Soul Mates

A year ago, a friend of mine posted about the loss of her father and how it felt like she had lost a soulmate, even a year later.  This resonated with me because it finally put into words exactly how I felt about the loss of my grandmother in December of 2012.  I recall the surreal flight from Atlanta to Boston on Christmas Day for her funeral and how busy the airport was.  It was a reminder of how the world moves on regardless of the season.  I remember the kindness of the rental car agent who switched his accent to his true Irish brogue when my husband spoke and he confessed that he tried to make his accent more neutral when he was working. It was cold and snowy and magical as we walked through Salem in silence the night before the funeral.  I spoke at the old, drafty Catholic church and the Englishman offered me his silk handkerchief from his front suit pocket which I found comforting and very British.  

My grandmother was 98 years old when she died and I knew in my heart at the time that she wouldn't live forever.  She told us all the time that she was ready to go...so much that when she stayed with me and the Englishman for a summer, we sent the dogs in to wake her up every morning because I was terrified that she would have died in her sleep.  I did confess this act years later to my mother who told me that when my great-grandmother lived with my grandmother in Boston, she had her friends check each morning on her mom.  I suppose the appleseed didn't fall far from the apple from the tree.

My grandmother was my friend,  I loved spending time with her and talking to her.  I miss her still and it doesn't get easier.  I enjoyed taking a nap in her room and she would cover me up with a quilt while she continued to read her book.  When I first adopted Chase, she declared him to be "the ugliest dog she had ever seen" yet she loved him all the same and was probably quite relieved when his fur finally grew in.

Each December I feel her presence and her loss and it is a strange and beautiful thing.  I am constantly reminded of James Russell Lowell's poem "The First Snowfall" when I think of the family grave and while this isn't my "first great sorrow", it is still profound. 

So Merry Christmas my soulmate, my partner in crime, my friend and my mentor.  I miss you Grandma.

No Funny Bone?

Big Lots in West Palm Beach had a crazy deal on the two leftover Halloween skeletons.  At $12.50 each, the Englishman bought them.  We couldn’t take them on the plane but the Englishboy agreed to bring them back with him for Thanksgiving.  In the meantime, they would reside in the closet on his screened porch. 

The cat apparently wasn’t paying attention when we brought the skeletons inside the apartment.  I had found a crinkly, feathery toy on our shopping trip and the cat was happily batting that about the small space. 

An hour later, we were sent a priceless video of the cat when he finally took notice of the skeletons in the closet.

Things That Go Bump In the Night

The dogs slumber sweetly on their beds, gently covered by a warm fleece blanket.  The room is inky dark.  Not a creature is stirring. Well, at least until….

3 AM:  Strange sounds emerge from beneath the bed.  Charlie is wandering in the dark and with his poor vision bumps into the wall.  That wall should not be there! So he crashes into it again.  Finally he tangles himself among the cords and cables by my side of the bed so I have to untangle him.  I place him back in his bed and I return to dreaming once again. Until...

4 AM: low growls fill the room.  The dogs are playing musical beds in the dark and none of them can see easily.  Up again, I put them each back on a bed, tuck them in and return to some semblance of sleep.  Until…

5 AM:  A crash startles me awake.  Chase has walked into the closed door.  I pray that he will settle back down.  He starts to whine.  Abby can hear the whine.  She now waits by the door.  I open it and they clickety clack down the hall.  Cold air flows into the house as I push the dogs outside into the shadowy black world.  Abby returns promptly.  Chase must complete his routine walkabout.  Once both are in the house, I return to the bedroom, Chase retreats to the kitchen for a drink of water, and Abby positions herself in the doorway to block Chase.  I’ve almost fallen asleep when…

5:15 AM: Chase arrives in the doorway to find his path blocked.  He whines.  Then he barks.  I get up and move Abby.  I lead him back to bed.  I’m almost warm under the comforter when….

5:45 AM:  The Englishman’s alarm goes off.

Bone Weary

The Englishman likes to buy our three dogs large bones as a treat.  He gets them from the meat section of the grocery store and I’m quite sure they are from a dinosaur.  

Shrink wrapped in clear plastic to hold the gristly bits inside, the dogs eagerly wait as the Englishman carefully cuts through the plastic.  Charlie and Chase quickly discard their bones and take a nap.  Abby crunches and munches away at her bone until it is coated in the perfect amount of drool.  That’s when Charlie strikes.  She’s done all the hard work and Charlie casually takes it away.  Abby, unbothered, starts on Charlie’s discarded bone.  When she is distracted, Chase spirits it away.  Abby then moves to Chase’s bone.

After a few days, there are bone fragments throughout the house.  Some are in the open, others are hidden.  The best time to find the bones is after midnight.  As we sleep soundly in our bed, we inevitably will be roused with the sounds of Abby working her jaws on a piece of bone that she smuggled into her bed.  Take away that fragment and a moment later, she has another one.  So if anyone wonders why I look tired or need a second cup of strong coffee, it is because I am bone weary.

Just a Little Walk and Roll

Oh Abby.  Sometimes it’s so hard to walk her.  

A quick click of the leash and we start to walk in sync.  Abby to my left, keeping the pace.  I am comfortable.  Too comfortable.  

Suddenly the leash becomes taut as Abby flops to the ground and rolls. Back and forth, a grin stretches across her face.  After a few minutes, she leaps to her feet and shakes her beautiful glossy black coat of fur.  It does no good:  grass and leaves and road debris cling to her.  

We continue to walk until….the leash becomes taut yet again.

Hello Beautiful

When we brought Abby to our home two years ago, we knew we all had challenges ahead.  She was an allergy dog.  She was an itchy, scratchy, smelly dog.  We worked with our vet and for 18 months we tried everything.  We made our own dog food, we tried supplements, medication, and we put her on allergy shots that we administered each week.  We bathed her every two days and we put her in clothes.  Yes, clothes.  Socks and sweaters and hoodies that were often accessorized with the cone of shame.  Her black and white coat was sparse and balding.  I wasn’t sure if this raggedy dog would ever grow back her fur.

And then devastating news arrived in our mailbox at Christmas.  What I thought was the annual Christmas card from our vet was a goodbye letter.  She was closing down her practice.  She cared for all of our dogs over the years and we now had to find another option in our very tiny town.  There was only one other vet so we started there with a meet and greet in January.  It was a bright and shiny new place with a sleek, modern feel.  All three of our dogs were accommodated at the same appointment, but the new vet spent the most time assessing Abby.

He immediately eliminated food allergies since her balding patterns were not around her face.  He put her on a high dose of antibiotics and a double dose of Apoquel for a two week trial period.  We didn’t need two weeks:  Abby showed immediate improvement within mere days.  After two weeks, the Apoquel dosage was reduced and Abby continued to rapidly improve.  Her fur began to grow back and she had a strange patchwork look of long mixed with the new shorter growth.  A grooming session was required to even out her fur length. 

In less than five months, all of her fur was back and looked shiny, thick and glorious.  Baths were reduced to “as needed” and her American Apparel hoodies were retired.  The best part, though, was the afternoon I walked her to the mailbox to retrieve the mail and a neighbor walking by stopped and said, “Hello!  I just wanted to tell you that your dog is beautiful.” It was a lesson to me that when one door closes, another one does open which benefited us all.

"Everything has beauty but not everyone sees it" - Confucius

Flower Power

I am the proud owner of a sunflower seed power eating English Shepherd.  The Englishman likes to feed the birds year round and Abby benefits from the frequent refilling of the bird feeders.  

Abby enjoys the seeds so much that this "never can be off a leash ever" dog is drawn to the seed droppings on the driveway, instantly hypnotized by the shiny black nuggets meant for our feathery friends.  

Abby escapes the house?  No problem.  Just launch a handful of sunflower seeds her way and she has to pick them up, just like throwing shoes at a leprechaun in a bad horror movie.  

Are sunflower seeds good for her?  Dogs can eat them, preferably with the shells removed and unsalted, and they have good health benefits.  

Abby's stomach of steel isn't bothered by a few shells and its hard to pull her away from the tantalizing treat.  Somehow, without trying, we have apparently acquired another "bird dog" in our Abby girl.

Charlie, Frank and Old Arthur

For an older dog with aches and pains, frankincense has been our go-to natural resource.  Charlie is a 12 (almost 13) year-old dachshund and he has arthritis in his legs which, at times makes it difficult for him to walk.  We have medication for him but it requires frequent blood work to monitor his organ function.  A high-quality frankincense essential oil diluted with a carrier oil is an instant fix.  We would be skeptical if we hadn't witnessed this ourselves.  

I use my Doterra account to order a roller bottle that is already diluted and apply to his legs and paws.  Oddly, it's also removed the darkened skin under his tiny armpits that no amount of bathing could rid.  Charlie knows when I approach him with the roller bottle what is going to happen and he eagerly rolls over onto his back, tail wagging, head lolling and he waits for me to apply it.  

He is generally a cheerful fellow and it hurts me to see him in discomfort.  This remedy has brought the bounce back into his step and he once again is on driveway patrol, charging the neighbors and keeping his world in order.

Chipmunk Cheeks and Sunshine Streaks

Late in the afternoon, when the sun splashed across the front of the house, the Englishman noticed our chipmunk sitting at the corner.  

We have enjoyed watching this chipmunk and even have a small, silver plated pedestal dish that we leave on the driveway with sunflower seed offerings.  It was perfect for the chipmunk who looked quite healthy with sleek brown fur over a fluffy white underbelly.  

Last year we realized, accidentally, that the chipmunk traveled frequently in the old black flexible tube that once connected to the downspout, carrying excessive water away from the house. We planned to unearth it but now felt obligated to leave it be.

The chipmunk basked in the sunlight, his back protected by the stone of our house and he had easy access to his man-made tunnel.  His face was a picture of pleasure and his eyes winked and blinked as he fought off an afternoon nap.  After many minutes, we stepped away from the front windows and in the time we were gone, the chipmunk performed his disappearing act.

Doggie Style

Groomers come and groomers go and when they do, we scramble to find a suitable one for our three pack.  Last year, the groomer we used would not take Chase because he was 15 years old.  The other two dogs were still within an acceptable age group but we took an “all or none” stance.  

Surprised at the age discrimination, we decided it was time to seek out a new grooming source.  This led to the discovery of The Fetch House in downtown Madison.  

Close to home, they had an entire day set aside to groom senior dogs and they did such a good job with Chase.  The Englishman took the day off work to make sure that Chase received the royal treatment.  A new haircut and nail trim removed years from him and gave him an extra bounce in his step when I returned home at the end of the day.

                                  

My face may be white

but my heart is pure gold
There is no shame
in growing old.”
- Unknown

Nobody Owns a Cat

There are a couple of cats without collars in the neighborhood.  A big fluffy gray tabby and one midnight black beauty.  They roam freely, brazenly crossing property lines with a distinct disdain for the dogs confined to each area. They have patterns: in the early hours of the morning, they enjoy grooming on my front walkway, in full view of our floor to ceiling windows and our three dogs.  In the late afternoon, they hunt the birds feeding in our backyard leaving trace evidence in the form of downy feathers.  In inclement weather, a glimpse of a shadow disappearing beneath the shed is evidence of a hiding space.

The cats know their freedom, recognize the limitations of the neighborhood dogs and taunt them with this knowledge.  Abby was sunning herself on the back deck while I enjoyed the spring afternoon and a cup of tea.  Tiny white petals sprinkled around us, caught in the gentle breeze from the Bradford pear trees.  The neighbor dogs sounded the alarm:  a cat was on the grounds.  Abby leapt to her feet and pushed her nose through the wire strands of deck.  A black cat crept among the daffodils.  Abby barked and snorted and kicked her hind legs.  I pretended to open the back gate and the cat moved to the next yard with deliberate casualness.  I stroked Abby’s head and praised her for vanquishing the cat. 

A few moments passed and the neighbor dogs began their cat calls again.  Abby pressed her nose against the gate, widened her eyes and violently barked, clanking the black metal bars of her barricade.  I approached her and looked toward the ground.  Nothing.  I then followed Abby’s gaze slightly upward:  two glittering emerald green eyes stared boldly at Abby.  The black cat was perched atop the garden pergola with an equal height to the top of the deck.

According to Lilian Jackson Braun, “Dogs have their day but cats have 365.”  It was clear to both Abby and me that the cat had this day. 

Zut Alors! A Mouse in the House

It was a dismal rain-soaked afternoon when the Englishman and I arrived in Versailles.  A quick walk from the train station brought us to the extravagant palace gates and cobblestone entrance. A stroll through the manicured gardens was out of the question so we headed directly into the palace.  Wandering through lavish rooms and grand halls was everything I had dreamed it would be.  Black and white tile was worn over the years and I carefully stepped along feeling grooves and other imperfections.  Old glass in the windows created a wavy view of the grounds as rain dotted the outside in streaky tears. We noticed a sign for the Restaurant Angelina and discovered a fancy full-service tea room.  

We were seated within thirty minutes and I took a photograph of my husband which had multiple stories woven within.  On the surface, the photograph was a small celebration of our wedding anniversary.  Five years and we were enjoying an afternoon tea in France.  At this moment we were blissfully unaware that in a few hours we would be in the middle of "les gilets jaunes" riots in Paris. Just out of the frame, to my left was a table of cheerful French ladies enjoying lunch.  Behind that table was an American couple who were finishing their meal with a cafetiere of coffee.  Directly behind my husband was the older rumpled French couple who had fascinated us with their antics that started with the maître d’.

The gentleman was impatient and did not enjoy the wait for a table.  He frequently left his wife and roamed the restaurant searching for empty tables which he would then point out to the maître d’.  They were soon escorted to their table and we were seated a short time later.  The Englishman insisted that they were probably quite wealthy, even aristocratic in spite of their appearance.  As the American couple settled the bill and rose to leave, I could see the aristocrats studying the neighboring table.  As soon as the couple had left the room, the older woman darted to the table and inspected the food remnants and shook the coffee pot, hoping for leftovers.  Shocked, I relayed this to my husband and realized that the group of French ladies had also noticed.  We were all gossiping about the aristocrats in our own respective languages.  The aristocrats departed and  suddenly a mouse scurried from it's hiding place beneath their table!  The French ladies laughed and pointed and made sure that we also saw the tiny mouse.  The Englishman decided that it was a direct descendant of the Palace of Versailles and I was simply happy to finally be able to use my Little Mermaid French in a sentence.  Zut alors!

We departed for the train station under the cover of my tiny umbrella.  As dusk approached, the Palace lights reflected off the lingering raindrops creating a magical December in France.

Country Club Dog

There is a country club in Thomson, Georgia that is open to the general public each Friday.  A delicious buffet of southern delights waits at the far end of the dining room.  Fried chicken, catfish, savory meatloaf, creamy mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese and a big pan of bacon sits steaming.  Corn bread and tiny homemade biscuits top off your plate.  Of course, there is the dessert table laden with a few choices and a crystal bowl of freshly whipped cream.

When I turn left off the main highway and then navigate the gently curving road, food is not on my mind.  As I make my right turn and catch a glimpse of the green golf course, I wonder if my friend will be at the door.  I carefully park on the horseshoe drive and walk up the path toward the front door.  It's a cold afternoon and the front porch is darkened with shade.  There is no sign of my friend.  I choose a table by the double windows and happily locate my usual door greeter lounging in a sun patch on the putting green.  I don't blame the old yellow dog.  It's much nicer in the sun.  He rolls on his side, exposing the thick fur, whitened with age on a belly longing for a good rub.  I sip my glass of unsweetened tea, "Yankee Tea" as it's referred to without the pounds of sugar, and wonder if I could get away with calling it a day.  

As I head to my car, I stop to take a picture of the old yellow dog who is still sunning himself at the edge of the green.  He suddenly looks up and I comment to my lunch companion that I think he is posing for me.  He continues to focus in my direction but his gaze is on something behind me.  I forgot my jacket on the back of my chair and the waitress is briskly walking it to me.  Clutching my jacket, I give a brief wave to the dog.  Until next time, I think and head back to my car.