Home for the Holidays (Whatever That Means)

The view at 10,000+ feet somewhere over Riverside County

The only annual holiday tradition I've managed to create and honor as an adult is traveling back to my parents' house for Christmas every December. My tradition is not unique. No, it appears I share this tradition with loads of other singletons. I see them waiting in the security line at LAX or stranded in Terminal D trying to balance Christmas gifts, laptops and giant coffee served in red cups.

What I've come to wonder is if these other singletons share my holiday experience--you know, after the ritual of traveling cross-country is complete. Do they also find their childhood bedroom has become a storage room / gift-wrapping station / gym / playroom for Princess the puppy? Do they--usually chatty with most any living being--find it hard to formulate conversation with childhood friends, now married and covered in the paraphernalia of children? Do they have an unusual desire for a large Manhattan with each and every meal?

Maybe it's just me.

At any rate, the holidays were lovely and rushed and full of dear ones. It was good to get back to Los Angeles with it's wild and apocalyptic sunsets. In LA, I feel a bit more myself, which is such a contradiction because if you saw me you'd never think I came from this particular city. I probably look way more Tulsa than LA.

Living In A Deluxe Condo

If any of you have ever had the joy of house training a puppy, you will be familiar with the term "cage training."

What a cruel-sounding thing to do to a puppy!

At our house, we don't tell the pups to get into their "cage." No, we prefer the term "condo." When the pups come in from the great outdoors, we enthusiastically say, "Go to your condo!" The pups run right into their spacious condo (two former cages joined together to make a penthouse condo) and pick up their favorite chew toys (a pink stuffed stiletto with the label Bark Jacobs or a brown stuffed purse with the label Chewy Vuitton). The life of a pup - ain't it grand?

Abby:


Winston:

And Then There Were Three

A while back I introduced you to my brother's new puppy, Moses. Well, since that time we have added two more pups to our household.

Right now, as I sit in the sliver of shade provided by our patio umbrella, the two puggles are running absolutely berserk. The boston terrier is trying hopelessly to keep up despite his small size; he is a few weeks younger than the puggles and is the runt of his litter.

I've picked a few photos that seem to represent their personalities and two photos I took 10 minutes ago that capture the puppy madness that whirls around my feet today.

Here is one of Moses taken about a week ago:


Abigail, Moses' sister, on her first day home:


And our mighty little Boston Terrier Winston:


Here is what they've been up to this morning:

Meet Moses

My brother James brought home a new puppy last week. His name is Moses and he is cute, as you can see from this photo.



Moses is a Puggle - his mother is a Beagle and his father is a Pug. After a bit of research, James discovered that Puggles are quite the fashionable dog these days - but not so fashionable as to be deemed "hot" by the likes of Paris Hilton, thankfully. This popularity might explain why we had to travel to one of the most remote parts of South Carolina.

James and I drove to the blink-and-you'll-miss-it town of Cross Hill to pick up wee Moses. The drive took way longer than we anticipated and included several borderline-legal u-turns. Our directions, it turned out, were cryptic at best. When we finally found the post office that signaled our turn into Cross Hill, we had listened to the new Coldplay album 3 1/2 times. When we pulled up to the house, a young girl in a pale pink dress sitting on the front porch caught my eye. For a split second I thought we had taken a really wrong turned and ended up in Eldorado, Texas. Alas, we had not. The kind family raising their first "batch" of Puggles were Mennonites, which explained their adamant policy of no sales on Sunday.

Moses was the calmest puppy on the porch that afternoon. Looking back now, I think his calm demeanor may have been mistaken for heat stroke. The porch harbored the bright afternoon sun turning it into an easy-bake oven. Today Moses is a wild puppy with a taste for toes. He bites anything and everything around him, including the hand that feeds him. He also is a bit confused with when and where he can use the toilet. But all of this is to be expected with a little pup. At least this is what the puppy books tell me.