Brains - Or Lack There Of

I am fairly certain there are times in life when the body continues to function, but the brain is not keeping up. Sometimes we say we are on autopilot, or cruise control, or just coasting. Other times we say the lights are on but nobody is home.

I also believe that when a woman gives birth that part of the brain is expelled with the placenta. That explains how women are able to give birth more than once. In recent days I've discovered that part of the brain gets lost when you are grieving. It's too soon to tell if you find that part again, I sure hope so.

It gives me new appreciation for the comment "I don't know where my brain is". I know it's up there somewhere, but it seems to be out of the country.

Birth and death have a profound affect on our hearts. So maybe when our hearts are full, from either joy or pain, the brain gets put on "pause". All this would explain why I couldn't get the safe open at work over the weekend. I know the combination forward, backward and inside out. But my brain kept getting in the way and I just wasn't doing it right. Then to compensate I started thinking really hard which didn't help matters either.

I figure I'll get back on track sooner or later. Okay, probably later rather than sooner. As much as work is a diversion, it's also a challenge when my body shows up for it, but my brain is MIA.

Hello Lisa

The title of this blog could also be - Ask and you shall receive, Bark and the door shall be opened. I have asked and I'm now I'm in the 'trusting it will come to pass' stage in life.

Earlier this year, I contacted Bark Magazine regarding my blogs. I have traded several emails with one of their editors. So maybe I should direct this blog to her. Lisa - may I call you by your first name? Lisa we "talked", chatted, corresponded, okay, emailed about the possibility of publishing some of my blogs in your wonderful "Bark" magazine. I just want you to know I haven't given up on this happening!

I know I am not as distinguished, or previously published, as many of the contributors to your magazine. However, everyone must start somewhere. Why not start with the best?

Mickey, Kobe, Maddie and Hank will vouch for me. Abby, Fancy, Dusty, and Sidney send their regards from the other side of the bridge. Posthumous recommendations are sometimes difficult to come by. Former foster dogs, Jackson, Pete, Bo and Buddy would give thumbs up approval, but you know about that whole opposable thumb issue.

Could be this blog is way out there on the limb of life. Since I was going to blog any way, why not ask specifically for what I want? I liken it to leap of faith in my little doggydog world.

Btw Lisa - spell check will only take me so far. Sometimes my blogs have a little typo in them. I don't mind as they keep me human, and when we get to that point my guess is you have editors who will clean up these little booboo's.

They say write it down, own it and send it to the universe. Now, we don't know for sure who all they are - but I like the way they think! So, Lisa, thank you for reading this, for being the conduit that takes my bloggydog thoughts and ramblings to your magazine and beyond.

Muddy is As Muddy Does

You know how sometimes you see a 4 wheel drive vehicle that has been playing off road? You can identify them by the coat of mud they are proudly wearing. Dogs are not much different in that regard.

We started yesterday with lightening, thunder and about 1 1/2 inches of rain. Late in the day Hank and Mick were playing "watch the squirrel" under the tree. Squirrels like nothing better than to torment the dogs by leaping from tree to tree, over the roof of the house to the back yard for more tree tag. We all know that grass does not grow much under the trees. So the dogs were mudding it to stalk the squirrel. On the plus side they love to hunt, and it kept them occupied for a long time. When they came in Hanks belly and legs were coated with much like a SUV fresh from off roading. He was caked with mud. Micky just had muddy paws which he cleaned himself. How accommodating.

I decided only a bath would do for Mr. Hanky. So up to the bathroom we went. I did not occur to me that he many have never had an indoor bath before. He usual gets hosed down in the back yard and tolerates it very well. That was my first mistake. I scooped him up and lifted his muddy self into the tub and with my hand tightly on his collar he stood there....well, he stood there. Stooping beside the tub, one hand holding Hank in place, I adjusted the water temp and switched it to the shower nozzle. At the first experience of water hitting his belly area Hank exploded. It was one leap 4' up and out of the tub, with my hand firmly on his collar. My other hand grasping the shower nozzle as I was knocked on my keester. I'd have to say forgetting Hank's legs have springs in them would have been my second mistake.

Hank gets the award for bath tub shenanigans. In all my years of tubbing dogs none have ever pulled that stunt. Past experience definitely led me to a certain complacency about the thrills that can occur while bathing a dog.

Rather than freak him out again in the tub, without an able bodied assistant to hold him in place, I opted for the outside hose down. He liked that much better. If only we had a camera rolling when he bolted from the tub, talk about a Kodak moment!

Final Thots

Not to be confused with - space, the final frontier.

But, in a way I do see some space now. Since April, some of almost every day has been spent visiting my Mom and holding her hand through her health issues. Now the tables are turned and she will hold our hands as we go back to "normal" life whatever that may be. Yes, I realize a daunting task lays ahead with selling her house and settling her estate. I pray, while time consuming, it will be less stressful that all that led up to it.

Are there things I'd do differently having been through this journey with Mom? I'd probably try to laugh a little more. To find more humor in it all. Sometimes life, and death, is way too serious.

Mom's passing has opened much dialog about how we want our own celebration of life to go. I want my body to go to science, or the Guggenheim Museum of Fine Art. Mostly I think science might benefit best from my body, and maybe my karma will seep into the universe. I'm hoping my family will serve wine and cheese at my visitation, and it will be a pet friendly event. Reno said he'd be in charge of supplying dog biscuits. The story of the "Big Lots Fiasco" needs to be shared one more time, any of my other proliferous blonde moments warrant sharing again. Let there be laughter and giggling, even if it's slightly irreverent all the way to heaven. Perhaps someone could bring big red clown noses in case anyone has trouble getting into the moment.

You know the line from the Billy Joel song - "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun". Since, in many ways we all sin from time-to-time, let's have some fun doing it. Lest anyone misunderstand that, I'm not endorsing sinning, I am embracing more fun. Forgiveness is not a limited commodity. Only self limiting if it is not used on a regular basis.

Perhaps there is a correlation between those who exude laughter and life, and those who are unable to lighten up. Maybe being unable to forgive is like a fracture to the funny bone. One wouldn't think it would be terminal, but it is.

When you think of it we are all terminal. That kind of levels the playing field doesn't it?

Christmas Cookies

We made Christmas cookies today, rolled them, cut them, baked, frosted and decorated them. Not your normal summer activity. But there is a reason for this "madness". Every year, for what seemed eons, my Mom made sugar cookies, and had her 16 grand kids over to decorate them. Granted we did them near Christmas instead of late August.

We decided we needed to do them to serve at the lunch after Mom's funeral. So we gathered amid powdered sugar and sprinkles. It was a juried event, with "awards" presented for the most artistic cookie, the ugliest cookie and the one with the most decorative crap on it. Oddly, the most artistic cookie award went to a virtual novice, or now that I think of it, perhaps he was a ringer.

It is really all about honoring tradition, with a liberal dose of sugar mixed in for good measure. In all the solemnity of funeral planning and services, it was fun to just kick back for a bit. Mom would be pleased.

Perhaps most of all they bring some of her essence into the funeral. It becomes personal, whimsical, tangible, and best of all edible.

Gone Home

The distance between the here, and the hereafter, is less than a heartbeat, softer than a sigh, quicker than a breath. And that is exactly how my Mom went home today.

That pretty much says it all. Except that I have a new understanding of devotion, tolerance, of holding a hand and letting go of a heart all at the same time.

I have the utmost admiration of those who work in nursing homes. Who day in and day out tend the sick and dying. Mom had her favorites, and they shared how much they cared for her. Sometimes we wondered whose Mom they were referring to. Some of us, from time-to-time knew her prickly side, but didn't let that stop us for tending to her during this time. It was good to hear of her being loving and appreciative to those who cared for her during this last journey.

Through these last day's I've had many visions of how people cross over after death. Not the least of which is the phrase we so often use with our beloved pets. We say they have crossed the bridge. As she wasn't a huge animal lover I seriously doubt she crossed that bridge.

But she did cross from here to there, wherever there is. It was swift and gentle, and she was surrounded by love. It was, I must say, a privilege to be part of that.

Sleep Over

Remember sleep overs when you were little? Camping out in the tent, or making a tent in the front room. Girl friends giggling, late night snacks, Mother telling you to get some sleep.

I'm having a different kind of sleep over. This one with my Mom, in her room at the nursing home. No girlfriends, but the staff nurse with her rolling cart just went by with the resident cat riding on top. Not much sleep for me at this sleep over. But Mom is sleeping, so that counts for something. Not much in the way of giggling or midnight snacks. Just a few old cookies from earlier in the day.

I don't have to be here, and yet I chose to. I'd prefer being at home snuggled next to Reno and a couple pups. But, something says stay......so I do.

On the dry erase board that used to have Mom's goals for the week I put "thankful for our time with Mom, waiting for the angels to take her home" Do you suppose they are listening? Or perhaps the angels are giggling in the wings like girlfriends at a sleep over.

Angels always look so dignified, but I'm hoping that's not the case. I'd prefer the kind who stop to pet dogs, never turn down a glass of wine and aren't afraid to laugh out loud. Perhaps then, every day in the hereafter would be like a delightful sleepover.

The Journey Home

Isn't it nice when the journey home means jumping in your car for a short trip? Or even a long trip, but one filled with joyful anticipation? Or, even, a trip down memory lane?

There are all kinds of journey's home. Sometimes we are on the journey and not even aware of the destination. Other times we are on the road, and it feels like driving across the state of Nebraska, unending! There are times when all the roads lead to home. Times when we are rediscovering what home means and where it is.

Life is a journey. Okay, so not my most profound comment. But it is! We are nearing the end of my Mom's journey home. The last four months have been mostly unpaved road sorely in need of repair. We've learned more about g-tubes and j-tubes than we ever dreamed. We started in one direction expecting a certain outcome, and find ourselves in another place all together. It has been, for those closely involved, a journey of discovery.

And now, the end is in sight. Home is right around the corner. It is a good place to be. Not an easy place to be, but good none the less.

How many times do we long for home? Daily, hourly, hopefully, prayerfully? We look forward to finding our foster dogs new forever homes. We plant the seeds in our kids so they learn the value of home. We anticipate when our kids, soldiers, friends and loved ones come home.

And sometimes, we let go in order for them to complete that last journey home.

Fake Left, Fake Right

We laugh daily at Mr. Hanky. Heck, I can remember cringing the first time Reno called him Mr. Hanky! No foster of mine would be named after a moronic TV character. Okay, so now the name pretty much fits him.

I think, inside this pointer boy, a Tigger is trying to get out. This is how he is at the door. Going out - hang onto your hat a white tornado is coming through. Then he yips, yips, yips all around the yard. Coming in is another whole production. He'll stand at the door and watch for you. When he sees you he fakes left and pounces, then he fakes right and pounces. Then he centers himself and jumps about 4 ft in the air! Repeat, fake left, fake right and spring into the air. Repeat once more for good measure. I double dog dare anyone to not be charmed by his antics!

The other thing amusing is to see Mick and Hank with their squeaky toys. Until now, squeaky's lasted about all of ten minutes at our house before being ripped limb from limb. So, I never bought them. Somehow we got two as freebies, so the boys are in remedial squeaky training. Hank could not be prouder than when his squeaky is stuffed in his mouth. Mick likes to be chased with his. And yes, given half a chance Mick would decapitate his in a heartbeat. I let them play for about 10 minutes or so with them, and then they trade them in for treats. So far we have completed 4 play sessions with them, a house record for sure.

The only thing funnier would be to see Mr. Hanky do the fake left, fake right, jump to the sky with his squeaky. Not likely that will happen. I'm a mean Mom and squeaky's are not allowed outside. At least not on my watch they aren't.

New Eyes - Old Eyes

Sometimes we forget just how great we have it. Our eyes just don't see. We are complacent. We are jaded. We get stuck on the little picture and forget the big picture.

I work in a floral department and sometimes joke about not seeing the florist for the tree's. We get consumed by details and ignore the tapestry of components that make us whole.

Sometimes, it takes new eyes to see. New eyes have enthusiasm, have zest, have energy. Lord knows we all need that. Old eyes are weary, and cloudy of vision. Old eyes, like my Mom's, see off into the distance where I have no doubt the angels wait.

Hank still has new eyes for life, as do Maddie and Mickey's. Kobe's eyes sometimes gaze off into the distance, and other times look happily for the next bowl of kibble and the best place to pee.

Where are your eye's today? A visitor today to the store brought bright eyes, full of excitement for all we have. Her eyes brought new light to my eyes, which recharged both of us.

They say the "eye's have it", pardon my pun. But, isn't that the truth?

In Context

Funny how when taken in context things sound one way, and in reality it's completely different.

We talk about "morning people" as opposed to being a "night person". Hank, for example is a morning dog. In context, one might find that adorable. In reality, not so much. Perhaps he just has me well trained. A doggy door would be helpful, but then how would I train him to tell me he's going out to play at 4am?

Here is another one....some assembly required? Helloooo, some for whom? Some for the rocket scientists of the world, or some for your average Joe. What about the phrase "until death do us part". In the good times we hope this is way, way off in the distance. In the bad times, it sounds like a viable option.

How about this 24 hour day thing? Have you ever heard someone say, phfeww, I had just enough hours today to get everything done! Usually we don't have enough hours, or they are not moving fast enough, or they went too fast. Lately, I need about 30 hour days.

And yes, think about the unconditional love we get from our pets. Ever considered how much unconditional poop, or vet bills they give us too? You gotta love that.

And, what about disclaimers? The usually begin with 'caution' and end with, wow, I shoulda seen that one coming.

In context, or out, in good times or bad, day in and day out. Life should have a disclaimer that says...some patience and lots of prayer required. But then again, if we took that approach, we might not need the disclaimer.

As for my morning dog, Mr. Hanky. even though I don't want to drag myself out of bed to let him out. I will, because it's a small price to pay for his happiness.

Spa Day - part 2

Maddie had her spa day yesterday. Being the only female canine in our pack, I think that alone elevates her to a special status. And, face it, rank does have it's privileges. Okay, so she is also the only one who needs professional grooming. Tonight I go for a trim myself, I could use some grooming myself.

I hope my transformation is as dramatic as Maddies. She looked like an overgrown buffalo in the dead of winter. Underneath all the fur is an (almost) svelte English Springer Spaniel with markings that should make the pointer boys green with envy. She cleans up so good!

My guess is that my hair cut won't be as noticeable as hers. But, subtle or not, we do need those spa days! I used to schedule my appointments about as often as we do Maddie's. Which is usually way after my hair/her coat is long and over grown. I'm getting in more regularly these days, and I need to do the same for her.

Only thing left on the spa agenda is to clip Kobe's nails. Well, a massage and pedicure for me wouldn't hurt either. But, one thing at a time.....

Spa Day

To me, Spa Day sounds like a pedicure, manicure, facial and a massage. Okay, so I've never really enjoyed the "works" like that, but some day I will.

Today's Spa Day, was three less than willing pointers in a back yard hose down. The plan was to shampoo Prince Kobe and that I did. He was stoic as always when he gets the Chinese water torture. After him, I thought, heck, why not Hank? My hands and feet are wet, one more is not a big deal.

Hank ran his happy self right over to me when I called him. So, for the record, the dogs don't scream when the cold water hits them like I would have. I wasn't taking a chance by letting go of his collar either. Scrubbed him down, rinsed him off, and sent him scampering to get the clean off. Next, victim, errrr, volunteer - Oh Mickey!

Mick wasn't born yesterday. He knew what was next. He knew why I was calling him, and he knew why he didn't want to come. But, with some sweet talking he timidly came over. And yes, he too was subjected to the water torture. Tic Tac Toe three clean pointers in a row. Wet dog smell times three!!

Perhaps, in their doggy brains, linking spa day to baths is a vast misnomer. Spa day to them would be eating from the garbage can, rolling in some stinkin poo, and licking their private parts because they can. If this is the case, I hope they accept my apology for mistreating them this way.

As soon as the odor d'wet dog dissipates, I'll be glad I bathed them.

Prayers

At any given moment, I find there is a prayer on the tip of my tongue. Some go like this....Lord, please don't let me be the pain in the ass some of my family say I am. Lord, if it is your will, please let Hank enjoy a long happy life in our care. Lord, I know you want me to be patient and faith filled, can it happen sooner rather than later? Lord, it's hot out. Phffewww, are we lucky to have air conditioning and fans

Then there are prayers like this....Lord, may the God's of Karma smite that buzzard in a big way. Lord, perhaps that person could use a little more suffering for what they have done to me. Could you give them a double dose? I know, we shouldn't pray this way, but sometimes it just happens. Like this, Lord, that stinker (insert expletive of choice) just cut me off in traffic, what an ****idiot.

Or there are prayers of thanks. Thank you for the food we eat, the roof over our head, for our jobs. Thank you for freedom, and choice, and freedom of choice. Thank you for our children, please bless them and guide them in to your door.

We try to pray when we sit down to eat. We take turns, although, admittedly sometimes we pray it's the other person's turn to pray. We don't pray together daily, like we should. Often times we don't get to even sit down together to eat, much less pray.

At the end of the day, or the beginning, or for that matter anywhere in between. We have much to be grateful for and prayer, in whatever form, is entirely appropriate. I am blessed to love and be loved, to live in my doggy dog world, to give (I hope) more than I take. And I pray, that I used your words and love to touch others.

Stubborn, Dirty and Attitude

Let me take three random thoughts and weave them into a blog.

I come from a long line of stubborn women. This is not news to Reno, but it should scare the bejeebers out of him. My Mom, with her health issues sets a new standard for stubbornness. Her heart is strong, her lungs are strong and her irritability quotient is off the charts. These are all good things! Unless you are a nurse trying to care for her.

Like me, patience is a dirty word for her. And attitude is a critical issue. With all her losses of independence and health she struggles each day. I feel for her. I feel frustrated that she is so critical. I try to find good things in her day but it falls on deaf ears.

Speaking of ears, I was cleaning the dogs ears tonight which also brings to mind the words dirty and stubborn. I don't mind cleaning ears, but I'm not known for being much of a cleaner. I don't mind brushing dogs either. I do mind that there is a dirty spot on the carpet waiting for me. But I'm patiently waiting for the energy to attack it. Right now the spot has all the attitude and I'm not up to a fight.

Speaking of attitude - I'd like some of Hank's. We should all leap for joy like he does. And run yipping in delight through our day like he does the yard. We should find our bliss like Maddie does with her ball. Find our comfort like Kobe is his special corner. Utilize our talents like Mickey hunting bugs in the shrubs.

Perhaps stubbornness is a strength if balanced with a positive attitude. That kind of patient tenacity moves mountains and breaks down walls. Sign me up for some of that.

Bucket Heads

This is the first time I recall Mickey being the bucket head in the family. It's amusing to see how each dog handles wearing that dreaded cone of horror that keeps them from licking, scratching, or bothering a wound that is healing.

Mick had a run in with a neighbors dog. Actually the neighbors dog did the run in. It was a run-in biting. Mickey had some minor surgery and some sutures put in. While women may have breast reduction surgery, Mick had a wee bit of ear reduction surgery.

He is not at all like Kobe was in a bucket. Kobe would just plough through. His cone ended up with duct tape and chunks out of it. Mickey will clip something and then not move again for a few moments. I think he's waiting for the other object to pass him. When he's certain it has, he moves on. Odd part is he moves his head slightly from side-to-side to give himself some peripheral vision. The cone tracks way more than his head though. He looks very much like a bobble head that goes from left to right instead of up and down.

I know it's annoying for him. An affront to his handsome sense of dignity. But, for the amount of time he scratches at the plastic, I know it's protecting that ear of his. Buckets happen, what can I say. Just have to get that swinging bucket on video. It really enhances the dufus in him.