Category Archives: Butters the dog
Sleep deprived Buttery post
I could have sworn it was Saturday this morning. It really ought to have been. Nic was off for ‘April break’. What IS that? And why is it only one day?
Anyway – I slept like a baby last night. Woke up every 2 hours upset with something or another. Not quite screaming.
Drama + Butters + Sinus Tachycardia + son chatting on his ipad = no Z’s.
(I mean, he was seriously chatting – full on – carrying his conversation buddy around the house. In a moment of delirium, I actually thought a girl was in the bloody kitchen with him. Then I sussed it out.)
ANYWAY (she says again, and this time she means it)
My pitter pattering heart has been trying out all kinds of fun new ways to present itself to me lately. ‘Ben Gay like warmth’ feeling … left armpit pain … then last night, it got sassy on the drums … brrrrrrrrm, burr, brrr-bump. And then something in my chest grabbed a tambourine and started showing off.
A friend taught me to cough to get myself back into rhythm – so I lay there, coughing like a dork.
THEN there’s Butters. Oh Butters.
Don’t let this image fool you. She does. not. sleep!
For two weeks or so – every few hours from 9pm until my alarm goes off at 6am (not that it’s had a chance to go off for the last week), she stands inches from my face and whines and wags.
I get up, let her out – and then leave the flipping front door open so she can get back in.
You see the crack? And you’ve seen her nose – so seriously, WHY can’t she ‘nose’ her way back out?!?! She sure as hell can do it when a cat walks w/in a mile of the house.
I might as well just put an ad on Craig’s List inviting any local wackos or serial killers to my insanely unsecure house at night.
“Come on in! Doors open! I’ll just be in my room, trying to sleep. Be as quiet as possible when you kill me.”
Why does she sleep inside? Our fence is chicken wire basically … I think intended for really apathetic, frail chickens. And we have coyotes out and about.
In between the fun excursions to the flipping door – the tiny snatches of sleep I grabbed onto, (which, resulted in nightmares) Waking up to Nic church mousin’ around the house and my heart getting all excited, I woke up (pffft … didn’t really ‘wake up’ so much as ‘give up’) none too pleased.
I tried to have a chat with her.
She didn’t care. She assures me she’ll be doing it tonight too. And the night after that, and the night after that.
And the thought occurred … when she’s older, and not energetic – probably I’ll miss the spry insomniac that she used to be.
Butters vs the chihuahua
Ah Tuesday morning. I’d just waved goodbye to my sick son – feeling a little guilty sending him off to school as stuffy and half awake as he was.
Fed the dog, grabbed some coffee – dressed in a long black skirt, a pink sweater and black knee-high boots.
Plenty of time to relax and play a little Candy Crush on my ipad as I sat outside and enjoyed the breaking dawn.
Chaos erupted.
It sounded like a pretty gnarly dog fight.
Crap. Where’s Butters??
I none so gingerly plonked my ipad onto my wicker table, spilled my coffee and panicked.
What to grab?
What’s going on?
Get the mace???
No … that’s gonna hurt! And let’s face it, since I don’t react too calmly in chaos, probably I’d be the one hurting when I accidentally sprayed myself in the eye instead of the source of the growling and frantic barking.
Big stick. I spied a big stick and grabbed it – bravely and briskly walking toward the ruckus.
Butters was going berserk. Absolutely, totally, kitten on crack crazy over the neighbors chihuahua.
(The only picture I could find related to Chihuahuas and Butter lol)
It had slipped under its fence and was under some illusion that it stood a chance against my 65 lb Sharpei/Sherpherd mix.
It stood (about 7 inches from the ground to the tip of it’s little snack like head) snapping and snarling from the opposite side of my barely-a-fence.
It’s more like chicken wire … big gaping holes that a very small dog could simply walk right through and into the mouth of my dog.
Please know, Butters is by nature a lover, not a fighter.
She gets excited when strange dogs go by – wags her tail and wants to play. Cats – not so much. And what she must have been thinking was “WHY is this cat barking and baring its teeth so close to my territory?!” Meanwhile, she was jumping up on the flimsy ‘fence’ and trying to get at the ‘barking cat’.
My first attempt to separate them resulted in Butters slipping her collar. (Insert Butter joke here _______)
My second attempt, after inserting stick in between dogs, left me with only one option.
Pick up angry, barking, snarling dog and carry her inside.
Remember now, I’m wearing a long black skirt, pink sweater and boots.
Nice.
Sixty-five pounds feels a lot like one hundred and sixty-five pounds when it’s still snapping and wriggling and thrashing it’s hindquarters in an angry tantrum.
I plop her down in the house and catch my breath. My heart is POUNDING. I can not DO exertion. No, seriously, I have sinus tachycardia, and walking up a flight of stairs feels like I’ve run a marathon.
But no time to waste. I have to leave for work in 20 minutes and there’s still the issue of the rat dog.
I exit from the side door, much to Butters chagrin. I hear her miserable pleas as I meet up with the trouble maker outside.
He follows me – rather pleasantly as I head to his house.
“C’mon, let’s get you home.” He trots along beside me.
Now, Chihuahua lives with a friend. Friend is a corgi. Corgi seems nice enough.
I arrive at my neighbors gate and read the ‘Beware of Dog’ sign.
“Well”, I reason, “I’m WITH the dog”.
And corgi is nice.
In I go. Dog is now home and I ring the doorbell to let them know they need to patch the fence so tidbit doesn’t wander into Butterland.
No answer.
But I do now hear the corgi.
Who proceeds to leap up and nip my arse!!!
Keep calm! Dogs can smell fear! Do NOT emit any dog-fear-pheromones!
I ring the bell again.
Nothing.
I now have to make it from the front door – to the gate to exit.
Crap.
The corgi is eyeballing me – and preparing to make another move.
I reach the gate and gently block the attack with my boot and scoot out to safety.
I’m now left with having to patch up the escape route myself.
I’m picking up rocks, pieces of wood – the dogs are at the fence, snapping at my hands when they get too close to their faces.
10 minutes ’til I have to leave for work.
I decide I can’t risk coming home to carnage. Butters will have to stay inside in our absence.
Felt awful all day. Poor thing. Was also praying she would use my bathroom if she couldn’t hold ‘it’. (The tile being easier to clean I mean. Obviously she can’t use the bathroom … I wish!)
Grabbed some ‘U’ fence posts on the way home (kissed $23 goodbye for those) – figured I could at least reinforce the ‘flimsy’ so she couldn’t leap out after the bugger.
Stopped by the neighbors, who still weren’t home, but did get to explain what happened to a friend of theirs who happened to be out front.
Came home, threw off my dog hair covered black skirt and pink sweater and went out to sledgehammer in those posts.
Considered using the hammer another way – but I borrowed it from a friend and don’t want to stick her with evidence.
Butters the brave (not)
My dog is very brave … when there is no danger.
The other evening, sitting outside reading, a shot could be heard in the distance. I’m used to these rural sounds. But evidently it scared Butters as she ran past my wicker chair into the house.
Thanks for leaving me out there trusty friend.
Last night at 10 ish, I heard thudding. I assumed it was my son church mousing around and hadn’t felt well that day – rolled over and went to sleep.
After midnight something woke me. I looked at the clock 12:30 am. My sturdy King sized bed shook as 3 succinct thuds vibrated through the thin walls.
Butters alerted – but didn’t rise.
I have long abandoned fear of the dark or of ‘bumps in the night’. Motherhood has that side effect. Up I got.
My first stop, Nic’s room.
He lay sleeping, the glow of the television lighting his face.
Okay.
I checked the side door window – nothing out there.
Purposely avoided the front door, for now, and checked the window from my bathroom at the other end of the home. Nothing I could see.
Alright – the front door. I parted the window blinds hoping there would not be a face. I felt pretty safe – I just dreaded being startled.
Deep breath.
Peek.
Nothing.
Hmmm.
I considered getting my knife – but decided against it. Opened the door for Butters to investigate.
Butters did not want to go outside.
This unnerved me more than the noise. If it was an innocuous source, she would have trotted out there, woofing her bravado.
I closed the door and checked all the locks and did the only thing I could do.
Went back to bed.
The mornings are dark. There was a sensation that something was ‘off’ at 6 am.
Usual routine is: I get up, use the bathroom, let the dog out, start the coffee, take breakfast in to Nic and make sure he’s awake.
I did those things and noticed Butters did not go far. In fact, she didn’t leave the porch.
Perhaps whatever visited us in the night left its scent – or perhaps she’s just a chicken with a good memory.
I noted the gate was closed.
I doubt a lurker would politely close my gate.
I’m hoping the thuds were from some night-time military testing in the mountains. But three separate thuds in a row? Odd.
As I waved goodbye to Nic, he said as he stepped off the porch ‘hope I don’t die!’
‘You?’ I answered, ‘You’re leaving the creepy zone.’!
That put a little pep in his step and off he went down the dark road.
Butters is currently on my bed as I type last nights events – staying safe from the memory of when she wasn’t brave?
From stare to pounce and church mousin’
I am tired.
I am tired and actually wondered if there is a nice family with a farm somewhere, with miles of soft fenced in grass for Butters to run and pounce in – and wi-fi so my son will visit her.
9pm is ‘official’ bedtime in our house. Meaning, the Goodnight sleep tights are said – hugs are had and we hit our rooms.
Usually about 9:30 or 10 is when I switch off the tv or call it a night and let my Nook rest.
Then it begins.
From approximately 10-11 I’m scratching, tossing, turning and peeking at the clock. No, for the record – no bed bugs – it’s dry out here in the desert and with the heater on in the house I have an itchy epidermis that presents only at night – I need some of those little baby mittens:
Yeah, those will do nicely. I’d save the polka dots for the weekend – put some zazz in my Z’s.
Anyway – last night the dog was actually sleeping … good sign.
Midnight. I hear a noise in the kitchen. Someone trying to be quiet in the kitchen. Hmmm … process of elimination.
1) Only two other breathing things live here other than me
2) Butters is not capable of being quiet would not be the kitchen
Nic.
I’ve coined the phrase ‘Church mousing’. Don’t ask me why – considering the church mouse is supposed to be quiet. But, it works around here. I’ll hear him usually scrounging around and call out ‘I hear you church mousin’ around out there!’ To which a laugh and response of ‘Good night mom’ is followed by him taking his foraged items back to his room.
But midnight? Midnight snack yeah – but he had school today for crying out loud.
I spend another 15 minutes trying to get comfy.
1am – another noise from the kitchen.
Really? Jeez!!!!!!! I’m too tired to get up and call him out on it, too tired to call out and frankly, a little concerned that if I respond in any way vocally or physically, my arse is not going to be able to fall back to sleep.
More tossing and turning.
2am – Butters has now evolved from her perfected ‘stare’ and thump of tail to a new move. The front leg pounce – landing right on the 1/2 foot of mattress space between me and the edge of the bed.
Wonderful. Sort of like this guy, but with her hind legs on the floor.
OKAY! Up I get. Let her out … stumble back to my room, the front door is open but I’m used to this routine by now, she’ll come back in a few minutes, plop down on the floor, or the bed and up I get again to go back to close and lock the door.
Half an hour later – pounce.
#$@*!!!
Up I get – let her out – wait – in she comes. Get up, shut and lock door.
God only knows how much later – pounce (and a thump thump).
This time I’m glaring at her, quickly realize I’ve got my eyes open far too wide and walk with my eyes completely closed to the door. (that old trick of if I don’t open my eyes, I won’t wake all the way up) Let her out and back to bed.
I decide then and there that the door will remain open. I weigh the pros and cons of a serial killer just waltzing in.
1) I’ll be too tired to really feel much pain
2) Maybe he can let the flipping dog out next
Pounce. Thump, thump. I almost don’t get up. I almost don’t. Then I remember she had an upset stomach just this weekend and oh hell no am I going to wake up and step in something.
Up I get.
Now – the door is still open – not WIDE open, but at least 3 inches cracked open. Even I could nose a door completely open with 3 inches to work with!!! She’s screwing with me now.
Out she goes again.
My mind is mush – my body begging for some REM. Back to bed I go, but it’s too late.
I startle at 5:55 am – after a brief slip into unconsciousness and give up. The alarm is set to go off at 6.
You can imagine the mood I’m in.
BUT! I had already planned to cook Nic a hot breakfast. Eggs and maple sausages. Because, and I quote “I love it at Tylers house, his mom makes maple sausages and pancakes”
I think I responded at the time with a “Pffft” but of course it stuck in my mind.
I make the damn food.
Take it in to my child.
Grab my coffee and check Facebook.
My son’s last post “5 hours ago”. It’s now 6. Which means, he didn’t just wake up and need a drink or a snack. His arse was on his ipad.
I head to my room – brush my teeth, come back out and there – on the counter – is a plate with one egg and 4 1/2 out of 5 sausages.
“Why didn’t you eat your breakfast?”
“I’ve never liked sausages … you know that.”
Anyone have a farm with a fenced in expanse of soft grass? Never mind the dog and the boy – I want to come sleep on it.
The Stare
*Shudder* I awoke several times in the night and early morning to breathing, the sensation that something was watching me. Keenly picked up a thump, thump, thump in my foggy semi-consciousness.
She’s doing it again.
When she should be doing this:
She’s imitating this:
And during the day – even this:
By doing this at the side of my bed:
The thump, thump, thump is her tail.
I’ve given up getting out of bed and trying to let her out, because after a couple of weeks of this, it’s become very clear she does not want to go out.
She’s just perfecting her ‘Butters Stare’. It’s creepier than the Blair Stare or the Paranormal Stare because she’s waking my arse up doing it!
At least her tail is wagging.
Debauchery Soup 