Didn't See It Coming
Saturday, February 4, 2023
Things Change
Saturday, August 27, 2022
Dog Days of my Life
I just realized that it's been 2 years since I've posted, but I haven't quit writing. I just haven't been blogging. Instead, I've taken 2 1/2 years to write a novel. I don't know if it's good. I don't know if it's worthy of publishing. What I do know is that I just had to write it, and it was a huge learning curve-mostly fun, and the best thing about it is that I've made some close friendships along the way.
But today I wanted to go one step further to commemorate International Dog Day and tell you another side of my dog ownership experiences. Enjoying pictures of everybody's dogs is just about the best way to celebrate any holiday, but when I posted about my 3 sweet pups yesterday, I left out 2 important ones that were perhaps more memorable.
My first dog was Sandy. I was about 8 years old and like almost every kid, had been begging for a puppy for years. We got her for Christmas. A wiggly, licky brown and white spotted terrier puppy ran into my arms on Christmas morning. Oh, wow, my dreams had come true. I just knew Sandy and I were destined to be best friends, and I was beside myself with joy. All she needed was a trip to the vet for her puppy examination. That week following Christmas might have been one of my favorites of childhood. I carried that puppy around like she was one of my Madame Alexander baby dolls. She fit nicely into my doll stroller, and of course, my lap. And before Mama could take her to the vet, I noticed tiny rice-looking thingys around her rectum. I just turned her over and didn't worry about it. But Mama did. And when I came home from school after our first day back from Christmas break, Sandy was gone. I cried so hard, I couldn't catch my breath.
I'm holding Sandy next to my sister, Emmalyn |
Mama was worried that the worms would creep into my body or an egg would find its way into my intestinal tract while I held my precious puppy. She hadn't thought about how I would feel with the abrupt exit of the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me in my eight years. Devastated beyond words, I mourned for days, begging Mama to fetch Sandy and bring her back to me. It was no use. Mama would not stand for an "unhealthy" environment for our family. And I had no way of knowing it was such an easy fix. I couldn't wait to grow up and love my very own dog --worms or not. We were not allowed to play with Dad's bird dogs because in those days, it was thought that family interaction would hinder the dogs' field performances.
When I did grow up, my ex-husband and I purchased a dog that every young couple tends to want to own before deciding to have kids. I'll admit it's good practice, but if Abe was any indication of the kids we'd have, we were in a hell of a fix. He was a bad dog. And we had something to do with it.
We loved to watch him run around the living room when we'd chase him with an open umbrella. He seemed to enjoy it, but maybe he was afraid. We kept him in a blanket-lined cardboard box in the kitchen during the night where he'd whine, and cry and carry on. Today he'd be right beside my bed so that I could stick my hand in his crate or cuddle with him under the covers. Mistakes were made.
Abe, celebrating his third birthday with Leah |
Abe might have just had a bad personality. He liked us, but didn't seem to like anybody else unless he was humping them --which he constantly did--even after being neutered. He almost always went after my father-in-law which was super embarrassing. We'd invite Mr. Rogers to sit on the couch when he'd visit and then Abe would squirm his way behind him and go to town. It was an awkward task to dislodge Abe from the space between my father-in-law's back and the back of the sofa. And Abe never cooperated.
But horror of horrors was coming. When our first child, Leah became more mobile, Abe became jealous and over-protective of me. He never threatened Leah, but we were careful to oversee them when they were together. One morning, our neighbor from across the street knocked on our back door and opened it to encounter a vicious cocker spaniel whose teeth were bared. With no warning, Abe jumped all over her and bit her several times. It happened in a flash.
Abe had been around Janice a lot, and it came as a big surprise to all of us, especially since she had never done anything to aggravate Abe. Our apology was accepted, but it was certainly not enough.
The next day, we began to look for someone who'd want a cute blonde cocker spaniel --one that was capable of an unprovoked attack. It was an easy decision to make but a tough one to actually accomplish, because he'd been our first baby.
Surprisingly, we found Abe a place to call his in spite of his dark side. The family lived on a big piece of property out from town and wanted to give Abe a shot at being a good boy. I can still remember trying to hold back tears as I collected his toys, food, and bowls and settled him into the cab of his new family's truck.Watching that curly head of his bobbing back and forth next to his new owner as he disappeared down the street --well that was about as bad as it gets for a dog lover.
Sunday, June 21, 2020
Father's Day Isn't Always Easy
From the time I was twelve until I was off to college, My relationship with my Dad was shatterable. Then in my freshman year of college, it completely imploded. In the early years, he was interested in women other than my mother, which led to their divorce, but also to the divorce of us kids. He was just not there-not for holidays, not for Dad's nights out, not for Girl Scout Father's suppers. At first, he did sometimes try to arrange visits with me, but if I was a busy teen, he didn't try to find a way. I think we find ways to do what is important to us. Not having a father to talk to, confide in, and generally love me left a hole that was never completely filled.
After I went off to college and for years after, our relationship was a wreck.There was a time when I spoke to him in front of the meat counter at Kroger when I was visiting my mother with my three year old daughter whom he had never met, and he did not recognize me. I had to tell him who I was.That was hard. And I thought that short meeting would get him going. He would do the "right thing" and try to make amends. After all, there sat his first granddaughter in the cart looking adorable, and there I was, obviously pregnant with a second baby.
I kept waiting and waiting but it became apparent that he wasn't going to move his chess piece. We were at a standoff, wasting time.You see, I thought if he cared enough about me, he would try to contact me after that. It didn't happen until twelve years later when I made the first move.
But what I am trying to convey today is that you may be in the same position with your father not measuring up, and you struggle to find the right Father's Day card with a message that is not so flowery and gooey. You might want to email him or text him but you don't have the right words or the heart to do it so you don't.
If he has hurt you in ways that there is no going back, I get it. Not every man should be a father. But if you know in your heart that the things he has done or not done as they pertain to you are weaknesses of a human who is worth your time, you could try to reach out.It won't be easy and you will be taking a risk with your heart. And maybe your outcome won't be positive. But you can know deep down that you did what you could to repair two souls that were broken.
I pray that we could be the following for everybody in these days, including our fathers:
"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving each other just as God in Christ also has forgiven you." Ephesians 4:31-32.
Friday, March 6, 2020
I did not want to learn the word Pangolin
Monday, December 9, 2019
An Angel Year Round
As I was putting the Christmas ornaments on the tree this year, I was reminded (again) of one of my mother's friends who made paper angels and had given me one each year for a number of years. She did not have a lot of money, but was one of the most generous people I have ever known: generous with her time, her wisdom, and her talents. She had not had what most people would call a successful life through no fault of her own. Not having a lot of material things, she did not complain or gossip or say anything negative about anyone. If she had unkind things to say, I never heard them.
She was a mentor of sorts for Mom, and Mom loved her. I loved her. My kids loved her.
When she walked into a room, she was all smiles and compliments, and they were genuine. She found something good about everybody and even wrote a small book about the folks in our small town, citing what was worth noting for each person. As I get older, I realize what a gift that was. She was able to find the good stuff in people, even when their bad stuff showed.
She would pop in at my mom's house unannounced, and it was always with a handmade gift. But what stood out to me was her spirit. She had a wonderful laugh and used it quite often. Her eyes sparkled as she and my mother would discuss Biblical scripture and how they could apply it to their lives. She exuded joy and faith and she lived it.
When I divorced decades later, she wrote me the most beautiful letter. She had a way of suggesting how to negotiate through life without being preachy. I listened to her because she was experienced in living life and taking the negatives on the chin. Her message was forgiveness and eventual joy in finding it.
I think she wanted everyone to experience the love and joy and kindness you can have in your heart--your soul, if you make the decision to do so. I think that was her secret--she chose finding the positive and the wonderful in people and it seemed effortless to me.
I wonder if you have an angel right now or in your past that made a difference in your life. I am grateful for mine, and one of her gifts to me sits atop my tree in a well deserved place.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
On the Road with Scout
When Scout was a puppy, he threw up every single time we drove him to the vet for his series of shots. I thought all dogs loved to go for rides, so I was completely surprised when the vet told us that occasionally, dogs get car sick. He added, " Some dogs exhibit stress when they are confined to a moving vehicle and their fear leads to vomiting. Some outgrow it and some do not."
" Great," I thought. My mental picture of Scout sniffing wildflowers and hiking switchbacks with us in Colorado and cavorting in the waves of the Gulf of Mexico was beginning to change. I hated giving up on the idea that Scout could be our companion everywhere we went with just the occasional boarding experience. We rescued him in order to be with him and to enjoy him. I thought that included taking him with us on road trips.
The "doggie camp" people try to make you think that your dog is fine being confined to a cage, a concrete floor, and artificial turf. You are given many options as to the kind of experience you want your dog to have while he is in jail. Does he prefer classical music or current hits? Would he enjoy a large screen with DogTV? Does he prefer playtime or alone time? How often does he want time outside? I have tried to stay within a normal range of extras because I don't think Scout cares if he listens to Beethoven or Taylor Swift, so whatever they are playing on their Apple Music or Spotify is fine with me. And he would only be interested in a TV show that pictured squirrels or cats 24/7 and that would not be soothing for him or anybody else within barking range. But he does care about how much time he gets outside with other dogs and humans, so I pay extra for that.
When we left Scout at the last boarding kennel, we were given a web address so that we could watch him interact with the other dogs and the attendant --just like parents of kids at summer camp. I got online at the appointed time to observe Scout come into the large playroom with other dogs his size. I didn't like what I saw.
Scout was at the human's feet, looking up to make eye contact, patiently waiting to be lifted into her arms for an ear scratch or a tummy rub. He quietly followed her around while she offered her love and attention to other dogs by picking them up one at a time. He continued to be available to her, skipping the chance to play with the other dogs. She never ever chose him, even though miles away I was wailing at her, thinking she could feel my vibe through the air.
"Pick him, pick him!" I screamed at the screen to no avail. And then the pack left to go in the back for rest time. As I watched Scout trot through the door with his ears down and his tail limp, I just couldn't understand why he was not worthy of a quick show of affection. He was very well behaved and deserved a pat or two, but the attendant continued to overlook him for the more delicate and deluxe varieties. That was exactly why I wanted Scout to skip the dog facilities. Nobody was going to love on Scout like we do, plus it cost an arm and a leg for him to hang out there for a week.
We take Scout on the three hour trip to Houston every time we go which is quite often. Annie, the Golden Retriever, who belongs to my daughter and her family, lives there. Scout adores her and he knows when we turn into her neighborhood that she is waiting at the other end. Three hours to get to Annie is worth the ride.
He also goes to Oxford, Mississippi with us where we have a small cottage out from town that we rent for football games and Ole Miss/Oxford events. But the twelve hours to get to Mississippi is a long day. We have tried a dog seat belt in his bed in the back seat, but he is so miserable that he chokes himself trying to get to the front seat where we are- and throwing up is always on the horizon. Scout doesn't seem as nervous and unhappy if he is in front with us. We have tried other tactics but the tried and true no vomit method is lap riding. There is less panting and more sleeping.
And yes, I know, it is not safe for him to be loose in the car. But I am old enough to remember that as kids, we were unrestricted during trips, and when I got car sick, riding shotgun was the feather in my nauseated cap. Scout and I have both graduated from the dramamine tablets, but we are still marginal when it comes to moving in any vehicle for long periods of time. Even if I am covered in collie fur and nose drips when we arrive at our destination, we travel together in the front. So when he hesitates when jumping into the car, I get it. Scout and I like what we experience once we get where we are going, but the getting there is another thing.
* Update: We have convinced Scout that he's safer in a harness and seatbelt.