Thursday, March 1, 2018

Survivor Series Grand Champion

9 months old today:

He made it!  He has survived, incredibly.
The award goes to ME! I'm celebrating surviving the chaos imposed by the tiny terrorist.
I even made myself a cake.  It is a Dacquoise cake, so named for the port city of Dax in the South of France.  

6 hours from start to finish. Beginning with roasting almonds and hazelnuts, then skinning the hazelnuts--- only the French can come up with these tedious culinary tasks!!!

Whipping the eggs for the meringue.
The meringue will stay in the oven 3 hours, notice my sous chef sleeping on the job.
Three pages of instructions...I'm supposed to be cutting the meringue into 4"x10" slabs.  More challenging than I thought.
The buttercream is to die for:  basically egg yolks, butter, sugar and espresso.
I feel like a novice bricklayer trying to slather both sides of my meringue slabs with ganache and buttercream.
The kitchen is a disaster zone.
After slaving over this creation all afternoon, I must've burned at least 800 calories, right? Let's hope!
My grand prize for making it through to the Finals!
Honestly, this is my Grand Prize:

                                                 Dax 9 months old
He's pint sized compared to Cole, but my little shrimp is huge on personality.
This is Cole, back in 2009, when he was 1-1/2 years old.

Two dogs from the same bloodline that couldn't be any more polar opposites.

Whereas Cole was aloof and a total mama's boy, Dax doesn't know a stranger.

I suppose I should be grateful he's on the small size at 52 pounds.  If he were Cole's 70 pounds, he'd be unmanageable.

He's been 'helping' me catch ladybugs.

I'm chagrined to say he's skipping the release portion of the plan.

His prey drive is through the roof.  Driving with him can be a full contact sport if he spots a squirrel, bird, deer... be prepared to hit the ditch if he sees a cat!

Other times, he's a little cherub.

If it weren't for Peter, I'd have strangled the little turd months ago.

What's endearing to me is Dax's total lack of respect for personal space, thankfully, Peter agrees.

I should've named him Velcro.

Even two minutes alone in the smallest room of my house is a separation not tolerated.

He's glued to Peter or me.

He's teaching himself how to climb ladders.

Not a skill he should probably have.

He's determined not to be left behind.
All the more reason to acknowledge how important Peter is in this dynamic.

His contributions are immeasurable.

He's being bashful, but there's no doubt the only reason we still have a couch in the office is because Dax is OK if left with Peter.

Same deal at home.  It's been a few weeks that I've been leaving Dax loose in the house while I'm working--- and I return to... a home, miraculously.
Today, we packed up the crate we no longer need.

How is it little monsters can become gentlemen?!?

No telling what adventures the next 9 months will hold.

From helping me dig up plumbing lines to swimming in the lake after work.

He's not the companion I wanted, Lord knows I reminded him of it far too often, but he's the little guy I needed.  Damn him.