Watson

The loudest impulse buy in the history of mankind.

You guys might not be aware of this, but prior to having a couple of miniature humans as pets, we had ourselves a Quaker Parrot for a few years.  His name was Fezzig, he was a fiesty, little pain in the ass, and we were forced to get rid of him because, well, he became a jealous berserker once we started bringing babies home.

To the victor goes the crabs.

Ever since we banished that one from the Realm of Hough, we've been pet-free. . . relatively.  I mean, we had two hermit crabs for about eight months, but about a month after we first picked them up in Treasure Island one of them died, and the other we ended up giving to my brother, Chris, to raise in Michigan.

. . . because if anything says 'sandy beaches and crabs' more than Florida, it's Michigan.

No.

Anyway, I'd been attempting (unsuccesfully) to get Kris back into Pet Mode, but we could never agree on any specific species.  Fish were too high maintenance (cleaning the tank, filtering the water, etc.), hamsters and gerbils bite and pee all over the place, rabbits and guinea pigs stink like barn animals, etc.

We went back and forth with this for years, and ultimately we decided that, in the end, having kids was a lot like having pets anyway. . . pets that you can't get rid of until they're 18.  And that are much more expensive.  And talk back.

BAM.

So fast forward to, oh, about three weeks ago.  I was drinking craft beers with the Seloskes in Livonia the night before flying back to Florida, texting back and forth with Kris, when the pet conversation popped back up.  She was gung-ho about getting a Guinea Pig, but I was far from being sold on the Ecuadorian delicacies.

Seeing Seloske's thirty-some-odd cats scampering about the living room, I countered with 'Well, what about a cat?'. . . despite the fact that I am deathly allergic to the pieces of garbage.  I mean, besides being the Ohio of Animals, cats are fairly independent, which would suit lazy, time-constrained would-be-pet-owners like us just fine.

My cat proposal was met with equal parts bewilderment and chastising, as Kris knew I hated cats almost as much as my nose did.  I guess in the end she could sense my desperation for any kind of a pet with some small degree of longevity and personality, and was moved by my willingness to suggest adopting the one animal I despise above all others.  By the end of the conversation, we were discussing dogs.

. . . and that's how we ended up with Watson.

Once I got back to Florida, Kris and I set about scoping out adoption agencies, rescue centers, and humane societies for possible dogs.  We had initially figured the dog could be the girls' main Christmas present, but nixed that as we became aware of the fact that many agencies down here close their adoptions for the month of December in order to prevent this from happening (their rationale being that it's traumatic for all parties involved - the kids as well as the dog - if the adoption doesn't pan out according to plan, but even worse when the dog itself is a Christmas present.)

I wanted to have the dog ready to roll by the beginning of Thanksgiving Break, which would enable me to use my seven days at home to house-train the puppy, have him on some sort of a schedule, and get him used to the kids and his new surrounding before I had to head back to work.  As the weeks ticked by, and Thanksgiving approached, we honed our sights on small/medium dogs that were under 8 months old, and finally ended up with a Dachshund mix by the name of Jigsaw.

Jigsaw was a day or two old when he was found lying next to his mother on the side of the road - the whole litter had been left there, abandoned, and so Skyway Dachshund Rescue (out of Palm Beach) took the dogs in and nursed them all back to health.  What was cool about this rescue agency was that they give you the dog with all his shots current, spayed/neutered, and fully treated for ticks, fleas, etc. - all crap that would've ended up costing a ton of money later on down the road.  With all the preliminary stuff out of the way, all we really have to do is take him in for yearly vet check-ups, which is awesome.

Another thing we liked about Skway was that they 'lease' you the dog on a trial basis - two weeks - before filing the paperwork and depositing your money.  This trial period is a nice insurance policy just in case the dog doesn't work out with the kids.

Now, Jigsaw was the last of his litter still available, so we pounced on the stacks of paperwork needed to adopt him and, two days ago, one of the ladies that works for Skyway dropped him off at our house.

The dog bonded to Yours Truly, as I was the only one home Sunday morning when he was dropped off (Kris and the girls were at church.)  Following me around the house like a shadow, I couldn't bring myself to calling him something like 'Jigsaw.'  While I guess there's technically nothing wrong with the name 'Jigsaw' (it is fitting in regards to his genetic make-up, which I'll get to shortly), the name didn't fit our family very well.  Seeing how he refused to leave my side, we opted for a classier 'sidekick' name, and honestly I can't think of a classier sidekick than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Dr. Watson.

Watson and I hid on the front porch and waited for Kris and the girls to get home in order to surprise them.  This wasn't the greatest of ideas, as the kids running up spooked the dog and caused him to bark and growl. . . which, obviously, scared the crap out of the kids.  Hooray for pets.

Watson's really an old dog in a puppy's body - all this guy wants to do is sleep on people. . . which we're 100% cool with.

Being the idiots that we are, Kris and I decided to buy him one of these plush animal-thingies that you can put an empty water bottle in.  For $5, I figured it was a decent buy. . . but he tore it to shreds in about an hour, going ape-shit over the crackling sound of the hidden plastic bottle.  So really, in the end, all we really accomplished with that $5 was training our dog to eat our children's stuffed animals.

(This used to be a fox.)

Having a fenced-in yard is awesome - I don't know what dog-owners without them do.  I had to line the perimeter of the fence with paver stones, as dachshund mixes like Watson have a tendency of digging. . . and with a pitbull living two houses down, I don't want to run the risk of him digging his way out of our backyard and into the jaws of Hell.

Watching TV with Watson. . .

The girls were pretty excited about having their very own dog - they still are - and Watson's really good with both of them.  While looking for dogs on various rescue sites online, we tried to keep breed, age and demeanor in mind more than anything else.  Vicky, one of Kris' homegirls, has a dachshund named Melo that she brings over frequently, and he does very well with the girls.  As our searches throughout Central Florida's databases returned nothing much besides pit bulls and chihuahuas (what can I say, this is Central Florida.)

As it turns out, though, Watson - while looking very much like a dachshund, doesn't have all that much dachshund in him.  His DNA readout came along with his medical records and everything else, and here's how the mutt truly breaks down (I apologize for the photo of a computer screen - I was in a hurry):

It turns out Watson has a crap-load of English Cocker Spaniel and Mini Pinscher in him.  And Dalmation. . . which is random.

Our lemons came back this year. . . nothing else did, though.

Anyway, we had to scramble like crazy to buy all the crap needed in order to house, feed, and entertain a dog - for about three weeks, every cent of disposable income was put towards purchasing a crate, toys, bedding, training resources, a retractable leash, dog food/treats, bowls, collars, you name it.  All in all, the accessories were much more than we paid for the dog (which in my opinion was still too steep, seeing how it's supposedly a rescue joint after all.)

'Look, Daddy - WEEDS!'

Having a week off to begin training him is awesome - we were fortunate that things fell into place as it did.  It's taken a few days, but now the Dog Formerly Known as Jigsaw is starting to make the connection between himself and 'Watson.'  From there - hopefully -  I can start training him with those accursed Poochiebells (though he's practically house-trained already) and get him to come, fetch, sit, etc.

You know.  Dog stuff.


So yeah, the Houghs have a dog now.  I'll keep you posted with updates, America.

- Brian

The End of Bachelorhood for Alpha Team

Welcome back.

In case you missed yesterday's installment, Yours Truly is in Michigan this weekend, celebrating the nuptials of the Sausage Pad's own Zack Smith and - wait for it - a girl.  When last I checked in with you guys, we were preparing to suit up for the wedding, and, as you can probably imagine, with the reception following thereafter, I wasn't about to sit down in front of my laptop and start uploading pictures.

Pssh.

Heading to Lawton. . .

Anyway, once we were all suited up and ready to roll, Joe, Seloske and I drove out together from the hotel for the Lawton Community Center.  Now, at some point in time, Zack had placed me in charge of 'the orange juice.'  That was the one thing I was supposed to grab and bring with me to the wedding.  The frickin' orange juice.

Well, as you can probably guess, I forgot to bring the Goddamn orange juice.  God help us all.  Realizing my error, Zack was convinced his wedding was ruined, and a few of the other groomsmen had to call their wives in order to try and get them to bring the orange juice with them.

Long story short, the juice never got there, and yet the wedding - miraculously - went through as planned.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Loftis and Seloske get mistaken for one another ALL the time. . .

Cleaned up.  Somewhat.

As the case in every wedding I've had the honor of being a part of, in the hour leading up to the wedding ceremony, the bridal party was shuffled around and separated from the groomsmen.  It took us awhile to put on our chimp suits, so we staked out the museum as our groomsmen headquarters and were able to get dressed in an antique barbershop. . . which, ya know, is what it is.

Remember how I said earlier how I had skipped on the whole 'stop at the tux place on your way to Paw Paw in order to make sure your tux fits' thing?  Remember that?  And Seloske and I stopped off at Bell's Brewery in Kalamazoo instead?  Remember?  Well, my pants were about two inches too short. . . so I had to sag a little in order to avoid the Flood Pants look.  Awesome.

After the bridal party was done with the hired camera jockey, it was our turn.  The photographer wanted to shoot outside, amidst the fall leaves and all that crap.  She had taken roughly 1500 pictures of the bride, from what we could tell, and then proceeded to take about, oh, twelve of us.  Not sure why, exactly - I think we're a pretty non-ugly group of guys.  I mean, all of us are married with children. . . that's got to count for something, right?

Standing around, waiting for our forced portraits with the groom. . .

Nothing out of the ordinary, here.

In the museum, waiting for the wedding to start.

Sausage Pad co-founder Damon Loftis and his offspring/ringbearer, Logan.

The ceremony itself was pretty cut and dry, and I didn't have my camera out for it (as I was a groomsman, and that'd just be tacky. . . I assume.)  If you close your eyes and picture 'standard wedding,' and then also think of 'Brian Hough as a groomsman,' you'll probably be hitting within the 95% quartile for accuracy.  The ceremony was short and sweet, and soon enough we found ourselves with an hour or so to kill before we entered into the reception hall.

Storms'a brewin'. . .

Double rainbows in the sky?  Zack Smith must be present.

Unfortunately, this gigantor wine cask was empty.  We were not pleased.

Now, usually there's a plate dinner served for wedding guests.  Zack and Renee opted out of this, and instead went with h'ordeuvres. . . which were mostly eaten up by the plebeian guests before the wedding party itself had even entered into the reception area.  During the period of time when the rest of the wedding guests were eating our room, and Zack and Renee endured a few hundred 'candid' wedding couple shots, the groomsmen retreated up to the bar to catch up on some Bell's Two-Hearted Ale and the MSU/U of M game (honestly, I had little interest in the game, but I'm a big fan of Two-Hearted.)

Eventually, once we had downed a few beers and had a few mandatory wedding pictures taken, the bridal party - led by Yours Truly and his female counterpart - made their way into the reception.  There, all the usual hoop-lah traditions were carried out in great fanfare, as they were at my wedding, and as they were at yours, I'm sure.  The DJ made his announcements while playing his 'dining mix' playlist, wedding guests got up for seconds while we poor wedding party personnel scrounged for whatever random table scraps were left, Loftis, as best man, made a speech (which was good), people wrapped their keys on the glass centerpieces so Zack could make out with his wife (as they lacked the silverware and glassware to do so), etc. etc.

Awaiting food.

Now, once everyone had food in their system, and all reception traditions had been carried out in their just manner, people began to disperse amongst tables, to the bar, etc.  I didn't take nearly as many pictures as I would've liked, mainly due to the fact that my Canon PowerShot doesn't fare too well in low-lighting, but here's a little from the evening's reception:

Wedding party.

Loftis gives his Best Man speech.  To summarize, Smith owes SuperGay Matt DeMay a set of golf clubs.

Shane, Smitty, and Loftis.

Holy crap, it's Shanna?!

Honestly, it was only a matter of time before the Sausage Pad got bored drinking around Zack and Renee's relatives and began to trickle down into the museum below the reception hall.  First stop, the Ol' Timey Barbershop, where a fella can get a shave and a haircut for two bits.

To be fair, it's really their fault for not keeping an authentic World War I uniform behind glass.

Saddling up to the bar. . .

The Sausage Pad, ca. 1947.

Loftis will eat a cupcake or two. . .

Saying adieu to Z Smithers at the end of the night.

Once the kegs had run dry, the groomsmen and a few other of the wedding guests opted to hit up a random bar in Paw Paw.  Unfortunately for us, for whatever reason, everyone inside this bar was dressed up in a Halloween costume.  Furthermore, they seemed to be all between the ages of 18 and 24. . . which made us about ten years older than the oldest people in the bar.

There used to be a time when this sort of situation would've made me feel uncomfortable, but, as I progress into my mid-30s, I've fully embraced my 'grumpy old man-ishness.'  When we got up to the bar, I ordered a 'red ale,' which, given the other options (budweiser, bud light, mike's hard lemonade, watered down margaritas, etc. etc. - high school drinks, really), I figured it was a wise choice.  What I ended up getting was far from my own definition of a 'red ale,' however, and instead was something more likened to a Seagrams wine cooler.

During the tirade that followed, I paid for my drink, cursed out a few of the college kids drinking around me, and stormed out.

I love being a grumpy old beer snob.

I had no part of this.  I'm the respectable sort.

We had better luck at the next place, which, coincidentally, we had been too the night before.  This time, however, we only stayed for an hour or so before getting funned out of cheap beer and obnoxious pop-country (or whatever the heck you call country music these days.)  Soon, we found ourselves having a nightcap back in my hotel room, drinking Zack's precious orange juice and whatever we had on hand to mix it with.

Like a bunch of high schoolers.

Good ol' I-94.

The next morning, after saying our farewells to Zack, Renee, and all their assorted relatives, the Seloskes and I loaded up into their Aztec and headed back down I-94 for Detroit.  Once we had gotten about, oh, twenty miles down the highway, however, Seloske's wife Sarah realized she had forgotten their son's GameBoy charger underneath one of their hotel room's tables. . . so we had to turn around and drive back for it.  

Coming back into the black hole that is Paw Paw, MI.

By the time we had re-reached (is that a word?) our old position on the highway, an hour had passed, and we found ourselves coming into what would prove to be an hour-long traffic jam, just outside of Jackson. . .

After about an hour, we finally reached the source of the build-up.

I couldn't help but pat myself on the back for not opting to fly out the day after the wedding, instead giving me a day to recuperate and relax in the Detroit area.  There would've been no way in hell I would've made a flight that morning, not with the luck we were having.

Evidently a trailer exploded. . . or something.  I don't know.  The crap was all over the road, though.

I'm a huge fan of antique stores. . .

Back in Livonia, Seloske and I decided to hit up a few stores throughout the afternoon.  We both wanted to check out Toys R Us for Christmas ideas for our kids. . . plus I wanted to pick something up for the girls, as I usually like to have something in hand for when I come back from a trip.  

This guy should really reconsider his vinyl record pricing. . .

Following that, we hit up an old antique joint called Yesterday's Antiques and Collectibles, which was somewhat overpriced, but they had a pretty cool selection of stuff on hand.  I ended up picking up five records (the Beatles' Rubber Soul, the old Disney Christmas Favorites album I grew up with as a kid, a classic honky tonk compilation from Columbia called The Big Hits!, Grand Funk Railroad's Greatest Hits, and an old wartime record full of naval/combat sounds/recordings called Victory at Sea for $15, which wasn't bad, but definitely more than I usually like to spend.

After the antique joint, we ran a couple errands, which included swinging by an old GamePlay store, where they sell used NES, SNES, N64, Sega Genesis, and PS2 games.  For $20, I scored two SNES games, two N64 games, and two PS2 games. . . I was pretty excited about this.

Heaven in a box. . .

That night, back at Case de Seloske, we decided to crack open our Kalamazoo IPAs we had purchased at Bell's a couple nights earlier, and chase them with a few select craft beers that he had been holding onto for just such an occassion.  While partaking in this awesomeness, I convinced him into letting me check out the deleted scenes on the Star Wars Blu-Ray set.

Craft beer and Star Wars?  You can imagine I was a pretty satisfied houseguest.  Here's a few of what we tried. . .

Decent, but nothing I'd go out of my way to pick up again. . .

This was awesome - one of the best stouts I've ever had.  Only wish they had it down here in Florida. . .

The 4th highest rated beer in the world last year.  Even though it was great, I still liked the Breakfast stout better.

The next morning, bright and early, Sara dropped me off at the airport on her way to work, and, once again, I found myself sitting around an airport for a few hours before my plane was scheduled to depart.

VRROOOOOOMMMMM

This time, however, it was due to Spirit's incomp-etency - what should've been a two-hour wait for Yours Truly ended up pushing four hours, due to a flight delay that didn't see me finally touching down in Orlando until nearly 5pm.  By that point, I had taken quite a dent out of Woodard's The Republic of Pirates, caught up on some writing and lesson planning, and thoroughly organized the weekend's photos.

. . .And now, dear readers, I'm going to sit on my couch and do nothing until I have to get up and work tomorrow morning.

Good day.

- Brian