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Since the end of the school year my two youngest boys have not wanted to play in the backyard. This coincided with the warmer weather and with the unrealistic but eternal hope that the vacuum created by the absence of school work would be filled with unlimited video games. A hope that cannot come to fruition from the backyard.
The excuses were slightly varied but with a theme.
"There's a mean dog that keeps jumping out of the bushes at us."
"It's too hot, we might get heat exhaustion." -they learned that phrase after a visit to their Texas grandmother.
"We are afraid of the dog."
"We need a snack."
"That dog might be hiding out there and try to bite us."
"I'm thirsty."
"It snarls."
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"That dog chased us again."
I couldn't figure out what dog they were talking about at first; when I realized they were describing a tiny Yorkie I was less than impressed. I had seen an older Toy Yorkie loose in the neighborhood, and wondered about the kind of person that would allow their dog to roam. But really, afraid of a Toy Yorkie? I never saw it anywhere near our yard- and I did look, multiple times. They just really really wanted to lay their bodies across sofas and play video games.
Annoyed with the exaggeration and laziness I told the boys to get over it and kicked them back to the back yard. When I found them playing, not on our huge play equipment or in the trees but huddled on the porch, I was annoyed.
A morning or two later I decided to do a walk-through of the back yard picking up toys and boy-detritus (you know, the odd work glove, goggles, an old box, an unauthorized wooden addition to the trees) and was enjoying the general quiet of a yard at rest. Suddenly, I felt a horrible sting to my bare calf. I whipped around and there, charging out of the depths of our foundation bushes, was a snarling growling Toy Yorkie. In My Backyard. He charged me a second time then upon spying my raised foot slipped away like a ghost through my neighbor's picket fence.
A Toy Yorkie! It's bite broke the skin and badly bruised my calf.
Hiding in the bushes.
Jumping out.
Snarling.
A Toy Yorkie.
The dog days of summer- when you have to apologize to you sons for not believing them. Being rather savvy of mothering-guilt they worked the apology into some extra video game time.
.
Since the end of the school year my two youngest boys have not wanted to play in the backyard. This coincided with the warmer weather and with the unrealistic but eternal hope that the vacuum created by the absence of school work would be filled with unlimited video games. A hope that cannot come to fruition from the backyard.
The excuses were slightly varied but with a theme.
"There's a mean dog that keeps jumping out of the bushes at us."
"It's too hot, we might get heat exhaustion." -they learned that phrase after a visit to their Texas grandmother.
"We are afraid of the dog."
"We need a snack."
"That dog might be hiding out there and try to bite us."
"I'm thirsty."
"It snarls."
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"That dog chased us again."
I couldn't figure out what dog they were talking about at first; when I realized they were describing a tiny Yorkie I was less than impressed. I had seen an older Toy Yorkie loose in the neighborhood, and wondered about the kind of person that would allow their dog to roam. But really, afraid of a Toy Yorkie? I never saw it anywhere near our yard- and I did look, multiple times. They just really really wanted to lay their bodies across sofas and play video games.
Annoyed with the exaggeration and laziness I told the boys to get over it and kicked them back to the back yard. When I found them playing, not on our huge play equipment or in the trees but huddled on the porch, I was annoyed.
A morning or two later I decided to do a walk-through of the back yard picking up toys and boy-detritus (you know, the odd work glove, goggles, an old box, an unauthorized wooden addition to the trees) and was enjoying the general quiet of a yard at rest. Suddenly, I felt a horrible sting to my bare calf. I whipped around and there, charging out of the depths of our foundation bushes, was a snarling growling Toy Yorkie. In My Backyard. He charged me a second time then upon spying my raised foot slipped away like a ghost through my neighbor's picket fence.
A Toy Yorkie! It's bite broke the skin and badly bruised my calf.
Hiding in the bushes.
Jumping out.
Snarling.
A Toy Yorkie.
The dog days of summer- when you have to apologize to you sons for not believing them. Being rather savvy of mothering-guilt they worked the apology into some extra video game time.
.
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