single mom

Sunday Funday?

There are a handful of things I really love in the world: my family, my dog and good coffee are at the top of this list. I have been excited to share this post for the past four hours – yep, four hours. I just wanted to go back to sleep first. I haven’t had excitement like this on a Sunday morning since I was in university.

Daisy is a one-year-old Beagle. She’s got big floppy ears, double dew claws and freckles on her legs and belly. I fell in love with her the minute I laid eyes on her, and so I handed over a good chunk of change to the breeder, wrapped her up in my arms and took her home to be our family pet. Finley absolutely adores her, and she him. All-in-all, she’s a super dog. She only has one flaw: She is afraid of everything.

Neither one looks particularly bright, but Daisy is the one eyeing the camera. She was probably afraid.

I’ve mentioned before that she thinks her shadow – we can now add reflection to this one – is an entirely different entity, she’s terrified of her own bark (and has only barked  twice in her life), and today I learned, she is going to be totally useless if something should go bump in the night. Some protector – this is where that dog shaming site comes into play, isn’t it?

My brother, aka Uncle D, is one of my favourite people in the world. He is funny, clumbsy and even though he makes a lot of stupid decisions and statements, he has the biggest heart ever. Really. He works in road construction, and so every morning I wake up and grumble at the fact I have to listen to my dad wake him up – yay, staying with my parents until school starts. This morning, however, I couldn’t stop laughing.

The noisemaker, himself.
 

Before F was even a thought, I “rescued” a kitten. It was sick, and the veterinary office didn’t even want me to bring it in incase it was contagious, and then quoted me a ridiculous amount of money to save it. I’m stubborn (and I was not paying that kind of money), so I bought baby formula and fed that to the kitten. That kitten now weighs some 20 pounds and is the most annoying animal ever. Rodney – affectionately named after the Premier of Nova Scotia at the time – is not the brightest creature to ever grace the planet. He is obsessed with food. OBSESSED. He’s also a real liability, it seems.

At 5:34AM, I was peacefully asleep in bed. Daisy was sleeping at the foot of the bed, probably snoring because that’s what she does. All of a sudden, the loudest bing-bang-boom I’ve ever heard at 5:34AM crashed through the house and woke me up. I sat up with a shot, only to be mowed over by Daisy in her effort to hide under the blankets. Really, Daisy?

All manner of emergencies went through my head in the next 10 seconds: earthquake, plane crash, meteor hit the house, Godzilla, Zombies. Then I heard my Dad call down the hallway, “D, are you OK?”

I got up then, admittedly relieved that there were no Zombies waiting to feed on my little brain, flicked on the hallway light and saw the bathroom door half closed. I tried to open it but couldn’t, and when I forced it a little, I heard a groan.

“Did he faint? Did he fall asleep standing up and peeing? Is he OK? Are his pants up?”

Mom got up then too, F stayed asleep. We all stood worrying in the hallway. The other two dogs (yes, we have a zoo in our home) came to check it all out. Daisy was still hiding. Dad and I forced the door open and there was D – pants up, thank goodness – laying on the floor holding his head.

“I tripped over the cat.”
 
Being a Medical First Responder, I took a look at his noggin and sure enough, he had an egg coming out. Good sign – “better out than in” is applicable to the human body in many ways. Aside from a pounding headache, he was OK. So I started to laugh.
 
And laugh.
 
And laugh.
 
And then I knew, I had to share it. It was just too good! 19-year-old trips over 20-lb feline, hits head, wakes whole house and scares the beejezus out of the dog.
 
Daisy, as it were, had to go outside to pee after the fright she got. I laid in bed laughing for quite some time. Dad cursed the cat. D took some advil – and no damn wonder, he’s not a big guy but when he falls he makes one monumental crash.
 
Dad told me when I was making my coffee this morning, four hours post-chaos, that D’s hardhat was hurting him because of the egg on his head. I suggested that D start wearing the hardhat when he gets up in the morning from now on.
 
Happy Sunday!
 


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