I’ve jumped ship!

As you may or may not have noticed, I took a little break from blogging over the past couple of weeks. First I was busy packing, then moving, and then I was busy cursing my decision to move in the first place. That last one took longer than expected.

Truth is, I work well within the confines of simplicity – and Tumblr is kind of perfect for that very thing. So I’ve decided to simply move wash.the.dog over there indefinitely. It will be all the same stuff for the most part – pictures of my dog and food – the ocassional baby (but absolutely zero pictures of dog/baby food, that’s a promise). I feel extremely inspired by this new platform, and excitement abounds!

I hope you will make the leap with me as I have very much enjoyed your company thus far. A little too much, actually.

[Washburne has way better puppy dog eyes than I do. Who’d have thought??]

“The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks 
into small manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one.”  
- Mark Twain

Catch you on the flip side,

Brit [washthedog.tumblr.com]

Okay so…see you over there??


Pink House Mornings

[Yes, I always get up first.]

The Pink House master bedroom is a good bit smaller than our old bedroom, so in a risky game-time decision we brought only our full size mattress with us. In true Dog People fashion, we were most concerned with how well Washburne would manage with the limited acreage.

As it turns out, he might actually be happier.

The Pink House

We are officially all smiles and sore backs here at the Pink House! While there are still a few home improvement-related projects in the works (a new kitchen ceiling fan, and some organization fixtures [aka hooks]), I am happy to report we are settling in quite nicely.

Every moment from when we started packing until this very one was absolutely exhausting, and it’s so nice to finally be here. I’ve always loved the inspiration that comes from living in a new space.

[And yes, that is a picture of a trashcan. It is, quite possibly, my most favorite possession now. Am I old?]

For our first night alone we grilled marinated vegetable kabobs, and after days of carry-out, it sure did feel good to get back into the kitchen.

Well, outdoor kitchen anyway.

I hope you all had a glorious weekend full of not carrying large things and home-cooked meals. To those of you who helped us put together furniture, hang pictures, and unpack – we love you. We’re totally busy the next time you move – but we love you!


Just a dog and his pig…

The new leash and travel water dish went relatively unnoticed, but the cookie and Pig were a hit. Said Pig makes the most unholiest of noises. 

Pig also made it onto the bed a few times (as shown). Pig is so not allowed on the bed.

But I let it slide since it was Wash’s birthday. Turns out, Wash doesn’t understand “special circumstances” and now thinks Gross Outdoor Tennis Ball and Nasty Chewy Rope can come up on the bed too.

I give up.

Until his next birthday,

– Wash + (consequently) Pig’s Mama

Could you give me a paw with my hat?

OK, so we don’t technically know Washburne’s real birthday, but for all intents and purposes, it’s today. Rejoice!!

Exactly one year ago we brought this little guy home. And I haven’t made it to a weekday Happy Hour since.

He jumps on strangers, endlessly licks our faces, humps vigorously, pulls relentlessly on the leash, and barks at other dogs.

But we love him just the same. If not more.

And to prove it, we spent almost $100 on him to celebrate this very special day. We are the worst kind of dog people.

Happy Birthday, little buddy. We love you.

– Lady Who Lets You Sleep On Her Feet & Dude With The Leash

Migraine Monday: “My hair hurts.”

Let me complain freely some more about my migraines. This won’t take long.

I was prepared this time, I swear. Migraines, above all else, require preparation. At this point I’m like a migraine boy scout. On the way to work I felt it creep up the back of my head, pinch my eyeballs, making even my hair hurt (hair pain is very serious, ask any girl). I popped the newly-prescribed Maxalt (migraine medicine attempt #2) onto my tongue, let it dissolve, and beckoned it to work it’s magic.

And about 30 minutes later my migraine was about 68.6326% of the way gone. Sweet mercy.

However, about 15 minutes after THAT, I was, for all intents and purposes, a meth-head. As in I’m officially ready for my walk-on part in Breaking Bad (method acting means you’re serious). My heart was pounding like crazy (read: supercrazyballs). I couldn’t stop shaking and my hands were tingling (in a bad way). A good part of my morning was spent scaring my cube mate with threats of heart attack and the need for “practice CPR.” And requests for hands rubs.

After some WebMD (bad idea) and Googling (bad idea), I called my mom’s office for a diagnosis. I’ve been told the front office staff loves my “medical emergency” phone calls. But instead of “loves,” it’s probably more along the lines of “expects,” and maybe “are annoyed by.” Details, really.

“Hi Brit, your mom is in the middle of a Pap right now.”

“Trust me, she won’t mind. Can she just pop out for a minute? It’s an emergency…”

And in my defense, I don’t think my mom really does mind. I can’t speak for the girl on the table in paper robe, but with any luck she doesn’t respect the word “emergency” on occasion with her mom either, so we’re even.

Anyway, the methiness went on ALL DAY. I thought I would shake the shake eventually, but it was relentless. My migraine mocked me. “Ha! Curveball! How ’bout them side effects, ya whiney brat! I don’t seem so bad now, do I?”

Needless to say, I wasn’t up for anything crazy for dinner. I almost went the way of the Green Smoothie but decided that chewing my dinner could potentially burn off some of the energy that was Zumba dancing in my chest cavity.

Naan Pizza it was:

It’s easy, inexpensive, and in my expert opinion, unorthodox to the point of wrong. But I can be a bit smug when it comes to pizza. Like, I’m in the 1% when it comes to pizza.

But, in a pinch, I love a meal that barely makes any dirty dishes. Naan Pizza = 1 dirty knife.

Plus, it still smells like fried wontons in the kitchen, and we didn’t want to push our luck.

We used the rest of the leftover homemade tomato sauce, store-bought Naan bread, shredded Italian cheese, and leftover fresh basil. Place in a 425 degree oven for about 15-20 minutes and bam, Indian Pizza. A little bit wrong, but yet so right.

Unlike this, which is just wrong.

Aw, look at those eyes.

My mom came over tonight too (as she often does on Mondays) to hang out while the little brother was at practice (basketball? hip-hop? orchestra? no idea. bad sister.) down the street. She took the opportunity to make a wedding guest list. I took the opportunity to show her the magnificence of Google Docs so that we could all share it.

“Share like email?” Sure, Ma.

In her defense, she was really excited to show us how she found the switch on her iPhone that turns the ringer back on, so we are taking the Google Docs thing kind of slow for right now.

Monday Summary: Migraine, Mom, Naan Pizza.

Two out of three ain’t bad.


It’s Monday. Now go eat your GRAAAINNNSS!

My mom got me a t-shirt for Easter that says “Vegetarian zombies eat ‘GRAAAINNNNNSSSS!‘,” so chances are that’s what’s making my Monday more enjoyable than usual. I say chances because I haven’t technically tried it on yet, and it looked the perfect size for a 3rd grader at last glance.


And to boot, I’ve recently been informed that the next holiday isn’t until Memorial Day. Ouch.

But let’s not forget! The days are getting longer, the weather is getting warmer, and once school gets out in June, 270 traffic will be practically non-existant! Why hello there, Bright Side.

-Brit, Vegetarian Zombie

P.S. I usually like to make my own Monday Funny Pic, but it was a beagle and I couldn’t resist! Plus, I tried to get Wash to sit like that in the car but he claims he’s not as flexible as he once was.

P.S.S. I am also 100% aware that the grammar in the above image is incorrect. Truth is, I’m tired. Also, the budget increase for Season 3 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer put finding a better version low on the priority board. I really just wanted you to know I’m not a complete idiot. At least when it comes to grammar.

Image found via Google

Easter Eve Day

It was a beautiful outside today so when we got a call that people wanted to check out the house (yes!), we decided to hoist the pup into the car and drive around for a bit.

We also managed to:
  • buy Mass Effect 3 (Has anyone seen Steve?)
  • pick up a large assortment of bulk nuts
  • and take Washburne for a scamper around the ol’ neighborhood (by scamper I mean dislocated shoulder sockets)

Once we got home we made two quiches, one of which our stupid asshole dog ate part of, and then whipped up some lemon ricotta pancakes for dinner.

The pancakes…are a whole ‘nother kind of story. Like the kind that ends with you waking up from a relatively bad dream, but realizing you still got to keep the sparkly red shoes. Magical. They were so good, if fact, we almost forgave Wash for his quiche-related transgression (“I will NEVER forgive him.” – SK. He worked really hard on that quiche, I can’t blame him.).

It turned out to be a really nice day. Although, I will admit (even if it makes me sound ungrateful) that showing your home can be a bit of an inconvenience at times. The prep, the staging, the hiding of my underwear – it’s a hefty checklist. If it’s at all redeeming, I only felt entirely put-out once and mostly because it was raining.

You wouldn’t have heard a peep of complaint out of me today.


I love my dog even though he…

  • rarely comes inside when I call him.
  • made me chase him around the yard to keep him from eating his own vomit. Twice.
  • loves to play fetch – but hates to bring the ball back. (I swear, I’m not trying to trick you, dog!)
  • almost always sleeps on my side of the bed.
  • and then stretches his legs out.
  • and scratches me with his untrimmed talons of death.
More importantly,  I even love my dog even though he
  • never wants to takes pictures with me.
  • and then when I try, he yawns out of sheer boredom:

And so we settled for candid. And by candid I mean I’m holding a treat in my hand hoping for results.

And pensive thoughtful shots of us daydreaming… he of defenseless bunnies and me of well-behaved dogs.

I tell him all the time he’s damn lucky he’s cute.

After which he usually says something like, “Um lady, you’re hogging the bed.”


Your foot’s in my ear.

I kept trying to tell Steve that Washburne had been acting weird ever since we got back from California. That Wash must have forgotten about us, or worse, didn’t care that we were home. He seemed… more independent? Less needy? I don’t know. Maybe I was being paranoid, I thought.

Saturday morning I was the first to wake up. And this is the very sight my eyes took in:

And then after a quick stretch and shift (on Wash’s part anyway), this:

I often wonder how the two of them don’t seem to care that their feet/butts are in each others’ faces through most of the night.

Needless to say, I think things are more than back to normal around here. If not a little better.

(Those are my feet under his head by the way. I was getting a well deserved foot rub when that ass monkey got jealous. He has absolutely no shame. You can see it in his face.)

But, alas, I surrender. Because who could say “no” to this face anyway? I mean, come on.

– Brit, Puppy Mama 4Life