Crates

I am a firm believer in the value of crate training a dog. I own both the wire crates, and the plastic ones. I've seen in magazines the ones that look like real furniture. Wow! They are gorgeous. If I had a talented carpenter in the family I'd ask them to build us one.

Of course, since I live by the piling system, crates do serve more than one purpose. They have been a place for me to stack laundry, lay my delicate "do not dry" items out to, you know, dry. Crates make a coffee table of sorts also.

We took ours a step further and made a little bar out of it when we had the big 50th birthday celebration for Reno in November. We needed a place to put all the wine glasses and a couple bottles of scotch. So a cookie sheet became our "shelf" so to speak on the crate, and within easy reach. But after the party, those items just kinda stayed on Sidney's crate. Really, as a foster dog he has it all, a dry bar complete with two bottles of really good single malt scotch.

I don't know what got into Sidney during the night last night. But about 4:30am I heard a commotion. Even in my sleep I can identify crate noises so part of me knew it was not an intruder or anything. Perhaps he was high jumping, or trying to chase a bunny, or was exorcising a demon of some kind. But he make enough motion to tip over a bottle of scotch and take down a glass off the serving tray. Maybe he was just tired of smelling the Scotch and was hell bent to have a sip. Really, I was going to get up and investigate, but at that point silence prevailed (Sid was probably afraid to move at that point) and I drifted back to sleep.

So I have to say the party must really be over. The little scotch bar on the crate was disassembled this morning. Sid's valiant effort to taste the yummy failed to come to fruition. And his crate is just his crate once again. Until, of course, it is reinvented.

Mom would you.....

There is almost no way to respond to a question that begins with "Mom would you...." except to say yes. Well, at least when they were young, and now that they are older. During those teen years, the no's came way more than the yes'.

My oldest son called the other day. He and some buddies are going camping for several days. You don't have to tell me they are crazy to camp/hunt in this weather. I know it. He began with the camping part and then said the other guys Mom's are fixing this and this for them to take and would I make something too. It's not like these guys are boy scouts. They are young adults, will full time jobs and other responsibilities. I guess, however, you are never to old to sucker you Mom into cooking for you. There was no way on earth I could say no to that question.

One Mom made chili, the other made pasta salad. Ok - I have to ask who eats pasta salad in the winter (much less takes it camping)?? That one seems really bizarre - but I may be a habitually seasonal eater. Not to be outdone, I made a huge pot of chicken and chorizo gumbo. I believe I made enough to feed an army. They will love it. Personally, I thought it was going to put hair on my chest.

Maybe these boys are smarter than your average bear. After all, none live at home, but they can still finagle a hot meal from dear old Mom. Maybe Mom's just need to be needed and this request fills that need. In that case they are pure genius.

Either way they get a good meal, or two, or three. I'm happy to cook, and delighted it's not me camping out. I guess it's all good. Hopefully as good as the gumbo.

A Little Bit of Fruitcake......

Jimmy Buffett sang about it....you know, a little bit of fruitcake in every one of us. So true. It must be a coming of age thing. I hit 50, and I ended up with fruitcake in my refrigerator. And we were even eating it. Perhaps a 1/2" slice, split between the two of us, every 12 days or so. At this rate the fruitcake will last until Easter. Or so we thought.

We were celebrating getting through another week tonight. We keep our expectations low so we can do just this - celebrate. We were enjoying a fire, wine, and a little fruitcake before we started the grill for dinner. Now, many people joke that no one really eats fruitcake. But I can prove otherwise. I was loading the CD player with Christmas music. Reno was tending the fireplace. So who ate the fruitcake?? Well, when I heard NO NO BAD DOG I knew we had a culprit. Mickey, dufus at heart, helped himself to the slice of fruitcake on the table. I can't really be mad at him because we provided the opportunity and then turned our backs. True, he should have known better. Maybe he did. Perhaps he had been waiting for this moment for all his born days.

Imagine this, liver and white pointer singing under his breath a happy little Jimmy Buffet tune. And there on the plate, like a gift to the Gods, lies the fruitcake he's been humming about. Could he? Nay, should he? Leave the plate unscathed?? Nahhh.

Such a moment may never, ever repeat itself. It was a Carpe Fruitcake moment in the canine world. And Mickey seized the fruitcake. Who could blame him, after all, there's a little bit of fruitcake in everyone of us.

Christmas Shopping

As a dog lover I should be easy to shop for. I'm wondering if I'm too old to write to Santa Claus with my wish list. On the off chance Santa still likes me here I go......

Dear Santa -

I have some tough requests and some easy ones. And before I get too far with those, yes, Santa, I've been very, very good this year. Well, when I wasn't being bad I was good.

The hard questions first. I'd like a forever home for Sidney. He's a good boy and will make someone a wonderful pet. Yes, we love him, but we love him enough to let him go to his own home someday.

I'd like Kobe to not pee inside all the time. He's an old boy, really, really old. So we forgive him when it happens. It sure would be nice if his last years were chock full of simple pleasures and very low pain for him.

I'd like one of those t-shirts from http://www.alpha-bitch.net/. It's about time I got the respect due me.

I'd like a Pointer Rescue calendar, or two, or three. Our previous foster dog Pete is in several of them, plus a whole lot of other gorgeous pointers. One for my office and for the kitchen would be terrific.

I'd like a years worth of poop scooping from one of the local Doo-doo Removal Services.

I'd like one more chance to kiss the two dogs of ours that crossed the bridge last year. I miss them so much.

I'd like 3-5 acres of fenced yard in the mountains, by a lake, near the ocean for the dogs to run on. Yes, I realize this might be a hard one to fit in your sleigh.

I'd like it if once a week the dogs would let me sleep in until 8am.

I'd like it if animals weren't ever starved, abused and homeless. Perhaps your gentle kindness will rub off on people and they will learn to treat animals better.

Now Santa, I realize I've asked for a lot, and that you are not God. But I also believe that you are a dog lover too. I don't think you don't eat all those cookies left for you - I'm sure you share them with the resident pets.

If, perchance, I'm too old for you to bring me anything - that's okay too. Sharing my life with the dogs is gift enough for me.

Merry Christmas Santa - Love, Nancy

Purses

Purses - They come in all shapes and sizes. I've had suede purses with fringe (ok, I was about 10 yrs old), beaded purses, leather purses, straw purses, summer bags, little tiny purses to take to the bar, fabric purses too. Is it just me, or are the purses in the stores today just hideous?????

There was a local news story about a woman who had 102 designer purses stolen from her home. How can she find 102 purses she likes and I can't find one???? Frankly, I've carried diaper bags smaller than the purses in fashion today. One could carry a 20 lb turkey in one of them. Or fit in a small pony. Or pack a tent in one. I have enough trouble finding my driver's license, my favorite lipstick and my debit card in the purse I have. If I had one that could fit in a German tank I'd never make it through a check out line.

I want a breezy, easy to carry purse. I don't want to have to hoist it over my shoulder like an anchor for an ocean going vessel. I'd like a nice soft leather purse. Not a slick and shiny pseudo animal skin pretending to be ugly leather. I'd like it to be functional, stylish and not the size of a small suitcase.

Ok, ok, ok......maybe I'm not runway material or fashion forward. I don't need a bag big enough to use to run away from home. It needs to be easy to handle, secure, and able to handle the weather. It needs to hold a check book, or two, and some odds and ends which may include a bag for doggie doodoo. Also a few Kleenex, some receipts I may never need or be able to find again. Some business cards, drivers license, 2-3 lipsticks, a couple pens and perhaps a cough drop. That's all I need and want...... And I'd like it to be cute as well as functional. I'm not asking too much, am I????

Gifts

It's that time of year - we tend to speed up, in an effort to get everything done, rather than slow down to enjoy the moment.

I'd like to challenge you. Why? Because I can. Because I will challenge myself in just the same way. A friend and I were discussing the holidays recently. How we feel less inclined to decorate, to buy scads of gifts etc, etc, etc. It seems the older I get the more difficult it is to give really meaningful gifts. And the less I am willing to give easy insignificant gifts. It is a gift giving dilemma during a commerce driven holiday. It is totally confusing. We are bombarded with sales and promotions, shell shocked by the current economic situation and it's Christmas time.

Even in tight times we can give the gift of our self. Sadly, it is easier to give the gift of a object or thing, than to give of our self.

So, this is our challenge: give a gift of your self. A gift of time, words of kindness, laughter. Write a love letter (to your spouse, your kids, a friend, heck, even perhaps your boss), write a thank you letter. Find the time and patience to sit down and share something with someone. Sure it's easier to give things, but do we really need more things?

And I ask this - let me know, if you will, this gift you give and the experience of doing it. Rather like the Gift of the Magi - we need to give in order to receive.

Snooze Alarms

From approximately 4am on, the quality of my sleep is dictated by snooze alarms. There are three of them. One is Reno's. You may have heard it. It's the one that could stop traffic on the Panama Canal. Then there is mine, which is my favorite country music radio station. Then there is the Kobe alarm. That one is merely the sound of him getting up from his bed. It tells me I'd better beat feet or Whizzer (aka Kobe) will be drizzling a puddle by the front door. Sorry, I forgot to mention this blog may be graphic. It doesn't matter what time Kobe wakes up, I hear him.

Normally, I don't hear Reno's alarm. Mostly, I think, because my mind knows I don't have to respond to it. This morning, his mind didn't respond to it either. Isn't it funny the levels of consciousness (or unconsciousness) one experiences during the blare of an alarm clock. The first few times he hit snooze I took it in stride. It was probably the 9th or 10th time that I became aware of the thoughts in my head. It was that if I heard that freakin alarm one more time I'd tell him I was going to rip the alarm cord from the wall and tie it around.....well, you get my gist. Thankfully, during sleep, or the valiant attempt to sleep, the body doesn't leap up to do what the mind suggests. It wouldn't have been pretty.

We had a wonderful discussion about this series of events this morning over coffee. He maintains the blaring alarm intrusions were all part of a bad dream. And that he doesn't remember hitting the snooze button over and over. I distinctly remember wanting to alter his consciousness and told him next time I won't hold back. He may think I'm joking, but I think not.

Love means (so they say) never having to say I'm Sorry. It does not mean you never have to say "I'm Sorry I Didn't Hear My Alarm". I promised to help him with that. Isn't he a lucky guy?