Today is Bob Dylan's birthday. But unbeknownst to him; on his 8th birthday a truly great man was born. My father.
He is absolutely the funniest person I know. Sharp as a tack and truly hilarious. In fact his text messages alone are often the source of entertainment. My younger sister and I often trade his texts with each other. Often in tears of laughter. And the pickle cards... Makes me laugh every time.
He is also incredibly smart. He knows about rocks and birds and can name stars and airplane. And speaking of airplanes, he is the BEST airplane wheel photographer known to man. Seriously. Which brings up his talents.
I remember the days he could do flips on the trampoline, or cartwheels in the front yard. He rode his bike to work way before it was cool. And the patience, attention to detail and skill involved in the models he builds is quite impressive. The little pieces of plastic become a work of art in his hands. It's really cool. He does the same in bigger scale with bicycles. Quite impressive. I'm pretty sure he can fix anything.
A visit from my day can turn a bad day at work to good. He makes the best scrambled eggs. And, did I even tell you about his dancing skills?! He gave me a gift I'll always be grateful for: Soul. We dance, we sing, and we laugh.
He is great. And I am so blessed that he is my dad.
Happy Birthday Dad! I love you.
That sweet dog nicknamed Bowie. The little white and black one. He showed up again a few weeks ago. He would not come to me. I chased him, I stalked him. I tried so many treats. He would not come to me. I hated seeing him out again. He broke my heart.
This morning I sat on the curb at the end of my block with two other neighbors and he broke my heart again. He had been hit by a car. He died right there in front of me before I could help him.
I have been questioning my actions bringing him to the Humane Society that day. He had no chip, no collar, had not been neutered. I should have found him a better home. But who was I to judge. I thought that was the best place.
Forever, I will be haunted as to why I couldn't catch him again. There was no way I was going to bring him back to the Humane Society. I would have found him a new home myself.
But. This is not what happened. And the reality of what did happen breaks my heart.
So. With this heavy heart I went to Maplewood a few short hours later. There was a PBR - Stray Rescue event. Oh the sweet pups! Big headed pits, and soft shepherd mixes. Happy mutts all around: they had all be saved. The kisses from a three legged red pit bull made me feel better. She lost her leg and tail after being hit by car. She ran and barked and smiled and loved. All the dogs were so sweet. Truly they were all great. A human will be lucky to have any of them in their life.
As I loved on a sweet pup I heard a voice I know from Stray Rescue videos. It was Randy Grim. Founder of Stray Rescue, and an honest hero in my eyes.
So here, after an awful morning, I got to meet him. The irony of this was deep. The losses this man has seen are immense. But he goes on. And I am so grateful for him.
The best news is he is so incredibly nice... And he likes Wichita's name (her Stray Rescue name was Titanium.)
The day ended good, but I'll always remember Bowie. Strange day. Strange circle.
Cats are so different than dogs. Cats do not rely on humans for survival. They can hunt. They truly let us pet them. They have a independent quality to their souls.
In this way, we feel special when a cat welcomes us into their life. The subtle way a cat gives love is a special thing. I've been lucky enough to have two special cats in my care.
In four months; they are both gone.
Ripley (the siamese) left us in January and today we lost Punk Kitty (the grey calico.)
Cats are subtle animals. But there is a hole here. The quiet movements are missing. They aged. They haven't done the weird cat running or playing in a long time. And they both weren't able to jump into the bed the last week they were around.
I'll miss the head butts for petting, the purring, the surprise of a cat in a window, or bathtub.
It was 8 pm on a cold night in January. I was driving home and had reached the busy intersection of Natural Bridge and Hanley when I saw him. The big brindle dog ran across my the intersection.
Have I seen dogs running out like that before; sure. But that night it happened for the first time: I wanted I catch him.
Not to keep, but to make him safe. I turned around and drove up and down and all around. Armed only with a short leash and crackers I kept searching. Never found him.
As I drove home he haunted me. What if that were my dogs!?
I decided to keep the leash in my car. And dog treats.
My pups sounded the alarm a few weeks later: our ally was under attack!
There were two big dogs, labs perhap one black one white. Once my pups were wrangled inside I took off in my SUV. After one lap around I found the black one down the ally. Gentle coaxing and I got this poor old lady in my backseat. Bit then what!?
I called my friend Jaime. This happens to her all the time. Her advice was the Humane Society. I did not like this answer as I know they are a kill shelter, and this poor pup was old, and had some lumps. She had super long untrimmed nails. I mostly felt so sad for her.
So I called Stray Rescue. I knew they couldn't take her, but I needed to hear what they advised. This is where Wichita came from, I respect their work deeply. They also said Humane Society, to scan her. They gave me a website with all the local no kill shelters.
So, after getting Sweet Girl a bowl of food and a bowl of water we went to the Humane Society.
In my ideal world, she would get a bath and nail trim. She'd get a full exam, and that one awful growth on her ankle taken off. She would get a soft bed, and warm home. She was so old. She hobbled instead of walking. And I hated to think she would meet the end on the cold city streets.
We got there, and we hobbled in. She was so happy, maybe just to be inside to be warm, and to be the center of attention. They did find a chip, but it wasn't in their system. I looked at those long nails, and her lumps, and I realized she wasn't being taken great care of. My heart broke for her. At one time she was loved enough to be chipped, but there she was outside, unkept, no collar. I talked to the lady, she said if I left her there they would bath her, trim her nails, feed her, walk her, give her a place to stay, and try to track down the owner. If no owner came forward in 9 days she would be checked by a vet. If healthy she would be put up for adoption. So I asked what if she is deemed not healthy. And we both looked at her white muzzle, the lumps. The lady said if she wasn't healthy they had to think of her quality of life. And I thought of my cat. The sweetest prettiest cat, who was loosing her battle with kidney failure, so she was put to sleep, as she had no quality of life. And as much as I hated that, I knew it was the best thing.
In the end I let the Humane Society keep Sweet Girl. And I knew that she would probably spend her last days there. But she wasn't on the street. She would get attention.
I drove off swearing I was done picking up strays.
Then the pups set off the dog alarm Thursday night...... I just saw two white fuzzy ears peeking through the fence.
This time it was easier.... except the Humane Society was closed. So I called Jaime. Because Spot aka Bingo aka Bowie was so small she agreed to let him sleep at her place.
We blasted Facebook with his picture. But no one recognized him. He was scared and sweet. He wore a collar. I thought for sure he'd be chipped. But no..................................
Spot/Bingo/Bowie
I promised him two scenarios when we drove to the Humane Society that morning. I promised we would either find his family or find him a good new one. So when he was found to have no chip he looked up at me. I told him it was ok, it was probably for the better. He was a sweet little white boy with great white spots. He didn't bark, he liked other dogs, walked great on a leash.... but had no tags, had no chip, and was not neutered... and those three things equal to bad owners. So he needed to move on. He could do better. I actually hoped he wasn't claimed, I hope he gets a clean bill of health, and goes up for adoption. He will find a home so fast.
There will be more. And I will grab them. In the end what I keep thinking is "What if that were my dog?" I would not want them out on the street eating trash and sleeping on cold wet ground. Darting from cars, and susceptible to bad people. There are bad things done to dogs, and St. Louis is not a safe place for dogs.
So. I scoop up the ones I can. And every time I do, I hope that it will never be my dogs. May they stay safe.
And please: If you have an outdoor animal chip it, and give it a tag with your contact info. And PLEASE help control the pet population; have your pets spayed or neutered!
I received an email from my dad the other day; “Were you aware that your mother had a cap gun and a holster when she was younger!? It went with her cowgirl outfit. Guess I know where you get it.”
My mother is with out a doubt the reason I want to be a cowgirl. She is also why I love insects, gardens, tractors (John Deere) canning food, making jelly, yodeling, the flavor of burnt, and bonnets.
She is the smartest person I know. The kind of smart that she could have chosen to be an engineer, or rocket scientist, but she was a teacher. A math, science, and computer teacher.... you know the smart stuff! Oh and not the fun sciences I love; the physic and chemistry stuff, the hard stuff. And since I’m still hearing from ex-students how great she was... she was a great one.
She is also an artist. She can draw and paint, she can craft and sew. She makes playdoh and granola and bug collections. And I will never know anyone that makes better bread. Proof is the rolls and muffins in my kitchen. OH wait; those butternut squash muffins are long gone.... they were so good!
I have her great taste in a lot of things, I have her smile, maybe someday I’ll have her common sense (I bet she hopes that too...) Even when I do things she does not like, she still loves me.
She dances to Honky Tonk Women. She has the greenest thumb I’ve ever known. And the busiest bird feeder. She composted before it was cool, yet can maneuver an iPad better than me.
My mother is kind. She is a doer. She is one of the few people I truly respect.
And, quite frankly, she is a great cowgirl in her own right.
This was the biggest snow these two pups have seen. Wildfire loves snow, but gets cold and tired of it quick. Wichita however..... I guess the Chow Chow and Akita in her really show on days like this. She eats a lot of snow, and can't quite contain her excitement.
