This stinks like a giant yellow lab...or two

Okay, I'm sick of writing mournful stuff. We all know he has cancer. Let's talk about something else for 10 minutes of our lives. Forgive me any spelling errors, I'm on my second glass of Fume Blanc. And boy is it good.
I'm going to set the record straight, once and for all, about the dogs. They smell. No, no, no. What I mean to say is...they smell. But they are the best dogs anyone could ever ask for. We got Palmer while we were living in Charlotte. He was a completely overwhelming puppy. We got Major (who was from the same litter...more on that later) a year later when we moved to Atlanta. Palmer is Jim's dog, Major is mine.

Categorically, Palmer is the smart one. Palmer knows all his commands. He is a blond beauty that probably would have made a great show/stud dog. Even as a very young puppy, the breeder warned us that he was going to be a handful. She was right. But boy is he pretty. It's a good thing because it makes up for the fact that on occasion, Palmer decides (and I mean that literally) to be naughty. For example, if we mistakenly leave the gate open in the yard, Palmer is the first one out. He knows he shouldn't, but he decides whether or not he will. Major is a follower. Sometimes he follows Palmer, and sometimes he tattles by sitting on the back porch and howling. Typically if I find that if Palmer has gotten out of the yard, he's not more than a block away.

Major, on the other hand, is our sweet lovable dummy. Oh, he loves to be loved. He's the smellier of the two. He's got breath that could kill a small goat. And the gas. It's unspeakable. And in this house, unspeakable gas is a rarity. See Too Much Information. Major went to a Guide Dog school straight from the litter, but he was so stupid he got kicked out. Literally. So we got him for half price. Literally. Major tempers Palmer. Palmer is high strung. Major (except when you pet him) is cool as a cucumber. Probably because he has no idea what's going on around him.

And although Major is our dumb one, he can be smart in some ways. Major cares about two things: getting lots of petting, and food. Jim built the dogs a beautiful feeding station. One bowl for each dog, with the food stored inside. It's worked out well. But we were stunned to find the top pushed open one day, with about half the food eaten. Major was bloated and happy, practically still laying on the feeding station when we discovered him. At first we thought it was our mistake - one of us had left the top open a little after feeding them. Oh no. We finally caught him pushing the top open with his snout. So then Jim put a plastic latch on the back of the feeding station to hold it closed. We used that successfully for quite a while. Then we caught Major again, stuffed to the gills. Hm. Once again, we blamed ourselves. Oh no. He'd figured out how to open the latch. NOW, we have the latch and a pin (a screw that we can easily pull out) in the top of the feeding station. Unless Major grows opposable thumbs, I doubt he'll be able to open it. Right?

Most people don't know that we have dogs. For three reasons.
1. Whenever people come over, I put the dogs in the basement. I am hyperaware that not everyone likes dogs. And therefore I refuse to inflict dogs on people that may or may not love dogs.
2. We never walk the dogs anymore. They get to play in our backyard, and sometimes I take them to the park and throw the ball to them.
3. Our dogs are not barkers. They bark if they really need to, but otherwise, pretty much keep quiet.

Before Rachel and Jake's arrival, Palmer and Major were our kids. In fact, we got Palmer and Major because I wasn't sure that I wanted kids. Palmer and Major really had the life when we moved to Atlanta. We took them to the park every single day and threw them a ball until they were so exhausted they could barely make it home. Slowly, slowly, Palmer and Major have been relegated to dog status in our house. I often feel guilt about not walking them like we used to. I felt it with the birth of each child, and I feel it now as I exude frustration when they don't move their 90 pound bodies out of my way fast enough.

Jim wants me to clarify. I do love the dogs. I truly do. They are very good dogs. They are gentle and loving and the sweetest puppies anyone will ever know. We are lucky to have them as part of our family, even if I do have to resentfully pick up dog poop on occasion.