Well, there she blows: this year’s Halloween invitation for what is - I’m sure - to be an incredibly spooky/horrifying party. Spooky cause Andrew and I now live across the street from a cemetery, and scary cause we’re in Uptown (brava Alderlady Schiller). And although the invitation doesn’t feature a scantily-clad Elvira straddling a pumpkin, I’m awfully pleased with how she turned out thanks to spending far too much time trying to decide which image to use and Andrew’s photoshop prowess.
After all was said and done, we decided that our little bat-friend here actually looks a lot like Oskar when he’s
And speaking of Oskar, I thought that adopting him would spur on my worst instincts and that I’d become some sort of mommy-blogger or doggie-blogger or whatever they’re calling it, but that’s simply not the case. In fact – as I’m sure my dearth of posts can attest – I’ve next to no time to write about Oskar’s every move. Owning a dog in the age of social networking/blogs/whathaveyou has made me realize one simple truth: Parents who blog are horrible parents. Although I suppose most mommy and daddy-bloggers don't actually hold down 9 to 5s. So congratulations… I’ll still be taking the El to work and looking for a dog-walker.
No wonder people are always preaching about the importance of a two parent household. Last weekend when Andrew was out of town I decided to take my civic-minded self to the first meeting of our street’s block club, and although I had reservations, I ended up having a good time and meeting some great people (vote for James Capplemen in 2011!).
The meeting was held outdoors and so I figured I’d bring Oskar since he’s much nicer than myself and he doesn’t bite strangers like I do. All was well until I was asked to sign a petition. Oskar is exuberant to say the least and so a kindly woman from down the block offered to hold his leash while I signed. I am possessive of Oskar’s personal space and he is completely unaware of it, but neighbor-lady seemed sane enough so I relented. JUST as a handed him over, the only kid at the meeting comes running up and asks if he can hold the leash. I was ready to drop everything and smash his childish dreams, but kind neighbor-lady intervened and told him that he had to be super-careful because Oskar is stronger than he looks and, oh yeah, the kid was only about twice as big as our nine-pound puppy.
To his credit, little neighbor-boy did a good job until he took Oskar away from the crowd and sat down on a curb with him. You see it’s Autumn, Oskar loves leaves, there were a bunch of them on the ground, and so he started rolling around. But then he REALLY started rolling around… like, rolling on his back and writhing on the concrete. I walked over and asked neighbor-boy what was up and was met with a painfully innocent, “I don’t know,” but when I turned Oskar over his entire backside, collar and leash were covered in shit. Upon realizing what happened neighbor-boy unceremoniously screamed, “EEWWW, that’s poopy!”
When I said my hasty goodbyes, our - hopefully - soon to be Alderman’s partner attempted to shake my hand, but I explained that I had to go home an wash my dog. So Oskar and I made our exit, both covered in shit at this point, and vowed never to let children or those with questionable bowel control near each other. I know the little boy didn’t actually take a dump on my puppy but this is, of course, the story I’ll be telling everyone.