Let the dog in!

You know you wanted it. Here’s a (poorly made) video of our walnut brain dog, Becca, letting herself out the sliding glass door, our “new dog door.” This time it wasn’t locked, but I WILL get footage of that. She opens it, locked or unlocked.

You’ll note she fails to close it.

Anyone want a dog?

Now, when we leave the house, the sliding door is battened down like the rig of a ship heading to the Southern Ocean.

Again, I ask, anyone want a Houdini reincarnate dog?

We had a big introduction today at Let the Dog in! I introduced the Kid to Benji, the original movie (1974).

Naturally, she didn’t love it as much as her mom. Next time I want her to love a movie I love, I’m gonna have to forbid her from watching it at all.

And her dad, well, geez, all I can say is, he grew up in Alaska. He’d never even seen Benji that’s how deprived he was. Although he was happy to see Uncle Joe from Petticoat Junction in this. (Did you know Benji was the dog in Petticoat Junction?)

But, you, dear readers reader mother, you loved Benji. And not just because we’re from Texas, lived near where they shot the film and might have even remotely known the producer or his offspring.

Remember the opening song where Benji’s head appears at the old broken window and then he trots off on his route? What a face.

Remember singer Charlie Rich? Yes, he sang Behind Closed Doors (how was racy that?!), but he also sang the Benji song, an Oscar nominee and a Golden Globe winner. This movie has a great, leisurely (by today’s standards) pace set off by that song.

And best of all: BENJI DOES NOT TALK.

Get this, he barks. He does the head tilt. He does the beggy face. He is dog extraordinaire.

You can go here to see the opening sequence of the film with the song, I Feel Love. If you’re a Netflix subscriber, you can instant stream the entire movie.

Did you know writer/producer/director Joe Camp was rejected by all the majors and had to distribute Benji through his company? Did you know it went on to gross revenues in the top 10% of all movies in 1974 and to be loved worldwide? Let that be a lesson to us all.

And the lesson? Doggedness prevails!

Woof!

It’s foggy here today, ferry horns are blowing, and damp chill surrounds us. Here’s a bit of light, a sunrise, to beat back the gloom.

Ahhhh.

I didn’t know the Hubs was a shopper when we met in Alaska. Who would? He was living on and renovating an old wooden boat and working for boat parts.

Now that we’re boring settled, married with kid, homeowners, you can’t miss it. If you ask for a box of cereal, he comes back with 5. If you tell him a certain sugar cube is good, he brings home enough sugar cubes for high tea at Windsor Palace.

Normally, I bitch and moan about wasted food, storage space, and money and roll my eyes WAY back politely tell him to only get one next time.

But I said nothing but “yay!” when I asked for a couple handfuls and he showed up with this 5lb. bag:

What is that?

At our local market, these, my friend, are called “mango cheeks.” A name I’m not really comfortable with since it conjures up a Mr. Mangohead with eyes, a nose, and two scooped out spots that used to be its cheeks.

(Granted, the dried fruit place at Pike Place Market has the best ones, but these are more convenient for us. Especially since they’re here, in the kitchen, at this moment.)

Forget the name, they are dried mango, plain and simple, no sugar added. And they ROCK.

Who needs caviar when there is this stuff?

I had NO idea they’d sell an entire bag, but that’s the Hubs for ya. Thanks, Hubs.

I have to go eat more mango now. Bye!

Do you have a favorite snack you’d eat by the TON?

[UPDATE: Upon further discussions with the Hubs, we have realized this is NOT a NEWT. Au contraire, this dark, slippery fellow is a Northwestern Salamander (amybstoma gracile), but I still think you don't want to eat him. Well, I don't. I guess I can't speak for you.

Anyway, wherever you read "newt" just replace that with "salamander" in your mind. But "newt" has so many more pun options. I couldn't think of any song lyric to use "salamander" in...]

We discovered someone creeping around our property the other night while gathering wood for a fire.

The Rough-Skinned Newt (Taricha granulosa) (I think)

Sure, he seemed nice enough and put up with being flipped around.

He had sweet eyes, in a bulbous, disgusting, sci-fi way.

But then I read if you eat one, you could DIE. Not just from being grossed out either, but from toxins he produces.

Wiki said this about toxicity of newts:

Many newts produce toxins in their skin secretions as a defense mechanism against predators. Taricha newts of western North America are particularly toxic; the Rough-skinned newt (Taricha granulosa) of the Pacific Northwest produces more than enough tetrodotoxin to kill an adult human. A 29-year-old man in Coos Bay, Oregon, who had been drinking heavily, swallowed a rough-skin newt Taricha granulosa for a dare. He died later that day despite hospital treatment.[7]

Most newts can be safely handled, provided that the toxins they produce are not ingested or allowed to come in contact with mucous membranes or breaks in the skin.[7] After handling, proper hand-washing techniques should be followed due to the risk from the toxins they produce and bacteria they carry, such as salmonella. [8][9].

So, look at them, take pictures of them, but remember, whatever you do, don’t SWALLOW the newt!

Class dismissed.

We had another conversation here at chez Let the dog in! illustrating the differences between the Hubs and yours truly’s marriage and others’ wedded bliss. It all came up after I went shoe shopping with a friend.

She bought some super cute (waterproof! yay!) boots but wanted to know the store’s returns policy.

In case her husband didn’t like them.

HUH?

If I came home with boots I was feeling da love for and the Hubs made a funny face or said, hmmmmm, not great, I’d say, “You don’t know shit about fashion, you dirtwad how great they feel!”

I came by this bitchiness attitude honestly, I can tell you. We haven’t discussed this issue, but I can already hear my mother’s retort: “In case he didn’t like them?? What, is he going to be wearing them?”

This concept of actually giving a shit caring what your spouse thinks, well, it’s as foreign to me as mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches (Just because they are good separately, doesn’t mean you get to do this! You know who you are!). It’s like those Facebook friends who claim to hold hands with their spouses at home, when no one is looking.

In what alternative universe is this stuff happening? Next, you’ll tell me married couples are also knitting together or taking dance classes voluntarily.

It’s just difficult for me to believe that all of ya’ll in Texas, where I was raised, would ever cotton to such shenanigans.

But a tiny yes-virginia-there-is-a-santa part of me realized last night, that those wives live each day knowing what their husband’s honest opinion is on any given topic. They offer understanding and respect to the person they’re spending the rest of their life with.

Someone must be speaking their thoughts and feelings out loud, and someone must be listening.

In our 8 years of marriage, this is a strategy I haven’t really tried before, hearing and honoring his words. Hmmmmmm, I bet that’d make him feel good, needed, validated, and whatever else Oprah’s discussing.

And when someone feels like that, well, they return that gift of giving, don’t they?

Maybe then he’d buy me some new boots!

Okay, readers, raise your hand if you want your husband’s honest opinion on your fashion choices!

The Kid is amazingly in tune with the world on so many levels, handling the universal tv remote, instant streaming Pingu on Netflix by herself, and painting her fingernails with permanent markers. OK, not so much that last one.

But yesterday, after having a babysitter, she made the following confession:

Mommy, I’m nice to all the babysitters (they DO say that about her). I’m nice because when I’m nice the babysitter has to pay you, but if I’m not nice, you have to pay the babysitter.

Um, what?

Now I’m wondering what fun, 6 year-old hostess thing she does for them to make their time more enjoyable and also, how can I convince her the same theory holds true for moms.
Can I bring you another Pop Tart, Brittany?
Wanna use my mom’s iphone?

Regardless of the bribery issue, wouldn’t that be a great system??
Come on, babysitters of America! Who’s with me?!