There are two basic techniques for removing bandaides. The first: Gently rub the adhesive ends with baby oil. Carefully pull the edges up, very slo-o-wly, so as to gradually remove the bandage without ripping off too much hair with it. Check the wound and be sure it's not being disturbed. Continue to slowly and carefully pull on the ends of the bandaide until it's almost off. Then one more gentle pull and - - - there. It's done. Put a little ice on it. Grab a tissue to dab at your smarting, teary eyes. The alternative: Pry up one of the adhesive ends with your fingernail. Close your eyes, hold your breath, and pull that sucker off. Scream. Dry your eyes. Put a little ice on it. It's done.
For the dog lovers and soft-hearted among you, you might want to skip this post. We had the best intentions when we adopted Pesky Puppy. My daughter wanted a small dog to love. She wanted a chihuahua. We said no. They're hyper and they bark a lot. Hubs put his foot down and said, if we're getting another dog, I want to choose the breed. I've always wanted a Jack Russell.
I wasn't enamoured with the idea, but his track record for choosing pets is a lot better than mine. Our first dog was my choice. A rottweiler. She was a lovely, even-tempered, perfectly dispositioned sweetheart. But she was BIG. And as we added children to our family, she grew even bigger. Soon she was 500 lbs and taking up what little space we had. When Bruni passed on, Hubs said, NO MORE BIG DOGS. So then we went to the animal shelter and he found Abby. She's a medium sized dog. She's a sweetheart, perfectly well-behaved, and we all love her. Score one for Hubs.
But Abby decided long ago that she is my dog. So, we decided we would find a dog for Emily, because she is the animal lover in the family and has not had the fun of having her own puppy.
To make a long story short, Pesky Puppy was not a good choice for us. He is cute as a button. But he has the energy of a rubber ball in a racquetball court. My daughter loved the stuffing out of him, when she could get him to calm down long enough. We knew we had a decision to make.I should explain here that we tried. We had family meetings and discussed training techniques. We bought books. We investigated every website we could find, to try to understand this little guy. We spent money on toys to entertain him, treats to bribe him and books galore. But we finally realized that, as crazy as he was making us, it was only half as crazy as we were driving him. He didn't want to be the sedate little lap dog that we were trying to train him to be.
Since I am typically The Terminator in the family when it comes to undesireable house guests, Hubs agreed to take matters into his own hands. We had discussed the idea with Emily that perhaps this was not a good fit. She kinda, sorta, half-heartedly got the point. But she was hardly convinced
Yesterday, Hubs came home from work and announced to me "I'm going to do it today." I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to tell him, be gentle with her, work up to it. He left the room. He returned 15 seconds later. "It's done," he said. "You told here??" I asked, in disbelief. Here I'd had a pit in my stomach all day, and it was this eas?! "What did she say?"
"She burst into tears and ran from the room," he said matter-of-factly.
"What did you say?"
"I said, 'We're giving the dog away.'"
Oh, for crying out loud. Leave it to an engineer.
"Well," he said, defensively, "She didn't give me a chance to finish. I was going to explain it all just like we said."
By the time I got to Em she was on the phone to her best friend and, bless her heart, the friend got to our house from down the block in less time than it took Dan to break the news to Emily.
They were locked in an embrace on the sofa.
I wrapped my arms around Em. "Sweetie, I'm SO sorry."
"I know we talked about it," she hiccuped, "but I didn't know it would be TODAY!"
Wanting to remain planted firmly in the middle between my husband and my daughter, I stammered, "Well, men aren't always very good at explaining things. . . " to which she replied, giving me an incredulous look, "Ya think???!!"
I know that Pesky Puppy is in a good place. He will have owners who love him for his enthusiam and energy and for who he is. In my husband's haste to break out the door, a few of PP's things were left behind. I have to admit, a lump came to my throat when I found one of his little "kong toys." I called his new residence and offered to send it up, explaining that if they fill it with peanut butter, he'll calmly chew on it for
hours three minutes.
Yesterday morning, Hubs and Luke left for a weekend trip. Hubs has a business trip back east next week, so they will spend the weekend bonding as father and son, seeing the Mets play at Shea Stadium in what will be their last season before they move to a brand spanking new stadium next year. Emily and I are spending the weekend getting haircuts, pedicures, watching girl movies and eating popcorn, snuggled up on the sofa.
Ice on the wound.