Category Archives: me-me-me

Dog Ownership: An Eight-Foot Love Triangle

We’ve all heard it: a dog is “Man’s Best Friend.”

This is never more true than in my own house. We have an eight-foot triangle. See, I love my dog dearly, but she has made it abundantly clear in her almost twelve years that she doesn’t love me. She loves him, my husband.

And not in a oh-he’s-alright kind of way. In an I Dream of Jeanie I’ll do anything for you, master and may I lick between your toes for 25 minutes now, master? kind of way.

dogs

I get a lot of shots of this, her rump.


Rejection on a professional or creative level is hard to take; rejection in relationships is torturous. But rejection by your dog, the one you’ve had since puppyhood, is the worst.

Sure, she wags her stubby tail and flops her ears back when I come home. For a minute. Like as a favor to me. After a few seconds, I see in her eyes a glimpse of Good enough? We done here? before she trots off to find him.

dogs

And another rump.

If she sits by me on the couch (see how nice I am, she can sit on the couch!), the quickest way to have her leave is if I pet her. And who does she roll on her back for, showing her fuzzy tummy every morning? Him.

It’s not like my husband loves her more. In fact, I think I love her more, but he gives her more treats and more steak off his fork and well, she’s basically a cold-hearted food slut.

She’s so obvious about her preference that it’s possible I’ve gotten a tad resentful. It may be true I no longer fill up the water dish immediately or restock the dog biscuits. I have to protect my own heart, you know.

I hope to start anew some day, wipe the past clean and have my dog lavish me daily with affection.

Yes, some day I hope to get a new dog.

Does your dog show favorites? Tell me I’m not alone!

Where Dog Ownership Conflicts with Shoe Ownership

I am insane Duh, Wendy.

If we go by that definition of doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result or perhaps even if we don’t use that definition.

Here’s what happens:
When I come in from a run with the dog and by “run” I may mean mostly walking, I take off my shoes (not that anyone else does around here…or not that I’m bitter) and put them here–
shoe basket

Later, every day at some point, the dog gets excited about something near the front door, evil brown truck, a dog getting walked, a raccoon ambling by, whatever. With her emotions overflowing, she then needs to put something in her mouth I have no idea where she could have learned this….
dog with shoeShe doesn’t chew it or eat unlike me; she just walks and wiggles around with it in her mouth.

Oh, that’s so cute, Wendy. That shouldn’t make you crazy!

Except that 9 times out of 10, the dog ends up like this–
griffon shoe distributor–which has earned her the title of “Shoe Distributor.”

This time I was lucky. It got dropped early on, not out in the weeds grass or piles of old leaves where I find it weeks later wet and 3 shades darker from the Pacific Northwest treatment.

The crazy enters when it’s time for me to go walk that very dog and either have 2 right shoes or 1 shoe from each pair (yes, I have left the house with two different shoes on) or 0 shoes. At which point I holler “What the hell?! Have you seen my other shoe??! Where is my other shoe??

And the Hubs says, without any show of even pretending to consider the matter, that stock comeback gem of husbands all around the planet: “I don’t know.”

So, all that *waves hand in large circular motion* makes me CRAZY.

And I keep putting my shoes in that basket.

And my dog is almost 12 years old.

I am insane.

“I See France,” a 10 minute play by Wendy Wallace

Ahem! Sharing time, everybody!

For your viewing pleasure, this is the staged reading of my play, “I See France,” from last August’s Island Theatre 10 Minute Play Festival (and winner: Best Adult Play will wonders never cease).

Bronsyn, Ruth and Marybeth play the main panties (Brava!!). Take 9 minutes and watch. I hope you enjoy it. 🙂

Does this make me Charlie Brown?

Do you know what this is?
That is my dumb dog, a purebred, wire-haired pointing griffon who keeps barking to come in and then sits down outside when the door is opened for her.

I’m beginning to understand how Charlie Brown feels falling for that football Lucy keeps putting up to kick.

She barks to piss me off come in, and I, obediently and ironically like Pavlov’s dog, open the door, only to see this pose:
I’m not speaking to you.

I swear there was one time I cleaned her ears right after she came in. But that was months ago. Now, she’s just doing this to be a female dog.

I tried enticing with her favorite holiday toy, a singing doggie tree ornament a freaking collectible, only for sale for $99 on ebay now that woofs to the tune of Jingle Bells.Didn’t work.

In fact, I left the door open cuz I could yell swear words out to the whole neighborhood while still sitting inside, and that female dog silently stole the toy when I wasn’t looking and tossed it in the yard.

I suppose she has many, important doggy things to do out there, such as wrap her tongue around her entire snout.
She’s making me nuts but I promise to make it look like an accident.
Do you hear something?

In the sun and in the clouds

[I’m writing this outside at Bainbridge Bakers, and a sparrow keeps hopping up on the chair next to me as he looks around. You’re a bird, wouldn’t a tree be a better lookout? But it’s as if a companion joined me for tea drinking, so I won’t complain about that.]

I’m in a mood.

And my brain keeps arguing with me. You should be happy. You should be relieved. Not bummed out, you freaking idiot.

My brain is kinda mean. Is yours?

My play was performed.

My kid turned nine.

School started.

And I didn’t even have a mimosa this year. That tells you something.

But I also know that while I can get busier and distract myself by plunging into something new, those blues will still be sitting there in the chair next to me, softly chirping, until I have a conversation or twelve with them.

Like running awhile…and then walking. Thinking of other things…and then listening.

And like everything else, I know it will naturally change and be replaced by something else eventually, I promise, Hubs!.

[By the time I’ve finished this blog post, the bird has hopped away and a person has asked to sit in the chair for some sun, next to me but turned away. Another companion, except we’re parallel sitting. My husband would strike up a conversation. Not me. But I’ll sit by her and feel less lonely, shifting a bit already.]