Reveille

The dogs have their own sort of reveille in the morning. Sometimes it is sounded via my alarm clock. Other times it is instigated by an internal clock of their own.

Hank's reveille normally occurs about 4:30-5:00am when he leaves his place on the sofa to join us on the bed. Mick rarely comes to check on us. He would gladly have us over sleep.

As soon as I make the slightest move to get up all the dogs are on alert. I should wake up that fast! Heck, I've never in my life woken up that fast. Now, Layla doesn't have free range in the house at night. She's young and into everything. So she sleeps in a kennel at night for the safety of every edible and non-edible thing we own.

When I let her out an interesting phenomenon occurs. The boys race for the back door, longing for a tree to relieve themselves on. Not so Layla, she runs the other direction. She runs to the bedroom to check on Scaryman. She is his personal reveille. Are you there? Are you up? Do you see me? Can we play? Aren't I cute? Did you miss me? Whatcha doing? Can I step on you? Is it belly rub time?

The boys have long since had their morning relief. She has Daddy time. First things first for Layla. Proof that there are many ways to relieving yourself in the morning. And going potty is just one of them.

Grieving....

A friend writes to me. "This is my second full day without Mike." So this blog is about grief, and hopefully, a very small measure of comfort.

So often we measure life in days, weeks, months. Other times we measure it by the magnitude of loss. We measure from the moment life changed until we can no longer measure the size of the pain. We measure because doing so offers a speck of reality in a life that has become surreal.

The heart cannot hold all the pain at once. The mind shuts down and numbness encompasses. We think in terms of the past because we cannot fathom the future. And I wonder, what comforts pain like this?

Let me say I am no expert in this. But this is my wish for my friend. In this time of sorrow and introspection be gentle with yourself. Let your animals lean on you and be balm for your soul. Furry friends speak volumes. Be still if you need to. Breathe.... Cry when you have tears. Know that you are not alone. He is with you. He is always with you.

Treats and Things

Layla runs like a goof ball in the yard. Toys in mouth, dangling, bouncing, juggling them as she goes. Circle, laps, figure eights, zig zags. She is a happy little nut job in pointer clothing.

We've been working on retrieving. Okay, I've been working on retrieving. She's been working on happy-go-lucky running. She excels at that. I've been trying to find the right treat to reward her with when she retrieves. We've tried Cheez-its, hot dog bits, dog treats of various flavors. She is getting the retrieving. She is not getting the treating! She will take the treat and go deposit it in the yard and then is ready to chase the toy again. Boom, she's back for another treat which she drops a few steps away. When I quit throwing the toy she follows her nose until she finds all the treats. Silly to watch, but she gets twice the work out.

I'm pretty certain the pointer boyz think she is certifiable. Maybe I'm missing the point. The thrill is in the game, not the dessert that follows. Hmmmmmm,I've always been in it for the treat. Maybe I'm missing a key element. Or, maybe I need to treat myself each time she retrieves. Now we're talking.

Names

I am going to start a list of great names for dogs. Future dogs, because you never know when you might need one. If we got a really gnarly foster we could name it Crusty or Gnarly, for that matter. Bracken is another good one. Skeezix, Okra, Keeper, Loner, Nugget, Pinot, Gracie....so many names.

Of course the flip side is the list that would be amusing, but not quite politically correct. Dip shit, Numbskull, Nerdbait, Bonehead, Goofball, Dopey, Moron, Trouble, and a whole slew of left handed slang names.

Days have names. Not just your basic Mon-Tues-Weds. Today, for example could be called melancholy-day. Another day might be Sad-turday. Or someday it might be Excitaday.

I am definitely melancholy today. It will pass. I want to wallow. I want to look back and wish things didn't change. I want all that, all this and all there is to come. Yep, I know it doesn't work that way. I think I have my house sold and that is why I am blue. See? Days have colors too, not just names. It is hard to let go of good things, even when better things come your way. I am attached, invested, and sometimes a chicken shit about letting go. Of course this means some tears are on the horizon. It's what I do. I'll be weepy and then be stronger because of it.

And I'll have good names like Reno, Mick, Layla and Mr. Hanky to help me through the transition.

Resting Places

Now, you could take that title many different ways. I was pondering the houses we own/rent. We one a home in one city and rent a home in another. I've always dreamed of having a "vacation" home, but didn't think this would be it. When we visit the home we own, it's not for vacation purposes. But we do rest our head there sometimes at night.

We have more dog crates in the rental than we have bedrooms. That is counting the one in the garage, but nobody has to sleep there. If you add the dog bed to that, the dogs have more places to rest that we do in the house. If you add the sofa and recliner that number gets even more impressive. Although we do sometimes get to rest on those surfaces if the dogs let us.

As always it's a lesson in what we really need in life. The size of the house does not matter, the size of the life we live does. There are comforts to be found in each. Some are more spacious comforts, some are small and cozy. All give us a place to rest our body and soul.

Home Finds You

Sometimes home finds you. Sometimes you find home. Sometimes temporary becomes permanent. Sometimes you gotta go with your gut.

As fostering goes, Ms. Layla OliveOyl Sooner of Girard has become a classic foster failure. I figure, two failures out of 12 fosters is not bad. Heck, two over the course of 11 years is not bad. I think we were way over due.

It happens. Sometimes you just open your heart and can't let go. Do you wonder if its the right thing, yep, you do. I first suspected a failure when I had trouble writing her profile. I wanted to say horrible dog, not adoptable. Of course I knew that wasn't true. More like adorable dog, totally adoptable we want her for ourselves!

So I wrote the profile. Then we talked, pondered, and wondered. Should we or shouldn't we. In the end we did.

Layla left the ranks of foster and joined the ranks of forever. Welcome home little darling!

I Like It

If someone asked Layla what she thinks of foster care I believe she'd say the following:

It's beats being on the street.
They won't let me chew on any baskets,or table legs, what's up with that?
Or rugs, they are off limits too.

And there is this damn thing that squirts water at me. What the hell?

However, the recliner is pretty sweet.
The food ain't bad.
The hands are gentle.
Plenty of water.
Treats, OMG, the treats.
Scrambled eggs, me likey.

And there is this damn thing that squirts water at me. What the hell?

However, the toys are cool.
The bones rock with all manner of goodies stuffed inside.
Soft blankets.
Dry feet.
No tight chains around my neck.

A couple of old dogs for playmates. Kinda like the two old men from the Muppet Show. Amusing, but old.

Did I mention the gentle hands?
Regular food?
The recliner.
Treats.....

Oh, yes, I like it here.