We Were Stalked by an Owl - Revisited

This post was written in April of 2008, when still in Idaho.

First I have to set the scene.  In my effort to feel productive, I've been getting up by 8am for the last 3 mornings. This hasn't proven difficult at all, but about 5:30pm today, I needed a nap. I set the alarm for 6pm, just wanting a tiny, short nap - a power nap. 

Next thing I know, it's 10:00.  I thought it meant 10am in the morning.  I lay there for several minutes, disgusted with myself, telling myself I failed at my new plan to reform after just 3 days. Imagine my horror when I got up and it was DARK.  Instead of thinking I'd overslept that nite and into the next morning, I thought I'd overslept that nite, into the next morning and into the NEXT night again!!

So to say I was disoriented is an understatement. 

The next horrified thought was the dogs hadn't been outside for... I had to pause my panicked disorientation to do the math... from 5:30pm yesterday to 10pm "today".... 28 hours!!  Does anyone know how difficult math is when one is mathematically challenged and had the grades to prove it, AND disoriented from taking a 28 hour long nap.  AND with MS???  I swear MS took any ability I had with numbers.  Clocks included. 

The next problem was deciding what to wear when one is just GETTING UP at 10pm after a 28 hour nap. Regular daytime clothes or pajamas?  While believing one's dogs haven't peed in 28 hours, which puts an element of HURRY into it?

Finally, I got outside with the dogs. Who oddly seemed more interested in the refrigerator than going outside after 28 hours of not peeing, which should have been my first clue.  But I figured they must be disoriented too - they thought it was time for dinner. Which only makes sense, since supposedly they'd missed last nite's dinner and tonight's dinner was late. But still.  One would think after not peeing for 28 hours, peeing would be priority.  I certainly skipped my own need to pee, in my efforts to get them peed.   I'm sure I've mentioned MS giving me pee problems.  Peeing them first is how much I love my dogs.  The sacrifices I make. 

As I walked out to the field behind the apartment, wondering how in the hell I slept thru 3, yes THREE piercing cell phone alarms... one for waking up from the nap at 6pm, the wake-up alarm at 8am, AND a 3pm Physical Therapy alarm... I felt a WHOOOSH over my head.  The kind of whooosh you can both hear and feel from the air rushing by.  Muttin ran to my side, whining. Since I was still in Disoriented Hell, I didn't pay attention.  As I continued to walk down the field, trying to justify a 28 hour nap, and wondering if I should report such a nap to someone medical, since I blame MS for everything wrong in my life - Muttin continued to whine.  Eventually I saw something out of the corner of my eye, above us, flying to the top of a telephone pole.  The moon was bright, and with it reflecting off the snow, it was bright enough to see that it was a HUMONGOUS owl.

From the time of the first whooosh to the time of seeing the owl was the length of 3 telephone poles. I kept walking, watching both Muttin and the owl. The owl flew ahead to the next telephone pole.   I stopped dead in my tracks, and called Jeffrey to me.  This whole time, Muttin hadn't left my side and hadn't stopped whining. Now normally, I am Miss Facinated by Every Single Move My Puppies Make, since they are so adorable, and I would have noticed out of the norm behavior, but did I mention my 28 hour nap? 

I realized Muttin knew all about that owl, from the first whooosh to the 3rd telephone pole.

I started walking again, cause I didn't want that owl to mistake me for a tree, by standing still.  I wanted the owl to see me as the Protector of My Dogs, and I figured walking was the best way to show the owl that I wasn't a tree, because being a tree would make it okay to swoop down and grab a dog with it's wicked talons.  Notice how danger sharpened my previously disoriented mind... I knew the word for owl's feet.

As we continued to walk, the owl flew ahead AGAIN to the next telephone pole.  It didn't care about my Walking to Prove I Wasn't a Tree impression.  It was biding it's time.  It was stalking us! 

I tried to remember everything that I'd learned about owls, and realized it was next to nothing. The two things I did remember created a quandary.  One, they were wise, and two, they had good eyesight.  I recalled something about radar senses, but that's for bats.   And I wondered if they had a good sense of smell, cause that would sure be nice if they did, cause surely then it would smell the Human Protecting The Dog Meat Puppies, therefore, it would be stupid to do any more whoooshing anywhere near me and the dogvmeat puppies.   So the quandry I settled on was, if they were wise, surely it knew better than to do anymore whoooshing and/or if owls have such good eyesight, surely it saw that my dogs were too big for it's wicked talons. Right?

Or maybe, God forbid, in the things that I didn't know about owls, when I was supposedly learning about owls, IF I ever did learn about owls, but had forgotten everything I ever knew about them, not knowing that someday I'd be stalked by an owl, maybe it was bigger than I thought, even tho it already was humongously, freakishly LARGE.

Jeffrey was scampering around like a carefree dog who didn't know he could be ate up at any moment, so I called him near, picked him up, and marched us home, the length of 5 telephone poles.  Singing loudly, "Ahunting we will go, ahunting we will go, hi ho, the derry-o, a hunting we will go". Probably not the best song under the circumstances, but you try to find an appropriate song when you need a motivational marching song for deep snow while being stalked by a dog killer in the middle of the nite.   

Normally, it's Muttin I have to pick up, since she is the rebel and will take off running, but she was still glued to my heels.  In fact, she was so glued, she kept tripping me, her own version of the kamikaze games she normally plays on her brother, throwing herself cutely under his feet when he's running.   Which made me fall twice into the snow, a foot deep, at least, with Not a Care in the World Jeffrey in my arms.  Who would scamper off between falls, putting himself in, unbeknownst to him, Danger Dumb Dog. 

We got home safe and sound, where I finally realized that my nap had been from 5:30pm to 10pm of the same day, it wasn't the next day after all.   My brain literally hurt.  I fed the dogs.  I decided to have oatmeal for dinner, just to play games with my head some more. 

As I ate the oatmeal, I went to the Internet to find where I could report a humongous freakishly large owl who stalks people and their dogs.  I'm convinced it's a mutant and needs to be turned in to the proper authorities to be studied.  Or at the very least, put in jail, or a zoo. 

Amazingly enough, there wasn't much to find about Idaho owls.  There is a guy doing research on voles, lichen populations, and voles use of lichen.  This makes perfect sense, how owl research turned into vole's eating habits, as one would think voles are a owl's natural diet, rather than dogs.  So to know about voles eating lichen seems vitally important.   Lichen being the mossy green stuff on trees and rocks.  I think.   As always, with the Internet, lack of knowledge on one subject just leads to lack of knowledge about another and I wasn't about to look up lichen.   I was determined to keep my vole in check. (Vole being a kind of mouse.  Not the mouse that does the clicking all over the Internet).  Tell me how funny I am.

For the first time since feeding my dogs raw chicken, which is a whole nuther story involving Jeffrey's anal glands, I relished  the sound of doggie jaws crunching on raw chicken bones. Normally, I cringe.  And have bad dreams about bone splinters rupturing their little tummies.  But tonight, I said "Take THAT, you damn chicken, who's close to being related to owls!"

And to think, not too long ago, I've had communion with wolves and ravens, as totems.  At another time, I would have seen this owl as a sign of some sort, a message to my life.  Ha!  From here on out, let it be known that owls are my enemy, and I shall speak to no owls.  Or listen.  Ever.  I'll use my own damn wisdom thankyouverymuch.

Maybe researching owls who eat voles who eat lichen will lead to a cure for MS.  What other reason can there be for actual dollars being spent on such a study???

Originally Posted Thursday, April 17, 2008

We Were Stalked by an Owl - Revisited

This post was written in April of 2008, when still in Idaho.

First I have to set the scene.  In my effort to feel productive, I've been getting up by 8am for the last 3 mornings. This hasn't proven difficult at all, but about 5:30pm today, I needed a nap. I set the alarm for 6pm, just wanting a tiny, short nap - a power nap. 

Next thing I know, it's 10:00.  I thought it meant 10am in the morning.  I lay there for several minutes, disgusted with myself, telling myself I failed at my new plan to reform after just 3 days. Imagine my horror when I got up and it was DARK.  Instead of thinking I'd overslept that nite and into the next morning, I thought I'd overslept that nite, into the next morning and into the NEXT night again!!

So to say I was disoriented is an understatement. 

The next horrified thought was the dogs hadn't been outside for... I had to pause my panicked disorientation to do the math... from 5:30pm yesterday to 10pm "today".... 28 hours!!  Does anyone know how difficult math is when one is mathimatically challenged and had the grades to prove it, AND disoriented from taking a 28 hour long nap.  AND with MS???  I swear MS took any ability I had with numbers.  Clocks included. 

The next problem was deciding what to wear when one is just GETTING UP at 10pm after a 28 hour nap. Regular daytime clothes or pajamas?  While believing one's dogs haven't peed in 28 hours, which puts an element of HURRY into it?

Finally, I got outside with the dogs. Who oddly seemed more interested in the refrigerator than going outside after 28 hours of not peeing, which should have been my first clue.  But I figured they must be disoriented too - they thought it was time for dinner. Which only makes sense, since supposedly they'd missed last nite's dinner and tonight's dinner was late. But still.  One would think after not peeing for 28 hours, peeing would be priority.  I certainly skipped my own need to pee, in my efforts to get them peed.   I'm sure I've mentioned MS giving me pee problems.  Peeing them first is how much I love my dogs.  The sacrifices I make. 

As I walked out to the field behind the apartment, wondering how in the hell I slept thru 3, yes THREE piercing cell phone alarms... one for waking up from the nap at 6pm, the wake-up alarm at 8am, AND the 3pm Physical Therapy alarm... I felt a WHOOOSH over my head.  The kind of whooosh you can both hear and feel from the air rushing by.  Muttin ran to my side, whining. Since I was still in Disoriented Hell, I didn't pay attention.  As I continued to walk down the field, trying to justify a 28 hour nap, and wondering if I should report such a nap to someone medical, since I blame MS for everything wrong in my life - Muttin continued to whine.  Eventually I saw something out of the corner of my eye, above us, flying to the top of a telephone pole.  The moon was bright, and with it reflecting off the snow, it was bright enough to see that it was a HUMONGOUS owl.

From the time of the first whooosh to the time of seeing the owl was the length of 3 telephone poles. I kept walking, watching both Muttin and the owl. The owl flew ahead to the next telephone pole.   I stopped dead in my tracks, and called Jeffrey to me.  This whole time, Muttin hadn't left my side and hadn't stopped whining. Now normally, I am Miss Facinated by Every Single Move My Puppies Make, since they are so adorable, and would have noticed out of the norm behavior, but did I mention my 28 hour nap? I realized Muttin knew all about that owl, from the first whooosh to the 3rd telephone pole.

I started walking again, cause I didn't want that owl to mistake me for a tree, by standing still.  I wanted the owl to see me as the Protecter of My Dogs, and I figured walking was the best way to show the owl that I wasn't a tree, because being a tree would make it okay to swoop down and grab a dog with it's wicked talons.  Notice how danger sharpened my previously disoriented mind... I knew the word for owl's feet.

As we continued to walk, the owl flew ahead AGAIN to the next telephone pole.  It didn't care about my Walking to Prove I Wasn't a Tree impression.  It was biding it's time.  It was stalking us. 

I tried to remember everything that I'd learned about owls, and realized it was next to nothing. The two things I did remember created a quandary.  One, they were wise, and two, they had good eyesight.  I recalled something about radar senses, but I think that's for bats.   And I wondered if they had a good sense of smell, cause that would sure be nice if they did, cause surely then it would smell the Human Protecting The Dog Meat Puppies, therefore, it would be stupid to do any more whoooshing anywhere near me and the dogvmeat puppies.   So the quandry I settled on was, if wise, surely it knew better than to do anymore whoooshing and/or if owls have such good eyesight, surely it saw that my dogs were too big for it's wicked talons. Right?
man
Or maybe, God forbid, in the things that I didn't know about owls, when I was supposedly learning about owls, IF I ever did learn about owls, but had forgotten everything I ever knew about owls, not knowing that someday I'd be stalked by an owl, maybe it was bigger than I thought, even tho it already was humongously, freakishly LARGE.

Jeffrey was scampering around like a carefree dog who didn't know he could be ate up at any moment, so I called him near, picked him up, and marched us home, the length of 5 telephone poles.  Singing loudly, "Ahunting we will go, ahunting we will go, hi ho, the derry-o, a hunting we will go". Probably not the best song under the circumstances, but you try to find an appropriate song when you need a motivational marching song for deep snow while being stalked by a dog killer in the middle of the nite.   While disoriented by MS and a 28 hour nap.  

Normally, it's Muttin I have to pick up, since she is the rebel and will take off running, but she was still glued to my heels.  In fact, she was so glued, she kept tripping me, her own version of kamikaze games she normally plays on her brother, throwing herself cutely under his feet when he's running.   Which made me fall twice into the foot deep crusty snow, with Not a Care in the World Jeffrey in my arms.  Who would scamper off between falls, putting himself in, unbeknownst to him, Danger, Dumb Dog. 

We got all home safe and sound, where I finally realized that my nap had been from 5:30pm to 10pm of the same day, it wasn't the next day after all.   My brain literally hurt.  I fed the dogs.  I decided to have oatmeal for dinner, just to play games with my head some more. 

As I ate the oatmeal, I went to the Internet to find where I could report a humongous freakishly large owl who stalks people and their dogs.  I'm convinced it's a mutant and needs to be turned in to the proper authorities to be studied.  Or at the very least, put in jail, or a zoo. 

Amazingly enough, there wasn't much to find about Idaho owls.  There is a guy doing research on voles, lichen populations, and voles use of lichen.  This makes perfect sense, how owl research turned into vole's eating habits, as one would think voles are a owl's natural diet, rather than dogs.  So to know about voles eating lichen seems vitally important.   Lichen being the mossy green stuff on trees and rocks.  I think.   As always, with the Internet, lack of knowledge on one subject just leads to lack of knowledge about another and I wasn't about to look up lichen.   I was determined to keep my vole in check. (Vole being a kind of mouse.  Not the mouse that does the clicking all over the Internet).  Tell me how funny I am.

For the first time since feeding my dogs raw chicken, which is a whole nuther story involving Jeffrey's anal glands, I relished  the sound of doggie jaws crunching on raw chicken bones. Normally, I cringe.  And have bad dreams about bone splinters rupturing their little tummies.  But tonight, I said "Take THAT, you damn chicken, who's close to being related to owls!"

And to think, not too long ago, I've had communion with wolves and ravens, as totems.  At another time, I would have seen this owl as a sign of some sort, a message to my life.  Ha!  From here on out, let it be known that owls are my enemy, and I shall speak to no owls.  Or listen.  Ever.  I'll use my own damn wisdom thankyouverymuch.

Maybe researching owls who eat voles who eat lichen will lead to a cure for MS.  What other reason can there be for actual dollars being spent on such a study???

Originally Posted Thursday, April 17, 2008

Time

I'm going to try to participate in a photo a day thingy, hosted by Chantelle of Fat Mum Slim fame.  Today's prompt is "Time".  At a loss, and not wanting to take another picture off the numerous clocks in my tiny little studio, I Googled "time".  Of course.  When lost on the Internet, Google.  When bored, Google.  When your mind is blank, Google.  And while I was doing that, this song popped into my head.  You should be hearing it now if your speakers are on.

The passing of time has been on my mind alot these days, as I feel like life is passing me by.  I'm not able to walk the city like I had planned.  Five years ago (or so), I was walking up to 5 miles a day.  I know what it took to get to that point, and I've tried - I've really tried to do it again.  Today, a knee just gave out, as I walked the 12 steps to the kitchen.  Weird feeling.  "Gave out" is the wrong term cause that implies that it's job is too strenuous.  It's not that - it just disappeared out of sheer snottiness.  Stupid knee. 

Dammit, every time I think of walking back then, I think of my little puppies. 

Back to time.  Turn back time.  I once asked my mom if she had any regrets, and at the time, I had said that I don't have any.  But I do.  So many, and I wish I could start all over again, at age 19. 

• I wish I had been a better mom
• I wish I hadn't put Muttin/Jeff down
• I wish I hadn't lived with man #2 and 3  (altho I don't regret them... it was just not the best thing to have them in my home) 
• I wish I had kept Jacob alive
• I wish I had kept the flower shop going
• I wish I had been able to keep my home
• I wish I had been able to keep some very good friends, both online and in real life.  (altho I don't regret them... it was just not the best thing to have their drama in my life, when I needed to be taking care of me and Jeremy)
• I wish I had been able to move to San Francisco sooner, while I was still able to walk. 

That's just the top of the list.  What about you?  Do you have any regrets?

~

SoC, and Tony Stewart won the damn championship!

~
In catching up with other SOC'ers, there was one lady who said she wasn't going to recap today's race cause she doesn't remember enough details.  I have that same feeling after most races, much as I would like to start a segment on the blog, recapping the races, cause I KNOW how much ALL my readers adore Nascar, but I don't remember details either.

But today's race?  It wasn't so much about the details as it was purely amazing.  It was the last race of the season, and the championship had yet to be determined.  Often, a racer gets so far ahead in points that they know who the champion is by the end of the season.

Tonight, it came down to Carl Edwards, and Tony Stewart.  Neither of whom is my favorite driver, especially Tony, but I do have a whole new respect for him, I must admit.  Yes, Ben, I really said that.  There are 36 point races a year, from February to November.  Nascar's version of a play-off is scoring points for the first 26 races in order to compete in the last 10 races for the championship, called The Chase.  All 43 racers continue to race each race, and place, but the Chase drivers start all over in points for the last 10 races - whomever wins the most points wins that year's championship.

Neither Tony or Carl won a race during the first 25 races, but both placed high enough to qualify for the Chase.  Carl didn't win a race during the Chase, but finished consistently in the top 5 and had collected enough points ahead of everyone else to nail the championship... cept for one thing.  That damn Tony WON 4 of the 10 races, which meant he and Carl were TIED at 356 points each.  Tony had several setbacks during today's race, having to come from behind 2 or 3 times (details, details!).  Carl lead the most laps, which gave him bonus points, and he looked like the winner.  But Tony persevered.  He lead the last 40 laps, after a harrowing pit stop strategy that had me cussing at the TV, but it sorta kinda paid off.  Again, I lack the memory for details.

He and Carl ran 1st and 2nd those last 40 laps.  Tony won.  And as far as I'm concerned, there were 2 champions this season.
~~~

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Now…
1. Grab the button

(it’s at the top of this post)

2. Write your post.
3. Link up here.

Rock, Hard Spot Part Three

Lordy, this is hard.  I'm thinking I'd actually rather tell the abuse story, or the MS story instead.  If you haven't read already, here's Part One, and Part Two.

Perhaps I'll post some pictures first of the place where I buried the puppies.  Warning:  pictures of the dogs (deceasd, wrapped in a blanket are present)  I have to do this in order to let go and deal with the guilt.  It's almost like I'd welcome the judgement.

As I posted before, I had tried to re-home Muttin/Jeff way back in January of 2010.  Wow, it's coming up on 2 years I've been dealing with this.  Actually, much longer, because deciding to re-home them took at least a year to consider.  Going thru the pictures to choose which to post has been good for me.  It's in my face.  It's been so hard not to write about them when I have a memory of them ALL THE TIME, over the last year.  They were so much a part of my blog before that I really didn't feel like I had anything to say unless I could write about them too. 

They spent 3 weeks with the Humane Society, without one single bite.  There was interest until the information about them was told; 12 years of age, had to go together, Jeffrey was allergic to most dog foods, so they ate the RAW diet, specifically raw chicken.  I did say that cooking their meat was a possibility, if raw meat wasn't going to work for the new adopters.  I was also honest about Jeffrey's seizure activity, and his weakening bladder.  Not many people want to take on aging dogs, much less those with other issues.   I was insistant on telling the truth, so that whomever took them KNEW what was ahead, and the someone willing to take them on... would automatically be the right person.

They spent 3 weekends at PetCo, in cages at adoption fairs.  There were several other events they went to, and they were online as well.  After 3 weeks, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I went back to get them.  The lady keeping them in her home was soooo happy, because she said they just didn't seem to settle in like most dogs do, accepting their fate.  She said it seemed like they were just ... waiting.

However, she could have just been saying that.  I lost a little trust with the Humane Society, because they had said they would be easy to adopt out, but I sometimes felt they were just saying what I wanted to hear.  I called her every week to see how they were doing, and got the feeling that I shouldn't have, or that people didn't do that once they gave up their animals.  I had told her I was going to do that, tho.  Also, I happened to run into a friend, who had seen my puppies at one of the adoption events during the last week, and she had asked about them, knowing their story.  The kid told her they were 5 years old! and didn't seem to know anything about their food requirements.  The card that I had written up for them was not on their cage either.  After I heard that, I was sooo glad I had got them back. 

That first night, having them back home, I still knew that it was going to be hard to keep them.  It's hard to explain how happy and right it felt to have them back, but how fricking HARD it was to have them back.  Not to mention all the hassles I had to put up with the new landlady over the last 2 years, in order to keep them.

I admit, when I first got Annie, I saw the benefit of having her as a single dog, once the two littles had passed away - that I would be able to travel easier.  I could afford to pay for one dog on a plane, but had never been able to fly with the two littles because it was just too expensive.  Kenneling them AND paying for Annie's plane, etc., was just too prohibitive too.  I wasn't thinking of Annie as a service dog back in the beginning.  Physically, all three of them were a drain.  I simply couldn't walk Annie enough, she needed more than I could give.  To walk all three of them was impossible most of the time, much as I enjoyed it.  Muttin, as always, was the problem, running off at the most unexpected moments, and there were many times when a one hour walk turned into a two hour walk, and I paid for it at home.  If I didn't distract Muttin at just the right moment, off she'd run.  Teaching Annie bad habits.  If I walked them separately, again, too much physically for me.

Mentally, having to pay attention EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. to them when outside was beginning to be physically too demanding.  One of the MOST frustrating things was ... my feet.  They had always slept at the end of the bed.  They were TRAINED to sleep in their own crate, but they always snuck up on the bed at some point in the night.  I didn't care, but then the sensation of them touching my skin got to be ... like fingernails on chalkboard.   I WANTED them with me up on the bed as I watched TV or played on the computer, but physically, they were beginning to HURT me!  These days, it's even worse, but having only Annie is a bit easier, and she is farrrr more aware of my pain than Muttin/Jeff ever were.  All I have to say to Annie, is "Move" and she gets up and moves further away.  Muttin would argue.  Oh would she argue!

I was depressed when they were gone to the Humane Society.  I was beginning to sink into that depression because I still had them.  I wasn't upset with THEM.  I had learned my lesson - I was miserable without them, and oh so happy when they were back.  Instead, I was turning against myself again, because of the MS.  MS was what was making it so damn hard to have 3 dogs.

I was spending most of my time in bed, and they were constantly triggering the pain in my feet with simple, contact snuggling.  Contact that I WANTED.  Contact that ultimately kept me irritated most of the time.  Irritated, torn, and in pain.  I even considered giving Annie up, but her value as a service dog was obviously clear.  The two Littles were just too little to help me. 

To answer Anonymous's question in my last post, I don't know if one can just arbitrarily euthanize an animal just because it's become inconvenient to keep them.  I didn't talk to the vet.  I had my sister do the dirty deed of finding a vet who would do it.  I don't know if she explained the situation to them or not.  I do know that the vet who did it was very, very kind to me, and the puppies.  He explained to me in detail what would happen, and how they may or may not react.  He did it the expensive way, I know, first putting them too sleep with anesthesia first, and then killing them.  They didn't feel a thing.  I made them go at the same time, they didn't see one or the other go first.  I wrapped them up in my favorite blanket, and carried them out to the car myself cause I couldn't stand for them to be carried by anyone else.  And then my mom and sister drove us to their favorite hiking place, behind Bear World.  The ground was too hard to dig, so I buried them the way the Indians did it, covering them with rocks and branches and twigs.

I made Annie come with us, so that she wouldn't search for them endlessly, like she had when they went to the Humane Society.

It worked.
~

Rock, Hard Spot Part Two

Buddie Pic

 If you haven't read Part One, you might want to get caught up.

Sunning in the garden

Well, I thought I had a direction for Part Two, but the anonymous comment (who are you oh thou who has been following me for years? :-) made me want to respond.  But I'm not ready to answer the questions yet, because ... I'm not there yet.  To put this out there is really very difficult for me, because I miss them so much still, and I admit it - I feel guilty.  I felt uncomfortable writing sometimes, because I used to write about them ALL the time, and for me to continue to do that, without being very clear with the truth...  I did not want to explain over and over again - it's hard.




 I used to blog about the dogs more than any other subject.  I've got over 3,000 pictures of them in the computer.  They used to have quite the following, too.  They talked, and I transcribed.  A group of us used to chat about them on Delphi, way back when.  Anyone who knows me can tell you how much I loved my dogs.  Jeremy, Cindy, Theresa, Ben, Paul, Michael, Kathy, Cheryl, Steve, and everyone in the apartment building where I used to live in Idaho. Hell, I even had to fight City Hall one time in order to keep them, since one was allowed only 2 dogs when within city limits.

 They came to me shortly after my son moved out, so they filled up that empty nest thing going on.  They were hell on wheels for the first 2 years, but eventually, they bonded with me, and they did that thing that dogs do - that unconditional love thing.

I loved to watch them together.  They were so close and so in tune with each other.  I have a series of pictures I've been wanting share, but couldn't until I get this post done, cause I knew I'd get asked how were the dogs doing.  And I dreaded answering that question. 

Ohhhh Ben....

Muttin was a she-devil thru and thru.  She was a liar and a thief with no conscious what-so-ever.  She would get in trouble and either stare me in the eyes, talk back, or let Jeffrey take the blame.  He had enough guilty conscious-ness for the both of them!  He'd hang his head in shame, even tho he hadn't done anything.  She's been known to slap a boyfriend, and her meaning couldn't have been more clear.  We were laying on the bed, and he'd given her a slight tap on the nose for licking him, and she sat still, staring at him, while he tried to talk to me.  Her staring was a bit un-nerving tho.  Finally, when he looked away from her, she reached out her little paw and slapped his hand right back. And then ran away!  It was the running away that killed me - she KNEW she'd be in trouble.  It was sooo funny and soooo cute, and it was obvious she was saying "Don't you slap me, BUD".  And she said "bud" in a drawn-out way, like Buuudud.

Her favorite position - looking down at Jeffrey

She was petite, slim, and I swear she'd diet, because she used to get out of the fenced back yard every. single. day. She'd crawl under the neighbors fence.  Jeffrey was too big to get thru.  

I loved her so much.

 

Jeffry was more burly, muscle-y, barrel chested.  He was so much more earnest and honest then Muttin, and had the sweetest look of concern on his face most of the time.  I used to worry that he could have had an ulcer over all the shennigans his sister got into, and dragged him along.  He loved to play under the covers, and he snorted.  He once tried to make friends with a spider on the wall, and was heart-broken when Muttin callously ate it. He wanted to be a nurse when he grew up.

I loved him so much.
 
I think the thing that touched me the most about them was their trust in the world.  Trust was a hard concept for me, but I could see it in my dogs, and perhaps learned from them.  They had never known a harsh hand.

In my high school years, I had a dog, named Tobie, who had been abused.  It took ALOT of time before she trusted me.  She would cringe if a hand came too close to her, or when voices got raised.
Muttin?  She'd get right in the middle of it, and participate, adding her 2 cents by slapping, barking, or just wagging her tail happily.
 


Hiney is probably on the bed, but next to me where he can't be seen.  Everyone got along.  I'd wake up in my SINGLE sized hospital bed to a sea of animals sleeping with me.  I never had a problem sleeping alone because of them.  They liked my music, and cuddled up when I read.  One of them taught me the value of all creatures, great and small - even spiders.  The other one reminds me of myself - eating spiders. 

They lived in a completely happy and safe little world and shared their exuberance for life in such a joyful (and sometimes irritating! way)  Even tho they suspected Jeremy was out to murder them, they loved  him too, much to his great irritation. He had developed an unnatural aversion to dog hair once he hit his teens - so bizarre! 

They were so uncomplicated, yet brilliant.  So interesting to watch.  They were as different as night and day, two completely individual personalities.  Muttin scoffed at the mere idea of training.  She'd sit next to me while I worked with Jeffrey, and call him names, while refusing to  to learn anything from me.  I'm tellin you - those first two years were hell.  I'm surprised that Jeffrey didn't suffer from low self-esteem because of her taunts.

One time, Jeremy had brought home a huge bunch of fresh flowers from Seattle.  I put them in a vase next to  my bed, and they smelled delicious.  That night, I woke up to Jeffrey growling low in his body, and he would not stop.  It scared me, as he rarely did that, and history had proven when he did growl, I was to pay attention because something was wrong. 

 Finally, I got up and turned on the lights, hoping the axe murderer wasn't looking in the window.  Jeffrey was growling at the flowers.  I had to take them out to the kitchen, but he lay awake for a long time, vigilant about making sure they didn't walk back in the door. They could have been attack flowers for all he knew, and he was the protector.

Guess who invited herself in?  

Our back yard looked like I lived in a trailer park with all the junk I had to use, trying to reinforce the fence line, because of Muttin's escaping every day when they were toddlers.  One time, I enlisted the help of my son in rebuilding Fort Knox Not, in hopes of finally containing Muttin in our own yard.  We moved bricks, logs, dog houses, boards and cinder blocks against the fence line to block her, and I seriously thought about mixing up a batch of cement.  Jeremy didn't understand.  He'd plug up a hole, and I would have to say, nope, she'll get out of that, put another brick there just so and maybe I better mix up that cement just to be sure, and he said, , "Mom, she's not Wonder Dog".

???  Hmphh.  Easy for him to say - he wasn't living there anymore.  

Oh my.  Wonder Dog herself watched us with GREAT interest, and as I looked at her, I lost all hope of ever containing her.  She was casing the joint, and even giggled when she saw me looking at her.  When I looked over at Jeffrey, he sure hoped our efforts were going to work this time, cause he was tired of being home alone all day while his sister cavorted around the neighborhood.  He was able to watch her from our large bay windows in the front of the house.  It was hard to be the protector, if those you are protecting are flaunting their freedom by standing in the middle of the street and you can't get to them!

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You'd had to have seen it for yourself - the 4 foot cyclone fence, with another 3 feet of chicken wire, an 8 foot tall piece of plywood blocking one part of the fence.  Even the 12-inch garden fencing, laid flat on the ground along and under the fence line, so she wouldn't dig.  Then all the bricks, logs, and cinder blocks stuffed into the holes that she somehow managed to dig.  She'd get out, into the neighbor's back yard, and dig a hole under his fence to get out.  I'd come home and she'd be sitting out in the middle of the cul-de-sac, and ohsohappy to see me.  And quite full of herself, I might add.  For two years, it never got old for her.  She would bark her fool head off at anyone who drove into HER cul-de-sac.  Thankfully, none of the neighbors got upset with her, saying she was soooo darn cute about her shenanigans - they even enjoyed my frustration and misery.  I needed to quit my job in order to devote myself full-time to the problem... the mystery of how in the HELL was she getting out?

Thankfully, Jeffrey became quite good at telling me that she had escaped again.  I didn't consider it tattling, as he was being a responsible brother, concerned about her safety.  He got a butt load of criticism from her about it, tho.  

Finally, one fine day, both Jeremy and I witnessed how she got out.  She was jumping straight up 8 feet over the 8 foot high plywood, scrabbling with her feet up the last few inches, and OVER she went, into the neighbor's yard.  While I contemplated on how to fix the problem, Jeremy ran to the computer to look up How to Train Frisbee Dogs, and Win Frisbee Championships.  We were going to be rich!

On the spider incident, Jeffrey had been staring at a spider on the wall for quite some time.  He wagged his tail, barked occasionally, putting his front feet up on the wall, trying to reach the spider.  He was wagging his tail at a spider!   It was touching.  Muttin, sitting in a chair, watched him with disdain in her eyes.  She seemed to think playing with spiders was beneath her.  Until the spider fell to the floor, that is.  She pounced, and ate it.  Jeffrey was truly shocked, and wouldn't speak to her for hours.

Another story, set the scene:  Muttin was laying on the carpet with a bored look on her face.  Jeffrey came in with a cool twig, bone, toy, ball, gum wrapper, leaf - you get the point that the main thing is that IT is a COOOL thing, and he had it and she did not.  Being the sweetheart that he was, tho, he would drop it in front of her, hoping she would play.  She just looked at him, wagging her tail limply, feigning interest for one second, and then look away.  He'd roll over it, bark, snort, and bard again.  Muttin would close her eyes.  He gave up and walked away.  Suddenly, Muttin would spring to life, grab it and then chase after him.  The point was made very clearly - she had the cool thing, and he did not.  He fell for it every. single. damn. time.

Bitching about Muttin behind her back

And so, now you know.  I loved those puppies.  So the question becomes ... if I loved them so much, why did I have them put down? 

      And then came Annie. 









This comment from Anonymous is exactly why I've had such a hard time talking about my dogs.  If you've read my blog for years, don't I know you?  I will be happy to answer in the next post coming up - cause there is a Part Three, and your comment is a perfect segway!  Thanks for reading, and no snark accepted.  :-)

"Anonymous said...


I didn't realize you'd had them put to sleep. I have followed your blog for years and the sagas of Muttin and Jeff. For some reason, I was under the impression you rehomed them. What was the reason you gave for having them put down? Can one just arbitrarily have their pets put down for convenience? Just curious, no snark intended. "

To be continued
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