MARKING TERRITORY

One year ago today. In maybe two hours from now. It began to rain and the wind picked up and as it whipped about the house it snuggled under a corner of the blue tarp on the roof, where the shingles had been removed down to the wood, and it played with the tarp, just for a moment, for it was a strong wind, and then it ripped it loose.

And inside the house, this house, the rain began to pour in. First I heard one drip in my room and as I went to inspect I found water rushing down the walls, rain pouring into the dog crates where the dogs huddled. I yanked the crates out of the rain and screamed for John and together we began throwing blankets, towels, sheets, anything we could find: buckets, bowls, tupperware, pitchers-- under the streams of rain but the harder we tried the worse it became and I picked up the phone and called the roofer --- because that is why the shingles were off-- and said, in a sentence made up completely, I believe, of four-letter words, please do come over and help us, we seem to be in a spot of difficulty....

THE BEGINNING

THE ATTIC STORAGE

THE CEILING

And like that. In less than twenty minutes, the house was ruined. Walls soaked, ceilings hanging by a thread, water 2" deep on the floor in every room but 3. Upstairs and down, uninhabitable. Boom. Like that everything in our lives was different and would never be the same again.

When we moved back in in September, as we unpacked, John took the tags the movers had placed on things; the tags  that read SZATON or sometimes SZOTAN , or SZATAN, and began putting them on other things in the house. On drawer handles and windows and the stove door, the fridge door.

It was a way of marking the house without pee. Marking his territory.

This is mine and this is mine and this is mine and I am not renting it I own it. I paid for it and I cared for it and it is MINE.

This morning I went for a bike ride before John was up. When I came home I could hear him moving around the kitchen and I knew what he was doing. One year ago today we were forced out of our home.
Today, he took the tags off.
We are home. The house is marked.

WHAT IS ON MY SCREEN DOOR AT TWO A.M

AND IN THE FRONT YARD....

DON'T ASK HOW I KNOW THIS

LLEWIS'S MORNING: a story without words

WHAT?

MUM'S DAY 2012

I want to tell you a little about my Mother, who died a number of years ago, wearing her peignoir set of the moment (hers were always quite elegant, not terrycloth). She and Dad were going to bed and she collapsed on the stairs ahead of him and died. She was 86. I think.

I have one brother, a retired doctor, the apple of her eye.
She had one little girl, me.
Here is what I suspect she wanted, based on my childhood (which was great, by the way.)
A little girl to sew dresses for, who would wear them happily.
A little girl to teach Ballet to, for that is what she did for awhile.
A little girl with interest in sewing, for she was an excellent seamstress.
A little girl who read and loved poetry and the written word, for she certainly did.
A little girl who liked to cook.
One who kept her room neat and clean.
One who happily took her bath every day.
One who played nicely with other children and did not hit them with bricks when they failed to let her be "teacher" when they played school.

And here is what she got:

A kid who carried dead squirrels around at the age of 3 because the neighbor shot them for eating his roof and then gave them to me.
A kid who dragged home every cat and dog she found.
A kid who took "short-cuts" home from school to meet dogs.
A kid who wanted a horse.
A kid who crawled around the front yard on her hands and knees whinnying (I was quite good, actually) and eating--yes, really eating-- grass.
A kid who hated dresses but loved levis.
A kid who played "War" with the boys.
A kid who lived for horses and dogs.
A kid who loved poetry, the written word and could read at 4 yrs old.
A kid whose room not infrequently caused my Mother to burst into tears.
A kid who never quite got the hang of what Mom wanted when it mattered.

But we loved each other, and I miss her.

Happy Mother's Day Mom, you did a good job with some crappy material.

THE TROUBLE WITH MOTHER NATURE

When my son was one he quit eating meat.
Rather than get into one of those no-win power struggles with him, I looked for alternate sources of protein. Peanut Butter. Cheese. Stuff like that.

Peanut butter is full of sugar, which makes it really yummy. Cheese is often not cheese but "processed cheese food". Yuk. So I joined the new and innovative South Suburban Food Co-op.

Every week I called people and got their orders. In turn, I had access to high quality organic and locally grown produce. It was great. And then the kids got bigger,and I went to work, and they went to school, and all their lives, and my husband and I went on with ours and somehow, the food co-op dropped out of our lives for a really, really, really long time. I knew they were still around.

And then, they moved into a storefront around the corner from the Gallery where I play around, and BINGO they were back in my life.

(I'm getting to the point, honest.)

So I went in a couple of times but they're really pricey unless you belong and if you belong you have to donate time and I know how that goes because the Gallery is a co-op and I can print on three fingers the names of the people who actually CONTRIBUTE time without being dragged screaming and crying into the building.

But you know..... I just kinda....went in one day to get some crackers because I was at the Gallery and felt sick, and....I joined the Food Co-op.
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photo by Bradley Cross

This is the Ann Arbor Art Fair some year recently. Maybe last year. I did not go but the photo will explain to you WHY I did not go, why I no longer participate in outdoor festivities involving tents, art, food or me.

I have lost, over the years that I was doing art fairs, 4 tents. One did not belong to me, but had been loaned to me and it was totally destroyed one night when the water from a tornadic storm piled up in the top and collapsed the tent, crushing the aluminum legs like someone had stepped on a spider.

One tent blew away in Evanston, Illinois.

One tent had a hole ripped in the apex of the roof by a "freak" wind.

One just gave up, like I did.

One art fair I did in May in Illinois I nearly froze to death. It rained all day and the wind blew, and my daughter's car got a flat. My daughter has no temper at all, she is almost impossible to annoy to the point of real, serious anger, but she slogged back through that cold and watery parking lot swearing like a sailor, mad as I have ever seen her, having discovered her flat tire.

***************************************************************

Ok. So today I got up at 4, had the dogs fed by 5, settled in again by 6. Took a shower, thought I'd ride my bike to the Farmer's Market and put in my 5 hours for the month.

Then I looked at the sky.

Ok, so I don't ride the bike.

Look at the above photo again. That is pretty much what the day was like, sitting outside under a tent with no walls in the pouring rain with the wind coming from my back, soaked feet and no socks. Maybe 3 people stopped who didn't already belong to the Food Co-op. All we were supposed to do was offer a sample (they all got soggy) a brochure (limp and spottled with rain) and directions to the actual storefront (down the street and around the corner).

By 10:30 I was terminally cold. My core Temp had probably dropped to about 32 degrees. My feet (my fault I know, shoulda wore my Muck Boots) were blocks of ice. The back of my neck was stiff, sore, cold, annoyed....I  had to pee desperately, the rain working with my BP meds to make me suddenly....nevermind.

I was the only one there who had ever sat out like this before. The others were neophytes at what weather can do to you when you are sitting still.  They were unaware, originally, that they needed weights on the tent, altho we really didn't as it turned out.

I kept thinking

Didn't I quit doing this for just this reason???

We hauled stuff back at 10:45. A solid meal, two glasses of wine, socks and fuzzy slippers later, I am starting to warm up.

Ask me how soon I am doing this again....

SATURDAY WITH CESAR MILLAN (Not for real)

Saturday Natl Geo channel ran a whole day of nothing but Cesar Millan, the "Dog whisperer"--who in the past I have disliked. Not the man but his methods. I watched off and on most of the day, not having had the channel before so I had only read of him and read his book, not seen him. He is, it is true, very charismatic, and he has a nice sense of humor and an ego as big as all outdoors. But that's ok, he needs that ego to do what he does and do it well, and he does it well.

                         This is MY couch. Go sit in that chair over there.


And as I watched I began to get a feel for what happens with him. He understands intuitively that the dogs MUST BELIEVE that he means what he says. That when he body blocks them and puts out his hand, he really means it. And they understand the language not because he hisses at them, but because like any good trainer, he is absolutely, 100%, completely consistent.

And I also noticed something that I learned working for the Vet. When you are handling fractious dogs, or upset or excited dogs, you must FOCUS entirely on that dog and be aware of every move, every nuance of his behavior and body language. Let your concentration waver, and you get bitten. Millan rarely allows his attention to wander and when he does, he has trouble.

            "Come?" What does that mean? Come out here and get me.

He may be speaking into the camera, but his eyes are often on the dog, or sliding toward the dog every few seconds. It only take a moment for a frustrated or angry dog to detect that you have weakened. It's what they do. It is hardwired in them to notice minute changes in prey, or an enemy, or a rival, whichever one you happen to be at that moment.

So Millan combines total consistency with something that cannot be taught: timing.
My timing in dog training has a lag to it that is deadly. He is right on target probably because he is watching more carefully, or is much better at it. Every GOOD trainer has better timing than you do as far as rewards and corrections go. The dog must understand what behavior is being corrected and what the right behavior is. It doesn't help if you take one away and offer no substitute.
This I understand intellectually, but my mind has trouble getting the correction going fast enough. My big dogs are trained but sloppy.The Bassets continue to pretty much do their own thing and the few really really annoying things they do they continue to do because I do not correct them consistently. Conley is the worst, by far, constantly challenging me in sweet, Bassety, passive-aggressive ways for ownership of the house.

YOU! iN THE HOUSE! open this door right now. Want to see what I did to the screen? BWAAAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

I found myself kind of liking the guy. If he just didn't make some of the physical moves look so easy, as if anyone can do them. Despite the disclaimer about consulting a Pro and not doing what you see Cesar do, it is tempting to think that your aggressive, resource-guarding, dominant intact male  is going to respond to you throwing him on his side and holding him there, the way he would if an Alpha male with muscle tone did it.

           Check out that fang before you try an Alpha roll on your dog.

FUN AT FIVE A.M.

It is about 5. It is not quite light but MNature is working on it. The dogs have eaten and Llewis wants out. I have forgotten that Conley is still in his crate and of course, Nigel is stuck.

 

I flip on the back light, open the door for Llewis who steps out just as a garbage bag with mouldy grass (my decorative grass from the front) begins to move down the sidewalk at a walking pace. Attached to the front of it is a large probably female possum. I am not sure whether her tail is caught or a leg, but she and the bag shuffle down the sidewalk, Llewis following curiously behind a few paces back, making no effort to catch up, obviously puzzled, not willing to let it go but unsure about whether this was something he wanted to tangle with. I followed behind Llewis, calling Llewis softly, "Llewis Llewis come get a treat baby, TREAT TREAT, llewis..." The possum is headed for the sheds that abut Sara's property. As Possum reaches the shed, Llewis turns back and comes with me into the house. Wow, enough excitement for HIM!

 

 

I get a leash and the flashlight (once I had to carry a baby possum by the tail and drop it over the fence, not gonna do THAT to an adult) and go out and make a cursory check around the sheds-- no possum. I have seen them go over the 6ft fence so I know she can, and I have seen them go under it, through holes you would think would make a snake shriek, with no problem so I assume she is in Sara's yard.

 

I come back and let the dogs out-- Conley now included, and I am laughing about the sight it must have been---possum and bag, dog, old lady---when the barking starts.

It is a low-key, early-morning curious bark. A WTF? bark. Oh shit, I missed the possum.

I went out and called the dogs in and they came. Apparently hunting genes are not high on their list from the genetic pool. (Their Mother would be appalled).

I go back out and sure enough, the rather large possum is between a piece of wood and the shed, little beady eyeballs fixed on me with no affect whatsoever.

I left her there.She'll leave altho I bet she has a nest back there someplace. (I have also found children Possums IN the sheds.) (Possum Day Care?)

(Photo from Google)

 

Possums are not my favorite critters even though I adored Walt Kelly's "Pogo" comic strip. Pogo really wasn't much like the Possums I have met in the backyard, and there have been a few.

 

The dogs seemed willing to leave the Possum pretty much alone. I am not sure what Conley would do if he caught it out, in the middle of the yard. Of all the dogs and all the Possums I have only had two dogs who really WANTED it, one was Zelda altho she learned fast (from me) to back off: and probably either Belgian when young and, most notably, Nigel. Nigel would have never come in, never quit harrassing the Possum. I would have had to carry him in bodily, snarking and growling threats. But.

Not this time. He slept through it all.

 

I don't know where the Possum is. I am giving her plenty of time to amble off to another yard.

I have a sign on the back door POSSUM IN YARD: DOGS STAY IN in case I am in the bathroom and John gets up and decides to let them out.

They're napping.

It's been a harrowing morning.....

THE DEVIL'S SPAWN

Yesterday was kind of a bad day. I was feeling very down about losing Cooper, and I was impatient about not knowing when a puppy would be available. Nigel was very active which meant up and down off the bed and wanting to go outside. My leg was bothering me from falling off the bicycle. It was raining. It was grey.
I called my sister=in-law, Alice, the one who was hit by the car but she was going out to PT.
The mailman brought me a beautiful pendant to work with and I was very excited. I wrote the sender and said the pendant was exquisite before I took it out of the little plastic bag.
Whuh oh.
There are minute chips where the pliers dug into the stone while doing the wirework, it is unmistakable, and it means that I cannot put the price tag on it that I need to. How do you put your name and reputation on something that is damaged before you even touch it?
So I called Pat and she said to contact the seller so I did, but reluctantly.

And then I told John, I have to get out of here.

So I went to Target.

And I looked at a cute little purse (I almost never carry one) and I discovered that in order to buy nice clothes I have to become pregnant again because that's all that is going to fit. Or lose weight. Trying, I am trying. Really.

And I turned around in the aisle and there they were.......the spawn of the Devil: Cell Phones.

Smart phones.

Now I should explain about my phone. It is called the "Tundra". It is made for construction workers and is heavily encased in rubber. It would be a dog toy under any other circumstances but I bought it especially because I kept dropping the damn Razor.

But I didn't want one from Target so I drove over to the cell phone store and I knew I didn't have the money for a hot iPhone. I bought a cheapie. A "smart" phone but a cheapie.

I know from nothing about these damn phones.

This is my new phone. DS for short: Devil's Spawn. It is a Motorola. (And don't do that hissing noise my husband made just because it isn't what HE has.)

I had to ask Reggie, the salesman, how to turn it on. When I got home I had to ask John how to answer it.

I am trying to get my email on it. BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH.
I tried to download some free apps. BWAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH.
I tried writing to someone but my fingers are approximately the size of spatulas compared to the keyboard and just entering a password took --seriously now-- 40 minutes.

I tried to put Cooper's pretty face on it as wallpaper but all I got was his nose. It is a handsome nose to be sure, but not quite what I had in mind.

Here it is turned on. This is about as far as i have gotten. I miss my Tundra. You turned it on and it was on. It didn't "go to sleep". Especially when I flung it on the seat of the car because a cop was passing.

Also.

Here is the worst part:

I no longer have my "Margaritaville" ring tone.

And.
I found out that MY idea of 3/4 Cup of cereal is not Weight Watcher's idea of 3/4 of a Cup of cereal. They want me to MEASURE it! Shit. And here I thought I had finally found something. I did wonder why the box only lasted half a day.....

Well it is almost daylight. Time to see if there is any wine in the fridge.