Gross Riddle

How long does it take a Q-Tip to travel 18 inches?

If the route runs from my dog's mouth to my dog's butt, about four days.

Since the other day when our cocker spaniel Lola decided to eat about two dozen Q-Tips for lunch, we've been keeping an eye on her and bracing ourselves for a $1200 vet bill. She's actually done this before, but never with quite so many at one time, so while we're pretty sure she can handle one or two, this didn't look good.

But luckily, sure enough just yesterday we finally started to see the first couple of slimy brown competitors poke their once fluffy heads out into the daylight and stagger across the finish line.

Unfortunately, if the dog's digestive tract is, I dunno, twelve feet long, she is apparently only able to push a Q-Tip for about 11.92 feet. That last inch or so is where I come in.

So anyway, we aren't out of the woods yet on the vet bill, but it looks like we're making some progress. And on the plus side, the dog has been acting very fond of me since last night when I yanked that first handful out for her. I suppose when you've got a problem like that and can't really reach your own ass, you'd better make some really good friends in a hurry.

Remedial snowman building

Today I was less of a baby parent and more of a dog parent. For starters, I spent lunch at work eating a god-awful ramen noodle "just add water" concoction and missed my usual noontime date with Babe-O. Then, because I had some client work to do this evening, Mom-O took over the bathtime ritual and left me to my own devices. 

Before long, the baby was sleeping happily and I was done with my work and puttering around the house with no one to play with.

At about ten o'clock, I headed outside with three dogs and a splash of whiskey in a coffee cup.

I knew it had been snowing outside, but it wasn't until the back door wouldn't open all the way that I realized just how much. Last night I cleared off the back deck and spend a little more than an hour snow-blowing and shoveling out front. By the time I went outside tonight, it didn't look like I had done either.

I started over on the back deck, first clearing the door area and then brushing the rails, carving out the steps, and doing all the heavy lifting. As I did this, the dogs just watched me, which was odd, until I realized that there was so much snow in the back yard that they couldn't even move around out there. The littlest and most enthusiastic one would hop along like a furry swimmer doing a very cold butterfly stroke, but the other two weren't having it.

So with my sweat pants tucked into my boots, one black glove, and one blue mitten (I was in a hurry to get out there), I started trudging. Oh, and I'm not usually a sweatpants kind of guy, but in the few minutes I spent with Babe-O today, she managed to pee all over my jeans.

Anyway, I trudged my way through the almost waist-deep snow until there was a big oval. This activity was much more tiring then I expected.

Once the oval was in place, the dogs had a blast running around like greyhounds at the track. The big dog was the only one tall enough to see over the edge of the trench, so unless you were standing up on the deck, you couldn't even see the little dogs. But there they were, going around and around until they were completely whipped.

At that point, I was roasting from trudging around in circles and didn't want to go inside yet, so I made them stay out a little longer to keep me company. I planned to stand out on the deck and finish my drink, but by this time it was thoroughly frozen to the deck rail that I couldn't even pick it up. When I finally did pry the thing off of the wood, my mitten-wearing hand lost its grip and send the thing flying into a three-foot snow bank. My littlest dog found it immediately and signaled the location like he had just spotted a downed bird.

With my (empty) cup perched safely on the doorstep, I figured I would take a few minutes and make a snow man. Then, if there was time, maybe a snow baby and a snow BMW.

Well, it turns out that I couldn't make a snow golf ball, much less a snow BMW. After a few minutes, I thought back a little bit and realized that to the best of my knowledge I've never made a snowman in my life.

What kind of childhood rip-off is that? As of my sixteenth birthday I could tell you how to shoot a potato through a garage door, open a beer bottle with the edge of a coffee table, and pull a quick U-turn using the parking brake. But apparently I missed that day in third grade where they teach you how to make a damn snowman.

I guess that's what HR types refer to as "distinct skill sets."

After staggering back inside, my skill-rich wife promised to take me outside for a lesson in snowman building later this week. Which is good, because otherwise I'd eventually have to endure Babe-O's what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-my-daddy-and-why-is-he-using-duct-tape-and-a-basketball-to-make-me-a-snow-man look a few years down the road.

Babe-O’s Christmas World Tour (final stop)

We made it thankfully to Delaware, getting as many miles as possible out of Babe-O's sleeping time by leaving around 3 a.m. for the seven or eight hour trip.

We did our best to get some sleep before we left, but it was kind of a rough night. We were all camped out in the living room at Mom-O's parents' house, which meant Mom-O on the couch, Babe-O in her bassinet, me in a recliner, and dogs strategically placed throughout the room.

The problem was that whenever anyone upstairs made a peep or did something outrageous like go to the restroom, our littlest dog would freak out and start barking, which would wake up our biggest dog, who would really start barking. By the end of the night, this chain reaction had woken up everybody in the house (Babe-O included) three or four times.

Regardless, 3 a.m. finally did roll around and we were off and running.

We made it about halfway to Delaware before we found a good Perkins where we could get Babe-O out of her seat for lunch and a fresh diaper. She was in a good mood, but wasn't happy at all when it came time to put her back in the car.

She was fussier than usual once we were back on the road, despite me being willing to risk getting pulled over under suspicion of DUI for changing lanes constantly to rock her to sleep.

It was at about the same time we realized we hadn't seen any poop in about twenty-four hours when we heard a noise in the back seat that sounded like a walrus choking on a trumpet.

We pulled over to assess the damage in a little one-street town that ran parallel to the highway. Mom-O managed to get the diaper changed and the baby happy in the back seat and we got driving again without too much fuss.

We made it to my folks' house before lunch and it was nice to be where we were going with much of the day to spare. Babe-O was a little cranky from the ride but after a while she was delightful for her Nana and Granddaddy.

When we exchanged Christmas gifts, she was still a little out of sorts, but still did her share of unwrapping presents and generally enjoying her booty.

I was also feeling like a little kid, with eyes lighting up at the two giant boxes of diapers we had been given. I was half tempted to keep the boxes sealed and hide them in the basement. If the world economy ever collapses completely, a good box of diapers will be worth more than gold.

Ava ended up with lots of cool stuff and she seemed quite pleased. We gave Nana and Granddaddy personalized mugs that showed a beautiful picture that Mom-O had taken with her very cool, very professional camera. It is a great picture, with Babe-O sporting a bright red tutu and a little Santa hat. I received a similar gift the other day, and it ended up very high on my list of favorite presents. Love that baby.

Now we are relaxing with my parents in dog-free bliss. Actually they have a dog, but Elizabeth is an old English bulldog who is about 112 in people years and doesn't have quite the enthusiasm that makes our three such a handful.

It was also cool to see Elizabeth because she has been snubbing me every time I visited since I started bringing my own dogs with me. Now it is more like old times and she has been willing to hang out and send a few friendly glances my way. 

As we plug along at an Elizabeth-like pace, this is pretty much the perfect environment for Babe-O to recover from her go-go-go first Christmas experience. For a very small person she has managed to pack a lot of activity into the last few days. Now all three of us can unwind a bit and catch our breath.

Hooray for kicking back. I just hope our dogs are behaving themselves with their various (and very generous) family babysitters back home.