*Ironically, these two events are not related. 🙂
Mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve, I let the puppy out for a pee in the backyard.
It was muddy. Cool and wet, but not cold and frozen.
After a while I wanted to let puppy back in. But he didn’t come when I called. I opened the back door and looked for him. There he was, at he back of the yard, digging up the rhubarb.
How come no one told me Beagles are diggers? There are so many holes in my yard…
Anyway, he ignored me and continued digging so I knew by the time he would return to the house he’d be covered in mud. Which is why I closed the baby gate at the end of the hall. I did not want to let him run around the house and jump on furniture with muddy paws.
I managed to close the gate just in the nick of time because he came charging into the house without warning, all hyped up for having ripped up rhubarb roots. Proudly he jumped up on me, not realizing I was already dressed for Christmas…
I looked down at my black tights clad legs with horror. Mud.
Before he got a chance to jump up on me again, I grabbed him by the scruff and opened the bathroom door to drop him into the tub.
“Just the paws, not a whole bath,” I told him witout avail. Puppies, like children, have selective hearing, apparently.
Tucker was unimpressed.
Little did I realize that this was going to turn into a major fiasco.
Not only did Tucker jump out of the tub twice while I tried to get his lower extremities showered down, but I also forgot to close the bathroom door.
He jumped out which caused me to drop the hand-held showerhead, causing it to fall right side up and spraying me with water. I think I stared at the showerhead without moving for a moment…
The dog in the meantime got into the hallway and shook himself, making the floor and walls wet and muddy in the process. Before I could chase after him to bring him back, I had to turn off the faucet, turn the showerhead face down, and find a towel which luckily I had left near the back door earlier.
Somehow, I managed to get puppy back into the tub, and showered off his paws. My black dress and tights were soaked now, as was the floor, the mat, the toilet seat and the mirror above the sink. The tub itself was covered in muddy streaks.
I had just cleaned the bathroom that morning.
Anyway, somehow I managed to fix everything. Tucker was left in his bed wrapped in a dry towel, I wiped down all the mud and sopped up all the puddles, and then went to change my own clothes.
So that was the first fiasco.
The second one was not my fiasco, but I was mildly irritated by it nonetheless. I say mildly because I would have handled it differently but since it wasn’t my problem I simply let things go.
It involved some missing bacon.
A couple of days prior, I had sent the husband to do the grocery shopping. He’s on vacation between semesters now and didn’t mind taking over this chore to give me a break. I gave him a list, stayed close to my phone for the inevitable texts about whether or not we need potatoes or something like that, and off he went.
He came home with two packages of thickly cut, high quality bacon.
“It’s for the turkey,” he said.
“But we’re not doing turkey,” I said. “Just breasts, right?”
He got a small turkey.
I calculated how long we’ll be eating turkey since neither of the kids is a huge fan, but figured we can handle it especially because I make delicious soup.
Anyway we were admiring the bacon packages when he asked me which part of the food needed to go in the garage freezer and fridge. I gave him some instructions, told him to bag some of the stuff before sticking it in the freezer, and went into hiding in the bedroom.
Fast forward to Christmas Eve, approximately 10:30 am. He was planning on putting the turkey in the oven around noon or a bit before that.
Twice he asked me where the bacon is.
“You’re the one who put the stuff away yesterday,” I said. “I have no idea.”
He left to keep looking.
After a while, I went into the kitchen to top up my coffee. I saw a raw turkey on the island counter, some wet spots along the drawers dripping down below onto the mat, some empty grocery bags, and on the other side, some red-ish juice along the white drawers below the sink.
But the kitchen was empty.
“Where’s your dad?” I asked the plugged-in kid in the living room. She didn’t know.
I wiped down some of the spills, got rid of the bags, and placed the turkey still in its wrapping on a plate. At that moment, the door opened and in came the husband with two grocery bags.
One contained chips. 🙄
The other contained…two packs of bacon. The standard, everyday fare, not the thick gourmet slabs.
“You lost the other bacon?” I asked.
“No,” was the answer. Apparently he had bagged some of the other meat he was putting in the freezer and somehow stuck the two packs of bacon into the same bag and placed the entire package into the garage freezer. When he realized his precious bacon was frozen, he went to the convenience store to buy other bacon (and chips. It’s a drug…).
“I thought the microwave was fixed?” I asked. At this point I was just confused. I mean, the microwave has a defrost setting and you can defrost something in stages that doesn’t burn the edges… I know how. I wonder if he does?
But I could tell he was all irritated and tense, so I didn’t get into a debate with him. Normal bacon will be just fine, too. It’s what we’ve used before.
Anyway, allow me to show you the meat he photographed, after he removed some of the bacon pieces. (This is a thing with him, please don’t ask me to explain it…)
As far as how the rest of Christmas Eve went, all I can tell you is that there were no more mishaps, the food was delicious, the turkey very moist and flavourful, and it started snowing that night!
We woke up to a very white Christmas morning.
Also, this is the current state of the Beagle: