Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, DRIP!!

It’s the little things that push people over the edge, like when someone shoots another person for making a repetitive sound just one time too many. I once worked with a woman whose husband constantly sucked his teeth. We had to be around them at company gatherings and after a point, I didn’t want to be in the same room with the man for fear of exploding in a violent rage. Glasses could be clinking, music playing, people talking, but all I could hear was the suck, suck, sucking like the tale-tell heart. I eventually changed jobs, not for that reason, but in doing so I may have saved a man’s life.

When I’m home alone with the dogs, which is a lot—and anyone reading this should know that they are very, very vicious, cruel, violent creatures who would rather kill you than look at you—these little things in my surroundings start to drive me nuts, or should I say, nuttier. This doesn’t make me a very good companion for myself. For example, television commercials drive me crazy, and yet I continue to watch and listen to them. It must run in the family because my sister got so annoyed with a fellow employee for pronouncing the Toot in Tootsie roll (which she had in a bowl on her desk) like the toot that a train makes that she had to call him on it. The discussion got so involved that they wrote the company for the correct pronunciation. She was right. So for your information, it’s the short toot, not the long toot.

Anyway, one late, late night I was sitting here watching reruns of the “Price is Right” which is sad enough but what really made it sad was that I was watching it ONLINE! So I turned on the television to see a commercial with this beautiful young actress, can’t remember her name. She sidles across the screen and says, “Do you know what you really, really want? Well, I know what I want! A makeup that blends with my skin.”

Wow, what a deep thinker. Plus, life must be really, really easy for her. Not only was she really, really beautiful, but according to the commercial, she had already found the makeup that blended with her skin! Some people are just blessed.

Next comes a commercial for yet another new drug. Lately the side effects listing for these things have become so long that one would think people would rather just have the disease or malady that the drug supposedly treats. These are horrible side effects like anal leakage and possible aneurysm or death, but said in a chirpy voice they don’t sound that bad. Anyway, this particular new remedy, for whatever, was called Acifex. Yes, that’s right. People who probably make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, who set up think tanks, take surveys, and then run their name choices past executives who make even more money—they all agreed on naming a medicine Ass Effects. When Jack is here, I yell out things, like, “They PAY people for this?” But he doesn’t seem to care. Why, why, how can people not care?!

Now for those of you who want to remind me of famine, plague, sorrow, and war, all the serious stuff that’s going on in this world, have no fear. Those things bother me a lot and I’m not just saying that either. But remember . . . it’s the little things that drive you crazy.

Farewell for Now, My Max

Since mid-March when my Max left us, I felt a sense of numbness, the kind I’ve felt when other seemingly unbearable sadness has come over me. I felt guilty the first time I felt the same, when many years ago my grandmother passed away. I was seventeen and seemed to feel projected away as I watched a woman I loved so much, someone I thought actually understood me, being lowered into the ground. Then my father: it was months, maybe almost a year, before I allowed myself to walk into the woods behind our home and sob. I think this is because outward displays of strong emotion have never been condoned in our family, but also because I need the time to express the pain that just might never stop if it starts too soon.

It’s been only two months since old Max left us and I have felt a sort of sad numbness. I dreamt about him once. I refuse to talk about him. Within a week of his passing, I heard him bark when I returned from the grocery. It was his strong, clear bark that greeted me whenever I returned from even a five-minute errand and I turned to look for him in the window. Of course, he wasn’t there. My friend Jill made the remark that when she drove up in the driveway she missed his greeting. I held up my hand and shook my head and she knew to go no further.

I have filled my days with new rescue pups and they are wonderful, but I still look around and miss old Max. I put the thoughts aside in the middle of the night when I wake up dreaming of giving him a hug. Out with the old and in with the new is a heartbreaking reality when I think of him covered with mud at the back door after digging through the fence to get to us and his smiling face and wagging tail in the last few years when he finally got his wish to sleep in our bedroom.

I miss him in the many ways that someone misses any loved one who was always there, but I pushed my sadness aside, pushed it aside. Then for some reason, it all came out. Today, I sobbed; I wailed. If you have never wailed, then it is an astonishing thing. Wailing is a sound that emerges like a primal animal. Jack, kindly, just sat next to me and didn’t say a word as I intermittently apologized for emitting sounds that I never thought could come from me—and they did, in a grief that I couldn’t express in words for that old dog. I knew it had to come. I just didn’t want to deal with it, and I have to finally say good-bye for now my sweet Macky.

The Rainbow Bridge Story

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again.
The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.... Author unknown

Dogs In Heaven?
An old man and his dog were walking down this dirt road with fences on both sides, they came to a gate in the fence and looked in, it was nice grassy, woody areas, just what a 'huntin' dog and man would like, but, it had a sign saying 'no trespassing' so they walked on. They came to a beautiful gate with a person in white robes standing there. "Welcome to Heaven" he said. The old man was happy and started in with his dog following him. The gatekeeper stopped him. "Dogs aren't allowed, I'm sorry but he can't come with you.""What kind of Heaven won't allow dogs? If he can't come in, then I will stay out with him. He's been my faithful companion all his life, I can't desert him now.""Suit yourself, but I have to warn you, the Devil's on this road and he'll try to sweet talk you into his area, he'll promise you anything, but the dog can't go there either. If you won't leave the dog, you'll spend Eternity on this road." So the old man and dog went on. They came to a rundown fence with a gap in it, no gate, just a hole. Another old man was inside. "S'cuse me Sir, my dog and I are getting mighty tired, mind if we come in and sit in the shade for awhile?""Of course, there's some cold water under that tree over there. Make yourselves comfortable""You're sure my dog can come in? The man down the road said dogs weren't allowed anywhere.""Would you come in if you had to leave the dog?""No sir, that's why I didn't go to Heaven, he said the dog couldn't come in.We'll be spending Eternity on this road, and a glass of cold water and some shade would be mighty fine right about now. But, I won't come in if my buddy here can't come too, and that's final."The man smiled a big smile and said "Welcome to Heaven.""You mean this is Heaven? Dogs ARE allowed? How come that fellow down the road said they weren't?""That was the Devil and he gets all the people who are willing to give up a life long companion for a comfortable place to stay. They soon find out their mistake, but then it's too late. The dogs come here, the fickle people stay there. GOD wouldn't allow dogs to be banned from Heaven. After all, HE created them to be man's companions in life, why would he separate them in death?"
Author Unknown

The Power of the Dog
There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie-- Perfect passsion and worship fed By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart to a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, And the vet's unspoken prescription runs To lethal chambers or loaded guns, Then you will find--it's your own affair-- But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will, With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!) When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone--wherever it goes--for good, You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-term loan is as bad as a long-- So why in--Heaven (before we are there) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear? Rudyard Kipling

Where To Bury A Dog
There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.
For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.
If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.
The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.
Ben Hur Lampman

I love you Macky Doodle all the day.

You Say "Majah" and I say "Minah"

A few weeks ago was my dear Mom’s 80th birthday, and true to form, she gave us some specific (and often impossible) birthday gift suggestions i.e. a stainless-steel pot big enough to boil 7 to 9 sweet potatoes and with a long handle (not side handles) and some Vinca Minor ground cover for her yard. Now every retail person told sister Jennifer and I that they simply did not make such pots with long handles, but they had said pots with side handles. They looked puzzled at our refusal. No, must have long handle! And is it large enough for up to nine sweet potatoes? That was a no go. Oh well, we’ve been defeated before. On to the Vinca Minor!

Now even Mom warned us that a nursery had informed her of a bad Vinca Minor crop this year. I can’t believe that wasn’t on headline news. Mind you, we had already fulfilled much of the rest of the list and then some but we had to have those Vinca Minor. We went to several nurseries and finally found two flats labeled Vinca. Oh frabjous day. Calooh, calay, we chortled in our joy! As we loaded the flats onto our cart, Jennifer asks, “How many does she want? Do we have enough?”

“What does it matter? We have all of them they have to offer,” I answer. Good point, (and an obvious one) I think.

Well, we’re taking her to dinner later, but we decide to give her this part of her gift early, so we drive over to her house, proudly place the plants in her garage and knock on the door. “Mom, we wanted to give one of your gifts to you now. Come and see!”

Mom dutifully walks over and looks at the plants and in her Southern lady accent simply says, “Oh no, guhls that’s not Vinca Minah; that’s Vinca Majah.”

“Damn it!”
“Sh--t!”

(We both said those words simultaneously.)

We load up the incorrect gift and head back to the nursery to return the plants. There we ask one of the employees if they happen to have any Vinca Minor that we overlooked. “I don’t know,” he replies. “Do you want me to find out?”

“No, we were just making conversation, as we are wont to do when covered in DIRT AND SWEAT!”

“Man no wonder Pike’s went bankrupt,” Jennifer muses.

Long story longer, we found the Vinca Minor at Home Depot. You would have thought we’d stumbled onto the Holy Grail. We were more excited than Mom, when she declared them appropriate Vinca Minahs. All’s right with the world! Until Mother’s Day.

More Dog Days

As I predicted in my own mind, I have been partially eaten by dogs over the past few months. When I’m not at work, I’m looking for work, and when not doing either, I’m performing in my sole act as the dog yeller. “NO, NO! NO PEE-PEE IN THE HOUSE!” “NO, LEAVE MOSES ALONE!” “DOWN BEAR, DOWN! “NO GIVE, GIVE!” The latter as I tried to rescue a Teddy Bear from the jaws of (ironically) Bear, the Newfoundland mix that thinks he’s a lap dog. (He consumed the entire head of a toy bear I’d had since I was a child, the first night here.) Let me tell you, it’s not easy running in flip-flops.

My house and yard are filled with shredded magazines, the innards and ears of once stuffed toys, and parts of shoes of which I finally just said, “What the hell, eat ‘em. I can’t run anymore.” I’m covered in bruises from encounters with puppy teeth and paws, and I’m sure the neighbors think that my sole vocabulary is “Good boy, pee-pee outside!” which I often say at 3 a. m. Now that the puppy is trained, I’m so trained to repeat that phrase that I’m still yelling it out the kitchen window when I see him doing his business in the yard. At this point, he’s giving me dirty looks that seem to say, “Shut up already. You’re embarrassing me in front of the other dogs.” Speaking of which, I probably smell like pee. I’m not really sure but I do know via several close encounters with a mirror, that I look like hell.

Jack, who said of our “foster” dog Bear, “I want to keep him,” two hours after he arrived, immediately left town, leaving me to referee three canines with three different kinds of food and to pull the puppy away from an irate pug who doesn’t want a damn thing to do with either one of them. My original reason to get the smaller dog, London, was as a companion for Moses. Boy was I ever wrong! Thank goodness that the other two play non-stop, unless they’re sleeping or I would have shot myself by now. I actually considered doing so after the first few days alone with this crew.

Selfishly, I brooded that I had ruined my life. Then I worried that I had ruined Moses’s life. When I shared that worry with friend Denise, she reminded me that he had looked depressed all of his life. “That’s his face!” I guess she’s right and he has perked up a bit. I think he’s so ticked off at me that he’s vowed to live to be a hundred.

Anyway, Jack returned from out of town and as we watched the dogs play, marveled at how London came when I called him and stopped short of Moses when I told him no. “Wow he’s really smart,” said Jack. “Look how smart he is!” I gave him a look. “Oh, I guess you taught him some of that,” he quickly added.

Yah THINK?!