Eighteen years ago today, Wifey and I dressed up in duds nice enough to get us into the Sizzler, stood before the preacher (her uncle), and committed ourselves to a lifetime of marriage. In the process of reciting my vows, I managed to drop the wedding ring while I attempted to put it on her finger. It took me months to live that episode down among family and friends. Even today my brother mentioned it on Facebook.
The plans on board for today were relatively simple. Church and then an anniversary lunch were scheduled to take up a better part of the itinerary on this second week of the 2011 NFL season. Holding true to our plans, we got up this morning and prepared to leave.
As such, we put a muzzled and medicated TharpSter TreadMill in her kennel right next to the kenneled TharpSter Pit. We subsequently pushed the soon-to-be coffee table (aka: TharpSter’s unfinished project) up against the TreadMill’s kennel.
I’d like to think I don’t need to explain why we locked Faith up in her kennel and then blocked the entrance (Faith would rather refer to it as the exit).
I’d like to think by now that you’ve read enough stories here about our stubborn and tenacious lab-jack mix of a dog, that you are aware such measures to keep her in check are necessary.
For those of you who may be new to the wonders of life with my dogs, please refer to the picture of the Faith’s kennel at the side. Notice how the bottom portion of it is bent “in”. That’s right people. Faith has taken to pulling at the bars on her kennel in an effort to channel the spirit of Harry Houdini with the goal of escaping her bondage.
The coffee table was put in front of her cage to further inhibit her “can-do” attitude.
Faith, the poster child for separation anxiety in canines was medicated with a doggie sized dosage of Xanax, was left in her kennel this morning while wearing a muzzle along with her standard harness and collar. She wasn’t wearing the collar which is tied to the invisible fence that surrounds the compound. The door to her kennel was locked and blocked. Hope the pit bull was in her own kennel enjoying her new pillow.
We went to church.
Afterward, we went out for a nice lunch. At this point, I’m still trying to figure out why they asked me how I wanted my prime rib cooked. One would tend to think it’s part of some meat inspired law that prime rib is only to be cooked somewhere between rare and medium rare. Beyond that, the only other issue we had was treating an allergic reaction to strawberry sauce on the cheesecake. Everything turned out fine though. Happy Anniversary Honey!
Once we got home from lunch, we found everything just about where we left it.
Hope was in her kennel on her new pillow.
The *ahem* coffee table was still in front of Faith’s kennel. Her muzzle and body harness were on the floor of said kennel. The floor was wet, by the way. She had unsurprisingly dumped her water bowl.
As for Faith, that was somewhat of a different story. Wearing only her collar, the silly little dog saw it fitting enough to greet us at the door in order to expound in her own way the necessity of proper pet containment.