Saturday, March 17, 2012

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Public Displays of Affection

Tomorrow we leave for Santa Fe and a high of 34 degrees.  Mom and Dad are here to babysit Willow and Jam will be off with Stephanie for some puppy raiser loving.  We, however, will be dogless and, according to the weather channel, freezing our a**es off in the high desert.

It wasn't that cold the last two times we went.  Fortunately, we checked before we left.  However, this meant that we needed to go to Bill Jackson's to pick up some cold weather gear, because Fred and I are pretty much babies when it comes to cold weather. WE LIVE IN FLORIDA! How can we not be?  Honestly, it gets down to 79 and I get a chill.  

"Uh, why is it so cold?  Where is my sweater?"  Seriously thin blood, people.  So we load up the car with Jam and my mom and dad and head out.

Outside of Bill Jackson's store.
Bill Jackson's is full of everything you need if you are going into the wilderness.  We aren't, but we act as if we are.  (Babies, I tell you!)  But first as every good puppy raiser knows, before you go into any building, you give your puppy a chance to busy.
Fred and Jam walking in the parking lot. Looks like a wild place, doesn't it?
 Now the parking lot of Bill Jackson's is essentially wild Florida.  Or, how do I say it, palmetto bushes, scrub pines and who knows what else all hidden by a thick layer of fallen leaves.  The photo above shows Jam and Fred walking down one of the paths to busy.  Jam took a quick pee, but I saw the gopher butt.

"Fred, he has to poo. It's 10:30.  It's a 10 o'clock poo." I said.

"He hasn't done a 10 o'clock poo in ages."  Fred responded.  I was adamant. That WAS a gopher butt.  I was positive.  So doubting Thomas gave me the leash and Jam and I proceeded to walk the wild ways of the parking lot.  Nothing.

"Listen, buddy, I know you have to poo.  Just do it."  I am staring at his butt.  I did not mistake the signs.  Bill Jackson's is carpeted.  There is no way I am going in there with a potential poo inside Jam.  Jam is a poo circler, meaning he can't poo without twirling in a circle at least twice, if not three times.  He much prefers to poo in a hidden spot, surrounded by bushes.  That meant braving the palmettos.  He didn't much care for that.  We finally found the spot.  He twirled.  Success.

I was correct!
Jam lying on the floor looking up at me.  On his left is a box of socks.  On his right are some skis.
Once inside I started looking for a fleece and long underwear.  Jam walked along beside me with little interest in things until we got to the ski department.  Then, he really got interested.  For in the ski department was a box of socks.  Heaven in a box.  At first he acted like he didn't care and we walked right up to them.  It was his famous fake out.  At the last possible second, he whips his head around and jerks a sock out of the box.  

Success! He thinks.  

Oh no you didn't! I yank the sock out of his mouth and we immediately do a down stay in front of the box.
Looking down on Jam's head as he stares down the box of socks.
Then we walk away and come back.  I let him get close and try for a sock and get a correction. Once, twice.  Down stay.  Having an addiction is hard!  But he maintained the down stay.  Good boy.

Then we went looking for polar fleeces.  I took him with me to the sale room in the very back.  The way back.  Far away from anyone else back.

In this back room there are really low hanging racks of jackets and coats and pants, etc.  All the fancy ski and outdoor kinds of gear that you would expect Bill Jackson's to carry.  I even saw a jacket in there for $1200, marked down 50%.  Fancy stuff.  Fancy material that did amazing things.

The room was packed with sale clothes and the rows were pretty narrow.  So Jam and I went down the rows looking for jackets or sweaters or fleeces that would meet my budget (not $600) and needs (30 degrees) for a week long trip to Santa Fe.  I started to notice that Jam was hugging the clothing side of the row kind of close as we came out of one aisle.  We started down another.  Then as we turned around, I noticed a hunching.

OMG!!  Hunching!?  He just poo'd.  He doesn't have any more.  This is crazy.  Do I pick him up? Jam is rubbing his side against the slick jackets.  I go to pick him up and realize...


This is quite a different problem.  Now I look around and I am surrounded by slick, shining fabric that is suddenly very dangerous and seductive for my easily seduced little puppy.  I mean I did say the fabric did amazing things, but come on now!  

Oh Jammy!  What am I to do?  

I pull Jam into the center of the aisle where he can't touch any fabric and as no actual humping has occurred and we are in the way back and no one has seen anything I think we may get out of this with our dignity intact.  I pull in the leash.  

"Jam, forward!"  We march forward as fast as possible as through the room of sensuous fabrics and I turn Jam over to Fred.

"I can't shop with him."  I say.  Under my breath I add, "Too much PDA."

Jam looks longingly into the room we just vacated.  That will be his last visit to Bill Jackson's.  I hope it was a good memory.

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