I was thinking last week that I almost wish I could get my money back on my can of "bark stopper," because Number One Son and I have only used it three times since we got it: once to get AB to stop barking, once to get her to let go of the ball for playing fetch, and once just to see if it would get Tank's attention. It worked so well that we haven't used it since, so we still have what I consider a big can of whoop-ass that we don't seem to need. On the other hand, when three puffs of air worked so well, I certainly can't bring myself to ask for my money back!
This morning I may have shot it off out of line. I woke up before daylight only because we were having a downpour and the sun was completely gone, so I curled up in bed with a crossword puzzle for a while before I dragged myself down the hall to my laptop, where I planned to spend the day editing a dissertation. The weather was still dreary enough not to bother NOS upstairs, so I was just enjoying the quiet.
A little after 9, I thought I saw something go down the street, and almost immediately, AB started to bark. I told her a couple of times to be quiet, got up and checked the front of the house for anything she might bark at (which, in her case, could range from burglars to bunnies), and assured her she needed to shut up. When she didn't—and she wasn't heading obediently to either her kennel or my lounge chair—I found the spray and tapped it.
She stopped barking immediately, but she didn't shut up. When she wants attention, she often sort of "sings" to us in a way that reminds me of little kids saying "gimme, gimme, gimme!" It's not nearly as annoying as the barking, but when it doesn't stop, it gets close.
I thought I had finally convinced her to settle down a little because she got very quiet, and then I heard something I really didn't expect: a man's voice saying, "Didn't you even hear me?"
I nearly dropped my teeth: the man was my soldier son, who was supposed to have been flying in from his Army post in Georgia to spend a couple of weeks at home before his unit ships to Afghanistan next month. At least, that's what I had assumed when he told me a couple of weeks ago that the Army had changed his release dates so that he wasn't going to be able to ride his new Harley home. (I was just about as glad: he's old enough to make his own decisions and I'm sure he's a careful driver, but cross-country on a motorcycle is just somehow scary to me. On the other hand, the Army is about to ship him to Afghanistan.)
Come to find out, he had been released from duty a little early on Friday afternoon, then taken several miles away for a going-away function that kept him from heading home until about 3 yesterday afternoon. He had hopped on his bike and headed west, driving all evening, all night, and all morning from eastern Georgia to central Texas. He had pulled into the driving too far for me to see his bike from the front window, opened the garage door, and stepped inside to peel off the riding clothes that had gotten drenched on the 5-hour ride across Texas.
By the time I found that out, it was way too late to take back that air puff I had used to scare AB, who was really only doing her best to protect me.
Next time I'll have to check more carefully before I pull that trigger!
This morning I may have shot it off out of line. I woke up before daylight only because we were having a downpour and the sun was completely gone, so I curled up in bed with a crossword puzzle for a while before I dragged myself down the hall to my laptop, where I planned to spend the day editing a dissertation. The weather was still dreary enough not to bother NOS upstairs, so I was just enjoying the quiet.
A little after 9, I thought I saw something go down the street, and almost immediately, AB started to bark. I told her a couple of times to be quiet, got up and checked the front of the house for anything she might bark at (which, in her case, could range from burglars to bunnies), and assured her she needed to shut up. When she didn't—and she wasn't heading obediently to either her kennel or my lounge chair—I found the spray and tapped it.
She stopped barking immediately, but she didn't shut up. When she wants attention, she often sort of "sings" to us in a way that reminds me of little kids saying "gimme, gimme, gimme!" It's not nearly as annoying as the barking, but when it doesn't stop, it gets close.
I thought I had finally convinced her to settle down a little because she got very quiet, and then I heard something I really didn't expect: a man's voice saying, "Didn't you even hear me?"
I nearly dropped my teeth: the man was my soldier son, who was supposed to have been flying in from his Army post in Georgia to spend a couple of weeks at home before his unit ships to Afghanistan next month. At least, that's what I had assumed when he told me a couple of weeks ago that the Army had changed his release dates so that he wasn't going to be able to ride his new Harley home. (I was just about as glad: he's old enough to make his own decisions and I'm sure he's a careful driver, but cross-country on a motorcycle is just somehow scary to me. On the other hand, the Army is about to ship him to Afghanistan.)
Come to find out, he had been released from duty a little early on Friday afternoon, then taken several miles away for a going-away function that kept him from heading home until about 3 yesterday afternoon. He had hopped on his bike and headed west, driving all evening, all night, and all morning from eastern Georgia to central Texas. He had pulled into the driving too far for me to see his bike from the front window, opened the garage door, and stepped inside to peel off the riding clothes that had gotten drenched on the 5-hour ride across Texas.
By the time I found that out, it was way too late to take back that air puff I had used to scare AB, who was really only doing her best to protect me.
Next time I'll have to check more carefully before I pull that trigger!
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