When you only have 100 years to live

I've never understood why people- usually women- refuse to tell their age. Yesterday was my fifty first birthday and I have known women who would have given anything to say that but didn't get the chance. Shari, a patient I grew to know and care about, lost her life to cancer last week. I don't recall her age but she was younger than me. She and I sat together about a month ago and she cried because she knew her cancer treatment wasn't working. Even so, she couldn't bear to stop driving to the hospital and spending time she didn't have receiving chemotherapy because she simply wanted to live. Even as I tried to suggest hospice care for her, knowing the chemo was not only futile but was also making her feel worse, I respected her decision to go on. "I can't give up" she said.

I think of the actual people who are the "Five killed by a roadside bomb in Iraq" or one of the thousands just lost in Haiti. Just like that, and your time here is over.

Today I celebrate the first day on my way to 52. Each morning I see the sun rise is a gift that I will never take for granted even if I live to be 100.

Keep the Cheer Going

It's a rainy Sunday at home. Jim is lying on the couch watching the pregame for the Jets vs Chargers. As I tap away on the key board, Nell naps on my lap and Mistie snores softly beside me. Mollie would like to go outside- again- but we are limiting her time in the yard today because she comes in all muddy.

I'm remembering the Christmas just passed, a wonderful time spent with those we love. Inside and out, Christmas lights brightened the dark of winter. This year our street had more holiday lights than I ever remember here and I smiled every evening as I drove home, cheered by all the little sparkly bulbs. Not only did they display more lights, but people also seemed to leave them up later than in the past, keeping Christmas cheer as the long month of January began. Thinking about this, I wonder if, after the difficult year, we all yearned for sources of happiness. It certainly was so with me. As a matter of fact, we have decided to keep a little Christmas tree on our mantel. The lights warm my heart.

Our new friend, Mollie

We have a new friend. Her name is Mollie and she is a Collie-Great Pyrenees mix. Her coat shows her Collie heritage; she has the colors of a sable but perhaps with more cinnamon than tan . Her face and her demeanor are far more Pyrenees. She is calm, devoted and as was indicated it in the description of the breed, she would not take first place in an obedience class. She is about three years old and her first years are known only to her, as she was found wandering and covered in burrs. From the road she was taken to a dog pound where she was discovered by a Collie rescue and removed to a foster home to await adoption. She was with her foster mom for a little over a month when Jim saw her picture on line. We met at a pet store about 2 hours north of Columbus- after we had been approved by a home visit from the rescue group- and invited her to be a part of our family. I felt so sorry for her as her foster mom handed over her leash to us and walked away, as Mollie knew only that one more person in her life was leaving her with strangers.

Today is the beginning of her fourth week with us and we have passed the usual markers of a new animal joining the herd. The cats have stopped hissing and hiding when she is in the room and now walk calmly by, paying her no attention. Mistie, not being a dominant sort of dog, never objected to Mollie's arrival but misinterprets Mollie's attempts to play as the last minute of her life and runs to hide behind me. As Mollie seems to want a canine to play with, we are making arrangements for "play dates" (I hate that phrase. Why can't kids just play together without a date?) with a neighbor dog and Peter's dog.

So far, we know that Mollie likes to be outside, doesn't have much interest in toys, loves to go for walks, and has a bark that would scare me if she wasn't my friend- good for the nights when Jim is working and I'm home alone! We have relaxed our previous "no dogs on the furniture" rule and allow Mollie to lay with us on the couch and get into the bed. At first, I was going to nix that, given her ~80 pounds and envisioning trying to sleep with her taking up 75% of my space. However, she usually lays at the bottom of the bed and always goes down to her dog bed. She is a dear furry person and has become my shadow, waiting at the stairs if I go up and welcoming me home with a wagging tail.

When we met at the pet store I knelt and told her that we welcomed her into our lives and that I hoped she would be happy with us. I promised her that she was coming home. Each day, she seems to know better that she is, indeed, home.

Never

One of my philosophies in this life is that it's ok to make a mistake as long as you don't keep repeating it. So I should know by now- I do know it, daggone it- that one should be extraordinarily cautious when using the word never. I have had "never" jump up and slap me on more than one occasion, and yet I stubbornly continue to use the word.

I had always said that once we adopt an animal into our home we will never return it. And until now, I had kept that never going. Through countless collie poop messes (Winnie), pee messes (Ernie), injury (Mistie), cancer and allergies (Lady), yada yada yada, we have stayed the course, not ever thinking otherwise. Never caught up with me again. Ginny is back with her mother and sibs at the breeder's.

She was the cutest little collie pup ever but she didn't fit into our animal house, hard as we tried to make things work. Our vet noticed at meeting Ginny- this was a dog who had a dominant personality. He advised us to start to immediately teaching Ginny that she might, at best, be #3 alpha behind Jim and me. We found that this was no problem. But she took her #3 spot too seriously. Poor Mistie and the cats were continually subject to nips on the behind. Mistie couldn't get on the floor without the puppy chasing her, eating her food, and pushing her out of the way, and Mistie didn't fight back. The cats were driven away when they came to get a drink of water. And in spite of Jim's and my best effort to love and play with her, she seemed most interested in biting our ankles. After 2 weeks with no improvement, we came to the sad and unprecedented conclusion that it wasn't working out at all and Ginny's behavior was making life miserable for all of us.

We were told that Ginny is happy back with her mom. It was inferred that we were responsible for Ginny's behavior and had not treated her well. Knowing otherwise, we miss the little puppy we had hoped for and want nothing but a happy life for Ginny. Peace has returned to our home and the cats and Mistie are becoming themselves again. We ponder our next move.

I still will never drive behind a city bus.

A New Friend

For us, home just isn't home without a collie. Welcome Ginny!

Ernie and his funnel

Over the years, we have spent a ridiculous amount of money on animal toys. The dogs have had balls, ropes, squeaky toys (Lady's favorite!) , rubber bones and multiple kongs. The cats have had enough fake mice that, had they been real, could overrun a city the size of Chicago. The mice are in addition to puffy balls, plastic balls, and bamboo balls; feathers, socks, and scratch posts. One toy was a wood square covered in carpet with a spring sticking up from the middle with a little puff ball at the top. Another was a motion sensitive mouse hanging from a string that was to be attached to the top of a door; as the cat batted at the mouse, the mouse let out a fake, bizarre noise that was supposed to be a squeak, but caused us to put it away after about 5 minutes. The rabbits, not to be left out, have had a variety of items to chew up and plastic baby toys to fling around.

Like children who receive an expensive toy but prefer to play with the box or a kitchen spoon, so it is with the animals. The dogs played mostly with sticks from the yard. In fairness, Nell loved the little mice that came 5 to a package, but the collies ate them as fast as they found them. And the rabbits are just as happy chewing a free cardboard box. Ernie, being nothing more than a 4 year old boy with red hair disguised as a cat, has spent hours- literally- playing with a mini funnel.

The little funnel came into our home with jewelry designed to hold a small amount of cremains. The funnel was needed to direct the ashes into a tiny opening in the heart, as it was in this case. Thinking the funnel might come in handy down the road, I cleaned it and put it in our "junk drawer" in the kitchen. I don't recall why the thing was taken out of the drawer, but somehow Ernie discovered it. He has been obsessed ever since. It's hard to tell what exactly is so appealing about it: the weight or the shape or maybe the sound it makes as it slides over the floor. Regardless, he loves batting it and chasing it endlessly. He picks it up in his mouth by the pointed tip and carries it to some new place where he drops it and commences the chase. No matter what else he is doing, he can be redirected if I find his funnel. If he is upstairs and I drop it downstairs on the floor, he knows the sound and comes flying down the steps to claim it.

His funnel has had extensive use, and I noticed last week that the tip had started to separate from the bowl. Being at his beck and call, I googled "mini funnels" and found multiple sites that have them. The shipping cost almost twice the cost of 6 funnels, but it was worth knowing that my little red haired boy disguised as a cat will have funnels to chase for many months to come.

Autumn at home

Hard as it is to believe, another fall is coming to a close. I just yesterday raked the leaves from this tree off the grass and put the little crow back into the garage, along with my gardening tools. There are still a few chores to do before giving my trowels and weeders a cleaning and storing them away. I have moved some perennials to different places- quite a few to the back yard- and they seem happy in their new locations. There are a few blooms yet on the blanket flowers in Jessie's garden, but the cone flowers, dahlias and monarda are dried stalks with black seed heads. I leave them up for the birds to eat after the rest of the natural food is gone as winter settles in.

We have had some beautiful views of the moon in September and October. The nights are clear and cool, perfect for going out after dark and sky gazing. Early in the mornings before sunrise, the big dipper hangs in the sky to the north. I have read that if you follow the bottom 2 stars in the bucket, they point to the north star. Hard as I've tried, I can't seem to see it; maybe we have too much artificial light.

On the sunny days when the temperature has gone into the 60's, we open the windows so the cats can sit on their perches and sniff the air. I feel badly for them when winter is here and the windows and doors are closed. They still look out, but can't sniff the little chipmunks, squirrels, and other outdoor smells. Just now, the front window is still open, as it has been a warm day, and Ollie is at the window. There must be a night creature out there; he follows some movement intently. Nell lays on my lap and Mistie snores beside me on the couch. It is a peaceful November evening here at home, and I am thankful.