Good morning, ladies. It’s a little after 7 a.m. here, everything is frost-colored. My phone says “It’s 25 and sunny.” They say it like it’s a positive thing and the only thing I’m positive about is that I’m not in Jamaica. Except I just looked at your weather and it’s looking like rain. Ha ha ha! I mean, um, I’m so sorry to hear that.

So I didn’t write yesterday like I teased because I went on a cleaning rampage that yielded over 15,000 steps (which is a good thing because a coworker started a step challenge for the weekend). The entire main floor of the house – carpets, floors, bathrooms, kitchen, master bedroom, clean sheets, dusting and windexing AND four loads of laundry. Fueled by a full pot of coffee, a day to myself, and three documentaries in my earbuds.

The dogs were remarkably good yesterday. No shit-eating. No pesting for treats. I should point out that they can’t pest a moving target, which is only good if one has a long list of things to do. Any sitting of the ass means I am available. Repeatedly. Which is how Shuggie has manipulated her way onto the new couch snuggling with me.

We’ve all heard the stories about Poodles and how smart they are. I have to admit that I was never really a dog person so I knew very little of breeds and personalities – only Bert the cocker spaniel, a stinky, epic adventurer who really deserves his own children’s book (lightbulb moment!) and, many years later, Rosco the golden retriever I rescued from an unknown fate who was the sweetest most bestest boy that the ex gave away in the early days of the divorce.

Then Todd and I got back together and that’s how I came to live with Pi and Sabra. Pi was wicked smart. She could open doors and once opened the drawer on my bedside table to extract a granola bar I’d stashed there. She might’ve pushed the drawer closed because it was only open a few inches when I discovered the empty wrapper on the floor next to the bed and was momentarily baffled on where it came from. Sabra was sweet and soft and demure, except when it came to swiping cat food and killing turtles and other small critters who made the unfortunate choice to enter our backyard.

I’ve written up their bios in the Cast of Characters tab, so this feels a bit redundant. However, Bee has become impressively passive aggressive. She will lie in Shuggie’s bed and Shuggie will all but lose her mind. And I mean Shuggie will pace around the bedroom – which is sorta loud because she is a fat-bottomed girl and her stride sounds more like sweeping the floor with her paws – until eventually the frustration erupts into high-pitched yelps. That’s our cue to get up and move Bee and yes, I cave to her and yes she is spoiled, if we want a peaceful night.

She will also attempt to lure Bee out of bed by pretending – I shit you not – to want to go outside. I will get up to let her out and Bee won’t follow because she knows the game and she aint giving up that bed. It’s insane.

Three nights ago I watched Bee jump up on Todd for pets and attention while Shuggie was going to town on a bone. Mind you, there are no less than FOUR bones for them to choose from, but Bee wanted THAT one. Shuggie threw a look over her shoulder at the scene on the couch and went back to chewing. Bee, the maniac that she is, jumped down and ran around like a squirrel on crack and then back to daddy. Shuggie got up to see what all the commotion was about and Bee slid right in and commandeered that bone. Victory! She does this with toys too – and once she gets the toy she will trot around the house with it so Shuggie can’t have it.

It’s like raising kids again, except these kids chew up underwear they steal from the laundry room (I am seriously baffled at how they obtained these three pairs since I kept the door closed all day yesterday and they were with me) and never wipe their feet after being outside. I complain about their restlessness some days but they really fill my life with joy (and stories) and they, along with my bonus kids, saved me over the last four years.

Speaking of bonus kids, Neph arrived last night literally minutes after I’d called it a day and had sat down here to scroll Pinterest. He brought two leftover slices of pizza with feta and banana peppers. OMG it was the topping combination I didn’t know I needed. Or, maybe, I was under the influence of vodka+cran and anything would’ve tasted good to me at that point. I’m still thinking about it though.

Do you know how satisfying it is to look around your house and see order and polish? I’m just praying it lasts through the weekend. Once Neph hits the kitchen with his Tik Tok recipes, it kinda looks a bit like a tornado came through.

Todd came out here when he got up, and says, “Tara, we have to talk about something.” All serious. And I’m like, shit. I’m trying to write and you have to talk to me now. Not annoyed, just wondering if I need to get dressed to go to the ER or something, because I can be a little dramatic sometimes.

“You sent the dogs in to wake me up but they have not been trained to bring me my coffee.”

I mean, it would probably make them as close to perfect as you can get, but Shuggie would drink it before it got to you and ask me how I know this.

Anyhoo, there was no imminent crisis except for, possibly, an underwear shortage, and so the conversation quickly turned to – do we have anything to do today? I love how he always defers to me on these things and yet when I say I don’t want to go to Costco he reminds me we are out of cheese and something else I can’t recall now. Fine, I say.

So after I am done here I will shower and we’ll go to Costco and battle the parking lot (remember I still harbor PTSD from shopping in KOP with mom) and the crowds and people who are so inconsiderate with their shopping carts you wonder how they even drive a car. And Neph will likely go with us and hopefully this time remember to grab a chicken before we exit the store.

I STILL have to make dog biscuits. I will look for some at Costco today, but I still want to make them. Today is International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day. I have all the ingredients I need plus cookie cutters shaped like bones in two sizes (thanks mom!) so I have no excuse. Side note for all you dirty sinners out there: bone-shaped cookie cutters can also be used to make penis cookies. Niecelet and I made some for Christmas and I planted one in the bottom of mom’s tin of apricot cookies. Oh, the wait was long but the yield was hilarious. To me, at least.

Now before I wrap up, I want to add some clarification to some of my brain droppings. I used asterisks on the previous post and forgot to add the follow-up. With respect to the anti-shit eating supplements – they no longer take them because they worked and the habit ceased to be a habit. The matchbox I referred to says “Volcano” on it with a cool picture and I texted that I need one (here is your 2^nd reminder). Nobody has matches with logo or anything else anymore. I still have a matchbook from Fager’s Island which is technically vintage now because I’ve had it since 1998.

As to today’s post, I am reminded that my Cast of Characters needs an update and that there are two people who need to be added. I will try to work on that later today, if Costco doesn’t kill me.

Miscellaneous

James Spratt, an Ohio electrician who traveled to England in 1860 to sell lightning rods, saw that dogs there were given something called “hardtack.” He came up with “Meat Fibrine Dog Cakes” created from meat, vegetables, and grain. Thirty-five years later they were being sold in America.

Carleton Ellis, an American inventor from Keene, New Hampshire created a use for “waste milk” in 1907 – a milk-based biscuit for dogs shaped like a bone. A year later they were being sold by New York-based F.H. Bennett Biscuit Company and called Malatoid. In 1915, the name was changed to Milk-Bone.

I’ve never heard of hardtack. Turns out it’s a cracker-type food made of flour, water, and salt first mass produced in the 1600s and was a common staple for Civil War soldiers. However, there is evidence it’s been around for 6000 years. It’s hard as a rock and could break teeth.