Practice What You Preach

I hate liter bugs but my car looks like I’m part of a plastic water bottle collection drive. There is no way that I will toss my trash out onto the curb. So I wait and wait until I remember to throw it out. It would be nice to have a clean sporty car at all times but I have children and dogs. It takes extra effort to keep the inside of the car as clean as the outside.

Before I had my daughter I thought nothing of having my car detailed,  now that seems expensive. $25 dollars is a nice trip to the second hand store. So I’ve been taking the short cut and going to the $3.00 automatic drive- thru wash. Then I take the $22.00 to the second store for trendy Spring fashions that someone else had the discipline to get rid of.

Things are going to really get tight around here now that my little family is expanding even more. We have a new member aside from my newborn, Oseh. 

Introducing BUTTER, I must be either hormonal or crazy to take this pooch in! He seems a bit soft in the head. The story is that he was hit with brooms and moved around from home to home. The lady that gave him to me said that he was more than she bargained for and not much fun for her children.

Poor little guy, the first thing I did was get his balls chopped off because I didn’t want him humping Ruby (my other little troublesome mutt).

Both of these dogs have special needs. Ruby is super allergic to fish, eggs, peanuts and chicken. Butter won’t walk on a leash and shakes like a fall leaf if he thinks it is time to go outside. 

Butter has become quite the conversation among the neighbors. Everyone is curious about his not so doggy behavior. For starters he won’t walk down stairs. I hurt my insides (which aren’t healed from having Oseh) carrying Butter up and down three flights of stairs.

Onlookers shake their heads and offer their advice as I struggle to keep Ruby from pulling me down the street and Butter to walk on the leash.

On guy said that I was being too nice and that I should just drag Butter. Eventually he said that Butter will get tired of me pulling and he will start to follow. Someone else said that Butter will learn from Ruby. Another guy said that I had my hands full and should just leave the poop.

He probably intended on leaving his trash from his lunch. Or maybe not, but someone is leaving their trash. The park is full of blowing trash from the cars that park curbside to do whatever it is people do when they sit in parked cars alongside of a park.

I will admit that I have not picked up all of Ruby’s poop. Before my belly got big, it wasn’t a big deal to scoop or bend down. After my 7th month, I decided that Ruby’s poop was the best thing litering the park. 

She is disease free and only eats Lamaderm by NaturalLife 800-367-2391 www.nipp.com . She throws up every other dog food!

The park is full of broken glass, 40 ounces full of pee, food wrappers, goose poop and chicken bones. Streets and Sanitation does come by to empty the trash cans that line the park. However, some of the liter comes from the garbage containers in the alley that get tipped over every night. That debris is what blows amongst the trees. 

Now that I have two dogs, I am making way too much poop. Butter doesn’t help by pooping on the sidewalk.There is a police camera nearby, I keep expecting squad cars to surround me and give me a ticket. 

I figured that after 4 months of giving birth that it would not be such a big deal to squat and curb the dogs. Wellllllll I figured wrong! Squatting had lasting effects on my rightside. Inside. Feels like a pulled muscle + rug burn.

Regardless Butter is part of my family now. He follows me from room to room. I’m not getting rid of him. He has had it rough and needs stability. Not many people can handle a dog that has special needs- no telling what would happen if I gave him away.  

Ruby and Butter are the lucky dogs in the hood. Yesterday I meant a pit bull that wasn’t so lucky. His owner had recently thrown him in the ring to fight. The dog was walking with a limp and was withdrawn.

The 21 year old kid opened up when I asked what happen to his dog. It went something like this:

me: He’s limping. What happened?

‘Marquis de Sade’: He got in a fight! He alright.

me: A fight? He has always been so mild mannered, he doesn’t look like the kinda guy to start a fight…

‘ Marquis de Sade’: I thought he wanted to fight.

me: Not him, he wants to be your friend. You’re a hustler, you might do better having him by yourside as your friend than putting him in a fight! Please don’t fight him anymore.

‘Marquis de Sade’: yeah, I know. This my best friend right here. What’s up? Are these your kids? Are you married.

me: yeah, these my kids and my dogs and I’m straight on husbands. How old are you?

Marquis de Sade: 21.

me: my oldest son is away at school, he’s 15.

Marquis de Sade isn’t his real name. I’m just calling him that to be a smarty pants. I have no idea if I got through to the boy but I tried with caution from behind the wrought iron gate.

The fence isn’t the only thing that separated us.