeting and picnic, which was held at one of the million dollar homes, and involved lots of angry neighbors yelling at each other and accomplishing nothing.


All of this is to say that right now I am watching my email with glee, waiting for one of these folks to send a note to the neighborhood about the new outhouse parked along the road.  There is no missing it.  There is only one road into our neighborhood.  It's not particularly wide, and our new evacuation station has been parked just on the inside of a blind curve.  If one of these neighbors has an extra martini while celebrating the latest Trumpian tax breaks, they are going to come around that curve in their pretty little Mercedes SUV and plow straight into that thing.  When they invite their friends over for an evening of cocktails on the deck, they will have to tell them to "turn left after the outhouse".  This will not go over well.  Think of the property values, folks!  The property values!!!!!

As an aside, I did call the number on the front of the Porta-potty and left them several messages.  I assured them that we have indoor plumbing, that there is no construction that I can see around here, and that I was confused as to how we suddenly inherited this thing.  No one has called me back.  My mom suggested that perhaps it was stolen and dropped off there, but...who on earth would steal a Porta-Potty?!?  I have not been brave enough to open the door, but it is October in Virginia, and thus, still in the upper 80s/low 90s.  If you get within 10 feet of the Turdis (one of my friends suggested calling it that, and it is perfect), you can smell it (that magical Porta-Potty smell of other peoples' poop mixed with hardcore disinfectant).  If it's still there in November, I'm decorating it for the holidays.

Patriarchy Peens

Hey guys!  So a week or so ago, I posted a...well...um...pretty much a dick pic...on my facebook page.  Really, it's a picture of my RBG action figure (which is amazing, btw, and if you want your own, click here) shouting down 12 little ding ding squishies.  A couple of my friends asked me to make the post public so that they could share it.  I did.  And...it is still being shared.  Right now, I believe it has shared over 500 times, gotten about 1000 likes, and Facebook has stopped bothering to even notify me when someone comments on it.  I have gotten about 50 friend requests (btw, folks, I am sure you are all lovely people).

Here is the thing.  I am a private person.  I also own a small business in a conservative part of Virginia, and while I am sure that none of my clients would be at all shocked to know how I view the world, we don't discuss it.  But I also really like to write.  And these are crazy times right now, ya know?  So I put things on my facebook page (random musings about a variety of topics ranging from dog training, to life around here, to life with my husband, dogs, horses, and whatever happened to make me laugh that day).  It's mainly my for own therapy--it makes me laugh.  We need more laughter.  But people keep telling me to make stuff public, write a book (seriously?  how much free time do people think I have???), write a blog, etc.  They have been telling me to do this for YEARS.  Also, I like the idea of not having this stuff directly on my own private facebook (did I mention that I am also a private person?).  Anyhow, here is the deal.  When I find something that makes me laugh, and that I want to share with the crowd (<cough> 3? </cough>) of people that might be interested, I will post it here first.  Ok?  Ok.  But please try to remember that much of the stuff that percolates around within (and often escapes) my brain is inappropriate and mildly offensive (then again, if you are here because you found me via a friend of a friend of a friend that linked to my Patriarchy Peens Pic, well...make yourself right at home.  You belong here.).

Random facts about me in no particular order:  I am a cis white female.  I was raised in Virginia.  I drink sweet tea and bless peoples' hearts (always sarcastically, because honestly, have you ever heard that phrase used any other way?).  I don't like grits, not even covered with butter and syrup.  I own a bunch of dogs, mostly American Staffordshire Terriers, but also one Staffordshire Bull Terrier, one Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, and one Border Collie.  I compete with my dogs, mainly in conformation, obedience, rally, and barn hunt.  I train dogs professionally.  I also own two horses.  One is a very retired thoroughbred ex-racehorse.  He's not very bright, but he is very very sweet.  He spends his days roaming the pasture with the other geldings at the barn, spooking at random things (like deer, the other geldings, leaves, and the ledge that he has to step over to enter his stall).  The other is an Arabian.  He is kind of a dick, but I love him anyways.  He is in his own private paddock because he picks on every other gelding in the herd.  He is very smart, talented, can be very sweet (to humans...most of the time), and is absolutely beautiful.  He also knows when he's getting his picture taken, and he poses.  I'm not even kidding.  He practically duckfaces like Zoolander.  He is a handful. I adore him.  I am married to an amazing guy that puts up with my crap.  I have a grown up son that...also puts up with my crap.  Both dish it back in equal measure.  I love red wine, pumpkin spice lattes, and tacos.

Anyways, here is the post that started the whole Army of Peen thing:

So...I bought a thing. Well...a few things. Wine was involved. So was Amazon Prime. 

Ok, see, on Monday I faced Jabba the Hut in court. I was brave and awesome. It was very very stressful. I came home and celebrated by opening a lovely bottle of wine and settling in for an evening on the internets. As one does. I'm pretty sure that, had Princess Leia had access to Amazon Prime and a bottle of Coopers Norton Reserve, this is how she would have celebrated too (probably after throwing that uncomfortable brass bikini out the nearest airlock).

And in puttering around, I came across this little penis shaped stress toy. I believe one of my friends shared it with me a few months ago, and I was amused, and I put it on my wish list of oddities (note, if you ever find my Amazon wish list, please be aware that I don't actually WANT all of the things on it. It's just where I put things that amuse me.) And one thing led to another, and I purchased one. It was about $10, which is steep, but, well, penis shaped squishy stress balls are probably worth every bit of that. I did consider getting a couple of them (because I thought a few of my friends ALSO needed penis shaped stress ball toys), but I just ordered the little guy and called it a night.

On Wednesday, my Alexa started alerting me that Amazon had a package arriving today, including 1 pack of 12 squishy toys. And sure enough, what I purchased, and what arrived, for $10 was literally 12 penis shaped squishies. Folks, I now have an army of penises. penii? penis pluralus? A phallic force? A full richard of dicks?

However, our mail is delivered late in the afternoon, and on Wednesdays, I spend my evenings teaching puppies how to Puppy, and have an Intermediate class (teaching dogs how to dog). Needless to say, I did not have time to address the platoon of tiny peen on my counter. So I left them there, all individually wrapped in their penile glory, for my saint of a husband to find. He did not ask any questions. I love him very much. 

One now lives on my Echo speaker in the living room. I think the others will find homes amongst my unsuspecting (well, they WERE unsuspecting...I doubt they fit that description anymore) friends. And perhaps some relatives. Because really, who doesn't need an adorable little stress penis in their life?

Aaaand, here is the post/picture from a few days later that...keeps...growing...:

Remember those 12 little penis dudes that I accidentally bought last week? I was trying to think of something to do with them when my gaze fell across my beloved RBG action figure. And this happened. And I am quite pleased with it. #notoriousRBG #dingdings #smashthepatriarchy