" That one... when she looks at you, you can tell she's working things out."
--Robert Muldoon in Jurassic Park, describing the alpha Raptor.
Ava is truly the light of my life. I don't even remember how we occupied ourselves before we had her to entertain us. Some nights, we just turn the TV off and watch her amuse herself. She's a riot. She's always buzzing from one corner of the room to another, chattering to whatever she may be holding, the pat-pat-pat of her little feet going back and forth across the tile. Sometimes, she just stops mid-stride, changes direction, and runs toward us with arms open for a great big hug. She is always on the verge of giggling, always wanting to see one more thing and tell one more story before the day has to end.
We spend a lot of time and effort figuring out how to show Ava more of the world. A couple of Sunday mornings ago, we went to a Very Cool Nursery that is like visiting a jungle right in the middle of town. There are macaws and huge tortoises and bunnies and an incredible koi pond. She loved it. This past weekend we went to Tule Springs, which any longtime Las Vegan will know is an amazing oasis with lakes and birds and all sorts of nature. She loved it. And so now we're working on where we're going to take her next. The weather's cooling off a little, so it will be easier to do outside stuff, and she's old enough now (almost 20 months OMG) to really be interested in new places.
Seriously, I love this kid so much I don't even have words. People ask me how my weekend was, and I tell them what Ava did (like when I sneezed and she looked at me and said "Bess oo mama" and my heart just MELTED). All plans are made around naptime, mealtime, and bedtime, and we've become Those People Who Leave Early or Cancel Outright because Something is Up with the Kid. I get it now. I totally understand how a narcissistic (look it up--December is my birthday and Narcissus is my flower) lollygagger like me can suddenly become a total pushover for someone who is only just starting to use her words.
And she knows she's got us. She KNOWS that she's not supposed to stand up on the couch, and she'll do it anyway, and not only will she stand up, but she'll freaking DANCE on the couch while singing "la la la la la ashes ashes all fall down" with a big Aren't-I-So-Damn-Cute? smile on her face. Right now, she's in her crib, 45 minutes after "bedtime". Bathtime was 7:30, and then after she's in jammies, one of us will sit in the rocker in her room with her firmly ensconced in a lap, and we're holding Monkey, Elmo, Bear, Other Bear, and Blanket, and sometimes there's a song or two, and then it's Bedtime. Except for the last couple of nights, she's wanted to put everyone in the crib and then pull them back out and go sit back in the chair and then put them all back in the crib and then pull them back out and go sit in the chair ad infinitum. So we said "no, baby, it's time for bed" and then the howling commenced until she realized that we weren't going to play and the indignation about being imprisoned in her crib turned to anger at being ignored and this horrible banging sound happened, which turned out to be Elmo's plastic eyes hitting the rails of the crib.
Damn, she's so funny.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A Very Important Day.
Today, Ava went peepee in the potty. In recognition of this auspicious occasion, we present a (completely unrelated) video, in which Ava wants to put on her Boogie Shoes.
Little girl likes her disco.
Little girl likes her disco.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Where our responsibility lies
So last Sunday, my heart broke.
Pebbles was the sweetest dog in the world. She was perfect. She went outside when she needed to. She slept on the floor next to our bed. She was as contented as we were, but for one extremely significant exception: Pebbles did not like Ava.
On Saturday, they just kind of avoided each other. We chalked it up to new environment, unfamiliar surroundings, everybody getting used to everybody else, and so on. Sunday, Ava wanted to pet Pebbles, and Pebbles didn't like it. Pebbles bristled her fur, and curled up her lips into a scary snarl, and she growled a low warning. Her tail got still. We got Ava away as quickly as we could, and then we noticed that Pebbles was shaking. She was looking at us as if she knew what she had done was not OK, but she couldn't help it.
We can't help it either. We are responsible dog owners, sure, but we're responsible parents first. Some may say that we were foolish to bring a Rottweiler into a house with a child, as everybody knows that Rottweilers are aggressive and frequently vicious. I don't really buy into that--every dog has its stars and scapegoats. I've known sweeties of all breeds, and I'm not about to condemn a breed with a broad brush.
But this is my kid. I would reach into a bowl of spiders (shudder/cringe/gag) for Ava. And because of that, we could not keep Pebbles. The ladies at the Humane Society assured us that they understood, and that there was no judgment for our decision. Rob made it clear that the only issue was the one that was our dealbreaker, and now they will be able to give her to a family who is better suited for a lovely old girl like her. She's going to make someone a great pet and companion, I know. She's such a sweet girl, and she was so well taken care of, that I have faith that there is a happy ending in her future.
But my heart still broke.
Pebbles was the sweetest dog in the world. She was perfect. She went outside when she needed to. She slept on the floor next to our bed. She was as contented as we were, but for one extremely significant exception: Pebbles did not like Ava.
On Saturday, they just kind of avoided each other. We chalked it up to new environment, unfamiliar surroundings, everybody getting used to everybody else, and so on. Sunday, Ava wanted to pet Pebbles, and Pebbles didn't like it. Pebbles bristled her fur, and curled up her lips into a scary snarl, and she growled a low warning. Her tail got still. We got Ava away as quickly as we could, and then we noticed that Pebbles was shaking. She was looking at us as if she knew what she had done was not OK, but she couldn't help it.
We can't help it either. We are responsible dog owners, sure, but we're responsible parents first. Some may say that we were foolish to bring a Rottweiler into a house with a child, as everybody knows that Rottweilers are aggressive and frequently vicious. I don't really buy into that--every dog has its stars and scapegoats. I've known sweeties of all breeds, and I'm not about to condemn a breed with a broad brush.
But this is my kid. I would reach into a bowl of spiders (shudder/cringe/gag) for Ava. And because of that, we could not keep Pebbles. The ladies at the Humane Society assured us that they understood, and that there was no judgment for our decision. Rob made it clear that the only issue was the one that was our dealbreaker, and now they will be able to give her to a family who is better suited for a lovely old girl like her. She's going to make someone a great pet and companion, I know. She's such a sweet girl, and she was so well taken care of, that I have faith that there is a happy ending in her future.
But my heart still broke.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Insanity Ensues
So, it's become apparent that we are nuts (it's also nuts that we are parents, but that's another posting...).
It began just like any other Saturday. Breakfast in jammies, assessment of the day to come, and so on. We'll be needing to wash the Honda; that can be our pre-nap outing. While we're out, Rob said, "why don't we go to Petco so Ava can visit the kitties and the fish?" They evidently did this last weekend while I was swilling martinis in San Francisco with the girls, and it was a big hit. All right then.
Petco has adoption events on Saturdays. Just FYI.
So we look at the kittens, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves kittens. And then we look at the fishies, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves fishies. And then we go over to look at the parakeets and cockawhatevertheyares, and Ava gets all squealy etc. etc. etc.
And then I go into the dog grooming area where the Humane Society has two pens set up, one with big dogs and one with small dogs. I don't look at the small dogs (really, why would I?). But I walk over to the big dogs, and I start reading the flyers they have posted on the gate. There's a bassett/beagle mix, which doesn't tempt me because that equals "howls and digs". And there's a shepherd mix, who is cute, but.... eh.
And then there's this other dog hanging back a bit. She's got a friendly face and a wagging tail. And she looks at me.
And I'm a sucker. And I'm in tears. Because I'm a sucker.
I read her story. "Pebbles is an 8-year-old Rottweiler. She is housetrained, and prefers to be inside. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed. She is good with other dogs, cats, and kids. " And I'm a mess. So I wander over to Rob and Ava (over by the fishies...) and Rob sees me and he KNOWS that Something has Happened.
"There's this dog...," I say. "And she looks so sweet. Go see her."
So now we have a dog. Pebbles, the 8-year-old Rottweiler, to be specific.
She's very happy to be with us. She has had a bath and brushing, and lots of water. And some worming tablets (there was some scooting). She's very calm. She's getting used to being here. She was surrendered by her previous family just a week ago--it's likely that they are one of the thousands in town who have lost their home to foreclosure and were forced to give her up when they moved into an apartment or other non-dog-friendly sort of place. She seems like a very good girl.
Ava loves her. Oh, Ava loves doggies so much, and now we have one in our home. I don't think she remembers much about Gracie (oh, poor Gracie...), but whenever she sees a dog, she wants to pet it and touch it and love it. So she's figuring out how to handle having a big (and rather fat) dog to pet and love at her whim. There have been a couple of wrinkly lip almost-but-not-quite-snarls that were the result of Too Much Love and Not Enough Personal Space. We're keeping a very VERY close eye on Pebbles and Ava both. Without being too Dog Whispery, we are already an established pack, and it's important that Pebbles understand her place in it. We think she will.
She's got some habits that we can already tell we're going to have to help her break. She's used to people food, we think, as she was very.very.very.very. interested in everything we've eaten and she hasn't touched her kibble. That explains the 20 extra pounds she's carrying. She's definitely housetrained, and she even knows to go to the door when It's Time To Go Outside. She knows her name, and that's kind of a bummer, because we're not really the sort of people who would name a dog "Pebbles" but whatever. She can be Pebbles if she wants to. She'll lay down and come when we tell her to. That's really all we need.
Right now, she's asleep in the middle of the living room, and she's very snorty about it. The absolute comfort that can be identified from the snore of a happy dog is something that is wonderful to behold. And really, I hated not having a dog. It's only been 6 months since we lost Gracie, and it's been so quiet (and clean, but mostly quiet) without a dog at all. I feel like we did a really good thing today. We'll give her a good home, and in return, she'll be a good dog.
It began just like any other Saturday. Breakfast in jammies, assessment of the day to come, and so on. We'll be needing to wash the Honda; that can be our pre-nap outing. While we're out, Rob said, "why don't we go to Petco so Ava can visit the kitties and the fish?" They evidently did this last weekend while I was swilling martinis in San Francisco with the girls, and it was a big hit. All right then.
Petco has adoption events on Saturdays. Just FYI.
So we look at the kittens, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves kittens. And then we look at the fishies, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves fishies. And then we go over to look at the parakeets and cockawhatevertheyares, and Ava gets all squealy etc. etc. etc.
And then I go into the dog grooming area where the Humane Society has two pens set up, one with big dogs and one with small dogs. I don't look at the small dogs (really, why would I?). But I walk over to the big dogs, and I start reading the flyers they have posted on the gate. There's a bassett/beagle mix, which doesn't tempt me because that equals "howls and digs". And there's a shepherd mix, who is cute, but.... eh.
And then there's this other dog hanging back a bit. She's got a friendly face and a wagging tail. And she looks at me.
And I'm a sucker. And I'm in tears. Because I'm a sucker.
I read her story. "Pebbles is an 8-year-old Rottweiler. She is housetrained, and prefers to be inside. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed. She is good with other dogs, cats, and kids. " And I'm a mess. So I wander over to Rob and Ava (over by the fishies...) and Rob sees me and he KNOWS that Something has Happened.
"There's this dog...," I say. "And she looks so sweet. Go see her."
So now we have a dog. Pebbles, the 8-year-old Rottweiler, to be specific.
She's very happy to be with us. She has had a bath and brushing, and lots of water. And some worming tablets (there was some scooting). She's very calm. She's getting used to being here. She was surrendered by her previous family just a week ago--it's likely that they are one of the thousands in town who have lost their home to foreclosure and were forced to give her up when they moved into an apartment or other non-dog-friendly sort of place. She seems like a very good girl.
Ava loves her. Oh, Ava loves doggies so much, and now we have one in our home. I don't think she remembers much about Gracie (oh, poor Gracie...), but whenever she sees a dog, she wants to pet it and touch it and love it. So she's figuring out how to handle having a big (and rather fat) dog to pet and love at her whim. There have been a couple of wrinkly lip almost-but-not-quite-snarls that were the result of Too Much Love and Not Enough Personal Space. We're keeping a very VERY close eye on Pebbles and Ava both. Without being too Dog Whispery, we are already an established pack, and it's important that Pebbles understand her place in it. We think she will.
She's got some habits that we can already tell we're going to have to help her break. She's used to people food, we think, as she was very.very.very.very. interested in everything we've eaten and she hasn't touched her kibble. That explains the 20 extra pounds she's carrying. She's definitely housetrained, and she even knows to go to the door when It's Time To Go Outside. She knows her name, and that's kind of a bummer, because we're not really the sort of people who would name a dog "Pebbles" but whatever. She can be Pebbles if she wants to. She'll lay down and come when we tell her to. That's really all we need.
Right now, she's asleep in the middle of the living room, and she's very snorty about it. The absolute comfort that can be identified from the snore of a happy dog is something that is wonderful to behold. And really, I hated not having a dog. It's only been 6 months since we lost Gracie, and it's been so quiet (and clean, but mostly quiet) without a dog at all. I feel like we did a really good thing today. We'll give her a good home, and in return, she'll be a good dog.
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