BUYING FOR THE MOTIONALLY CHALLENGED

This is a Motionally Challenged Basset Hound. As you know if you read this now and then. This is Nigel.
It sounds so simple when you are suddenly made aware that you have a dog whose life can be saved if you shell out for a cart, or can get one someone is no longer using, or one is given to you. The dog will be in the cart, he can move around again. Problem solved.
BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA
Joke's on you.
First of all there is the problem of incontinence. Maybe you are lucky lucky and your dog has not lost that aspect of his nervous system.
Nigel is kind of half and half. He clearly has sensation. He knows when he needs to poop, for instance (if he is awake) but he cannot control doing it.
While he leaks urine when scooting about, he is capable of stopping at a tree and deliberately marking. So clearly, he has some ability there. It doesn't take a lot of dribbling to stink up a rug, lemme tell you. Or a dog.
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[tip of the year from DWinchester:
 A half-half spray of Listerine and water on the affected Basset, towel dry and add Bond's medicated powder. Not the best but by far better than stale urine.]
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So you get a Belly Band. And pads. (Remember to tell your husbands that the pad has a sticky strip on the back to keep it from falling out of the belly band. Some of us learn the hard way.)
And you struggle to put it on because the dog cannot, of course, stand up.

Please note that in the ads for the Belly Bands, the dogs are standing.

And when the dog with paralyzed back limbs scoots, he scoots right out of the belly band. And dribbles onward....

And scooting causes abrasions-- rug burns-- on the back legs and in our case a scrotum. So you look around on the internet and find what is called a "drag bag". But most of them are made for small dogs.
So you spend more money and find a big one. And when it comes you discover that it not only requires two strong people to put it on, but the zipper zips the dog's back and it takes two hands just to hold the top shut.
What is more, once it is on, the dog refuses to move, believing that you have made him look like a real fool and besides it feels funny and where would he go, anyway, dressed in a shiny blue bag with a huge collar? And inside it, the belly band comes off.

Then you see an ad for a thing to lift the hindquarters, and you think this will keep me out of the orthopedists office for a bit longer, since hauling this dog around with a towel has not helped YOUR back any.
And it is expensive but after all, this is Nigel, so you buy it and when it arrives you read the instructions which inform you that it is NON RETURNABLE and that you cannot lift the dog's legs off the ground.
Ok so I let them drag? What damn good is it? Did it say that in the ad? It did not. (The drag bag is also non-returnable.)

And today I notice one wheel on the cart is canted at a slightly different angle than the other, so all the set screws had to be tightened. Which my uncomplaining husband did before he even had his coffee.

Now there is some snow on the ground and I am not sure what this means for my walks with Nigel. I hope we can continue them.

SLEEPING WITH THE DOGS

Yesterday I downloaded a Jack Reacher novel onto my Kindle and unfortunately began reading. Some of them are not very good, but this one was fun: a paranoics dream come true--(BAD LUCK AND TROUBLE by Lee Child in case you are another mild paranoic)(Don't read this if you are heavily into conspiracy theory).
Anyway I got caught up in it and so I read throughout the day off and on, falling asleep at odd intervals in my chair, because the bed, you know, is covered with Basset hounds. I have no place to lay down during the day. Consequently, I doze in my chair, head thrown back, mouth open, probably snoring. I sleep for twenty minutes to an hour at a time. And it is vexing in the extreme because I loathe being tired, all the time, every day. And I am.

So last night I had a chat with my resident shrink about being tired, so damn tired all the time, and he offered to switch rooms with me for a couple of weeks, so that he would get up multiple times during the night with the dogs and I could sleep.

       (Why isn't she UP it's light out and everthing, where's breakfast?)
Anyway we had this interesting (to me) chat about sleeping with the dogs. Here is how it works. Nobody but Cooper is allowed on my single bed at night and he rarely will stay there more than 15 or 20 minutes.
So like last night I read until 10, at which time I stopped to catheterize Nigel, get him tucked in, let the others out and tuck them in (Conley is crated: Nigel goes in his pen, Cooper and Llewis usually sack out in the living room.)

After I got all this done, I stripped my bed of all the waterproof pads and blankies and pillows and towels that made it Nigel's home for most of the day, and turned out the lights except the reading light and continued my pursuit of the end of the book.

I finished about 11:30. I did my own ablutions, turned out the light and crawled contentedly into bed. I left the window open. It was in the 50's. Instantly, Nigel began to whimper and I smelled....poop.
I got out of bed, turned on the light and cleaned up the poop in his pen. I threw some clean stuff in there and stuffed the dirty smudged stuff in the washer. I turned out the light and went back to bed.

At 12:30, Cooper came in, put his foreleg on the bed and his ice cold nose in my ear. He wanted out.
I sent him out. Conley began to fuss. I sent him out. I tried to rouse Llewis but once he is down he is down and I could maybe have carried him outside but he would not have awakened.

I let everyone back in, handed out treats (Llewis does not even awaken for that) locked doors, turned out lights and went back to bed.

Llewis came in and wanted in bed with me.
Tired and grumpy I boosted him up even tho it is expressly verbotten.
He wanted the whole bed.
I boosted him off again.
I closed my eyes and became startlingly aware of a PRESENCE. It was my husband wanting to know why Llewis was crying.

By the time I finished explaining, Llewis had gotten up onto a chair and gone to sleep.

Now, by now 1 o'clock or so, I went to sleep. Until 2:30 when Nigel began crying. I got up, cleaned the poop up, threw dirty stuff in the full washing machine, replaced it with clean, turned out the light and slept until 4:30 when Cooper came in with Llewis to see if I had died during the night and forgotten that it was almost breakfast time (Anytime after 1 a.m. is "breakfast time" according to the dog clocks.)

I got up.

Ok this is what John thinks he is going to switch with me and do. I explained that I have been doing a version of this since 1970 when our daughter appeared on the scene. It's a Mother thing. It can be a Dad thing too, don't misunderstand, and it was gallant, and generous, and very kind of him to offer, but I have gone out of town before and left John with the dogs, and I know what lack of sleep does to HIM, and what it does to me is nothing compared to what two or three days of sleeplessness does to him. OY!!

But now I understand that when I say "I'm Tired" I at least have a reason.


By the way it is December 15th in the heart of the midwest and it is 51 degrees out. I have windows open.
To keep me awake........

WHAT HORSES DO

For awhile now I haven't been out with the camera, and I really miss it. I like to include photos in what I write.
Not only have I not been out with the camera, but there really hasn't been much exciting to write about, unless you guys would like an illustrated lesson on how to put a urinary catheter in a male dog, or how to put Nigel in his cart. My life seems to have taken on his dimensions.
So anyway I went through my photos and now have decided just to overwhelm you with horse pictures. Some are from long ago events and some are less long ago but I haven't been anywhere, either. So here goes. Forewarned is forearmed.

Ok well it isn't a horse. This is what happens when you choose bull riding as a profession.

   This is what a smart horse does when the Bull turns his attention from the Bullfighters and the rider to something else....

                                                        
                                            This isn't a horse, either. It's a lava flow in Hawaii. I was attracted by all the color, but you cannot stand on it in sneakers because it melts the soles of the shoes.

                                                        I just like this

                                American Saddlebred Royal show

                                                       

                                                Wyoming

                                                      
                

Not a horse.

Not another horse.

PIANO AGAIN

I quit taking lessons.
What I want is to learn to play certain pieces that are far beyond my ability to read the music.
I want to learn RHAPSODY IN BLUE. I used to be able to play the first two pages but now I cannot quite make out the notes: I cannot read the notes.

I would like to be able to play some other Gershwin songs-- some of the music from Porgy& Bess. Some of the other things he wrote but again, they are far above my skill level. If I knew the notes I could practice and eventually, I'd get it. As always, I want to skip right over the basics. This was my problem about going back to school too: I do not want to start at the beginning, I want to get right to the juicy stuff.

I'd like to be able to play some Scott Joplin. Also some Mozart, Tschaikovsky, Dvorak, Beethoven. I'd like to learn some of the music that one of my heroes wrote, Leonard Bernstein.

What passion he had. I never liked the Beatles until one day I happened upon one of his Children's Concerts and he was explaining WHY they were great, and suddenly I understood but from a totally different angle that I had known before. I wish I had heard all the Children's Concerts now. I used to have a record-- you know the vinyl kind-- with some of his less well-known music on it, and it was fabulous. TOP HAT I think one was called. I could be wrong, it was a long time ago.
And of course, the seminal WEST SIDE STORY.... could I play that? I don't want to wait. I don't have time to start at the beginning and work my way up. It will never happen. I get bored and stop.

There must be some starving piano teacher willing to tell me the notes. Not "The is c minus" but here it is,physically, on the piano.
But maybe not.
Maybe this is the lesson I am supposed to learn, that you have to start at the beginning.


How dull.

CATALOG SEASON

It's catalong season. It is coming earlier each year, along with the department store sales and the TV ads for Christmas.
I don't suppose the economy is any better for the seed and plant nursery people than is it for anybody else.
I don't have Burpee, but I have Bluestone Perennials.
Oh boy.
I open it at any place and inhale the smell of flowers: Stella de Oro, Hyperion, Always Afternoon....Raspberry Pixie...
I open it to summer days and evenings: Moonbeam Coreopsis, Sienna Sunset,
Full Moon, and my favorite, described as a "cheery Tickseed"-Jethro Tull. Named not after the singer but the British Agriculturist, who was born in 1674.

See and you thought you couldn't learn anything from a plant catalog, didn't you?

I open it to cool, waving grasses:MIscanthus Morning Light (Silver Maiden Grass) or silver topped Miscanthus Graziella. The little yellow clumps of Hakonechloa All Gold. Or my favorite, because  it graces the front of our house, growing up to 6 feet high--Miscanthus Purpurascens, with it's maroon plumes in the fall shooting up above the plant and blowing gracefully in the wind.

But that's not the only catalog. The other, a fat, thick, heavy, glossy one from Dick Blick Art Supplies. Oh my. Oh my....
And I start through it:
Winsor Newton gouache paints in such colors! Bengal Rose. Cerulean Blue.Linden Green. Saffron Green. Can you see them? The rose and the bright blue, the grey-green of Linden trees?

Paintbrushes from such exotic sounding animals-- sable, boar, camel  and then I see "Scholastic Pony" and I wonder-- could the pony read?  And for all these weird sounding uses: Flat wash. Flat foot. Fan. Filbert. Angular Shader.

And then page after page devoted to those art supplies you never had but probably cannot live another year without buying.
A Paragon Kiln for a bit over $3000.00. How did we manage without one before?
A "Marvy Uchida Corru-Gated Paper Crimper"-- how did we crimp paper before?
And can we live without a "Funky Groovy Tie-Dye Kit"? Probably not. Pass the wine, please.
Of course we have saved a few pennies for the very best:

"Gyotaku Learn the Japanese art of Rubbimg Fish."
WHy am I not surprised?

And here I sit in my room, reading catalogs and watching the food channel. What a way to spend winter.

ART

Works by my late Father-in-Law, John Szaton: a bronze baseball player and a head made entirely of coal.

NOTES TO SELF

I make the worst soft-boiled eggs in the world. My Mother made perfect ones and I do not remember that she poked holes in them or gently gentle lowered them into the water.
The only perfect soft boiled eggs I have ever made were after my Mother died and I went to visit Dad. He was so sad because what he missed was (well my Mother, of course) his soft boiled eggs he had every morning. So I did them for him and even put them in the little cups I knew she had used for them. He was so happy.
I have never been able to duplicate that. I should be thankful that I could do it that one, horribly important time.

I have two kids who turned out ok. At least I think they're ok. They don't do drugs, they've never been in jail, they did not belong to or tangle with gangs. They sometimes remember my birthday and Mom's Day but we never made a big deal of either. One is happily married the other has a lovely girlfriend. I should be very thankful that my children have not driven me into an early grave. And so I am. They are very thoughtful, delightful people.

I have a husband who is the first and only husband I will ever have. We have had some very rocky times but he has overcome alcoholism and I am unbelievable proud of him for that. If he did nothing else in his life, that would have been enough, but he has been a fine Father, and always there for us.  He is a softie when it comes to the kids and the dogs. He is extremely smart, very funny (altho he thinks I don't appreciate it and sometimes I don't) and extremely intuitive. He has a fascinating mind. It remembers the damndest things. I should be grateful that we made it through the rough years and have learned to love each other. And so I am.

And of course, I have all these dogs! And John has always understood about the dogs and helped and been there when the chips were down. I remember my first Belgian. I took Quiller out to run and we did, in a field. It was only about 70 degrees out but he had a heavy black coat and I was stupid and coming back to the car he began staggering. So I carried him to the car (I was much younger) and rushed him home where we found he had a temp of 105. John grabbed him and shoved him into the shower, and began cooling him down: we set up fans in the living room and he carried my dripping wet soul-mate into the living room and placed him in front of the fans. I said "The rug!" and he said
"We'll get a new one." And I thought, this guy is really a keeper. He was there for the birth of our puppies, he was there when each dog began to fade. He has shelled out thousands and thousands of dollars for the dogs. And every time he says NO MORE, I get another....so I am thankful to have the dogs, the goofy things that make me laugh and keep me going, and to have John. I am.

Friends. I have friends. Friends I have never met because they exist somewhere else, and I speak to them on the computer and I care deeply about them, as if they lived next door. I am on speaking terms, more or less, with people all over the world. Because of the dogs. I lost a friend this year, not to death but because I failed to live up to her expected standards. It's too bad because I miss her, but she has made it abundantly clear that I am persona non grata, so that's that. But I have other friends, here and on the computer who are not expecting me to be anything other than what I am, and for that I am very happy, thank you.

Happy Turkey day, a day in advance, to my husband, children, dogs and friends. May you live long and prosper. (Thanks to Mr. Spock for that line.)