Don't You Hate It When....

Cooper the Culprit , age 1 very lucky year.

....you save a dog from the pound and he makes your life an upside down mess for nearly a year and every time you're ready to yank him back to the pound by the tip of shiny black ear, he looks at with his sparkly, hopeful eyes and his deflated yellow ball in his mouth, making you scab together another two foot extension to the top of your fence? I mean I who carries around a deflated, germy ball in their mouth. It's like that Ms. Nosineighbor who popped her husband's boil and a little bitty bit got in her tea and she was so sick couldn't leave the toilet for three whole days. And just then dog finds an other low spot on the fence to escape over and you're basically left with a small patch of hair near the nape of your neck that you haven't yet pulled out, hair by hair, and the neighbor comes to tell you how much he dislikes the all the "new" barking since your dog showed up. I mean, what're ya tryin' to do, make my ulcer bubble over? So, I tell my husband, "We gotta' break a hole in the wall." And he breaks a hole in the wall and the window comes out and he rents a big saw. And I says, " That saw is gonna cut through your leg and the bone is gonna be sticking out everywhere and then I'm gonna have to call the neighbor, you know the one with ears like Beethoven, after he got the syphilis and the lead poisoning and the typhus....

I hate it when that happens.

Phase3: The one after your husband decides to take the window without any help and it shatters in and outside of you house.

All kidding aside, I love our new door, out of the office. The whole event was a comedy of errors due to our lack of planning, which can simultaneously leave you stitches and potentially leave you in stitches. Much like our dog's lucky ownership, ironically. We avoided the later, but it was tenuous for a moment there. My husband decided that chipping bricks away with a mere chisel was not the right way to half-ass this project. So we visited the Home Depot tool rental corral, which should against the law if you ask me, and his eyes lit up like a kid gazing at his first bicycle when we happened across the super-ginormous-diamond-tipped-saw-blade-the-size-of-my-backside, hand-held (gas motor, water hose and all) brick cutting saw. I've could of died of fright, right then and there. And I snarked about it the whole way home, I assure you. To no avail, of course. But to our better fortune, he managed not cut anything off. Other than the brick, I mean.

Break on through to the otherside....break on through...

I can't say that I was any more comfortable sleeping with a gaping hole in my office that night, with a flim-flam tarp protecting all that I hold dear. That too, was fussed over for nothing. But getting the door to "hang" correctly, that was fitful half day, for my husband. Shim shim here, shim there, tear it all out and start shimming again. Of all the should've-been-easy-moments, it wasn't one.

Shimming, I'm sure.

So, now, the dog can chew his yellow ball in peace, my office has more light, the kids have a new door to slam, and Daddy still has all his extremities. Except, now I need a deck and a porch light and to haul some bricks to the dump and.......

"V" for victory.

Well, Rosanna Rosannadanna, just goes to proving you right, it's always something.