I sat down at my computer to write this column, with the full intent on writing about something else, when I heard my husband’s panicked voice yelling from downstairs.
My first thought was there was a fire. Or perhaps he had fallen. He didn’t sound like he was in pain, but I couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong.
“LYDIA!!” I could still hear the panic in his voice.
My foot was numb from sitting at the desk, but I rushed down the stairs as fast as I could, only to find my husband standing in the middle of our living room, surrounded by a thick layer of ashes from our fireplace.
Piles of ashes coated our oushak, hand-knotted rug. Mountains of ash had landed on the hardwood floors, the sofa, on the pillows ― at least there’s a small blessing that both the sofa and rug are gray.
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And by the back door, staring as innocent as he could at my husband, was our 2-year-old boxer, Zeus, whose face and paws were covered in ash. His sad, droopy eyes seemed to want to apologize.
“I wonder who made this mess?” my husband asked our dog. I couldn’t help but laugh.
What an “ash-hole.”
Apparently, the fireplace ashes, which needed to be cleaned out, were too much of a temptation. We have baby gates around the house to keep our dogs from too much trouble. But trouble can still be found, even though we make sure they get plenty of exercise and they go outside as much as they need. We also keep them in their dog crates when we leave the house or at night.
Trouble should be Zeus’s middle name.
I’d thought about writing this column with dog training tips, or tips about how to keep your pet safe and out of mischief. But obviously I’d have no clue what I was talking about.
We have two boxers. The oldest, Maggie, at 5 years old, still has a penchant for the trash can, to the point where she has pulled an entire drawer out of our kitchen island and off its tracks just to get into the trash.
Our other boxer, Zeus, still has an insatiable need to chew anything wood. Generally, the older the wood, or the more rare, the better. Any old stick from the backyard will usually do, but if there is stained mahogany in the shape of an antique dining room table or chair leg, or a family heirloom dresser, it’s usually Zeus’s preference.
The night before our extended family came over for a Christmas dinner in December, I was not deep cleaning my house or making food in preparation. Instead I was in my dining room with a mouse sander and a can of mahogany stain, trying to cover up Zeus’s chew marks on the furniture.
That's why we have baby gates. Not for our children, because we haven’t had any babies in our home in years, but for the dogs.
I’m at the stage of life where I no longer have to worry about my kids getting into things or choking on their toys. I no longer have to worry about my child getting into craft paint and finger-painting our living room sofa blue (which actually happened) or drawing on our rug with a Sharpie pen (That also happened).
But apparently there is a stage of life when, whether you have kids at home or you've never had kids at all, you must live with child locks and baby gates, you must put valuables high or out of place ― and clean up messes like a living room covered in ash, simply because you left a dog alone in a room.
Pet parenthood. It definitely has its messes.
What an ash-hole.
.Lydia Seabol Avant writes The Mom Stop for The Tuscaloosa News. Reach her at momstopcolumn@gmail.com.
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