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.

Whistle Stop - Not!

I have an almost 16-year-old deaf English setter, Chase.  Joining him is the 12-year-old dachshund, Charlie, with arthritis in all four legs who cannot run, but he can hear perfectly fine.  Completing my dog pack is the 9-year-old itchy English Shepherd, Abby, with a t-shirt who must be on a leash because she can still run...and hear.

We have a routine.  In the afternoon when I return home, we all end up in the front yard for the dogs to do their business and stretch their legs.  They might acknowledge other neighbors who walk by with their dogs.  They might bark.  Charlie might hobble in their direction for a few inches.  But the one day when I lose my voice:  Charlie charges up the driveway after a neighbor walking her black lab puppy.  I can't yell.  I can't catch up because I wasn't prepared for this miracle.  I can whistle.  Yes ,I can still whistle!  I whistle.  The lab turns and looks at me.  Charlie continues his charge.  He refuses to make eye contact.  I whistle again.  He runs into the street.  I drag Abby who has just perfected "the squat" and she leaves deep ruts in the front lawn as she protests her unfinished business.  The neighbor praises her well-behaved puppy and tries to have a conversation with me.  Apparently there is no universal sign for "I've lost my voice" as I clutch at my throat before realizing that this is the sign for choking.  I give a feeble wave and attempt to pick up Charlie but he scampers away and heads for the back door.  I push Charlie and Abby through the gate and realize that Chase has ended up at the front door.  I need an out of order sign for me and hope that I find my voice very soon.

When One Door Closes Another One Opens

Ogden Nash once said, "A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of."  For me this became what I was perpetually on the wrong side of.  

One evening, I left my office in a rush and also left my house key behind.  I was an hour away, sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot when I realized my dilemma.  I called the Englishman who was working out of town.  I had two options according to him:  drive a two hour round trip at 9 o'clock at night to retrieve my keys or see if one of the windows in the house was open.  I tried the windows first with no luck and then I proceeded to my own plan:  the dog door.

During one of the renovations, we added a dog door.  We were dubious that Chase could fit through it even though the door was supposedly the largest size.  He had no problems with the door but I wasn't so sure that I could fit through it.  Abby exited the door and stared at me, hopeful for a treat.  I removed my coat and placed my cell phone through the door and inside the house.  I really hoped that I wouldn't get stuck and need to call 911.  I lay on my side and stretched my bottom arm through the narrow opening and launched myself inside with my other arm.  I was halfway in and wished my arm was three feet longer so I could reach the door knob.  I was suddenly attacked by wet dog kisses on my face and Abby was on the outside trying to force herself into the opening with me.  Quickly, I flipped on my back and gracefully pushed myself along the tile floor like a back stroke Olympian.  I was inside!  Proud of myself, albeit a bit bruised, I called the Englishman and told him of my success.  I vowed to hide a key outside the house but procrastination is my middle name.

Weeks later, I returned my rental car to a dealership that was an hour away and left the key to my house on the ring.  I didn't want to tell the Englishman or anyone.  I didn't even want the dogs to know but they figured something was up when once again, I used their door instead of mine.

Beauty and the Beast

I took Abby on our typical walk while it was still light outside.  She wore her hot pink American Apparel hoodie that had a rip in the sleeve and I was too lazy to put a different one on her for the sake of appearances.  I grabbed two doggy bags for the journey.  Several feet from our front door, Abby squatted to do her business and I figured that I would pick it up later.  We made it to the sidewalk and on the border of our property and the neighbor's, she squatted once more.  This time, I dutifully picked it up.  Since our walk had just begun, I didn't want to carry the bag with me.  I eyed my mailbox and dragged Abby toward it, hiding the bag in the tall weeds on the back side of the post.  I turned around to continue the walk and was met with resistance:  Abby was once more in the squatting position.  I had no idea how one slender dog could store so much poo inside.  Not risking the chance of a fourth maneuver, I decided to handle it later and dragged her down the walkway toward the library.  There were cars in the parking lot but no one was outside as we walked by the front doors.  At the tennis courts, I could discern the out of town accents from the players on the courts as they took in the beautiful Spring weather.  We returned to the library which is where I saw him.  

This wasn't the first time I noticed the glorious specimen of a male.  On many evenings as I walked around town with Abby, we passed each other on opposite sides of the street, never once meeting.  Oh, he was 100% English of this I was certain. He was black with a beautiful thick white mane and a perfectly centered white streak from his head to his nose. What a glorious English Shepherd and he sat rigid and obedient next to his owner on the library bench.  He refused to make eye contact with us.  Abby pined for him, pulled toward him.  I tried to use the bushes as camouflage and avoid all contact but she protested with loud whines.  I heaved forward dragging my country dog with the off center white stripe, raggedy pink hoodie hiding her itchy spots and thin coat that was slowly growing back.  I struggled with my Pretty Woman while the Richard Gere of dogs ignored her.  She was my Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink.  The dog from the wrong side of the tracks who was drawn to the posh stud from the right family. "Oh look at that dog!" shouted a group across the street.  They pointed to the Lion King who seemed to sit just a tiny bit taller.  "And there's another one!" cried another person and pointed to Abby as I pulled her down the street.  

My cheeks felt hot and were probably the same color as her hoodie.  I retrieved my hidden treasure bag from the mail box, took care of the piles left behind by Abby and immediately ordered another hoodie from American Apparel in hot pink.  I had one article of clothing that was about to be retired. The next time we met, Oh Beautiful One, Abby would be the Beauty and not the Beast.

Deaf But Not Dumb

For a dog born with fantastic hearing, Chase did not take his hearing loss with grace.  By the time we noticed the loss, it was mostly gone.  The high pitched dog whistle did not help, yelling louder did nothing and eventually I was grateful for the extensive dog training that he had gone through when he was a puppy which combined hand signals with voice commands.  

At first, Chase was quite distressed by the change in hearing.  He would snooze in the kitchen while I cooked, the smells of our Blue Apron meal gently lulling him.  If I left the room, he would bark until I returned and invited him to follow with a quick hand motion.  He would easily startle, especially if he did not see someone approach him.  He would see the other dogs bark at the front door and join in, often barking in the wrong direction.  It took months, maybe even a year, but we finally worked out a routine.  

Our dog sitter was also hearing impaired and when we first met her, she asked for a demonstration of the hand commands that Chase understood.  We felt relieved to find a dog person that had a deeper understanding of a lack of hearing.

I think Chase could read lips.  He certainly understood when I said "No" which was more often than I would prefer.  I also believed he could "hear himself" in his own head.  He didn't whine lowly anymore working himself louder and louder.  He instead started with a loud bark that only increased in volume and intensity.  I couldn't tell him to use his inside voice any longer but he did understand the "palm up" in his direction. 

My favorite time of day was when I returned home after work.  Abby greeted me at the deck gate and Charlie was close behind.  They could hear my car as it entered the neighborhood, perhaps even further away.  Chase, however, slumbered away in his crate that had a custom memory foam mattress.  I left the kitchen door open and waited for the smell of fresh air to drift into the house to wake him gently. He was just as stubborn without hearing as he was when he had it.  If he didn't want to obey, he refused to make eye contact with me.  In his mind, no hand signal, no need to comply.  Just like the old days.

Cautionary Tails and Tales

It was dark when I decided to take Abby for her walk.  This presented challenges as I only had two pockets in my jacket.  I needed several dog bags because Abby was legendary for the "triple play" bowel movement and I had no intentions of repeating the "pretend to clean up after her" move.  I also wanted to carry my cell phone and a flashlight.  We set off, unsuccessfully sneaking out of the house while Chase and Charlie protested loudly at the front windows.  

Abby walked obediently beside me with just the occasional light tug to sniff a few spots along the way.  I eyed her hoodie and wondered if she would allow me to shove a few dog bags into the pocket on the back of it.  We followed our normal route:  Down the sidewalk, across the street, through the library parking lot, across the front of the library and out the side of that parking lot.  Before I crossed the next street I eyed the tennis courts which was my typical path, or the small wooded path and picnic area which was usually reserved for last, after I circled the courts.  

I opted to go through the woods first, crossing the aging wooden bridge because I could see a lot of people playing tennis on the well-lit courts and I reasoned that they could help should I scream.  You know, from any murderers lurking behind the trees.  Or in the bathrooms...I picked up our pace and decided a nice jog was in order.  Abby and I were through the woods, over the bridge and past the bathrooms in record time.  Slowing the pace, I walked around the tennis courts and tried to interest Abby in a stray yellow ball.  While this was Charlie's favorite activity, Abby seemed unimpressed.  

Ball abandoned, we headed up the sidewalk-less street and into the side of the library parking lot.  As I reached the first sidewalk, an older SUV careened into the empty lot and parked at an angle next to a utility building.  I could see the face of a small child peering out the passenger seat window.  A couple of people jumped out of the vehicle.  Abby tensed and planted her four paws on the sidewalk, pulling back from me and staring at them.  I was sure they were up to no good.  Maybe getting rid of a body?  I needed to reach the front of the library where I knew there was a security camera.  I dragged Abby who was now growling.  It took some effort:  lunge and drag, chastise the dog, repeat.  Finally I was in front of the camera.  Good.  The moment was documented, just in case.  I managed to pull Abby across the street to the opposite sidewalk.  I heard car doors slam and the vehicle quickly left, driving in the opposite direction.  Relieved, I allowed Abby to stare at the red taillights until they disappeared from view.  We headed back to the house where Chase and Charlie waited on the deck to protest as soon as we were spotted.  Safely back in the house I vowed to cut back on the true-crime podcasts as I passed out treats to my three-pack.

Keeping up with the Neighbor?

It was cold for Georgia.  Bitterly cold.  I had just enough daylight to take Abby for a walk.  She greeted me at the front door and I quickly shoved a couple of bags into my pockets and attached the leash to her collar, hoping that the other dogs wouldn't notice.  No such luck.  I looked down to see Charlie at my feet.  I shoved him into his Sherpa coat and found his leash.  Chase hadn't woken and I pushed both out the door.  

Abby and Charlie froze on the pathway.  The cold penetrated their paws.  Undaunted I pulled both across the front lawn, grass crunching beneath my boots.  Charlie sat down refusing to budge.  I looked back at the front windows.  Chase still hadn't realized we were outside and I wanted to keep it that way.  Three dogs were difficult to walk on my own.  I plucked Charlie from the grass and tucked him under my left arm like a football.  I yanked Abby's leash and managed to set the pace as we reached the sidewalk.  I was determined to walk these dogs, even if that meant carrying a twenty-pound oversized dachshund the entire trip.

Three doors down I saw the male occupant of the house poking around the trunk of his car.  Holding back my first thoughts that he had a body in it, I quickened my pace and avoided eye contact.  I hadn't seen his wife in a while, after all.  Reflexively I did a side eye in his direction.  He was no longer in the trunk.  He was now leaned against it and wantonly stared at me.  To be fair, all three of us were dressed in a cacophony of colors.  I was in a burgundy plaid wool jacket with bits of my pink puffy vest visible, Abby was in a bright blue American Apparel retro hoodie and Charlie's beige Sherpa coat oozed out from under my arm like rising bread dough.  I practiced speed walking until I was at the end of the street and out of view.  

I was mildly annoyed.  No other neighbor was outside on this blustery winter day and serial killers really ought to clean out their trunks after midnight under the cover of darkness.  I crossed the street to the library and Charlie kicked me, the signal that he was willing to walk on his own.  We did the usual walk but cut it short and returned to the neighborhood on the opposite side of the street.  I hoped the neighbor had retreated to the comfort of his own home.  No such luck.  Not only was he in his front yard, he had one pint sized Bichon Frise tucked under his left arm, clearly copying my earlier style, and was tossing a ball to his other Bichon Frise.  I was surprised because I thought that this was a one-dog household.  Both sets of canine eyes followed our sidewalk movements and the neighbor paused the ball tossing.  Charlie and Abby watched the neighbor as I led them briskly away.

Charlie and Abby were eager to return to the house and I was equally happy to be inside, doors locked and safe from any neighbor who was trying to keep up with the canines from three doors down.

Up in the Tree Tops

The Tree Top Walkway at Kew Gardens sounded beautiful.  The Englishman and I were in the gardens for the entire day and I was determined to find it.  This took a lot of effort because even with the map of the expansive Victorian gardens, I seemed to be the one navigating.  Map reader I am not. Directionally challenged to perfection, unable to distinguish left from right unless I form an "L" with my left hand, I still clutched the map with no assistance from the Englishman.  

Eventually we stumbled upon the rusted steel structure.  After climbing 118 stairs, I gingerly stood upon the platform and looked down through the holes in the flooring.  The Englishman bounced ahead, pointing out birds, flora and fauna in the tree tops.  I followed carefully behind him, feeling a bit ill and counting the missing rivets in the pathway.  It was a long way down.  The metal was really rusty. I was unimpressed with the "rustic" description in my guide book.  The Englishman turned around and watched as I cautiously stood on the metal frame between two panels.  I tapped the tip of my shoe on the panel in front, testing it's stability.  The Englishman laughed and hopped like a rabbit over the next several panels.  I could feel the structure sway.  "Where is the inspection plate?" I asked him.  "Aren't they required to have one?"  I was too far to turn around so I had no choice but to proceed forward.  I weighed the option of running or crawling and decided to stick with my toe tapping method to ensure that each panel was safe to stand on.  I didn't take a single picture.  I didn't dare.

We finally reached the stairs and elevator.  I opted for the elevator and quickly stepped inside the enclosed chamber. The Englishman asked me why I bothered to climb all the way to the top to bird watch when all I did was look down? I responded with my own question, "Where is the safety inspection plate in the elevator?".  There wasn't one.  The Englishman sighed and the elevator jerked and swayed as it slowly creeped down.  I was grateful when we reached the bottom and I realized that I didn't need to have my head in the clouds.  I simply appreciated being grounded.

Memories of Molly: A Haiku

Soft silver-tinged ears
Wide paw lifting to my knee
Molly says hello.

Insta Dog Meals

My parents bought me an Insta-Pot for a Christmas present this year.  I fought them on it for two years.  They kept telling me how simple it was to use and finally wore me down a week before Christmas when, after days of minimal sleep due to work and decorating and wrapping, I caved.  It was sitting on my doorstep a day later which made me a bit suspicious that it might have already been ordered.  I pulled it inside and pushed it under the tree.

The day after Christmas, hopeful for some support from my sister who was visiting, I opened the box and pulled out the pot and all of the components that came with it.  The manual was thick and I was unwilling to read it.  I pouted and made sad eyes but my sister was built of sterner stuff and refused to help.  I pulled out the crockpot and made dog food the old fashioned way.  Eight hours later, it was ready.

Finally, the day...err night...had arrived.  I had forgotten to taken the ground lamb out of the freezer that morning.  I eyed my silver and shiny Insta-Pot.  I gathered my brick of lamb and layered other ingredients into the pot.  I did a quick check on Pinterest and located someone who was already making dog food in the exact model and I borrowed the settings that she used.  I pushed a couple of buttons, and muttered a prayer while Chase and Abby retreated to the next room, cowering in a corner.  I had twenty-three minutes to waste so I cleaned the kitchen.  

The time went by quickly.  I wasn't sure that I should open the pot right away and had visions of overheated cars on the side of the road.  I knew, from experience, that you did not open the radiator cap until the car had cooled down.  I thought it might hold true for this gleaming contraption.  I sighed and pulled out the manual.  I needed to wait 10-40 minutes longer.  That was about as specific as it got.  I washed and dried the floor, did a load of laundry and applied a mud mask to my face which required 15 minutes of drying time.  I finally felt brave enough to untwist the cover and peek inside.  I worried that if something went horribly wrong, I would have to crawl down the hallway and into the bedroom to blindly call 911 from my cell phone.  Holding my breath, I looked inside.  What I discovered was perfectly cooked lamb, rice and veggies with a bit of a banana smell since I tossed three of those in there.  Dog food cooking time slashed.  No gunk stuck to the sides of the pot.  Easy cleanup.  Overactive imagination.  I should have listened to my parents sooner.

It's a Nod Dog

The Englishman and I were enjoying a cup of tea on our new love seat.  A record was playing on the turntable and the sun was streaming through the windows on the beautiful Saturday afternoon.  Chase and Charlie were snoozing on their dog beds and Abby was staring at me blankly from the door.  

"What?" I asked her.  She cocked her head to one side and approached with slow deliberation.  She placed her head in my lap and looked up with her chocolate brown eyes.  I stroked her head and reached for my tea.  She nudged my hand.  "What?" I repeated.  She allowed me to scratch her ears for a few seconds and then nudged me again.  "Do you need to go out?" I asked.  Abby lifted her head and nodded it up and down as an answer to my question.  I got up and followed her to her leash and took her outside.  Indeed, she did have yard needs to fulfill and I had my first experience with a nodding dog.

Playing Possum

I needed a battery replaced in my key fob and the only business in town to do it was the locksmith.  The building was old and the site of a former restaurant.  The black and white floor tiles and curved counter of the soda fountain bar added a sense of nostalgia.  A parrot greeted customers from the corner with shy shouts of "hello" and avoided eye contact.  A curling paper sign announces the bird is not friendly and will bite.  

My favorite part of the store is the beautiful mixed cattle dog with wavy mottled fur and the palest ice blue eyes I'd ever seen.  I have enjoyed Possum's brief companionship over the past five years and he enjoyed a head scratch and belly rub.  When he heard me, he greeted me with a nudge of his pink and grey nose.  I scratched his ears while speaking with the store owner.  When I stopped, Possum plopped down on the floor and rolled onto his back, exposing his underside to me.  Quickly, I crouched to the floor and rubbed his belly while Possum's head lolled back and forth over my black patent leather wedges.  I bid Possum adieu and reluctantly returned to work, wishing that I could have a work "possum", too.  I was certain that my own three pack would be highly suspicious from the fur on my pants that I had been playing possum today.

The Nose Knows

My morning breakfast consisted of eggs and Trader Joe's chicken maple sausages.  Three dogs waited patiently, yearning for a taste.  I didn't have a bit left and I settled in to finish my coffee on the sunporch.  Abby snoozed next to me on the couch, her head on my lap. 

Chase circled the room, stopping in front of me with each round.  I patted him and he left the room, pausing to see if I was watching him.  Several times he repeated this routine.  Finally, it occurred to me that he wanted me to follow.  I did and was led to the kitchen and he pointed his nose at the counter.  There was still a sausage link on a piece of paper towel.  I cut it into three sections and each dog received a treat.

This year we realized that Chase was completely deaf from advanced age.  In the past, I would tell him "show me" and he would lead me to the door, the water bowl or the counter.  While it's taken some time, we have all worked out new ways to communicate and this was his version of "showing me".  There is clearly nothing wrong with his sense of smell and for Chase, the nose always knows!

Oh Lollipop!

It was two days after Halloween.  My yard decorations were packed away, the skeletons were back in the closet.  I returned home to three dogs dancing at the door, eager to go outside into the inky, moonless yard.  I broke my rule with Abby and did not put her on a leash.  I praised her for how well she was behaving.  I peered closely and noticed as she sniffed an azalea bush, she was giving me the side-eye.  Soon the side-eye turned into stealthy side walking.  Just as I was preparing to step forward and snatch her, she made her move, bolting into the blackness of the yard.  

A mostly black dog with a black hoodie is hard to find.  I caught movement near the street and I blazed toward her in my high heels, soon running smack into her side.  Abby had abruptly stopped and I could her crunching something in her mouth.  I worried that she had a chicken bone or other unsavory object in her mouth and began to pat her snout with my hand.  I found a stick.  A stick?  It wasn't wooden.  It was a lollipop stick.  I tugged at the stick and she tugged back.  A battle ensued and soon after I was rewarded with the stick and she still had the candy.  I looped my hand through her collar and pulled her toward the house.  She happily complied, all the while crunching and munching on her leftover Halloween treat.

I took away a valuable lesson in keeping her leashed and she took away a lollipop.  Abby 1 Me 0.

Old Dog, New Tricks

It was ten o'clock at night and the Englishman was already in bed.  I had just settled in for an episode of American Horror Story when I heard a knock on the front door.  I quickly muted the television and listened intently.  Another quick but distinct knock came again.  I looked behind me and could clearly see Chase sleeping soundly on the couch.  He was the only door knocker in the house.  Charlie was at my feet and didn't react to the knock.  I crept from my chair to the fire place which shielded me from view of the two large windows on either side of the front door.  I had a decision to make:  lunge to the right and into the dining room where I had left my concealed weapon or dive to the left and into my bedroom in order to wake the Englishman and have him take care of things.  I knew that if I woke him and it was nothing, I would be subjected to his version of the night at parties and family gatherings for years to come.  Another loud knock could be heard on the door.

I took a deep breath and gracefully used my limited gymnastics skills to enter the dining room with cat-like stealth.  Weapon in hand, I recalled episodes of Charlie's Angels and Law and Order: SVU and peeked bravely around the corner where I glimpsed a fluffy black tail in the window.  A dog tail.  Abby's tail.  Relieved, I opened the door and praised her.  She pranced into the house, panting heavily.  Abby must have exited the house via the dog door and returned via the front door.  I pondered over how long she had been gone, where she went and what she did to cause her to drink the entire dog bowl of water.  I returned to finish my program and hoped that the only person she terrified on this dark and spooky night was me.

You Can Ring My Bell

The dogs are always on alert with the comings and goings in the neighborhood.  They loathe skateboarders coasting along the sidewalk. Mothers pushing strollers evoke snarls.  Runners, joggers and speed walkers require violent barking and saliva drips down the front windows.  They can watch me walk out the front door to the mailbox but as soon as I turn around, it’s like I transformed into someone else and the clamor begins.  Selling Girl Scout Cookies?  Oh no you don’t!  Trick or Treat?  No, no and no.  Meter reader, pest control or any service worker? Nope, nada, no way Jose.  

And then there are the Mormons.

They approach from the street.

They walk to the front door.

They ring the bell.

Silence of the dogs.

I open the door and all three push past me and hang out with the two young men dressed in crisp white shirts, perfectly pressed black pants with shiny official name tags.  The dogs offer paws, heads and bellies.  They sit nicely next to their newfound pack as I listen to the young Mormons in quiet awe.  They glow a bit and I’m not sure that it is simply the summer heat and humidity.  It could be a halo.  Maybe something only the dogs can see.  Every six weeks or so, the names on the tags might change but the behavior of the three-pack is always the same when the Mormons come calling.

Dear Abby

Thank you for reminding me to keep my kitchen counters clear of things.  Even if I believe it is out of reach, nothing is ever out of your grasp.  Including a wicker basket of twenty fresh eggs.  I appreciate that you made sure no trace of egg remained and I learned so much about what happens when a dog consumes twenty raw eggs.  I also learned that I was not the first person to use a search engine when their dog ate twenty raw eggs.  Some ate more.

Thank you for helping me each morning with my upper body workout.  I sure wish you would tell me why you are reluctant to do your morning business in the backyard but my arms are becoming quite sculpted by carrying sixty pounds down two flights of deck stairs at 6:00 AM.  I am certain that this also is a great conversation starter for the neighbors.

Thank you for protecting me from every vehicle that passes us as we walk on the sidewalk in town.  I cannot imagine how I ever managed to walk in my town without the added benefit of your snarling and lunging.  It’s probably best that it’s hotter now and we restrict our walks to night.  You, know, like midnight.

Thank you for enjoying Charlie’s old toys, especially the ones that he had forgotten.  Of course he is interested now and the two of you seem to have such a great time tearing them to bits.

Thank you for being tall enough that you check to make sure I’m still alive if I haven’t roused from my sleep.  Weekends aren’t for sleeping in after all and you are so sweet for making sure I don’t miss any part of the day.

Thank you for encouraging me to pay attention to you.  I love the wet toys you gently place in my lap and when you steal my blanket, well that just helps me to get up faster, right?

Thank you for insisting that you are a family member and not a dog.  You absolutely should sit on the couch or chair even when we remove the cushions.

Thank you for your joy at bath time which is twice weekly for you due to your romping and rolling in the yard (after I carry you down).  I’m not sure if my favorite part of this routine is the dragging you down the hallway, the lifting you and attempts at fitting you through the bathroom door as you spread all four legs as wide as possible, or the heavy leaning you do once in the tub which inevitably gives me a bath, too.

Thank you for chewing up a Duracell battery last night.   Double A to be exact.  And we learned something.  You aren’t the first dog to do this.  So I washed your mouth out, checked that tongue and you got a nice bowl of milk.

Thank you for teaching the duck and chickens that there are dangers lurking in the yard.  It’s important that they stay vigilant and not become too relaxed.  It’s always better to stay at home, isn’t it?

Thank you for catching the flies that get trapped in the house.  It’s been such a very long time since we had a dog help out with fly catching and I do enjoy watching your efforts.

Thank you for keeping the squirrels out of the yard and ultimately out of the bird feeders.  I really do believe that one day you will catch that squirrel.  You are a flash of black and white across a great expanse of green.

Thank you for enjoying endless amounts of tennis ball tossing.  You are the only dog I have ever had that brings the ball back to me, placing it just so in my hand.

Thank you for catching my elbow and bumping it upward with your head.  I once had a black and white dog who did that to me and I miss him terribly. 

Thank you for being a dog that can be content to lie at my feet while I watch a movie.  I knew you felt at home the night you turned around the requisite three times with your favorite shark toy in your mouth and as you plopped down on the dog bed, a sigh was heard above the volume of the television.