Learning to Love Lincoln

Once upon a time, way back when Harry and I decided to get married, he offered to move to Denver, which was where I lived at that time. After some consideration, I decided I wouldn’t feel right about him leaving his shop and his family for me. I mean, Harry had owned his own business shop for twenty years: what if he couldn’t make a new start in Denver? What if he couldn’t find a job? I would feel terribly guilty. So, we made a deal. I would move to Lincoln and we would live there for ten years; and then it was my turn - we would move to where I wanted to live.

Sounded like a great deal at the time.

There’s a lot of wool being pulled over the eyes when you get married, by both parties. I pulled the wool over my own eyes in this particular case. When you’re first married, “deals” are concrete, set in stone. As our ten year wedding anniversary approached, I dreamed of the places I wanted to live. Oregon’s misty forests and crashing ocean waves were at the top of my list. My sister works for Sprint, and she was based there. Utah was a close second; I could work at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, surrounded by mountains and forests. Hiking in the mountains or strolls along the beach - it didn’t matter to me, one way or the other.

Ten years came and went. Harry wasn’t ready. “Give me five more years,” he said. “In five more years, I should have everything all ready.” Fifteen years came and went. Harry still wasn’t ready, and I’ll have to admit, during that year’s discussion, I was not nearly as nice. This wasn't the deal that had been set in stone. I'd paid my dues, it was my turn. With the advent of our seventeenth anniversary came an epiphany and I had to face the fact: we were never going to move away from Lincoln. I was stuck here. I wrestled with this realization, and quite honestly came very close to just pulling the plug on our relationship, packing up the dogs and a few possessions and leaving.



But when I turned 50 and dreamed up the Airstream Dream, somehow, things changed. The tension that had been building in my relationship with Harry dissipated, and for the first time, I could start to appreciate all that Lincoln and Nebraska had to offer.

Now, I am aware that every place has its down-sides; no one place is perfect. From my new vantage point and with its 20/20 hindsight, I can see that had I moved to Oregon, I would have been unhappy. I’m solar-powered, you see. I love sunshine. In Oregon's rain I would have moldered into a suicidal soggy lump. And Utah? Well, I still think I would do well in Utah. Or New Mexico, for that matter. Or southern California.

Today as I was driving the streets of Lincoln, I really saw the beauty around me. The trees are changing; Fall is in full force. Fall is my favorite season, especially in Nebraska. The humidity that saps my strength in Summer falls away, magically disappearing overnight, it seems, and the beautiful blue bowl of the sky deepens to a darker shade without the cloak of moisture. The sun is warm; the shade is cool - in fact, if there were mountains, it would be a lot like Colorado, where I grew up.



I took the dogs for a run at Wagon Train SRA today, and as I walked through the ripened fields I marveled at the crispness of the air, the fragrance of the grasses. With the sun warm on my back, I laughed out loud at Star’s antics and the bemused expression on JoLee’s face as Star ran big circles as fast as she could, coming as near as she could to careening into me, then into JoLee, and then into Tim. As I drove home, I wished I’d thought to bring my camera to capture the beauty of the farmland and the trees, the richness of the hues, the pastoral benevolence that seems to simply emanate from the rolling hills.

After seventeen years and a lot of angst, I think I can finally say it: Lincoln, Nebraska is my chosen home. It wasn’t until I contemplated leaving it that I grew to really appreciate it. It’s one of those “big little towns” that has just about everything a person could want - with a much smaller sordid underbelly than a big city. "Rush hour" lasts about thirty minutes. You can get from one side of town to the other in about half an hour. There are construction projects going on that I’m looking forward to seeing completed, and I don’t think I’ve quite exhausted my exploration of all of Nebraska’s parks and recreation areas.

I’ll be visiting other places, for sure - and I think I may find a little piece of property somewhere to call my very own, as an escape for those times when I just need to get away, but for the first time in my life, I’m calling Lincoln “home.”

He's Teething

After giving JoLee his vaccinations, Doc looked over and gave me a sympathetic grin. “He’s teething,” he said. “He’s likely to be a little irritable.”

“Poor Star,” I thought.

JoLee and Star love to play - and here’s a pictorial play session, so you can come along. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to appreciate Star’s low, throaty growls. She sounds like Cujo on steroids. And you won’t be able to see JoLee’s pounces. He strikes as fast as a snake.

This morning’s early morning session started with the “Chilly Bone,” which is basically a canvas-covered sponge designed to give a teething puppy something to chew on that would ease the pain and sooth the suffering. It also makes a great “keep away” toy, if you happen to be a 5 year old LabraPit who is long past teething.

Star nonchalantly picked it up, making sure JoLee could see what she was doing.



And here is JoLee's response. You don't think this was over the top, do you? Ha! And so it begins.















Sometimes they even looked to see where the Chilly Bone went, but that didn't really matter.


























































And now the napping begins.

Dust if you Must

I came across this poem today - I'd saved it to my computer at work because I didn't want to lose it. I don't know who wrote it, but if I were a poet, it would probably be something I might write:

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
to paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
with rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
music to hear and books to read,
friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
with the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
a flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
you, yourself will make more dust!

And isn't this just the best picture ever? My sister in love took it last weekend when she was visiting from Iowa. Thanks, Trudy!

As the Puppy Grows

I’m learning a lot about life from JoLee. I’m sure many of these same lessons I learned from Star (what, is it already 5 years ago?), but I’m a firm believer in refresher courses, and nothing refreshes like a crash course in puppy-raising.

One thing I’m re-learning is the importance of now.

As I’m typing this, JoLee is playing with his squeaky alligator and looking soulfully at me. It’s easy to anthropomorphize his look into something along the lines of “Mommy, why are you looking at that inanimate hunk of plastic when you could be petting me and laughing at my antics?"

But I know he’s just trying to stay awake. Trying as hard as any two-year old human who’s had a big day of fun. Every day’s a big day of fun for a three-and-a-half month old puppy. (Since then, I helped JoLee get up on the waterbed with Star and Tim and they’re all three snoring - makes me sleepy just listening to them).



One of his many recent accomplishments was learning to use the dog-door. He would paw at it, and it would come back and slap him in the face. It took some time, but he eventually figured it out. That was a big day!



Today I thought of that old rhyme:

Cleaning and cooking can wait 'till tomorrow
For babies grow up, as we've learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep,
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

It would be so easy to rewrite that little ditty. Mine would go something like this:

Cleaning and mowing can wait ‘til tomorrow
For puppies grow up, as we’ve learned to our sorrow.
So, projects and deadlines will just have to wait
I’m playing with JoLee and puppies don’t keep.

Yeah, I know it doesn’t all rhyme, but that’s okay.







I'm rediscovering favorite hikes that, for some reason, I haven't gone on in a long time. This past weekend, we went to Wilderness Park.




After we were done hiking, we watched as a man unloaded a horse from a horse trailer. The dogs thought that was fascinating. Almost as riveting as chicken jerky.







I’m also learning a lot about Midnight Star, my LabraPit. What a saint she has been throughout all of this, and what a love. The other day, I attempted to introduce Star to a two year old male boxer some of my best friends adopted. His name is Tank. He’s a typical boxer, full of energy and bouncy - in short, exactly the kind of dog Star would never normally tolerate. Still, I hoped for the best, since Star has become somewhat calloused to puppy antics since JoLee came home last month. The introduction didn’t go badly, but there is definitely some tension there. I found JoLee’s response to Tank quite interesting. Tank bounced up to JoLee, and JoLee let out this little bunny-like scream of terror, meant, I’m sure to make Tank back off, which is exactly what he did. But the most interesting part of that introduction was Star’s reaction to JoLee’s little scream. She cocked her head and rushed toward Tank, as if to say, “What are you doing to my puppy??”



Now, I could easily believe I had imagined that, if it weren’t for this evening. Somehow, I ended up in the back yard alone with Star, and thought I’d take that opportunity to play with her. I held up one of the toys that she and JoLee love to play tug of war with - a stuffed armadillo with a bungee tail and two squeakers. I squeaked the tail, and Star’s ears perked up. I waved it around, and she looked at me, and reached for it. But all the while, she was keeping one eye on the house, looking for JoLee, her play buddy. I think maybe it just isn’t as much fun to play with me any more. Not when you have a puppy to play with.



Jo plays a little too rough with Tim for my taste. A month ago, JoLee was about an inch shorter than Tim, but right now, it’s hard to tell them apart from behind. Tim’s about ten years old now and his kidneys are failing, a legacy from a bout of leptospirosis when he was around two years old. So, Tim is slowing down. Arthritis is creeping in, too, adding to the mix. He’s just not as steady on his pins as he used to be. JoLee has knocked him clean off his feet and rolled him more than once. I intervene when it seems like Tim needs me to, but I’ve caught Tim using his Superior Terrier Intellect to get JoLee in trouble. Here’s an example: tonight, I popped JoLee one for roughhousing with Tim after he ignored me when I told him to leave Tim alone. Later in the evening, I heard more roughhousing going on in the living room, but decided to just ignore it while I did the dishes. The rumble of feet came into the kitchen, and I looked down to see Tim, with the aforementioned armadillo clasped firmly in his mouth, JoLee right on his tail! An attempt to get JoLee in trouble, or just playing? I won’t ever really know, but the sparkle in Tim’s eye and wag in his tail tell me he’s not suffering from JoLee’s attentions too much.




These photos were taken over the past two weeks. You can see how JoLee is growing. I noticed today that white hairs are appearing throughout his butterscotch coat, creating a kind of roan effect. He’s also developing some white spots on his tail. I can hardly wait to see what he’s going to look like when he grows up - but I hope he doesn’t grow up too quickly. These are going to be some of the best days of my life!

From Hurst to Home

JoLee and I hit the road again, this time headed for Hurst, Texas. My sister, Pam anxiously awaited our arrival with her two furchildren, Sergei and Dani. She had even gone so far as to buy a soft muzzle for Sergei, who hates puppies and will lunge at them, attempt to bite them and roll them at the dog park.

The trip itself was uneventful, and Pam met us at a landmark Chinese restaurant so I wouldn’t have troubles making my way to her apartment in the dark.

Sergei hated JoLee. JoLee was entirely unaffected by his hatred, which must have frustrated him to no end, as he lunged and attempted to bite JoLee over and over again. The soft muzzle was a hit with Pam and me, anyway!

JoLee slept with me on Pam’s couch that night - our first night together. He did very well, and had no “accidents” in the apartment. The next morning, after an Egg McMuffin, we were on our way home, to Nebraska.

From Hurst to Home

Once again, the traveling was smooth. Good thing - I found it hard to concentrate, what with having the rear-view mirror trained on JoLee so I could watch him play and sleep. About three-quarters of the way home, he discovered the “squeaky ball.” Pam was laughing as I tried to talk to her over the noise. She reminded me of the scene in “Practical Magic” where Sandra Bullock had a hangover and one of her daughters was playing a kazoo incessantly. She said, “Can I see that a minute?” And when her daughter handed it over, she threw it out the window. We both had a good laugh over that - Pam said she could just imagine me doing that very thing.

We rolled into the driveway at about 10:00 that night. Harry was asleep in his chair in front of the TV, but Star and Tim greeted me at the door. I had just enough time to get JoLee’s harness on him before Harry came down the stairs to meet him. Then, while Harry held JoLee’s leash, I went into the house and loved on my other pups, and then we all went for our first walk.

Things around our house will never be the same - and that is a good thing. JoLee is growing fast. His coat is as soft as down, and his tummy is now covered with freckles. Each and every day we wonder what he’s going to grow into; how big he’ll be, if more spots will appear in his coat - but each and every day, I’m glad I made the long drive to Baton Rouge to adopt him.

From Baton Rouge to Shreveport

As I pulled out of the parking lot of the East Baton Rouge Animal Control Center, I wondered if I should have taken JoLee for a little walk before starting out. I looked into the rear view mirror to see him sleepily gnawing on the rawhide I brought him, and figured he was doing fine.



I followed my Google directions, which took me to a busy intersection where I was to turn left, and then make a right onto the highway that would take me to Shreveport, where my friend Jolie lives.

JoLee did really well in the car. He did have a couple of pee accidents, but I knew that would happen, and I kept an eye on him in my rear-view mirror. As I’d hoped, he slept most of the time, some of it on his back, with his little round speckled puppy tummy in the air. It was all I could do to keep driving and not stop to play with him, and pet him, to reassure myself that he was mine.



Finding Jolie’s place was easy, mostly due to her detailed directions. As I turned into the drive, I marveled at the beauty around me. Huge trees loomed overhead, making a sort of leafy cathedral. A large log cabin appeared on the left, and a fenced-in area with familiar looking kennels, each with a wagging tail, appeared on the right. This was definitely the right place. As I crunched to a stop, Jolie appeared, coming from the house. “Great directions!” I told her, as I gave her a hug. Then she got to meet JoLee. I didn't even bring my camera in, but Jolie took lots of pictures.

I’m not sure how long we stayed - all I know is that it wasn’t long enough. I did get to meet Jim, Chesley and all of the dogs, though, and I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures Jolie took - all of them great. I have one on my desk - the one of him looking up at her, with me grinning like a goofball in the background. Every time I look at it I smile, thinking of that day, and of Jolie. I’m so thankful for the Internet. Without it (and Dogster and Facebook), my life would most certainly be less!

Adoption Day

I woke early at the Microtel in Baton Rouge, Louisiana on Friday morning (September 10, my Dad’s birthday), after the 18 hour drive from Lincoln, not much the worse for wear, and ready to meet my new pup. When I called Suzie to find out what kind of arrangements had been made, she sounded miserable, like she had about five pounds of snot in her head. We chatted for a minute or two. She told me she hadn’t been to work for two days and that she had an appointment with her doctor to give her some sort of shot; and she told me she would call the vet, Dr. Fairchild, to make sure that JoLee would be the first dog on the surgery roster. But I wouldn’t get to meet Suzie. I was so disappointed I nearly cried. In my mind, Suzie and I would have had breakfast together, and then I would have followed her to the East Baton Rouge Animal Control Center. She would have given me a tour of the place; I would have been able to help out in some capacity while waiting for JoLee to be ready to go.

After we hung up, I wandered aimlessly around the motel room, waiting for the time the shelter opened, making sure I didn’t leave anything behind (my worst fear is that I’ll leave my Sandisk camera card reader somewhere - old as it is, it may be irreplaceable). I could certainly have gone to get breakfast somewhere - heck, they had a small buffet of breakfast items set up downstairs in the lobby of the motel - but I just wasn’t hungry. My one true link to JoLee wasn’t going to be there. What if they didn’t know which dog it was? What if the surgeon resented Suzie trying to order his or her day, and put JoLee at the end of the list instead? What if there were complications during surgery? What was I going to do when I got to the shelter?

I only made two wrong turns on the way to the EBR Animal Control Center. I’m beginning to learn some things about myself: when something unexpected happens (like learning Suzie was out of commission), I tend to lose focus and make wrong turns that I know are wrong turns. The first wrong turn was one of those; but the second wrong turn was due to poor signage, and took me into a prison. Yes, that’s right, the East Baton Rouge Animal Control Center is located right next door to a prison. Just as I drove by the sign that said, “Do Not Enter - Must Present Identification” I thought, “Holy shit!” and quickly did a u-turn and beat the heck out of there. I pulled into the well-shaded parking lot of the Animal Control Center at about 10:15. It was a beautiful day in Baton Rouge - brilliant blue sky, huge puffy clouds and bright sunshine. It was also pretty warm and humid.

When I walked into the building, the young woman at the desk to the left of the door asked if she could help me, and when I identified myself, she grinned and said, “So you’re the one who’s come all that way for a dog!” I nodded, somewhat sheepishly. The lobby was in the center of the building, and was set up with four straight-backed chairs, two on either side, behind which were glassed-in play areas for adoptable animals. I sat in front of the one that had about ten kittens playing with each other on a cleverly set up kitty condo. Across from me, behind a sign that read “Adopted!” was a young yellow lab, napping on a blanket. I settled in for a long wait, not knowing what to expect. It was kind of fun, listening in on the conversations around me. I loved the soft southern accents. A uniformed woman strode through from a door behind me and to the right, through the lobby without talking to anyone. Another uniformed officer tried to explain the vagaries of football to the woman who had spoken to me, and another woman came from somewhere to the left, bearing something that smelled suspiciously like breakfast sausage. I half expected my stomach to rumble, but I was still too keyed up to be hungry. The same uniformed woman strode back past me, her eyes red and her face streaked with tears. No one else seemed to notice.

No more than 15 minutes after I’d first sat down, a veterinary technician came out to make some photocopies. The receptionist pointed me out to her, and she stopped to talk to me on her way back. “Your little guy is in surgery right now,” she smiled at me. “Would you like to hold him as he comes out from under anesthesia?”

I could have hugged her. “You bet I would!” Ten minutes later, she brought out a limp, lanky, fur-covered bundle on a flannel pillowcase. From the minute I first saw him, his tail was wagging, even still under anesthesia. Of course, he wasn’t so far under that his breathing tube was still in or anything - he was beginning to raise his head and come out of it. But still, that tail kept on wagging. My eyes filled - his tail looked just like Winnie’s, in miniature. Long and butterscotch, with a little white tip.

The time was 11:00 a.m. As the vet tech gently laid him in my arms, she explained to me that he should stay there for at least another 15 minutes, so he could wake up more, but after that, he should be good to go. She said that when they tested him, they found that he had giardia and coccidia, so they had started him on medications for those. She would give him today’s pills when he was fully awake, and she would send pills home with him. As I sat there with little JoLee in my lap, Persana, the woman at the front desk, took a picture for me. I marveled at the softness of his fur, at how tiny he was. One of the staff people came out, telling the others she had just gotten off the phone with someone who had adopted a dog from a different shelter, only to find out that it had worms, and that she wanted to bring it in and have it euthanized. The conversation that ensued was interesting (and, I’m sure, partially for my benefit). Apparently, the East Baton Rouge Animal Control Center tests for all parasites and has a strict rule on spaying and neutering all animals before they go home, but not all shelters in that area do. I heard horror stories about dogs who were sent to their new homes infested with heartworms. All the while I was watching little JoLee come back to life, thankful that he had come to this particular place.

I finally carried JoLee out to my car at around 11:30. Persana helped me out by carrying the bag of Science Diet Puppy Chow and JoLee’s prescriptions and paperwork. She laughed when I opened the back of the Dogmobile, seeing the little pile of toys laid out on the waterproof mattress pad, the towels, and the water bottles. “He’s going to be one happy dog,” she exclaimed. “You have a safe trip home, now!”