Matching Wits

"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit." - William Shakespeare

Peanut should have a new name. If I were still blogging regularly and chronicling our daily interactions and experiences, I would have renamed her “Tweenut” by now.

You see, our dear Peanut Tweenut recently turned 12. TWELVE! And she is every bit the aloof, dismissive, self-centered know-it-all that we you were at that age.

Don’t get me wrong... I still love her to pieces.

And every now and then, we get to experience the Peanut we know is in there. The Peanut that will one day grow into a mighty oak. (Do peanuts grow into oak trees? I digress.)

Sweet, funny, intelligent Peanut.

This is the story of one of those times.

Tweenut said something so witty, so clever, that it prompted me to wipe away the cobwebs from DKL once again and fire off this blog post. We were in the car, just me and her. I was so proud and impressed that I had to call My Director from the car to tell her what she had said, after I was done laughing.

Luna and Matey now watch over us from
on top of the cabinet in the living room.

It all starts, as many of our stories so often do, with our dogs. Now, I haven’t shared this - or anything, for that matter - with you yet, so we’re gonna do it right now, fast and painful like ripping off a Band-Aid. Here goes: our two beloved dogs, Luna and Matey, have gone to the rainbow bridge. Luna in November. Matey in January. It was a very difficult couple of months. We still love them and miss them so very much and sometimes can’t believe they are gone. They were sewn into the fabric of our family. Still are. Despite their being gone in body, they remain with us in spirit. Always. And here’s an example.

So Tweenut and I were in the car, going from soccer to lunch to lacrosse on a typical busy suburban Saturday. Even though I was following the GPS, I was unfamiliar with exactly where we were and shouted, in Matey’s voice, “Where are we?!” (You don’t give your dogs voices? Shame on you.)

Matey’s voice is best described as laid back and matter-of-fact, like Thomas Haden Church’s character on Wings. But with a lisp. (Because when he lost his eye in a knife fight before we adopted him, it affected his speech. What, your rescue dogs don’t have a dark, made-up back story? Shame on you.)

“Where are we?!” I shouted in Matey’s lispy voice to make Tweenut laugh. Then I proceeded to remind her of a joke My Director and I made the previous weekend about Matey posthumously. (They still amuse us from beyond.)

Since Luna died first, and since she was the one true love of my life (apologies to My Director. She's aware), we asked our priest to come to the house to bless her ashes. It was a sweet little ceremony, if you could even call it that. I cried like a toddler who’s upset at the color of his fork.

Recently, Tweenut asked why we hadn’t come around to getting Matey's ashes blessed. (Typical second child syndrome is why.). This was refreshing thoughtfulness from Tweenut so I reached out to our priest again. But this time I told her she didn’t have to come to the house. She said just bring his ashes to church on Sunday and she’d do it after the service.

The first weekend after that we were away. The second was Tweenut’s Sunday birthday party with our families. The third we were just being lazy and didn’t want to go to church. And that is where our Matey shenanigans begin.

My Director had recorded all of the Jurassic Park movies for us to watch. So instead of going to church, we decided to lay on the couch and binge a little. (“Binge a little” being an oxymoron, of course.)

At one point during our sloth in this season of Lenten sacrifice, my Matey madness kicked in. So in full throated Matey voice I proclaimed, “Guys....” (Matey always starts his proclamations with “Guys...” I hope the PC police don’t take offense that he’s being hetero-normative or whatever. If they do, shame on them. He is a dead one-eyed dog, after all. Give him a break.)

“Guys,” Me-Matey said. “My ashes are sitting here in this cabinet, a shelf below Luna’s, mind you. Unblessed. That’s ridickerous.” (Matey couldn’t pronounce “ridiculous.” Another consequence of the pre-adoption knife fight.)

Matey's right. His ashes are on the bottom shelf.
Luna is perched on the shelf above him.

“And instead of getting me blessed today, you’re watching Jurassic Park?!,” Matey continued. (Jurassic, of course is pronounced “Jurathic” in Matey’s voice. Just so ya know.)

But he wasn’t done. “A movie that’s 25 years old! Daddy was a senior in high school when it was in theaters! Again...ridickerous.”

He was upset. And he had good reason to be. He sits there unblessed and physically and spiritually below Luna in the pecking order even in death. My Director and I had a good laugh at that one. I love that our dogs still bring us such joy even though they’re no longer with us. (And I admit, we’re a little crazy.)

Fast forward to the aforementioned Saturday suburban car ride. After my impromptu, “Where are we?!” in Matey's voice I reminded Tweenut of the Jurassic Park gag with My Director and me and Matey's ashes. Like a true Tweenut, she had gone out with her friends by that point in our Lazy Sunday.

I started doing the gag and she chimed in immediately, adding in Matey’s voice without skipping a beat: “Monstey would be so offended.”

Monstey, you see, was Matey’s favorite toy. It was a dinosaur. He slept with it, played with it, he adored it. He even made sweet love to it one Christmas morning: (You can also hear My Matey voice in this video.) And therein, my friends, lies the genius in Tweenut’s comment. She advanced the story. She used wit and improvisation to do it. She was smart and clever and didn’t miss a beat.

I told her this. I then explained wit to her. “It’s humor with intelligence,” I said.

“Anyone can make a fool of themselves and be a clown,” I told her. “It takes brains to be witty. To be truly funny."

This may be a small thing. You may be reading this and asking me, “This is what you re-emerged from blog hibernation for?”

Yes. Because it’s up to me as a dad to recognize the little things that are actually big things. Because Tweenut is trying out her sense of humor. She’s pushing the envelope sometimes and crossing the line others. We tell her when she crosses the line. When she's decidedly not funny.

And I need to tell her when she gets it right. I need to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. Especially when she’s the one being extraordinary.

I’m not saying I'm going to hand out participation trophies. But as she navigates these awkward and sometimes unforgiving years, I'm the one who needs to realize that she’s still a child, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Even if she doesn’t act like it because she’s not my baby anymore.

Especially with “Tweenut” in full force.

You see, a dad and his Tweenut don’t have a lot in common. At least, not this one. One thing we do have in common, if I may be so bold, is wit.

I am so proud of my witty daughter.

“Monstey would be so offended,” is proof that Tweenut is not going to be the clown. It's easy to be the clown. To get the cheap laugh. But she’s smart. She gets it. Wait for your comedic moment and pounce without compromising your self-worth.

I should stop and celebrate more when the future comes out of my child’s mouth and it’s a bright one. If I don’t, then shame on me.

PS: Our newest member of the family arrived for Christmas. Meet Mocha:

She has brought laughter and joy these past few months and even has her own voice already. 

We just came upon the anniversary of Matey joining our family, which reminded me of THIS POST.

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Along Came a Spider

What's the big deal about spiders, anyway? I'm ambivalent towards them. No issues. No phobia. Sure, I think they're kinda gross. But they do serve a purpose. A pretty important one, too. Like controlling the housefly population.

So I am here to announce that I am decidedly PRO spider. Despite My Director's objections. Just another thing we disagree on. (Many political issues too. But that's a subject for another blog post. One that will never be written. But I digress...)

Spiders. They're creepy but cool. And definitely bad-a$$. I've never advocated killing spiders just because they were there. Or "gross." After all, should we just arbitrarily kill anything we consider ugly? Or scary? Especially, or because, we are so much bigger and stronger than they? I say, emphatically, no. Although, I must admit, I have acquiesced to My Director's blood-curdling request many times in the past to ensure peace in my home and stability in my marriage.

But no more. I'm taking a stand. The spidercide stops now, despite My Director's pleas. Miss Muffett can find another tuffet on which to sit and eat her kurds and whey. (Who eats that anyway?)

The rest of spiderdom has this gal to thank:

She is SO cool.

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Rest in Pink

It is with minimal sadness that we inform you of the death of Pinky, our hermit crab. She lasted a lot longer than we ever wished. Pinky arrived in our family on the 4th of July during a beach vacation last summer and proceeded to become one of its more high maintenance members.

Pinky's shell serves as a gravestone.

Upon hearing the news of Pinky's passing, Peanut immediately asked, "Can we get another one?" When we pushed her about the moderate seriousness of the situation - death - she then became sad and blamed My Director for not taking good enough care of Pinky.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Pinky was fed nightly leftovers from our dinner table, much to Luna's chagrin. In fact, she often got to exercise ON the dinner table during dinner. She even inspired her own Christmas song.

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Dude Looks Like a Matey

"Every day is a production. You wake up to produce that day." -Norman Lear

I never thought I would see the day. Ever. The day when two dogs were living in my house. I would have told you I had a better chance of owning an alligator than owning another dog. After all, I'm not really a dog person to begin with. Then again, I guess I can't say that anymore now, can I? Another dog was never even a consideration. Luna, it's been well documented, is my soul mate. How could I ever do that to her? Then I saw his face...

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Our New Addition

"They want you to cook the dinner; at least they ought to let you shop for some of the groceries. " -Bill Parcells

That quote is from one of the best football coaches in my lifetime, explaining why he also wanted to be general manager of the team and pick the players he was coaching. "Shop for some of the groceries," if you will. That is why I do the food shopping in our house. I cook the meals, so it makes sense that I shop for the groceries.

I have it down to a science. I go alone. I am usually in and out in 45 minutes. (Remember: I don't lollygag. Ever.) I also do my own bagging and unloading. (The kitchen is my domain. And I'm a control freak.) I keep a running list of items we need on a pad of paper hanging on the refrigerator.

The quality of my penmanship is inversely
proportional to the urgency with which I am writing.

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The Dog That Changed the World

"Happiness is a warm puppy." -Charles Schulz, and something I routinely say to Luna.

Before Peanut made me a father, Luna made me a dad. I know how ridiculous that sounds, especially  to non-pet people. It's even more ridiculous when you consider it's coming from me. Let me be clear: I am NOT a dog person. I do not like your dog. I do not think your dog is cute. I don't want to pet your dog. I definitely don't want your dog licking me. Gross. There are some exceptions but for the most part, gross.

I feel like this picture looks like
someone caught us having an affair

I am, however, an unapologetic Luna person. It borders on manic. She is E.T. to my Elliot. My furry little friend who is my only company at the buttcrack of morning and the quiet of night. I sing her songs. In fact, our morning routine consists of her standing at the kitchen doorway waiting to be fed as I include her name in whatever song happens to be in my head that day. (Recent hits include "Call Me Luna," "If You Get Caught Between The Loo and New York City," and "Just a Spoonful of Luna Helps the Medicine Go Down.")

I am however, not alone in my adoration for Luna and my placement of her upon her puppy pedestal. During Luna's most recent check-up, I explained to the veterinarian how I was never a dog person. How I'm still not a dog person. How I am only a Luna person. I told her how My Director kept hinting and asking and pleading for years. For seven years. (A dog year.) She wanted a dog. She is a dog person. I kept refusing. Absolutely not. I'm allergic. Dogs are messy. And I just don't like them.

Then she sent me an online picture of Luna, who was called "Muffin" at the time. (She is SO not a Muffin.) My icy dog-hating heart melted. A bond was formed:

Our relationship borders on inappropriate at times

Luna gets inappropriate at times

I proceeded to tell the vet how even my in-laws, perpetually dog people but big dog people, had their minds changed by this stubborn little lovable furry princess:

Shielding herself from the heat

Seriously with this pose?

Her response? "Luna changed the world."

I never thought of it that way. But yes, she did. I would never have imaged I could love a dog so much. Let alone, this ridiculous 12-pound stinkface whose curly tail always tells the tale, who keeps me up nights if there's a thunderstorm, who will whimper at me to play with her the minute I sit down after a long day. Then who will without fail take my place on the couch after I've laid down on the floor to engage her. Ridiculous.

One night this week I asked Peanut who taught her to be funny. "You, daddy," she said. "And Luna." I love that statement. But more for the fact that she mentioned Luna. Luna, the dog with the perpetually shmoopy tail; the dog with the stinky grille and snarfy puss. The dog whose voice sounds like Cheech Marin even though she's a female Asian breed and I'm Italian-American.

Happy 7th birthday the dog who changed the world:

I can forgive Luna when she misbehaves easier than I can forgive Peanut when she does. Click here to find out why.

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The Dog Days of Summer

"If you saw a heat wave, would you wave back?" -Stephen Wright

It's too hot to do anything outside.  Yesterday, in fact, I turned on the grill and I feared I would spontaneously combust as it fired up. But we don't have it nearly as bad as our four-legged friends. Let's be honest. How much more unbearable would this weather be if we were covered in fur?

Luna is not having it. Wants nothing to do with the heat.

Every time I open the playroom door that leads to our back patio, I hear the sudden jingle-jangling from wherever she is in the house like I always do. So I wait for her. She stops at the doorway. I'm standing there holding the door for her with one hand and a dish full of marinated chicken and a grill spatula in the other.

She waits. She looks outside, then looks up to me as if to say, "I'm not going out there. Are you crazy?" (Remember, we gave Luna a voice like Cheech Marin. It's much funnier if you read her that way.)

I try to encourage her to go outside, "Cmon, Loo... Let's go.... It's ok."

Yes, the look on her face has registered such concern that I have to assure her that she will be alright once she goes outside. The yard is pretty well shaded. So there's plenty of room for her to roam, pee, and go back inside relatively unscathed.

Still... she stares.

So I go out there without her. A minute later, after putting my chicken on the grill, she hears me open the door to come inside. And I hear the same jingle-jangling. This time, she stops at the doorway to the playroom. She looks at me as if to ask, (cue the Cheech) "How is it out there? As bad as I thought?"

And now I'm actually having a conversation with her.

"You know, if you want to go outside, just go."

(Cheech) "But I don't want to."

"It's fine. Just for a couple of minutes to pee. It's not that big of a deal." (My voice, if you're wondering, is deep and nasal-y, like the Lollipop Guild on steroids.)

She inches closer. I have no patience to hold the door any longer while she decides. So I close it and move on.

Later, Luna joins me as I go next door. We're watering our neighbor's flower garden while they're away. I used the front door; so Luna didn't hesitate to follow me. She treats the front door a lot differently than the back door (unintentional sexual innuendo). She equates the front door with going for a walk.

She also loves sniffing around our next door neighbor's house. They don't mind because they love animals, and have one of their own. Recently we pet-sat for them, which I wrote about here.

I couldn't resist squirting her with the sprayer a half a dozen times as she was inspecting their yard. I thought I was helping her cool off. But every time I did it, without fail, she got mad at me. Tail-down, run-away, find-a-place-to-hide mad.

When I was done, I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk. She was excited. I had lifted her spirits. I was excited too. She hadn't pooped in two days because of her refusal to walk in the heat.

This Dog's Done

We entered the park, made our turn onto our chosen path and at last, after nearly 48 hours, Luna proceeded to...lay down. Right there on the path. She was a hot black panting mess.

She looked up at me and said, (Cheech) "I can't go on any longer. You go ahead without me. I'll be just fine right here."

I let her cool down for a minute, then we turned tail and headed home. Still no poop.

So add heat to the list of weather conditions in which my dog will not poop. Snow, rain, dark (yes, dark) and now heat. She's like the opposite of the post office. She doesn't deliver unless the conditions are perfect.

If you haven't read about my walks with Luna AND the peanut, it's worth clicking here.

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Fuzzy Wuzzy Was A Huh?

"Dogs lead a nice life... you never see a dog with a wristwatch." -George Carlin

The poor dog.

Not only was she knocked from her perch atop the pedestal of love and attention when our daughter arrived... she's been deprived of what once was her favorite toy.

And it's all because of the toy's name: fuzzy sperm.

See? It looks like a fuzzy sperm.

The name really says it all. It looks like a fuzzy sperm. So that's what we called it.

Fuzzy sperm was one of the first toys we bought for Luna when she was a puppy. Primarily because it made us giggle. She loved it. And we thought it was hysterical.

But fuzzy sperm was phased out... sort of by necessity. Sure, other toys came along. Witchy, dragon, weasel. We're not too creative with the dog toy names, as you can see.

But tonight Luna fished deep into her basket of toys and pulled out fuzzy sperm... and we joyfully said, "Look you found fuzzy ssss... ohhhh...."

We stopped ourselves. This is why fuzzy sperm has been all but shelved the past two or so years. We can't be throwing the word sperm around like it's a high school locker room.

Reunited and it feels so good

How am I supposed to explain that to my 4 year-old daughter? "That's where babies come from?" Not bad... but then God forbid she goes to day care or a disapproving relative and starts talking about sperm the same way she was spreading rumors recently about mommy being pregnant.

Since we can't bring ourselves to get rid of it - too much history - fuzzy sperm stays on the bottom of the  basket with the exception of those rare occurrences that Luna discovers it again.

And I repeat: mommy is not pregnant.

This is really the first post where Luna was the spotlight since one of my earliest, from right after my daughter's birth.

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The Other Sister

She's a fussy eater, doesn't sleep through the night, and definitely demands a lot of our attention. I'm not talking about the baby. I'm talking about her big sister. Our daughter may only be a few weeks old, but we've been parents for almost two years already. I am, of course, referring to our dog, Luna.

Way before we even starting talking about having a baby, we knew we would be fine as parents. It's a step a lot of couples take. Get a dog. See if you can take care of another living thing. We thought we were too selfish. Too lazy.

My 3 girls

But Luna taught us everything we needed to know about parenting. That we can love someone selflessly and enthusiastically, be nurturing and patient. Persevere. I don't think I'd be as confident or relaxed as I am as a father (or as I pretend to be, or as people tell me that I am) if not for Luna.



She's going through this process - learning, loving, worrying - right along with us. After all, her little black furry face has been there every step of the way: From the moment my wife emerged from the bathroom holding that little stick, and mouthed to me "I'm pregnant," as I sat on a conference call for work... to now.

During pregnancy, Luna would always sense when the roller coaster of hormones would kick in, jump onto the couch, climb onto my wife's chest, and kiss her nose while nervously wagging her tail. A look of concern on her face. She doesn't like it when one of us is upset. Good girl.



When my wife needed to relax, she was right there with her, curled up on her belly. A mother hen keeping the little egg warm. She must have known something was going on in there.

Now, when the baby wakes up crying each night, all Luna does is lift up her head and look at one us as if to say, "Uh, you gonna get that? Who's gonna get that?" Yes, she sleeps in our bed. That's another decision we made during pregnancy. She used to sleep in her crate. Then we figured she wouldn't settle down if she were locked up and we were getting up throughout the night.

We had to prepare her for the baby's arrival, just like we had to prepare ourselves. We heard a lot of warnings about how to get her ready. They made us believe Luna might act out towards the baby. Bite her or pounce on her. Or she'd act out towards us. Get jealous and pee on the carpet. Hasn't happened.

What did happen is we used her to practice holding, burping, rocking, swaddling, and yes, even diapering the baby. She has been a tremendous sport about the whole thing.



The first meeting



Their first meeting was classic. We laid the peanut on a blanket on the floor, and invited Luna to come look. She paced around her gingerly, stretched her face far enough forward to get a whiff, but held her body back enough to run at the first sign of trouble. She had no idea what this creature was. Then the baby let out a little cry, more of a grunt... and Luna anxiously barked. We laughed. They're arguing already. Sibling rivalry.

The apprehension quickly turned into curiosity. With each passing day, Luna would take another step closer. Finally, on the third day, it happened. Out of nowhere. The baby was alert and I was taking advantage and playing with her. Luna jumped onto the couch, looked at me, started to sniff. She leaned in and planted the cutest and quickest kiss on the baby's foot.




Always on guard

 If you're thinking, "Why would they let that filthy animal anywhere near that baby?" First of all, have a drink, or a cookie, and relax. Our pediatrician not only approves, but recommends we expose the baby to the dog since she is a part of our household and the baby needs to be acclimated to all of the normal germs within it.



So with the doctor's blesing, we allow Luna to push the limits. When the baby is sleeping in her Moses basket, Luna will peek in and rest her head on the side of it. When the basket is empty, she'll jump in and check it out. Luna even has come to enjoy playtime. When we lay the baby on the play mat, she will tag right along, tail wagging eagerly.


Caught in the Act

 I have become the dog's designated playmate, since my wife's lap is now routinely occupied by a child that is forever stuck to one of her boobs. Because of this, she can get neglected sometimes. Once, my wife was in the nursery feeding the baby. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She saw that I was busy, so she trotted into the nursery, tail up, hopeful. Just a short time later, I looked back and witnessed a completely different scene. She's slinking out of the nursery. Sulking. Skulking. Head down. Tail down. Depressed. Denied. Pathetic. I immediately picked her up, and gave her love. 



She's learning. Adapting. Adjusting. And, yes, loving. We might not give her as much attention as we used to, but we try and make enough time for her as we can.



They'll grow into each other

As I imagine our future, I can see a little girl wearing a pink sundress and blond pigtails, running around a sun drenched backyard, and a little black dog chasing after her, panting, wagging her tail. They are going to be best friends for life. And that's nothing to bark at.

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