THE MUG

This is MY MUG. Many many years ago when the earth was green and we were young and svelte, my good friend Heidi Heinlein Paul (Now she is Heidi Paul. When I met her she was 18 or 19 yrs old and not.) Anyway she gave this to me as either a birthday or Christmas present, and I have treasured it ever since. It perfectly reflects my life.
It has gone through many changes with me (as has Heidi) and now my children are grown and gone (when I met her I still had to wait to get them off to school before I went to work at FSAH, where she was kennel manager.
Her son, who she had no inkling she would have, is a sophomore in college.

And I still have the mug.
When we had to suddenly evacuate the house May 26th, I frantically searched for the MUG, I had to have it. And so it went to the motel with us. I brought it when we moved into the rental.

I take comfort from it. Everything changes. Children marry, divorce, remarry, have major ups and downs, dogs come and leave, breaking our hearts: friends get sick and die, or just get sick, we argue with our spouses over whether to throw out the 20yr+ freezer or not, we see fantastic sights-- get caught in a cattle drive, win marathons or at least give it our best shots. We get new puppies (hope springs eternal) retire, move, make new friends.

And through it all is MY MUG. I love my mug. Somehow, I think the MUG has grown fond of me.

And it still represents my entire life.

Thank you Heidi.

THE WREN

I tried to get you guys a photo of our resident (rental) wren but she was singularly unco-operative, even with the zoom lens.

There is nothing happening, at least to us. Or for us. Except of course the skylight in the upstairs bathroom at the real house has begun to leak and the landscapers (rental house) are coming tomorrow morning, read DOGGIE THRILLS and SHRILLS.

I have capitulated and accepted the fact that I can, after all, stand to substitute cauliflower for potatoes. I add onion, celery, green pepper, mayo and hardboiled eggs. I do not add dill, mustard or capers. I hate capers. I mean, I really hate capers. I do not know what capers are.I have had them once.

Years ago I worked at a bookstore called Maeyama's. George was first generation American/Japanese. His parents spent WW2 in a "camp" here in the states, along with (probably not in the same "camp" with my German teacher's parents and grandparents. A shameful thing. Horrible.) Anyway there was a woman who worked there with me who thought of herself as a Southern Belle. The closest she got to living in the south was central Illinois.

I never liked her much. But I loved the other woman I worked with, who has since vanished from the earth or at least is where I cannot find her at all.
Once we agreed to share lunches. One week one of us would make sandwiches and the next another and so on. The first week the Southern Belle made tuna and caper salad sandwiches. OMG. Nasty little dark green buggers they are. I suppose they are truly delicious but I did not like them and begged off the sandwich carousel. My acquaintance with capers. First last and only.

I also have the very last filet mignon from my late brother in law. The Last One. It is defrosted. I thought about keeping it forever in his honour but Hal would have wanted us to eat the damn thing, so I will. It's a tough job but someone has to do it.

VARIOUS AND SUNDRIES

On the Atkins diet, trying anyway.
This for someone who does not like veggies.
A lot of people I know claim you can substitute Cauliflower for potato. I cannot have potatoes on this diet, of course. So I thought well I will try to make "potato" salad, which I love.
I cooked a little frozen cauliflower. I hardboiled an egg altho I think it could have stayed cooking another couple of minutes. I added two green onions and some mayo. Not much mayo. Salt. Let it cool.
You know what? It might work. I put it back in the fridge to meld the flavors and get good and chilly. I could add some green pepper too, if I had remembered to buy any.
I can see how you could use it for mashed potatoes.
I am frankly amazed. We never ate cauliflower when I was a kid and I never learned to like it. I could maybe make an exception....

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Yesterday I spent a good part of the day helping my good friend Susan pick up her new Belgian sheepdog puppy at OHare airport. What a pistol!! He is really going to be fun---for Susan. His name is Zip I think. He is 12 weeks old.

This is Zip. If you do competitive obedience in the midwest, get ready, here he comes. Right there you can see he is thinking about his future OTCH title.

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Got home from the airport late. The dogs had been with Dad all day, since about 9 in the morning. Apparently they had had a very busy day:

                                 Conley guarding the house.

               Conley and Cooper guarding the house. Conley is back-up.

      All the Boys except Cooper guarding the house. Nothing gets past them.

Conley exhausted after a day of guarding the house.

       Baby Zip at the Airport. We forgot he was not leash trained yet!

BITES

photo from google

photo from google

photo from google

photo from google



photo from google

This is a Gallery of dogs who have bitten me. Bitten me seriously enough to require either being off work for a day or two or requiring a visit to the ER.

The first bite and one of the worst I got working for the Vet, where these things are considered part of the package, was a blonde cocker spaniel. It destroyed for all times any warm and cuddly feelings I might have for ANY cocker, as unfair as that might be.
This was a cocker known to bite, but I was new and they forgot to put the neon red WILL BITE sticker on his cage card. So when I was asked to bring the dog up, I simply opened his kennel door, reached in, and he bit me three times, in ascending order up my arm. None were gentle, none were warnings. These were full-blown dog bites.
My arm was the size of Popeye's for about a week. Doc washed everything out with betadine, bandaged me up with ointment, and my Dr put me on anti-biotics which of course gave me a raging yeast infection which was almost worst than the bite.
Eventually, this dog bit the groomer in the face, getting clear inside her cheek. That particular groomer groomed the dog, but she was out forever. Then he bit the Grandson of the owner. Bad move. Even the owner knew it was a step too far and the dog, Rusty, was put down.

The Chows are certainly interesting. I did not get bitten by any Chows because I was incredibly cautious around them. Great with their families, a dog who mistrusts stangers more than Chows has not been bred. Chows automatically are muzzled. And it is hard, because of their heavy coats and short faces they overheat in a new york minute. They die in grooming if you put a cage dryer on them. They go berserk in the tubs. They fight everything you do, and I really mean that. Everything. The nice Chows we had in, I can count on one hand. So they got sedated, which increased the possibility of overheating.
This one, the one I am thinking of, was coming off sedation in the tub. The bather was an inexperienced woman of exceptionally poor brain skills. I told her repeatedly to keep her hands away from the dog's mouth but in spite of that she did not, and the dog reflexively grabbed her thumb. And shook it. And shook it, and would not let go. I mean, WOULD NOT let go.
Now to be honest there is more to this story.
This particular woman had already earned my disrespect and my analysis of her was that she was basically useless in the kennel. But the dog would not let go of that thumb, and she was screaming and screaming and crying-- she was a great big woman.
Doc ran back and pried the dog's mouth open. The woman ran into the treatment area and threw herself on the floor screaming, crying and kicking her feet.
Ok. I'll be honest here. Lacking a lot of sympathy (I TOLD HER) I went up and kicked her leg and said "Oh shut up and get up and let's see the thumb."
Well laaa...it did turn out to be broken, but she quit crying and screaming and acted like an adult after that.
I don't kick dogs, I kick people....

The Boston Terrier belonged to my neighbor. Sitting on their lawn waiting for my friend Susan to bring her Belgian over so we could go on a walk with her belgian and Cooper, I was petting the Boston when a car went by. I turned my head away. WHAMMO. Nasty, nasty bite.
I went home and tried to stop the bleeding. I WAS going on that walk. No, I didn't go. I spent the time in the ER. Phooey.

Pit Bulls.
Loaded name. One from across the street attacked my first Belgian when I was putting him in the car. She hit him and knocked him under the back end of the Saturn. I was screaming and kicking and kicking and kicking at her, and she backed off just enough for me to throw (I think it was Quiller) into the back hatch and slam it and then turned to face her. Deprived of her quarry, and with me raising holy hell, she retreated.

PitBull2.
SPCA impounded a pit and her litter. They were upstairs at the clinic in an iso ward. The workers had already had trouble with her and with the puppies, which were about 5 weeks old, with aggression.
I was at work early.
I was bathing a beagle, Cindy I think. Her owner often came very early to pick her up. I did not think anyone else was there.
I had Cindy in the tub when I heard nails hitting the floor. I turned and saw this Pit bitch coming very purposefully across the room, tail wagging. I was not fooled. I grabbed Cindy (maybe it was Chloe) and lifted her out of the tub, pressing her and my front against a wall as hard as I dared. I have no idea how I knew this was a terribly dangerous situation, but I knew. The pit lunged and grabbed my forearm, hanging on and yanking. I let go of the Beagle. Instant the Pit was on her back, chewing at her neck, trying to get a hold. I grabbed the pit and fell on the two of them. I was screaming for help. SCREAMING. I kept my hands under the pits head pulling her back. The beagle screaming, me screaming, the pit silent, chewing, trying to get a better hold on the beagle's neck.
Suddenly the door flew open and one of the Vets appeared. She grabbed the pit around the throat and began to choke her, but the pit would not let go.

I will not go into details. The pit died there in hallway. The Beagle battered but basically ok, her owner standing in the hall, stunned into silence and shock. We had to kill the pit to get her to let go.
I will not discuss the puppies, which had already begun to growl and snap.

                                        I love my Bassets!!!

BIRDS

photo from images

Alas,I did not get a photo of the Red Tailed Hawk that was sitting in my driveway early this week.

I heard the calling, heard it very close, and went quietly out.

But I was barefoot and the yard has been dug up and it is just dried clay now in half the front, very hard on bare feet. At least mine. Not being Cody Lundin.

And I got distracted because the calling was so close that I even peered into the bush next to me, but there was nothing there.

Then I noticed a Red Tail overhead, also calling. I could see the very bright rusty red tail in the sun. It was the first thing the eye was drawn to.

  

© Gil Miller (photographer)

I walked (tippy-toed thinking ouch ouch ouch with every step) around the corner of the house and the hawk had been in the driveway. I do not know which of us was more startled, me or the hawk, but it exited instantly, so fast I was stunned by it's size. The wingspan was at least two and half feet across. A huge bird, by any standard, so massive I was surprised it could lift off in such a small space.

The other hawk was circling overhead, calling. The one on the drive launched, lifted and vanished in the trees before I could do anything sensible.

I wish it had stayed a moment or two longer.

DOG CRAZY

We love our boys, we really do.
But you know, some days the dogs really make us nuts.
Over the years they have learned that the male spouse is a real soft touch for treats. He cannot stand the pleading looks, the laid flat ears, the hopeful tiny tail wag (just the tip--they all learn it). Consequently, when he moves around they think they might be able to con a treat out of him, and they mob him. They bark, they leap, they yell and holler and trip him and shove him from behind and are generally very obnoxious. And what does he do? He gives them treats to shut them up.
I, on the other hand, make it plain that I am not an automatic treat dispenser. Sometimes......SOMETIMES they don't even get a treat when they (gasp) come in from outside!!!!

                                                        Imagine the treachery!

Some days, however, they just won't quit. I don't know if they are especially bored, feeling good, feeling bad, hungry or just......obnoxious. But they really are. They clamor, they yarr at people down the street when they shut a door, they scream at the mailman on the next street (they can see the next street) and they leap and beg and boss and bug us for treats, to go out, to come in, to get a treat, to pet them, to get a treat.....They remind me of small children on a bad day: Mommy watch me! Mommmy WATCH Mommy watch me watch me...Mooommmmmmmy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!No watch ME. Mommey watch ME....

I remember my children as actual children fondly, but I cannot say I am sorry they are grown. I also remember the many days I felt as if collapsing, fully clothed, face first on the floor was my only remaining option.

Watch me, Mommy watch me watch me

And on those days with the dogs swirling between our legs and banging into our kneecaps and leaping on our backs, clawing and yelling and being horrible, I remember that I asked for this. I wanted this. This is what I love most.

But couldn't they get jobs?

DECOR

I have given serious thought to the question of what type of decor I am going to have at our real house when they get to that point, assuming they ever actually DO.
I think it will be similar to what is here- a kind of minimalist design with just two or three accent colors:

                                       Looks fine to me.