breakfast at epiphanies

As I sat down for breakfast this morning, I had another epiphany. I don’t know what’s causing this. Maybe it’s my age. Some guys get sports cars and trophy wives. I get epiphanies (and everyone who’s met my wife agrees, I definitely “married up”…WAY up, so trophies would be a downgrade). The dictionary defines epiphany as “a sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence.” I guess this makes me Captain Epiphany. I am fascinated by the ordinary.

The fact that I even sat down for breakfast was what prompted this particular “striking occurrence.” I just realized something strange…

I don’t feel old. I should, but I don’t.

For most people breakfast wouldn’t be the source of such an amazing revelation. But, this morning, as I sat down to eat my carefully prepared, two eggs, half a piece of wheat toast, exactly four ounces of orange juice, and eight ounces of milk it hit me...I’m doing a lot of stuff older people do, but I just don’t feel old.

Sure, there were times when breakfast meant filling a cafeteria sized mixing bowl with Cap’n Crunch accompanied by a delicious stack of buttermilk pancakes, and chased down with gigantic swigs of whole milk straight from the carton. Sometimes my breakfast of choice consisted of leftover pizza and fruit loops, eaten at noon. I was young and carefree, with the metabolism of a hummingbird. But those were the choices that got me where I am today...Curt Sell: Plus Sized Male Model.

That seems like such a long time ago. So, why don’t I feel old?!?

My mind began to rationalize, “Maybe I’m NOT old. Maybe these things I’m doing aren’t old people things. Maybe they’re the hottest new trends and I’m on the cutting edge. Maybe I’m retro. Maybe….”

I allowed myself to indulge in this fantasy as I carefully folded the comic page and began to work on the daily crossword puzzle…like I do every morning…while I eat my my carefully prepared, two eggs, half a piece of wheat toast, and drink exactly four ounces of orange juice, and eight ounces of milk.

"This needs to stop!" I chastised myself. With reckless abandon, I snatched up my mp3 player and started to listen to some of my favorite music. The unfettered musical stylings of TobyMac, Switchfoot, and Telecast blasted into my ears.

“See? I’m NOT that old” I convinced myself, “Old people don’t listen to this kind of music do they?”

It WAS a little loud though, so I turned it down...just a bit. “No sense ruining my hearing. You know, you only get two ears…”

As the recognition that I had just quoted my dad TO MYSELF struck me, I suddenly became conscious of where I was. Without even thinking or planning, I was on my daily walk! Not a daily RUN, not a daily JOG, but a daily WALK. I walk! I’m a walker! When I run, my joints hurt because I have a type of arthritis that hits young people…that’s what my rheumatologist told me anyway. Wait, I have my own rheumatologist?

Okay, I admit it I’m getting older. There I said it! It feels good to admit that. I think it helps to let it all out, so here goes…

-- There’s about as much hair on my head as there is grass in my front yard.

-- All the hair that used to be on my head has packed itself into my nose, ears and eyebrows.

-- I groan when I get up from the bed or sit down in the car.

-- I drive the speed limit and buckle my seat belt…every time!

-- I embarrass my kids with my puns.

-- I tell the same stories over and over, but don’t remember it.

-- I eat salad for lunch.

-- I called an old friend from college, and when he asked if I could still dunk a basketball, I just laughed…and laughed…and laughed…then I forgot what I was laughing about.

-- My wife and I go to Chevys and order the same thing on every date (during happy hour to save money). Our server, Melania, knows us by name.

-- To me, “hitting the town” means catching a few garage sales on the way to Starbucks.

-- I tell the same stories over and over, but don’t remember it.

So why don’t I feel old?

Could it be immaturity? Maybe, but I really hope not. I think I feel young because I feel like I have so far to go and so much to learn. A couple weeks ago I heard a sermon that highlighted the differences between being childish and being childlike. People who are childish, stop maturing and growing, while those who are childlike resemble sponges, soaking in each new experience. They mature each day, putting childish ways behind them, but still they experience the world around them with wide eyed wonder.

I hope I never grow up.

Well, I gotta run. “Perry Mason” is on.



(to download an mp3 of Josh White's sermon,
entitled "Faith Like Henry," click here)

shades of flannel

I just got back from camping with a group of men from my church. We went to an amazing lake up near Mt. Hood, here in Oregon. I’ve tried to remember the last time I went camping, but I can’t. The last trip I remember was about 5 or 6 years ago with some friends, but I can’t be sure. My memory has become very sketchy these days. A topic for another blog entry perhaps.

It’s weird that I haven’t pitched my tent in the Great Outdoors for a while, because I really enjoy it. I love the uneasy feeling of being out of cell phone range. I love that the only scheduling decisions I have to make are whether to take a nap in a hammock strung between two trees or spend time fussing with my tarp castle.

It’s so peaceful, restful, and relaxing, but I have to admit one of the great draws for me is The Battle…you know, me versus the elements. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Bear Grylls from the TV show “Man vs. Wild”. You’ll never catch me eating the raw meat off a dead zebra carcass to stay alive or foraging for ants (apparently “an excellent source of protein!”). For this trip I set up a futon mattress in the back of my truck. Not exactly roughing it, but my neck might never be the same.



But I don’t go to the other extreme either. You won’t find me in an epic struggle to readjust the satellite dish on top of my air conditioned recreational vehicle, or making my camping plans based on the proximity of the nearest Starbucks (my first stop when I came down off the mountain. “Make that a triple Venti Mocha please”).

I think what I like most is that feeling of being a kid again building forts that don’t let in any light or rain, and making stuff out of sticks and rocks. I love the struggle to make do with whatever is available. There’s no satisfaction like settling in for the night after building a fortress out of a combination of tarps, branches, bungee cords, ropes, and…oh yeah…futon mattresses.

The best discovery about this weekend though, had to do with the fifty, or so, guys I went with. I didn’t really know many of them before the trip. My closest buds at church weren’t able to go, so I almost didn’t go myself. What a huge loss that would’ve been.

From Friday night to Sunday morning I sat and talked with guys from all walks and stages of life. College students and grandpas. Blue collar workers and executives. Rugged outdoorsman and, well, guys like me. And do you want to know the best thing about it? I couldn’t tell the difference! When guys are camping, and they’re in all shades of flannel, you can’t tell a mill worker from an investment banker. It’s truly a beautiful thing. When you strip everyone down to the blue jeans, flannel shirts and work boots, we’re all just a bunch of guys readjusting our tarps and playing with fire.



As I sat around the campfire gnawing on some fresh trout, talking to my new friends, I was struck by this thought. This must be how God views us. In his eyes we’re all the same…just a bunch of guys that He’d love to have a relationship with. I think that’s probably why it was easy for Jesus to hang out with people of all walks of life, from the disgustingly religious to the outcasts of society that no one else would have anything to do with. To him, they’re all just a bunch of guys in flannel. I love that!

Well, I need to run. I’ve got an appointment with my chiropractor. I wonder if he likes to camp?

a sunny epiphany

I just got done mowing the lawn on a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning here in Oregon and I had an epiphany.

It wasn’t the kind of epiphany where you come up with a revolutionary way of mowing the lawn using only brain waves. What good would that be to me anyway? I couldn’t produce enough juice to turn the contraption on, let alone cut the whole lawn.

It wasn’t the kind of epiphany where you come up with some fresh new idea for turning recycled grass into a food source to solve world hunger. Although I could see a great ad campaign, “Save the Grass…Save the World” with Chuck Heston screaming into the camera at the end, “Soylent Green is GRASS!”

This epiphany is so simple it hit me right between the eyes. My epiphany?

I’m just mowing weeds!



There, I said it! I know in and of itself it’s not all that “epiphany-worthy,” but it was ground breaking to me. I’ve been mowing only weeds every summer for a couple of decades now, and I know there are solutions. Many solutions. Aisles and aisles of solutions. I’m sure the guy down the street with the golf course for a lawn could school me on the finer points of greening up my “brown thumb.” It really shouldn’t be that hard. It rains a lot in Oregon. I mean…A LOT!

So I started thinking (something I don’t do that often because it hurts my head)…Why is my lawn so green and beautiful in the winter when it’s all stormy and I don’t feel like laying out in it? And why, in the summer, does all the grass die but the weeds become a thick jungle of raging thorns?

I know the answer is simple. I told you it was simple. I am a simpleton.

When it’s nice and beautiful outside, life is easy, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping. The weeds gang up on the grass and rule the yard. When it’s gloomy and rainy and drippy, the weeds die and the grass flourishes.

I’ve found this to be true in my life too. When things are easy…life is comfortable…the bills all get paid on time…relationships are smooth…

…the weeds start to grow.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not Winnie the Pooh’s donkey buddy trying to manufacture pain and suffering in my life. It’s just that I’ve noticed, when storms hit my life, the rain falls in buckets, when things aren’t so easy…I begin to really grow. To me that is the simple answer to the age-old question: “Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?”

He wants us to grow.

He wants to be able to show us off to the passersby like a plush, succulent green lawn. He wants to be able to enjoy walking barefooted all over us…Okay, well the analogy kind of breaks down there, but you understand what I’m saying.

I think that’s why in the Bible it says, “Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.” (James 1:2-4)

I don’t know about you, but that kind of gives me a new perspective on facing the torrents of rain in my life. Instead of whining and wallowing and “why me-ing,” I should just let it soak me to the skin. Instead of fuming and formulating and fighting, I should just pull a Gene Kelly and splash around in it.

Now, where did I put that fertilizer? It was just here…a few years ago!

a plea for spatial awareness

I have to admit, before I started writing this, I didn't even know how to spell "spatial" but I definitely knew what it meant. For those of you who aren't familiar with the term (and believe me, you're not alone), here's something I found on a figure skating training website...

“Spatial awareness is knowing where you are in relationship to other objects in your surroundings and how that relationship will change in the near future as you and other objects around you change positions. Having a keen sense of spatial awareness allows you to manipulate or modify your movement to exploit the limitations of your current space. For example, if a skater has an excellent sense of spatial awareness and an excellent sense of body awareness of his jumps then he can successfully execute difficult triple/quadruple jumps even on very small patches of ice."

What keeps Michelle Kwan from accidently whacking Tara Lipinski in the head during a practice session while executing a triple lutz? Spatial Awareness. What prevents Brian Boitano from slamming into the wall while "shaking his groove thang"? Spatial Awareness. Apparently we all have this ability. Read this from another site...

“Spatial awareness is, very simply, an organized awareness of the objects in the space around us, and also an awareness of our body’s position in space. Without this awareness, we would not be able to pick food up from our plates and put it in our mouths. We would have trouble reading, because we could not see the letters in their correct relation to each other and to the page.”

So, as Americans, we MUST have this ability. I mean, we're gaining weight at an alarming rate (present company included) so the food is getting from the plates to our mouths. But, I don't know if it's the effects of global warming, a depleted ozone layer, the war in Iraq, or reality TV...SOMETHING is causing a decay in our Spatial Awareness and I can no longer sit idly by.

The following is my offering you you. My experiences and tips, from every day life, for reclaiming your awareness of the space around you.

Your Car is Not an Island
Last summer Leslie, Courtney and I were driving to a movie theater for the opening day of Pirates of the Carribean II (or is it aye aye?). We came to a stoplight and sat there for about a minute, casually talking about our week when suddenly…WHAM!!!! We hear this loud noise, my seat breaks, Courtney’s glasses fly to the back of our SUV, and w’re now sitting in the middle of the intersection with cars criss-crossing around us from the opposite turning lanes!

When the police arrived, they gathered information and this was the quote from the driver that hit us. “I don’t know what happened. I was just driving along and then all of a sudden I heard a loud noise!”

Spatial Awareness Tips:

1. Um, yeah…about that noise? That’s the sound of your car totaling another car. If that noise keeps happening, you might want to seriously consider public transportation.

2. You are NOT the only one on the road. If you look around you’ll see other automobiles. They might be different shapes or colors, but they are still cars and they have other people in them. Sometimes they’re in front of you…Try not to hit them. Sometimes behind you…Try not to suddenly stop in front of them.

3. It’s okay to let someone go before you. In fact, it can actually feel quite good. You may feel uneasy at first with the fact that they will get to the next intersection five seconds before you, but if you’re lucky, they’ll get stopped at a stoplight and you can catch up with them. Be careful though. Don’t run into them!

4. Your blinker is not a deflector shield. It is not a license to maim. It simply means “I would like to change lanes now, if you would be so kind as to allow me.”

5. If you’d like to carpool with the person in front of you, just ask them. Don’t pull up so close to them that you can read their bumper sticker, read their odometer, and take a sip of their mocha frappacino.

6. If you’re the front car in a long line of cars in the left lane on the highway, don’t assume it’s your responsibility to police the speed limit. While it’s commendable to try and right the wrongs of the world, you might think of another area. Trust me, it’s much more enjoyable seeing the smiles and waves of needy children you’ve helped feed than the waves you get from enraged drivers.

Shopping is not a Sobriety Test
When I was a kid, we used to play this game at school between classes. When it was time to pass to the next class, we’d try to walk in a straight line down the hall without veering to the left or to the right. After a while, I learned a few things. If you try to look tough, and just bull your way through, you end up approaching someone who really IS tough and you face severe consequences. I learned the most effective way to be successful at this game was to appear oblivious and distracted…to look like a complete idiot that had no clue where he was going or where he came from.

If you can’t visualize what this would look like, just take a quick trip to Costco. There you’ll find a large number of the spatially challenged, wandering aimlessly down the aisles. Those in their path are forced to dodge and dive, hoping to evade their lethal shopping cart leaving in its wake a path of destruction.

Spatial Awareness Tips

1. When walking, some have found it helpful to use the open eye approach. Just a thought.

2. Your shopping cart doesn’t have eyes. It can’t see around the corner and tell you, “Hey, you’re about to jam me into this guys shin! Stop!”

3. Remember, when you’re pushing a cart, you can’t walk as close to someone in front of you as you could if you didn’t have a cart. If you happen to impale someone in the ankles with your cart, don’t treat it like a speed bump. Stop and apologize.

4. I know you REALLY want to get a little food sample at the grocery store, but not everyone does. Make sure to leave room for people to get around you. I promise not to steal your little cup full of tater tots on the way by.

Your Cell Phone is Not on a Party Line
Yesterday, I took Courtney to the doctor’s office. While we were sitting there waiting for her name to be called, a cell phone rang. No big deal, it happens all the time. (Mine even went off in church one time when I forgot to silence it. How embarrassing!) The man answered his phone and proceeded to scream his conversation at the top of his lungs. While the rest of us made new doctor’s appointments for the sudden epidemic of bleeding ears, he shared with us his whole schedule for the week, his gossip about someone at his office, and his reason for his appointment. DUDE! I did NOT need to know that!!! It’s bad enough that people aren’t aware enough to keep their voices down below the decibel level of a jet engine, now with hands free technology, they can look like they're talking to themselves with their little Lieutenant Ohura communication device hanging from their ear.

Spatial Awareness Tips

1. As much as your Aunt Beulah’s goiter is interesting to you and whoever your talking to on the phone, I don’t really want to hear about it while I’m eating in a restaurant.

2. Mobile phones have become commonplace enough now that you don’t have to tell people where you are. “I’m in the store! I SAID I’m IN the STORE! I’m in the…YEAH! THE STORE! With my CELL PHONE. No, I’m not selling my phone! It’s my…”

3. If you wonder if your phone call is annoying those around you…it is.

4. A call on your phone is not an excuse to stop driving, wander aimlessly, hold up lines, or other random acts of Spatial ineptitude. If you’re like me, and you can’t do two things at once, pull over, step aside, go outside, or call them back later.

My brain is racing with more examples that I run into each day (literally), but that will have to wait for another time. I need to take this call… “Hello? I’m on my laptop. LAPtop! Yeah, I’m sitting in traffic….SITTING at a STOPLIGHT! I’m…I’m…what?”

my dog ate it!

I used to think that "my dog ate it" was just a lame excuse that kids give to their teachers when they forget to do their homework. During my school years, I probably heard that excuse given four or five times, and I must admit...I was skeptical.

Well, it seems I owe an appology to every dog owner whose veracity I've questioned when using this excuse. Oh sure, I know some people have misused this alibi to avoid punishment, but maybe, just maybe, they were telling the truth.

I woke up this morning and began to get ready for my day. My wallet wasn't in yesterdays pants pocket laying on the floor...where I ALWAYS put it. Then I remembered, "Oh yeah...I left it on the kitchen table." Stumbling out to the kitchen (I'm not a morning person), I did a quick scan of the table. No wallet. "hmmm, I must've left it somewhere else."

I happened to look outside our sliding glass door and found Fiona, laying by the basketball hoop, surrounded by, what looked like, a Garage Sale. At closer inspection, I discovered her laying on the ground happily gnawing on, what used to be, my wallet! Credit cards, video store ID, business cards, gift cards, receipts, driver's license, Starbucks cards, Subway and PapaMurphy's Pizza punch cards, my "Medic First Aid training program Wallet Skill Guide", and more all spread out over the back part of our yard! Bad dog!

I gathered my belongings into a pile and shot off a quick email to my wife, something about her "owing" me a new wallet. Afterall, she left the dog out in the house when she left at the crack o' dawn. Of course, she shot back an email saying, "Did I-I-I leave YOUR wallet out?!?" Touché, my love, touché.

This was the second day in a row that our sweet innocent little white devil had eaten something other than her Premium Dog Food. Yesterday, she ate my sample contacts that I was supposed to wear to get fitted. I understand her chewing on leather, but how appealing could plastic be?

Apperantly, mighty appealing. This has prompted me to reminisce about the other things she's consumed in the past year. The following is a partial list:

My Cell phone (mmm...yummy)
Two lamp cords (our living room is now lit by candles)
My new cellphone case (and ALMOST my new cell phone)
A television remote (again with the plastic!)
Pens and pencils (too many to number)
Underwear (again, too many to number)
Rocks (no, I'm not kidding)
Shoes (she seems particular to Nike brand)
A pair of glasses (they were plastic, of course)
Her own...well, you know (what's up with that? Sick!)
Pippin's...well, you know (I guess you need variety)

That's just a partial list!

So next time you hear someone use the excuse, "My dog ate it!" don't be quick to judge them. Feel their pain. Put your arm around them and say, "It could've been worse. At least it's not your wallet!"

Do you think the grocery store clerk will look at me funny when I pull my debit card out of a small paper bag?
"Sorry, I don't have a wallet. My dog ate it."

summer reflections part 1 - year of the dog

As my wife heads off to teach school, summer has officially ended in our household. Although both daughters headed off to college a few weeks ago, so it was a little less sudden and dramatic than years past. Actually, there was enough drama this summer that we really didn't need any this fall.

You know how the Chinese celebrate their years by naming them after animals? Like 2004 was "Year of the Monkey," 2005 was "Year of the Rooster," and 2006 is "Year of the Dog." I don't usually follow those "year ofs" but our friends from the other side of the world aptly named this year. As you may know, we have two beautiful Siberian Huskies. They really are intelligent and majestic looking.

"Pippin" (named after the hobbit) is a cat in dog's clothing. He walks around like he owns the place and obeys only when he's in the mood. He could care less if you pet him, but sometimes he'll lower himself and allow us to pet him. Hail to King Pippin!

"Fiona" (named after the Ogre) never met an arm, or leg, or foot, or pants, she didn't want to lick. She cannot get enough human interaction. She's like that pesky little sibling that wants to be doing everything you're doing ALL THE TIME!

When we were looking into dogs, we heard all the warnings. "Make sure you have a fenced back yard, they are escape artists"..."Huskies aren't very good at finding their way home", etc. We thought, hey, we've got a fenced back yard...no problem, right? WRONG!

This summer they got out of our backyard, which has slowly evolved into an impenetrable fortress, at least twenty times. Probably more!

It all started during the pre 4th of July firework testing period. Pippin, we discovered, is very spooked by fireworks and his reaction is to run away! With Pippin leading the charge they dug their way out of our yard...the canine version of The Great Escape. No problem...

Operation: Concrete Bricks
We'll take care of this. I'll just put some concrete bricks down in the escape area. No way they can get through those. Yeah right! The next day the concrete bricks were moved and the dogs were gone. There was a little note by the bricks written in Pippin's distinct flair, which read, "You're an idiot. Do you really think a couple little bricks are gonna keep me in? Puh-leeease!" (Side note: I won't even talk about the husky retrieval process in this blog. Suffice it to say, they don't come a-runnin' when you call their names.)

Operation: Concrete Bricks Part 2
My mom had a bunch of pavers that she didn't want, so I thought I'd put those around the perimeter of The Fence. I stacked them at least two high. The Dynamic Duo scoured the perimeter of our yard, found a weak spot, moved the bricks, and were gone. (According to a husky website, Siberians only need a four inch hole to escape. I believe it.)

Operation: Barbed Wire
"All you need to do is bury a wire under your fence. You won't have any more trouble" That's what experts said on website after website. Oh sure, and I suppose you believe huskies only shed once or twice a year too, huh? Sucka! I know, I'll go one step further...Barbed wire! Ah, that controversial invention that caused historic riffs between free-range grazers and the farmers of the Midwest prairies. Surely that would prove to be a formidable deterrent to these canine Houdinis! I watched through the kitchen window as Pippin carefully stepped around it and before I could run out and stop him....GONE!

Operation: Chicken Wire
This was actually one of my best ideas. I spent a Saturday attaching chicken wire to the fence such that it would bend at ground level and put a layer of chicken wire about 3 feet around the perimeter of the fence. It worked...for a while.

The frantic message on our answering machine said something like, "Your dogs are in our protected wetland and theyre killing all our neutria!" Sure enough, we got there and they were "playing" with a large black rat-like creature that didn't this was just a game.
Notice the chicken wire with the added 4x4s for extra protection. Child's play!

Operation: Concrete Mixer
One day, the bricks and the barbed wire and chicken wire were placed strategically enough that they couldn't quickly escape, so they dug under the gate, despite the presence of buried concrete and gravel filler. So, I dug a trench, mixed some concrete and filled in the gaps. Unfortunately they found out that if they pushed hard enough on the bottom corner of the gate, they could tweak it enough to get out. I then secured that...so, problem solved, right? Uh...NO!

Operation: Guillotine
It's not what you think (although at this point fantasies of dog murder filled my dreams). Pippin the Magnificent and his lovely assistant discovered that the gate on the other side of our yard, which was really just a piece of wood dropped down like a guillotine would move if one of them would pull it back while the other crawled through. At this point I was surprised by nothing. I half expected to uncover an elaborate tunneling system like the one found on Iwo Jima after WWII. I decided to "secure" the guillotine board and, finally learning from earlier mistakes, poured concrete underneath it to avoid digging.

SIDE NOTE to my dear readers:
Have I mentioned I'm not really a "dog person"? If you've made it this far, I applaud you. I know you must be thinking we are such dog lovers that we are almost freaky about it. The truth is, I'm just really stubborn and determined not to be beaten by these Conniving Canines. By this time, I had already invested so much time and energy into it that to stop now would be akin to admitting that dogs have passed up humans in the evolutionary chain. Since Im a staunch Creationist, it would rock the very core of my belief system and no four legged critter is gonna get the best of me! Yeah right... Back to our story...

Operation: Craigs Kennel
After another escape followed by hours of searching, we resigned ourselves to the reality that they could never be left alone outside. We needed some place to put them while we were gone so the search began. We had tried small kennels earlier, but didn't have good luck with them. I found a great dog kennel on Craigslist and thought it would fit perfectly in our garage. The garage is concrete and the kennel was made of cyclone fencing. This should work perfectly! Until they discovered that the bottom of the cyclone fencing wasn't completely secured.
Our garage may never be the same. After hours of rewiring and fortifying, I finally gave up and the kennel now belongs to a neighbor down the street whose normal dog finds it delightfully restraining.

Operation: Could-It-Really-Be-That-Simple?
One day we discovered that they really felt comfortable in our hallway. They laid there all day content as if they were laying on a beach in the Bahamas. We already had a baby gate there to keep them out of our bedrooms so we left them locked in the hallway one night as we went out to a movie. When we came back...ahhhhh! They were still there relaxing comfortably. Finally a solution! It worked for weeks so we felt comfortable leaving them in the care of our next door neighbor girls. We took off for several days on vacation leaving behind very detailed instructions to keep them happy and relaxed. I was able to leave thoughts of our dogs in Oregon as we traveled to Idaho for a visit with my sister. That is, until the second day

"They did what?!?"
"Curt, I dont know how they did it but they got out of the hallway opened the back sliding glass door (Yes, Fiona can open it from inside, Pippin from the outside.). Then, they,they..." (tears and sobs)

"Slow down...its okay...what did they do next?"

"Then, they escaped from the back yard and killed one of the neighbors cats and shes going to SUE!!!" (cooler heads prevailed and she didn't, thankfully)

WHAT?!? So much for a peaceful vacation. But, it finally led to a solution. We already had one individual sized kennel. You know, the molded plastic kind with a little gate? We had tried it with Pippin when he was a puppy, but he cried all night and we needed some sleep. Apparently, that was our first and most damaging mistake. That was the day when he realized HE was the boss of us. So we arranged to buy another molded plastic den of safety for our Fiona and "viola!"

Since we werent home to hear them cry, they were crate trained by the time we got home! Now all I have to say is, "Okay puppies, lets go!" and they run to the garage door, sit and wait for me to open it, then run into their crates and lay down. Ahhhh. Now, wasn't that easy?

So that was just the summer portion of "Year of the Dog." Tune in later to hear about our Summer of the Cars. It makes our dog experiences look like...well... a walk in the park.