What Do You Want to be When You Grow Up?

I’ve never really known what I want to be when I grow up, and as I get older, I actually appreciate that more and more. I mean, if I’d known for sure that I wanted to be a ballerina, I would probably be having multiple foot surgeries now. Or if I’d been a stewardess? (My ex-husband left me for a stewardess. I don’t think that counts).

And if my father hadn’t dissuaded me from thinking of becoming a veterinarian by declaring that veterinarians have to be really good at math (a sure way to convince me that going to vet school was beyond my abilities), I could be up to my armpits in ailing animals right about now.

At least now I know of quite a few things that I don’t want to be.

I had a boyfriend once who told me he knew from the time he was five years old that he wanted to be an engineer (we’re talking construction, here - not locomotive). All his attention was focused in that direction, and the last time I saw him, he was headed to college, well on his way to his goal. What if, once he finally got there, he realized that being an engineer wasn’t all it was cracked up to be?

It’s not like I haven’t been doing anything with my life. I’ve been busy trying things and ruling them out. For example, here are a few that didn’t make the cut:

Famous Singer
Circus Performer
Religious Right
Flower Child
Stewardess
Jockey
Veterinarian

I don’t like smoky bars and loud music, so “Famous Singer” got tossed. My aversion to carnies kind of precluded me being a Circus Performer (I really just wanted to take care of the animals, anyway).

“Religious Right” didn’t fit (I just don’t do well with intolerance and hypocrisy), but “Flower Child” didn’t work either, because I’m not into mind-altering drugs and I really love eating the occasional char-grilled steak.

I wasn’t tall (or thin) enough to be a stewardess, but I was too tall (and heavy) to be a jockey. I did try working as a vet tech for a few months, but quickly realized I’d much rather love animals than hold sick, hurting critters down for veterinary procedures.

I kind of accidentally ended up working in a law firm, but you know, a law office is a great place to work while you figure out what you want to do when you grow up (especially if you aren’t a lawyer). The work is steady, and if you’re really lucky, like I was, you can end up in an office full of folks that are like family.

I don’t think it’s too late to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I still have some growing up to do, as a matter of fact. And I don’t think I’ll be done growing up until I take my last breath.

I wonder what I’ll be when I grow up . . .

How about you?

Simply Star

It only seems fair to do a blog entry on my sweet Star, lest any of you think that because we have a puppy, the older dog has been shoved aside, neglected and lonely. Nothing could be further from the truth - in fact, now that we’re a two-dog family, Star’s personality is blossoming.

Star was the first puppy I ever raised. What an eye-opening experience! Not only did I have the antics of a puppy to deal with, but it was a puppy that was half pit bull. A pit bull rescue group I contacted the day after I brought Star home advised me that after she was grown, Star could just snap at any time and go off on a rampage, possibly killing Tim or Winnie. I felt like I had just adopted a ticking time-bomb, and I came close to taking her back to the shelter. But, after a sleepless night spent crying over my new little bundle of fur, I decided that Star is a dog, not a killing machine. When I brought her into my home, I promised Star she would always have a home with me. I don’t make promises easily - because I don’t break my promises. Star was home to stay. I’ll admit it freely - I was really pretty tough on Star. I took her to endless obedience classes and I gave her no leeway when it came to behaving. (These days, knowing her as I do, I feel like I probably went overboard when it came to training her.)



Despite the ticking time bomb that may be buried deep inside her (and I’m rolling my eyes, here), Star has turned out to be one of the best dogs I’ve ever had the pleasure to share my life with. I’m not sure how to describe Star’s satiny brown/black hide, but once you start petting her, it’s hard to stop. She has thick, short fur, much softer than the coat of a pit bull - but it has none of the characteristics of a Lab’s fur.




When I adopted her, she had the razor sharp teeth of an alligator and the fat face of a little furry crocodile, but as she matured, her nose got longer, and most people now can only see the hint of the pit in her. Star was born with the serious, noble expression of a lab and the flubber-face of a pittie. She’s smart, too. But Star is aloof. You can hug her, but don’t expect her to always hug you back. When I took her to do pet therapy, she would make one round, greeting each resident, and then go lay in the middle of the floor, as if to say, “My job here is done.” That’s not exactly what one is looking for in a pet therapy dog, so when Winnie and Tim both got to the point where pet therapy was more of a chore than a pleasure for them, we just stopped.



Poor Star has had a lot to deal with in the past year. She saw Winnie decline due to lumbo-sacral stenosis, an extremely painful spinal condition, and then had to deal with the grief of losing Winnie, in June. In September, I brought JoLee home (and we all know how stressful a puppy can be). And Star watched as Tim’s health declined and is still dealing with the grief of losing him, in February. Winnie and Tim were her housemates. She knew them from the very beginning. They taught her everything about being a dog that she knows - and she loved them both dearly.





Sometime around the time JoLee came to live with us, Star started exhibiting intermittent soreness in her legs. I was at a loss to explain it; so was my vet. In the beginning, it seemed to be her front legs; then it presented as an all-over soreness; and then, later, I thought maybe she had pulled or torn a ligament in her knee and that the pain from that was radiating out or some such thing. I had her tested for tick borne diseases, which can cause inexplicable pain like that - the test results came back negative. When I asked the vet about the knee ligament, I was told to keep her as quiet as possible for eight weeks and we’d take things from there.

So now, in addition to all the rest, Star couldn’t go on long walks or hikes. Poor pup - it almost seemed as if she was being punished for some heinous past life deed, as if karma was coming back to bite her in the butt.

And then, Sunday night, on her way up to bed, Star fell down the stairs.

It was only a flight of three stairs, and they were carpeted stairs, but she was really slow to get up - both Harry and I had reached her by the time she regained her feet. After she gave herself a little shake, she managed to go back upstairs unassisted, but I was really worried about her.

The interesting thing about that fall is that now Star seems to be doing much better. It’s almost as if something in her body was out of alignment and now, since her tumble down the stairs, things are back where they belong. She’s still a little lame, but nothing like she was. And she just seems to be getting better. She’s playing with JoLee now, instead of just warning him off; and she’s begging for treats again. It’s so nice to have her acting like she’s a part of the family again!

If I can find one in this area, I think a visit to a canine chiropractor might be in order. Keep your fingers crossed, for Star and for me. I want my hiking buddy back!

Just JoLee

I was thinking it might be time to update you all on JoLee and how he’s growing. He’s lived with us six months now - and that would make him about eight months old. We’re pretty sure he isn’t going to grow any taller, but he’ll probably fill out a bit more. He’s a bit smaller than Star. I think she likes it that way.




The Early Bird Gets . . . the Toothpaste

JoLee and I are both early birds, and we are developing our morning routines. For instance, he loves it when I brush my teeth. As soon as I open the medicine cabinet, JoLee is at my feet, staring longingly up at me with huge, pleading eyes. I put toothpaste on my brush and then I sit on the edge of the tub, so he can breathe in the minty smell. He licks my hand while I’m brushing my teeth, and then when I’m done, he’ll give my toothbrush a lick or two. He loooves that minty goodness. But we aren’t done yet - we still have to floss. I get the floss out and after I’ve finished, I take a firm hold on the end and dangle the floss over Jo’s head. JoLee bites down on it while I pull it through his teeth, so I’m flossing his teeth, too. That’s good dental hygiene for you! I did give some thought to the whole “hygiene” part of it, though (and the fact that JoLee sometimes likes to snack on things he finds in the back yard) so he now has his own bright red toothbrush, and every morning we brush together.

Tossing the Toys

Much as I wish I had the patience of a saint (and although Harry has told me a time or two that I do), there have been times when I’ve gotten downright frustrated with the short leash I was on with JoLee for the first few months after he came home. Things are much better even now, but I was just thinking about the time I was trying to place an internet order and JoLee pulled out every attention-getting trick in his little book. I got settled in, and he started shredding something. I got up and took it away from him. I sat back down and figured out where I was, and then he started messing around with Star. I got up and broke things up, told Jo to stop it, gave him a rawhide to chew on and then sat back down. I got settled and figured out where I was in the order process again, and then Jo came and threw a ball at my feet. Something in me snapped at that moment. I got up, threw the ball for him, and then proceeded to throw each and every toy from his toybox at him, one at a time. At first he thought it was great fun, but as the toys kept coming, fast and furious, the look on his little face changed comically, from happiness, to uncertainty. Right before a look of fear appeared on his foxy little face, I ran out of toys. Thank heavens.

First Toenail Clipping

Back in December, I took JoLee back in to Doc Edding’s office for his first toenail trim. (Winnie was such a Drama Queen - she would scream each time I attempted to clip her nails, so that’s how I got into the habit of going to Doc to have them done.) As soon as I adopted JoLee, I began taking him in to see Doc, whether he needed me to or not, just so he would get used to going to the vet’s office and it wouldn’t be a trial. The first time Jo was to have his nails done, he struggled and fought like a little hellion, and even tried to bite the vet tech. I reached over and gently held his little muzzle closed, and then he lay passively while Doc used a Dremel to trim his little razor tipped talons. Afterwards he gave each of us a lick. It’s a good pup who knows when to give up the fight. I’ve since discovered that JoLee does best when his nails are just clipped and not sanded down with a Dremel, and he also does better when Doc just lets him sit there and picks up one paw at a time, rather than laying him down on his side and virtually pinning him to do his nails. We’re all in a learning process, here.

The InsomniPup

One thing I’ve never had to deal with before is a dog with insomnia. Last night is a good example. I got home, played with the pups for about half an hour, started a load of laundry and then made dinner. After dinner, Harry went with me for the two-block walk (Star, as you know, is having knee issues, so her exercise is to be limited to two-block walks. That’s just a warm-up for JoLee). When we got back, I baked scones and did the dishes. Then it was time to watch “Castle.” I played with JoLee and folded laundry during the commercials. After Castle, it was 10:00, my bedtime. Star and I went to bed, but JoLee couldn’t sleep. By the time Harry came to bed, JoLee was so restless that Harry gave him a cow hoof to gnaw on. Jo was satisfied with that for a few minutes, but then he got up again. He got a drink of water; he checked out the sleeping porch; he went downstairs and out to the back yard; he brought something in from the yard to chew on; etc., etc., etc. I finally had to see what he was destroying at about 2:00 a.m. (it was just one of his squeaky toys, thank heavens, and not Harry’s checkbook, which was what I had feared). At that point, I’d just about given up on sleeping, and tried to reason out exactly why JoLee couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was because Star was on the bed (she goes through periods of time when she sleeps with us, as opposed to the huge dog bed right next to our bed). Maybe sleeping in the spare room would work. At first, JoLee jumped up next to me on the twin bed and settled right in. Then Star came in to see what I was doing in the spare room. She wanted to jump up, but decided against it and went back to the other bedroom. Jo followed her. More wrestling ensued. Suspicious quiet followed. I had just drifted off to sleep when Star came back in and jumped up onto the bed, and then JoLee jumped up and laid down on top of me. But then, finally, I got some sleep. Next thing I knew, it was 6:00 a.m., or so I thought. I heard Harry getting dressed, and when I asked him why he was up so early, he told me I hadn’t changed the clock in the spare room. It was actually an hour later - or, as he put it, “Time to scramble.”

The bad part of this is that JoLee gets to sleep in his crate all day, but someone is sure to notice if I nap at my desk. Tonight I’m going back to the double-walk arrangement. Maybe then I’ll get some sleep!



Personality Plus

Throughout all of this, both Harry and I have been thanking our lucky stars that JoLee became our pup. He exhibits so many traits we recall from other dogs, it’s almost like he’s a “Frankendog” patched together from all our favorite bits of past pups, but with his own twist. He loves to lick the shower curtain and dry off our legs after we shower - like Mikey the Dingo Dog. His long, snaky tail has a white tip - just like Winnie’s. He loves to snuggle - like Tim. JoLee will also try a bit of whatever you’re eating, no matter what it is, and he loves bananas - just like Mac the Thundering Slobber Dog. But JoLee loves to wrestle with his Dad, chase birds, play ball and fetch the frisbee. And the toothpaste thing - that’s all JoLee. I’ve never had a dog that loved to have his teeth brushed. He also has his little “grumble growl” he uses when he’s really tired and doesn’t want to be messed with. He never follows it up with a snap - it’s his version of a child’s whiney “leave me alooooone.” Cracks me up.

So, once again, we’ve been blessed with a wonderful addition to our little family. Even though I had to drive 1,800 miles to get him, I’ll admit it - he's been worth every single (s)mile.

The Product of Her Parents

Last night I was restless. The weather was perfect, but I’d exhausted all my excuses to be outside. I didn’t feel like raking or any other yard work (I’d had my fill of chores), and Star’s knees aren’t yet quite up to the long hike I felt like taking. So, I borrowed a page from my Dad’s book. “Hey, kids, you want to go for a ride?”

Leaving Harry engrossed in a program on the television, the dogs and I drove up to the wind turbines outside of town, up on the hill. Lincoln only has two so far, which is ludicrous when you consider the amount of wind and space we get here. I took the back roads, and when the huge pinwheels towered overhead and we’d gotten as close as we could, I turned off the Dogmobile’s engine and we listened to the sound of Nature empowering Man. JoLee was suspicious; Star was unimpressed. But I love the idea of wind powering the city. I wish I’d been in a position to invest in one of the huge windmills looming over us, the wind swooshing through their vanes. (And yes, I do realize how odd it seems that I would use gasoline to visit the "wind farm.")

On my way back home, dawdling along the country roads and watching the birds fly and the sun set, I came to the realization that I directly inherited my Gypsy Heart and my Farmer Feet from my parents.

Dad was the Gypsy. He was always taking us on car rides, exploring the countryside, driving up through the Colorado foothills. Everyone would pile into the car and off we would go, with no clear idea of any particular destination - just to “go for a ride.” Often, we would go in the early evening, when Dad said we’d have the best chance of seeing wildlife. I remember straining to see those phantom deer he would claim he saw, but I don’t think I actually ever saw one - not on one of those rides, anyway.

Mom, on the other hand, provided the Farmer Feet of the equation. A true home-body, she was most comfortable sitting at the kitchen table, the hub and heart of the household, where she could keep track of everything that happened. Mom never went visiting neighbors; they always came to her door. They’d knock and then come on in, knowing Mom would have coffee and a snack of some sort for them.

This double blessing I’ve inherited can be a double-edged sword. I love my home and hearth, and although I’m starting to become more comfortable with people just dropping by, I doubt I will ever be as gracious about unxpected guests as Mother was. But nothing seems to be able to completely cure that craving for the open road. Being on a road trip is like a drug for me - and the nicer the weather, the more my Gypy heart strains to fly.

At least now I know how I got this crazy “disease” for which there seems no cure. And when I really stop to think about it, I’m very lucky - I’m happy no matter whether I’m at home or on the road!

Future Tripping

“Future Tripping,” if not coined by my sister, is a term that she first introduced me to. I think, in Pam’s vernacular, the definition of Future Tripping is “worrying about something before it has even happened,” but since I adopted it, I’ve kind of adapted the definition to fit me: for me, Future Tripping is “vacation planning.”

I’ve been Future Tripping a lot lately - it's a good pastime for these long winter nights where prying myself away from the fireplace takes herculean strength, or the grey days when the snow falls or the rain drips. So far, I’ve planned two small trips over long weekends.

The first trip, at the end of April, is to Chadron, Nebraska, the location of the Nebraska National Forest, 20,000 acres of which was hand-planted in 1902 as a timber reserve. Here's a link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nebraska_National_Forest

A heated cabin seemed wise, just in case Spring has not yet arrived by the last weekend of April. Better safe than sorry, I figure. That should be just before the Tick and Tornado seasons. Last year, when the California trip was derailed, Chadron was where Harry and I decided to take the RV. It ended up being Winnie’s final camping trip. It’s a beautiful, forested area - just wild enough to make you think you’re camping, but tame enough that you don’t have to worry about bears making themselves at home with your porridge. An added benefit is it’s within a day’s drive of home.

The second little trip is to Waxahachie, Texas, over Memorial Day weekend. Pam and I are going to attend the Scarborough Renaissance Festival. Our family used to go to the Colorado Renaissance Fair in Larkspur, Colorado. If I’m not mistaken, I think we started going to it in its second year of existence, and watched its burgeoning growth, until now, from what I gather, it’s a pretty big deal. We drove the back roads to get there - it was a beautiful ride (with the added benefit of avoiding all the rest of the traffic and sneaking in to the parking area from the back side). I still have some great memories and photographs of Mom and Dad sitting on hay bales, and a great shot of Pam gnawing on a turkey leg.

I’m pretty sure this Fair will be different from the one in Larkspur. For one thing, from the look of the map on the website, it appears to be much bigger. It’s also likely to be much warmer and more humid, located, as it is, near Dallas. If you want to take a look, here’s a link: http://www.srfestival.com

I don’t even remember the last time I went to a Renaissance festival - and I have to say, I’m pretty excited about it. I love the whole feeling: being outdoors, the artisans and their booths, and the live entertainment. (It’s kind of fun to watch my sister gnaw on a turkey leg, too!)

For now, that's all I have planned. If I pack my traveling season full, I won't be able to take advantage of opportunities that just kind of present themselves. Plus, there are all kinds of things I want to do around the house this summer. Woodworking projects, hanging out in the pool, gardening - all the things that make being home a wonderful thing. Hm... It almost sounds like the Farmer Feet are winning out over the Gypsy Heart this time!

Memories: Past, Present and Future

I got a call from the vet yesterday - the message on the phone informed me that Tim’s “cremains” are ready for me to pick up. That message instantaneously took me back two weeks, and I saw Tim’s too-still little form laying on the clinic table and once again felt my sadness and reluctance to leave him there.

That memory then transported me to another vivid memory - this one a short video memory - and I was standing at Winnie’s side, watching her delicate, shell-pink ears turn white as the life left her body.

I think it’s interesting that some memories are snapshots and others play out like short videos.

We all have memories, of course, and each memory carries with it some sort of emotion. Not all memories are painful - in fact, one of my favorite memories takes me back to combing a tangle of knots from the very curly hair at the nape of my sister’s neck when we were young. When that memory video replays, I can smell Pam’s fragrance (she has always smelled like flowers), and feel the damp softness of her hair. I always feel a warm rush of love for her.

Another of my most vivid “video” memories is of watching tattered clouds scud across the face of the full moon as I lay on my back on the pavement, after being involved in a car accident in Australia. Believe it or not, the feeling that goes with that memory is one of peace and beauty.

The odd thing is, I’ve become aware that lately I have been having future memories - memories of things that haven’t yet happened. The most vivid and recurring has been a vision of pulling into a pine-forested campground in the truck (that I don’t have yet), towing the Airstream (that I don’t have yet). Star and JoLee are with me, hanging their heads out the back windows of the truck. This “memory” is so vivid that I can smell the pines, hear the wind rushing through them, and see the campsite. It fast-forwards to me sitting in a camp chair, relaxing in the sunshine, while Star and Jo sprawl on either side of me in black dirt spangled with sparkling pyrite. We’ve just finished sharing lunch and are enjoying the peace and quiet. Nobody else is around. I feel relaxed, warm and sleepy, totally happy and at peace.

(Of course this “future memory” makes me question my sanity. But I figure, if this is as insane as I get, nobody has anything to worry about.)

I do find myself wondering if I’m the only one who gets these flashes of the future. I would think they were dreams but for the fact that they happen during the day, when I’m wide awake. I imagine they are changeable - I mean, if I decided today that I didn’t want the truck and Airstream after all, that future memory would probably dissipate like a wisp of smoke.

I think I’m going to cherish this particular memory. I’m going to hold it close to my heart, as I do my other memories - both good and bad. And when it becomes a memory of the present or the past, I’ll let you know!