Nip-tease

Let me preface this post with a humongous apology to my millions of fans out there who have been unable to eat, sleep, or exercise while waiting for a new post. I know it's been rough for many of you who have been dying to go for a run and pound the sizzling pavement in the humid, mulch-ish smelling air of your neighborhoods. Even more have bravely fought the desire to get to the gym for Body Pump or spin class, because you felt the need to sit for days by the computer to see if a new post had popped up. Alas, no such luck for almost a month...can you believe that snotty little blogger? If I were you, I'd blame me for all your exercise negligence. It's okay though, I got your back, and will take the heat for you. That's just what a nice person I am.

So onward, dear readers, to yet another look into why I blog for sanity's sake!

Note: The names of certain people and animals have been changed to protect the innocent. Any likeness to any person or animal, living or dead, may be the exact person or animal I am referring to, but my guess is, you really don't care!


Baby Charlie got nipped by a dog tonight. A friend from days gone by had stopped by my parent's house while walking his dog to say hello. Lets call the dog...ummm...Bob Dole!

Sidebar: When Charlie and I first got Peanut, we tried to name her Bob Dole. We were/are big Bob Dole fans and it was shortly after SNL did the skit where Bob Dole was on Real World. (Worth looking up on YouTube if you can find it!) At the time, it seemed like a good tribute.

I know what you're thinking and I guess I could see where those who don't comprehend my warped sense of humor and true love of Republican icons would not find it funny and may even see it as disrespectful to name a dog Bob Dole. I assure you it was only because we loved him so much that we would name our dog that. Think about it; if you name a dog after someone you don't like, would you be nice to it? Duh, NO!!! I could go on about this, but I'll save that for another day. Let's just say that if someone were to name their dog Mary Carlton, I would take it as a first rate compliment.

Unfortunately, the name 'Bob Dole' didn't stick on our puppy and we ended up with 'Peanut'. But, because I now have the freedom to re-name the dog in this post anything I want, I choose Bob Dole.

*End of Sidebar*

Bob Dole was a pretty dog, but it was obvious there was a mix of one of those two breeds that make normal people a bit skittish and freaks like Michael Vick smile. All the kids were a bit nervous at first, but then they slowly started to come around. The tennis ball was Baby Charlie's idea.

When Bob Dole started catching a tennis ball in mid-air on high bounces, low bounces, sideways bounces...the kids were diggin' it. They all took turns throwing the ball. Even Lyra who can talk herself into being petrified of dogs let go of my hand for almost 20 seconds at one point.

My friend was getting ready to go and he put Bob Dole back on his leash but Charlie kept throwing him the ball. They were (mostly) short throws within the length of the leash, but I have to admit that some were out of Bob's range. Because both Bob Dole and Baby Charlie were getting more and more wound up, my friend took the leash back off the dog. The game of fetch continued and after a particularly wild pitch that the dog did not even see, Charlie turned away from the dog and started to run. Bob Dole, being a dog, was jumping and playing with a great big smile on his face. He nipped and caught Charlie on his side.

Sadly, it was just like you'd think - I could see it happening before it did, but was not in a position to stop it. (Like I want to jump in there and get bit by a dog?!?)

Charlie screamed like he'd been shot at close range...not that I know what that sounds like, but I'd bet it'd be a pretty loud scream which is what Baby Charlie let out of his large open mouth.

Bob Dole managed to get one top tooth and one bottom tooth onto/into Baby Charlie's side. So there were two teeth marks about 4 inches apart. What I think was the bottom tooth gave him an immediate dark bruise the size of a pencil eraser. It has since turned into a larger bruise the size of a half-dollar. The other "wound" actually did puncture the skin. It didn't even bleed, but looked like it might.

Poor Baby Charz, he went crazy. He screamed for forever. My friend felt really bad, but it was just one of those things. But I have to admit, it was an uncomfortable situation.

Later we were in the house and Charlie's still screaming and my dad says "What would make it feel better?" And he says "Only if I could play the clarinet!" Excuse me? Okay, exactly when did playing the clarinet even come onto your radar screen, let alone become a focal point. I could find no relevance to any situation with that comment.

My Dad then told me that he was showing Tali (the oldest - who plays clarinet) his clarinet. Baby Charlie had been asking all day to play it, but my dad didn't have the cork grease or whatever you need to put it together when it hasn't been played in a long time. Finding out that the TV show "Wipeout" was on had a significant calming effect...but we only caught the last 20 minutes and so then there was renewed screaming.

The next statement was "I wish I was borned tomorrow." My Dad said "Why?" He said, "B/c then I wouldn't have got bitted." My Dad tried to make light of it with "Oh, it was just a little love nip!" This brought on another onslaught of tears...Lord! "It wasn't a nip...I got bitted!" Dad and I were on the floor laughing. It suddenly occurred to me that one of my non-blood relatives would've had the damn dog shot by now, and I'm finding immense humor in the situation!

Anyway, I got him to calm down long enough to get him into my parent's room to watch TV and guess what was on? "The Jackson's; An American Dream" and then all was right with the world...until that ended, but I promised he could watch it On Demand tomorrow and that helped to quell the screams.

Note to self: Double check Mom and Dad's cable package before promising children they can watch something On Demand!

When I finally, finally, FINALLY got him upstairs for bed and managed to get the Sponge Bob pj's on without coming remotely close to touching any part of the "injury" he settled down and got into bed. We talked for a few moments and he said with a sniff, "I wish I never got bitted." To which I replied, "Charlie, remember BobBob said it was a Love Nip!"

Being 5 he answered "It's a bite, it's a Bite, it's a BITE!"

Being immature I responded "It's a nip, it's a Nip, IT'S A NIP!"

"BITE!"

"NIP!"

"BITE!"

"NIP!"

"BITE!"

"NIP!"

"Awwww Mom, can't I just call it whatever I want?"

He sounded so tired and pathetic I actually felt a twinge of sorrow for the little guy. "Of course baby, you can call it anything you want!"

He paused just long enough for me to remember how much I love him when I heard a tiny voice say,

"Can I call it Michael Jackson?"