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It’s almost time for second breakfast, so I’ll keep this short. 

Destro went swimming in the river.

Destro went swimming in the river and got a microorganism up his you-know-what.

Destro went swimming in the river and got a microorganism up his you-know-what that caused a bladder infection.

Destro is now on antibiotics.

I got a new camera.

And some dirty looks.


So far I have found a koozie with the name “Susan” stitched on it (this is for when I have beers and like to pretend I’m someone else), a Mary Engelbreit notepad that tells me “Anything Is Possible”, a glass vase, and a Valentine’s Day porch flag in our new home.  All of these things were left by the previous owners as a welcoming gift, I’m guessing.  By the way, the notepad reminded me of the white sweatshirts my mother used to dress me in.  She would iron-on a Mary Engelbreit design.  Come on.  I know I’m not the only one that had those.  And if so, everyone else in the world should be jealous.  And now that you’ve checked out ME’s website, imagine a little girl with loads of curly red hair wearing a ME sweatshirt and holding a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper (for reminiscing purposes click here) that would look something like this:

My actual Trapper Keeper had kittens on it.  Alas, I couldn’t find a picture of my Lisa Frank design.  Believe it or not, I did have friends, which brings me to the real issue here:  Why did The Hogan Family go off the air and what can I do about it?  And we have finally settled into the new house.


This was the view from the front porch the morning of our move.  We moved a few things the night before and stayed in the new house like real grown ups.

A week or so after we moved in, we decided to really screw with Destro’s head and cover things in plastic.

He retaliated by sticking his head in the paint can.  You think you’re soooo clever, dontcha?

A first look at the paint color.  Fortunately, Destro’s slobber didn’t make it past the window sill. 

Taaaa Daaaaa!!!  Here is what it looks like now.  Gray paint.  It is Olympic paint called “Secret Passages.”  Other paint names I think they should consider: “My Dad’s Not-So-Hidden Stash of Porn”, “Through The Neighbor’s Window” and “That Creepy Floor At The Public Library.”

The kitchen is up next.  It has a great wall that’s perfect for my wolf mural or perhaps a tribute to Lisa Frank.

This is my Facebook status this morning: 

Today, Destro begins puppy physical therapy. That’s right. My dog is getting physical therapy. Pretty soon we will be fitting him for glasses and making him wear a tweed coat. Then, we will send him off to college where he will study nuclear science and eventually win the nobel peace prize for finding some kind of solution for something that sounds really technical and confusing. Oh yeah, it all be worth it.
Switch scenes.  Destro is walking me into the rehab office.  There is a technician handing a spray bottle and cloth to a woman who has just dropped off her dog. 
The woman turns to me and says, “My dog sprayed his anal glands in my car.”
Really?  That’s….it’s not even 8:00 in the morning and I have already heard the word “anal” today from a complete stranger.  Lucky me!
Thanksgiving post coming soon.  I know you’re excited!  Try not to release any glands in your excitement.


It’s Friday.  We are looking forward to a fun-filled weekend and I would like to get the house straightened up before it starts.  Earlier this morning I strapped myself into an old bra and put on an ancient t-shirt and pants in preparation for some cleaning.  My strategy was to tackle the downstairs first by vacuuming the carpet and furniture.  I wasn’t just going to scoot along the carpet in the high-traffic areas.  No  no.  I decided to really vacuum.  Move the furniture and attack the baseboards in addition to the rest of the carpet.  Maybe some of you do this on a regular basis.  If you are one of those people, I now hate you.  Just kidding, somewhat.

I turned on my party-mix music to get me hyped for cleaning.  After a few rounds of dancing around Destro, I pulled out the vacuum and got started.    Vacuuming, vacuuming, singing put a ring on it put a ring on it, vacuuming, moving furniture……


Dear God,

It’s me, Alissa.  You have blessed me with a wonderful husband and a quirky but loveable dog.  I am 26 years old.  I know I am a grown woman, but please, God, when I open my eyes, please let whatever the H that is on my carpet be gone.  Gone like vanished, completely.  Leaving no trace of its existence. 

Thank you, Lord Baby Jesus,


I opened my eyes and it was still there.  I took a few steps closer to it and realized that it was a dead frog.  A DEAD FROG.  Under my couch.  Okay, here a few questions that went through my head:

1. What the F?

2. Why?  Why is there a dead frog under my couch?

3. How did it get under there?

4. How long has it been there?

5. Maybe I should vacuum under the couch more often?

6. What was it thinking going under the couch?  What a stupid F’ing frog.

You’re so stupid!  You stupid F’ing frog!

7. What do I do now?

8. When will The Hubbs be home?

I immediately send text messages to my friends and The Hubbs.  I call my mother and wonder why she isn’t picking up the phone.  Doesn’t she know I need her right now?   Shouldn’t she have some sort of weird feeling in her womb because I’m in distress?  Isn’t that what happens to mothers or is that twins?  Whatever.  Why isn’t she picking up?  Okay.  I call my neighbor.  She’ll know what to do or at least be able to provide some emotional support.  She doesn’t pick up either.  CRAP.  Who does she think she is having her own life?

At this point, I have been sitting across the room staring at the dead frog.   Destro is aware that something funky is up and is not leaving my side.  I notice my camera on the coffee table next to me and take a picture of the dead frog.  Here is said picture:

 Frog Carcass

And another:



I keep waiting for someone to call me back.  Destro and I go outside in the backyard.  I do this because I have decided that by moving the couch I have disturbed the carcass and it is now leaking deadly toxins into the air of my house and it would be unhealthy for us to remain indoors.  Plus, I needed to think, strategize, come up with some way to…eck…get rid of it.

I am 26 years old.  I am a grown woman.  What if I weren’t married?  What if I lived alone?  It is entirely implausible for me to stay outside and wait on The Hubbs’ work day to end .  I WILL NOT call him and ask him to leave work and come home to get rid of it.  I can do this.  I am confident that it is dead and will not move when I try to pick it up.  PICK IT UP.  Oh, geez.  How am I going to do that?

I equipped myself with my pink cleaning gloves, two grocery bags and about 10 paper towels.  I stood a few feet away from the carcass.  Destro was by my side momentarily and then ran behind the coffee table.  So much for support.  I had already cleared a path so that as soon as I got it in the bags I would be able to run out the back door and throw it in the trash outside.

Oh, Lord.  Lord, help me.

I approached the carcass and then backed off.  I couldn’t do it.

Oh, Lord, please.  Please give me the courage.  Please don’t let the legs stick to the carpet as I pick it up.  Oh, Lord please don’t let its innards gush out.

I approached it again.  No luck.  I had to back off.  I wasn’t ready. 

On my third try, I decided to throw the paper towels on top of the carcass so that I couldn’t look at it anymore.  I made sure my bags were in place over my hand.  It was just like picking up dog poop, right?  DOG POOP THAT HAS BEEN UNDER THE COUCH AND DRIED TO THE CARPET.

Oh, Lord.

I finally picked it up.


….running to the door…outside….opening the trash can…done.

It was too early in the day for a drink.  If only there were cake.

Fortunately, none of its remains remained on the carpet.

What a great way to celebrate the end of summer. 

R.I.P. Frog.

Destro has started licking the carpet in random places.  I don’t know what this means.  This is one of the reasons I dislike carpet.  What’s down there, really?  What has he found that has probably been there since before we moved in, something the vacuum won’t get up?  We clean the carpets, but I’m still hesitant to call them “clean.”  And, why is he staring at me as I write this?  I think he knows I’m writing about him.  I think he can read my mind.  Or maybe I smell like food. 

We were at an off-leash dog park, which I’ve decided is like being at the playground for childless couples and singles.Destro  We talk to each other about our “children” and compare destruction stories.  We scold them like we would a human toddler: “He was playing with that toy first, Bogey! Lucy, don’t you run away from me! Pookie, don’t eat that!”  We also take offense at other parents that won’t control their children.  “Who does she think she is?  Does she not see her dog on the picnic table?  Why is he letting his dog quarterback the other dogs like that?  Why won’t he make him stop?”  The better parents’ dog isn’t eating dirt or dragging another dog by the collar or running in circles with lines of drool on his face.

The Hubbs and I saw ourselves as one of the better parents.  Destro is a bit of a loner.  He doesn’t cause any problems.  He likes to scout the perimeter of the park and mark every inch of desirable territory.  Once he’s out of ammunition, he will watch other packs of dogs running from one side of the park to another.  Occasionally, he will run in at the end of a wild chase and give a bark or two.  We call him “The Referee.”  So, there we were at the dog park one Saturday morning smiling at each other and thinking how lucky we are to have such a well-behaved child.  We were standing near a bucket of water keeping an eye out for the token humper of the day when it happened.

Destro walked up to the bucket and peed on it then turned around and pooped in the bucket.  IN THE BUCKET.  HE POOPED IN IT.  BACKED UP AND POOPED IN THE BUCKET.  I sucked in all of the air surrounding us and within a 4 block radius.  “No!  He did not just do that!”  The other dog owners started laughing.  We had to do something, which obviously gave us away as his parents.  We were asked if we trained him to do that, which in hindsight, we should have said “yes” and then made up some ridiculous and lengthy story about growing up in a travelling circus and learning to train elephants to wear party hats and blow bubbles.   But, no, we hadn’t trained him to relieve himself in a bucket.  It is true that he prefers backing up to something that has some height to it, something that is off the ground like a bush.  He sits on them.  Like a toilet.  Okay, so maybe that’s a little weird, too.

The Hubbs cleaned out the bucket.  Bless him.  And Destro pranced off very pleased and less bloated.

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© Alissa C. Miles and "And So They Did...", 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material including pictures from posts and/or other pages without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alissa C. Miles and "And So They Did..." with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Basically, don't steal my stuff. Thanks. -A.

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