My daughter's birthday sleepover, that is.
She was allowed two friends (I wasn't going to bury myself right out of the gate, you see) and she chose two, we invited them, and we were off to the races. I had heard all the horror stories, all the nightmarish poodle-in-the-oven stories, and my own rather fecund imagination had already drawn up a few scenarios that it kept presenting to me at inopportune times, but I seized the bit between my teeth and went at it.
And it went marvelously. The girls were well-behaved, funny, bouncy, and stayed up until 3:30 this morning. I, you see, had to give up at 9, per my modus operandi, which is to go to bed at the work-week time and then sleep as long as is Irrelephantly possible the next morning. Which I did. 12 hours. Nice.
And the little ones only woke me up once, to ask me what was the PG-13/adult code for the PS2, which I had forgotten about, and then fortunately for my memory after they figured it out the girls wrote it on a scrap of paper and stuck it to the fridge.
This afternoon was a lot of fun. We've taken to Sunday afternoon trips to PetSmart, half to get Belle accustomed to a crowd of people and a lot of noise and interesting things to see and be petted by, without freaking straight out. Which she's getting a lot better at. The being accustomed part, not the freaking out part. She's been very well behaved, a little aloof, and she even found the gerbil houses, which included gerbils. THAT had her rapt attention for a while, until I had to get a dolly and sort of scoop her up and roll her off into the bones and treats aisle, to get her mind off small furry things that scamper fast.
Oh, and to get used to one other thing: people saying "Oh look, what a beautiful greyhound!"
I gritted my teeth so much I was afraid that I was going to have to go get a rawhide bone off the aisle to gnaw on. I mean, let's review the points:
- She's long and lanky, at 56 pounds and about 28" at the shoulder. Yes, so are greyhounds. And Doberman Pinscers. And Italian Greyhounds and Min Pins. So are most runway models, but no one said "Oooh look, Tyra Banks!"
- She's a sighthound, and so has that type's long face and thin profileas does the greyhound with their thin, elegant snouts. Anorexic people have that same thin look, but nobody wants to lure course Karen Carpenter.
- She's young, so she doesn't have her full adult coat in, but she DOES have mounds and piles of curls all over, as well as three feet of tail that looks like a pipe cleaner. Greyhound, on the other hand, have hair so short and close-lying that it might as well just be fur-coloured skin. (Ask Rita, our mentor, about using Sharpie markers to hide unsightly hairs on her show greyhound, Aida.)
But my afternoon was saved from utter disaster by one nice lady and her two children. I was walking Belle down the aisle toward the back of the store so a certain Giant Schanuzer could simmer down, and she glanced up, saw us, and said in a loud, clear, proud voice "Oh my, what a beautiful Borzoi!" When she saw my smile break upon my face like sun through the rainclouds she turned to her two young children and said "See, I told you it was a Borzoi."
I could have hugged her right then and there.
She certainly made up for the horrid redneck lady who bragged that she had a Puggle and a TerTer, which she confided to me was a Jack Russell + some other terrier breed mix, which, she told me with a gap-toothed guffaw, made it twice a terror.
I should have killed her with my bare hands, just to keep the gene pool clean, but I didn't want to expose Belle to that sort of violence too soon.