Ruby Tuesday

It occurs to me that I've never written about Ruby Tuesday. Probably because there is just so much material there that it's hard to pick out the funniest and/or least horrifying stories.

Sweetest face.

Ruby was a gift from Santa. Sometimes Santa makes decisions after a glass or three of wine. She technically belongs to the boy. And by 'belong to' I mean he throws the ball for her once or twice a week, scratches her belly on occasion and I buy all the food and pay for all the vet bills. So, that seems good.

I had a vision of a boy growing up with a Golden Retriever. They would be best pals. She'd be like Lassie but a Golden. She'd wait at the bus stop, sleep on his bed and listen to him when he had girl trouble. So far, exactly none of that has happened.

A) random dogs at the bus stop get hauled off by animal control.
B) he would love to sleep with her and has a few times but she wants to play with him - no matter what time it is - co-sleeping had to be stopped.
C) she's not a good listener.

Here's the thing. I love her. I love her stupid idiotic doggie things. She's more entertaining than TV. But, she's also a total disaster on four legs. A bull in a China shop. That sheds. And steals. Socks. Shoes. Toys. Food.

One thing no one tells you - if you've ever had a Border Collie - or probably any herding dog, do not get a retriever. You will want to shake it until it sleeps. Forever. And I would too except she weighs a metric ton and I can't pick her up.

For years I thought she was really, truly dumb. But over time, I've mostly changed my opinion. She's not dumb. She's smart-ish. She just finds certain things worth it. She knows she's in trouble if she eats food off the kitchen table. But that pizza is worth it.

Need some Tums?

Or the ginger bread house.
Or two dozen cupcakes.
Or four pounds of candy melts.
Or a couple pounds of uncooked frozen chicken.

The gingerbread house eating has happened more than once. And, now we just don't make them at Christmas. We may be slow learners but we've finally figured that one out.

The cupcakes happened at my moms. The night before a big family party. Two dozen chocolate cupcakes on the cooling rack in the kitchen - cooling before I put frosting and sprinkles on. They essentially disappeared - not a crumb or paper left. The cooling rack undisturbed, not a sound made. The look on my mothers face when I asked, "Hey mom, where'd you put the cupcakes?' Classic.

The candy melts... I don't even have the strength to relive it enough to write it. Suffice it to say, pounds of candy melts don't stay down. Pink candy melts. All over.

Chicken. Frozen chicken. Now, the recipe was for pulled chicken sandwiches. You put the frozen chicken into the crockpot, dump in a bottle of barbecue sauce. TA-DA! - six hours later, delicious sandwiches. But, my mom is a mom of the 70s. Thus the idea of frozen chicken into the crockpot is foreign. You gotta let that thaw on the counter first. And so she did. On a plate. Then went to pick the kids up from school. Returned home to disappeared chicken. Plate undisturbed.

Ruby lives the good life. Gourmet food. Sleeps in a big cushy bed. Trips to the beach where she body surfs like a pro. Couch naps. Plays in the sprinkler. All the things.

Aleve for me, thyroid pill for her. One day there's going to be a mix up...

She's in the double digits. She's slowing down. No more running. Constant panting and shortness of breath, medication. Some follow up blood work later this week. She's a senior citizen now. And yet, even with the health challenges of being a senior dog, she can still stand on two legs long enough to steal a meal from a seven year old -  right off the table.

Silently.