Word of the day on the dictionary app: inutile (in-yoo-til) of no use or service.
That is what the entire left side of my body is, inutile, of no use or service. Yes, I went to the chiropractor and the first visit left me feeling like a million bucks. So, what did I do? I over did it as usual. Now I'm back to square one.
I knew better than to think I would get a quick fix, after all, my left side has hurt for three months. I really did not expect it to get better overnight, but secretly, that's what I wanted.
I decided to put some ice on it yesterday afternoon. Thinking I needed to lay on a firm surface, I found a small foam mat and chose the floor. This was not one of my better ideas, getting down on the floor was an ordeal in itself and I wondered if I would have to lay there until someone found me. Runtly, the Jack Russell Terrorist, thought it was an excellent idea, especially since I have never gotten down on his level before. He proceeded to chew on the mat, lick the ice bag and pounce up and down on my prone position. Then he decided to chew my hair. He does not know how fortunate he was that I felt so bad, nobody messes with my hair. After I began to cry tears of feeling oh so sorry for myself, he settled down next to me and took a nap. Getting up from the floor was not as bad as I had anticipated and as long as my leg and hip felt frozen the pain was not as excruciating.
Later in the day, we, the husband and I, took Runtly to the vet to get his shots. If someone had told my husband a year ago that he would not only take a dog to the vet, but sit and hold said dog, he would have said something like.....well, I probably shouldn't put that in print. Runtly does not know he is a dog and last night he got his first close up view of two other members of the canine family. One an older, quiet, medium sized dog and the other a cross between a German shepherd and some other huge breed. This dog was maybe a year old, huge and loud. He barked, howled and growled and all the while its owner kept telling it to "mind his manners". The owner did this in a voice about an octave higher than the dog so the whole experience for Runtly was traumatic. He shivered, shook and set as far back as he could in my husband's arms. I wanted badly to tell the owner of loud dog that he was a dog, not a human, and didn't know squat about manners. That is when I looked down and realized I had forgot to use the lint roller before leaving the house. My black pants were covered with white dog hair so I just bit my tongue and kept my mouth shut. Probably one of my better decisions of the day.
It's snowing again, three or four more inches of fresh powder. Runtly would love to go play in the snow and I would like nothing better than to be able to open the back door and let him run. That will not happen, the stress of worrying about him getting run over by the snow plow is not worth the risk. Runtly has seemingly solved this problem himself by finding a box of loose paper towels in the basement and proceeding to make his own snow.
The odor of pain relieving gel wafts up to my nostrils. It serves a dual purpose, helps with the pain and opens the sinuses. A win, win situation.
So, there it is, snowflakes, dog hair and Ben-Gay.....
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Living Large
I was having a conversation with a friend the other day whose daughter has a boyfriend from another country. I think he is from Finland, or Scotland....anyway, he's not from here.
My friend told me she had asked this young man what was the one thing he found different, in this country, from his own. His answer? Food. Not just the food as in specific dishes but the size of the portions. He told her a small package of fries, like the ones we get from the giant of fast foods, would be considered nearly an extra large portion in his country.
We laughed about this and figured that was the reason there is so many people battling weight problems. We simply eat too much of a good thing.
Last night I decided to fix some chicken breasts for supper. My husband does not particularly like chicken, but we needed a break from the usual beef/pork menu. I've been buying these bags of frozen, skinless chicken breasts for several years at the place where I buy my groceries. In the past there were always six or seven chicken breasts in the bag. The bag I opened last night had three in it. Three huge, ma-honkin', chicken breast.
I went to the drawer and pulled out my handy tape measure to check the length of one of these colossal chicken breast and it measured over ten inches long. This fact made me wonder about the feathered fowl who had carried such mammoth mammaries because I'm thinking it must have been the size of a rottweiler.
This thought led to another, which is usually the case, and I was thinking a chicken of such grand size would make a good protector. Instead of the guard dog, we could have a guard chicken. Imagine the look of fear on an unexpected visitor as they stare down the beak of the guard chicken, the guard chicken with huge breasts. Why, a guard chicken would probably only have to rustle its feathers to send a prowler in search of a place with a dog.
We could post signs, BEWARE OF CHICKEN, on the front of our homes. That alone should scare the chicken crap out of just about anyone. I also figured feeding the guard chicken might be less expensive to feed than a guard dog, so there is another feather in the cap, no pun intended, to having a guard chicken. A guard chicken could spend its days, during the warm weather months, pecking and scratching in the yard, terrorizing all forms of insects so that would eliminate the need for an exterminator, yet another plus. In the evening, the guard chicken could take its rightful spot in a straw lined box located somewhere close to the most used entrance of the home.
Guard chickens would not bark, but every so often they would give out a low warning cluck. By the time an intruder heard the cluck, it would be too late and said intruder would be pummeled by short wings and large breasts, never knowing exactly what hit him.....death by breast and beak.
Back at the stove, I was pondering just how many growth hormones had been pumped into this pumped up chicken. I have no idea, but I hoped I would wake in the morning being a couple of inches taller.
That didn't happen but I still think the guard chicken is a good idea.
My friend told me she had asked this young man what was the one thing he found different, in this country, from his own. His answer? Food. Not just the food as in specific dishes but the size of the portions. He told her a small package of fries, like the ones we get from the giant of fast foods, would be considered nearly an extra large portion in his country.
We laughed about this and figured that was the reason there is so many people battling weight problems. We simply eat too much of a good thing.
Last night I decided to fix some chicken breasts for supper. My husband does not particularly like chicken, but we needed a break from the usual beef/pork menu. I've been buying these bags of frozen, skinless chicken breasts for several years at the place where I buy my groceries. In the past there were always six or seven chicken breasts in the bag. The bag I opened last night had three in it. Three huge, ma-honkin', chicken breast.
I went to the drawer and pulled out my handy tape measure to check the length of one of these colossal chicken breast and it measured over ten inches long. This fact made me wonder about the feathered fowl who had carried such mammoth mammaries because I'm thinking it must have been the size of a rottweiler.
This thought led to another, which is usually the case, and I was thinking a chicken of such grand size would make a good protector. Instead of the guard dog, we could have a guard chicken. Imagine the look of fear on an unexpected visitor as they stare down the beak of the guard chicken, the guard chicken with huge breasts. Why, a guard chicken would probably only have to rustle its feathers to send a prowler in search of a place with a dog.
We could post signs, BEWARE OF CHICKEN, on the front of our homes. That alone should scare the chicken crap out of just about anyone. I also figured feeding the guard chicken might be less expensive to feed than a guard dog, so there is another feather in the cap, no pun intended, to having a guard chicken. A guard chicken could spend its days, during the warm weather months, pecking and scratching in the yard, terrorizing all forms of insects so that would eliminate the need for an exterminator, yet another plus. In the evening, the guard chicken could take its rightful spot in a straw lined box located somewhere close to the most used entrance of the home.
Guard chickens would not bark, but every so often they would give out a low warning cluck. By the time an intruder heard the cluck, it would be too late and said intruder would be pummeled by short wings and large breasts, never knowing exactly what hit him.....death by breast and beak.
Back at the stove, I was pondering just how many growth hormones had been pumped into this pumped up chicken. I have no idea, but I hoped I would wake in the morning being a couple of inches taller.
That didn't happen but I still think the guard chicken is a good idea.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Don't Ask
We all do it. We meet someone, on the street, in the grocery store, where ever and we say, "Hey! How are you?" When we do this we never expect, nor usually want, the truth. Just a casual, "I'm fine." will suffice.
Not so with me today. If you don't want to know, please, do not ask. I feel like crapola and am willing to shovel it in great loads upon the waiting ear.
It all started Thanksgiving day. This past Thanksgiving.....last year. I was getting ready for the day's activities and while I was hurrying around I turned just a certain way and caught the ring and middle finger of my left hand on a cabinet. This was not a huge motion, but when it happened it shot a pain into my left shoulder that felt like it had been wrenched from the socket. The damned thing still hurts.
About a week before I did that, I had picked up a laundry basket full of dirty clothes and headed down the hallway to the laundry chute. This lovely household action pulled something in my back and hip on the left side and the damned thing still hurts.
"Mother, why don't you go to the doctor?"
I just give them my best blank look. As if I didn't understand what they said. Because I do not want to go to the doctor is the best answer I can come up with. I do not have the time and I abhor sitting idly, waiting, reading magazines that are six months old and full of advice that is now no longer useful.
Then, there is this dog. This dog who refuses to learn where and when to potty. I know he knows, he knows he knows, because when he casually uses the kitchen floor, or the living room floor, or the hall way floor in front of me, he quickly trots off to the safety of his kennel. He stays there until the coast is clear and then resumes his happy life.
So last night I decided to tackle all the spots, or the worst ones, and I crawled around on my hands and knees with a bucket of cleaning solution and many rags. I tried to keep most of the pressure situated to the right side of my body, taking it easy on the opposite shoulder and hip. That was not a good idea. I woke this morning with pretty much the entire left side of my body unusable and in pain and it makes me mucho snarko.
I shall relent. I shall call the chiropractor. This particular doctor uses acupuncture. Good, they can stick them in my eyeballs if that will help.
Oh, I nearly forgot......How are you?
Not so with me today. If you don't want to know, please, do not ask. I feel like crapola and am willing to shovel it in great loads upon the waiting ear.
It all started Thanksgiving day. This past Thanksgiving.....last year. I was getting ready for the day's activities and while I was hurrying around I turned just a certain way and caught the ring and middle finger of my left hand on a cabinet. This was not a huge motion, but when it happened it shot a pain into my left shoulder that felt like it had been wrenched from the socket. The damned thing still hurts.
About a week before I did that, I had picked up a laundry basket full of dirty clothes and headed down the hallway to the laundry chute. This lovely household action pulled something in my back and hip on the left side and the damned thing still hurts.
"Mother, why don't you go to the doctor?"
I just give them my best blank look. As if I didn't understand what they said. Because I do not want to go to the doctor is the best answer I can come up with. I do not have the time and I abhor sitting idly, waiting, reading magazines that are six months old and full of advice that is now no longer useful.
Then, there is this dog. This dog who refuses to learn where and when to potty. I know he knows, he knows he knows, because when he casually uses the kitchen floor, or the living room floor, or the hall way floor in front of me, he quickly trots off to the safety of his kennel. He stays there until the coast is clear and then resumes his happy life.
So last night I decided to tackle all the spots, or the worst ones, and I crawled around on my hands and knees with a bucket of cleaning solution and many rags. I tried to keep most of the pressure situated to the right side of my body, taking it easy on the opposite shoulder and hip. That was not a good idea. I woke this morning with pretty much the entire left side of my body unusable and in pain and it makes me mucho snarko.
I shall relent. I shall call the chiropractor. This particular doctor uses acupuncture. Good, they can stick them in my eyeballs if that will help.
Oh, I nearly forgot......How are you?
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Being Bored
So, I'm standing looking out the window, sipping a cup of tea. The bird feeders are empty again. The small feathered friends have been busy since the last snow fall. I think about putting on my boots, coat, earmuffs, gloves to go out and fill them. That's when I heard it, the dog, Runtly, "I'm bored."
For some reason I do not find this odd. "Play with your toys."
"I already did." This is true, they are strung out all over the house and it's not even close to noon.
"Well then, take a nap."
"I've done that too." I turn to look at him. He is sitting on his favorite blanket, in front of the furnace register, his beady little eyes looking at me. "Let's go outside!"
"It's really cold out there, you won't last five minutes."
"Yes, but I could play with the cat. Tigger misses me. Oh I love to play with the cat!"
"I know, and Tigger likes to play with you too, but sometimes you get a little rough with him."
"Rough?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sometimes you are mean to Tigger. You hurt him when you bite his paws and tail. He doesn't really like that."
Runtly gives this some thought before continuing, "I just can't help it. Tigger is so soft and so furry and so fun! I want to bite him and chew him and nibble on his little ears.....and shake him, oh yes, I really want to shake him. Just like I do Mr. Stuffingless Fox!"
"I know, but you can't do that either. Tigger would not play with you anymore if you did that."
Runtly sighs.
"While we are having this conversation, what's with the paper towels?"
"Paper towels?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what that is either."
"It's that white thing that is in a million pieces all over the basement floor."
"Oh! That! Those are really fun! Could I have one of those now?"
"No. What makes them so much fun?"
"The sound!"
"The sound?"
"Yes! They make the most delightful sound when I tear them into little pieces! Can't you hear it?"
"No."
"That is too bad, it is a most wonderful noise. If you get me one now, I'll let you listen!"
"No thank you."
"You're not much fun."
It's my turn to sigh. "I know, I guess I'm bored too. One of these days it will be warmer outside and we can spend more time out there."
"When that time comes, can I go out without the thing?"
"What thing?"
"That thing you put on me before we go out the door."
"The leash?"
"I guess that's what it is. I do not like it. It doesn't let me run."
"Nice try, but no cigar."
"What's a cigar?"
"Never mind."
Runtly leaves the room and before too long I hear the empty cardboard 12 pack box thumping through the kitchen. For the moment, he is entertained. I need to get out more.
For some reason I do not find this odd. "Play with your toys."
"I already did." This is true, they are strung out all over the house and it's not even close to noon.
"Well then, take a nap."
"I've done that too." I turn to look at him. He is sitting on his favorite blanket, in front of the furnace register, his beady little eyes looking at me. "Let's go outside!"
"It's really cold out there, you won't last five minutes."
"Yes, but I could play with the cat. Tigger misses me. Oh I love to play with the cat!"
"I know, and Tigger likes to play with you too, but sometimes you get a little rough with him."
"Rough?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sometimes you are mean to Tigger. You hurt him when you bite his paws and tail. He doesn't really like that."
Runtly gives this some thought before continuing, "I just can't help it. Tigger is so soft and so furry and so fun! I want to bite him and chew him and nibble on his little ears.....and shake him, oh yes, I really want to shake him. Just like I do Mr. Stuffingless Fox!"
"I know, but you can't do that either. Tigger would not play with you anymore if you did that."
Runtly sighs.
"While we are having this conversation, what's with the paper towels?"
"Paper towels?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what that is either."
"It's that white thing that is in a million pieces all over the basement floor."
"Oh! That! Those are really fun! Could I have one of those now?"
"No. What makes them so much fun?"
"The sound!"
"The sound?"
"Yes! They make the most delightful sound when I tear them into little pieces! Can't you hear it?"
"No."
"That is too bad, it is a most wonderful noise. If you get me one now, I'll let you listen!"
"No thank you."
"You're not much fun."
It's my turn to sigh. "I know, I guess I'm bored too. One of these days it will be warmer outside and we can spend more time out there."
"When that time comes, can I go out without the thing?"
"What thing?"
"That thing you put on me before we go out the door."
"The leash?"
"I guess that's what it is. I do not like it. It doesn't let me run."
"Nice try, but no cigar."
"What's a cigar?"
"Never mind."
Runtly leaves the room and before too long I hear the empty cardboard 12 pack box thumping through the kitchen. For the moment, he is entertained. I need to get out more.
Monday, February 16, 2015
I Bid Thee Farewell
Pussy Cat, aka, Queen of the Yard 1997-98 February 15, 2015
Pussy Cat, aka, Queen of the Yard, age 17 plus, slipped through the veil Sunday, February 15, 2015 at 11:15 p.m.
She was a good cat.
Pussy Cat lived the entirety of her years outdoors. She was found, as a half grown kitten, under a bush in the neighbor's yard. After three days of coaxing with a saucer of milk, she entered her domain, claimed it as her own and rarely left its boundaries.
She was preceded by her companion of twelve years, a Sheltie Collie named Lady and the only cat love of her life, Tommy Boy, along with numerous other felines that graced her kingdom during her 17 year reign.
She attributed her longevity to never smoking or partaking of strong drink, but most importantly, never running in the face of danger. There were many times she could be seen sitting steadily, quietly, staring down a member of the canine family that was four times her size. Purina Cat Chow was the only food worthy of her palette and the occasional saucer of milk. She knew the milk would not agree with her, but its taste was worth the bother.
She was not a people cat and survived many a family gathering or thundering grandchildren by retreating to the far corners of her kingdom, laying low until some sense of order was in place.
During her last two winters she claimed a space in a small heated room in the garage. She also developed a liking for the man of the house. Each morning he would let her out while he went for the morning paper. She would then wait patiently by the back door, for him to leave for work, follow him slowly back to the garage where she knew he would open the door for her to return to her winter palace. She requested him to pet her just the other day and he obliged....That was her farewell to him.
Although she left no blood heirs to the throne, she is survived by her one remaining minion, Tigger, whom she did not like. She ruled him with an evil eye and an iron paw. Many times the paw smacked his head to remind him of his place in the courtyard.
Tigger sat by her side during her last hours and when the end was near, took his rightful place in her straw lined box. There was a reciting of the Lord's Prayer and a terribly botched rendition of the 23rd Psalm, followed by a question, "are there angels for cats?"
With that, she took her last breath and gave up her feline spirit. Tigger sat up in the box and, like cats will do, watched something invisible cross the room and then stared intently out the window.
Pussy Cat, she was a good cat.
Pussy Cat, aka, Queen of the Yard, age 17 plus, slipped through the veil Sunday, February 15, 2015 at 11:15 p.m.
She was a good cat.
Pussy Cat lived the entirety of her years outdoors. She was found, as a half grown kitten, under a bush in the neighbor's yard. After three days of coaxing with a saucer of milk, she entered her domain, claimed it as her own and rarely left its boundaries.
She was preceded by her companion of twelve years, a Sheltie Collie named Lady and the only cat love of her life, Tommy Boy, along with numerous other felines that graced her kingdom during her 17 year reign.
She attributed her longevity to never smoking or partaking of strong drink, but most importantly, never running in the face of danger. There were many times she could be seen sitting steadily, quietly, staring down a member of the canine family that was four times her size. Purina Cat Chow was the only food worthy of her palette and the occasional saucer of milk. She knew the milk would not agree with her, but its taste was worth the bother.
She was not a people cat and survived many a family gathering or thundering grandchildren by retreating to the far corners of her kingdom, laying low until some sense of order was in place.
During her last two winters she claimed a space in a small heated room in the garage. She also developed a liking for the man of the house. Each morning he would let her out while he went for the morning paper. She would then wait patiently by the back door, for him to leave for work, follow him slowly back to the garage where she knew he would open the door for her to return to her winter palace. She requested him to pet her just the other day and he obliged....That was her farewell to him.
Although she left no blood heirs to the throne, she is survived by her one remaining minion, Tigger, whom she did not like. She ruled him with an evil eye and an iron paw. Many times the paw smacked his head to remind him of his place in the courtyard.
Tigger sat by her side during her last hours and when the end was near, took his rightful place in her straw lined box. There was a reciting of the Lord's Prayer and a terribly botched rendition of the 23rd Psalm, followed by a question, "are there angels for cats?"
With that, she took her last breath and gave up her feline spirit. Tigger sat up in the box and, like cats will do, watched something invisible cross the room and then stared intently out the window.
Pussy Cat, she was a good cat.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Dog Vocabulary
I Googled phrases with the word 'dog' in them and was surprised at how many showed up. The very first one was not on the list, but I thought it worth sharing. Here we go:
Dog Gone It: A better phrase than swearing. Can also mean what happened to your shoe, socks, underwear, etc.
A Dog's Breakfast: Making a mess of something. Runtly never cares what his breakfast looks like, just as long as there is something in the bowl. There are times my hair and this phrase go hand in hand.
Dog Eat Dog: Times is tough.
Dog's Life: Miserably unhappy conditions. I thought this definition odd, Runtly's dog life is pretty good. Perhaps being on a chain in the yard all your life better fits the phrase.
Every Dog Has Its Day: Reversal of dog's life. Eventually, things will get better.
Dog-Dew, Dog-Do, Dog Doo: Yep, dog doo.
Dog's Mother: Be very careful when using this one because......
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie: Or carry a big stick and be ready to run like hell.
Dog Days: Hot, sultry summer weather. I prefer to think of it as Dog Day Afternoon....and Al Pacino.....and sultry..... and....never mind.
Putting On The Dog: To dress fancy, or decorate for a special occasion. This is my favorite one. This was always said of the original Blanche, although pseudo Blanche is pretty good at it herself. As a kid, I never knew what it meant, but it always sounded fun.
Sick As A Dog: Ill. That's where I'm at. Although Runtly isn't sick, I guess the phrase still fits. I have so much snot between my ears that it is blocking the brain waves from coming up with something more interesting than phrases with the word 'dog' in them. Hopefully, tomorrow, I will........
Be Like A Dog With Two Tails: I don't reckon it gets much better than that.
Dog Gone It: A better phrase than swearing. Can also mean what happened to your shoe, socks, underwear, etc.
A Dog's Breakfast: Making a mess of something. Runtly never cares what his breakfast looks like, just as long as there is something in the bowl. There are times my hair and this phrase go hand in hand.
Dog Eat Dog: Times is tough.
Dog's Life: Miserably unhappy conditions. I thought this definition odd, Runtly's dog life is pretty good. Perhaps being on a chain in the yard all your life better fits the phrase.
Every Dog Has Its Day: Reversal of dog's life. Eventually, things will get better.
Dog-Dew, Dog-Do, Dog Doo: Yep, dog doo.
Dog's Mother: Be very careful when using this one because......
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie: Or carry a big stick and be ready to run like hell.
Dog Days: Hot, sultry summer weather. I prefer to think of it as Dog Day Afternoon....and Al Pacino.....and sultry..... and....never mind.
Putting On The Dog: To dress fancy, or decorate for a special occasion. This is my favorite one. This was always said of the original Blanche, although pseudo Blanche is pretty good at it herself. As a kid, I never knew what it meant, but it always sounded fun.
Sick As A Dog: Ill. That's where I'm at. Although Runtly isn't sick, I guess the phrase still fits. I have so much snot between my ears that it is blocking the brain waves from coming up with something more interesting than phrases with the word 'dog' in them. Hopefully, tomorrow, I will........
Be Like A Dog With Two Tails: I don't reckon it gets much better than that.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Show Dog?
It's a sad thought, but I'm guessing that if Runtly had been born many moons ago, he would not have made the cut.
His name signifies his status in the litter.....the runt. He was half the size of the other pups, tiny, weak and, for lack of a better description, ugly. He looked like a tiny pink pig and yes, I felt sorry for him.
Runtly has now passed the three month old date on the calendar and I can assure you with all certainty, I no longer feel sorry for him. He has no idea that he would have been a cast-away. I'm not sure he even knows he is a dog....shadow might be a better word for him.
At the three month old mark, I said a silent prayer that there was only five more months left to possibly complete potty training and also gave thanks for ceramic tile and hardwood floors. He continues to be overjoyed with the cat, and the cat with him....sort of. Their encounter first thing in the morning is the best, it is the "Oh I'm so happy to see you" moment. Later in the day, the instinct of the Jack Russell Terrier/Terrorist kicks in and Runtly seems to think Tigger is something he should bite and shake. Tigger is much appreciative of the leash.
Runtly has no fear in the house and giving him free rein of the house from the get go was a bad idea. He now navigates all stairways with great skill. It is always pleasant to know he's been in the dirty laundry pile in the basement when a pair of someone's underwear go sailing through the kitchen.
He has more toys than the grandchildren and yet, has the most fun with an empty 12-pack cardboard box. This box has been seen many times, seemingly moving on its own, as his hind legs propel it across the floor. He loves the lint roller that had to be purchased because of him. I'm going to have to stop wearing black.
Being outdoors is still a thing of wonder to him. The backyard is a safe haven, but any destination beyond the comfort of the yard, is a scary place. He will walk to the corner of the block, on a leash, with little hesitation. Any point past the intersection and he is like a person who has spent all their life in a third world country and then someone put them in a Wal-Mart store. Information overload, at its best. The one good thing about one of these outings is, if I've been walking around in the yard, for what seems like forever, waiting for him to do his business, a journey past the end of the block literally scares it out of him.
Sometimes the runts have a few defects and to a breeder I suppose they are considered collateral damage. Runtly is not "show" material. As he has grown, so have his ears. He now has what we call "lighter brighter", one ear down, the other up. This does give him the appearance of being quite studious. I have discovered that if I rub the 'up' ear, it will fold over, but not for long. He prances when he walks and when he runs he has one leg that flails out to the side. The leg doesn't do this the entire time he is running, just every once in awhile. I figure he's just throwing in a little happy dance along the way.
He may not be show material, but he can sit, stay (sort of), lay down on command and puts on a show for us that makes us laugh..... except the performance where he chewed a hole in the top of my wicker chest.... that wasn't too funny.
His name signifies his status in the litter.....the runt. He was half the size of the other pups, tiny, weak and, for lack of a better description, ugly. He looked like a tiny pink pig and yes, I felt sorry for him.
Runtly has now passed the three month old date on the calendar and I can assure you with all certainty, I no longer feel sorry for him. He has no idea that he would have been a cast-away. I'm not sure he even knows he is a dog....shadow might be a better word for him.
At the three month old mark, I said a silent prayer that there was only five more months left to possibly complete potty training and also gave thanks for ceramic tile and hardwood floors. He continues to be overjoyed with the cat, and the cat with him....sort of. Their encounter first thing in the morning is the best, it is the "Oh I'm so happy to see you" moment. Later in the day, the instinct of the Jack Russell Terrier/Terrorist kicks in and Runtly seems to think Tigger is something he should bite and shake. Tigger is much appreciative of the leash.
Runtly has no fear in the house and giving him free rein of the house from the get go was a bad idea. He now navigates all stairways with great skill. It is always pleasant to know he's been in the dirty laundry pile in the basement when a pair of someone's underwear go sailing through the kitchen.
He has more toys than the grandchildren and yet, has the most fun with an empty 12-pack cardboard box. This box has been seen many times, seemingly moving on its own, as his hind legs propel it across the floor. He loves the lint roller that had to be purchased because of him. I'm going to have to stop wearing black.
Being outdoors is still a thing of wonder to him. The backyard is a safe haven, but any destination beyond the comfort of the yard, is a scary place. He will walk to the corner of the block, on a leash, with little hesitation. Any point past the intersection and he is like a person who has spent all their life in a third world country and then someone put them in a Wal-Mart store. Information overload, at its best. The one good thing about one of these outings is, if I've been walking around in the yard, for what seems like forever, waiting for him to do his business, a journey past the end of the block literally scares it out of him.
Sometimes the runts have a few defects and to a breeder I suppose they are considered collateral damage. Runtly is not "show" material. As he has grown, so have his ears. He now has what we call "lighter brighter", one ear down, the other up. This does give him the appearance of being quite studious. I have discovered that if I rub the 'up' ear, it will fold over, but not for long. He prances when he walks and when he runs he has one leg that flails out to the side. The leg doesn't do this the entire time he is running, just every once in awhile. I figure he's just throwing in a little happy dance along the way.
He may not be show material, but he can sit, stay (sort of), lay down on command and puts on a show for us that makes us laugh..... except the performance where he chewed a hole in the top of my wicker chest.... that wasn't too funny.
Monday, February 9, 2015
When Darkness Falls
The morning sun breaks over the horizon,
Dawning on a new day.
My eyes open to its welcoming,
Searching my surroundings.
That is when darkness falls.
It falls upon me,
In a shapeless form.
It weighs me down,
Keeping me pinned.
I do not care,
I have no will to move.
There was so much to do,
Care to be given,
Watching, waiting.
Knowing.
Now there is only empty space.
A space as vast as the universe.
I stand at its center,
Small and insignificant,
Like a tiny grain of sand.
And when darkness falls upon my heart,
I can not help but weep.
When darkness falls,
It wills me to stay hidden.
It enjoys my pain,
As though it feeds upon my soul.
When darkness falls,
I wonder.
I wonder if there was something,
Something I could have done,
Something that would have made a difference.
I wonder if I could join you.
I wonder if you need me.
The minutes tick by,
Turning into hours,
Turning into days.
I find myself smiling,
Even laughing,
And then the darkness falls,
It falls upon me like a shroud.
My heart is broken.
Beyond repair?
I do not know.
But when darkness falls
I shall embrace its gloom.
I will cry.
I will shout.
I will scream into the blackness.
I will hide within its folds.
When darkness falls.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Love One Another
Theology: The study of the nature of God and religious beliefs.
We can cuss and discuss. We can debate and we can argue. We can whip out the Good Book, flap open the pages and point with great righteousness. We can look at one group and think to ourselves, "Boy, have they got it all wrong."
I sometimes wonder if the writers of the books and letters in the New Testament knew they were writing scripture. One expert on the Apostle Paul wrote that Paul would probably be extremely upset to know that his words were considered actual scripture.
Why is that? Maybe because as far as Paul was concerned, there was only one source of scripture for his people, the Old Testament.
Then there is the great debate on baptism. Full immersion, sprinkling, a simple confession. What about those places that have no water? Do we say, "Hey! We ain't finished here yet! Haul in some water! We gotta dunk this dude!"?
Since this is tRuth As I See It, you can take my opinion for what it is worth. My thoughts go something like this: Jesus was the fulfillment of the Law, the Old Testament. When the veil tore in the temple it took the separation away. The separation man made between himself and God. When Christ said, "No one goes to the Father except through me.", what if that means he will witness for anyone who will let him? Why in the world do we scare the hell into people? Fear has no place in real love.
Having all the right answers, knowing the scriptures forwards and backwards is not the way. Experiencing the love of God is the answer. We need to experience it, to feel it, to share it in order to fulfill our reason for being here.
If God knew us before he plopped us into this shell we live in while we are here on planet Earth, does he not know us now? If God loved us then, does he not love us now? If we can not love one another because we think they are not doing what WE think they should be doing, where does that get us?
Put judgement aside, lay down your ideals and look at your fellow man as if they were your own child. If you are going to judge them, then by all means, allow someone else to judge your children.
We are all God's children, created in love. Let's spread some of that around.
We can cuss and discuss. We can debate and we can argue. We can whip out the Good Book, flap open the pages and point with great righteousness. We can look at one group and think to ourselves, "Boy, have they got it all wrong."
I sometimes wonder if the writers of the books and letters in the New Testament knew they were writing scripture. One expert on the Apostle Paul wrote that Paul would probably be extremely upset to know that his words were considered actual scripture.
Why is that? Maybe because as far as Paul was concerned, there was only one source of scripture for his people, the Old Testament.
Then there is the great debate on baptism. Full immersion, sprinkling, a simple confession. What about those places that have no water? Do we say, "Hey! We ain't finished here yet! Haul in some water! We gotta dunk this dude!"?
Since this is tRuth As I See It, you can take my opinion for what it is worth. My thoughts go something like this: Jesus was the fulfillment of the Law, the Old Testament. When the veil tore in the temple it took the separation away. The separation man made between himself and God. When Christ said, "No one goes to the Father except through me.", what if that means he will witness for anyone who will let him? Why in the world do we scare the hell into people? Fear has no place in real love.
Having all the right answers, knowing the scriptures forwards and backwards is not the way. Experiencing the love of God is the answer. We need to experience it, to feel it, to share it in order to fulfill our reason for being here.
If God knew us before he plopped us into this shell we live in while we are here on planet Earth, does he not know us now? If God loved us then, does he not love us now? If we can not love one another because we think they are not doing what WE think they should be doing, where does that get us?
Put judgement aside, lay down your ideals and look at your fellow man as if they were your own child. If you are going to judge them, then by all means, allow someone else to judge your children.
We are all God's children, created in love. Let's spread some of that around.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Time Well Spent
It did not turn out the way we wanted. Not even close. We all tried so hard to make you stay, but it was not meant to be.
This did not follow the order of things. Things we look at from a strictly human observation. You were not supposed to go first.
There were many prayers, thoughts, intentions, sent your way and to God. Trying to change a plan. A plan made a long time ago.
The Bible tells us that God knew you before he formed you in the womb. I can almost see you, in the Great Room of Planning. You, there with God, his Spirit and his Son, mapping out your course. You probably said, "So, what's in it for me?" The other three laughed, along with you, because they already knew the answer. Love. Great, unconditional, non judgmental, mind blowing love.
Your time seemed so short, at least in the way we view time. We wanted you to grow old, have wrinkles, grey hair and lots of stories to tell. But you lived. You lived life the way you saw fit. You loved, you laughed, you played hard. Truly, a man after God's own heart.
You left behind a family, friends and an entire community who loved you. You touched far more people than you could probably imagine, but you know that now. You know that the love you lived was passed along to many.
You suffered, but not in vain. Your suffering brought about great healing for a world that so desperately is in need of it. You faced it with determination and tenacity. For that, I admire your strength, many of us would have thrown in the towel long ago.
But not you, child of God, you saw the plan through until the end. The end, but only here, for now there is a great beginning. You have stepped through the veil. The veil that separates us from this world and what lies beyond. You have completed your journey and the scene that has unfolded before you is something we can only barely grasp. The beauty and the love that greeted you cannot be described with mere human words. The finest steed that Heaven had to offer probably snorted and stomped his hoof, impatient for you to saddle up. To saddle up for the greatest ride, the greatest ride ever.
We will miss you. We will miss you terribly. It will never be the same with you gone, but you left us with so much love. You left us with the knowing that you lived more in those short years than some do in a life time of many decades.
For that, we shall be grateful. We have been blessed by your presence and your time in our world has forever been written on our hearts.
Rest in peace may not be the right words. You are home now, there is much rejoicing going on in Heaven.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Monday Mizzle
Word of the day: Mizzle. light rain or mist.
This can also be applied to the brain. I must be in mizzle mode.
I rose early this cold winter morning thinking I can accomplish much more random acts of randomness by getting up before the crack of dawn.
First on the list of random was to make some oatmeal. A weeks worth. There is not much of anything that is easier to cook than oatmeal, the old fashioned kind, good ole' rolled oats. The formula is simple, two to one. That is two amounts of water to one amount of oats, boil for five minutes and viola, it's done.
I did it just the opposite. Boiled two cups of water and put in four cups of oats. It did not take long to realize my snafu and I quickly began to add more water before the mass adhered itself to the bottom of the pan. It took a bit longer than the usual five minutes, but there is now plenty of oatmeal.
I have a new jar of coconut oil. I've been out for some time and was excited about using it again. Perhaps I need more to do, excitement over coconut oil seems a little lame....I will work on that later. Anyway, I have the new jar of coconut oil and put a small spoonful into the oats to keep it from boiling over. I took another small spoonful and put it in the skillet that I use to cook the morning cackleberries.
Coconut oil is a very healthy choice. It is good for the brain, helping the neurons and other connectors function smoothly and properly. I turn back to the skillet. Not only had I not turned on the burner, there was no coconut oil in it. I muse about this for a second or two and finally decided I double dipped the oatmeal.
It is a large jar of coconut oil and I think maybe I will rub most of it on my head and hope for osmosis.
This can also be applied to the brain. I must be in mizzle mode.
I rose early this cold winter morning thinking I can accomplish much more random acts of randomness by getting up before the crack of dawn.
First on the list of random was to make some oatmeal. A weeks worth. There is not much of anything that is easier to cook than oatmeal, the old fashioned kind, good ole' rolled oats. The formula is simple, two to one. That is two amounts of water to one amount of oats, boil for five minutes and viola, it's done.
I did it just the opposite. Boiled two cups of water and put in four cups of oats. It did not take long to realize my snafu and I quickly began to add more water before the mass adhered itself to the bottom of the pan. It took a bit longer than the usual five minutes, but there is now plenty of oatmeal.
I have a new jar of coconut oil. I've been out for some time and was excited about using it again. Perhaps I need more to do, excitement over coconut oil seems a little lame....I will work on that later. Anyway, I have the new jar of coconut oil and put a small spoonful into the oats to keep it from boiling over. I took another small spoonful and put it in the skillet that I use to cook the morning cackleberries.
Coconut oil is a very healthy choice. It is good for the brain, helping the neurons and other connectors function smoothly and properly. I turn back to the skillet. Not only had I not turned on the burner, there was no coconut oil in it. I muse about this for a second or two and finally decided I double dipped the oatmeal.
It is a large jar of coconut oil and I think maybe I will rub most of it on my head and hope for osmosis.
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