Having made a decision to avoid as much negativity as possible, I have discovered that scrolling through Facebook does not take nearly as long as before. It also means avoiding most of what is in the daily newspaper.
This does not mean I do not care about what is going on in the world. It's already happened and there is not a thing I can do about it. Dwelling on it and holding images of atrocities in my head all day does not do me one ounce of good. Avoiding these things does mean I will not be very savvy at carrying on a conversation about current events, but that's OK with me. I think there are more important things going on and I still don't get the deflated football thing.
I am following a series of exercises though. Not the physical kind, but the mindful kind. The purpose of these are to find one's true self. Not the self I see in the mirror each day, but the one that lives deep inside.
The exercises are quite simple, almost too simple when first starting out, and I would like to share one.
For today, or longer if you choose to do so, pay attention to where your thoughts are. Are they in the past, present or future? This only need be done a few times a day and only for a minute or two. The purpose is to show where you spend most of your mind time.
I thought this seemed simple enough until I realized that I do not stay focused in the present more than about 30 seconds. Before I know it, I'm either way back in the past or giving some fret to what lies in the future. I did not realized how much of the 'now' I'm missing. Spending all that time in the past, a place that really does not exist because it's done, gone, over with, suddenly seems like such a waste. And the future, well, it really doesn't exist either....does it?
So, go ahead, give it a try. Pay attention to your thoughts and see where you are spending your 'now' moment.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Life Before Dog
I think I had one. A life. It is somewhere in the milky haze of a year gone by, but for the life of me, I'm not sure exactly what it was.
One thing I know for sure, whatever it was, it is gone. Lost in the pages of my history and I'm beginning to think it must have been just a paragraph, or two, long.
With the arrival of a small white puppy, life is now different. I am never alone, unless I can get the door shut to the bathroom before the dog gets in there. Watching the water go round and round in the bowl is most entertaining.
I have discovered many things by having a dog.
The scent of hair color is obviously heavier than air. I can tell this by the whining that goes on behind me at my feet. Yes, Runtly, it stinks.
There is a monster that lives in a closet. A special closet. He knows exactly which one. The dreaded vacuum sweeper sits behind those bi-fold doors, waiting patiently. It has been used more in a month than it has in several. I do not understand how one small creature with very short hair can lose so much of it and not be completely hairless. He is usually afraid of anything that makes noise, except the vacuum. It doesn't matter if it is turned on or not, when it emerges from the closet, the battle begins.
Sorting laundry takes twice as long as usual. He does not care if the whites are with the darks and proceeds to make his own pile.
Loading the dishwasher is a special treat. When I'm not looking he will be on the opened door, inspecting the dirty silverware. I may never have dinner guests again.
Sitting down in my chair, by myself, has become extinct.
There are toys strung about the house, daily. And blankets, baby blankets. Baby blankets that fly from one room to another and are sometimes mysteriously wound around the legs of my office chair. I've yet to see how he does that.
I thought the days of finding a grandchild half way up the spiral staircase, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, making my heart skip a beat, were over. They are not. He has done this twice and the descent has not been pretty. Yes, he grins like a Cheshire Cat.
Dogs watch TV. I never knew that.
There is something fascinating under my bed. It must be the dust because there is nothing under there. He doesn't know this fact and continues a search every chance he gets. If I could figure out how to hook a dust rag to him, I'd be set.
I used to think I wrote interesting blog content. Now I seem to blah, blah on about a dog. A dog who is happy to see me if I've been gone a couple of hours or 30 seconds. A dog that has completely turned my world upside down. A dog that loves nap time in my lap, upside down, with all four feet sticking up in the air. A dog.
I love this dog.
One thing I know for sure, whatever it was, it is gone. Lost in the pages of my history and I'm beginning to think it must have been just a paragraph, or two, long.
With the arrival of a small white puppy, life is now different. I am never alone, unless I can get the door shut to the bathroom before the dog gets in there. Watching the water go round and round in the bowl is most entertaining.
I have discovered many things by having a dog.
The scent of hair color is obviously heavier than air. I can tell this by the whining that goes on behind me at my feet. Yes, Runtly, it stinks.
There is a monster that lives in a closet. A special closet. He knows exactly which one. The dreaded vacuum sweeper sits behind those bi-fold doors, waiting patiently. It has been used more in a month than it has in several. I do not understand how one small creature with very short hair can lose so much of it and not be completely hairless. He is usually afraid of anything that makes noise, except the vacuum. It doesn't matter if it is turned on or not, when it emerges from the closet, the battle begins.
Sorting laundry takes twice as long as usual. He does not care if the whites are with the darks and proceeds to make his own pile.
Loading the dishwasher is a special treat. When I'm not looking he will be on the opened door, inspecting the dirty silverware. I may never have dinner guests again.
Sitting down in my chair, by myself, has become extinct.
There are toys strung about the house, daily. And blankets, baby blankets. Baby blankets that fly from one room to another and are sometimes mysteriously wound around the legs of my office chair. I've yet to see how he does that.
I thought the days of finding a grandchild half way up the spiral staircase, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, making my heart skip a beat, were over. They are not. He has done this twice and the descent has not been pretty. Yes, he grins like a Cheshire Cat.
Dogs watch TV. I never knew that.
There is something fascinating under my bed. It must be the dust because there is nothing under there. He doesn't know this fact and continues a search every chance he gets. If I could figure out how to hook a dust rag to him, I'd be set.
I used to think I wrote interesting blog content. Now I seem to blah, blah on about a dog. A dog who is happy to see me if I've been gone a couple of hours or 30 seconds. A dog that has completely turned my world upside down. A dog that loves nap time in my lap, upside down, with all four feet sticking up in the air. A dog.
I love this dog.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Wings n' Things
So, I've been reading these books about how our thoughts create reality. Sounds weird, but I've always walked on the weird line.
One of the experiments to try was thinking about a certain colored vehicle, giving yourself 24 hours to see it. Easy enough, I thought, and proceeded to conjure up what color I wanted to see. I decided on green, not grass green but dark deep ugly green, I also thought that funky lime green would be another choice, but left it in the back of my mind. I was driving on the interstate at the time and set out to see what happened. About ten minutes down the road, there it was. A dark ugly green car sitting along side the road with one of those bright orange tow stickers on it. Hmmmm.......Later in the day I saw the bright funky lime green color, and I'm still seeing them.
One day, before I read these books, I was thinking. I was thinking about turkey vultures. There are lots of them around here and it is a common site to see them feasting on a recent road kill. I was wondering if they would land inside the city limits, if the opportunity was there for them. After all, every once in awhile, an unfortunate squirrel or bunny does not make it across the street. About a week after having this thought I was returning from the post office and there it was, or rather, there they were. Two turkey vultures having a quibble over a squished critter in the street, about 50 feet from my front door.
Some folks would call this a coincidence, but not me. Life is too full of things we take for granted to just casually toss off a "wow" moment as coincidental. Take, for instance, the bean experiment. Plant bean seeds in an egg carton. Place the intention or thought that one side of the carton of seeds will grow faster and taller than the other, water and wait. That worked too.
I really wanted a dog. Not just any dog, but the small, tiny runt of the litter. I never voiced this out loud but I now have the small, tiny, anvil chewing runt of the litter. There have been several occasions when the phrase "be careful what you wish for" has come to mind. I think that is true of all of our thoughts, they should be good ones, filled with positive vibes and good will toward others.
Maybe you are rolling your eyes, but let me share one more with you. My husband and I were having a conversation the other day about the dog. I said that since he, the dog, not the husband, is small and white and there are several species of large birds of prey in our area, that maybe it was not a good idea to have him loose out in the open. Large birds of prey can snatch up animals like the above mentioned squirrel and bunnies, perhaps a small white shape speeding through the grass looks like an equally tasty morsel...AND if you have seen the video of the eagle picking up a small toddler about six feet off the ground, anything is possible.
I decided to take the dog with me yesterday to get the mail. Runtly has yet to master the thrill of the car ride and since this would be a short jaunt I thought it would help get him used to riding. I had parked the car in the driveway on the north side of the house instead of putting it in the garage. As I rounded the back end of the car and opened the driver's side door, out of the corner of my eye I caught a six foot wing span. That's probably an exaggeration, it was more like four foot, but at the time it was pretty darned big. Yes indeed, a large bird of prey had hit the ground right behind me and the dog. Standing with my mouth hanging open, I watched as the bird lifted and landed in the neighbors tree.
This hawk had actually grabbed a small bird from around the bird feeder, which is just a few feet away from the driveway.
Think what you want, but I put the dog in the house and went to the post office by myself.
One of the experiments to try was thinking about a certain colored vehicle, giving yourself 24 hours to see it. Easy enough, I thought, and proceeded to conjure up what color I wanted to see. I decided on green, not grass green but dark deep ugly green, I also thought that funky lime green would be another choice, but left it in the back of my mind. I was driving on the interstate at the time and set out to see what happened. About ten minutes down the road, there it was. A dark ugly green car sitting along side the road with one of those bright orange tow stickers on it. Hmmmm.......Later in the day I saw the bright funky lime green color, and I'm still seeing them.
One day, before I read these books, I was thinking. I was thinking about turkey vultures. There are lots of them around here and it is a common site to see them feasting on a recent road kill. I was wondering if they would land inside the city limits, if the opportunity was there for them. After all, every once in awhile, an unfortunate squirrel or bunny does not make it across the street. About a week after having this thought I was returning from the post office and there it was, or rather, there they were. Two turkey vultures having a quibble over a squished critter in the street, about 50 feet from my front door.
Some folks would call this a coincidence, but not me. Life is too full of things we take for granted to just casually toss off a "wow" moment as coincidental. Take, for instance, the bean experiment. Plant bean seeds in an egg carton. Place the intention or thought that one side of the carton of seeds will grow faster and taller than the other, water and wait. That worked too.
I really wanted a dog. Not just any dog, but the small, tiny runt of the litter. I never voiced this out loud but I now have the small, tiny, anvil chewing runt of the litter. There have been several occasions when the phrase "be careful what you wish for" has come to mind. I think that is true of all of our thoughts, they should be good ones, filled with positive vibes and good will toward others.
Maybe you are rolling your eyes, but let me share one more with you. My husband and I were having a conversation the other day about the dog. I said that since he, the dog, not the husband, is small and white and there are several species of large birds of prey in our area, that maybe it was not a good idea to have him loose out in the open. Large birds of prey can snatch up animals like the above mentioned squirrel and bunnies, perhaps a small white shape speeding through the grass looks like an equally tasty morsel...AND if you have seen the video of the eagle picking up a small toddler about six feet off the ground, anything is possible.
I decided to take the dog with me yesterday to get the mail. Runtly has yet to master the thrill of the car ride and since this would be a short jaunt I thought it would help get him used to riding. I had parked the car in the driveway on the north side of the house instead of putting it in the garage. As I rounded the back end of the car and opened the driver's side door, out of the corner of my eye I caught a six foot wing span. That's probably an exaggeration, it was more like four foot, but at the time it was pretty darned big. Yes indeed, a large bird of prey had hit the ground right behind me and the dog. Standing with my mouth hanging open, I watched as the bird lifted and landed in the neighbors tree.
This hawk had actually grabbed a small bird from around the bird feeder, which is just a few feet away from the driveway.
Think what you want, but I put the dog in the house and went to the post office by myself.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Feel Goods
Everyone wants to feel good. Vast amounts of money are spent daily on items than can range from a tube of mascara to an entire room of workout equipment all for one reason....to feel good.
We want to look good too, but looking good, in our own eyes, also makes of feel good, so the looking is just a means to an end.
Even animals want to feel good. Have you ever stopped to pet a cat? Hopefully, it was a cat that wanted to be petted, but for the majority of felines, a long petting session makes them feel good.
Runtly, the dog, likes to feel good and this is usually accomplished by chewing on something during all his waking hours.
I visited a pet supply store over the weekend, a place that shows the human race has gone through a huge paradigm shift. Years ago, pet supplies were found in a small section of whatever store might carry them, usually next to the pet food. Now there are huge stores dedicated to the feel good needs of our pets with isles and isles of toys, treats, beds and even fur lined parkas and booties. Anyway, I found a small chewing treat/toy for the dog and he has spent hours licking and chewing. This small hard disk is now rather gooey and gommy, but it is saving our hands and fingers from being gnawed on and it makes Runtly feel good.
Sometimes it can be the simplest of things to make us feel good, like a light bulb. Replacing a burnt out bulb, especially if it has been out for a while, casts new light on the surroundings and makes us feel good. Even if it does illuminate the cobwebs that were otherwise unseen.
The act of tying a shoe can do the job too. Many years ago, when our oldest daughter was not quite two, I had gone into our local bank. The towns mortician was in the lobby. He was tall man and all business. I cannot ever recall not seeing him in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. His voice was deep and he always seemed to carry an air of authority. On this particular day, he noticed that my daughter's shoe was untied and proceeded to point this out to her. She turned her small face up to his, looked into his eyes and offered him the foot with the untied shoe by placing it out where he could get a better look. To the stunned amazement of everyone in the bank, this man of tall stature, all business and no silliness, got down on the floor, feet shoulder width apart, as if he was going to do some touch-the-toe exercises and tied the shoe of a little bitty girl. It made her feel good and I'm pretty sure it did the same for him.....and everyone else in the bank.
Small acts of kindness go a long way, they make us feel good. They make others feel good, they help us serve our fellow humans.
The list of feel good things could go on and on. Find one that works for you and pass it on.....oh, and pull up your pants!
We want to look good too, but looking good, in our own eyes, also makes of feel good, so the looking is just a means to an end.
Even animals want to feel good. Have you ever stopped to pet a cat? Hopefully, it was a cat that wanted to be petted, but for the majority of felines, a long petting session makes them feel good.
Runtly, the dog, likes to feel good and this is usually accomplished by chewing on something during all his waking hours.
I visited a pet supply store over the weekend, a place that shows the human race has gone through a huge paradigm shift. Years ago, pet supplies were found in a small section of whatever store might carry them, usually next to the pet food. Now there are huge stores dedicated to the feel good needs of our pets with isles and isles of toys, treats, beds and even fur lined parkas and booties. Anyway, I found a small chewing treat/toy for the dog and he has spent hours licking and chewing. This small hard disk is now rather gooey and gommy, but it is saving our hands and fingers from being gnawed on and it makes Runtly feel good.
Sometimes it can be the simplest of things to make us feel good, like a light bulb. Replacing a burnt out bulb, especially if it has been out for a while, casts new light on the surroundings and makes us feel good. Even if it does illuminate the cobwebs that were otherwise unseen.
The act of tying a shoe can do the job too. Many years ago, when our oldest daughter was not quite two, I had gone into our local bank. The towns mortician was in the lobby. He was tall man and all business. I cannot ever recall not seeing him in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. His voice was deep and he always seemed to carry an air of authority. On this particular day, he noticed that my daughter's shoe was untied and proceeded to point this out to her. She turned her small face up to his, looked into his eyes and offered him the foot with the untied shoe by placing it out where he could get a better look. To the stunned amazement of everyone in the bank, this man of tall stature, all business and no silliness, got down on the floor, feet shoulder width apart, as if he was going to do some touch-the-toe exercises and tied the shoe of a little bitty girl. It made her feel good and I'm pretty sure it did the same for him.....and everyone else in the bank.
Small acts of kindness go a long way, they make us feel good. They make others feel good, they help us serve our fellow humans.
The list of feel good things could go on and on. Find one that works for you and pass it on.....oh, and pull up your pants!
Friday, January 23, 2015
Game Time
This has been said before.....not leaving the house for days on end, other than to retrieve the mail, makes for boring blog content.
I did have plans to leave yesterday. About five minutes before I was ready to head out the door, in came Ms. Sassafrass. That was a good thing, I was supposed to watch her and I had forgot. Five minutes later would have been an unpleasant picture because the closest exit on the interstate is twelve miles down the road and her mother needed to get to class.
I only had her for a couple of hours and could have easily carried on with my plans after she went to school, but not following my own advice, which I so freely give, I did not have a plan B. The rest of the day was spent in a foggy haze of wondering what I should do next. Needless to say, I did not get much accomplished.
My schedule has had a wrench thrown in it by means of a small white for legged terrorist. Runtly is my second shadow. He thinks he needs to help in all household chores whether it is loading the dishwasher, running the vacuum or sorting laundry. I will admit though, getting out the dust mop is a grand occasion. I must also admit that my house has been cleaned more in three weeks than it had been in three months so I guess he really is useful.
This morning brought about a change. Something I have been looking for, something I need. I'm not sure if it was the Voice, my constant companion, telling me this or words whispered from another realm, but I heard it loud and clear. "Just pretend", it said and that is what I'm going to do.
If we watch children pretend, there is really more going on than just playing. When they pretend they are a superhero, a parent, a ninja in stealth mode, there is nothing telling them they are not who they think they are.
The key to achieving is believing. Believing the goal has been attained, before it has actually become a reality, can sometimes be hard to do. That's where pretending comes in....be ye like little children.
So, I'm making a list and mailing it to my proofreader. She can not open it for 30 days, the length of pretend time. Thoughts create realities......let's see how this turns out.
I did have plans to leave yesterday. About five minutes before I was ready to head out the door, in came Ms. Sassafrass. That was a good thing, I was supposed to watch her and I had forgot. Five minutes later would have been an unpleasant picture because the closest exit on the interstate is twelve miles down the road and her mother needed to get to class.
I only had her for a couple of hours and could have easily carried on with my plans after she went to school, but not following my own advice, which I so freely give, I did not have a plan B. The rest of the day was spent in a foggy haze of wondering what I should do next. Needless to say, I did not get much accomplished.
My schedule has had a wrench thrown in it by means of a small white for legged terrorist. Runtly is my second shadow. He thinks he needs to help in all household chores whether it is loading the dishwasher, running the vacuum or sorting laundry. I will admit though, getting out the dust mop is a grand occasion. I must also admit that my house has been cleaned more in three weeks than it had been in three months so I guess he really is useful.
This morning brought about a change. Something I have been looking for, something I need. I'm not sure if it was the Voice, my constant companion, telling me this or words whispered from another realm, but I heard it loud and clear. "Just pretend", it said and that is what I'm going to do.
If we watch children pretend, there is really more going on than just playing. When they pretend they are a superhero, a parent, a ninja in stealth mode, there is nothing telling them they are not who they think they are.
The key to achieving is believing. Believing the goal has been attained, before it has actually become a reality, can sometimes be hard to do. That's where pretending comes in....be ye like little children.
So, I'm making a list and mailing it to my proofreader. She can not open it for 30 days, the length of pretend time. Thoughts create realities......let's see how this turns out.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
The Family Tree
So, I'm laying in bed, wide awake, about 3 a.m., which is not unusual, and I'm thinking. I'm thinking about dogs. I'm thinking if all dogs can trace their roots back to the wolf, where did the "dog" factor come into play?
I remember sitting in the veterinary office, looking at the large dog family tree chart on the wall. It showed all the different breeds of dogs and where they came from. Sure enough, they all traced back to the wolf. I make a mental note to do a little research on this thought. I do not wish to get up at 3 a.m. to satisfy my inquisitive mind on such an important matter, rising that early makes for a very long day.
Later on I looked up some information. Obviously there were some other dog like animals that roamed the earth thousands of years ago and somewhere along the line one or two of them must have thought the wolf to be quite handsome and charming. Thus the beginning of dog genealogy.
If you have been following along, you know that I have a new dog. A Jack Russell Terrier. I purchased a book on this breed and so far most everything I did at the beginning of our relationship was wrong. I'm trying to correct these things. For instance, the book says not to act like an idiot when greeting the dog after a long absence, like first thing in the morning. Well, she didn't actually use the word 'idiot', but I have stopped doing the happy dog dance and it really does make the morning less stressful.
I'm looking at him, Runtly, asleep in his kennel. So peaceful and calm, almost angelic.......almost. According to the dog family tree chart he might have come from mastiffs, greyhounds, beagles and a number of other combinations. I'm not sure because there are two limbs on the tree and each end with terriers.
I have come to the conclusion that the chart is simply a means to pacify anyone who owns a JRT. I believe, with all my heart, that their true bloodline comes from the Tasmanian Devil and a Turbo Blender.
I remember sitting in the veterinary office, looking at the large dog family tree chart on the wall. It showed all the different breeds of dogs and where they came from. Sure enough, they all traced back to the wolf. I make a mental note to do a little research on this thought. I do not wish to get up at 3 a.m. to satisfy my inquisitive mind on such an important matter, rising that early makes for a very long day.
Later on I looked up some information. Obviously there were some other dog like animals that roamed the earth thousands of years ago and somewhere along the line one or two of them must have thought the wolf to be quite handsome and charming. Thus the beginning of dog genealogy.
If you have been following along, you know that I have a new dog. A Jack Russell Terrier. I purchased a book on this breed and so far most everything I did at the beginning of our relationship was wrong. I'm trying to correct these things. For instance, the book says not to act like an idiot when greeting the dog after a long absence, like first thing in the morning. Well, she didn't actually use the word 'idiot', but I have stopped doing the happy dog dance and it really does make the morning less stressful.
I'm looking at him, Runtly, asleep in his kennel. So peaceful and calm, almost angelic.......almost. According to the dog family tree chart he might have come from mastiffs, greyhounds, beagles and a number of other combinations. I'm not sure because there are two limbs on the tree and each end with terriers.
I have come to the conclusion that the chart is simply a means to pacify anyone who owns a JRT. I believe, with all my heart, that their true bloodline comes from the Tasmanian Devil and a Turbo Blender.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
The Return
Tigger the cat returned home yesterday about mid morning. He still wasn't up to par, so I put him in his favorite place in the house, the jungle room. The jungle room is a bedroom and the name pretty much sums up the decor.....Elvis would be proud.
Tigger spent about eight hours sleeping off whatever was ailing him. When he woke up, I immediately took him to the small heated shop in the garage and he headed straight for the litter box. I will spare you the details of that endeavor, least to say it was NASTY.
This cat stays close to home, the only time he leaves the yard is to visit the next door neighbor. Our yards are side by side, so he isn't crossing a street or alley to get there. This knowledge ruled out the possibility of him having been hit by a vehicle. The only thing he eats, besides cat food, is birds. I knew he had eaten one before he got sick because he had left a good sized portion for me on the deck.
Maybe the bird was sick too. Maybe the finches set up Finny da Finch as a patsy to get back at the cat for all the previous members Tigger had disposed of. The answer may never be known.
The cat is much better this morning. He is responding to touch with his gentle snorting purr, arching his back and stretching in the warm sunshine. He has not seen Runtly yet, and may still not feel up to a tussle with the white bullet, aka, jaws of steel, aka, never ending boundless ball of energy.
Runtly, on the other hand, found a lovely pile of decomposing cat doo in the yard yesterday and proceeded to eat as much of it as possible before I could stop him. If you think it smells bad the first time around, let me assure you the second time is much worse. Especially when it was left under my desk and not in the designated potty area.
My proofreader suggested perhaps it was a gift from the dog...... More like a GAG gift.
Tigger spent about eight hours sleeping off whatever was ailing him. When he woke up, I immediately took him to the small heated shop in the garage and he headed straight for the litter box. I will spare you the details of that endeavor, least to say it was NASTY.
This cat stays close to home, the only time he leaves the yard is to visit the next door neighbor. Our yards are side by side, so he isn't crossing a street or alley to get there. This knowledge ruled out the possibility of him having been hit by a vehicle. The only thing he eats, besides cat food, is birds. I knew he had eaten one before he got sick because he had left a good sized portion for me on the deck.
Maybe the bird was sick too. Maybe the finches set up Finny da Finch as a patsy to get back at the cat for all the previous members Tigger had disposed of. The answer may never be known.
The cat is much better this morning. He is responding to touch with his gentle snorting purr, arching his back and stretching in the warm sunshine. He has not seen Runtly yet, and may still not feel up to a tussle with the white bullet, aka, jaws of steel, aka, never ending boundless ball of energy.
Runtly, on the other hand, found a lovely pile of decomposing cat doo in the yard yesterday and proceeded to eat as much of it as possible before I could stop him. If you think it smells bad the first time around, let me assure you the second time is much worse. Especially when it was left under my desk and not in the designated potty area.
My proofreader suggested perhaps it was a gift from the dog...... More like a GAG gift.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Many 9 Lives
In order to determine the age of a cat in human years, the age of the cat is times by nine. That would make Pussy Cat, Queen of the Yard, somewhere around 135. No wonder she doesn't like the new puppy.
For as long as I can remember, I have always had a cat. There have been many during my 6.4 years.....cat years. Phyllis was the first one I remember, a skinny yellow cat, who arrived when I was about 5. She had one litter of kittens and they all died, after that she would still come into heat, but there were no more kittens. I recall looking out the south window and seeing her sitting in the middle of a circle of tom cats. She was putting on quite a performance for her audience. The next thing I saw was Dad with a broom and tom cats fleeing for the hills. I cried and told him she was doing tricks for her friends.....I'm sure he must have thought that statement pretty humorous, indeed, she was doing tricks. Phyllis lived until the summer of my freshman year of high school.
During the years of my youth, we also inherited a cat or two. When Lela moved to a bigger city, her cat Effingham came to live with us. He was a beautiful long haired cat who would pee in mother's shoe if she did not get up early enough on Saturday mornings to take care of his needs.
I can remember most of their names, Clyde, Tommy, Mitten, the first Pussy Cat, Bishop, Harrison Ford, no relation to the actor, and Hammy Hambone. The first Tigger, Emma, Hosaphina, Tommy Boy and then Max.
Max came to me in the month of June, ten months after the passing of my mother. He was a tiny grey ball of fur with a meow that sounded like his name. For four years he was my constant outside companion. Max had a habit of leaving the safe parameters of the yard and once disappeared for an entire month. One day I opened the back door and there he was, skinny and hungry, but happy to be home and I was happy to see him.
Max was here four years and then he was gone. I went out to greet him and the only thing I found was a dead squirrel in the yard. This was the third dead squirrel in as many days. Max would kill them and bring them home, Tommy Boy would eat them.
I searched for Max for days with no luck. One evening, three months later, my daughter showed me a picture someone had posted on a social media site. It was Max. He was four miles straight west of here, in the country. We loaded up in the car and went to see if it could possibly be him. It was and as bad as I wanted to bring him home, I left him. He had a new home, he was happy and even though he was happy to see me, something had changed. His new owners said his paw was injured when they found him. I knew then, that however he got there, it must have been a traumatic experience. His new people assured me visitation rights and from time to time, I drop by for a visit.
The latest feline arrival was Tigger, of whom I have blogged many times. I thought he acted a bit "off" the other day, but he continued to play with the new puppy, Runtly, although not quite as ferocously as usual. I just figured maybe he was getting tired of having his tail bitten by the small jaws of steel. Yesterday morning, when I opened the door to the garage, I knew for sure something was wrong. Tigger was not at the door, ready to come out. He was still in his straw filled box. He finally did come outside and Runtly did his usual "Oh! I'm so happy to see you!" greeting and jumped on Tigger's back. Being ever so patient, Tigger just laid down and offered no resistance.
Tigger spent the morning on his perch, a shelf that extends out from the deck. He wanted no company and his breathing was kind of rapid. I checked on him several times, but since he was on the outside of the deck, six feet off the ground, I could not pick him up for a closer inspection. Later in the day, he had moved to the pool deck, following the sun. I could see him when I had taken Runtly out and my plan was to take a better look at him, as soon as I took the dog back inside. I looked at Tigger as I headed to the house, he was sitting up, looking back at me.
I wasn't in the house five minutes and when I came back out, he was gone.......he's still gone. Maybe he has a special place, a place where he can rest and heal, I do no know. It's weird though, Runtly looks for him each time we go out the back door and makes no attempt to scamper down the steps, like he always does when Tigger is there. Even the birds have resumed their flight pattern across the deck, on their way to the feeder.
I can see his perch each time I walk through the kitchen and I look there, hoping to see my little yellow buddy.
For as long as I can remember, I have always had a cat. There have been many during my 6.4 years.....cat years. Phyllis was the first one I remember, a skinny yellow cat, who arrived when I was about 5. She had one litter of kittens and they all died, after that she would still come into heat, but there were no more kittens. I recall looking out the south window and seeing her sitting in the middle of a circle of tom cats. She was putting on quite a performance for her audience. The next thing I saw was Dad with a broom and tom cats fleeing for the hills. I cried and told him she was doing tricks for her friends.....I'm sure he must have thought that statement pretty humorous, indeed, she was doing tricks. Phyllis lived until the summer of my freshman year of high school.
During the years of my youth, we also inherited a cat or two. When Lela moved to a bigger city, her cat Effingham came to live with us. He was a beautiful long haired cat who would pee in mother's shoe if she did not get up early enough on Saturday mornings to take care of his needs.
I can remember most of their names, Clyde, Tommy, Mitten, the first Pussy Cat, Bishop, Harrison Ford, no relation to the actor, and Hammy Hambone. The first Tigger, Emma, Hosaphina, Tommy Boy and then Max.
Max came to me in the month of June, ten months after the passing of my mother. He was a tiny grey ball of fur with a meow that sounded like his name. For four years he was my constant outside companion. Max had a habit of leaving the safe parameters of the yard and once disappeared for an entire month. One day I opened the back door and there he was, skinny and hungry, but happy to be home and I was happy to see him.
Max was here four years and then he was gone. I went out to greet him and the only thing I found was a dead squirrel in the yard. This was the third dead squirrel in as many days. Max would kill them and bring them home, Tommy Boy would eat them.
I searched for Max for days with no luck. One evening, three months later, my daughter showed me a picture someone had posted on a social media site. It was Max. He was four miles straight west of here, in the country. We loaded up in the car and went to see if it could possibly be him. It was and as bad as I wanted to bring him home, I left him. He had a new home, he was happy and even though he was happy to see me, something had changed. His new owners said his paw was injured when they found him. I knew then, that however he got there, it must have been a traumatic experience. His new people assured me visitation rights and from time to time, I drop by for a visit.
The latest feline arrival was Tigger, of whom I have blogged many times. I thought he acted a bit "off" the other day, but he continued to play with the new puppy, Runtly, although not quite as ferocously as usual. I just figured maybe he was getting tired of having his tail bitten by the small jaws of steel. Yesterday morning, when I opened the door to the garage, I knew for sure something was wrong. Tigger was not at the door, ready to come out. He was still in his straw filled box. He finally did come outside and Runtly did his usual "Oh! I'm so happy to see you!" greeting and jumped on Tigger's back. Being ever so patient, Tigger just laid down and offered no resistance.
Tigger spent the morning on his perch, a shelf that extends out from the deck. He wanted no company and his breathing was kind of rapid. I checked on him several times, but since he was on the outside of the deck, six feet off the ground, I could not pick him up for a closer inspection. Later in the day, he had moved to the pool deck, following the sun. I could see him when I had taken Runtly out and my plan was to take a better look at him, as soon as I took the dog back inside. I looked at Tigger as I headed to the house, he was sitting up, looking back at me.
I wasn't in the house five minutes and when I came back out, he was gone.......he's still gone. Maybe he has a special place, a place where he can rest and heal, I do no know. It's weird though, Runtly looks for him each time we go out the back door and makes no attempt to scamper down the steps, like he always does when Tigger is there. Even the birds have resumed their flight pattern across the deck, on their way to the feeder.
I can see his perch each time I walk through the kitchen and I look there, hoping to see my little yellow buddy.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
The Little Things
With the arrival of a new puppy, life, as I knew it, has been completely turned upside down. I thought I had a routine to my day but it has been replaced with someone else's schedule.
The morning jaunt outside is never without entertainment. Runtly and Tigger greet each other as if they have not seen one another for ages. This happens every time we go out the door, whether it has been an hour or one minute, the greeting is the same. They wrestle, bite, jump, run and tumble. This lasts as long as it takes for one of them to bite just a bit too hard. Usually it is Runtly, his teeth are like razors and Tigger has had enough when his paw gets caught in the jaws of steel.
I try to video this encounter between dog and cat and then share it on Facebook so others can enjoy. This dueling duo usually get over 500 views per video, they are fun to watch. I always preview the recording before I post it and that is when I discovered something I was missing.
It is usually quiet in this small town early in the morning, but as I watched the video I heard things I had not even noticed. The birds were singing, there was a plane passing overhead and a car had gone up the street. Little things, little things all taken for granted.
It does not seem like much, birds singing and the like, but if we think there is nothing to do, that we are bored, perhaps we should go outside and just listen. There is a whole world of sights and sounds waiting for us to see and hear. A world full of nothing but joy, no stress, no worries, no judgement. We should go there often.
The morning jaunt outside is never without entertainment. Runtly and Tigger greet each other as if they have not seen one another for ages. This happens every time we go out the door, whether it has been an hour or one minute, the greeting is the same. They wrestle, bite, jump, run and tumble. This lasts as long as it takes for one of them to bite just a bit too hard. Usually it is Runtly, his teeth are like razors and Tigger has had enough when his paw gets caught in the jaws of steel.
I try to video this encounter between dog and cat and then share it on Facebook so others can enjoy. This dueling duo usually get over 500 views per video, they are fun to watch. I always preview the recording before I post it and that is when I discovered something I was missing.
It is usually quiet in this small town early in the morning, but as I watched the video I heard things I had not even noticed. The birds were singing, there was a plane passing overhead and a car had gone up the street. Little things, little things all taken for granted.
It does not seem like much, birds singing and the like, but if we think there is nothing to do, that we are bored, perhaps we should go outside and just listen. There is a whole world of sights and sounds waiting for us to see and hear. A world full of nothing but joy, no stress, no worries, no judgement. We should go there often.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
The Cure?
Today I'm stepping off the cat/dog blog train to take a ride on the thought train.
There is a technology in this era that is even better than sliced bread, although I know there is probably a couple of generations who have grown up believing bread has always been sliced. I would even be willing to place a wager that this one simple thing could save humanity and cure many illnesses.
What is this fantastic wonder? The ability to pause live TV.
There is nothing better than to sit down to watch a favorite television show, that has been paused for about an hour, and be able to skip through all of the commercials.
The reason I believe this is the answer to saving life on the planet is because almost every commercial is about some new medicine and their very long list of side effects. I was going to write down all the medicine commercials the other evening, but there were so many I was afraid I would have all the ailments by the end of the night. There was even a commercial for a treatment of an ailment that you do not have........WHAT?
In her book, E-Squared: Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments That Prove Your Thoughts Create Reality, Pam Grout recalls a story from another book, The Biology of Belief, by Bruce Lipton, a cell biologist who used to teach at Stanford University. A doctor conducting some research took two groups of patients who had knee problems. The first group had knee surgery, the second group thought they had knee surgery. The second group simply had an incision made to look as though they had gone under the knife. The results? Both groups got better. THAT was a pretty powerful placebo!
The mind is a wonderful thing but it is the beliefs it holds that either keep us down or make us soar to new heights. Those thoughts and beliefs can also make us sick. This is not to say we should doubt all medical miracles. Mother was a prodigy of modern medicine, living far longer than her siblings or her parents. She also believed that all the bottles of pills, and there were lots of them, made her better. Mother also had a friend, who was about the same age, who quit taking all her medicine, and this person lived a very long life too. My youngest daughter, who is studying to become a doctor of chiropractic, has learned that practically every ailment is due to stress. Where does the stress come from? It comes from what goes on between our ears and what we choose to believe as truth.
My hope is for everyone who has the ability to pause live TV to do so. Fast forward through all those commercials! Don't let those ads plant a seed of doubt in your grey matter. There are far more wonderful things to think about and getting sick shouldn't be one of them.
There is a technology in this era that is even better than sliced bread, although I know there is probably a couple of generations who have grown up believing bread has always been sliced. I would even be willing to place a wager that this one simple thing could save humanity and cure many illnesses.
What is this fantastic wonder? The ability to pause live TV.
There is nothing better than to sit down to watch a favorite television show, that has been paused for about an hour, and be able to skip through all of the commercials.
The reason I believe this is the answer to saving life on the planet is because almost every commercial is about some new medicine and their very long list of side effects. I was going to write down all the medicine commercials the other evening, but there were so many I was afraid I would have all the ailments by the end of the night. There was even a commercial for a treatment of an ailment that you do not have........WHAT?
In her book, E-Squared: Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments That Prove Your Thoughts Create Reality, Pam Grout recalls a story from another book, The Biology of Belief, by Bruce Lipton, a cell biologist who used to teach at Stanford University. A doctor conducting some research took two groups of patients who had knee problems. The first group had knee surgery, the second group thought they had knee surgery. The second group simply had an incision made to look as though they had gone under the knife. The results? Both groups got better. THAT was a pretty powerful placebo!
The mind is a wonderful thing but it is the beliefs it holds that either keep us down or make us soar to new heights. Those thoughts and beliefs can also make us sick. This is not to say we should doubt all medical miracles. Mother was a prodigy of modern medicine, living far longer than her siblings or her parents. She also believed that all the bottles of pills, and there were lots of them, made her better. Mother also had a friend, who was about the same age, who quit taking all her medicine, and this person lived a very long life too. My youngest daughter, who is studying to become a doctor of chiropractic, has learned that practically every ailment is due to stress. Where does the stress come from? It comes from what goes on between our ears and what we choose to believe as truth.
My hope is for everyone who has the ability to pause live TV to do so. Fast forward through all those commercials! Don't let those ads plant a seed of doubt in your grey matter. There are far more wonderful things to think about and getting sick shouldn't be one of them.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Things That Go Bump.....In the Day
The cat was sitting on the spiral staircase, about five steps up. It's the perfect place to be to torment the dog. Tigger knows that Runtly can't climb the steps, at least not yet.
Runtly was laying in his portable bed at the bottom of the stairs. I call it portable because every once in a while I see it flying from one room to another, usually during a period of doggy boredom.
Runtly knows better than to try the steps so he just camps out at the bottom of them. He can still see the cat, in case Tigger tries to make a sly move to escape.
Tigger loves this dog about as much as the dog loves the cat, but he prefers to play with him on his own playing field which is outside. The cat knows he really isn't supposed to be in the house because Mr. Nolikesanimals has made that rather clear to him. It is said that elephants do not forget.....neither do cats. Even when the cat knows Mr. Nolikesanimals (who is becoming Mr. GeeIlikethis dog) is not in the house, Tigger always looks to make sure Mr. N's chair is empty.
Tigger is content to sit on the staircase. The smug look on his face says it all to the dog...."nana nana do do, you can't get me".
I was standing in the door way watching them. The cat was now lounging on the step and Runtly was nearly asleep in his bed. I had my chance. A chance to go to the basement, unattended. I took a couple of steps backward and then tiptoed to the basement stairs.
I swear I wasn't down there three minutes when the thumping and bumping started right above my head. As I listened I was trying to determine which dog toy he was playing with. Maybe it was the cat slamming Runtly on the floor for all the times he has bitten Tigger. I finally gave up on my solitude and went back up the stairs.
Runtly and Tigger were in the exact same positions I had left them in. The only difference was they both had a look on their faces that said, "What?"
Runtly was laying in his portable bed at the bottom of the stairs. I call it portable because every once in a while I see it flying from one room to another, usually during a period of doggy boredom.
Runtly knows better than to try the steps so he just camps out at the bottom of them. He can still see the cat, in case Tigger tries to make a sly move to escape.
Tigger loves this dog about as much as the dog loves the cat, but he prefers to play with him on his own playing field which is outside. The cat knows he really isn't supposed to be in the house because Mr. Nolikesanimals has made that rather clear to him. It is said that elephants do not forget.....neither do cats. Even when the cat knows Mr. Nolikesanimals (who is becoming Mr. GeeIlikethis dog) is not in the house, Tigger always looks to make sure Mr. N's chair is empty.
Tigger is content to sit on the staircase. The smug look on his face says it all to the dog...."nana nana do do, you can't get me".
I was standing in the door way watching them. The cat was now lounging on the step and Runtly was nearly asleep in his bed. I had my chance. A chance to go to the basement, unattended. I took a couple of steps backward and then tiptoed to the basement stairs.
I swear I wasn't down there three minutes when the thumping and bumping started right above my head. As I listened I was trying to determine which dog toy he was playing with. Maybe it was the cat slamming Runtly on the floor for all the times he has bitten Tigger. I finally gave up on my solitude and went back up the stairs.
Runtly and Tigger were in the exact same positions I had left them in. The only difference was they both had a look on their faces that said, "What?"
Monday, January 12, 2015
A Crock Full
In the living room, on the floor, sits a large crock-like bowl. I have no idea where it came from but I'm sure it is quite old. It has probably seen days of warm weather picnics with its interior filled to the brim with potato salad or fried chicken. It could tell many a tale of years gone by. Days before cell phones and the internet, perhaps even before telephones were a household staple.
The only time I can recall using the bowl was to hold some lovely colorful cloth napkins that I thought were a good, "green", idea. I rolled them into neat little bundles and placed them into the bowl and then it sat in the middle of the table. Since everyone preferred paper napkins the cloth ones went untouched. When they began to gather dust, I put them in a drawer and placed the large crock-like bowl back in the cabinet.
The bowl now has a new function. It has become a toy chest of sorts. Not the kind that holds children's toys, there is a large wooden chest on the other side of the room for that purpose, but the kind that holds dog toys.
I was going to use a pretty wicker basket for this purpose but it did not take long for me to remember that a wicker basket would not survive the jaws of the chew monster that now lives in this house. Runtly, our new Jack Russell Terrier, could easily chew up a steel anvil.
Every evening, I pick up all the doggy toys and place them in the bowl. My goal is to teach Runtly this trick. Every morning, Runtly slowly and methodically takes each one out and packs it to the office to place them in front of the heat register. Just like a child, he plays only a short time with whatever item he has selected before going to retrieve the next.
When the bowl is empty, except for the small slick plastic ball, which is much more fun to chase around in the nearly empty bowl, Runtly takes a nap, toys strewn hither and yon.
Teaching Runtly to pick up his toys should be interesting. I wonder if he will get "rubber legs" like the kids would do when they were 'forced' to pick up.
Most parents would probably agree that when our children were young, we wondered if we would ever get to use the bathroom by ourselves again. I'm wondering that again too.
The only time I can recall using the bowl was to hold some lovely colorful cloth napkins that I thought were a good, "green", idea. I rolled them into neat little bundles and placed them into the bowl and then it sat in the middle of the table. Since everyone preferred paper napkins the cloth ones went untouched. When they began to gather dust, I put them in a drawer and placed the large crock-like bowl back in the cabinet.
The bowl now has a new function. It has become a toy chest of sorts. Not the kind that holds children's toys, there is a large wooden chest on the other side of the room for that purpose, but the kind that holds dog toys.
I was going to use a pretty wicker basket for this purpose but it did not take long for me to remember that a wicker basket would not survive the jaws of the chew monster that now lives in this house. Runtly, our new Jack Russell Terrier, could easily chew up a steel anvil.
Every evening, I pick up all the doggy toys and place them in the bowl. My goal is to teach Runtly this trick. Every morning, Runtly slowly and methodically takes each one out and packs it to the office to place them in front of the heat register. Just like a child, he plays only a short time with whatever item he has selected before going to retrieve the next.
When the bowl is empty, except for the small slick plastic ball, which is much more fun to chase around in the nearly empty bowl, Runtly takes a nap, toys strewn hither and yon.
Teaching Runtly to pick up his toys should be interesting. I wonder if he will get "rubber legs" like the kids would do when they were 'forced' to pick up.
Most parents would probably agree that when our children were young, we wondered if we would ever get to use the bathroom by ourselves again. I'm wondering that again too.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Dog (& Cat) Days
Having a new puppy in the house is much like having a new baby in the house. Usually, with a new baby, one has time to prepare the home beforehand. With a surprise puppy there were no beforehand preparations.
As with new human babies, the house is now littered with many toys and lots of small blankets. Jack Russell Terriers love lots of small blankets. There are many times during the day that I have observed a small blanket flying through the kitchen on its way to be pounced upon in front of the heat register in the office.
There are also lots of child/dog safety gates in the house now, especially since Runtly has already taken two trips down the basement stairs. The trips were neither pretty nor graceful. But, as I watched in horror as he bounced off of each step, I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally got to the basement floor. He hopped up and took off for a new adventure. The basement has lots of things to investigate.
I'm not sure who is training who. My initial goal was to house train Runtly, with an area that is considered the doggy bathroom. The recent Arctic Vortex that has hit the area has temperatures in the single digits and windchill factors below zero. Runtly is tiny, with very short hair and I thought it much too cold to take him out. Actually, it's much too cold for me. This morning though, I relented and took him out as soon as I got up.
While we were out and Runtly was sniffing every leaf in the yard, I heard a woeful sound. It was Tigger. Tigger rarely meows but when he does it usually means he wants in......or, he wants out. Tigger and the queen cat, Pussycat, stay in the garage in my small heated shop at night. Pussycat is old and hasn't seen the outside for days. She is purrfectly happy to stay in her straw filled box and wile away the cold days in near hibernation.
Tigger was supposed to be in the shop and I could not figure out where he was or what he might be trapped in. As I came around the end of the garden, I heard him again. Runtly was still tagging along behind, with his sniff-o-meter nose turned on its highest setting. Another loud wail from the cat and I located him. He was still in the shop, sitting in the window......that he had opened....not just a little bit, but completely open. The only thing keeping him from the great cold outdoors was the screen.
I went into the garage and opened the shop door, Tigger was there, ready to dash out. I stepped into the shop to close the window. Pussycat looked up from her cozy box and gave me a look that said, "Geeze, it's about time you came after him." She likes Tigger about as much as she likes Runtly....and that isn't much. I know she could not hear Tigger wailing because she is deaf, but the look also let me know the room temperature was cooling off with the window wide open, interfering with her hibernation state.
By this time, I was frozen to the bone. I headed back to the house with Runtly and Tigger chasing each other in a zig zag pattern through the yard. It looked like a scene from "Homeward Bound". Once inside, Runtly was more than happy to jump straight up and down in anticipation for his breakfast.
The only bad part about the whole morning adventure is I have no idea if Runtly ever did do the potty thing while we were out there. If I was a betting person, I'd say he did not.
As with new human babies, the house is now littered with many toys and lots of small blankets. Jack Russell Terriers love lots of small blankets. There are many times during the day that I have observed a small blanket flying through the kitchen on its way to be pounced upon in front of the heat register in the office.
There are also lots of child/dog safety gates in the house now, especially since Runtly has already taken two trips down the basement stairs. The trips were neither pretty nor graceful. But, as I watched in horror as he bounced off of each step, I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally got to the basement floor. He hopped up and took off for a new adventure. The basement has lots of things to investigate.
I'm not sure who is training who. My initial goal was to house train Runtly, with an area that is considered the doggy bathroom. The recent Arctic Vortex that has hit the area has temperatures in the single digits and windchill factors below zero. Runtly is tiny, with very short hair and I thought it much too cold to take him out. Actually, it's much too cold for me. This morning though, I relented and took him out as soon as I got up.
While we were out and Runtly was sniffing every leaf in the yard, I heard a woeful sound. It was Tigger. Tigger rarely meows but when he does it usually means he wants in......or, he wants out. Tigger and the queen cat, Pussycat, stay in the garage in my small heated shop at night. Pussycat is old and hasn't seen the outside for days. She is purrfectly happy to stay in her straw filled box and wile away the cold days in near hibernation.
Tigger was supposed to be in the shop and I could not figure out where he was or what he might be trapped in. As I came around the end of the garden, I heard him again. Runtly was still tagging along behind, with his sniff-o-meter nose turned on its highest setting. Another loud wail from the cat and I located him. He was still in the shop, sitting in the window......that he had opened....not just a little bit, but completely open. The only thing keeping him from the great cold outdoors was the screen.
I went into the garage and opened the shop door, Tigger was there, ready to dash out. I stepped into the shop to close the window. Pussycat looked up from her cozy box and gave me a look that said, "Geeze, it's about time you came after him." She likes Tigger about as much as she likes Runtly....and that isn't much. I know she could not hear Tigger wailing because she is deaf, but the look also let me know the room temperature was cooling off with the window wide open, interfering with her hibernation state.
By this time, I was frozen to the bone. I headed back to the house with Runtly and Tigger chasing each other in a zig zag pattern through the yard. It looked like a scene from "Homeward Bound". Once inside, Runtly was more than happy to jump straight up and down in anticipation for his breakfast.
The only bad part about the whole morning adventure is I have no idea if Runtly ever did do the potty thing while we were out there. If I was a betting person, I'd say he did not.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Strategic Moves
A few miles from here is a large warehouse full of antiques. I've been there once, with Lela and Blanche......something I wish not to do ever again. While there, scanning over acres of glassware, old furniture and tons of nick knacks in general, I came to the conclusion that this is what happens to all of our stuff when the kids don't want it.
As I walk through my own home, I notice I have a lot of stuff that was Mothers. I am certain that I have more of her items than do Lela and Blanche. That is probably because Mother and I lived in the same town, and the other two live away, it was much easier to leave it here, than take with.
One of the things I do have was a favorite of Mother's, her 4 hook bird feeder pole, complete with a squirrel guard.
The squirrel guard never stays where I put it. No matter how many times I tighten the bolt, it always slips down the pole in a day or two and somehow stops about six inches from the ground. It's not that big of a deal to me, the squirrels have a huge pecan tree in the neighbors yard and rarely bother the feeders.
I looked out the kitchen window the other day to see how many feathered friends were visiting when I noticed something that made me laugh out loud. Tigger, the cat, was underneath the squirrel guard. He must have thought he was in stealth mode.
Being yellow in color, he stands out like a sore thumb. The birds have a small tree, not too far from the feeders, that they like to gather in and chat about who is going to go first. Even if birds can not see color, and I have no idea about that, I'm relatively certain they can see the cat.
Tigger is not hungry, he's just a cat and that's what cats do, they hunt. Cats also like to share their unfortunate prey with their family. Any outdoor cat owner will have a list of unlucky small creatures that have been left on the mat by the most used access door to the house. I've found several small rodents and a couple of birds right outside the back door. Many years ago, Lela had a cat that brought home a snake.
Of all the grace that a cat can possess, there is one thing they do not have control over, the very tip of their tail. I think that must have been the Master of the Universe's way of evening the playing field for whatever prey was in the cross hairs of the feline species.
Tigger has no exception to this rule. I looked out at his covert mission to see the very end of his tail twitching ever so slightly, sticking out from under the squirrel guard. It has to be really hard to be really still with that many birds so close.
The birds paid him no attention, after all, they know their rightful place in the pecking order of things, no pun intended, and continued to devour as many seeds as possible. I figured they were safe because Tigger just did fit under the guard and it was not going to be easy for him to leap out without causing a ruckus.
Later in the day, while heading out the back door, during one of the MANY pit stops with the new dog, Runtly, there laid what was left of the latest victim. Feathers. At least that is what I thought. Being much closer to the ground than myself, Runtly had discovered the bird's head on the door mat. I had to pry open his mouth, with its 20 pounds of torque pressure, to be able to shake and release the birdie body part. Bird heads must be the least tasty part.
I do not know if Tigger caught the bird from the feeders or if he gave up and nabbed one out of the bushes that line one side of the yard. Whatever game plan he used, it worked and he continues to use the cover of darkness of the squirrel guard for his sniper position.
As I walk through my own home, I notice I have a lot of stuff that was Mothers. I am certain that I have more of her items than do Lela and Blanche. That is probably because Mother and I lived in the same town, and the other two live away, it was much easier to leave it here, than take with.
One of the things I do have was a favorite of Mother's, her 4 hook bird feeder pole, complete with a squirrel guard.
The squirrel guard never stays where I put it. No matter how many times I tighten the bolt, it always slips down the pole in a day or two and somehow stops about six inches from the ground. It's not that big of a deal to me, the squirrels have a huge pecan tree in the neighbors yard and rarely bother the feeders.
I looked out the kitchen window the other day to see how many feathered friends were visiting when I noticed something that made me laugh out loud. Tigger, the cat, was underneath the squirrel guard. He must have thought he was in stealth mode.
Being yellow in color, he stands out like a sore thumb. The birds have a small tree, not too far from the feeders, that they like to gather in and chat about who is going to go first. Even if birds can not see color, and I have no idea about that, I'm relatively certain they can see the cat.
Tigger is not hungry, he's just a cat and that's what cats do, they hunt. Cats also like to share their unfortunate prey with their family. Any outdoor cat owner will have a list of unlucky small creatures that have been left on the mat by the most used access door to the house. I've found several small rodents and a couple of birds right outside the back door. Many years ago, Lela had a cat that brought home a snake.
Of all the grace that a cat can possess, there is one thing they do not have control over, the very tip of their tail. I think that must have been the Master of the Universe's way of evening the playing field for whatever prey was in the cross hairs of the feline species.
Tigger has no exception to this rule. I looked out at his covert mission to see the very end of his tail twitching ever so slightly, sticking out from under the squirrel guard. It has to be really hard to be really still with that many birds so close.
The birds paid him no attention, after all, they know their rightful place in the pecking order of things, no pun intended, and continued to devour as many seeds as possible. I figured they were safe because Tigger just did fit under the guard and it was not going to be easy for him to leap out without causing a ruckus.
Later in the day, while heading out the back door, during one of the MANY pit stops with the new dog, Runtly, there laid what was left of the latest victim. Feathers. At least that is what I thought. Being much closer to the ground than myself, Runtly had discovered the bird's head on the door mat. I had to pry open his mouth, with its 20 pounds of torque pressure, to be able to shake and release the birdie body part. Bird heads must be the least tasty part.
I do not know if Tigger caught the bird from the feeders or if he gave up and nabbed one out of the bushes that line one side of the yard. Whatever game plan he used, it worked and he continues to use the cover of darkness of the squirrel guard for his sniper position.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Day 13
My proofreader told me I now had endless blog content. She may be right.
I remember when my first grandson was born. We would go out for supper every Friday night with a group of friends, "The Supper Club". Every Friday night I would bore the group to tears with new pictures of my grandson.
Now that I have a new dog, it may be the same scenario.
I was there when Runtly was born, one of seven tiny Jack Russell Terrier puppies. If you missed that episode, you can refer back to "And Then There Were Seven". He was so tiny and not very handsome. I felt kind of sorry for him, thinking the other pups might not let him play any reindeer/puppy games because of his stature. When I would stop to visit and check on their progress, I always held Runtly. After all, he was easy to pick out of the squirming white mass of puppies because he was so tiny.
All of these puppies were supposed to be sold. I began to limit my visits because of this. On Christmas Eve, during a family gathering, my son-in-law took a phone call. It was someone from Iowa, they were in town to pick up Runtly, he was the last to go.
I thought I knew that I was going to get Runtly. There had been too much "puppy" talk going on, especially from my husband, Mr. Nolikeanimals. But, later in the evening, when my son-in-law posted a picture of Runtly saying "good bye" in the arms of some unknown Iowan on Facebook, my heart sank. He was gone.....no Runtly for me.
Of course, that all changed Christmas morning. My second grandson, whose pictures also bored the "Supper Club", told me, after the big surprise, "Gramma, we've known this for a REALLY LONG time!" It was nearly more than his ten years of learning how to keep a secret could stand.
It has been nearly two weeks since Runtly came in to our lives. In that short amount of time I have spent more money on this dog than I have on my self in the last three years. He already knows that if I carry a sack into the house, there is something in it for him. He knows that the furnace register in the office is the warmest place in the house and gathers all his toys, blanket and extra bed into a pile in front of it when its time to take a break. He knows that when the tone of my voice changes something is not quite right and can look very guilty. I know this is not a true admission of guilt, Runtly has no guilt. He knows that Tigger the cat is loads of fun, but when Tigger has had enough, he bites. Tigger always has had enough long before Runtly has.
Jack Russell Terriers are a special breed of dog. Not that other breeds aren't special, but most breeds do not go from zero to 60 mph in less than three seconds or bounce off the walls like a steel ball in a pinball machine. They are very intelligent but can fall into attention deficit mode when focused on a new moving object, whether that be a bug on the floor or their own shadow. They also have a mind of their own and I have already witnessed the look that says, "Your lips may be moving, but I'm not listening."
The book, Jack Russell Terriers for Dummies, seriously, there really is a book with that title, by Deborah Britt-Hay says that it can take up to 8 months to house/potty train this breed. Not because they are stupid, but because it can take that long for them to decide if they want to follow your plan...........sigh. I will admit, I've gotten more exercise in the last 13 days than I have in quite awhile.
In the meantime, Runtly seems to be falling into a daily routine of learning what works and what doesn't........or maybe I am.
I remember when my first grandson was born. We would go out for supper every Friday night with a group of friends, "The Supper Club". Every Friday night I would bore the group to tears with new pictures of my grandson.
Now that I have a new dog, it may be the same scenario.
I was there when Runtly was born, one of seven tiny Jack Russell Terrier puppies. If you missed that episode, you can refer back to "And Then There Were Seven". He was so tiny and not very handsome. I felt kind of sorry for him, thinking the other pups might not let him play any reindeer/puppy games because of his stature. When I would stop to visit and check on their progress, I always held Runtly. After all, he was easy to pick out of the squirming white mass of puppies because he was so tiny.
All of these puppies were supposed to be sold. I began to limit my visits because of this. On Christmas Eve, during a family gathering, my son-in-law took a phone call. It was someone from Iowa, they were in town to pick up Runtly, he was the last to go.
I thought I knew that I was going to get Runtly. There had been too much "puppy" talk going on, especially from my husband, Mr. Nolikeanimals. But, later in the evening, when my son-in-law posted a picture of Runtly saying "good bye" in the arms of some unknown Iowan on Facebook, my heart sank. He was gone.....no Runtly for me.
Of course, that all changed Christmas morning. My second grandson, whose pictures also bored the "Supper Club", told me, after the big surprise, "Gramma, we've known this for a REALLY LONG time!" It was nearly more than his ten years of learning how to keep a secret could stand.
It has been nearly two weeks since Runtly came in to our lives. In that short amount of time I have spent more money on this dog than I have on my self in the last three years. He already knows that if I carry a sack into the house, there is something in it for him. He knows that the furnace register in the office is the warmest place in the house and gathers all his toys, blanket and extra bed into a pile in front of it when its time to take a break. He knows that when the tone of my voice changes something is not quite right and can look very guilty. I know this is not a true admission of guilt, Runtly has no guilt. He knows that Tigger the cat is loads of fun, but when Tigger has had enough, he bites. Tigger always has had enough long before Runtly has.
Jack Russell Terriers are a special breed of dog. Not that other breeds aren't special, but most breeds do not go from zero to 60 mph in less than three seconds or bounce off the walls like a steel ball in a pinball machine. They are very intelligent but can fall into attention deficit mode when focused on a new moving object, whether that be a bug on the floor or their own shadow. They also have a mind of their own and I have already witnessed the look that says, "Your lips may be moving, but I'm not listening."
The book, Jack Russell Terriers for Dummies, seriously, there really is a book with that title, by Deborah Britt-Hay says that it can take up to 8 months to house/potty train this breed. Not because they are stupid, but because it can take that long for them to decide if they want to follow your plan...........sigh. I will admit, I've gotten more exercise in the last 13 days than I have in quite awhile.
In the meantime, Runtly seems to be falling into a daily routine of learning what works and what doesn't........or maybe I am.
Monday, January 5, 2015
The Newest Member
There seems to be some kind of phenomenon taking place on the planet. The four legged creatures of Earth are getting along. Not only with each other, but with species outside of their specific realm.
Tapping the keyboard to Youtube.com and putting 'different animals getting along' in the search bar, will bring up a plethora of videos providing proof that something odd is going on.
There are videos of birds and cats playing, lions and dogs in a unique friendship, a deer and the family dog romping in the backyard. The list goes on and on.
Maybe this has always happened. Maybe, since we live in an age where everything can be videoed and recorded for the annals of history, this homogenization of different animals just seems new to us. But I'm not so sure.
I feel like there is some kind of cosmic shift going on because recently this very phenomenon has taken place under my own roof.
Not only with different species of four legged animals, but even involving the male counterpart of the two humans who live here.
This household has a new member.....a dog. This isn't just any dog, this is Runtly, a 10 week old Jack Russel Terrier. He came by his name honestly as he was the runt of the litter, but he is the only one who does not know he is small. At just a little over three pounds, he is a bundle of perpetual gnawing, chewing, peeing, pooping, bouncing energy.
Tigger, the young cat, makes about four of Runtly. That fact did not deter this tiny K-9 from trying to play. After all, the cat moved all by itself, much more fun than the stuffingless fox with the squeaker in its tail. It only took a couple of days before the two finally made contact with each other. Now, they are inseparable.
I must admit though, the old cat took one look at the dog, turned to me with a look that said, "You've GOT to be kidding me." and waltzed off to the garage in disgust.
Runtly is supposed to be my dog, but here is where it starts to get weird. This little bundle of joy has stolen the heart of my husband. The man who does not particularly like animals of any kind. Runtly greets him in the morning like a long lost friend. If there is time before leaving for work, Runtly gets a little lap time. The other morning, this man, who does not particularly like animals of any kind, seriously, was even laughing out loud at the shenanigans this little pup can pull. I had to glance out the window, to see if the sky was falling.
Perhaps the animal kingdom is trying to show us that it is possible to get along with each other, even though we may be different in looks or beliefs. But, then again, it's really hard not to love this face.
Tapping the keyboard to Youtube.com and putting 'different animals getting along' in the search bar, will bring up a plethora of videos providing proof that something odd is going on.
There are videos of birds and cats playing, lions and dogs in a unique friendship, a deer and the family dog romping in the backyard. The list goes on and on.
Maybe this has always happened. Maybe, since we live in an age where everything can be videoed and recorded for the annals of history, this homogenization of different animals just seems new to us. But I'm not so sure.
I feel like there is some kind of cosmic shift going on because recently this very phenomenon has taken place under my own roof.
Not only with different species of four legged animals, but even involving the male counterpart of the two humans who live here.
This household has a new member.....a dog. This isn't just any dog, this is Runtly, a 10 week old Jack Russel Terrier. He came by his name honestly as he was the runt of the litter, but he is the only one who does not know he is small. At just a little over three pounds, he is a bundle of perpetual gnawing, chewing, peeing, pooping, bouncing energy.
Tigger, the young cat, makes about four of Runtly. That fact did not deter this tiny K-9 from trying to play. After all, the cat moved all by itself, much more fun than the stuffingless fox with the squeaker in its tail. It only took a couple of days before the two finally made contact with each other. Now, they are inseparable.
I must admit though, the old cat took one look at the dog, turned to me with a look that said, "You've GOT to be kidding me." and waltzed off to the garage in disgust.
Runtly is supposed to be my dog, but here is where it starts to get weird. This little bundle of joy has stolen the heart of my husband. The man who does not particularly like animals of any kind. Runtly greets him in the morning like a long lost friend. If there is time before leaving for work, Runtly gets a little lap time. The other morning, this man, who does not particularly like animals of any kind, seriously, was even laughing out loud at the shenanigans this little pup can pull. I had to glance out the window, to see if the sky was falling.
Perhaps the animal kingdom is trying to show us that it is possible to get along with each other, even though we may be different in looks or beliefs. But, then again, it's really hard not to love this face.
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