Backstory.
When Scott and I were dating, back in the late 1800's, once things started to look serious my parents had a sit down discussion with him. You might think that this talk had to do with finances or faith or how to build a campfire...but NOOOOOOOOOO, these are MY parents.....and in the Mumford household where I grew up......we had many things that we valued but there were few things more important in the house of a Mumford than the pets that we owned.
So when Scott had the first "major" discussion with my parents about our future together it was to get his thoughts on owning animals.
Now keep in mind that my husband is from Iowa. They have animals in Iowa. Most of them are farm animals. Scott had a dog growing up...it was a Chihuahua named Tiny. The dog lived to be about 2 before it was accidentally eaten by other dogs in the neighborhood---probably to stop it from yapping. Scott's parents owned a horse at one point. In their backyard. Needless to say the horse would frequently escape. So they had to get rid of the horse. Scott's dad specializes in homing pigeons. They live in a cage outside. They're cool except for the part where they go to the bathroom a lot and carry disease and get eaten by hawks b/c they're too out of shape to fly from their pen back to their pen.
In other words, Scott grew up with some random pets---all of which were fairly disposable. NONE of which did he have a great affection for.
Now, for those of you who know me I LOVE ANIMALS. I passionately love animals. And with the exception of schooling outside my parents home, I have always owned animals.
This had to be discussed with Scott prior to my commitment for marriage to him. Scott said it would be okay to own two cats. TWO. CATS.
Okay I thought to myself. Thinking in the back of my mind, as all women do before they get married, "I'll be able to change his mind once we're married for awhile...."
Yeah. Because that works. Not.
Anyway, we now own two cats, one fish, two guinea pigs and one Whoodle. What is a Whoodle? A whoodle is a combination between a Wheaton Terrier and a Standard Poodle. We got Barnabas this summer...he is 6 months old and for the most part a fabulous puppy. BUT he is a puppy.
Needless to say, that while I have gone over the original set limit of "two cats".....with Scott's sorta blessing....Scott isn't impressed......and the conditions with which we got these animals was always under the guise of: "Okay..BUT YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM/IT...." said to me in a tone that made me realize that there would be no negotiations in the future on this subject.
Flash Forward:
Barnabas is very much a part of our family and he has "mental health challenges" being separated from us for any real length of time...(He can handle a few hours but more than a day and he gets sick). Sooooo, in preparing to come to Erie to visit my parents we realized that we would have to bring the "black bus" (as we call him sometimes) to my parents.
My parents live in a lovely home that they have redone over the course of many years. And they have white carpeting and white couches in their TV room.
White and children and white and a puppy are about the worst combination ON. THE. PLANET.
But, again, as is the Mumford way, there is more tolerance for puppy errors than there are for human errors.....so the puppy is more easily forgiven by his grandparents (aka my parents) than the human people who run under foot.
Did I mention that Barn is a 6 month old puppy?? P-U-P-P-Y.
The word Puppy in the original Aramaic means CHEW.
It also means BARK.
And it also means SMALL'ISH BLADDER.
(I actually don't speak Aramaic---but I'm thinking none of my readers do either---so let's just pretend ;-)
Last night my mom and I are playing games. I see Barn out of the corner of my eye chewing on something white. I think it's a bone. Mom and I keep playing games.
As we finish I actually look towards Barn and see that the white bone he's chewing on is actually one of my mom's shoes.
This isn't good.
NOT. AT. ALL.
b/c as much as the Mumford women love animals we ALSO LOVE SHOES.
As soon as we realize what Barn is chewing in my moms swoops down and picks up her shoe...squawking at Barnabas and telling him NO.
(He's only 6 months so his english is limited).
After pulling the shoe out of Barn's mouth, my mother realizes, TO HER tremendous relief, that the shoe is FINE.
Totally fine.
Slobbery, but fine.
BUT WAIT,
Shoes come in pairs.
She asks Barnabas: "WHERE IS THE OTHER SHOE????????"
Barnabas looks at her with his big brown eyes, winks and lays down.
My mother goes to the place where this pair of shoes originally started out.
By the door to the garage...in preparation for church this morning.
I stay behind....attempting to clean up from our game time.
Approximately 14.3 seconds after my mom left the game room and went to the spot where the shoes WERE I hear a very loud and somewhat screachy YELP.
I close my eyes....say a quick silent prayer and then ask:"Mom that didn't sound good, are you okay?"
3.7 seconds after the screach....my mom comes back into the game room. One white shoe in her hand and the other hand behind her back.
She proceeds to show me the white shoe that we had "saved" from Barn's mouth....again, it was in good shape....
"I ask, besides dog slobber, what's wrong?"
My mom then pulls her arm from behind her back and there, in her hand, is a white shoe that no longer resembles the other white shoe.
She then takes me by the hand and walks me into the dining room.
And there, all over her dining room rug are the remnants of her white shoe.
White sequins, white petals from the pretty flower that had been the centerpiece of the shoe....very delicately chewed...each petal....and placed lovingly all over the oriental rug that adorns the floor.
In those 5 seconds of looking at the damage and realizing that it was MY puppy that had done this....I actually thought my life was in danger. Then I thought, "No, my mom can't take MY life b/c she needs me to help pick out a nursing home someday.....BUT she CAN TAKE MY DOG'S LIFE...."
BUT I live with a very gracious mother and after the initial horror of the violated shoe passed....we both started laughing. Then we started laughing to the point where there was potentially some snorting and definitely some tears from laughing so hard.
Some things in life are just like that.......you either laugh or you cry.......and if you have the choice....the better part of valor is always to laugh ;-)
Especially when you can laugh at yourself.
God bless,
Elizabeth
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