SPECIAL BLOG

My Son-In-Law, John Arguello is now writing a blog for the Chicago Tribune!!! here is the link:

chicagonow.com/cubsden

Please read and support him. He's such a cool guy! And a good writer to boot, and he likes our Bassets even if he's allergic to them. (Not sure if he is or not).

Also March 25 thru the 27 there will be an exhibition at the Salon Artists Gallery in Park Forest, IL of handblown glass from my son's studio in Tennessee. If you are in the Chicago area, please come. It's free. E-mail me for more info, like the Gallery hours and the time of the opening (free food!!)
Admission free.

TIME PASSES

It has been a little over 3 months since Cooper was diagnosed as having Osteosarcoma and that front leg came off.
All the tests came back positive.
There were barely visible little specks in his lungs.
I was told 3 month- 4 maybe.
The other day when I set up the grooming table to shear off Conley's whiskers, clean his pads and clip the twistie on his tail, Cooper, who hates tbe way I groom, fled. With no discernable effort he leaped over the 3 foot baby gate we put to up keep him from jumping on and off the very high DadBed.

Yesterday we went to the Gallery. He loves the Gallery. There are no short-legs in his face. He can stretch out anyplace and sleep. He can go from artist to artist and get loved up in horrible, soppy ways that he clearly adores. He is constantly being told what a pretty dog he is, what a good dog he is, how much we love him. He is on instant alert if a stranger comes in-maybe his only fault. Pat and Ann and Sylvia and Bob are his herd at the Gallery (and me) and we are to be watched and guarded. (I leash him when people come in, and keep him with me near the back.) He drags me, literally, down the street to the Gallery.

He still guards the house. He watches closely for the mailman, the brown truck, the white truck, kids walking too close to my Van parked on the street (anyplace on the block is too close). He bellows at the short-legs to STOP THAT PLAYING! He yells at them for looking in his direction DO NOT LOOK AT THE DIRECTOR!
He goes out in the worst weather and moseys about the yard accumulating ice in his thick, black coat. In another life he was something weatherproof.
Nevertheless he remains terrified of thunder, of my cooking (I might use the stove and the smoke alarm might go off) having me groom or cut his nails, and (we learned yesterday) sleet.(Too much like rain, which might have thunder with it.)

Nobody has told him he is dying. I certainly am not going to be the one. Talking to Doc the other day he listened patiently to all this and then said gently "You know he's going to crash one day." Yes. Yes, I know. Doc has never been one to make up stories to make you feel better. He is, above all else a dedicated realist. But here's the catch: he is also an optimist or he would not think he might help the animals. And he is also rooting for Cooper. Hoping he will be the exception to the rule. We shall see.

BLOODY AWFUL

This has been a bloody awful winter as far as sunshine goes. I can handle snow and I can handle ice but I cannot handle the drudge-grey-smoky-sooty days when the sky and the horizon meet in exactly the same shade of ookiness, and the snow is filthy, the yard is a morass of dog poop and water and snow all frozen together so the dogs tiptoe around the margins of the yard creating deep, mucky paths that they track indoors.

I cannot stand the silence outside of no birds (altho I have begun to hear a few) or knowing that I cannot allow the dogs out to play because it is too muddy and besides, I don't want complaints.

I am sick of the night coming before I am ready and daylight long after I think it should be here (altho again, I see it is lighter earlier). I am sick of coughing. I am tired of being tired. I want to see sun and green and hear birds and cat fights again. I am weary of the plastic over my kitchen windows. I am  profoundly tired of the muddy floors, carpets, pillow cases and chairs. Despite the coverings, they dig beneath them with their big, sweet, murky feet... no matter how fast I am I cannot clean all the paws as they pour in the door.

I am tired of DH yelling at the dogs to leave him alone-- he who has always handed out biscuits as easily as breathing. I am depressed when I yell at the dogs STOP BARKING FOR GODS SAKE!!! Cooper, trying to referee and the others in his face, making it worse than it would be. I step on paws, tails and ears in the kitchen. They cannot go out. It sleets and Cooper is frantic. I view spring with a jaundiced eye altho I cannot wait I know it will bring thunderstorms and a whole new problem with my terrified Belgian.

I long for one day and night on the ocean south, where it is warm and empty. I want to sit on the rocks and watch the tide. I want to look in tidepools. I want Conley to see a beach, to run along a beach without a leash on. I have had enough.

MANY THINGS AND BABY CONLEY

First my son in law, John, has been selected to publish a blog on the online Chicago Tribune, concerning sports. I believe the title of his blog will be
"THE CUB'S DEN" and am not sure when it starts, but am promoting it starting now. So if you are a Cub's fan, watch for it to appear.

I mentioned recently that the snow has melted and left the yard looking like the Okeefenokee swamp. That I watch for alligators to pop up and eat the Bassets goes without saying, altho I do not think there are many this close to Chicago. (I have long harbored a secret desire to buy a kid's inflatable alligator swim thing and install it somewhere in the wetlands in the middle of town, partially submerged...)(Someday....)
Anyway here is a photo of Nigel. Please notice the FEET. The feet is what this photo is about: note the color...

Keep in mind that his entire belly is probably the same color-- that is black-- and that this is not normally his coloration....
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I have been looking (without success) for a batch of photos I took in the Badlands and points west. I cannot find them, but I did stumble across the photos we took of Conley the day I brought him home.

And then there were several photos of Llewis, which I can not resist adding....

And we wonder why we love them so.

I SING THE SONG OF MUCK BOOTS

I sing the Song the of Muck Boots
Black and Rubber Muck Boots
Waiting on the freezer
Full of hope.

The weather has begun to change
The yard is mud and slime
The boots await their perfect time
To go outside and range
Among the objects left behind
By the well-fed Bassets of mine.

The temp it climbs
The time is near
The Boots await
They know not fear

Wash an wear they do not care
In what they step or how it came to be
They only smile and wander on
Knowing that they protecteth me
From items in the yard best left
Unsaid, unidentified: the objects left behind
By the well-fed Bassets of mine.

I sing the Opera of Muck Boots
The Diva of the yard
The Black and Rubber Muck Boots
The Best $65 I ever spent.

A CURE FOR THE COMMON COLD

I am either getting a cold or the flu. I am runny, achy, tired, sneezy, red-eyed and ornery. Altho my husband would claim the last on that list is my normal state.
When I was little I got fearsome colds, terrible things that lasted forever and went into my chest and gave me bronchitis with a deep, bassoon-type cough that kept me out of school for days.
Mother would insist, among other things, that sleep was curative. Ah so. I think that part of her treatments was correct.
So that now, when I am getting sick, I sleep.

I went to bed at the unheard hour of 9pm. I slept. Not steadily, but well enough. I took my Zicam whenever I got up to attend to the reason for waking. I kept Kleenex by the bed (Mother said if you had it with you you wouldn't need it. She was wrong, but I cling to the hope.)
At 5:30 I was awakened by the needs of the Hounds. Actually, Cooper came and got me up.
I felt better but not well. It is, without the windchill, 4 degrees outside. On went Nigel's boot on his bandaged foot, everyone went out for a quickie pee, and I fed them, read my mail, responded to some. The dogs bedded down in the living room and Conley on my bed.

                 (Of course there was no sunlight, but you get the idea.)

I read the news, avoided turning on the radio or TV and got more and more tired again, not really ready to get up and face daylight (which was still long in the future at that hour)....

So I turned everything off, lights, computer, brain. (The latter is more often the case than I would like to admit. Getting it to turn ON is the tricky part.)
And, shoving Conley to the back of the bed I laid down with my back to him.

Now.
Conley is absolutely without question the very best snuggler I have EVER had. He is better than any male person in the Universe, sorry John, including my husband. He is, first of all, pliable. I can shove him around so that I am comfortable, too. He adjusts. I need no blankets with Conley because he is so warm and cuddles up so close to my back it is like having your very own hot water bottle.
Conley doesn't snore. He doesn't wake me up and snarl when I do. He doesn't squirrel around trying to get more of the pillow, or suggest snidely that if I were not so "large" he could have more room. He breathes softly, warmly, and evenly on my neck. For an hour or so this is the most restful, deep, relaxing and sweet sleep that I will have.
Conley makes me crazy, yes he does. He eats my food if I turn my back, he takes knives off the counter and runs with them, he picks fights with Cooper and Nigel, he pees on the floor at the Gallery, he won't put his tail up in the show ring for me.

But it's ok. I don't care. Because boy, is he the best cure for the common cold ever.