This year Momma was invited to two Thanksgiving dinners.  She was thrilled – that was at least one more invitation than she normally got.  She happily looked forward to picking out an outfit, seeing good friends, sharing a glass of wine in front of a roaring fire and partaking in a bountiful Thanksgiving meal (or two).  Plus, now Momma could proudly respond, when asked, that yes she had plans for Thanksgiving – in fact would be going to a nice restaurant with one group and later to the house of friends in Eagan.  She eagerly accepted both invitations.

The trouble with Momma , though, is that she really can’t handle two social engagements in one day (she is just not good at mingling and is frankly getting a little long in the canines and she knew it).  Nevertheless, she was so excited about the idea of two festive gatherings that she figured (à la Scarlett O’Hara in “Gone With The Wind”) that she would think about the details tomorrow.

Well, tomorrow (yesterday now) finally came, and she was forced to figure out the logistics of Thanksgiving Day.  She would still be social and perky at the first dinner, but she was worried about the second one later in the afternoon – she knew in her heart of hearts that she would be too full and tired to stay and visit very long.  (Leaving wouldn’t really be a problem though, Momma rationalized.  She would just use her trusty, time worn – and totally bogus “I’ve got to get home to Lina” excuse.)  Anyway, since Momma was riding with a friend, she decided that she had to figure out an early ride home.

That’s when inspiration struck.  She would use Uber!  (She had recently heard our friend, Uncle Chuck, use the term as a verb – “I will have to Uber it to the airport” and it sounded so cool that she wanted to be able to say that she too had Ubered it somewhere – anywhere.)

This then would fit in perfectly with her Thanksgiving Day plan – she could attend both gatherings, socialize a little at the second, maybe grab some dessert (and another glass of wine) and then tell everyone smugly that she had to leave – she was Ubering it home.  Momma eagerly loaded the app onto her phone.

There, she thought, I’m set – just tap and go as they say.  Turned out she wasn’t “set” though because she immediately got an email welcoming her to Uber and urging her to “get started” and sign up for a ride and create an account!  This threw her of course.  She didn’t want to sign up for a ride – not now anyway, and she thought she had already created an account.  Nevertheless, she stumbled through the process and created an account (maybe for a second time – did she now possibly have two accounts she wondered?) trying to put the whole thing to bed so she could move on to more important details like planning what she would wear that day.

Then she got a pop-up question – did she want Uber to know her location?  Well, of course they had to know her location to pick her up for a ride, but did they need her location now?  Needless to say, she was baffled – and not just a little frustrated – and clicked on the little “x” which made the question go away – at least for the time being.

Then Momma got another email – this time informing her that she hadn’t completed her payment information.  She navigated the maze that led back into her account (she thought) and keyed in one of the credit card numbers, the expiration date and the secret code on the back.  There, she thought.  Done.

Thanksgiving Day was very pleasant.  She enjoyed the camaraderie with friends and a dinner with all the trimmings and soon it was time to say goodbye and head to Erik and Cheryl’s house.  Momma’s energy was already flagging, but she was bound and determined to be a good guest and join in the festivities.

Secretly though she was already planning how she could gracefully leave early by using the doggie excuse.  After visiting for a short time and nibbling on some chocolates, Momma decided it was time to go.  She was ready to dial up (so to woof) Uber on her phone.

Because she was not too sure about what she was doing (and hoped to avoid making a fool of herself), she slipped away to the foyer and surreptitiously tapped on the Uber icon.  Momma immediately got a prompt asking her “Where to?”  Relieved that she knew the answer to that one (she did know her home address after all), she quickly typed it in.  Next she learned that she had to pick out a type of car – options ranged from an X to an SUV model.  Quickly settling on the cheapest one, Momma chose the model X (not to be confused with a Model T, Momma – just woofing).

Anyway, she thought she was on the right track because the phone screen suddenly showed a line moving from her current location to her home.  The app also indicated that the car would be there in about 1/2 an hour.  Fine, Momma thought, maybe time for one more snack and then she would snappily announce that she was going to Uber it home and take her leave.

As with most things Momma, however, things did not go according to plan.  Soon she noticed that the arrival time of the car kept changing; then she got a message that no cars were available at all.  At this point she was not sure that she had done the Model X request thing right.  Was the car really late or wasn’t there a car coming at all?  Should she keep checking the app or would she have to embarrass herself and ask for a ride home?  At this point people were also wondering what she had been doing on her phone for the last half hour.

Momma, in a mild panic by now, decided that she needed help.  She quietly asked some young people (who were undoubtedly familiar with Uber) if they knew what was happening.  After a brief review of the app her phone, the hip young smart alecks informed her that no, a car was not coming.  It was Thanksgiving after all they patiently explained to her, and a lot of people probably needed a ride home.

Luckily, a friend (who Momma was pretty sure did not want to leave the party just yet) kindly offered her a ride home.  Momma still wasn’t convinced that the model X wasn’t coming for her though, so she – trying to sound all upbeat – trilled out that she had called (called??) Uber and that they might be showing up, so please tell them that she had already left.

Today Momma got another email from Uber informing her that her account is still missing payment information.  I think she has given up.  (“Lina, I think I’ll just use Yellow Cab from now on – do you have their phone number?”)

Still waiting for my Thanksgiving dinner,

Lina

WOOFDA!

October is one of my favorite months.  It means that Momma’s (Minnesota) golf season – including the revolving door of caregivers coming by and my endless trips to day care – is almost over.  It also means that I get to celebrate my favorite holiday – Halloween!

Golf & Doggie Day Care

Although Momma also loves October (it is her birthday month and she enjoys the gifts, attention, etc.), she will miss the endless tee times, shopping for golf outfits, and cocktails on the 19th hole that the end of the season brings.  I, on the other paw, will be happy to see things return to normal here (a term I use loosely when woofing about life with Momma).

This year, Momma, in the vain hope of becoming a better doggie momma, and fearing a repeat of last year when the house flooded – with me at home gated in the bathroom – had decided that I could not stay at home by myself for an entire day while she golfed.  Therefore, she made up her mind – Momma would either find someone to “check on” (code for feed, walk and play with) me, or she would take me to doggie day care.

Luckily, Momma was usually successful at finding a victim . . . er, volunteer . . . to stop by.  If not my personal favorite, Nanny Becky, she would enlist Bob, our next door neighbor, or any other person in possession of our house key or garage code to stop by. Don’t tell Momma – or our insurance company – that I woofed this, but I’m reasonably sure that Momma has lost track of who all does have access to our house which sounds a little risky to me.  Momma seems unconcerned though (“Not to worry, Lina, I have that pet cam/surveillance system set up”).

When schedules jived, Momma would drop me off at doggie day care (advertised as a “camp”) on her way to the golf course.  It is a top notch facility with great care, but Momma has made it difficult for me to fit in there.

First, there was the tour she demanded before leaving me there for the first time and the inquisition about another “camper” in the small doggie play area (let’s just say Momma has a lot to learn about inclusiveness and diversity).  And every time we go there, there’s the embarrassing arrival.  Momma – ostensibly to protect me from big dogs, but really to signal that I should have extra care – carries me in like a baby (causing many eye rolls among “camp counselors” and making me a laughing stock with the other dogs) along with my elephant toy (meant to sway staff and owners to the GOP) and a treat bag.  She then hands me over to a wary counselor and instructs that after about two hours of play I should be placed in my “cabin” to rest – with the elephant! – and given my treats.

Her little production over, Momma finally high tails it out the door for golf.  She often forgets about me then, but sometimes checks the live web cam to check on me (she’s paying for this after all).  If I am not immediately visible in the play area and it isn’t my break time, Momma calls the camp and asks where I am.  That practice came to a screeching halt one day, however, when after Momma’s incessant calling, she was informed that I had been placed in the air conditioned doggie lounge up front where I would be more comfortable and they could give me a little more attention.  (“Best just to let sleeping dogs lie,  Lina.”)

Even when she does see me in small doggie play area though, Momma can’t help but interfere.  If I am – for one minute – just sitting by myself, Momma has a “little chat” with camp counselors about my interaction (or lack thereof) with other dogs.  “Lina doesn’t seem to be very popular, does she?” or “Lina doesn’t seem to be playing well with other dogs, does she?” Momma will inquire.  To which a patient camp counselor will assure her, keeping his thoughts on who really has social issues to himself, that Lina is just fine.

The last time Momma dropped me off took the cake.  Before releasing me to camp care, Momma always asks the counselor (in whose arms she is placing me) what his or her name is – the easier to ask for someone specific when she calls to check on me.  This time the girl’s name was Candi.  Momma, trying to bond quickly, said, “Oh my gosh, that’s my middle name!”  “Really?” asked Candi, “Candi or Candace?”  It was Candace, but Momma thought Candy would better cement the relationship so she responded, “Candy.”  “Really?” exclaimed Candi, “Do you spell it with an i or a y?”  At first, this stumped Momma because she did not know how to spell a name she really didn’t have, but she quickly recovered and blurted out “y” – wouldn’t that be the most common after all?  “Oh,” said a disappointed Candi, “mine’s with an i.”  So much for bonding – although I’m sure Candi won’t soon forget Candy anytime soon.

An October Surprise & Halloween

Just when I thought we had settled in for the fall, I had my own October surprise – Momma went to Florida for more golf and Dr. Becca and Winnie came to stay with me for a week.  (This October surprise should not be confused with Hillary’s – hers involved a man named Weiner and mine a weiner dog.)  We had a lot of fun and the highlight of their stay was when Becca dressed us up in costumes and took us along to work on Halloween.  Here we are – Winnie as Wonder Woman and me as a Princess (“Really going against type there,” Momma sniped).

I for one, am looking forward to winter.  Thank you, Becca and all my caregivers for the quality time you spent with me this season!

Lina, Camper and Princess

Woofda!