...don't EVER say to the Jewel, or anyone, "I don't have any material." A few hours after my prolific statement, the little rascals were at it again.
The Jewel and I were about five hours into a photo shoot yesterday. The weather has been nice so I let Mr. Zaz into the garden. I must say, he's been a peach lately and ilili has been the trouble maker. I didn't check on him for at least an hour. Actually, I was totally immersed in my work. Then it dawned on me to glance out the den windows. Well, no Zazoo. Ok, sometimes he's hidden. I went to another window, then another.
Boots came off, slippers on and I told the Jewel to "man the engines," which means to start the car and I ran through the garden just to be sure he wasn't hiding. I wasn't in panic mode yet as I called his name. There wasn't a breach in the fence. WTF? I looked up and saw an exhausted Zazoo, with his head down and tongue drooping low in the neighbors yard. Son of a bitch.
I told Al to kill the engines and we jumped over the brick wall with a bottle of water, a plastic container to quench his thirst and treats in case I had to bribe him. Poor Zazoo came right to us and lapped up copious amounts of water as I pulled twigs, rose bush branches and Larchmont tree pods out out of his dense fur.
Poor Zazoo must have sprinted over the wall in pursue of his dinner but didn't dine. His beard was clean and he was exhausted. He obviously didn't find the breakout point to exit their property and the front gates were locked. Hah, hah, hah, Mr. Smarty! And my good fortune so I didn't have to drive through the posh streets calling for him.
Just like it was planned, the wild goose chaser drove through the gate. I explained why we were there so he wouldn't call 5-0. I saddled up Joseph, Sweet Lucile's nickname for Zazoo. I wanted to name him Al Joharah, which means jewel of the Nile, but in the current world climate and the fact that I usually live in predominately Jewish neighbourhoods, she calls him Jo. Yelling out an Arabic name will simply bring more attention to my wacky family that I definitely don't want or need.
So we marched through their property past the pool and overlook to Long Island Sound and marched through the Day School to slip through the gate that will give us entrance to our road instead of marching through the whole 28 acres. It was really nice to be on both huge properties. I secretly promised Zaz that we will live on a piece of land like this someday.
Well, poor Zazoo was exhausted so I let him rest at least a half hour after his drink before I fed him and marched him. The chances for a bloat attack are greatly diminished following this rule. I was exhausted too, but we went out for dinner.
Sal's Pizza, Mamaroneck Ave. Mamaroneck. NY.
Zazoo barked incessantly as I turned the key upon our return. I shouted over him, "it's Mommy, Zazoo," but he wouldn't pipe down. I also heard a soft scratch at the door. He only does that when he wants to come in. Strange. As I pushed the door open slowly, I saw a little golden ball who tried to squirm out. Son of a bitch! How the heck did she get out of her cage?
I immediately went into panic mode. I didn't puppy-proof the house but I did pick up after myself even though I couldn't see straight. I pushed wiggle bunny back into her home and assessed the damage. One pair of rubber thongs chewed...that's it. She piddled on the wee-wee pads that I left for Zazoo and one pile of poopie, not on the paper. God or Mother Nature or the ghosts of my Nanas sure watched over me!
What a day! The photo shoot was fun and productive and the drama, all in all, quite minimal. Best case scenario for a little rascal "drive Mommy crazy day." Now there's a fastener clip on her door. Did she jiggle the door open or did Zazoo? I'll never know.
The Jewel and I were about five hours into a photo shoot yesterday. The weather has been nice so I let Mr. Zaz into the garden. I must say, he's been a peach lately and ilili has been the trouble maker. I didn't check on him for at least an hour. Actually, I was totally immersed in my work. Then it dawned on me to glance out the den windows. Well, no Zazoo. Ok, sometimes he's hidden. I went to another window, then another.
Boots came off, slippers on and I told the Jewel to "man the engines," which means to start the car and I ran through the garden just to be sure he wasn't hiding. I wasn't in panic mode yet as I called his name. There wasn't a breach in the fence. WTF? I looked up and saw an exhausted Zazoo, with his head down and tongue drooping low in the neighbors yard. Son of a bitch.
I told Al to kill the engines and we jumped over the brick wall with a bottle of water, a plastic container to quench his thirst and treats in case I had to bribe him. Poor Zazoo came right to us and lapped up copious amounts of water as I pulled twigs, rose bush branches and Larchmont tree pods out out of his dense fur.
Poor Zazoo must have sprinted over the wall in pursue of his dinner but didn't dine. His beard was clean and he was exhausted. He obviously didn't find the breakout point to exit their property and the front gates were locked. Hah, hah, hah, Mr. Smarty! And my good fortune so I didn't have to drive through the posh streets calling for him.
Just like it was planned, the wild goose chaser drove through the gate. I explained why we were there so he wouldn't call 5-0. I saddled up Joseph, Sweet Lucile's nickname for Zazoo. I wanted to name him Al Joharah, which means jewel of the Nile, but in the current world climate and the fact that I usually live in predominately Jewish neighbourhoods, she calls him Jo. Yelling out an Arabic name will simply bring more attention to my wacky family that I definitely don't want or need.
So we marched through their property past the pool and overlook to Long Island Sound and marched through the Day School to slip through the gate that will give us entrance to our road instead of marching through the whole 28 acres. It was really nice to be on both huge properties. I secretly promised Zaz that we will live on a piece of land like this someday.
Well, poor Zazoo was exhausted so I let him rest at least a half hour after his drink before I fed him and marched him. The chances for a bloat attack are greatly diminished following this rule. I was exhausted too, but we went out for dinner.
Sal's Pizza, Mamaroneck Ave. Mamaroneck. NY.
Zazoo barked incessantly as I turned the key upon our return. I shouted over him, "it's Mommy, Zazoo," but he wouldn't pipe down. I also heard a soft scratch at the door. He only does that when he wants to come in. Strange. As I pushed the door open slowly, I saw a little golden ball who tried to squirm out. Son of a bitch! How the heck did she get out of her cage?
I immediately went into panic mode. I didn't puppy-proof the house but I did pick up after myself even though I couldn't see straight. I pushed wiggle bunny back into her home and assessed the damage. One pair of rubber thongs chewed...that's it. She piddled on the wee-wee pads that I left for Zazoo and one pile of poopie, not on the paper. God or Mother Nature or the ghosts of my Nanas sure watched over me!
