garbage is easily the bane of my existence

“Handle every stressful situation like a dog.
If you can’t eat it or play with it,
just pee on it and walk away.”
– Anonymous

Long ago, in the same place I live now, my hubby and I adopted a wee little puppy named Handsome. Being the kind of people who find names like that a bit odd, we renamed him Nimitz.

Since Nimitz is a far less odd name, right?

Nimitz was a shy little thing, malnourished, and bald of any form of fur. He was a kind soul, mellow. Although he was a bit timid of the world, he seemed interested in it, and of us.

Nimitz 1

Day 1. This scrawny, bald-patched pup entered our lives.

We brought him home, and began feeding the little fellow. Not used to such a tiny creature, we had, unfortunately, bought food that was too large for his miniscule mouth to grab onto and chew. And so, Pilot and I would spend an extra 20 minutes per pre-meal chopping each individual chunk of food into smaller bites until there was enough to fill his bowl. This included waking up at 5 AM to get ready for the day, and have Nimitz’s food ready by 6 AM, all the way into making sure Nimitz had enough food throughout the day. If only we hadn’t purchased a dog food bag so large that Costco would be proud.

Nimitz 3

We arrive home, with the “far too large morsels” dog food in tow!

Nimitz 2

Settling in.
(Mind the mess, will you? We’ve cleaned since then.)

Over time, he grew to love us, and allow us to pet him. His previous owner had failed to mention that poor Nimitz had consumed 2 condoms that were working through his poor little system before we brought Nimitz to live with us. It took 2 weeks for them both to pass through. Needless to say, we were horrified to learn these had been lurking around his little intestinal tract, and we were grateful he hadn’t gotten sick nor died from them. We did our (albeit reluctant) part of “helping” him remove these from his system.

Now, Pilot and I are not picky about breed. We just looked at this tiny wee pup in our lives and had fun guessing what he might turn out to be once his fur grew in. Much to our surprise, we were greeted with “Full Pom.” Nimitz’s fur began to grow back and we learned that this wonderful pup was not a Chihuahua, nor a Chihuahua/Pomeranian mix. As the fur grew longer and longer, our assurances were made more clear. It became obvious that this furry family member went “Full Pom” on us.

Oh the brushing. The constant, every other day brushing. The brushing doesn’t end. It requires clearing the bristles of his brush at least 4 times per brushing experience. I wish I was kidding. That’s during summer. It will be winter soon, and his winter coat will be arriving shortly. That requires 7 clearings of the bristles of his brush. Haircuts are a must with this little guy.

Nimitz 5

Brush time, you say? I LOVE Brush time!

As we taught little Nimitz to become housebroken and leash trained, we would walk him around and around our place, familiarizing him with the area. Teaching him the do’s/do not’s of areas that are fun and areas that are bad for him to venture into. Teaching him to be aware of cars, pay attention to his surroundings (as long as there wasn’t a squirrel around). We were proud to discover he was a pup who learned quickly and permanently.

This would become a double-edged sword to our lives.

Nimitz 4

Life is peaceful!

Nimitz 8

Life is good!

Nimitz 7Loving life!

I want to say it was around Week 5. Pilot and Nimitz were commencing their midday constitutional, when a thunderous noise was heard across the land. The ground shook beneath his paws. His ears twitched in hyperawareness. Nimitz’s body shook at a rate surely to shred the fur from his body. Pilot and Jason had turned the corner, only to discover IT. The Green Evil Thing. The Garbage Truck!

Nimitz’s eyes widened. He backed up against Pilot’s legs. He hunched his back, trying to make his already mini canine body as small as possible away from the Green Evil Thing. As the mechanisms whirred, the motor churning, and the air brakes releasing a high-pitched whine, poor little Nimitz could only freeze. A little 5 pound puppy against a machine 100 times larger than Pilot!

Then, the Green Evil Thing did something worse. It collected the garbage. It’s giant mutant mechanical arm swung around and grabbed one of Nimitz’s favorite things to sniff: The garbage can. This terrific beast grabbed the garbage can without even blinking, lifting it into the air and dumping the garbage can’s inner workings, consuming it into the Green Evil Thing’s self! What horror beheld the hazel eyes of our wee little one! He had no idea such a monstrosity existed in this world!

Nimitz, shaking like a leaf on a branch, tucked tail and bolted back to our home, dragging Pilot behind him. Pawing at our front door, Pilot opened our place, and Nimitz ducked under our bed and wouldn’t come out for anything. Not toys, not food, not soft calling, or even his beloved doggy treats. Under the dark depths of our bed, Nimitz stayed for a full twenty minutes after the Green Evil Thing was gone, off to digest another poor garbage can down the street. Its contents of wondrous odors that are preferred by the canine species gone forever.

(For a few days, at least.)

Nimitz 9

PILOT! IT’S THE GREEN EVIL THING!

Nimitz 10

PILOT! WAKE UP AND SAVE ME!

Now, to this day, every time the damn Green Evil Thing (aka Garbage Truck), or a UPS truck, or FedEx truck, Groundskeeper vehicle, any large truck, or anything with air brakes is within a 2 block radius; or, if we’re having a family car trip and one of those things goes by, our dog goes full bezerker, barking as wildly as possible before tucking tail and running under the bed, (or in the back seat on the floor). It takes less time for him to recover, only 1-2 minutes. Sometimes Pilot and I can have him “sit” and “stay” early enough in the process that Nimitz won’t duck under the bed right away. But, he eventually does. He’ll cuddle in fear with his Guard Dragon (an orange toy) under the bed for a couple of minutes before rejoining us as if nothing has happened.

So, to the Green Evil Thing – I will never forgive you, but thank you for taking our garbage once a week. We know you’re just doing your job… but try telling my dog that.

Want to see more pictures of Nimitz? Check out my Instagram @katnundum!

What is your pet afraid of?

How have you conquered that fear, if at all?

What was something you or your pet wasn’t fearful of before, but you are now?

Is there an Green Evil Thing in your life?

Leave your comments below.

he may not wear red underwear, but i’m ok with that

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Oh, wait… Yeah, it IS a plane. Never mind. <Shrug.>

Although it may technically be Sept. 15th at 1:00am, I’m still living in the past 24-hours of it being Sept. 14th. Sept. 14th marks one of the greatest days in history.  It’s Pilot’s birthday.

There are many reasons why I love Pilot, but this post would never be finished. So, instead, I thought I would write about why Pilot excels far beyond Superman.

1. He’s a sexy nerd.  Clark Kent was a mild-mannered English nerd. Writing for The Daily Planet, Mr. Superman himself was the geeky guy of the office, just short of Jimmy the photographer.  You may think that the reason I call my husband, Pilot is because his job is being a pilot. Well you’d be wrong.  Pilot is actually a special-education teacher. To this day, he amazes me his ability to connect with students who experience an exceptionally difficult time with learning, or developing the skills needed to improve. His love for science and math knows no bounds, to which I thank God for because I can’t succeed in science and math to save my life (although he and I did very well in an astronomy class together.

Me: What a great night! Ellensburg’s skies are so clear!

Pilot: Yeah! Here, let’s go to this field and setup. I’ll pour the hot chocolate.

Passerby 1: Hey! Is that a bong? It’s huge!

Me: <indignant, setting hands on hips and frowning.> No, it is not a bong. It’s a telescope. See? <points to eyepiece.>

Passerby 2: Sweet! Party time! <calls to friends in distance.> Hey! Check this chick out! She has the biggest bong I’ve ever seen!

Me: It is NOT a bong! It is a highly functional TELESCOPE! Look! You can see Venus and Mars, right there!

Passerby 1: Cool! It’s multi-functional!

Me: <shakes fist, screeching at Passersby 1 & 2.> Listen, cretins! Just because you’ve lost some brain cells does not mean you need to corrupt mine with your incessant insistence that my telescope is a device for drug use!

Passerby 2: Way to party little lady <pats the top of my head.>

Me: Argh!

Pilot: Sweetie, I think it’s time we move to a different field.

Just as Superman disguises himself to be a simple and plain man, but is all super-hunky man of steel in reality, my Pilot is a seemingly boy-next-door guy, but is superhero to children and helping them have a fighting chance in this world.  Plus, listening to him explain space’s gravitational patterns for each planet with his toothy-white grin is sexy as hell.  And besides, I’m the (maybe not-so-mild-mannered) English nerd in this relationship.

2. Ok, so he does fly a little bit. Like Superman, my Pilot is also, well a pilot. Before Washington changed its laws of age limitations for obtaining a pilot’s license, he took his first flying lesson at the tender age of 13. He literally flew a plane before ever driving a car. The way he’s better than Superman, is that for me to go flying with him, I don’t have to worry about someone looking up m nightie and freezing my crumpets off from the high altitude because I’m contained inside an ACTUAL airplane.

Me: <holds down ‘push-to-talk’ button> Wow! I’m flying an airplane… And I’m scared shitless right now. You can take the steering back now!

Pilot: <laughs.> You only had it for two seconds.

Me: <holds down ‘push-to-talk’ button and glares at Pilot.> Two seconds too long… Ooh! Nice yoke-work, Bacher! Why don’t you use those hands somewhere else?

Pilot: Sweetie, you need to stop pressing the ‘push-to-talk’ button because you just announced that to all local flying aircraft and the Tower.

Tower: Cessna 5210-AML, you’re clear to land… If your hands aren’t too busy.

Random pilot sharing airspace with us: <chuckles.>Yes, please keep your hands to yourself, Sweetie.

Me: <holds ‘push-to-talk’ button> Umm… I think they heard me.

Pilot: You’re still holding the ‘push-to-talk’ button, Sweetie.

Me: <still holding ‘push-to-talk’ button.> Oh. Sorry.

3. He has superpowers. No not actual, born an alien or dipped in toxic waste superpowers. But with one look he can provide a multitude of things: reassurance, giggle-inducing hysteria, empathy, one of the few people who can make me shut up once in a while if I’ve said something [insert favorite word here, such as weird, odd, annoying, ridiculous, etc.], and the occasional heat-induced glance that magically makes my clothes disappear. (Hey, don’t judge. I’m married and Superman had x-ray vision.  You really don’t think that Superman didn’t use it to his advantage just once?)

4. He’s talented. As Clark Kent was a journalist and fairly decent reporter, my Pilot is also extremely gifted.  Separate from his teaching and flying gigs, my Pilot is also an aviation photographer. Even better, he’s a good one!  Pilot has been published in a few magazines over the last couple of years, and also has written several blurbs on the aircraft subject in question.  He has a successful Facebook page and YouTube account where he also posts videos of his work, narrating and adding factoids to the videos for viewers to enjoy.

5. Lastly, but not at all in the least, he’s romantic. Superman had ladies drooling for decades, most of all a Ms. Lois Lane. And in this case, this little writer wised-up and realized that a kind, quiet and talented man was interested in me and I jumped at the chance at love, never regretting a day since. Thankfully, Pilot has made this relationship really easy on me by being just completely wonderful and supportive, even if I post stuff like this on the all-knowing interwebs. Even if the first Valentine’s Day card I ever received from him was signed, “I don’t care what they say. I think you’re pretty nice,” causing a temporary 2-hour argument between us.

Happy Birthday, Pilot! And I don’t care what they say, I think you’re pretty nice, too.

<blows kiss.>

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 14: FREE DAY! Write any scene you want!

Dear Diary,

Today I met the most impossible of all human beings! There I was, walking through the bookstore trying to keep my nonchalant, “Yes, of course I’m in the self-help section-there’s-nothing-wrong-with-that-it’s-a-perfectly-normal-thing-to-do” face. So what if I’m pushing into my latter-thirties and newly single? If someone wanted to excel in their profession, they would study for it. If someone was to perform a self tune-up of their car, they would buy a guide. So why not buy a book to help accelerate changing my single status?

While wandering the bookstore, trying to find a decently large covered book to disguise my purchase with, I bumped into a man at the mysteries/thrillers section.

“Oh! Excuse me,” I said slightly blushing at the blatant lack of focus on where I was going.

“Not at all, pardon me,” he replied. I took in the light hair and blue eyes framed by some very nice looking professor’s glasses. He was tall, wearing a slim fitting navy blue sweater and jeans. Hellooo Dr. Jones!

His head tilted slightly as he tried to glance at the title of my self-help-for-singles book, Single? So What? guide which had decided to hide itself behind my back.

“You know, if you want a really good read, you should try I’m Single and I Know It, instead.”

I blushed at the recommendation.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said tucking a strand of my plain brown hair behind my ears. “I’m looking for a thrill- I mean, looking for thrillers. Oh look, there’s a great one!” I say as I pluck a random book from the shelf to the right of me.

He tilts his head to the side. “Hmm… So you’re into swashbuckling pirates who stealthily rip the bodices off of young maidens, huh? I would’ve pegged you more knights-in-shining-armor kind of woman.” I raise my eyebrows at the book I had just selected.

Sure enough, there was a shirtless pirate and a young wench who apparently had no problem or apparent discomfort from having her breasts shoved up to her chin, while the pirate’s swarthy hands were undoing the ties to the back of her very cumbersome looking satin corset. Quickly glancing up to the empty space that held the damning evidence of my random selection, I realized the shelf on my right had been historical romance instead of mystery/thriller. Shit and double shit!

“You know, all you need is a glass of wine and you’re probably set for the night,” he said winking of me.

Eyes narrowing, “Why of all the nerve! I-” I pause to straighten my back at this very nosy and appalling man.  I closed my eyes for a moment taking a deep, calming breath.

“Once again, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am merely grabbing some reading material as a gag birthday gift for my friend, Lizzy, if you must know.” No need for him to find out that Lizzy is actually my dog named after my favorite romantic heroine, Elizabeth Bennett.

“Of course, my mistake,” he said, having the nerve to smile at me.

“Well, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind. I need to have these presents gift wrapped. I’m very busy and important, and must be going now. Ta!” Turning on my heel, I pause at the sound of his voice.

“Fantastic! I was busy getting this for my brother. We’ll go to gift wrapping together!” He said grinning at me.  Of all the rotten luck. Two years without a man and now I can’t get away from this one!

Together, we both walk to the gift-wrapping center’s counter and hand our items over to the customer service rep.

“Sorry about your friend. Is she going through a tough breakup right now?”

“Huh?” I blink at him.  “Oh! Yes!  Um… Right… Well, she’s recently gone through a divorce, which she’s very happy about, and is throwing herself a divorce shower,” I quickly spat out.  We both take our nicely wrapped presents, his book in pretty forest green with a gold ribbon, mine in a patterned wrapping paper covered in random letters of the alphabet and red ribbon.

“A divorce shower?” he says amused at my frustration.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.  What exactly does one do at a divorce shower?”  Oh come on! Can’t I just live this humiliation in peace? It’s bad enough I resorted to self-help guides, but does it really need to have a commentary squad like Mystery Science Theater 3000?

“Well it’s- um…” I sigh and throw my hands up in the air, waiving my ‘gift’ in the air. “Oh, hell. We both know the book is for me.  Look, it’s been a little nerve-wracking catching my bloody husband in my bed with my sister and I haven’t had sex in two years, all right?”

The man’s eyes widened as he stared at me.  A woman who had been waiting in line for the gift-wrapping services looked extremely uncomfortable.  “Um… I think I forgot to comb my cat…” she said as she inched away from us slowly, and then bursting into a slight sprint towards the main door.

I felt my face burning as red as a hooker in church.  Also waiting for him to run away from the crazy-cat-lady vibe I was giving off; to my surprise he actually was pretty nice about the whole freak-out scene.

“Wow. That must have been awful. Are you ok?” he spoke softly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, deep in thought. All they did was focus on his glasses which were straightforward black frame, emphasizing the blue-ness of his eyes.

Another deep sigh escaped my lips. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry about that. I had just moved here for him because he was offered a job at Boeing. We were living with my sister until we could find our own place.  Then… Well, you know…” my voice drifted off as I felt tears prickling at the back of my eyes.

“I’m really sorry.  Was just teasing before, but if I’d known…” he gave a slight shrug and palms up gesture of apology.

“It’s all right. Sorry for going all berserker on you,” I smile slightly.

He stifled a snicker, “Berserker? You’ve seen Clerks?”

“Of course, hasn’t everyone? I mean, Kevin Smith may be raunchy, a little out of my comfort zone sometimes, but nonetheless is an insightful writer and commentator of life in our generation,” I state matter-of-factly.

The man stares at me again, this time in wonderment. “Wow, I think I may have fallen in love with you a little bit. Most women can’t look past goofy comedy movies like that.”

“Oh… Well, that’s just, really nice,” I say flustered at this man’s response.

“I’m Elliot. Elliot Helmsworth,” he says sticking his hand out to me.  Grasping his palm, I reply, “Claire. Claire Whitmore.”