On the Fence
I love my dog. I do. I really, really, REALLY do.
But see, this was the year that Ashley was scheduled to get her formal living room furniture. I've been designing this room in my mind since I was about 11 years old, so . . . I'm freaking ready.
Then along came Emma. And after some time, we had to face reality: Might Emma need a fence?
Like many hound breeds, beagles--at least OUR beagle--simply cannot be off leash. Beagles bolt and don't listen. It's related to their innate stubbornness, I'm told---their determination to follow a scent or whatnot.
So, every time Emma went out to pee, she was on leash. Obviously, she was on leash for walks. And the constant leash thing got old.
After surviving another polar vortex winter, countless rain-soaked walks, and trying to wrap up a doggy pee break before a scheduled call or meeting I needed to call into (which is when Emma liked to dilly dally and explore, driving me bananas), I had to agree. We needed a freaking fence.
And fences are expensive.
I'm not super crazy about the black steel fence, as it's REALLY common out here, pricey, and just not my favorite aesthetic. I'd prefer something more farmhouse-like. But our neighbor already had one of our yard perimeter done in the black steel, and it's what Chris wanted. Besides, it would be unbeatable for keeping Emma contained.
So, we bit the bullet. I waved adios to my living room furniture and put down the deposit on the fence.
And waited. And waited.
And effing WAITED.
A couple months later, the materials were in. After a B.S. rain delay that we had planned our weekend around, they finally started installing it. Well, they had ordered the wrong gates--and I'm pretty sure it's the WRONG gates that we had to wait 2.5 months for--so they'd have to reorder. I was near tears when the crew told me this. I knew it wasn't their fault, so I thanked them, but oh how I marched inside to call Chris. "Get the owner on the phone. This is crap!" The owner (it's a local company--we try to shop local, but lordy . . . sometimes the small town it-will-get-done-when-it-gets-done mode of operation drives me batty) offered to put up some temporary chainlink mesh to keep Emma (and Lorelei, if we're being honest) contained until the new gates arrive (when? oh, who knows), which mollified me. The mass of mesh is still there, which I'm sure is thrilling our neighbors. Fortunately, we're surrounded by very kind neighbors who know our fence saga, so I'm not worried.
And. . . we have a functional fence.
On Emma's first afternoon romping free, I swear she grinned at me. She LOVES her new freedom, and I love just opening the back door when she looks like she has to pee. She's able to hang out with the family now when we eat dinner on the deck, instead of gazing forlornly through the window. I no longer have to shout at the kids, "Close the door! Don't let Emma out!" And honestly, letting the girls play without fear that one (ahem, the littler one) will bolt for the road makes my life easier.
Choosing the fence over the furniture was the right move. It makes getting a second dog (no, not yet) more feasible. Emma, while spry and healthy and practically a young pup when she frolicks in the yard, is also around 8 years old. We won't have her forever. But that fence will let any future dog we have run free.
Meanwhile, what have we been reading? Well. I recently started (and finished) Cheryl Strayed's Wild on my Kindle, which was pretty good. I also started The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez, which is lovely so far.
I've continued on, getting oh so dangerously close to the end, of The Chronology of Water, which has simply knocked my socks off. There's a chapter where Yuknavitch creates these images of various women writers that was mind-blowing. I read part of it aloud to Chris, then cried (way to throw people off the you're-batshit-nuts trail, Ashley), and he listened, a bit blankly but also patiently.
Charlotte and I continue to read The Tale of Despereaux. We're about 150 pages in, but we missed a night here and there because she had to go straight to bed after spitting on the keyboard of my piano (I was stunned and livid at her for doing it, and boy, she'll never do that again), and we had some late nights with friends over and whatnot. We're progressing, though.
Lorelei has been on a Karen Katz binge, picking out various combination of KK books. Fine with me. They're short, show diverse images of kidlets, provide lots of opportunity to ham it up and interact with Lorelei, and . . . did I mention they're short?
But see, this was the year that Ashley was scheduled to get her formal living room furniture. I've been designing this room in my mind since I was about 11 years old, so . . . I'm freaking ready.
Then along came Emma. And after some time, we had to face reality: Might Emma need a fence?
Like many hound breeds, beagles--at least OUR beagle--simply cannot be off leash. Beagles bolt and don't listen. It's related to their innate stubbornness, I'm told---their determination to follow a scent or whatnot.
So, every time Emma went out to pee, she was on leash. Obviously, she was on leash for walks. And the constant leash thing got old.
After surviving another polar vortex winter, countless rain-soaked walks, and trying to wrap up a doggy pee break before a scheduled call or meeting I needed to call into (which is when Emma liked to dilly dally and explore, driving me bananas), I had to agree. We needed a freaking fence.
And fences are expensive.
I'm not super crazy about the black steel fence, as it's REALLY common out here, pricey, and just not my favorite aesthetic. I'd prefer something more farmhouse-like. But our neighbor already had one of our yard perimeter done in the black steel, and it's what Chris wanted. Besides, it would be unbeatable for keeping Emma contained.
So, we bit the bullet. I waved adios to my living room furniture and put down the deposit on the fence.
And waited. And waited.
And effing WAITED.
A couple months later, the materials were in. After a B.S. rain delay that we had planned our weekend around, they finally started installing it. Well, they had ordered the wrong gates--and I'm pretty sure it's the WRONG gates that we had to wait 2.5 months for--so they'd have to reorder. I was near tears when the crew told me this. I knew it wasn't their fault, so I thanked them, but oh how I marched inside to call Chris. "Get the owner on the phone. This is crap!" The owner (it's a local company--we try to shop local, but lordy . . . sometimes the small town it-will-get-done-when-it-gets-done mode of operation drives me batty) offered to put up some temporary chainlink mesh to keep Emma (and Lorelei, if we're being honest) contained until the new gates arrive (when? oh, who knows), which mollified me. The mass of mesh is still there, which I'm sure is thrilling our neighbors. Fortunately, we're surrounded by very kind neighbors who know our fence saga, so I'm not worried.
And. . . we have a functional fence.
On Emma's first afternoon romping free, I swear she grinned at me. She LOVES her new freedom, and I love just opening the back door when she looks like she has to pee. She's able to hang out with the family now when we eat dinner on the deck, instead of gazing forlornly through the window. I no longer have to shout at the kids, "Close the door! Don't let Emma out!" And honestly, letting the girls play without fear that one (ahem, the littler one) will bolt for the road makes my life easier.
Choosing the fence over the furniture was the right move. It makes getting a second dog (no, not yet) more feasible. Emma, while spry and healthy and practically a young pup when she frolicks in the yard, is also around 8 years old. We won't have her forever. But that fence will let any future dog we have run free.
 |
| All fenced in. |
 |
| Run, Emma! |
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| When she's had enough romping, she waits patiently by the back door. |
Meanwhile, what have we been reading? Well. I recently started (and finished) Cheryl Strayed's Wild on my Kindle, which was pretty good. I also started The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez, which is lovely so far.
 |
| The Chronology of Water, my kindle, and Emma. |
Charlotte and I continue to read The Tale of Despereaux. We're about 150 pages in, but we missed a night here and there because she had to go straight to bed after spitting on the keyboard of my piano (I was stunned and livid at her for doing it, and boy, she'll never do that again), and we had some late nights with friends over and whatnot. We're progressing, though.
Lorelei has been on a Karen Katz binge, picking out various combination of KK books. Fine with me. They're short, show diverse images of kidlets, provide lots of opportunity to ham it up and interact with Lorelei, and . . . did I mention they're short?
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