The Monster Outside

It’s 1:30 in the morning and Maverick has decided that there’s a monster outside.   This monster will only be defeated by loud and continuous barking.    Nothing will convince him otherwise.   

Giving in to the incessant barking, because my husband was about to go ballistic,  I took Maverick out to prove that there was nothing out there.   It’s a bit difficult to remain calm and steady when my brain is going, “well, he’s barking like the hounds of hell are at the doorstep, are you SURE there’s nothing out there?”   

I live in the woods.  It’s most likely deer – last night when I took Maverick out, I saw one in the clearing – seemingly standing guard.   It had been a craptastic day with Maverick, he was in high teenager mode – “I will do what I want and you can’t stop me!” – all day, including an hour long barkathon in the evening.   Seeing the buck standing there in all his majesty, just watching us, felt like a sign that everything is okay, that we’ll be okay, that this teenage nonsense won’t last and we’ll come through it better and stronger.   

It was a sign I badly needed.    My nerves were shot, anxieties and inadequacies were causing tears of self recrimination and the sure knowledge that I was incapable of raising this puppy.   It gave me renewed determination to face today with a different attitude, to rejoice in his nonsense instead of giving in to frustration.   

We had an awesome day.   We walked with little pulling, no yanking the arms out of their sockets, more than one cuddle time, and a renewed joy.  Joy is hard to find most days since Max went to the Bridge.   That aching grief has never lifted its grip from my heart.   Today Maverick made me smile, and laugh, and it was a good day.

That ended with the hounds of hell at my doorstep.   I believe we’ve been saved for the night.   I believe we’ll start tomorrow with the full intention of making it the best day we can, and try to find a way to keep the hounds of hell from waking the neighbors in the middle of the night.  

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Oh Little One, must you scare the Mommah?

Maverick and I went to visit our favorite doctor today – he has a “something” on his foot and Mommah worries.   I thought it was a tick but it’s not going away, he’s licking and it’s red and it looks like a sore button so the appointment was made and off we went.   

Dr. Dave treated Max almost from the beginning, we’ve never gone to another practice and never will.   He treats all the animals as if they were his own.   When it was time for Max to leave us, my husband said that he knelt and prayed before giving Max the shot that would release him.   I asked, when it was done, “is he gone?” and his response was, “Max is in Heaven now.”   

He was incredibly kind all through the last days of Max’s life.  I trust him with Maverick.  I know that he knows my quirks and worries and won’t laugh at me, but will make sure that I know all is well with my baby.  

So examination revealed something called a hystiocytoma.    A WHAT????????   It’s a benign “tumor.”   Phew.   There is a chance of secondary infection because someone will not stop licking it, so a shot of cortisone was administered, and antibiotics and that amazing yellow cream called Anamax was applied.    

Cortisone shots cause intense thirst and equally intense peeing.   Oh, dear heavens, run to the door and not the rug!    Oh well, rugs can be cleaned.   

It should be cleared up in a couple of weeks.   Let it be so.  

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Mob mentality and public shaming

I got slammed on Facebook for saying this.     Someone posted a picture of a license plate with the caption,” Share the hell out of this!   This bitch didn’t stop for a bus and this needs to go viral!”   

I’m not defending the person who didn’t stop for a school bus with flashing red lights.  I may not like kids but that doesn’t mean I think it’s okay to fly past a stopped school bus because you’re in a hurry, putting the lives of the little rats in danger.   

I stated that clearly.   What I said was, “Is anyone else bothered by the public shaming and the mob mentality that follows?”   Apparently I am not only the only person bothered by it, I am worse than pond scum for even considering that maybe this is not a wise choice.    

Are we so unaware or so naive, that we don’t realize that someone could track down that person and show up at her home?    Do you want to be responsible for that?   Does the driver need to be punished for her stupidity?  Hell yeah!  If one of my grandkids got hurt because someone couldn’t be bothered to wait 5 seconds for a bus, I’d be raining hell fire and brimstone on someone’s ass.   

And THAT is exactly why this kind of thing worries me.    I wouldn’t go to such lengths as to find someone whose information was posted like this.  But maybe someone else would.    Are we so intent on being self righteously angry – HOW DARE YOU DO THIS???????????   I AM SUPERIOR AND WILL SMITE YOU AND AND MAKE SURE EVERYONE IN THE WORLD KNOWS YOU MADE A MISTAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! – that we’re willing to ruin a life?

Flashback to Judge Kavanaugh – I guess we’ve answered that question.  

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When you think you can’t and find out you can

One of my friends is heavily involved in Greyhound rescue and has been for years.    Last week, the voters in Florida chose to ban greyhound racing.    The implications of this decision are far reaching.   I won’t go into the lies that were told by PETA and HSUS to get this bill passed, or the blindness of those who believe them.    The result of this decision is that thousands, (yes, thousands, probably around 15,000) dogs will need homes in the next two years.   A good year was when 1000 dogs were placed.

I was very upset when I learned this bill had been passed.   My friend posted on facebook, and I told her I could make “belly bands.”  Basically these are diapers for the dogs to wear till house trained.   I’ve made them before, and I’m willing to make them again.

We talked in message.   She said that foster homes will be a desperate need, but without a fenced in area, I can’t do that part.   BUT, I thought, I know someone who can, and I also know someone who already fosters and works in rescue.    Within minutes I had connected my friends.

A few days later, a group has been formed and a sewing party planned.   There are also people with the ability to transport dogs.

I am amazed at how fast this came together.   Some days, I have little hope for the future of the world, little faith in the kindness of others.   This has been a blessing to me as well as to the dogs we’ll help.

I’ve never been part of something like this.  I am truly awed at the outpouring of goodness, in just a few days.

 

So…………..if you can help at all, contact your local greyhound rescue – or any rescue (not the ASPCA, they’re a bunch of crooks) and ask what you can do.   15,000 dogs will thank you.

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Judged

I’ve thought about this all day.   I shouldn’t have let it bother me, but it keeps coming back to me.

Thousands of people marching across a border is not a caravan, it’s an invasion.   I don’t invite strangers into my home, I lock my doors, why is it wrong to keep my country as safe as I do my home?   A cousin pretty much told me I was a heartless bitch because I feel this way.    I’ve known her since she was born.   She’s known ME since she was born.   She’s so blinded by her hatred, hatred that is based on lies and half truths she’s been fed by the media, and which she never questions, that she’s willing to insult someone who had cared about her all her life.

She said she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings but I shouldn’t judge if I don’t want to be judged.

I’ve put her on my restricted list and she won’t see any of my future posts.   I would like to unfriend her, but I don’t want to cause family drama.

It’s a cluster and that’s that.

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Leashes, walks, and other fun stuff

I learned several things this past week.

First, don’t try to walk the puppy when you’re pissed off.   I was not pissed at the puppy, I was just pissed and took a walk to not be pissed.   Saturdays are days that I usually don’t go to the park because it’s just too damned peopley.    Maverick is still jumping up to greet people, and snapping at anything that dangles in front of him.   So when I tell you to not lean over him with your happy little cord hanging there from your headphones, and you do it anyway, don’t jump back squealing when he does exactly what I told you he was going to do.

I had the loop on his leash on my left wrist, wrapped it around my right hand to get a better grip, as we were going through a section where there were a lot of people and other dogs.   A leaf was my downfall.   Almost, but not quite, literally my downfall.    He went for the leaf and my hand went down with him, pulling the leash tight around it like a noose.    I wear lots of rings.   I thought the pain I was feeling was from the rings digging into the adjacent fingers.    After telling myself that I WILL NOT CRY IN PUBLIC, and we had walked several feet further, I looked at my hand and realized that my knuckle was the size of a golf ball and the swelling was moving to my wrist.  Oh, joy, let’s go home and find some ice!

It’s a lovely shade of purple, but the swelling is gone, mostly.    The doctor says it’s sprained and I should let it rest.  The same doctor who came in and shook my hand, yes, THAT hand.   Sigh.

We took the week off for my hand to mostly heal, and headed to the little park today.   Well, one of these days he’ll walk nicely, but that was not today.   I did a tarot reading for myself and Maverick – the two cards that resonated were “courage” and “perseverance.”  This is my mantra when we walk now.

He’s a master at “spin” though!

 

Also, I learned that when someone asks you to do a favor, you’re probably gonna wish you had said no.  AND, if you don’t want an active puppy, don’t get one, and then decide she needs to be rehomed.    People make me so angry.

 

I learned that I shouldn’t be allowed in Hobby Lobby because, well, yarn and fabric.    And there is way too much junk in my craft room, but the cleansing has begun.    Trash bags are my best friend.    Why oh why did I keep all those little tiny pieces of fabric, what my mother would call “alley jigglets?”   (I have no idea why she called them that)

If you don’t see me for awhile, I’m either face down at the park, or buried in a sea of alley jigglets in the craft room!

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Colds and blahs

I don’t like Fall.   Yeah, yeah, yeah, pumpkin spice

I like pumpkin pie.   Mostly I like pumpkin pie because I really like whipped cream.   I make a pie for Thanksgiving and eat one slice, send the rest home with my step son.   I make one for Christmas, eat one slice, send the rest home with step son.   That’s enough.  Don’t put that shit in my coffee or anywhere else, it belongs in pie and that’s that.

Hoodies.  Oh, yeehaw, we can wear hoodies.  Why are we wearing hoodies?  Because it’s cold, that’s why, and I hate the cold.   My bones ache, my fingers turn blue and numb, cold is so much fun.
But, but, the leaves!  Yeah?  Spiders hide in the leaves.   I hate spiders.   Screw the leaves.   Also, they get tracked into my house because I live in the woods (I know, stupid place to live if you hate spiders and critters, shut up, it’s my home and I love it except for when the spiders, etc, decide to come INSIDE instead of staying out there where they can just go die somewhere).

And yay, Christmas is a couple of months away.   That’s a wonderful day.   The day that I turn into an ATM and hand out money to people who can’t remember my phone number the rest of the year.

Give me warm days and sunshine, let me walk out the door without having to put on extra clothing, let me go barefoot – keep this cold, yucky, pumpkin crap to yourselves.

 

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What if it was your father?

What if someone went to the media and said that your father molested them 40 years ago?   Would you automatically believe the “survivor?”   If there was no evidence, not a single person who could corroborate the accusation, would you still believe the accuser?  If it was your son accused?

What then?    If the accuser couldn’t remember any details, and was vague on everything, and came forward only when it appeared your dad was about to get a really important job, would you still believe the accuser?

If it was your son?    If there was no evidence, and no one who said that yeah, I saw it, I remember it, she told me after it happened?   Would you still believe the accuser?

This attitude scares the crap out of me.   And if it doesn’t scare you, why not?

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I want to start a blog

That tells about the times Mom loses her shit and then feels bad about it.

So today, after a great deal of exercise and stimulation, Maverick decided to run away from me and totally forget that he actually does know to come back when I call him.    And in spite of knowing better, knowing what I’m supposed to do, I lost my shit.   He ran from me and I couldn’t see anything but him running and not coming back and I was terrified that I’d lost him and I’d never find him.

I screamed.   It didn’t work, of course.   I made myself call him and run away, and he came running.   I was so upset, I brought him inside and just cried.

It’s been an awful day in a lot of ways, a lot of frustration and not a lot of joy.   I got a shower, finally, had a shot of whiskey, and told him how much I love him and that I’m sorry.

I promised Max that I would laugh more and yell less.   I’m trying, Baby Boy, I really am.

 

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Forgiveness

I always think of forgiveness at this time of year.   September 11th was a day that saw the world change for so many of us.   I grew up in an era when we didn’t think about making America great, it was accepted that America was imperfect, but still the best place in the world, and that we were lucky to live here.   That Beaver Cleaver wasn’t an oddity, or a made up character, but the kid down the street.   I knew my share of Eddie Haskells, so anyone who tells you that all of the 50’s and 60’s tv shows were based on dreams and nothing to do with reality is full of shit.   I lived through Viet Nam, and the protests.   Through all that, we still held onto our belief, although we may not have expressed it, that we were invincible.  No one dared mess with us.   We were too strong, too powerful, and we just wouldn’t stand for any nonsense.    People were (and still are) dying to come here, not many are trying to escape.

Then the Towers fell.  And with them fell our illusions of safety.

I have never judged someone based on religion or skin color or who they choose to sleep with.  I’ve never felt the need to hurt someone because they didn’t agree with my beliefs.   I still can’t fathom what the purpose was behind flying planes into buildings.    Did they REALLY think it would take us to our knees for long?   Did they really not know better?   Were they honestly that stupid, or that filled with hate?

It didn’t work.   It did, however, leave residual anger behind.   Anger and grief that have never died.    Faded a bit, maybe, over the years.  But never gone away completely.

And they left behind a fear.   A fear of anyone from a certain area, no matter how innocent they may be.   When I went to Ohio a few  years ago, I stopped at a rest area near the exit for Shanksville.  On my way inside, I stopped and read the plaque that states that this is the area where the plane went down in the field.   I went inside, to get a burger for my lunch.  In line in front of me was a group of Arab men.    I found myself shaking, wanting to yell at them, ask them if they had come to see the monument to  their handiwork.   This is what the attackers accomplished.   Unreasoning fear and hatred of innocent people.   Not sure if that’s what they planned.

And on this day,  unexpectedly, I got a message from someone I’ve known for years, who cut me off without an explanation a bit over a year ago.   A message of apology, a message saying she loves me, and is sorry, and it was not my fault.    I have no idea how I’ll respond.   Forgiveness?    I don’t know if I can.

I struggle with forgiving, and forgetting, hurts done to me.   Max never held a grudge.   I, however, can hold one till it screams for mercy.

So I shall ponder the message from my former friend, and decide what I want to do about it on another day.

As for the 9/11 attackers – I will never forgive, and never forget.

 

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