Tag Archives: my dog is odd

Five for Friday

I’m trying to scarf down lunch, finish a work project, email Addison’s teacher, blog and catch up on my Friends marathon on Netflix all before heading off to car line to pick up Addison. Let’s get on with it, shall we?

1. Happy National Dog Day to this exquisite specimen.


Allergies aside, she is the perfect companion and handles all of our neglect with the utmost grace and forgiveness. But the pool is never gonna happen, Clayton.

clayton maya

2. Despite all my hesitation, I took both kids to the museum this week AND stopped at the grocery store with them on the way home, even though it was past Addison’s nap time. It could have gone all sorts of sideways, but we made it in and out without incident! And then I picked up 24 ounces of positive reinforcement for myself.


Speaking of treats, Clayton played golf last Friday, and I was responsible for getting the rest of us ready and over to Addison’s preschool orientation on time. It’s still quite the event to wrangle all of us into something presentable and arrive anywhere punctually, so I was handsomely rewarded for my efforts. Bribery is the key to any successful relationship.


3. Addison started K3 this week. It’s going to be an adjustment for all of us—new schedule, new classroom, new teacher, new friends–and I don’t think I realized just how startling that was going to be for her until after her first day. The bear hug and “I missed you Mommy!” warranted nothing less than an immediate cake pop.

addison first day2 Maybe by kindergarten I’ll be able to brush her hair without a steel cage death match.

4. We had the “jumping gym” to ourselves this week. It was the best of times…

nat asher

addie gym

addie gym2

it was the worst of times.

addie gym laying down

5. Clayton came home last night and told Addison, “I have a new pet for you.” Listening from the other room, my oh-no-you-didn’t index finger instinctively started wagging as I bolted onto the patio. Thankfully my husband did not have the death wish I was imagining and the new pet fit on the lid of his coffee thermos.

Meet Annie the ladybug.

annie ladybug

She has since taken a toddler-initiated trip over the pool fence and is probably, uh, resting peacefully in the pool.

I suggested Clayton play some more golf this weekend, so I am expecting at least another dozen pieces of gourmet chocolate heading my way very soon. Cheers to a delicious, manipulative weekend!

Five for Friday

A little late getting this out today, but no worries, it’s just as apathetic as usual.

1. I feel like she looks sassy even when asleep. I swear that’s a pout about something unacceptable I’ve said in her dream, like all of your dresses are dirty or no we do not have a secret stash of cupcakes hidden from you.

addie sleep2. My computer wasn’t printing from our almost brand new printer, so I logged on to a live chat with HP support. I feel like Hamford may have missed his calling as a crisis line operator.

hp helpQuite the supportive shoulder. Until 85 minutes into our chat, when the problem was still unresolved and he was focusing on printing from Adobe. I mentioned it was also not printing in Word and Hamford was all “I know that, moron*.” Eventually, H-money got me all fixed up and I smoothed things over with lots of unnecessary thank yous, exclamation points and one strategic “hooray.”

3. Hello, new potential favorite coffee spot. This is a local joint that I envision will see me a bunch once I get back to a regular work schedule. I could taste the yummy difference even in the decaf espresso. I already asked Clayton if we could go this weekend and I’m pretty sure he agreed between eye rolls. Small price to pay for watching four hours of the NFL Draft with him for three days.

grind logo4. Both of us needed to get out and lick our faces for awhile this week.

maya tongue

5. Addison’s little brother may have overdone it on the big sister gifts. He probably shouldn’t have waited until late stage pregnancy when his hormones were raging and emotions were teetering on threat level: redrum. He suggested 1. an outfit and accessories to receive before coming to the hospital from Mom and Dad and 2. some toys and stickers from the baby once she meets him. It’s like he has experience with her meltdowns and will go monstrously overboard to avoid one at the hospital or something.

big sis gift

big sis card

big sis card4


*Hamford didn’t call me a moron, but I imagine he was thinking it. Also, I just like the gratuitous use of the name “Hamford.”

Five for Friday

At this moment, Addison is babbling away in her room instead of napping, my mother in law will arrive any second, I’m nauseous from needing to eat and tomorrow we are having my baby shower at my house. So, in speedy fashion, here are some things that amused me this week.

1. A visit to the new Tampa Riverwalk complete with actual physical activity (gasp!), fountain splashing and divine spring weather.

photo 1 (2)

2. Easter adorableness accentuated by unintentional cousin coordination.

photo 2 (2)

3. Because I’m 13 years old.

photo 54. An impromptu trip to the beach on a Monday, which I nearly missed due to inane reasoning that “I had too much to do.” If someone asks you to go to the beach on a Monday, shut up and go. 

photo 2photo 4photo 5 (2)

5. I accidentally left our bedroom door open when I ran errands Thursday. Maya took complete advantage and discovered a brand new box of tissues. Just imagining her confusion, wonder and sheer delight when MORE KEPT COMING OUT makes me giggle uncontrollably. I wasn’t even mad, I was really wishing we had a nanny cam in there to see that play out.

tissues Back to the to-do list! And a snack.

Five for Friday

1. This week has kicked my butt. I am exhausted, irritable, emotional and overall a real treat to be around. A nice representation of the whole week was Maya pooping in the middle of our bedroom, for no apparent reason, at 6:30 a.m. Tuesday morning.

2. Equally as pleasant smelling, Addison has hit a major regression with potty training. I knew I wrote that braggy blog post too soon. She’s potty trained in a month! I said. It was easy! I had to add.

Ha. Ha.

I think she has used the toilet three times since Sunday. And not for lack of being in regular underwear. If anyone has any disinfectant to spare, we’re in the market.

potty training card

3. I am trying to commit to reading more at night instead of the t.v. marathons I usually partake in. Even if it’s only for 20 minutes, I think it will help me sleep better and help prevent my mom brain from turning into complete mush, just in case it’s not already totally liquefied. Jury’s still out. I’d started “All the Light We Cannot See” several weeks ago, but it was just too heavy for me to get excited about right now. I kept opting for my Us Weekly instead. So I looked around for an easy read to hopefully reignite the habit, and I went with “Big Little Lies.” I read somewhere it would be a good beach book, i.e. perfect for devoting minimal energy and even fewer brain cells.

So far, that’s accurate, and I’ve actually turned off the t.v. before 11 p.m. to climb into bed and read this week.


big little lies4. My 34-week appointment is this morning. I’m definitely NOT supposed to want them to find that I’m like 4 cm dilated yet, right? Right??

5. Alex & Sierra. Such soothing little melodies. I try to work while listening to them but immediately find myself staring out the window wistfully reminiscing about making out with Clayton on our first date. Oh to be 19 again. (Source)

alex and siera

Gotta go scrub some Elsa underwear. Peace.

Five for Friday

1. Clayton has been gone all week. Bye, I’m going to take a nap.

No, it hasn’t been that terrible…or so I said all cocky to myself on Monday afternoon. I wanted to seem brave and independent about the whole thing. That lasted a solid 24 hours. By Tuesday night I was sobbing during my nightly call with Clayton. Pregnant with a toddler is werk, guys! Middle class suburban werk, sure, but still tough.

However, I didn’t buy ONE SINGLE MEAL this entire week. You’d have to be me, my husband or our bank account to understand how monumental this is, but woa. On an average week with Clayton in town, I’m sending him last ditch texts to pick up dinner at least twice. I’m working on it.

mac n cheese

Only the finest for my family. At least the mac ‘n cheese was organic and the sausage was chicken.

2. I even made some food for friends that recently had a baby. They didn’t get mac ‘n cheese. I tried a new recipe and have no idea how it turned out because I didn’t taste test. Always a safe bet as a terrible cook making a brand new dish for other people. Close up, it looked pretty good.


But cropping can be deceptive.

messy kitchen

As is the case with most of my kitchen adventures, there was a casualty. I left our skillet on the oven too long with oil in it, and there was no salvaging that charred disaster. I’m still smelling smoke at random times.

3. I attempted to sprinkle in some fun outings for our Girls Week. All of them went terribly awry at some point, but whaddyagonnado. More on that later.

For a few minutes, we had fun getting some free froyo after school.

froyo collageAnd then the froyo ran out and a 40-pound hellfire and brimstone storm rained down from the skies on Mama. AKA, she threw a shoe at me. Good times.

4. Finally. Be gone, devil.

buhbye fb 5. This superstar on Instagram. (Ignore my text alert.)

IMG_7740Does she remind you of anyone???

maya collage

From now on, I’m sticking to Maya’s breed as “scruffy.”

Now it’s off to a weekend full of shirking my household responsibilities and lots and lots of take out!

Christmas & New Year’s 2013

As my husband has deemed it, Happy Flu Year! You may be able to guess, we’ve had a blech go of it around here lately. But let’s back up to before my body revolted against me.

Clayton had to work a half day New Year’s Eve. In normal people hours, that would equate to getting off at 12, but in the medical field a half day is going in at 7:30 and getting home at 3. What the rest of us slackers would call overtime. I’d tried to finish wrapping all the presents and packing and cleaning and whatnot, but I had Addison, so…yeah. I definitely didn’t finish. Or start.

Not staged.

Not staged.

Have you ever tried to wrap a present with a pre-toddler in the immediate vicinity? It should be a new way we torture prisoners of war. Don’t touch the tape. Get off the wrapping paper. You didn’t grab the scissors, did you? No, stop opening that, it’s not your toy. Give me back the tape. Where did I hide the scissors? Seriously, stop sitting on the wrapping paper. Do not hit the dog with that roll of paper. OMG, where are the scissors?!

And then just as you’re admiring your gleaming, bunchy, barely in tact, freshly wrapped present, a tiny finger darts in out of nowhere and rips the thing wide open.

This, times 28, was my present wrapping experience this year.

Proud of her mayhem

Proud of her mayhem


Anyway, we didn’t get on the road until 5 p.m. because we have sensors for beginning trips at the tip top peak of traffic. Any other plan would be too easy. We dropped off Maya at my parents’ house and made for Gainesville. We stopped at Perkins for a depressing orange and blue themed Christmas Eve dinner. I didn’t want to be Scroogey, but I’ve never spent Christmas Eve in a restaurant, and I don’t intend on ever doing it again. Especially a restaurant called Perkins.


We finally made it to Clayton’s sister’s house around 1 a.m. Since it was pretty late, Addison did fantastic on the ride. We played one episode of Barney on my phone (I stick it under the head rest of my seat facing her. Who says you need all the fancy bells and whistles?) and then she passed out.

Luckily she was good in the car because as soon as we exited the car, the tune changed. Loudly. She would not sleep in the pack and play ever. For the four days we were there, she took one nap in it and that was it. Otherwise, she was ninja kicking us or falling asleep directly on top of my face throughout the night or napping en route somewhere in the car.

Christmas hangover

Christmas hangover

Honestly, I did not have the highest expectations for spending Christmas with my in-laws. The relationships are many and complicated, as is the case in any family with that number of people. But Christmas was the best kind of chaotic–kids shouting (4 and 34 year old kids), tissue paper flying, claustrophobia settling in as everyone crammed into Clayton’s parents’ living room. All of his five siblings swear that the room has shrunk to half its original size since they were little. There was a sweet sense of nostalgia to see Addison opening presents in the same room that Clayton spent his Christmases.

Four generations

Four generations

We went outside to watch the kids fight over the prize present: four wheels of pure awesome. The car belonged to our nephew, but that certainly didn’t stop the girls from promptly kicking him off. It was a pretty fun morning despite the sleep deprivation.

She was a little too comfortable in the driver seat.

She was a little too comfortable in the driver seat.

We all headed back to my sister in law’s house for a late lunch and lounging. Like every night, we attempted to put Addison down and were met with shrill protesting, so we held her until we went to bed at some stupid early adult bed time.

One highlight of the trip was seeing ”The Desolation of Smaug” while Clayton’s mom watched Addison. I was completely confident and trusting and supportive of this decision and did not tear up when we pulled out of the driveway or obsessively check my phone and Clayton’s phone during the movie. The movie was good, but I can’t get over how pretentious it is that the correct pronunciation of “Smaug” has about 12 syllables.

Thursday and Friday I woke up feeling sore from head to toe. I attributed it to sleeping (or not sleeping) in a different bed, juking away from Addison’s flailing limbs all night and general exhaustion. My sister in law had been sick, so I knew there was a chance I’d caught it, but powered through. I did not want to be the lame in-law who came to visit and napped the whole time.

Clayton, his sister, Addison and I went over to downtown Pensacola for lunch Friday. It was a lot colder than we’d planned for, but it was a nice little break. After we drove a sleeping Addison around for a two hour nap we met up with Clayton’s other siblings and their kids for a date at the park. I didn’t have much time to notice how bad I was feeling while dodging my nephew’s pretend laser beams. Don’t worry, I got in a few good shots myself.

A tunnel

The whole crew–all 12 of us, including four kids under five–piled into Outback for dinner Friday night. If there is a sweet tea shortage in the south, you can thank us.

Friday night was no bueno. I had a fever and could not sleep, just laid there feeling hot and getting dropkicked in the rib cage. When we woke up Saturday morning, it hit me even harder. I felt awful. We packed and ate breakfast before leaving, and then we spent ten hours getting home. Ten hours crunched up in the passenger seat with a fever and full body aches and chills. What a delightful traveling  companion.

Saturday night was the worst. I was huddled on the couch, head and body radiating heat. Clayton scared me when he took my temperature, read the thermometer, took it again, and asked, “Are you feeling okay?” He left and came back with more medicine, even though he’d just given me some. I think I topped out around 102 and sweat it all out throughout the night. Thankfully I woke up Sunday feeling light years better. Still sick, but nothing like the previous few days. What a fickle little devil, that flu.

Things were looking up. Addison and Clayton were congested, but nothing major. We hung around the house Sunday doing nothing that we’d planned to do, like clean or unpack or take down Christmas decorations. And then Monday the bottom fell out with poor Addie. She wouldn’t nap unless draped on top of me. Of course she gets a pass when she’s sick, so I was fine with it. But when she woke up, she was clearly miserable. That lasted the rest of the day.

Later that night I went to get her because she’d started crying, and she was burning up. Her fever was just under 103. She wins. Long story short, we ended up at the doctor at 6 p.m. New Year’s Eve and the pharmacy shortly after. She tested positive for Influenza A, which also confirmed that I’d had that nasty little bugger.

Fighting off the flu with smoothies

Fighting off the flu with smoothies

Since then it’s been a sniffly, crying, gagging-on-Tamiflu party up in here. My clients are ready to sing my praises after I was sick a month ago, Addison was sick three weeks ago, I was sick last week, and Addison is sick this week. I’ve only had to reschedule the same phone call three times since I can’t get any sitters to watch Addison while she has the flu. This generation, such pansies.



Eventually we will get back on track. I will dust off my cardiovascular and muscular systems and actually exercise again. I will unstrap the Lysol disinfectant from my husband’s hip. We will remove our lifeless, sagging, fire hazard of a Christmas tree from our home. And perhaps I will think about a reflective 2013 post and plan for 2014.

But for today, we’re still sickies. We will eat our meals in front of the Disney Channel and leave our tissues on the carpet until we hear Clayton open the garage. We will play in our tent and maybe walk around the neighborhood. And hopefully we will not shatter a vertebra trying to finish off that Tamiflu.

Self-commissioned quarantine

Self-commissioned quarantine

Happy 2014!

A List Full of Happy

Here are a few things helping me smile this week.

1. I beat my brother at Words with Friends. Sure, it was the one time in about 39 attempts, but I needed that victory. All that slaughtering was really starting to make me question my career path.

2. Girls Night was last Saturday night. Hey-o! As if that wasn’t enough, I assembled (didn’t even have to bake) and brought this saucy little minx:

ice cream cake (Source)

We chatted, kept our wine goblets full and took a stab at at-home nail shellacking. My effort was more like a massacre, but at least I gave being girly a go. Less than a week later, well, the results speak for themselves. I assure you these results have nothing to do with the product and everything to do with my general deficiencies in the feminine arts.


3. Catching Addison waking up from a nap as she bobbles around trying to blink her baby-sleepy eyes into recognition.

4. Our hot tub is up and running. We’ve lounged in it a few times after putting Addison to bed, and it is rather glorious. We can open the curtains and still check in on the Rays score. Really feels like the Noa’s are winning at life a little bit every time we’re soakin’.

5. Date night tomorrow night. Live music under the stars sounds like perfection. Except that it’s been 86 degrees. Gearing up for some sweet, sweaty PDA.

6. We went on a family run last night. Clayton hates running and only succumbs to my requests if tears get involved. Last night’s easy acceptance of my invitation was pleasantly unexpected. I love running with Clayton (except for when I hate running with Clayton) because I always go faster. Way faster. Our final quarter mile was under 9:00 min/mile. That’s downright insanity for me. It may have been even faster had Clayton not completely tripped over Maya, who got spooked by a mailbox. And that’s the story of the last time Maya will ever get taken on a run.


I have no long narratives to share with you at the moment, so all you get to munch on are snippets. Unless you’d like me to recount in expletive-laden detail about the debacle that was Florida State vs. Wake Forest. I didn’t think so.

I was escorted out of Ross by the security guard for having a smoothie. Apparently they now have a ban on food and drink? Maybe it’s only for drinks that are pretending to be food…? I know, I’m kind of a badass. And Ross really is the epitome of unforgiving high standards.

Why do all athletic shoe designers swear that chicks want pink, purple or pink and purple shoes? We’re not all six years old. I rebelled and shopped in the men’s section. Again, me = badass.

PA042273During the half marathon, I had to fight my shorts from riding up for the last four miles. They were quite stubborn about the whole thing. So I bought my first pair of running tights. That’s alotta spandex on alotta thigh. If you happen to see me plugging along out there, avert your eyes and we’ll both pretend nothing ever happened.

This sort of thing occurs on a daily basis. Please note Bryson’s stray left foot. He is so excited when Clayton gets home that he pretty much tolerates anything. The men in my life are weird. 


And then last week I got a nice dose of Reality Check with a side of Humiliation. One of the reviewers of a brochure draft I wrote left this comment: “This is so wrong I don’t even know where to start.” Well done, me.

The longest story of my dog ever: Part 2

For “the longest story ever,” there’s only two parts. Rest easy, friends.

Here’s Part 1, aka The Scary Part.

Part 2, aka The Silly Part

Considering Bryson’s symptoms—throwing up and having an Exorcist-style eye spasm—Clayton and I were both thinking he’d had a seizure. But, in addition to her craptastic “diagnosis,” the vet explained doggie seizures don’t really look like human seizures. Dogs may just zone out for a few seconds, and many of them snap and bite at the air, like they’re trying to catch a fly.

So that’s what Clayton and I filed away to watch out for in the coming weeks. Fake fly swatting and an abnormal disregard for our baby talk. Done and done.


This seemed simple enough. Then one day I was sitting in the office in our apartment and B-dizzle was out in the living room. I heard the unmistakable sound of his non-athletic legs lunging across the room and his uncut nails (coughdad’sjobcough) dragging along the carpet. It’s the sound he makes as he unsuccessfully lurches for a toy we’ve thrown two inches from his face. Seriously, it’s awkward.


I immediately thought “SEIZURE! RED ALERT!” because, um, no one would be in the living room tossing a toy for him to whiz right by stupidly. I thought he must be galloping across the living room chasing down imaginary flies.

When I went to inspect, he didn’t seem odder than normal. Just a little out of breath from his newfound game. As it turns out, there actually was a fly buzzing around the living room. Relief. The fly was a welcome find. That time.


Cut to about 10 days later, and we have some sort of freakish fly infestation that induces seizure scares every 20 minutes. I blame that damn Irene. Bryson spends his days lounging around, then instantaneously leaping at the air, mouth agape, head flinging in every direction. He will come back to his senses, look around, then do it again. Most of the time, we find an actual culprit and swat it to a painful death. Or we try to with similar graceful agility, slicing the air with a dish towel or pot holder or piece of mail or, on one gloriously victorious occasion, a running shoe.

But this has made it extremely precarious to judge whether or not our dog is on the brink of a serious medical emergency or is just a moron. We always lean towards the latter. God love him.


I wasn’t going to write about this because how could you know this is even true? Who has a sudden outbreak of disgusting flies at the same time their dog is supposed to not be biting at the air like an idiot? And, if that did happen, why on earth would you share that your house is a filthy sty with the internet?

I have no answers on those fronts. But I do have pictures! After a bazillion failed attempts at being smarter and faster than the flies, Bryson was able to inflict a near fatal injury on one. It was better for my photographic direction if I let the little booger flail around for awhile and keep BryseFace interested, rather than humanely putting it out of its misery. We all really, really hate the flies. And are inevitably carrying around some seriously funky diseases. Maybe Clayton will gorily morph into Jeff Goldblum soon.




So that’s the longest story of my dog, to date. I am so thankful it has a totally silly ending, and we have lots more days of smooching, photographing and making fun of Bryson ahead of us.

And we still have no idea what to do about those flies.

The longest story of my dog ever: Part 1

I know you think I’m exaggerating when I talk about my weird dog. Well, you’re wrong and I’m right. And that’s a snippet of what it’s like to be married to me.

Part 1, aka The Scary Part

A few weeks ago, our little Brysonator freaked my freak. He and I had just finished a little walk around the apartment complex, nothing intense, but it was really hot outside. My brief window of motivation always seems to coincide with the hottest part of the day, especially during this crazyhellhot summer when you’re supposed to sit inside in a tub of ice from 11 a.m. – 4 p.m. and try not to expend more than 35 calories an hour.

Bryson must take after his mama and possess the Incapable of Functioning in Temperatures Above 80 Degrees gene. He was wiped out when we got back to the apartment and plopped himself on the floor, panting away. I was getting ready to go to the fitness center and wasn’t paying too much attention to him, letting him get his mess together in peace. Then he threw up. Not all that out of the ordinary, considering every other weird ailment he’s contracted. I cleaned it up and, besides giving him a serious stink eye, I wasn’t concerned.


He meandered into the kitchen and laid on the tile floor. When I went to put his bed in the kitchen–which is where he stays when he’s alone, as opposed to his preferred accommodation of hoisting his fat, smelly butt up on our bed or couch–I noticed that his right eye looked bloodshot. When I leaned in closer, I realized it looked bloodshot because it was completely rolled back up into his head.

Within half a second I had convinced myself not to:

1. die

2. cry

3. scream in terror

4. kiss it to make it better

I grabbed his chin and held his head right in front of my face to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. Sure enough, for those few seconds I stared at him, his right eye was almost completely back in his head, with only the white of his eye facing ahead. I was dumbstruck, so confused and scared that I wasn’t sure what to do next. Like all good parents who are destined to win shelves full of child-rearing awards, I googled.

And that proved utterly useless. It was a bunch of non-credible forums with “.net and .doggie” url’s that I wasn’t trusting with the welfare of my baby.

By the time I went back to attempt the “kiss it to make it better” approach, it was totally normal. And he was looking at me like, “What, weirdo? I’m trying to rock my cool down over here.” And I was all like, “YOUR FREAKING EYE WAS JUST LODGED INTO YOUR BRAIN, THAT’S WHAT, A-HOLE.” But he still seemed just peachy, albeit slightly annoyed at my intense stare half an inch from his cornea.

Here’s the part where I am really ashamed of myself and know that I’ll have to gracefully decline all those mothering trophies. I still went to the gym.


I know, I know, I know!!! I’m terrible and awful and selfish and should never be allowed to have children. We all get it.

I felt so guilty from the visions of my sweet boy seizuring it up alone on the floor that I cut down my treadmill miles to 4, and ran home to check on Bryson at the halfway point. He was still playing it cool, staring at me like I was the nut job. Dude, your. eye. was. in. your. brain.


Immediately after my run (trying to earn back some points here), I called the vet and explained what happened. The receptionist did nothing to ease my fears and said calmly, “I highly suggest you bring him in.”

That was enough to switch into panic mode. Coincidentally, Clayton arrived home as I was taking my 30 second shower, so after a breathless recounting of The Event, he came with us. We had to wait for over an hour since we didn’t have a scheduled appointment, and Bryson was completely normal the entire time. Pulling my arm out of socket to get to the piss-saturated grass at the vet’s office? Completely normal. Jumping up to put both of his front paws on top of the receptionist counter? Completely normal. Collapsing into a heaving, unhappy sigh when we didn’t let him sniff every hair on every other dog in the waiting room? Completely normal. Pitifully whining at regular intervals throughout the entire waiting process because it’s so unfair that he can’t play with that chihuahua with the broken leg? Yep, completely normal.


It was comforting to see him acting like his typical, goofy self, even if it’s thoroughly embarrassing to claim such a spastic kid in public. When we finally met with the vet, she was perplexed. Per usual. She humored us—or her early retirement fund–with a physical exam. And, with all smiles, she talked in circles about how unusual this was in this breed at this age, blah, blah, blah. Then we got what we paid hundreds of dollars for: a diagnosis. After re-reading the framed diploma on the wall, we confirmed that the vet did, in fact, diagnose our dog as “Quirky.”


Clayton and I looked at each other, stifling a mix of laughter and rage, with knowing expressions of The Doctor of Veterinary Medicine just gave us an official diagnosis of quirkiness.

We gave her furrowed eyebrows and twisted mouths in silence for a few seconds before thanking her and flicking her off behind her back. Bryson couldn’t have been more excited about his diagnosis and thought it warranted an infinite number of appreciative kisses for the vet and her assistant. Pansy.


Looking back, though ridiculous, I think that’s probably the cheapest and easiest diagnosis we’ve ever received at the vet. Thankfully, it had nothing to do with surgery or lifelong medications or injecting our dog with a needle twice a month, like our previous appointments. It was just medical confirmation that our dog is so very, very strange. Actually, I can only talk about it now because, after several weeks, he does seem to be completely healthy and every bit as quirky.

Bryson Wilson car2

Then we went home, fed him lots of food and love, and let him sleep on our bed.