Maggie Makes Four!

This journal started off documenting the adoption of our youngest daughter. It now follows the twist and turns of our lives as we raise these two amazing little creatures into the best women they can become.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Pete, 2, Gingerbread Houses, 0 and the Cow Wins

The girls loved making Gingerbread houses last year and were excited that I got them each their own kit this year. We set about building the houses on Wednesday. Maggie's worked great and she did a beautiful job decorating it. La Nina's was a disaster from the get go. The thing wouldn't stand up. She and I tried. It just didn't work. By the end of the day, we decided she would have a ginger hut this year, not a house, and she was happy decorating her three walled gingerbread hut.

That night the hut had become a lean-to. By morning, the thing was totally flat. I just tossed it. She was disappointed, because she'd worked so hard making that hut the best darn ginger hut she could. Maggie agreed to share our remaining gingerbread house and all was well.

Until Thursday night. We have a 70 pound Australian Shephard named Pete. Technically, his name is Wicked Pete, after the beer, and boy does that name fit. Sometime after we went to bed on Thursday, Pete ate Maggie's gingerbread house off the counter. Gum balls, jelly beans, gum drops, all of it, gone. Thankfully, there was no chocolate on the house. All that was left was a wall and a few crumbs. Needless to say, Pete was in the dog house. I banished him to the yard for the day. I figured he would have some 'issues' to work out.

Fast forward to this morning. Every Saturday, Pete and I hike with a group of friends. We're out hiking and Pete's trying to work out his 'issues', but there's nothing happening. I'm sure the gum was 'gumming' up the old boy's pipes. A cow sprinted past us and true to his herding dog soul he took off in hot pursuit. Now I don't know if Pete was sick or just off a little, but the cow got the better of him and he returned with a cow pie on his back. Yep, a pile of dung. Now, it's 2 days before Christmas, I'm 5 miles from home and my stupid dog is wearing a 'dung' sweater. Giving my 70 pound dog a bath is not on my list of things to do. I didn't want him in my car, let alone my house. I cleaned him up the best I could at the park staging area and brought him home. When I got home, I brushed him and washed him up again, but it was marginally succesful. He stinks.

Now think about it. I may have to give this damn dog a bath tomorrow. I'm going to have to put a 70 lb. beast in my bathtub, because it's too cold to wash him out back. I don't even think I can leave him out to dry. And on top of all of it, its Christmas Eve. So, less than 12 hours before the jolly old elf himself makes an appearance at my house, I'm going to have a soaking wet 70 lbs., lawless, hound running the house. Heaven help me.

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