The Black and Blue Fury

I've never really been in to neighbors. Now, don't get me wrong. If you need to borrow a cup of sugar, I'd be happy to provide a comparable measure of agave nectar accompanied by a short speech about how the body metabolizes natural sugar sources more efficiently than processed, white cane sugar. But the idea of having your neighbors just drop by all the time isn't my idea of fun. That said, our current neighbors are the first neighbors I've really liked since we played Euchre with the boys from Floyd's Knob that lived across the hall from us in college. We have a lot in common with Scott and Lynn and have really grown to think of them as good friends. They breed chocolate, yellow, and black labs and ended up here in Irvington after living downtown for many years thanks to the much larger lots. Everyday around lunchtime, I run across the lawns to give the animals a midday reprieve. When I began taking care of them, the population exceeded a dozen, but now I'm down to Tori, Allie, Dewer, Tango, London, Rose, and Lola, and not to be forgotten, Henry the cat.

At the end of December Scott and Lynn woke up at four in the morning to a strange popping noise. They suspected Henry was knocking Christmas ornaments off the dining room table so Lynn went to investigate. Nothing was amiss throughout the house and on her way back to bed Lynn saw a glowing orange light coming from their back deck. Someone had placed a box of empty aerosol paint cans in a cardboard box under their deck, directly beneath their propane grill, and lit the whole mess on fire. With only minimal damage and slightly frazzled nerves, the fire department and police concluded that this was likely a matter of bored kids who desperately needed to return to the structure of school after a long winter recess. Scott installed some motion sensor flood lights and we all went back to business as usual.

Yesterday, after Maeve went down for her nap, I grabbed the baby monitor and my keys and headed next door to throw the ball for my favorite four-legged neighbors. We went through our usual routine; let the girls out, fill the outdoor bowls, back inside to fill the indoor water bowls, give Henry his treat and a good ear scratching, then back outside to scoop poop before playtime. As I rounded the far end of the yard near the deck with poop-scooper in hand, the charred marks on the grill and the fence from the fire caught my attention. Wait a minute. The fence. The fence?!?! The fence wasn't burned in the fire! Wait, what?? What?!?!? There's a giant hole in the fence. I suddenly realized I could smell the fence! And to my chagrin, these burn marks were still warm to the touch. Crap. Crap. Oh yeah, I still have dog crap on the scoop. Empty the scoop. Get the girls inside. Give everyone treats. Try not to panic. Run home. Call Scott. Leave a message. Call the cops. Call the firemen. Call Scott again. Call his receptionist. The firemen are here. Run outside. Explain the situation. Try not to make a fool out of myself in front of the hottest fireman I've ever seen. My word, is he hot. He's like fireman-calendar-hot. Wow. Back to task at hand.

The fire chief remembered the last incident and decided that it was time to call the arson department. This time the fire was set right up against the house. (I'll be adding this to my list of reasons why we only buy brick houses.) I finally got Scott on the phone who, needless to say, came home immediately. The arson investigator arrived along with the police. The policemen proceeded to do a 'sweep' of the home, guns drawn, even though I'd already been in the house. Yikes! Anyway, all the uniformed gentlemen where incredibly nice and attentive and reassuring. But when they all dispersed, I offered Scott a couple of Xanax or martinis if he or Lynn needed them. I was happy to play pharmacist or bartender. Hey, I'm a good neighbor.

So, last night as I'm laying in bed with Maeve for her compulsory fifteen minutes of nursing before bedtime, I got to thinking about the whole, dare I say, arson issue. What if there would've been someone in the house when I arrived? What if they start to target our house? What if they try something more aggressive on Scott and Lynn's place? By the time the clock read 8:10, I'd fairly well wound myself up good and tight. A while later, as Zack and I were watching TV in the basement (a show about Supermax prisons, no less), we hear a ruckus. From our vantage point downstairs, we can't determine if it's coming from upstairs or outside. Zack leaped off the couch, blankets flying and booked upstairs, as I sat, motionless, under my blanket with Reese. Moments later a blur of black and blue fury comes tumbling down the basement stairs and proceeded to whir round the coffee table a few times before zooming back up the stairs.

It wasn't an arsonist attempting to burn down our house. Maggie, our deranged black cat, had managed to get her head stuck through the handle of a powder blue gift bag and was tearing recklessly through the place trying to free herself from what we can only assume she thought to be impending death.

Surprisingly, with no help from the pharmacy and only minor assistance from the liquor cabinet, everyone slept very, very well.

Saran Wrap and Dog Shit

I remember having a discussion with my mom once about saran wrap. I was covering something and she exclaimed that she thinks “cling film” (what we call it in the old country) is “bloody useless”. I explained that I agreed, except in the case of the actual brand name cling film, Saran Wrap. I was having great success with this product now that I’d stopped buying the generic grocery store brand. (For the record, I am a huge proponent of generic grocery products. I used to refuse to buy generic soup or cheese but I’m even on board with those items now.) Anyway, Mom watched as I swiftly and effortless covered a glass bowl of salad greens or whatever it was with the afore mentioned Saran Wrap and was truly amazed at how adamantly it stuck! Which brings me to this evening and my domestic dilemma… Does Saran Wrap loose its sticky over time? I’m pretty sure the box I used tonight is the same box I discussed with my mom many moons ago. I attempted to cover two glass bowls this evening; one large bowl containing salad, one little bowl containing leftover baked beans for Maeve. I was hopeless! I ended up using rubber bands to secure the film to the damn bowls! What’s that all about!!?? Does is expire!!??? Is Saran Wrap only sticky for a couple of months and then it turns to shit?! Oh, I hear what you’re all saying… “Why doesn’t she just use Tupperware!?!? It’s more cost effective and more environmentally sound. Tomorrow is Earth Day, for God’s sake, and she’s worried about the effectiveness of a product that is ultimately going to end up in a landfill!!!!” Well, let me tell you, you who pass judgment, why I decided to forgo the plastic storage container in exchange for the earth-not-so-friendly option…..

My husband, who you all know is a hero, was kind enough to take charge of all bath and bedtime responsibilities this evening leaving me the dishes and the twelve pack of Negro Modello he brought home. So my objective was to unload, then re-load the dishwasher, tidy up, and put away Maeve’s toys as quickly as humanly possible in order to relax and resume drinking said delicious Mexican beers. Picking Tupperware over saran wrapping the bowls would simply have added another step and left me with two additional dirty dishes to take care. It’s Friday night, people! Every second that stands between me and my Cerveza is precious! So I wrapped the bowls, hurled them in the fridge, washed our plates and silverware, tossed them randomly in the dishwasher, put a few things away, and just as I’m about to make a mad dash for the living room to throw Maeve’s toys in her toy box, something catches my eye out the kitchen window. There I see two ducks, one male, one female, wandering across our fenced in yard! Let me express that there is no water for miles. I mean, miles! Yet these two random mallards are strolling through my freshly cut grass, oblivious to the two dogs and cat inside our house who would gladly put each of them between two slices of bread and end them, feathers, bill and all. Well, I love ducks. Several years ago I went through a short phase where I felt an undeniable urge to learn everything I could about the common mallard duck. (It had a great deal to do with the fact that I was living in a ghetto apartment complex on a stagnant man-made lake where the ducks appeared to suffering from some kind of inbreeding but that’s another story.) I grabbed the camera and ran out into the yard to snap a photo of my new feathered friends. I got a decent shot then shooed them off. The last thing those ducks wanted was to nest in our yard. I remind you of the duck sandwiches I mentioned earlier. I went inside and headed to the bathroom where Zack was giving Maeve a bath to show him the picture. Moments after I entered our little bathroom Zack starts flamboyantly sniffing the air around me. I assume he just dropped a big farbo and is about to blame me for his gas. But, no. Little did I know, Mother Nature, like you, dear reader, was simply paying me back for choosing convenience over her earth. To thank me for my gratuitous use of non-biodegradable cling film, she had strategically planted those two ducks in my yard as a lesson in karma. When I slowly lifted my foot from the bathroom floor, much to my chagrin, I was greeted by a mammoth, stinking schmear of dog shit adhered to the underside of my green flip-flop. I had unknowingly trudged up the back steps, through the back hall, across the kitchen, across the carpeted hall, and into the bathroom all the while toting the good majority of a doggy steamer on my shoe.

Needless to say, I spent my precious R&R&B time (that’s rest&relaxation&beer time) mopping all the damn floors. Lesson learned.

Molly's Christmas scarf... which she moments later destroyed.

Maeve and Molly