Excavation 2012 – Day #6 – I Have Seen the Devil, and His Name is Indiana

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love animals. My husband might argue that I love them a little too much, since I couldn’t bear to part with Angel (my dog of 15 years) when she passed, and instead had her cremated so she could continue to hang out with me in a little urn on my shelf.

Right up to the summer of 2008, I’d never met an animal that I didn’t like or get along with.

Then, I met Indiana.

Don’t let the photo fool you. Right now, you are staring at Satan himself. Avert your eyes people. Or he just might steal your soul.

At first glance, Indy seems harmless enough. He’s a strange looking little fellow, with long gangly legs and beady little black eyes. My sister Kassie thought he looked fake the first time she met him, like a cute, cuddly teddy bear. She reached out to pet him, expecting to feel soft, downy hair beneath her fingers. Imagine her surprise that Indy’s thick coat feels disturbingly like pubic hair.

Yeah, gross.

Did I mention I hate this dog?

I tried to like him. I really did. After all, Foerth (Indy’s master) is one of Steven and my best friends from our college days, and when Foerth moved to Arizona, he spent his first 6 months there as our roommate while he settled into his new teaching job and looked for a place to live. After spending so many years living in the college dorms and pet-free apartments, I was actually really excited to have a dog in the house again. And deep down, I hoped that Indy would make a really good impression on Steven so it would be easier to convince him that we needed to get our own dog.

I have to say, after Indy, I am truly shocked that Steven gave the green light to adopt Electra.

Steven hated Indy from the beginning. He hated the way Indy barked incessantly whenever someone rang the doorbell. He hated the way Indy was always so nervous and twitchy and could never stop moving. He hated the way Indy would follow him around the house, then turn and bolt in fear whenever Steven turned and saw him. He hated Indy having accidents on the carpet five minutes after he had been outside. He hated the fact that Indy chewed on everything. He hated the fact that someone always had to be outside when Indy was in the yard to keep him from digging huge holes in our newly planted lawn. He hated the fact that apparently Indy had an anxiety problem that made him itch himself constantly. He hated the way Indy was obviously the pack leader and Foerth was his dutiful minion.

Most of all, he hated the way that Indy seemed to challenge his authority, sometimes growling and barking and baring teeth when Steven caught him doing something wrong and tried to correct him.

Steven’s answer was to chase Indy around the house, catch him, and pin him–sort of like a cross between the WWE and the Dog Whisperer. This happened at least once a day, usually when Steven got home from work and was greeted at the door by a manic barking devil dog. The chasing would commence. Indy would be caught and pinned. And Steven would lean in close and whisper in Indy’s ear, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m the master.”

As much as Indy’s crazy little quirks annoyed me, I tried to make nice with him. I would throw a ball to him in the backyard, and I would pet him when he came over to sit next to me on the couch.

And what did devil dog do to repay my kindness? He ate my jumpdrive.

The little bastard stuck his face into my open backpack while I was getting ready to go teach my English 101 class, pulled out my jumpdrive, and had himself a little plastic snack right in the middle of the living room rug.

Evil. That dog is pure evil.

He’s lucky that I am a rational person and that I was able to take the jumpdrive apart, bend the metal back just enough to get it to plug into my computer and save all of the data, or that jumpdrive might have very well been Indiana’s last meal. I didn’t want to be known as the professor who showed up to class and had to admit to her students that she didn’t have any of their handouts or notes because her buddy’s dog ate her homework. And luckily, I didn’t have to.

I have to admit, I’ve tucked the jumpdrive away and have been holding onto it for the past, wow, four years now. At first, I held onto it just because it made for a funny story, and with a story like that, it’s nice to have some physical evidence to illustrate. Later, I got to thinking that maybe I would just use it as leverage someday against Foerth. You know, like if he tries to deny that his dog is the devil. Or, if I find a girl that I think would be perfect for him, but he starts making excuses not to go out on a blind date, I could just pull out the old jumpdrive and tell him he owes me one.

But, now that I am really getting serious about this decluttering, I think it’s time to let the old jumpdrive go. All the files have been copied and deleted. The photos have been taken and entered into evidence. And the story has been told. Goodbye old jumpdrive.

And Indiana, I just want you to know that I still hate you.

Evil. Evil dog.

365 Project – Day 332 – Lost and Found

In the midst of the holiday and home-buying craziness, I forgot to relay what is perhaps the most exciting news of all.

Are you ready?

Wait for it…


Well, the latest one he lost anyway (which by his count would have been #6).

It was a good thing that we were already starting to pack to move, because he tore the house apart looking for the damn thing. He unmade our bed, moved furniture, checked pockets. He took everything out of the dreaded kitchen junk drawer (and then promptly put it all back in when the jumpdrive was nowhere to be found). He even went so far as to accuse Electra of eating it, then in the next breath wondered aloud if maybe one of the prospective tenants that came to tour the house had spied it lying somewhere and stolen it.

After a full week of Steven’s over-zealous jumpdrive paranoia, I was seriously considering sneaking out to buy a new one and stashing it in one of Cadence’s favorite hiding places so I could have my husband back.

Then, last Wednesday morning, I was startled out of my slumber by a shrill, high-pitched giggle. I sat up and grabbed my glasses and saw my husband standing at the end of the bed, half-dressed in the half-light. He held the jumpdrive out in front of him, smiling like a lunatic.

“Look! Look honey! Look what I found!”

I just shook my head.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Where was it?”

“Right here in the pocket of my pants!” Steven giggled. “It must have been here all along! I swear I checked though! I laid my suits out on the bed and checked all the pockets.”

“You are crazy,” I said, putting my glasses back on the nightstand and pulling the covers up over my head. “You better lock that thing in the safe before you lose it again.”

“Yeah, good idea. Oh, it’s gonna be a great Thanksgiving!”

Steven left the room, giggling as he went.

He was right. It was a great Thanksgiving. And it has been a great week since. Thank you, little jumpdrive, for being such a good luck charm. Now stay in that safe where you belong!

365 Project – Day 323 – The War of the Jumpdrives

In many ways, Steven and I are a perfect match. We are both avid sports fans. We are both adventurous eaters and enjoy trying new foods and restaurants. And with the exception of Chapelle’s Show (which makes me downright homicidal) and Dirty Dancing (which Steven can’t take seriously because he will always see Jennifer Grey as Ferris Bueller’s sister), we have the same taste in television and movies.

And yet, for all of our similarities, we have just enough differences to keep us from becoming one of those creepy couples who finish each other’s sentences and won’t leave the house unless they are wearing color coordinated outfits.

The biggest difference by far is our personalities in general. See, Steven is what people used to call a “Type A” personality. He’s the sort of guy who needs a plan, a schedule, something to do. He prefers order and simplicity. He likes everything to be neat and tidy. His office at work is nearly bare–everything scanned, no paper or pens lying around, one photo hanging on the wall. If Steven could have a very detailed map of every major event and issue that he will encounter throughout the rest of his life, he would be the happiest guy in the world.

I, on the other hand, believe that term “organized chaos” is an adequate description of both my desk in our home office and my entire life in general. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not a total disgusting slob. In general, I want things to be relatively tidy. Yet, while my home would probably fail a white glove test on any given day, ask me where something is and 99% of the time, I can tell you. Having a photographic memory certainly helps, but there is also something about my brain that is just able to function and see reason and order where others (like my anal husband) only see chaos.

What can I say? It’s a gift.

Since we started dating, this clashing of the Type A and Type B, left-brain right-brain personalities has been a source of both humor and frustration for Steven and me. I’ll give an annoyed sigh when he asks me for the thirteenth time what I plan to do with the pile of stuff on the counter, and he’ll roll his eyes when the clutter from my desk slowly begins migrating onto his. I usually get a good three or four day grace period before he gathers up my things and plops them in a pile on the far corner of my desk.

I have to admit though, I’ve gotten more than my share of laughs (and even small bit of satisfaction) as it seems that Steven has misplaced his sixth, that’s right SIXTH jumpdrive. Okay, so maybe I’m mean, and maybe I find it a little funnier because my husband works with computers for a living, but after all of the teasing I get for being such a disaster and leaving things lie around the house, I find it oh so ironic that I’m not the one consistently losing things. The only jumpdrive I ever “lost” was the one that our friend Foerth’s evil dog Indiana tried to eat. And hell, I still have that one. It may be in two pieces, but it’s still tucked carefully away in a drawer in the basement, right where I put it.

We’re not even 100% sure what happened to Steven’s jumpdrives. He believes he might have left one of them plugged into a computer he was using for class. The rest? Just gone. He remembers having them in his pockets, or setting them on the counter, or lying them next to his wallet and keys on the bed while he was changing clothes after work. A few times he has even accused me of moving them, but really, he should know better. It can take me weeks to even move my own stuff sometimes. I’m not about to go moving anyone else’s.

Tonight, Steven even tried accusing Electra of eating it, but unless that baby was slathered in peanut butter or wrapped tightly in bacon, I doubt our lazy hound would have given it much more than a curious sniff and maybe a quick lick for good measure.

Someday, I imagine we’ll find them, perhaps even all six of them, probably in the same place we’ll find all of our missing socks. Until then, I’ll just laugh at how crazy it drives my husband that, once again, he is the one losing things and not his scatterbrained wife.

And just for the record, that jumpdrive that Steven is holding is mine, borrowed for the photo from the drawer where I keep it. 🙂

Tonight’s 365 Project entry is dedicated to my sweet anal husband for being the better half that keeps me sane, and for always being such a good sport when he discovers he’s the topic of the latest blog!

%d bloggers like this: