Painting Time

Momma's Little Baby Helps Momma Paint

Sunday, Bennie and I decided to paint the exterior basement window wells. Every fall I do some cleaning and prepping so that during the semester, I don't have to work as hard. And I've been down lately, so I've been trying to keep busy. I also had Bennie fixed last Wednesday, so he's been mopey and sad. So I let him go out on his leash near me. I say "near" because Bennie's very protective around me. In fact, he got mad at me while my parents were here. It was about 100 degrees out, and Mom and I wanted to drink wine in the cool side yard.

"Stay with Bennie, Dad. Just pet him and keep him company while you watch TV." Only Dad's not an animal person and ignored Bennie, who unbeknownst to Dad was saying, "I've got to take a dumper, Grampa. I need to go outside," and then shit on the floor, creating an interesting mosiac design in the kitchen as I stepped in it.

So anyway, there I am Sunday painting. "Bennie, stay there. Sit." And he sits and watches me paint for awhile. An hour later, as I'm sweating in the heat and applying the second coat of paint, he gets bored.

"What'cha doin' Momblee?" he asks.

"Stay. Sit. Sit and stay," I warn him. But as I start to get up off the ground and stretch my legs, Bennie divebombs the paint can with his side, coating himself with about a cup of white exterior latex paint.

"Sonovabitchcrapshitstain, are you freaking serious Bennie?"

"What Momblee?" he says innocent as a lamb. "I just playin'."

"Sonofabitchcrapshitterstain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I exclaim and do my "not happy" dance then spend twice as long washing Bennie's paint off him than I did painting.

A 3 year old Bichon is no different than a kid. I swear.