My Boy's a Blogger

My little guy has decided to start his own blog!

He plans to write the blog from the puppy's point of view and, somehow, that seems right . . . boys and dogs, especially puppies, seem to have quite a lot in common.

If you can spare a moment now that then, he would be thrilled if you'd stop by and say hi:  A Puppy's Life.

Thanks! 

Meet My New Boyfriend

Once our eyes met, I knew I would belong to him forever . . .

A Boston Terrier, he's my gent in a tux.

 
He's 6 months old.

He follows me everywhere . . .

He smells like gingerbread, somehow. . .

His name is Abbott . . .

And I love him madly.

P.S.  Hi Sophie!

Thursday Thunks

It's Thursday and, stuck for topics as I seem to be lately, I will make use of this handy little meme: 

Thursday Thunks

1. To whom did you last give the finger? The guy in the burgundy pickup truck who risked both of our lives in order to not let me into his lane.  But I only did it with my mind ~ which, if you knew me, you would know is far wicked-er. 

2. If you had 1,000 dollars and HAD to spend it, what would you buy?  A new kitchen table set.  We need a new, round one . . . with new energy.

3. What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?  Coffee, all down the front of my white shirt . . . and then I had to walk around like that for the rest of the day.  ugh

4. When was the last photograph you took? What was it of?  The last photo I took was of a bookstand in IKEA.  My boy and I are trying to take pictures, when we are together, of architectural elements that resemble letters (like those new, trendy art pieces) and plan to spell out f-a-m-i-l-y.  That bookstand will be the capital "I."

5. Who was the last person to smoke a cigarette in your presence?  A very drunk, very high, very tattooed, almost naked young woman who came up and talked to my friend and I as we walked through the county fair.  I guess the fact that my friend was walking her two sheep reminded the young woman of her cat and, somehow, her step-mother.  It was an odd conversation.

6. What animal did you last pet or hold?  My little-old-man dog, Jasper.  We adopted him last February and, being 10 years old and set in his ways, he has no idea what to do with affection.  I try to give him his space, but every once in a while I just can't stand it any longer and simply must cuddle him.  And so I did, last night.  And he hated almost every minute of it. 

7. What was the last superstitious thing you did?  Insisted that my husband knock on wood after he said a particularly positive thing about something.  And then I forced him to do it again when he knocked, rather dismissively, on metal rather than wood the first time.

8. What was the last text message you received?  "Hi!  I'm here!  I'm in 'baggage claim.'  Let me know when you get here.  I can't believe it!"

9. What was the last musical instrument played in your presence?  My son began piano lessons this past June.  He practices every day.  I love hearing his "Good King Wenceslas," even if it is 95 degrees right now.

10. What was the last note that you wrote on your hand?  Absolutely no idea.  It had to be in grade school.

11. What are you wearing as you answer these ridiculously stupid TT questions?  It depends upon whom is asking.  

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Peace on Earth,

Good will toward All,

From my pets to yours!

This dog is being nominated for sainthood someday!

Excuse Me While We Dig Out

We have a lot to do.

 

Some are helping more than others . . . see the guy under the table?  That's supposed to be our snow dog.

I'll be back soon to tell you all about it,

No Dogs Were Harmed In the Taking of This Picture

Well, all my wonderful Sinsation yarn has been knit, and here is what I made:

 

Nevermind, the look on the model's face, it is a wonderful scarf!  So soft and with such a lovely sheen.  It looks SO much better in person, of course. 

Anyone wanna pool their funds and send me to a photography class or nine?  Okay, okay, I didn't think so . . . so bear with me, and I'll show you some more shots; maybe you'll be able to glean something from it if I show you lots of different pictures.

Perhaps a sun-drenched saint will wear it well:  

Nope, guess not.

Well, maybe if you get really, really close to it:

Well, whatever.

You'll just have to believe me. 

Luscious, luxury yarn + simple drop-stitch = lovely scarf.

Loyalty

According to the dictionary, loyalty means faithfulness to commitments or obligations.  According to my own heart, it means a friend 'til the end, no matter what, rain or shine, happy or sad . . . or mad, always there; and next to my definition, the one in my heart, you'll find a picture of my dog. 

Is there anyone more loyal than your dog?

Our little guy has been such a faithful companion and loyal family member; our family wouldn't feel complete without him.

We rescued him from a high-kill shelter when he was a puppy, and he has repaid us each and every day with his happy demeanor, reassuring presence, and, if I may say, charming good looks.

Our home would surely not be as welcoming if not for the wagging tail and smiling-eyes welcome of our dog, as sure as the door opens when the key is inserted, there stands our dog, welcoming us home with his whole heart.  No questions about where we've been, why so late . . . just happiness and love  

Cold?  Down?  Nothing warmed me inside and out as well as spreading out the blanket next to me and inviting him up for a snuggle.  His warm, gentle nuzzling settles me right in.

The other night, he broke from his usual calm nature and woke the entire household with his incessant barking.  It was 2am.  Very unusual for him, unheard of, really.  Turns out, a raccoon had squeezed into the coop through the egg door . . . one more minute and our chickens would have been savagely killed by the intruder.  Alerted by our dog, we chased the raccoon out and secured the tiny door.  All safe and sound, our little hero and already settled back down to sleep.  I hate to think of the devastation our family would have felt had that raccoon not been stopped.

He protects us with all he has and he loves us with all he is.

And all this in exchange for a warm home and regular meals and an occasional nuzzle.  He is loyalty.

Wordless Wednesday (something quite new for me!)

It's Clean Up Time

If you've been reading this blog for more than . . . a day . . . you know the state of my house.  It's dirty.  It's messy.  It's disorganized.  It's all over the place. 

This is the result of our family taking on chicken-keeping this year and building a beautiful coop out back all spring and summer, my not feeling well much of this year, and the usual this-and-that that keeps us all busy.

Well, that's all about to end.

My house must be cleaned.  Pronto.

I have company coming.

Monday.

To spend the night.

My father.

The giant sucking sound you hear is the whirlwind of cleaning activity that I have going in my house today and probably through the weekend.

There's nothing like overnight company to kick those cleaning routines into high gear . . . except, maybe, parental overnight guesthood.

I just got word of this visit last weekend.  It seems my father is sowing some of his retirement-wild oats by taking himself on a tour of Civil War battlefields in my area -- better that my father take this trip alone as his penchant for standing and staring at signs and their related open spaces is unmatched.  No one can stand and ponder longer than my father.  I'm telling ya.  And this can occur anywhere . . . long hours of my childhood were spent standing in hardware store aisles as my father pondered  . . . I still haven't figured out what.  So he's going by himself so he can ponder unrushed.  He plans to get around to us Monday evening.   

He'll arrive Monday evening and spend Tuesday with me.  He told me this sooo casually.  As if it wouldn't be noteworthy to me that he would be sleeping in this house a week from the moment we spoke.  As if the focus of my life was not about to be redirected for the next week.  No, it was up to me to detect the oh-so-subtle implication in his words -- that he intended to spend the night.  (My parents never stay here when they visit together.)  So.  Now I need to get the house clean AND select one of my kid's rooms and get that room cleaned myself.  I can't issue the usual edict to the kids and demand they clean their own rooms.  It has to be a good job this time.  Dusting and all.  Horseshoes picked up, even.  (A reference to the last time my son declared his room "all clean" despite having left a horseshoe lying in the middle of his floor.)

So off I go to finish putting out the Halloween decorations so I can put away the storage tub that has been in the hallway since this weekend.  Dog beds need laundering, floors need washing, rooms need straightening, everything needs dusting.

I mean it this time; no distractions . . .

Except maybe the few hundred blogs I have promised to visit and the many, many I have decided to follow . . .

Now be good friends and grab a mop and head over!

Talkin 'Bout Freedom!

For any of you just joining us . . . I was home ALL last week -- and both weekends -- with a sick daughter and a sick husband.

Now . . . a moment of silence . . .

And a drumroll . . .

Today, they ALL went back to school and work!  All of them!!  There is no one here but me and the dog (and the rest of the menagerie, but you know what I mean).  Blissful silence.  No cartoons on out of pity.  No requests for juice.  No beeping thermometers.  No need for extra blankets.

And I'm free to leave.  I'm so getting out of here!  To where?  Who cares!  Just out!

So I will be back later, once my kids are out of school and we're all home again, with something of more substance to say.  For the time being, I'm free and I'm making a run for it.

Perhaps you'll spot me running through an open meadow like a giddy, spring lamb . . .

Or perhaps I'll go for speed, like a naughty dog who's escaped from the yard  . . .

Either way, you'll know me by giggle and flush of freedom!

Bless the Beasts

Today is the Feast of St. Francis, so all the little animals are front and center in my heart today.

I don't know about you, but I don't know what I would be without my pets.  Sure, I would still be a wife and a mother and a daughter and all that, but my pets, without fail, fulfill that certain little need in my heart to tend to something totally helpless, totally dependent upon me, without any expectations. 

I get so much satisfaction I out of caring for my pets -- and without expectation of anything in return.  It's different than raising children.  You slowly teach them to become more independent and self-sufficient and, without really realizing it, you are preparing them to live without you one day.  With pets, it's different.  I wil keep my pets with me until their dying day.  I don't teach them to strive for anything or expect really anything from them.  I can just accept them, and enjoy them, for who they are and revel in their uniqueness, their needs, and their care. 

I love to care and fuss over my sweet, little Lester.  She's the moodiest little bird, and some days I am her best buddy and other days she wants little to do with me . . . other than to be let her free of her nighttime cage and roam the house, bathing in the dog's water and perching on a sunny windowsill.  Here she is, perched just over my shoulder when I saw last sick.

And I love to tend to my pigeons outback.  My husband built them the loveliest coop and aviary this summer and when we moved them in, they behaved like giddy little honeymooners.  I can see them from my computer desk now and just a moment watching them restores my soul and brings me joy. 

And then there are the chickens.  I've written about them before.  Having them out back is like having four very eccentric little ladies living right in our backyard.  They have distinct personalities, but are equally interesting and fun.  And when they reward us with eggs, they seem especially proud.

My son has his little creepy-crawlies like the worm farm in the basement and his collection of land snails and a herd (decidedly not the scientific term) of Chinese fire-bellied newts, and, while I haven't bonded with them personally, I love them, too, for the joy and hours of entertainment they bring my son. 

We have a couple budgerigars who are pretty low key, low maintenance, and unto their own.  And we caught a parakeet who was flying wild when he shouldn't have been, and he has rewarded us with . . . well, hmmm . . . we're still looking for his redeeming quality.  To say he would serve as a good wood-chipper, the way he bites, is an understatement. 

(That's him on the right. . . no fingers in the cage!)

My son won a goldfish this year at the fair, as I wrote about previously.  Ferris is a happy little fish and easy to care for.  I have a betta who is beautiful and keeps me company on the kitchen windowsill.  Due to his location, I named him Olive Oil.  This galls my son because he is a male.  I enjoy that. 

And then there's the dog.  Our sweet little dog.  He is gentle and patient beyond all measure, and I should strive to be more like him.  He could use the help running off all the uppity cats in our neighborhood. 

So today was the blessing of the animals at our parish.  We rounded up a sampling of our menagerie and brought them for blessing.  How funny we must have looked with various cages, crates, and containers.  (Everyone else looked quite reasonable with one dog per family.)

How blessed I felt as we all drove home to the tune of a scratching chicken, a cooing dove, sloshing water, and a whining dog.  Such bounty.

Dog Days of Summer

Dogs, Charming . . . Their Owners, Tedious I couldn't sleep last night. I kept thinking about the little dog I saw yesterday. He was a cute, little, blond thing with big brown eyes. He couldn't have weighed more than 15 pounds. And he was almost dead. He had been locked inside a car while his owners were inside . . . having pancakes and coffee. It was a steaming hot day, 90+ degrees. The car was parked in the middle of a parking lot. No hope for shade, just baking in the sun. Can you imagine sitting in a hot car like that for so long? The police were called. They made pleading announcements in the restaurant, imploring the owner to get out to her car, "Your dog is dying!" No one came forward. Spoons continued to clank in the cups, syrup continued to pour. Even once the police came, nothing. Not until the window was broken out of the car. Then the owner showed up. Upset about the window. She didn't run up and grab her semi-conscious dog from the officer giving him water. No. She, instead, proceeded to scream at the policewoman about her smashed window. Her argument? The window was open a bit at the top and the dog was fine. Unbelievable. The exasperated policewoman asked the crowd of spectators how sad we all felt about the window. Ha! The crowd was ready to run that woman out of town. The woman was probably lucky there were police there, lest she be left in the hands of an angry crowd. The policewoman asked whether any of us wanted to take up a collection for the woman's window. I stepped up. I offered to pay to replace her window. Yes, I did. In exchange for her dog. She actually thought about it. And Animal Control let her keep the dog. The things we do to the smallest among us.

Life is life's greatest gift. Guard the life of another creature as you would your own because it is your own. On life's scale of values, the smallest is no less precious to the creature who owns it than the largest. -- Lloyd Biggle Jr.