Dogs -- the things we do for our fur babies!

My precious cuddle bunny. She's 95 pounds of snuggly love. 

She loves her family

She loves her yogurt

She loves her couch

What she doesn't love?  Any other animal.  Cats, other dogs, squirrels, raccoons -- she doesn't care.  She is ragingly jealous and she wants to be the only animal.  

She loves people, if you come over and you don't tell her "no", you'll have 95 pounds of dog in your lap, demanding to get a belly rub.  She is good with babies and little kids, she understands they are humans and are, therefore, to be cherished and loved. She is the smartest dog we've ever had, she knows all kinds of words and commands and she's eager to please, so she obeys.

Her main fault is her inability to interact with any other animal.  It's intense. And ugly. 

When we go out of town, we had been kenneling her at a local facility.  They're ok with her, but due to her "socialization issues" (i.e., she's a bully) they can't let her play with the other dogs, so they have to keep her in a dog run for 20 hours a day. That makes me sad. 

We heard about a company that matches dog sitters with dog parents; they offer home dog sitting.  The hosts are all screened and background checked, and have undergone training.  Several host homes specified, "No large dogs" *sigh* but we found a host home in my neighborhood where the host has a black lab.  We set up a meet-and-greet and went to introduce Shadow and Sam (his lab) as well as a chance for us to meet the host and see his house. Turns out, we know the host -- he and his wife go to our church!  Surprisingly, Shadow and Sam got along tentatively -- Sam was fine, but Killer McSavage wasn't too sure. I think that the fact that Sam is also a big dog might have been a factor, but it was ... not awful.  Shadow wasn't pleased, but living in someone's house is better than being in a cage for 20 hours a day so we were optimistic. 

Eventually, we plan on going to go to Waco and see GirlChild. I called Sam's dad to make a reservation, but he is having surgery the weekend we are considering. He recommended another dog sitter he knows who also has a lab.  I called her and set up a meet-and-greet.  She has a sweet chocolate lab and a yellow lab puppy (uh-oh). Killer and the chocolate lab were ok, again it was Killer who was iffy.  The chocolate lab was wonderful, Shadow wasn't too sure about it but she was on an equal footing, size-wise, so she was tolerant. Then she was introduced to the puppy and it got ugly, quickly. We separated the two of them and, as I was putting Shadow's leash back on her, the host said, "You understand why I have to decline the opportunity to watch Shadow, don't you?" I was mortified.  I was so upset that my precious baby was so mean to such a sweet puppy -- and it was completely unjustified.  Shadow was the aggressor, the other dog was in no way at fault.  I apologized and we slunk out of her house. Well, I slunk.  Shadow pranced, proudly, to the car.

On the way home, I was in tears. I looked at her, with her head out the car window enjoying the breeze and getting all kinds of smiles and thumbs up from other drivers.

I told her she had just bought herself a weekend at the kennel and she was NOT going to like being in a cage for 20 hours a day.

She just grinned at me and stuck her head back out the window.

When I got home, Husband and I were saying what we needed was someone who would just come over twice a day and let her outside.  She would be fine to be alone in the house overnight, but she did need to go outside to potty.

I remembered something on the website, so I looked:   some of the hosts do offer that!  They will come to your house for a 30 minute visit.  They'll take the dog outside, check the food and water and play with your dog.  Perfect!!!

I found a host family -- young married couple, no children but two dogs.  He's in the military and, since they live in an apartment they can't do in-home boarding but they would do home visits.  I couldn't message them fast enough!!  "Do you mind big dogs?  Are you free on the weekends?"  She almost immediately messaged me back.  Her parents have labs, she grew up with labs (hooray!) and they were available weekends!  We set up a meet-and-greet for the next afternoon.  I cleaned my house like a wild woman, I Swiffered every surface and I Febreezed everywhere.  I so needed to impress these people, I so needed this to work.  I also gave Shadow a lecture on how she *had* to be good and how she *had* to make a good impression.  

They showed up right on time (punctuality -- nice!) and immediately Shadow turned on the charm.  She was a delight. We chatted some, they bonded with Shadow, we discussed the times / responsibilities and they left with a house key, a Ziploc full of Ginormous Sized Milk Bones and my gratitude.

It is a bit odd giving strangers keys to my house, but they are background screened by the agency and, while I know this doesn't guarantee anything, he is in the military and I trust that.

So Killer can stay in the comfort and familiarity of her home and this couple will come over twice a day to let her out and to check on her and cuddle her.  She won't have to spend all weekend in a cage, and I won't have to worry about her being abusive to another dog.  For a weekend trip, I think this'll be a perfect solution.  I wouldn't make these arrangements for a week long vacation, but we will only be gone overnight. 

I'm cautiously optimistic. 

Dogs.  There was a time when I'd have rolled my eyes at someone like me, who was obsessing over a pet, but she's more than just a dog.  She's my Shadow, and if it means I have to spend a week interviewing dog sitters to find the right match, well then I will.

An Eye For Beauty Part 2

So I've started walking again.  I've been pretty good this past week

It's a start, anyway. This week, I walked Monday (and wrote An Eye For Beauty) based on that. I was going to walk yesterday but decided instead to unstop a clogged toilet (eww) and then mop the floor and then wash some nasty towels. By the time that was all done, I just had enough time to get out the door as I had somewhere to be. Got in the car, and the Check Engine light inexplicably came on. And went off. And came back on. And went back off. Repeatedly. Got home, washed another load of clothes and realized, too late, that there was an ink pen left in the pocket of a pair of shorts. Beige shirts do not like being washed with blue pens. It was not a good day.  Then I got involved in a situation that a loved one was having -- and being me, I just wanted to jump in with both feet and fix it and make it all better. That wasn't what I was being asked to do, but it's what I wanted to do. 

Numerous phone calls and text messages later, I think they felt somewhat better but I was still feeling unsettled, because I wanted to "fix" things. 

In the midst of this, poor husband came home and said, "Hi, sweetie. How was your day?"  20 minutes later, I was still going off.  "And then, the toilet overflowed.  And THEN ... and THEN ... and THEN ..."  I was also fixing dinner, so my ranting and raving was accompanied by the occasional slam of a pot, just because I was that frustrated. 

This morning I went for my walk.  I wasn't in a happy place, but I figured I had two miles to fuss at God and complain. And I did. What my poor husband heard the night before, God heard this morning.  And THEN ... and THEN ... and THEN ..."  After I finished ranting and raving, I took a few minutes to be silent. I wrote the other day about Parrot Woman, and as I was finishing up yelling at God, I saw Parrot Woman approaching me. Today, Parrot was on top of her head!  As she passed me, I thought, "Oh,  I should get her picture!" but by the time I got my phone out, she was pretty far past me.

That's her, in red, with the cute collie. I did try to blow it up, but ...

Take my word for it, she had a parrot on her head!!

Anyway, I kept walking and suddenly it dawned on me that I had done to my husband exactly what Loved One had done to me:  vented and raged about a situation, not looking for an answer or someone to solve the problem, but just be a sounding board and a safe place to unload. I didn't want my husband to solve my problems, just listen. And that's what Loved One wanted from me.

Ah, ok, got it.  But God wasn't done teaching me a lesson.  He then made me realize that my job isn't to solve everyone's problems. My job is to equip them to solve their own problems.  

But, but, but ... God, I'm much better at solving their problems. I can make a few phone calls and have this all taken care of. I don't want to equip, and then stand back. I don't do that well.

But God was pretty insistent that my role in this situation is over. I was to listen, to encourage, to advise, to reassure -- but no more. And as I did that yesterday, today I need to let it go.

Easier said than done, but that's what I've tried to do. I did text Loved One, but we talked about other stuff (namely the iOS 7 update) and when I offhandedly and casual said, "and what about (situation), did that get taken care of?", the response was about iOS 7.  Message received.  I've not asked again. 

So while I didn't find any breathtaking sunrises this morning, nor did I see any photo-worthy birds in flight or perfectly formed, dewy flower buds, I *did* see a lady with a parrot on her head. And I had a conversation with God that did give me comfort. I guess beauty is found in different things for different people.

But I wouldn't mind a beautiful sunrise. 

An Eye For Beauty

Some people just naturally have an eye for beauty and have an artistic aptitude that allows them to see the world in a way that others can't / won't / don't. I have a friend who takes her dog out for a walk most mornings. She lives on a lake and she comes back from these walks with the most exquisite pictures of sunrise over the lake, or of a dewdrop glistening on a perfectly formed flower bud. She may see a bird, just taking off in flight as the light glimmers through his wings. She shares these pictures on Facebook with a comment about how gloriously God revealed Himself to her through the majesty of His creation and I am left speechless with her pictures as well as her ability to find beauty and wonder in something as routine and mundane as taking the dog for a walk.

Last year I started walking.  Then I, being the athlete I am (@@ eye roll @@) tore my meniscus and had to have knee surgery and weeks of rehab. I started going to water aerobics (low impact) and that, and physical therapy, has gotten me to the point where the orthopedist said I could resume walking. He wanted me to keep it at a moderate pace of 3 miles an hour (or for those of us who are mathematically challenged, 20 minutes a mile).  We have a walking trail that goes through our neighborhood. It's not a lake, but it's a nice enough walking trail. One end of the trail starts at the park and it loops down through the neighborhood, criss-crossing itself several times before ending up at the park again.  From my front door, to the park, to the main crossover, back to the park and home again is almost exactly two miles. 

I will be honest. When I'm walking, I'm not thinking about the beauty of nature, or about God revealing Himself to me or anything uplifting and spiritually mature like that. I'm thinking that it's too freakin' hot and humid when it's 80 degrees at 7:00 a.m.

I'm thinking how much longer it is until I finish this stupid circuit. I'm thinking how sweaty and gross I must look, huffing and puffing as I haul my fat self around the walking trail. 

Sorry, God. I love You and I worship You but I am not thinking about You and Your creation when I'm walking. 

This morning, I decided I was going to change that. I always have my phone with me, I walk to Pandora and I use a Map My Walk app. I decided today, I was going to also use my phone to capture some of the glories of nature. 

I started off walking to the park:

Nothing too spectacular, but I did giggle when I saw the combination water fountain.  It is three-tiered, one tall spigot for water bottles, one regular height for conventional use and a dog-height spigot for, ...well, for dogs. 

A couple weeks ago, I saw a child drinking out of the dog bowl and the mom just stood there and grinned like it was the funniest thing ever. It grossed me out, but I did think of that incident this morning. Not exactly dewdrop glistening on a perfectly formed flower bud so I walked on.

Few steps later, I saw a bunch of buzzards eating something. Eww. Eww. Eww. Not the nature connection I wanted, and I did NOT take a picture. Eww. Eww. Eww. 

I began down the trail.

The trees on either side line the walking trail. 

Surely I'd find something more picturesque and beautiful than buzzards.  I was walking, keeping alert for something spectacular, something that would take my breath away.  I found it. A friend of mine from church always rides his bike on the same path, at the same time as me. We wave, maybe speak, each morning. This morning, I was so busy looking for something to dazzle me that I didn't hear Bill come up behind me.  He spoke, scared the snot out of me, and I stumbled and almost fell. That wasn't what I meant by "take my breath away".  I walked on. 

I saw a woman walking towards me, walking her dog. It was a cute collie and as we passed, we said "good morning". (Folks are VERY friendly, everyone speaks, or at least smiles and nods).  As she passed me, I saw she had, in addition to Cute Collie, a parrot on her shoulder!  Now that would have been something to photograph, but she had already passed. Darn.  Had we crossed paths again, I was determined to ask her if I could take a picture of her parrot, but she must have exited the circuit before we crossed again.

I got up to one of the cross overs.  Some people walk down and up the path, it's as close as we get to hills in Houston, but as I was coming up one of those trails when I blew out my knee, I avoid them at all costs. 

There might have been a dazzling display of God's majesty down that bridge, but my knee wasn't in the mood to explore. I crossed over at the street bridge (it's level!) and headed back up the other side. I was still hoping to see Parrot Lady. 

Apparently I also took a picture of the path itself:

Yeah, I don't have an artistic, creative eye.

I finished my circuit, ended up back at the park again, walked around the pool and tennis courts

and still hadn't had a spectacular sunrise, glistening dewdrop, majestic bird in flight moment. 

I did have a joyous, heart pleasing moment when I reached my driveway, but that was more because I knew there was air conditioning and ice water on the other side of the door and not because my soul was refreshed by spending time in Nature, communing with God and His majesty. 

Maybe tomorrow. I'll have my phone with me, and if I see splendor and majesty and wonder, I'll stop and photograph it.  And if I see Parrot Lady, I will DEFINITELY ask her if I can take her picture. 

And until I develop an eye for wonder and beauty, I'll appreciate the pictures of those who do have that ability.  

Oh, I hope the buzzards (and the carcass they were dining on) are gone tomorrow. Eww. Eww. Eww. 

 

I was reading Dear Abby ...

On my key ring I have as many, if not more, non-keys than anything else. My key ring is a good reflection of who I am:  I have a Winnie the Pooh house key, I have a Baylor key chain and I have a set of my son's dog tags. 

 The other weekend, Husband and I were at WalMart and a Winnie the Pooh Halloween window decoration (ok, two decorations!) jumped into my cart. 

The cashier was commenting on how cute it was and how much she liked Pooh, to which I had to respond, "Oh, me too!" and I showed her my Pooh purse, 

in which was my Pooh wallet 

and my Pooh cell phone. 

I also showed her my Pooh house key (see above photo). Yeah, I *win* that "Overly Obsessed" ribbon!

I've had people, when they see the Baylor key ring or the dog tags ask about them and I, of course, leap at the chance to talk about my precious children. I also have a Baylor Mom window cling on my car 

as well as an Army Mom sticker. 

I've had people tell me "tell your son thank you for his service" and once I had a gentleman throw me a sic 'em in the parking lot of Kroger.  

I have such public acknowledgments of my children that its almost expected that I'll get comments.  What I don't understand is the people who feel the need to respond with with something negative. When my son  left for Basic training, I had several people take that moment to tell me about their (brother / cousin / neighbor) who went to (Vietnam / Desert Storm / prison) and who now is (an amputee / suffering from PTSD / an addict) and as a result is (homeless / divorced / incarcerated).   Vietnam and Desert Storm I can sort of understand them telling me, but prison?  In their mind, my son going to Basic training is equivalent to their loved one going to PRISON?  And yes, I am aware that sometimes Soldiers get injured in combat. Telling me about your loved one who is now a homeless meth addict because of untreated PTSD does not give comfort to a mother's heart. 

It's not just Soldiers. When my daughter went to college, I was regaled with tales of Girls Gone Wild that would stop your heart. Again, I am sorry that your (daughter / niece / cousin) went to college and ended up (pregnant / alcoholic / an atheist) but honestly. Do you really think I need to hear that?  

I was reading Dear Abby this morning and one of the letters was from a military mom who had a son deployed in a combat zone.  She was writing about people who mean well, but say stupid or insensitive or even hurtful things. I found myself nodding in agreement, and I found myself slightly comforted in knowing that I'm not alone in experiencing this phenomenon.  

I can also painfully recall a couple of situations in which I, not knowing what to say, said things so stupid and so insensitive that, 30 years later, I still flush with embarrassment.  What's worse is the memory that, even when I realized I was totally making an ass out of myself, I KEPT talking. Like *more* stupid, thoughtless, insensitive words would be the solution. I am truly mortified at myself. 

Why do we struggle so?  Why is it so hard to say, "I'll keep you in my prayers" and then *stop talking*?  Why do we feel the need to share our horror stories?  Why do we tell pregnant women about our own 42-hour labors and then tell them they'll never sleep again?  Why do we tell high school students about "that student" who applied to 20 different colleges and got accepted nowhere?  Why do we tell graduating college seniors about our neighbor's child who graduated with a BA, and $40,000 of student loans, and is now waitressing at IHOP?  

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of receiving it -- please, unless I ask, do NOT tell me about your nephew who didn't come home from Vietnam or tell me about your cousin who was killed by a drunk driver while partying over Spring Break. I'm not your therapist. I'm a mom. I'm a mom with a deployed son and a college daughter. I can visualize enough horror without your help.  

Talk to me about my kids -- heck be quiet for two seconds and I'll *start* a conversation about my kids!  I love talking about them. I've got the key ring items and the car stickers to show that. Ask me about them, how they're doing, when they're coming home. But don't "bond" with me by telling me horror nightmare stories. 

In return, I will also try to remember that a hug is sometimes all that's required. I won't necessarily assume you want to hear my words of wisdom (ha!) and I'll offer a prayer and I'll remember that in silence, people can open up --if they want to. Sometimes, people don't WANT to bond or have a relatable moment.   And that's ok, too. Some days I don't want to be Mom Of A Deployed Soldier. I just want to be Overly Obsessive Pooh Bear Enthusiast.  

When I say stupid, insensitive things (and I will), I hope I will be forgiven.  When someone feels the need to share a "let's bond" horror story with me (and someone will) I pray that I am able to smile and understand that it's coming, not from a place of hurtful intentions, but from good intentions. 

Ask me about my kids. Ask me what new additions there are to the Pooh Collection. (There will be. Guaranteed!). Ask me if there is something specific I would like you to keep in your prayers. Tell me about YOUR kids. Laugh with me, hug me, share in my Pooh obsession.  But please, don't tell me nightmare horror stories about things that I'm already aware of (and afraid of).  

And forgive me when I do to you the very same thing -- when you tell me your concerns about something and I respond with, "Oh, did I ever tell you about my cousin who ..."  

I am working on learning when to listen, when to speak -- and what should,  and shouldn't, be spoken. Sometimes words are unnecessary. Sometimes superficial chatter is the most appropriate thing. 

And always, Pooh talk is welcomed. Just ask the poor cashier at Walmart who made the mistake of telling me she was a fan of the bear!  

Something You May Not Know About Me

 In the "Things You May Not Know About Me" category, I am legally blind. I have worn glasses since before I can remember and have worn contacts for the past 35+ years. With correction, my vision is near 20/20, but without contacts my vision in my bad eye is below 20/200 which is (was?) the definition of legal blindness. As I've never known what it's like to have normal vision, and as I can have near normal vision with contacts, I don't think too much about it too often. First thing I do upon waking is put my contacts in and the last thing I do before going to bed is take them out, so the amount of time I actually have to deal with my 20/200 vision is extremely small.  It's just a non-issue in my life as long as I have my contacts in, which I always do. 

Last week, I developed a case of pink eye. (Funny side bar:  the p and the o key are right next to each other, and if you're not careful, you'll develop a case of oink eye. And since oink is a word, spell check won't catch it. I'm still giggling over oink eye!). As I've worn contacts for the past 35+ years, I do not have a pair of glasses.  I've also not had oink eye *giggle* since I was a child myself so I didn't have a back up plan. I ended up spending three days virtually housebound because I couldn't wear my contacts and the idea of going out in the world, visually impaired, scared me to death. Not that I'd have driven (heavens no!), but I was afraid to go to the store or out to eat with my husband as chauffeur and guide.  We finally did go to the grocery store and it was horrible.  It was "my" grocery store, where I shop all the time. I know the store, the aisles, where the groceries are located -- it was a very familiar environment and I was with my husband, who is the safest person in the entire world. I was 100% safe but I was so uncomfortable and so nervous that I ended up clutching the handle of the shopping cart while my husband got the Cheerios off the shelf and put them in the basket. Then he would pull the basket while I trailed beind, hanging on to the handle like it was a life preserver. 

I was so grateful when the 72 hours of contagion ended and I could put my contacts back in again. That was a really scary three days. There was one surprising thing about all of it:  being a woman of a certain age (insert eye roll here @@), I have to wear reading glasses to see things close up. I did learn that when I don't have my contacts in, I can read just fine (as long as what I'm reading is literally inches from nose).  But the convenience of not needing reading glasses was far, far overshadowed by the inability to navigate the aisles of HEB, so it was a minor blessing. 

I am now back to wearing my contacts (and reading glasses) and I am being nagged to make an appointment to get glasses "just in case". I also feel like there is some major, deep theological life-lesson that someone else might be able to pull out of this situation. I have a suspicion that another person would be able to wrap this up with a "and that's what it's like to be spiritually blind and then have your spiritual blindness removed" analogy, but I can't. All I know is that was a scary three days. Part of it was my own fault for not having had a pair of emergency glasses but regardless I did not like that feeling of utter helplessness. Again, that seems to cry out for a theological tie-in, but all I can think of was how frustrating it was to not be able to see -- I had a headache and I had to pull each bottle out of the medicine cabinet, hold it right up to my nose, squint, and then say, "Honey?  Does this say Motrin?"  I saw things on the floor and had no idea if it was a black sock, a dog hair ball or a *shudder* critter. It was three days of moments like that. 

I am very happy to be back in contacts. I don't even mind having to put on reading glasses - alto reaching into the freezer to take something out for dinner without the reading glasses is fun:  "I think this says ground beef ... Lets thaw it out and be surprised!" I never realized just how dependent I was on my contacts, or how severe and limiting my near-blindness was or how crippling fear can be. I was actually afraid to leave the house. 

On the other hand, tho, three days of near-blindness makes you think the house is cleaner than it is. You don't see how the bathroom needs to be cleaned and the dust on the end tables suddenly disappears.  :) Still, all in all, I'll take being able to drive and being able to leave my house.

Now to call the eye doctor and get an appointment for a post-oink eye exam *giggle* and get a pair of "just in case" glasses. 

Birthday Gifts, Wanted and Unwanted!

So, I had a birthday last week.  I’m now in my last year of my 40’s … next year is the big 5-0.  I hope there is a big old blow-out party (hint, hint!). 

Me being me, my birthDAY was actually a birthWEEK.  I went out for dinner the weekend before, the day of, and the weekend after – all in celebration of my birthday!  And I’ve no shame about telling the waitstaff it’s my birthday and getting my free dessert and having them sing to me.  I like the attention!!

I’m still not used to having birthdays without having my children around me; one child is in Africa, one child is in Kansas and the other child is in Waco … but I did get text messages and Facebook messages and phone calls.  It’s good; not as good as having them here and in person, but it’s good.  I love hearing from them.

My husband gave me the EXACT gift I asked for:

 

It’s the first American cookbook, written by an American woman and written for American housewives and based on American ingredients.  It was written in 1747 and is a wonderful read as a historical resource.  Surprisingly to me, when I tell people that’s what he got me, they get a glazed look in their eyes and they say, “Oh …” rather pityingly.  They don’t understand that’s the EXACT gift I asked for (and for Christmas, I’m asking for a similar book, written a few years later); but good thing for him, he also got me a beautiful pair of pearl and diamond earrings.

 

That seems to be more socially acceptable and when I tell people that, it redeems him in their eyes.  But just between us, I like the cookbook better.

I also, for my birthday, got a special gift of –itis.  Four separate and distinct –itis’, actually.  I woke up feeling like death; dragged myself to the doctor where I was diagnosed with bronchitis, sinusitis, conjunctivitis (pink eye?  A toddler illness? I’m 49 freakin’ years old!) and otitis media.  Yes, an ear infection.  Another toddler illness.  It’s somehow wrong to have two (!!) toddler illnesses and menopausal symptoms at the same time. 

Anyway, I took to my bed and whined and carried on and made my poor husband fuss over me and wait on me hand and foot for several days before I decided I wasn’t going to die and I arose from my death-bed and insisted the birthWEEK celebrations continue! 

And they did!  We went out to eat again (I was too weak to cook, but not too weak to eat out LOL) and we went to Cheesecake Factory because … well, because they have cheesecake!!  The waitress was amazing; she was so personable and friendly and nice – but when it came time to present me with my cheesecake (and the song – got to have the “everyone look at me, I crave attention” song!) she either misunderstood what I said, or I didn’t speak clearly, because I was serenaded with “Happy Birthday, dear Salmon …”  Salmon?  After the song ended, as husband and I were diving into the cheesecake, I asked him, “Did you hear that, too?” and he laughed and said, “Yeah, but I wasn’t going to say anything … but yes, she called you Salmon.”

All in all, turning 49 hasn’t been too bad.  I got the *exact* gift I wanted (even if everyone else thinks it’s odd) and I got a beautiful (and socially acceptable) gift, I got phone calls from my children.  I got gifts and cards and well-wishes from friends and family and I got at least three birthday meals.  And a new nickname. 

I also got a collection of –itis’ that made me feel youthful (toddler illnesses.  At my age!  What’s next?  Acne?) and I was able to take to bed and read my new cookbook … and be VERY grateful that I don’t have to fix any recipes that start off with, “First, skin a young rabbit …”

And I have a pair of diamond and pearl earrings that redeem my husband in other people’s eyes; but I still have to say, “But I *WANTED* the cookbook!  I asked for it!”.

Turning 49 was fun. Well, maybe not the -itis'.  Those, I could have lived without.  But aside from that, turning 49 was fun.  I can’t wait for 50!