barkboxWillie Nelson really wants me to start a Bark Box account.

“It’s not for me,” he says. “It’s for Ginny-Nanna. She’s getting older, and it would be so nice to spoil her with a treat in the mail every month.”

“Right,” I say back. “You wouldn’t be interested at all in the treats and toys that would come in the box.”

“Well,” he replies. “If she asked that I, you know, break in a chew toy for her or make sure the dog treats aren’t poisonous before she tries them, it’d be rude for me to tell her no.” He pauses a moment to lick his genitals. His gaze darts up to mine. “You wouldn’t want me to be rude.”

“You’re gross. Stop that.”

“I’m a dog.” He shrugs.

“We’re not getting Bark Box,” I say. “It’s nineteen bucks a month for the cheap box. I’m not made of money, you furry fool.” I scratch him under the collar. He groans in pleasure, like a monkey who managed to nab a lit cigarette at the zoo.

ginnynanna“You blow fifty bucks a month on bum covers for the hairless one. Did you know she tries to choke me to death?”

“That’s called a hug.”

“And she drools on my kibble while I’m trying to eat. And she uses Ginny-Nanna as a stepping stool.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “And did you know she doesn’t even bark at the mailman?” 

“The mailman you want to bring you treats in the mail every month?”

He ignores this comment. “Fifty bucks, poof! Gone! Just so the little scream machine can eliminate! If you would train her to go out-of-doors like me and Ginny-Nanna we could afford the DELUXE Bark Box! Think of all the treats and balls and bones and toys for me, me, me!” His tail is out of control at the thought, rocking his body back and forth so violently he’s teetering on the edge of falling over.

I coax him into a sitting position so he doesn’t hurt himself. “You mean for Ginger, right? You want the Bark Box for her.”

“Yeah. For Ginny-Nanna. Hey, where is she, anyway? I haven’t chewed on her ears in like, ten minutes.” Resumes licking his genitals.

“We’re not exchanging Alice’s diapers for a Bark Box.”

He abandons his genitals in favor of chewing on his tail while muttering something about favoritism and the agony of being placed with an unjust and cruel family.

“What’s that, Willie Nelson?” I demand, hands on my hips.

“Nothing,” he mutters. He stands up and stretches, farting a little as he does. He sticks his nose in the air and sniffs. “Smells like disappointment.”



MOTHERHOOD MONDAY: Willie Nelson Moved In

“MOM! Willie Nelson pooped in my room. Twice!”

Motherhood is full of awkward and funny phrases. Phrases like Honey, do you think Alice pooped this lego, or did she just stash it in her diaper? (because she treats her diaper like her own personal safety deposit box), and No, child, it is NOT okay to wear the same underwear to school every day of the week. But out of all the phrases I’ve heard and said throughout my parenting journey, Willie Nelson taking a dump in my son’s room (twice) just would have never registered on my radar screen as A Thing I Will One Day Hear My Kid Say.

But then my friend Heather had a Beagle who got herself knocked up by some unknown baby daddy. Her puppies were the cutest things I’d ever seen, and I immediately fell in love with one little guy. The Hubster knew he was beaten the second she posted their day-old pictures on Facebook.

Him: We’re getting one, aren’t we? [it should be noted that the Hubster is NOT a lover of dogs]

Me: Yes.

Him: Can I at least name it?

Seeing as how he wasn’t putting up much of a fight, I agreed immediately, and our new soon-to-be pup got his moniker. Now all sorts of funny phrases are flying around our house:

“Willie Nelson is humping Ginger’s head again!”

“Willie Nelson is sucking on Alice’s binkie!”

“Willie Nelson is running in his sleep!”

“Willie Nelson is chasing his tail!”

Our new little guy is keeping us in stitches, and brightening our days at every turn. Except, of course, when he forgets to take his business outside.

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