Chicken Wire, Our Little Beast, and the Fourth of July

Today, Davey lost his two front teeth on top. He looks pretty cute toothless but I couldn't get a good picture because he kept moving around.

We're heading back to Wichita on Sunday. Our almost 2 month vacation away from home is almost over. My in-laws have been more than generous and accommodating, but school will be starting soon for me and it is better for me to look for work now and get settled in before the real work begins. Plus, Alex can fill out applications on-line from home just as easily as he can in Chicago. We've been saying lots of prayers that he'll get a job at one of the Country Clubs in Kansas since he really wants to break into Golf Course Management.

Our dear little puppy has been quite a little boy lately. After a few days of him playing a frustrating game of "I-bet-you-can't-get-me-here-in-the-garden" we decided for the sake of my father-in-laws health to put up a fence of chicken wire. The fun didn't end there. Little Davey has since found out that its loads of fun to squeeze in between the chicken wire fence and the wooden fence while my blessed father-in-law screams profanities in Serbo-Croatian. Good times. Good times.

Then one day, I go inside to make myself some lunch. I'm gone for maybe 10 minutes. I come back to find the little beast enjoying a nice glass of Gingerale, cigarette ash, and God knows what.

He immediately knew he was in trouble and attempted to make a mad dash to safety. No luck there. I like this picture because although he's jumping onto the chair it looks like he's mid-air about to crash dangerously onto the pavement.

Then later on that week, the house became very quiet all of a sudden. Being the half negligent, half caring pet owner, I seek out the devil to see what joyous fun he's in the process of creating for me. Instead, I discovered him lounging on our bed with his favorite red squeaky puppy. It was worth the peace so I let him stay and nap. He was too darn cute to make him get down.

Right before we picked up Davey from the breeder's home, Alex and I talked about some "rules" that we wanted to establish with our black baby. One of them was to not let him sleep on our bed. Someday, he'll be as long as us and I just can't imagine sharing anymore of my bed space with yet another creature. "No problem," says Hubby. On a random day, Alex says I can have the day off from Davey. I spend a few hours watching random TV programs, movies, and checking the Internet. I wander down-stairs to discover two quiet guys enjoying their afternoon. Alex's response was that it was worth the peace to let him stay and nap. What can I say? Now we've both broken the "rule".

Last week we needed to escape for the day and explore. The weather was perfect and so we packed up our Doggie-diaper bag and headed for the Indiana Dunes. There were quite a few people there but not too many. The water was wonderfully warm. Davey loved the sand and hated the water. He wanted nothing to do with the crashing waves but he couldn't keep his face out of the sand. It didn't take long for his jowls to become a gooey sand-trap. I was able to get some kind of a picture of his sand-face, which doesn't look bad at all because right before the picture was snapped he managed to lick off some more sand. Weird dog.

Sand paws.

It looks really cloudy and over cast but all of it was miles and miles away in Chicago. The beach was really clean too.

Davey is struggling to get away from the water here. We exhausted him just by dragging him past the water for a few hours. I would really like him to be more of a water dog but some things you just can't force.

Here is a bit of the forest that we drove through to get to the sand dunes. I thought it would make a nice screen-saver.

Then came the third of July. Alex's Uncle Zika invited us over to his penthouse on Lake Michigan to watch the fireworks, mingle with his friends, and eat some food. Sure, why not? (Warning-my Chicago friends/family are about to cringe.) We left the house at 8 PM. Yes, that's correct- 8 PM. "But why, Amanda, would you ever think of driving down-town for a fireworks show at 8 PM?" Because Dad was convinced and certain that the fireworks didn't start until 9:30. He swore he read it in the paper. He swore that Zika had told him the same. He swore, and he swore, and then he swore in Serbian. It took us an hour and forty-five minutes to drive 12 miles to down-town Chicago. Yes, traffic was that bad. No, the fireworks never start at 9:30. They start at 9 and are all over by 9:15 and shortly after 8 million Chicago residents pile back in their cars and head home around 9:30. I saw one measly firework explosion in between two gigantic sky-scrappers while sitting on a highway. Okay, so things happen. Traffic happens. People even get the times wrong. No big deal, there is always tomorrow... just in case you didn't notice, the fireworks show in Chicago happens on the 3rd of July so that everyone can do their own family thing/Village thing on the 4th of July. Okay, cool. What was not cool was the hour and forty-five minute argument between my in-laws that got so ridicules that we 3 kids couldn't help but laugh and crack jokes in text messages back and forth to each other. The wonders of technology in the midst of a stressful situation. We got the to the penthouse safely, enjoyed some company, and then headed back home around midnight. This time it only took us 20 minutes to get home.

Here are the boys before the journey down-town. Too bad I don't have a picture of the boys when we got home.

The Fourth of July came and went in an uneventful manner. I sat out on the front porch with Z for a few hours and yapped about all kinds of stuff while the neighbors attempted to reenact the shelling of Fort McHenry in 1814 (the event that prompted Francis Scott Key to write the Star Spangled Banner) or in reality show off how much money they spent on highly-illegal fireworks. Either way, it was a good time.

How was your Fourth of July?