This One Is About Barney

The only people who take transitions worse than women who are seven and a half months pregnant and filled with impossible nesting hormones, are dogs.

Every day B and I put on our shopping shoes and trod off to the next furniture store to see if they sell chairs that are small enough, or dressers that are small enough, or shelves that are small enough, so that maybe they can come and live in our Green Bathroom Central Park Palace of Tiny Wonders.  It is quite the effort, involving multiple bottles of water, miniature measuring tapes, in-depth subway route strategy meetings, and lots snacks for the suddenly ravenous pregnant girl.

Some days I have three lunches. I am so tired of eating!

And then at the end of all this we run home to walk the dogs.

My favorite part of this is when we come home, and we click the lock open, and then there are our two furball butt heads greeting us at the door wearing their best WUH-OH! faces.

And then, the carnage.

Mostly it is not terrible. Mostly it is just Message Destruction, which, as opposed to Boredom Destruction, is not so very awful.

Message Destruction is when you pull it all out of the garbage can and strew it about just-so, in order to convey to the humans the power for evil you could possess should things continue on in such an undesirable canine manner.

Boredom Destruction on the other hand . . . total annihilation.

And it is never terribly clear-cut who did what in these escapades. Sometimes the garbage has been procured from tall structures (only Barney would dare to leap to), and sometimes the garbage has been recovered from deep caverns (only a Peter-length face could reach). The nature of the artistry usually leans toward The Pan, who never commits to anything less than the ultimate of high expression, but then the guilt in the room upon our return is heavily Scottie in nature, and so I am never sure who to blame.

Except, as the higher-intelligent being, it really does fall to Peter Pan to be a better example. That sounds stupid even as I type it.

But today was the best. Today, after a marathon day in Brooklyn, we returned home to a pristine apartment, with our two butt head dogs wearing their best angel faces. We thought, Hallelujah! Praise Mayor Bloomberg! The dogs are all right!

But actually there were nefarious plots afoot, and not ten minutes after I arrived home, the king of our apartment, Sir Barnabus MacDuff, waltzed into the bedroom where I was napping, planted a fragrant load right in the corner, and then casually strutted out.

The minute his furry behind had crossed the threshold to the living room his guilt set in, and I could hear him scurrying about in a delighted panic.

As I lay there overcome with the aroma of death, I imagined I could hear his thoughts translated through the tapping of his toenails on the hardwoods, like morse code.

"I poo-ed! I poo-ed! She's going to catch me! Weeeee!"

I got up and made all my angry noises and shook all my fingers at Barney, while he wiggled in half-brained guilty excitement and launched himself into the green bathtub for cover, his ears tucked back against his head and his eyes darting about nervously. I was headed to the bathroom myself for supplies, and when Barney realized I was coming he shot out of the tub with glee and barreled directly toward his crate, his back half twisting so forcefully he looked like a rocketing corkscrew.

All of our Target purchases were piled in the doorway to his crate and when he realized he couldn't get in he started scrambling in the opposite direction. Redirect! Redirect! He chose to make for higher ground and made a last-second crooked leap toward a tall cardboard box. One minute he was landing on top of the box in triumphant splendor, and the next minute the box was swallowing him whole. I watched his shocked little face disappear and heard a yelp of surprise, followed by a great scramble of dog against cardboard as he ran about in chaotic circles, not sure if he was safe inside or if he was stuck forever, and obviously loving every second of it.

Peter Pan, meanwhile, had this certain expression on his face, like possibly he had put Barney up to all of it and felt marginally guilty for how it had turned out, but still relieved that, for the moment, the dumb black one seemed to be gone for good.

I opened the flap to the cardboard box and took a good look at my little prisoner, who by now had gotten the pleasure of pooping indoors and going on a wild adventure, and then I looked at Peter Pan, who had by now composed himself and was now staring at the wall with a bored expression, and I said to myself,

"Shoot! We forgot to look at lamps while we were out!"


  1. This was a most perfect story to read at 1am! I laughed out loud and my cackle spread out to the neighborhood through my open office window. I fear the villagers are planning a lynching for having been so rudely awakened such a wee hour of the morning, but it was so worth it!

    Thanks for sharing your escapades.

  2. Marathon Targeting in Brooklyn...such a dangerous phrase. I went in for a day planner yesterday (AH I WAS THERE BUT I DID SEE YOUUUU) and came out with a birthday card, rainbow cardstock for the next time I've forgotten I needed a card, 3 notebooks, 2 folders, and a magazine. I can't fight the impulse purchasing.

  3. Haha! I love the way you describe ordinary occurances! Poor Barney though. I can't help feeling a little sorry for him. Feeling MORE sorry for your seven-and-a-half-month-pregnant interrupted nap...and the fact that you're gonna have to treck to Target again for those dang lamps! =)

  4. Ohhhhhhh! Did you whup him?

  5. Huh. I've always wondered what dogs who live in high-rise apartments do to go poo- now I know.
    I can just see Pan, like my older brother, coming up with all of the nefarious schemes, putting Barney up to it then watching with glee as it all played out.

  6. Thanks for the laugh! That was brilliantly funny!

  7. THIS STORY is exactly the reason I wish we had another dog (at my house) or a kid. Ohh! the stories I'm sure I could tell then. I do have a few tales stored that occurred between my Hubs and our Lab, but I don't think I can portray any of it quite like you do. Hilarious!

  8. But surely you know there's an Ikea in Brooklyn? What am I saying - of course you do... They have much more diverse and inexpensive lamp section than does Target, and you could get that giant daffodil light fixture (pardon me, I meant the IKEA PS MASKROS) too, not to mention some super cute night lights for Holbsie Jr.

    I so have disappeared down the Ikea rabbit hole that I can't even comment on the hilarity that is Barney.

  9. Wow, I have never been able to see the funny side the way you do, except for the time Remington poo-ed on the one rug in my entire house full of linoleum and my husband stepped directly from the shower (freshly clean!) onto it...

  10. And that last thought is how you know you are a perfect motherly being. To have your nap interrupted by poo AND still be able to think about lamps...You rock. : )

  11. Dude. Gross.

    I love the way you write. So entertaining.

    Now, go lamp shopping and hope for a poo-less existence.

  12. the hilarity continues and I'm so happy it does! Eileen

  13. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I loved it. Totally hilarious. Especially because I didn't have to clean up the pooo-oo.

  14. The posts about Sir Barnaby MacDuff and Peter Pan may just be my favorites. (And yes. I seem to have knighted Barney without meaning to. But it sort of has a nice ring to it? Even if his pooing in doors isn't worthy of knighthood?)

  15. I am laughing out loud at this as my husband keeps asking me what is so funny? LOL.

  16. Quite possibly one of the funniest blog posts ever.

  17. oh, this made me laugh. =) (it also re-affirmed my very strong desire for a puppy to anthropomorphize and love.)

  18. This was so funny! Reading at happy hour waiting for a pal to arrive and cracking up! I relate to this 100% with my similarly apartment-confined pup :)


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