Honks, Strings, Bones, Squeaks, Balls (x2) is What My Saturdays Have Turned Into. Ah, But It's Sunday

Weekend mornings now begin with FaceTime calls to the family and updates on our lives, which mainly consist of "I'll show you my dog if you show me yours." Of course, Glamis is petrified of vacuum cleaners and yesterday when I cleaned, she jumped our fence and ran to the front lawn. She was punished most of the day by being locked in her cage.

Then I felt guilty and headed out to Burlington where I bought her a couple of toy replacements (this time without strings or stuffing). Obviously, they know what dogs do because they market the goods with "No Stuffing!" and "No Strings!" They know gullible customers like me who peruse the aisles to find something that will last more than 24 hours. Of course, her new monster comes with a "Squeaker: Guaranteed to Still Squeak After Puncture."

I'll believe that when I see it.

The clown circus has entered my house again and it sounds like a preschool bike convention or a goose orgy. I have to laugh (and thank whisky. Whisky helps, too, cough cough, with my allergies.

Once upon a time, Saturdays were meant to get into my own mischief and trouble. Now, there's nothing more appetizing than having an excuse to be indoors, in my house, and with the noise of a playful pup.

I've officially entered middle age excitement. I mean, the toy doesn't have bulging eyes she can pop out of its head or a tail that she can tear into tiny parts to leave all over the house. It just has a horn and she is so in love. Every once in a while she looks up and me with eyes that say, "Thank you, Dad. Thank you. This is the greatest." Of course I also imagine her telling me, "I'm so sorry for escaping the back yard. I will not do it again. I promise. I have a toy now. Everything is perfect. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

I thought the giant rubber ring would be her new thing, but thus far that has been left on the kitchen floor with the deserted toys of yesteryear (um, last week).

And I'm shaking my head thinking, "Lord, Crandall. You've done this to yourself.