F is for Doggy Does Facebook (by Marianne Lonsdale)

For this year's A-Z Challenge, I am organising my writing group's participation for the first time. So I am posting each entry here as well as on the website, Write On, Mamas! who are a writing group based in the San Francisco North Bay area. We will have 25 Mamas and one Papa writing on a different letter of the alphabet during the A-Z Blog Challenge. Comments are always so appreciated, but would be lovely if you would comment on the Write On, Mamas! blog so the author will read your comment. Thanks and look forward to reading your blogs.

 

 

Photography by Mary Allison Tierney

I’m not sure if my family’s Facebook habit is getting out of hand or if our doggy love has gone over the deep end. But Kashi, our oh-so-adorable white fluff ball of a dog, has more friends on Facebook than I do. He hit the 200 mark weeks ago. I don’t even look at the count anymore – why make myself feel like a reject? I’ve been on Facebook way longer than he has. His profile picture is awfully darn cute. He is irresistible while I, apparently, can be easily resisted.

Not only that, but his friends actually pay attention to what he’s doing and comment on it. I’ll post something that I think is sure to grab interest or be worth a chuckle and I get zip comments. Kashi posts something pithy like “Wish I had a chewy treat right now” and ten friends pipe in with what they’d like to give him.



Kashi

Don’t even get me started on how many girlfriends he has. “Wanna play with me this weekend?” his bud Indigo asks. And some cute little mutt who goes by the name Poppy Fluff Flower pretended they were married for awhile to keep other bitches away. His pleading dark eyes shine a light into the vulnerability behind his machismo. 

We left him with his sitter this weekend. We were barely out of town when on his page is posted “The family just left!  Time 2 party!” He was sacked out when we returned Sunday evening. He’d obviously seen plenty of action during our absence. Hardly glanced at the new winter sweater and anti-itch shampoo we brought home to him. And today his post says “So tired from the weekend. Just gonna sleep all day long.” Me too buddy, but I still made it into work. Get a grip, or a stick or a bone or something.


Marianne Lonsdale lives with her husband, Michael, and son, Nicholas, in Oakland, California. She writes personal essays and short stories, and is now focused on developing a novel. Her work has been published in the San Francisco Chronicle, Literary Mama, Fiction365, The Sun, and Pulse.

D is for Dog (by Lorrie Goldin)

For this year's A-Z Challenge, I am organising my writing group's participation for the first time. So I am posting each entry here as well as on the website, Write On, Mamas! who are a writing group based in the San Francisco North Bay area. We will have 25 Mamas and one Papa writing on a different letter of the alphabet during the A-Z Blog Challenge. Comments are always so appreciated, but would be lovely if you would comment on the Write On, Mamas! blog so the author will read your comment. Thanks and look forward to reading your blogs.



Photography by Mary Allison Tierney

My husband and I are cat people, but our daughters failed to get the memo. Despite a menagerie of two felines and an assortment of rodents, the lobbying for a dog began in earnest when Emma, our eldest, was in second grade. In between constant replays of "Homeward Bound" and "Milo and Otis," Emma vowed to take care of all things puppy if only we would grant her wish. She even promised to pick up poop.

We're bad parents: We said no. So Emma brought out the heavy artillery: Begging. Whining. Pitching fits. After a solid year of this, our firm "no" turned squishy. Not only did we fail to hold the canine line, we also failed Parenting 101 by caving in the face of her atrocious behavior (unsurprisingly, this soon became our m.o. for dog-rearing as well).

Of course, I was the weak link. If it had been up to my husband, we never would have accepted even one of those "free" goldfish foisted upon families at school carnivals. But after Emma went to work on me, I went to work on Jonathan. On a long, romantic hike I outlined why we should overthrow reason and do something crazy, like get Emma a dog for her ninth birthday. "Besides," I concluded my pitch, "Maybe we could surprise ourselves and let in new love."

Jonathan, who pays attention to research saying that marriages fare best when husbands agree with their wives, knew he was doomed. But at least the birthday girl was thrilled with the promise of a puppy as soon as we got back from our summer vacation.

Button

Upon our return, we headed straight to the Humane Society. Emma was in heaven when she saw their brand new litter. Who knew that Rottweiler-Pit Bull puppies could be so cute? Still, it was not the mix I had in mind, even though Emma saw no need to look any further. This time, I did not cave, resolutely removing my screaming, betrayed child from the premises while simultaneously saving my marriage.

Fortunately, the next day there was an ad in the IJ for a litter in Woodacre. We knew we'd found our puppy as the mellowest little black-and-white guy yawned and waggled his tail. Thus Button entered our lives and our hearts.

Emma and her younger sister, Ally, were enthralled as Button waddled up and down the stairs after them. They were less enchanted by his needle-like puppy teeth, and spent Day Two climbing into the lower branches of a tree to avoid his nipping enthusiasm. Many days thereafter they ignored him completely.

In his intemperate youth, Button chewed through one sofa, a set of seatbelts, and two pairs of Jonathan's glasses. Neither girl picked up any poop, either.

But one promise was kept: We could, after all, let in new love.

Lorrie Goldin is a closet dog lover and mother of two grown daughters. She is a psychotherapist in private practice in San Rafael and Berkeley. Lorrie's writing has appeared in the New York Times' "Motherlode" blog, skirt!, Underwired Magazine, the Sacramento Bee, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Marin Independent Journal, and Harlots' Sauce.

A-Z Challenge: D - Dog

D is for Dog

I inherited  was forced to live  agreed to look after my husband’s dog when we moved to the US, along with his children. Although the dog (who is tail-less and called Stubby) was psychotic, she was less frightening than my new step-children. At least I had had a dog before. 

Walking The Dog Wisdom!