Puppy Le Pew

I woke to the smell of poo.  Charlie slumbered in his dog bed, his head dangling over the cushioned edge and hot morning breath drifted directly into my face.  I carefully lifted him to reveal the small treasure below that had escaped during the night.  "Gross!" I told him as I carried him outside to see if he needed to relieve himself in another way.  He did.

As I was ready to leave for work, I carried him downstairs to my parent's house.  Mom had just returned from her morning walk with Abby and Dolly.  Abby was especially energetic and attempted to greet me with cold nose kisses.  "You were right", Mom declared.  I was confused and it clearly showed on my face.  "The dead animal tail at the top of the road," she continued.  "It was a skunk tail.  It smelled when I picked it up."

I looked at her ungloved hands and asked where she left the tail.

"Oh, I don't have it anymore.  Abby jumped up and snatched it right out of my hands."  Mom threw her hands up as if to demonstrate what had happened.  "She ate it."

My dog that had been kissing me just ate a skunk tail.  I must have looked ill and Mom added, "I did try to get it from her but she clenched her teeth so tightly that I couldn't, so she ate it."  Mom decided that something was wrong with my dog's behavior.

I called my husband to share my morning woes.  In the afternoon, there was a flower delivery to my office.  The card read "Just Because Wieners, Skunks and Mom".

Hello Dillo

 Living in the country has it's benefits.  Abby can stay outside and bark as much as she wants and doesn't disturb anyone...well, except me, because she chooses anytime after midnight to let her inner beast loose.  For several nights in a row, she chased my dreams away, forcing me to vacate my comfy bed and drag her back into the house.  I liked the protection detail but I needed my sleep so much more.  

 One night, I finally brought a flashlight to her backyard party of one.  As I scanned the woods and side property with the light, Abby flung herself at the chain link gate and barked more frantically.  I was fairly certain there was an axe murderer lurking about the property until I finally saw the small armored creature with the quirky ears poking from the top of its head.  

An armadillo prodded and dug clumps of grass in the yard.  It was easy to follow it's crazy "snail trail" through the damp lawn.  It poked the pine straw and kicked it up like gentle tufts of cotton candy. Abby tracked the strange critter, clearly hoping for a breach in the fence.

The Englishman and I surveyed the armadillo damage each morning but it seemed that the animal was making progress out of our yard and hopefully into someone else's.  It's been a few weeks since I have seen the telltale path meandering in the dewy grass of early morning dog walks.  So here's to saying goodbye armadillo and hello sleep!

Loch Ness Llama

You know you are in small-town America when there’s a Dollar General that is your one-stop shop for everything from groceries to tools.  I picked up a few pool floats including one in the style of a llama.  It was a hot southern afternoon and I worked up a sweat getting it inflated but as I slid the ring over my head and floated in the cool, clear water my efforts seemed worth it.

Abby didn’t enjoy the water.  The only time I attempted to coax her into a pool, I was left with claw marks on my arms and a dog that clearly couldn’t swim.  She acquiesced to watching me from the pool’s edge.  I floated, arms wrapped around the llama’s neck.  I suddenly became aware of low growls.  Abby was at attention, staring at the pool creature.  She would come closer and then dart away with a half bark.  I kicked my legs to navigate near the edge and Abby ran out of the pool area and up to the top deck of the house.  She peered through the wrought iron bars, keeping watch over this creature from the deep.

Pass the Pig No More

The pig is gone.

The field has been plowed over and the fence is being replaced.  I've driven past at a speed reserved solely for kidnappers, burglars and Peeping Toms.  No pig.

My mother saw a man in an adjacent field and stopped to ask him what happened to the pig.  He didn't know the pig but said he was an Elliot of the Elliot family.  My mother wasn't sure who the Elliot Family was even though the name of the road was Elliot Road.  

I have an idea of what happened to the pig even if Mr. Elliot does not.

Pass the Pig

With the recent move came a change in my commute scenery.  Winding country roads now led to the interstate.  There was a road with a very short span that I now took briefly.  A barely paved country lane with grass, dandelions and other impressive weeds lined the edges, broken only by a couple of farms.  There was no speed limit sign but common sense dictated a slow tempo.  Each morning I would pass a solitary pig happily rooting in the sun at the back of his pen.  This pig was grand.  Two shades of brown that matched the Georgia red clay.  He had a shelter constructed of plywood and a field of grass, dirt and wildflowers. 

This pig reminded me of another pig from years ago in an infamous jewelry shop in Aiken, SC.  The only time I visited Porky Bradberry’s shop was in the early nineties.  It was a small glass structure in a hexagonal shape.  I was completely aware of the rumors swirling around the owner and the unsolved murder of his wife.  Small towns have a hard time forgetting sordid tales, especially when they believed someone had gotten away with a crime.  As I completed my transaction, I was startled by the enormous pet pig that freely wandered the store.

Each evening on my drive home, I once again looked for the pig, this time on my right, and I was glad to see him in a large fenced area instead of a tiny small town jewelry shop.  I think that if I had any visitors, part of my southern directions would include “once you pass the pig, slow down for the very sharp curve…”

Angel Wings

 When it became clear that Charlie’s vision had greatly diminished and he was attracted to tight corners, the Englishman looked for solutions to help our aging dachshund.  He discovered a company called “Muffin’s Halo” and promptly ordered one.  A fitted jacket with a loop for the leash had Velcro on the back to attach the wings.  These wings also held a halo, which had different loop sizes for variety. 

When Charlie seemed to need a bit of extra help, we attached his wings to the jacket and he no longer bumped into walls or furniture as the flexible halo stopped him.  It wasn't the perfect solution as this determined dog could still push himself into the most interesting places but it has helped a lot.

This is the one instance when I was grateful that one of our dogs “got his wings”.

The Dog Bowl Part II

I have been trying to dispose of two Papasan chairs for years.  The first attempt was in 2016.    They were already faded but Charlie adored the chairs.  I thought about getting new cushions from Pier One but they went out of business during the pandemic and I was out of options.  

In preparation for our move, we packed many items and moved them to our storage unit in town.  This included the two Papasan chairs.  The Englishboy listed them for sale and someone was interested in the chairs but never came to buy them.  I was at work when my mother and sister emptied the storage unit months later.  I arrived at my new house to see the chairs displayed on my back porch.  I told my mother to donate them to the Goodwill as soon as possible.  But then Abby started sleeping in the chairs.  She curled up during the day for naps in the sunshine and she was there at night on guard outside my bedroom door.  

Me: 0 Papasan Chairs: 2 for the win.

Neighborhood Watch

 My sister and I made a trip to my old house to pack more boxes.  We parked our cars side-by-side with the trunks open to make it easier to carry the bulky packages from the house.  As we stood in the driveway, I noticed the fluffy, white Bichon Frise from three doors down sniffing the grass near my mailbox.  I pointed the dog out to my sister.  It was then that I noticed two bare legs from behind the privacy row of cedar trees on the property border…near the mailbox.  There was also four furry legs visible from the green branches.  

Suddenly a Labradoodle was tossed from the tree line and into the corner of my yard.  The dog landed with all four legs stretched widely on the grass and a surprised look on his face.  I pointed out the Labradoodle from three doors down as the legs, attached to the neighbor, raced into my yard to catch the dog.  He was holding a leash and yelled “Don’t worry!  He’s friendly!”  I called back that I knew he was friendly because he had made many trips to my yard.  The Labradoodle looked confused as the man clipped the leash to the dog he had just tossed and pretended to struggle and pull him back to his yard.

It’s great to have an effective neighborhood watch where we all look out for each other.  I made a mental note to keep an eye on this particular neighbor from three doors down.  We can have an official “Watch Party” and I can work on Keeping up with the Neighbor.

Chase + Puddles

Chase has had many cat friends in his life but none has inspired him like Puddles.  

The Englishboy returned to Georgia with two cats:  Puddles and Mr. Kitty.  Puddles was a beautiful, petite special needs cat with a form of dwarfism and down’s syndrome.  Each morning, Chase peered through the gate to the downstairs area, and waited for Puddles to greet him. 

When we returned from work, we could see evidence of dried dog drool at the closed door.  Chase had lingered on the carpet runner for the occasional cat paw to slide beneath the door through the day.  

When the cats were permitted to visit, with Abby safely banned from the house, Puddles would search for Chase and he would follow her everywhere like a lovesick puppy.  And one evening, after watching this, I realized that the two companions truly formed the essence of my blog’s name:  Chasing Puddles.

18

In the summer of 2015, I was at home, sick and cuddled up in front of the TV with Chase.  He was 12 and 1/2 years old and I began to wonder how much longer we would be together.  I grabbed my phone and conducted a search on the lifespan of an English Setter.  I gasped when I saw the answer.  "You are already past your expiration date!" I declared and hugged my dog a little tighter.  I wasn't ready to let go.

I was reminded several times about Brandy, the English Setter in my life for a couple of years when I lived outside of Charleston.  She far surpassed the statistics that were flashing on my phone.  

Life continued and milestones were reached.  Each Christmas, I would catch Chase gazing trance-like at the lights and ornaments of the tree or sleeping sweetly in front of the fireplace.  Each January 28th was a birthday celebration of yet another year.  And we all slowed down just a little bit.  Walks became shorter.  Squirrels no longer held his attention but this dog sure could tell time.  Meals were required promptly at 6:30AM and 6PM.  Bedtime was 10PM sharp and he enjoyed his heating pad. 

I don't know why he has exceeded all expectations but I am grateful every day.  When I began this journey with him in 2003, he was five weeks old.  I hoped to give him a long and happy life and I believe that my goal was accomplished.  I'm lucky to have loved him nearly his whole life...18 and counting.