THINGS I TRY TO REMEMBER

No matter how bad you think things are, they can always get worse.

Even if your life is falling apart that's no excuse for eating and eating and eating and eating except it makes you feel better somehow.

If you leave your Bassets uncrated while you run two hours worth of errands you better be prepared for what awaits when you walk in the door.

The nice thing about the internet is that someone will always send you something that makes you laugh.

Ulcers are seasonal. And they make you puke without warning.

The Atkins Diet does not include one item of food I have stuffed in my mouth tonight.

No matter how bad things seem, a Basset can always find time to nap.

Conley is the best dog in the world to sleep with. Even Cooper cannot match his cuddlyness. (Cooper stretches out, kicking you off the bed.)

Some horses are almost like dogs. They will do whatever you ask.

But not as cute.

GLASSWORKS GOES HOME

The exhibit is over. There are still some glass pieces at the Gallery but the big stuff left. It was great fun, some work, some frustrations and certainly successful. I loved being part of it, and I loved feeling that I was involved in something that not only benefitted the Gallery, but the Marble City Glassworks and even brought people to town who had not been here before.
I learned a lot about using frozen Hors d'oeuvres in a place with no oven. (Never re-heat them in the microwave: they turn to greasy mush. Mmmm yum.)

The treasure hunt was kind of a bust--only 5 people-- but someone did win it and then stayed to chat and buy and that was nice.

Chris (in the red shirt) and Matt (the other guy) discuss hanging the  bar to hold the pendulum lights.

Matt hooks wires to pipes above the false ceiling to hold the light bar. You couldn't get me up there on that ladder for any amount of money. Well, ok maybe for a very large amount... but you get the idea. This is what the Gallery looked like at the beginning of set-up.

And here is that section with the light bar up and the ornaments and one of Matt's "Bursts" in the foreground. Meanwhile, over in the windows, Chris was setting up his birds:

And finally it was all together, and it was 4pm and time to open the doors, and it was lovely.

Now the company has gone back to Knoxville and we take up our usual lives again. If it warms up just a little I can get the front garden cleaned out and the ornamental grass cut down: maybe I can find the energy to clean out the garden garden and repair or even replace the fencing with something more attractive and dog-proof than what I have. The garden is so pretty when it really comes in...my lilies are up in front and on the south side. I am so pleased that I planted them last year: it is a huge improvement over the junk that had taken over that spot.

Anyway happy spring. And if you need any glass, check out
http://www.marblecityglassworks.com/

They do custom orders, too.

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WHOOPS

I was doing a blog about the glass exhibit but there will be a delay while Google gets it's act together and my photos show up on the page, too.

DAY ZEEEERO

I have been prattling on about the Glass exhibit for my son and Matt, his partner. They are finally here, not here here, but in town. I put them up at hotel since trying to find sleeping quarters in a house with three Bassets and a Belgian is always a problem, the upstairs not....shall we say, suitable.
The Village followed through and put an ad for the exhibit and the "treasure hunt" on this huge LED sign at the edge of the Village. That is, actually, their glass in the photo. So that was very nice, and then yesterday to my shock

there was a page and a half spread in the local paper about the exhibit.

Chris and Matt got here about 9 last night and at 10:57 (I looked at the clock because I had called the hotel to tell them the guys would be late checking in)  they had unloaded literally tons of glass. I usually crate the dogs about 9 or 9:30 and am pretty much ready to at least crawl into bed and read by 10 or 10:30, altho the longer it stays light outside the later I stay up. In the summer I stay up, in other words, later than in the winter. But I am here to tell you, I am dead on my feet today. I have had two cups of coffee and I have to be desperate to drink coffee in that way.

Anyway of course they were at the house last night, Nigel was terrified and hid, Llewis was not sure because Nigel was afraid, Conley was all over both of them and Cooper never shut up barking, I could have beaned him one.
Then this morning at 5 I got up and began heating the goodies. Cooper hates the oven because experience dictates that often the smoke alarms go off and he is even more traumatized by the smoke alarms than he was by have one leg amputated. I wouldn't let him out because it was too early and cold to have him outside for hours, refusing to come back in the house, so to his dismay I crated him. When I was done I let him outside and 45 minutes later lured him within grabbing distance with a mini pig-in-a-blanket (which I think he threw up later).

Now all is quiet while we wait for the gentlemen to awaken and decide to get moving.
But the dogs know something is going on.

                                      Cooper not so much.

CLEANING DAY

My son and his business partner Matt, and possibly Matt's daughter are coming tomorrow, late, for the Glass Art Exhibit that I have been begging people to attend.
That means I have to clean.
I only clean under extreme duress. Unlike my Mother, I am good at cleaning anything except dog harnesses, saddles and bridles. Crates, crate pads, food bowls....not ours-- the dog's.
Laundry gets done when there is nothing left to wear that even faintly appears to be clean, or we have somewhere we have to go that requires a modicum of middle-classism.
I have no shoes that are not sneakers.
At least none that fit.

Ok so now I have to clean. I have cleaned the kitchen counters with bleach, thrown out a buncha things that we were "saving" and was horrified at the bits and pieces of junk I found hidden beneath the toaster, behind the crockpot, under the knife block. I felt as if I should perhaps give thanks to Mother Nature for not blessing me with bugs. I have vowed to keep the counters cleaner.
Then I scoured the sink. And I mean scoured. My God, they're stainless steel! I thought they were some kind of mossy metal I had not encountered before.
I have not done the stove yet, but I will-- that is something I do, believe it or not, fairly regularly. I have to wipe the mud off the fridge, as well. And off the washing machine, dryer, and cabinet that grace the side entrance to the house.
So that you may understand, I will provide photos of my backyard at the moment:

The result of this is that the dogs dash through the water on their way to the house, where they jump on the back door:

This is the back door. There are four dogs that do this. The hope of trapping each one as he comes in and clean feet, bellies, ears and sometimes heads is not high. They come in and shake. Hence the need to continually clean the dryer, the washing machine, the big freezer und so weiter.
In case you are having trouble grasping the depth of this problem, this is what our muck boots look like :

So I am cleaning, hoping that my son and his business partner are perhaps unobservant (Unlikely for an artist) or SOMETHING that causes them to overlook whatever I miss, and there will be quite a bit.
And of course, the one day I would welcome phone calls, emails, meetings,
even cooking---there are no interruptions. DRAT!!!

SUNLIGHT!!!!!!!

There is sunlight! Natural sunlight, from the sun. At first I thought I surely must be wrong after days of grey, solid lead grey everything: sky, land, thoughts...
But no: it is really true. The sun is out. The birds are everywhere. But it is not spring yet even though the Sandhills have gone over, the geese before them (the Sandhills are not finished, I don't think) and the robins are back. I know it is spring when the Juncos leave.
As much as I enjoy the Juncos and their attitudes, I am always relieved to notice the lack of them. It means it is truly spring.

The yard is undergoing some involuntary changes.  There are tarps covering piles of leftover wood everywhere. The dogs, playing mountain goat, climb on these.

This morning there was a thin sheen of frost on the deck, enough to slip on without seeing it, which I did, clutching my camera. Cooper leaped easily onto the picnic table-- his favored spot, then was smart enough to see that with three legs he was going to have trouble getting down. I lifted him off the table.

The Bassets immediately began exploring the tarps and the places they had not been yesterday.
Conley gave me a lesson in humility:

These are pictures of what I wish Conley would look like in the show ring. Head up, tail up, animated, assertive.....

This is closer to what I get. What a little skunk he is.
And the sun is out which means Llewis will spend the whole day outside, following the sun. He loves to sunbathe.

The birds were out too: A woodpecker.

And a raucous Blue Jay.

And of course the Supervisor, watching it all:

                                             Happy Spring.

HELPING MOM COPE

 I was very shaken by the news of the death of Elder Clara, and while I was talking to Debbie on the phone that night I,  of course, began to cry. The dogs had been sound asleep, but gradually the sound of my distress began to filter through the Basset and Belgian dreams.

Cooper was the first (as usual) to determine that Mom was in need of comfort and cuddles, and as fast as he could, came out and buried his face in my lap, climbed up to lick my face-- it always makes him crazy when I am upset--and keep in mind I am still on the phone at this point, with Cooper bumping my arms and trying sit on my lap, wagging furiously: "It's ok it's ok whatever it is it's OK: I'm here, Mom, I'm right here. Stop now. Whatever it is I'll take care of it.  We're ok we're together." His efforts, always slightly frantic, make me laugh...

Three feet away on the bed, Conley is watching this. Hey wait! That's MY job. And he is off the bed and pushing Cooper out of the way to grab at my arms, climb up to reach my face to lick, bouncing up and down on his back feet. He nearly jerks the phone out of my hand: I am still trying to talk to Debbie...
"mom!Mom! I'm here!! See I'm here! What's wrong? We're not out of biscuits are we? It'll be fine. I'm here!"

And it makes me laugh until.....

I hear the first ominous, low, very agitated growl emanating from an insulted Belgian.

Now I am sitting in chair in a little cubbyhole, between the printer (which doesn't work) and the computer and the dog crates. I have nowhere to go, I am trying to talk to a fairly hysterical friend who is driving a car and nearly blind with tears, and I have two dogs facing off virtually on my lap. Cooper, easily offended by the Bassets, is growing angrier. Conley, who knows perfectly well what he is doing, continues to push Cooper back and I now see his hackles are up. Sweet Little Conley is not going to be second dog.

As I continue trying to talk, Conley turns and says something very gutteral and probably gutterish to Cooper, whose growls have now escalated to a dull roar. Pushing Conley off me, I inadvertantly push him directly into Cooper, who assumes this is the beginning of the attack and responds in kind: Conley, never one to back away, launches. This brings Nigel and Llewis charging out to take the side of whoever is winning......and I am clutching the phone and kicking out at the snarling pack. Conley is now on his back with Cooper chewing on him (they have so far never drawn blood) when the Cavalry arrives in the form of Husband, who wades in and separate the combatants using feet and a spray bottle. Conley is hustled into his crate: Cooper banished to the other room. Nigel and Llewis sigh and go back to sleep.

Debbie has by now gotten home safely and we hang up.

Who would have thought helping Mom would cause such chaos?
Only another dog person....

               I'm coming to help, and you better not get in my way....

                              No! I"LL help. Get out of my way!!!

                            Do I detect a disturbance in the Force?

WHAT IS IT THAT HAPPENS TO US

I got a call last night. A friend's dog, Elder Clara, had bloated and died. It was a call that was not entirely unexpected: Clara was almost 17 years old, and for a Basset that is a phenomenally old age. Way beyond anything we have achieved with ours.
But as with all calls like this, expected in some halfway house of our brains, we never REALLY think we'll get it. Somehow, things will go on as they always have. Nothing will truly change. The people we love will live forever: the children we cherish will be healthy and happy: the dogs and cats and horses and birds we cuddle and love and adore will go on and on, and the day of reckoning will not come.
Some of us, more realistic than others, know in our souls this is not true. We think we are prepared. We know the dog has cancer and will not beat it. But when the time comes, and the dog is stumbling or wailing in  sudden, unbearable pain, and we know the end is right there in front of us, close enough to touch, we are stunned. Stunned into freezing time: nothing moves.

What happened? What happened? An hour ago everything was fine and now-- nothing is right at all. How could it happen so fast? Was it my fault? Did I do something wrong? Did I miss a subtle sign, a change in the tectonic plates of the dog's health? What could I have done? Should I have waited or did I wait too long? I saw this coming: I never saw this coming. Someone else would have known, would have seen it, but I didn't, and the cost was too high to even count. No one could have seen it. I didn't miss a thing, I swear.....

Yesterday --was it just yesterday? They were Puppies with their Mother. How could he have been 12 today? Their Mother is gone, too-- and now this....

What happens to us? Why do our brains fry every time we lose one, even though we know the day we bring the puppy home that time with her is limited? And why didn't the earth stop and the cosmos come to a momentary standstill, and the birds quiet in despair? Do we love our human companions the same way?

There is a purity of the bond between dogs and people. It does not exist with other humans-- there is too much baggage. Too many disagreements, too many moments of anger and mis-match that does not occur with an animal. They are simply there, all the time, ready for almost anything, willing, happy to see you, eager to please, happy for a handout, never disappointed in a birthday present forgotten or angry at the Boss. Never unemployed: dogs and other pets have permanent positions in our lives. (I am not speaking here of the abandoned and the cruelly treated.)

So what happens now?
Slowly we pick up the pieces that yesterday was a complete life and today is shattered. Through the tears we remember something funny and giggle, and then feel guilty, but it was funny, wasn't it? And we go on. Never forgetting, with yet another hole in our hearts to try to fill in again. For some the pain is too great and they never have another pet. For others, having another is the only answer. We get through. But always there is that question: what happened? What on earth happened?

For those who have gone before: Walker, Quiller, Zelda and Mitchell. We never forget.

THE SEVENTH'S STAGHOUND

My Mother taught me to read when I was 4. When I hit Kindergarten (no pre-school in those days) I could read. The school told me I was reading using the wrong method, and that I shouldn't read until they taught me to do it properly. I was hysterical. Once you can read, how do you unread? And if you can read, how can it be the wrong way? My Mother just laughed and went to visit them at the school and that was the last I heard about not being allowed to read until I could read.

Back in those days the Libraries had "branches". Down the street and around a couple of corners lived the "Waveland Branch Library". It was small, but it was a world.

I practically lived in the Library. I believe I got a Library card before I was actually supposed to. I think I had to read something to the Librarian to prove I really could read; Mother standing in the background, armed crossed, watching. Otherwise, as I recall, you had to wait until you were six. Mother and I would walk to the Library and I would come home loaded with the 6 books I was allowed to take out. Two days later I would be back for more. I practically ate books.

But I had a children's card. I was allowed only those books marked for children. I can tell you how the Library was laid out. You walked in the door which faced University Avenue, and to your immediate right was the Librarians desk. To the left were the beginnings of my world: the children's books. They ran down the wall to the corner, around the corner to the door at the back of the Library. On the other side of the door began the Adult books, where I was not to go.

Near the back wall of the children's section was a round table, with books on it, where you could sit and read if you wanted to. There were some tables on the adult side as well. (There was almost always a book on the round table  called THE BLIND PONY which I refused to read, never did.)

Nearest the front the books were easy: they got harder to read as you approached the back door. About midway along the Children's wall was history, and I mention this because it was a book I found here that started all this nostalgia. A book with a red cover and crossed sabers on the front by Fairfax Downey and illustrated by Paul Brown (not the football coach) titled:
THE SEVENTH'S STAGHOUND. A discussion with my husband about George Armstrong Custer is what started this, and what dogs he had, and whether the dogs went into battle with him (yes) and what they were ( not one single breed but several--some were Lurchers, some were "staghounds"-- usually a cross between Deerhounds, Wolfhounds and possibly Greyhounds. Looking  at a photo I found of Custer with his two dogs, the Staghounds were mostly like a deerhound cross, altho there is a greyhound clearly in the photo.) and that is what sparked my hunt for the book.

And I wanted to know: did I make that up? I could, in my head, see the illustrations quite easily. Paul Brown illustrated at least 50% of the dog and horse books I ate up as a kid. I have collected some. I didn't make it up. There it was on Alibris.com, for $20 bucks.

I probably will not buy it. Knowing it is there is fine. It is described as having a red cover with crossed sabers on it. I may forget who my children are, but I will always remember a good book about a dog or horse.


(Custer in Montana, 1876)

THE CHANGING OF THE TIME

Tonight we go back...no, forward-- to daylight savings time again. No  more getting up at 4:30 for ME! Nossir. I get up at 5:30, now. John, who gets up about 8 or 9 (he is up until 1 or 2 in the morning, reading) says "It won't be light out." What? Does he think it is now?
Lit by the ethereal glow of a half dozen night lights (to avoid tripping over dogs) our house is well lit during the night. The Bassets, except for Llewis, are crated, but the black dog, who is impossible to see at night no matter how many night lights we have, camps anywhere. Llewis, with his white tail tip, is spottable.

When I was the kennel manager at the Clinic, I would put signs up days in advance, hoping my Sunday Morning team would actually remember to change their clocks and come to work on time. Sundays were crucial because we had so little time in which to get everything done. Supposedly we did not open until 10 but we never turned anyone away and so if there was a Vet there and someone pounded on the door, we opened. (If there was no Vet and it was an emergency we opened and called the Vet in, meanwhile taking instructions over the phone.) We closed at Noon, which meant all dogs and cats had to be fed, cleaned, exercised, cleaned, watered and clean by noon. By the time I retired, there was room for 220 animals to  board, in runs or regular built-in kennels. I was no longer Kennel Manager and very happy that I wasn't.

They still open at ten (ha hah) (More like 9) and close at noon (more like 1pm)
I do not miss Sundays in the kennel.

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Today on the way to visit the taxman, I was in a line of cars that stopped for several deer that burst out of the bushes by the highway and danced across the road, followed by the relentless predator that had sent them fleeing for their lives--- someone's Beagle.

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It's been a tough day.

MY DOG

When we got our first dog, we got a Basset because my husband had always wanted a Basset and instead his parents bought him a Beagle thinking a kid would not notice the difference, I think. He did.
Always he wanted a Basset.
When I met him his girlfriend had a Basset. That's all I'm gonna say about that.

This is how we ended up with Bassets. We started with one and now have 3 and are down in numbers from 4 Bassets.
And then came the Belgians. Because I wanted a dog for memememe. One that could do obedience (Bwaahaahahahah) and other doggy things with me. One that was trainable.
So there have been Belgians. And the Belgians are MY dogs. The Bassets are too, make no mistake. But the Belgians, with their long legs and instant response time, they're MY dogs.

So now I have Cooper. And someplace a couple of years ago, after Mitchell and Zelda died, we got Conley. A Basset. Definitely a Basset. But Cooper was MY dog. He travels with me. He goes in the Van with me. He goes to the Gallery with me.

He's my boy. He's my sunshine. He's my protector, my companion, my soul.

Except that nobody told Conley.

And he decided that he was MY dog.
He slept next to my bed. He slept under my desk when I was working. He sits in the kitchen when I cook. He is the first to greet me, shoving all the others aside including Cooper, now that he only has three legs and isn't quite as agile as he used to be.
I never told Conley he was MY dog. Nigel loves John, loves to sit on his lap, loves his chair, is the first to say hello to him when he comes home. Llewis loves everyone sort of, in a strange, Llewis kind of way.

I make a lot of room for Cooper. I take him wherever I can. He loves the Gallery and goes with me there. Today I went to the Gallery without Cooper, just for a brief business huddle with Pat, and when I came home, John said Conley cried at the window the entire time I was gone. Uh Oh.
Conley cannot go to the Gallery until Cooper is gone. The Gallery is Cooper's place to be with me, without the others. Do not think for one moment that Cooper is unaware of Conley's efforts to usurp my affections. Raised hackles and nasty insults are commonplace from both. Eyeballing. Posturing.

Cooper will always be MY dog, until the day he dies. Conley may suspect this is true, Cooper knows it is. I am just not sure Conley knows who is watching.

NO WORDS

Blogging Along

There is not much going on here that I can write about. Some of it involves a person who may or may not read the blog and about whom I prefer not to write. You can always email me to find out these things, but I am not putting it out there publicly. I learned my lesson the hard way about that.

Never ever put anything in a blog you don't want the world to know about.

You would think someone as paranoid as I am who grew up with a lawyer for a Father would know that instinctively, just as I know to duck when someone throws a baseball in my direction. I mean, catch it? Are they crazy? (I was not a big athlete in school.)
My son-in-law is writing a blog for the Chicago Tribune online edition, called "The Cub's Den". It is, obviously, about the Cubs. His allegiance to the Cubs is something I suppose he cannot help. He is otherwise such an amazingly wonderful person that I guess I will forgive him this one vice.

http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/cubs-den/

If you are interested.


Nigel has crystals in his urine. He is on an acidifier but is still peeing in the house from time to time.
Conley is his usual irrepressible self. Llewis bounces all over and Cooper continues to supervise everyone, including the mailman, the UPS guy and FedEx.

I told you there was not much going on.

Don't Forget!!
March 25, 26 & 27 there will be an exhibit of handblown glass from
Marble City Glassworks. The exhibit will be in Park Forest, IL at 294 Main St.
Drop in-- it's free. There will be food. No booze, sorry -- we don't have a license for it.

ALL KINDS OF STOFF

We weathered the International Kennel Club without much success. Two red ribbons (please don't ask how many were in Open.) We saw some lovely dogs and some really awful ones. The first day Conley got lotsa belly rubs but by Sunday he had had enough, and I kept him crated most of the day.

Attendance was way down-- both in entries and spectators and even vendors. Getting in wasn't hard but leaving was the usual hassle. (If you have never tried to get a dog and your equipment out of McCormick Place along with probably 1000 other dog people, I cannot possibly explain it.)

I took my camera but largely ignored it. Sunday, I didn't even take it along. There was a new dog there, the Icelandic Sheepdog, with which I fell in love. I did not get a photo because I never found them. I would see them now and again and Saturday I looked all day and couldn't find them. (I could have used the catalog, but what fun is that?)

This Pyrenees was benched next to us and I have always liked them.

But I was not inspired this year, either by 99% of the dogs I saw or photographically. My first catalog from this show is dated 1966, the first year I was married and we came into town for the show. I probably have photos of relatives of many of the Bassets being shown today. My first set of photos was from a Polaroid!!

This is Katie and her Wheaten Terrier.  I never mastered the art of holding the dryer under my chin, aiming it accurately, and brushing all at the same time, muti-tasking training. Katie's last name escapes me but I have known her off and on for years. Once upon a time she worked with Jackie, my breeder and co-owner (of Conley) but now she is on her own and quite capable. She had a lovely Basset puppy there.

Around in back, on the other side of the bench, I found one of my favorite dogs, altho from what I gather from the Judges I have spoken with, the temperanent is "iffy", and that is a Skye Terrier.

I think they are stunning. However. I am not, really, at heart, A Terrier, but a herding breed first and a hound second.
second.  That said, here is Jackie's little dynamo, her wire-haired doxie. In the hound group but really have the personality of a Terrier.

And last. My favorite photo from the show. I do not know who she was and I certainly hope she had no expectations of privacy. I did not get a waiver. I think she must having something going with a Corgi. Just a wild guess.

Maybe next year.                                                                                                                                                                                                                   .