It's Runtly! The ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, JRT for short!
Mom is trying to drive me crazy. She got rid of my safe space. It was under the couch. Now the couch is gone and she replaced it with one I can't get under. Mom is mean. I loved my safe space. I could lay on my side, behind the couch, and slither myself underneath. Then, there was enough room for me to stand up and make my space more comfortable. I did that by digging a hole in the carpet. All those pieces of carpet and pad made the place more like home, nice and fluffy. I don't know why Mom didn't like it, she couldn't see it. Anyway, I spent several days with nowhere to be safe. I tried the corner under the table, that didn't work. I laid on Mom and Dad's bed, but it's just too spacey.
Then, Mom brought out the crate! She even had the audacity to lock me in there! I think there is something wrong with Mom! She put a blanket over the crate, thinking that would make it better and she put a nice woolly pad in there too. I do like the pad because I can dig to China on it and nobody cares, but I wasn't goin' in that crate. Finally Mom had an idea. She got something she called a tool and as I sat and watched her, she took the door off the crate! She threw it out into the middle of the room and I showed it who was the boss. I barked at it and jumped at it, but I didn't touch it!!
Mom put a couple of treats in the crate and I did go in and get them. While I was in there, I looked around and decided maybe it wasn't so bad after all....especially since the door was gone. I like my new safe space now and am just about caught up on all the naps I missed out on when I didn't have a safe space.
Squirrel has brought part of his family to my deck. I show them who is the boss too! They think they are so smart, but I've always got my eye on them. The other day, the little one jumped on my head, when I was out back, and I catched him! Dad was laughing and Mom was sayin' no, sometimes Mom isn't much fun, and I dropped little squirrel and catched him again! I finally let him go but I spent about a minute smacking my lips. I told Mom, "tastes like chicken!" and she just rolled her eyes.
I got attacked by a goose last week. Stupid goose. All I was tryin' to do was get to my door. I guess I got too close to the baby geese and man o man, did the feathers start flyin'! That goose pecked me so hard it made me yip! I would have showed him a thing or two, but, once again, Mom didn't think that was a very good idea and we had to turn around and go the other way. I figure I'll have another chance soon.
I'm getting ready to take a road trip and go see my Mama. We talked on the phone the other night. Every time she hears me, she howls and so do I! I think she does that because she misses me, but it's kinda odd, when I get there she always shows me who is the boss! Tough love I guess. Woof!
Monday, May 20, 2019
Monday, May 13, 2019
The Letter
The air was heavy, filled with the moisture of an approaching storm, tracking in from the north. It was odd though, nothing was showing on the radar. He picked up the envelope, that was laying on the kitchen table, folded it in half and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. As he went out the back door, he flipped the light switch off, grabbed the truck keys and headed down the steps.
The old white 1971 Chevy pickup was waiting for him as it had been doing for more than 40 years. Like he had done for nearly that many years, he patted the dash and said the words, "Good morning sweetheart.", as he slid into the drivers' seat. And, like the gentle beast she was, her engine roared to life with the turn of the key. He dropped the gear shift into drive and started down the lane. When he got to the main road, he made a right, away from town. There was only one place he needed to be right now. It had been a long time since he had been there.
The wind picked up just as he turned into the tree covered lane. The hedge trees made a canopy over the road that looked like a tunnel of green. Suddenly their leaves were flying through the air, like kites without tails, twirling, spiraling out of control, being only at the mercy of the wind that carried them. Then he heard the first ping. Another and another. It was hail. He turned the wipers on high as a torrent of rain and small pellets of ice burst through the the canopy overhead.
He shook his head, where had this storm come from? As he emerged from the end of the tunnel of green, as if on cue, the rain stopped. In another half mile, the sun was peeking out from the edge of the darkness, as the freak storm and its sinister black cloud continued to move to the south. He drove the truck through an opening in the fence that led to an old abandoned house. The old house sat high on a bluff and although it had been many years since the yard surrounding it had been cared for, there were still traces of a long forgotten path that led to a spot behind the house. It was there that he parked the truck. He looked out over the river valley below. Plowed fields, some with a newly planted crop made a checkerboard pattern across the river bottom. The bluff, on the other side of the river, welcomed him like a long lost friend. A friend who had been waiting patiently, ready to pick up where they had last left off.
He sat for several minutes, soaking up the view. It always gave him a sense of great comfort, knowing that in the grand scheme of things, this one scenic view made him feel safe and protected. A trickle of water slid down the windshield and for a brief moment, as it passed through a sliver of sunshine, a small rainbow ran across the back of his hand, still resting on the steering wheel.
He turned the key off and the truck fell silent. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the envelope. He turned it over in his hands, wondering. He wondered where it had come from. It had been in the mailbox that morning. Nothing else had been in there and there was no postage or address or return address on it. Only the words, "this is for you", scrawled across the front in a cursive handwriting that looked like it might have been written by a young child. He unfolded the envelope and turned it over one more time, then reached into his front jean pocket and retrieved a small pocket knife. He never went anywhere without that knife. He slipped the blade into the top edge of the envelope and cut through it. He took a deep breath and as he reached inside the opening, he let the air rush out of his lungs with a loud sigh.
It was a single piece of paper, folded in thirds. When he opened it, the same simple handwriting, that was on the envelope, greeted him. It read, "You are the most wonderful person I know. I love you so much. You are so smart! You are so creative! I marvel at all the things you have accomplished. Others do too! You have no idea how many people hold you in such high esteem. You brighten a room when you enter. Your smile lifts the burden of a heavy heart. Your eyes twinkle with such delight, that others long for you to cast your glance their way. Maybe it hasn't always been cupcakes with sprinkles, but those are the times that have made you who you are today. Troubles have a way of knocking off the rough edges to reveal the true beauty inside. An old sage once said that a person's life was simply a journey back to where they had come from. Enjoy the journey, you have not failed, there is always more to come, more to do. Look forever forward, I'm always there for you. Love you much."
A tear rolled down his cheek. He had no idea who wrote it, but it had come at a time that his heart was nearly at a breaking point. To know that he was loved by some weird, bad handwriting, whatever or whoever, gave him a glimmer of hope. His heart could feel the healing beginning.
The old white 1971 Chevy pickup was waiting for him as it had been doing for more than 40 years. Like he had done for nearly that many years, he patted the dash and said the words, "Good morning sweetheart.", as he slid into the drivers' seat. And, like the gentle beast she was, her engine roared to life with the turn of the key. He dropped the gear shift into drive and started down the lane. When he got to the main road, he made a right, away from town. There was only one place he needed to be right now. It had been a long time since he had been there.
The wind picked up just as he turned into the tree covered lane. The hedge trees made a canopy over the road that looked like a tunnel of green. Suddenly their leaves were flying through the air, like kites without tails, twirling, spiraling out of control, being only at the mercy of the wind that carried them. Then he heard the first ping. Another and another. It was hail. He turned the wipers on high as a torrent of rain and small pellets of ice burst through the the canopy overhead.
He shook his head, where had this storm come from? As he emerged from the end of the tunnel of green, as if on cue, the rain stopped. In another half mile, the sun was peeking out from the edge of the darkness, as the freak storm and its sinister black cloud continued to move to the south. He drove the truck through an opening in the fence that led to an old abandoned house. The old house sat high on a bluff and although it had been many years since the yard surrounding it had been cared for, there were still traces of a long forgotten path that led to a spot behind the house. It was there that he parked the truck. He looked out over the river valley below. Plowed fields, some with a newly planted crop made a checkerboard pattern across the river bottom. The bluff, on the other side of the river, welcomed him like a long lost friend. A friend who had been waiting patiently, ready to pick up where they had last left off.
He sat for several minutes, soaking up the view. It always gave him a sense of great comfort, knowing that in the grand scheme of things, this one scenic view made him feel safe and protected. A trickle of water slid down the windshield and for a brief moment, as it passed through a sliver of sunshine, a small rainbow ran across the back of his hand, still resting on the steering wheel.
He turned the key off and the truck fell silent. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the envelope. He turned it over in his hands, wondering. He wondered where it had come from. It had been in the mailbox that morning. Nothing else had been in there and there was no postage or address or return address on it. Only the words, "this is for you", scrawled across the front in a cursive handwriting that looked like it might have been written by a young child. He unfolded the envelope and turned it over one more time, then reached into his front jean pocket and retrieved a small pocket knife. He never went anywhere without that knife. He slipped the blade into the top edge of the envelope and cut through it. He took a deep breath and as he reached inside the opening, he let the air rush out of his lungs with a loud sigh.
It was a single piece of paper, folded in thirds. When he opened it, the same simple handwriting, that was on the envelope, greeted him. It read, "You are the most wonderful person I know. I love you so much. You are so smart! You are so creative! I marvel at all the things you have accomplished. Others do too! You have no idea how many people hold you in such high esteem. You brighten a room when you enter. Your smile lifts the burden of a heavy heart. Your eyes twinkle with such delight, that others long for you to cast your glance their way. Maybe it hasn't always been cupcakes with sprinkles, but those are the times that have made you who you are today. Troubles have a way of knocking off the rough edges to reveal the true beauty inside. An old sage once said that a person's life was simply a journey back to where they had come from. Enjoy the journey, you have not failed, there is always more to come, more to do. Look forever forward, I'm always there for you. Love you much."
A tear rolled down his cheek. He had no idea who wrote it, but it had come at a time that his heart was nearly at a breaking point. To know that he was loved by some weird, bad handwriting, whatever or whoever, gave him a glimmer of hope. His heart could feel the healing beginning.
Monday, May 6, 2019
Gobbledegoop
Gobbledegoop: One of Mother's favorite words. Its meaning varies due to the ongoing circumstances of a particular event or failed art project. Gobbledegoop covers a multitude of sins. A bunch of stuff that has no start nor finish line.
Sitting in line, in the car, waiting our turn to exit the parking lot. The back passenger window rolls down on the car ahead. It is a nice looking car, clean, shiny, fairly new. A small hand can be seen coming out of the open window. The small hand drops several pieces of trash on the ground just before the car turns left. The tear rolls down the American Indian's face. Few understand what that means. It is not an isolated problem, it's nearly an epidemic. If each individual could see the planet from space, where it sits in the vast darkness of the universe, would they take better care of it?
Listening to the conversation from a distance. None of our business, but was hard to ignore. A young girl, perhaps about 7 or 8 years old. She is berating her mother. She talks to her as if her mother where a mere piece of trash. The young girl tells her mother she is stupid. The mother never says a word. She simply listens to the barrage of insulting words, puts her packages in the trunk of her car. They get into the car, the young girls' mouth is still running and they drive off. Parenting isn't about being friends with your offspring. It's about learning that the pain felt when the door slams, right after the words "I hate you!", means you've done something right. Parenting is a job, not a hobby. Children are like puppies and kittens, they grow up.
She watched a video about an elephant that had been taken to an elephant sanctuary. This massive beast had been in a circus. It had been treated so badly that it was nearly starved to death. As the elephant cautiously left the confines of the large truck that had transported it, the fear of the unknown could be seen in its eyes. How tragic that an animal with the brain capacity of a dolphin or a chimpanzee, an animal that can remember places and faces from years past, an animal whose size could crush a human with one foot, had been reduced to near death by a human. Another tear rolls down the cheek.
In the same token, we knew the neighbor dog was ill. The owner is doing all possible to keep her as well as can be expected. Some days are better than others. Daisy Duke was outside, trying to do her business. It wasn't working. She struggled for several minutes until her owner walked over to her. He spoke softly and patted her on the head. It was sad, but the look she gave him pulled at the heart strings. She loves this man with all of her heart and she knows he will take care of her now and when the time comes.
R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Aretha Franklin can be heard singing in the background. Respect: esteem for a sense of worth. What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Maybe. Understanding respect might be a good place to start...again....before it's too late.
Sitting in line, in the car, waiting our turn to exit the parking lot. The back passenger window rolls down on the car ahead. It is a nice looking car, clean, shiny, fairly new. A small hand can be seen coming out of the open window. The small hand drops several pieces of trash on the ground just before the car turns left. The tear rolls down the American Indian's face. Few understand what that means. It is not an isolated problem, it's nearly an epidemic. If each individual could see the planet from space, where it sits in the vast darkness of the universe, would they take better care of it?
Listening to the conversation from a distance. None of our business, but was hard to ignore. A young girl, perhaps about 7 or 8 years old. She is berating her mother. She talks to her as if her mother where a mere piece of trash. The young girl tells her mother she is stupid. The mother never says a word. She simply listens to the barrage of insulting words, puts her packages in the trunk of her car. They get into the car, the young girls' mouth is still running and they drive off. Parenting isn't about being friends with your offspring. It's about learning that the pain felt when the door slams, right after the words "I hate you!", means you've done something right. Parenting is a job, not a hobby. Children are like puppies and kittens, they grow up.
She watched a video about an elephant that had been taken to an elephant sanctuary. This massive beast had been in a circus. It had been treated so badly that it was nearly starved to death. As the elephant cautiously left the confines of the large truck that had transported it, the fear of the unknown could be seen in its eyes. How tragic that an animal with the brain capacity of a dolphin or a chimpanzee, an animal that can remember places and faces from years past, an animal whose size could crush a human with one foot, had been reduced to near death by a human. Another tear rolls down the cheek.
In the same token, we knew the neighbor dog was ill. The owner is doing all possible to keep her as well as can be expected. Some days are better than others. Daisy Duke was outside, trying to do her business. It wasn't working. She struggled for several minutes until her owner walked over to her. He spoke softly and patted her on the head. It was sad, but the look she gave him pulled at the heart strings. She loves this man with all of her heart and she knows he will take care of her now and when the time comes.
R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Aretha Franklin can be heard singing in the background. Respect: esteem for a sense of worth. What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Maybe. Understanding respect might be a good place to start...again....before it's too late.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)