Spway Dat Dog

May 4, 2009

Happy Monday, everyone. I don't know about you, but I had a really excellent weekend. Which is funny, because my husband was away all day Saturday and all day Sunday at a conference.

Huh.

On Saturday afternoon I decided to take James on a nice little hike we have right here in town. You know, since the sun was shining and I had allowed him to watch 4 simultaneous hours of semi-violent Saturday morning cartoons, I thought my kid could use a little get up and go. Also, every now and again it feels good to be a true hero in the fight against childhood obesity--or at least remain neutral.

This is how I like to look at it: 4 year old boy + 4 hours of TV + cheetos and brownies for breakfast + 2 mile hike = neutral

Right?

Right.

This is also how I like to look at it: If I can get the kid to graduate from high school, always drive a stick shift, and never need to apply for The Biggest Loser, then in my mind, I'm a raging success of a Mother.

As you can see, we have strong values and very high expectations in the Lawson family--and I try to display subtle reminders of who we are all throughout the house. Like the picture of Jesus in our entryway, or the church magazine on our coffee table, or my cross-stitched wall hanging that says "A guy who drives a car with a standard transmission, has major sex appeal. A guy who drives an automatic might as well gift wrap his privates and mail them to Siberia. That's how badly he'll be needing them."

(Uh, yeah. That craft was a ton of work.)

Anywho, James loves this particular hike. We usually do it a two or three times a month. Since I get to maintain a somewhat outdoorsy image, James gets to pee off of the six-story fire tower at the top of the trail, and Gracie is allowed to poop 12-14 times in an hour, we're all happy. It's a win, win, win if I've ever seen one.

This time, on our way down the trail, we ran into a couple with a really funny looking dog--obviously a mutt. It was either a cross between a cocker spaniel and a donkey, or black lab and a My Little Pony--very hard to tell.

As James approached the weird looking animal, an overly cautious look came across his face. He looked up at the female owner and suspiciously asked, "What dog is dis?"

I believe he was asking for the breed, but since the dog obviously had none the owner happily replied, "This is Rufus."

James pursed his lips and nodded. "Uh huh."

"What's your dog," she asked?

"She es a heyground," he replied. "Her name es Gracie and she es a heyground."

The woman giggled because, you know, greyhound...heyground, it's beyond cute if you ask me (and if you disagree, it's probably because your private parts are East of Russia and you're all worked up and cranky about it).

Then, in all seriousness, James looked up at me, pointed toward Rufus--who was panting, wagging, and I swear he was smiling--and said, "Spway dat dog, Mommy. You gotta spway dat dog."

That's right. James wanted me to give old Rufus a blast with my pepper spray--just for being ugly.

As we continued down the trail, I explained to James that pepper spray is only to be used on very angry animals or real life bad guys--not an innocent dog who could benefit from a box of hair dye and a set of braces.

He still hasn't wrapped his mind around the concept.