It's not a race

Dillon eats so fast that I’m not even sure he chews. He wolfs it down as if he’s afraid some other dog will eat his dinner if he doesn’t get it first. Last night, I’m afraid that he literally inhaled his supper. He had a severe coughing fit immediately afterward. It sounded as though he was trying to cough up his lungs. Then he gasped for breath. He did this periodically for the rest of the night. At 3 a.m., it sounded as if the poor dog was going to die.

After warning Dad not to feed Dillon any banana this morning, I jumped in the shower and we were at the vets’ office when they started seeing patients. As soon as I got out of the car, Dillon tried to barge out of the door behind me. I tried unsuccessfully to block the door opening with my butt while reaching behind me to grab the leash. I managed to snag his collar when he was halfway to the pavement. I just missed going face-first into the open car door as he surged towards the building. Dillon likes going to the vet.

I explained his symptoms to the receptionist and we took a seat in the waiting room. My normally quiet dog was eager to get into an exam room where the cookies are kept. He proceeded to bark loudly to announce his presence. I may have forgotten to feed him, but he was convinced his buddies at Lake Country would be generous with the treats. We were the first ones called. I warned the vet tech not to give Dillon any treats until he’d been examined. He kept watching her hands, convinced a dog biscuit was coming his way at any moment.

The coughing had stopped. The vet couldn’t find anything lodged in his mouth or throat. His lungs sounded good and he wasn’t running a temperature. We were both more worried about aspiration, and the possibility that he’d inhaled a piece of food into his lungs, than the possibility that something was stuck in his throat. She fed him a dog biscuit to see how he’d react. He wolfed it down and kept looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for more. Since he wasn’t exhibiting any signs of difficulty breathing or swallowing, she thinks everything will be okay. If he continues coughing or starts acting sick, we’re supposed to go back. According to The Dog Owner’s Home Veterinary Handbook, pneumonia can develop if food is aspirated into the lungs.

I asked Dr. Cooper how to perform the Heimlich maneuver on a dog. “That’s an interesting question,” she said. She admitted that she’d never done it. According to The Dog Owner’s Home Veterinary Handbook, it’s done essentially the same way on dogs as it is on humans. I’d really prefer not to have to practice on either species. It would be much less stressful if Dillon would just learn to eat more slowly. The vet suggested putting a ball into his food bowl so that he’d have to eat around it. “Unless he likes balls,” she said, “in which case it wouldn’t work.” “He loves balls,” I replied.

They were delighted to hear how eager Dillon was to come see them. “We don’t get that reaction very often,” Dr. Cooper laughed. “Most of our patients don’t want to be here.” As I was checking out, I could hear a dog in the kennel area barking. “It looks like they’d get hoarse after a while,” I said. “Of course, I had the Queen of all barkers and she never got hoarse.” “Katie?” the receptionist asked. Katie is legend at my vets’ office. “Yep,” I answered, laughing. As I told one of the techs last time, each of my dogs has been special in their own way.

Simple pleasures

I’ve started treating myself to Bath & Body Works shower gel. It began earlier in the summer when I bought Lemongrass Sage. I was hoping it would help repel mosquitoes. That didn’t go as planned, but the fragrance was wonderfully refreshing. It filled the bathroom with a wonderful scent and turned taking a shower into a soothing indulgence. One bottle lasted me all summer and since I only shop the sales, it wasn’t an expensive treat.

At the most recent on-line sale, which featured $1 shipping and buy 2 get 1 free, I expanded my collection to include Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin, Wild Honeysuckle, and Warm Vanilla Sugar. I also stocked up on Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin moisturizing hand soap. Yum! It’s funny how something as simple as a pleasant fragrance can brighten my day. Since I only use the shower gel and soap, the fragrance is subtle and barely noticeable. I can enjoy it without inflicting it on anyone else.

I don't know what's on sale now, but Bath and Body Works is offering $1 shipping again, today only, with a purchase of $25 or more. The code is FALLSHIP1.

And if you're a Michaels fan, they're offering a coupon for 20% off your total purchase, including sale items, September 30-October 2. Here's a link to the coupon. I may have to get myself another grapevine pumpkin.

He's taking a chance

Dad tried to conveniently forget that he was supposed to set the table from now on. When I noticed the lack of place settings yesterday, I asked if he'd forgotten that was now his chore. "I certainly did and I plan to keep right on forgetting," was his reply. "I suggest you rethink that position before I forget that I'm supposed to feed you," I said as I walked off. I guess he could tell that I wasn't kidding. He waited until I left the kitchen, but I heard the silverware drawer squeak shortly thereafter and the table was set the next time I went by.

It's raining here today and we desperately need it. We got about an inch and a quarter on Monday, but before that it hadn't rained in ages. Dad ate his last banana this morning. I don't need anything else from the grocery store and I see no reason why I should have to stop there after work and get wet just so he has bananas. The rain had slowed to a drizzle about 9:30 a.m. I asked if he was a gambler.

"Why?" he asked, with a puzzled expression on his face. "Because you have no bananas. It's not raining right now, so you could go get yourself some. If it's raining when I leave work this afternoon, I'm not stopping at the grocery store. So you have to decide, do you want to go get your own bananas or are you willing to risk having to do without tomorrow morning." He just kept sitting in his chair.

I gave the matter some more thought. "I've reconsidered my position. I'm not stopping at the grocery store tonight. The only thing we have to have is bananas. The sale circulars come out tonight. If I play my cards right, I can see what's on sale and then wait all the way until Friday morning and go to the grocery store after my dental appointment." Dad laughed, "Pretty soon, you'll be saying you're not going until next week." "I could do that," I replied.

He's still just sitting in his chair, reading his book. He's been warned. If he has to eat naked cereal for a few days, it's his own fault.

Ding-a-ling

The church was so desperate for new handbell players that the music director resorted to cold calling people in the church directory. When she called me, I first turned her down claiming lack of time. Then I reconsidered. It could be fun. The Echoes of Praise practice from 5:15-6:30 on Monday nights. I called her back and said I'd give it a try.

Playing handbells requires a lot of coordination and concentration. My bells didn’t always sound when I rang them and sometimes I rang when I wasn’t supposed to, while other times I didn’t realize it was my turn until the measure had passed. I wasn't the only newbie, another woman around my age is playing for the first time as well. Jane, the music director, is a very nice person with amazing patience.

The other ringers, or ding-a-lingers as one referred to herself, were welcoming and encouraging. When our first practice was over, Jane asked with an anxious and pleading look in her eyes, "So, you'll be back next week, right?" I was surprised that she wasn't politely thanking me for coming, but professing to understand if I couldn't spare the time. Hint, hint.

Yesterday was our second practice. “You came back,” Jane exclaimed when she entered the room. “I don’t know if that’s good news or not,” I replied. The other ringers politely insisted that it was good news. They’re a really nice bunch of women. This week we not only rang bells, and plunked bells, and thumbed bells, and used a mallet to beat on bells; Jane also introduced us to chimes.

I now play 2 bells, the A and D from the bass clef, and 2 chimes. Occasionally, when Jane thought I had too much down time in a piece, I also get to take over one of Leigh’s bells. Then there’s also an A sharp, or maybe it’s an A flat, bell that I ring in at least 1 piece. I share that bell with Leigh too. Sound complicated yet?

We’re doing all this while counting beats and trying to turn pages of sheet music with hands made clumsy by cotton gloves. Last night there was complete silence at one point in the piece when we all paused to turn the page at the same time. The room erupted with laughter. “We’ll work on that page turn,” Jane said hopefully. “At least we were all together,” I commented. I found myself wondering if she goes home and has panic attacks when we aren’t there to see.

I told Leigh, the other newbie and the person I share a music book with, that if we come in next week to find that Jane has sneaked another instrument onto the table, I may throw up my hands and throw in the towel. We’ve about reached the limits of my abilities. Leigh also has a hand drum to cope with, so she really has a challenge. “It is fun though,” she replied. To which I had to agree. It’s a challenge, and I think it will qualify as a Christmas miracle if I’m ready to play at the Christmas concert on December 18th, but it is fun.

Forks on the left, knives on the right

Yesterday I assigned Dad a daily chore. From now on, it’s his job to set the table for lunch. “Don’t I get a vote?” he asked when I told him the news. “No,” I replied firmly. “What is this, a dictatorship?” he asked plaintively. “No, it’s not. That’s why you get a job too. One person shouldn’t do all the work. Setting the table isn’t strenuous and doesn’t require technical skill.” “You never know where you may find the silverware,” he retorted. “I expect to find it on the table. I can wing it from there.” It’ll be interesting to see if he remembers his new chore today or hopes that perhaps I've forgotten the assignment.

Happy Birthday, Mom

With that leopard print belt, she'd be right in style today. The picture is dated October 1954. It was taken in Granny's backyard. Dad is on the left, Uncle Bud on the right. Click on the picture if you want to enlarge it.

Mom shared one thing with Stephanie Plum of the Janet Evanovich novels. She loved birthday cake, especially the icing; the more flowers, the better she liked it. Corners were her favorites because those pieces had the most icing. I was trying to remember if I ever baked Mom a birthday cake. I don't think I did. But I bought her bakery birthday cakes and always picked the ones with the most icing roses on top.

I like lights

I've about finished my fall decorating. I found a great lighted grapevine pumpkin at Michael's. I just love how it looks at the end of my hall. I also picked up some orange lights from Target and wrapped the porch railings. When I flipped the switch last night, the railings glowed orange, a string of white ghosts floated above them, and a jack-o-lantern smiled cheerily from the table. We're very festive.

Mom was right, vegetables are good for you

Montana woman fends off bear attack with zucchini

By MATT VOLZ
The Associated Press
Thursday, September 23, 2010; 9:20 PM

HELENA, Mont. -- A Montana woman fended off a bear trying to muscle its way into her home Thursday by pelting the animal with a large piece of zucchini from her garden.

The woman suffered minor scratches and one of her dogs was wounded after tussling with the 200-pound bear.

The attack happened just after midnight when the woman let her three dogs into the backyard for their nighttime ritual before she headed to bed, Missoula County Sheriff's Lt. Rich Maricelli said. Authorities believe the black bear was just 25 yards away, eating apples from a tree.

Two of the dogs sensed the bear, began barking and ran away, Maricelli said. The third dog, a 12-year-old collie that wasn't very mobile, remained close to the woman as she stood in the doorway of the home near Frenchtown in western Montana.

Before she knew what was happening, the bear was on top of the dog and batting the collie back and forth, Maricelli said.

"She kicked the bear with her left leg as hard as she could, and she said she felt like she caught it pretty solidly under the chin," Maricelli said.

But as she kicked, the bruin swiped at her leg with its paw and ripped her jeans.

The bear then turned its full attention to the woman in the doorway. She retreated into the house and tried to close the door, but the bear stuck its head and part of a shoulder through the doorway.

The woman held onto the door with her right hand. With her left, she reached behind and grabbed a 14-inch zucchini that she had picked from her garden earlier and was sitting on the kitchen counter, Maricelli said.

She threw the vegetable. It bopped the bruin on the top of its head and the animal fled, Maricelli said.

The woman called for help from a relative staying with her. They found the collie outside, unable to move, and took it to a veterinarian.

The dog appeared to be fine on Thursday, but the vet was keeping it for observation, Maricelli said.

The woman did not need medical attention for the scratches on her leg, though she got a tetanus shot as a precaution, Maricelli said.

Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks officials set up a trap in an attempt to capture the bear, the agency said in a statement.

Besides the nearby fruit trees, there wasn't anything on the woman's property that would attract a bear into the backyard, like garbage or livestock feed, wildlife officials said.

Maricelli interviewed the woman, but said the sheriff's office was complying with her wish not to identify her.

"She was very, very shaken, and it kind of took the humor portion out of it for me," Maricelli said. "She said it had this horrific growl and was snarling.

"(But) she can see the humor in it, and she wanted the story put out so the local residents can take precautionary measures," he added.

If you click on the zucchini link in the first paragraph, you'll got to the original article in the Washington Post which has a picture of the zucchini. It's not even dented. That's one tough zucchini.

Ok Go

This was shot in 1 take. Dancing with 12 dogs and 1 goat. Amazing.

I tried to embed, but it wouldn't show full screen and you really don't want to miss any of the action, so click on the link to get to the video on YouTube.

OK Go- White Knuckles

Good morning sunshine

I’m having a mini-vacation. After breakfast this morning, Dad announced that he was going to Rocky Mount. No cooking for me today! I can enjoy an extra cup of coffee while surfing my favorite web sites and waiting for the washer and dryer to finish their cycles. I may have a half-day off, but it’s still laundry day. I read in Sunday’s USA Weekend magazine that drinking 3-5 cups of coffee a day in midlife cuts Alzheimer’s risk 65% in late life. Isn’t it nice when science confirms that things you like are good for you?

The extra time this morning is particularly welcome because I got off to a later start than usual. I’m usually up by 7 a.m. This morning, I awoke at 4:30 a.m. to find Dillon sitting beside the bed near my head, staring at me intently. Obviously, he needed to go outside. Once out, he didn’t just take care of business, he also felt compelled to linger and bark an answer to some dog across the pond. It took me a while to go back to sleep. It was 7:30 a.m. when I awoke again to find Dillon sitting beside the bed in the same spot, chin resting on the mattress, staring at me intently. Dad was up and in the kitchen fixing his breakfast. Dillon was afraid he’d miss his piece of banana if he wasn’t in his customary spot, watching and wagging his tail in anticipation.

Today is officially the first day of fall. Someone obviously forgot to tell Mother Nature because we’re heading for a high in the 90’s. The only places that should be happening in the fall are Florida, Texas, or the Arizona desert. Still, the mornings are cooler now, which means Dillon and I can delay our morning walk until after my first cup of coffee. Our walks on the trail are my favorite part of the day, but I enjoy them much more when I’m completely awake. I called out cheery “good mornings” to the other 2 people we met on the trail, a runner and a walker listening to an iPod. Both gave me suspicious looks and steered clear of Dillon. Perhaps they hadn’t yet had their morning coffee?

No shirt, no shoes, no service?

Although you wouldn’t know it from the weather around here, it is practically fall. Time for the hummingbirds to start migrating to their winter residence. Mine are still zooming around the backyard. When the nectar ran out on Saturday, one of the birds came up for a drink, discovered nothing was there, and hovered about 3 feet in front of my face. It was as if he was saying, “Excuse me, my cup is empty. FILL IT UP NOW!” Sort of like when I wave my empty coffee mug at the waitress on Sunday mornings. Unfortunately for the hummingbirds, I’m not as accommodating as the waitress, although I do have their best interests at heart. I’m afraid if I keep filling the feeder, they’ll linger too long and not start migrating on time. The flowers that Mother Nature provides have pretty much all bloomed out. Although I hate to see the hummingbirds go, that should be a signal that it’s time to move on.

Think before you speak

I ran into someone at the party on Saturday who knew my paternal grandfather. He remembered when he was a boy, his family bought eggs from Granddaddy. I actually think it was Grandmother that raised the chickens and gathered the eggs, but Granddaddy must have been the one who sold the eggs to this family. I shared the story with Dad at breakfast on Sunday morning. He thinks he remembers the family. Somehow, stories of raising chickens morphed into the milk they used to sell and that led to him recollecting the years he spent, while still in high school, working at the A&P Grocery store. His older brother was the manager of the store at the time.

Dad went on to recount how they didn’t have barcodes and scanners back then. The prices were posted on the shelves, but you had to know the price of every item in the store. Customers didn’t walk the aisles collecting their own groceries. They placed their order at the front counter and the clerks gathered the items. They used an old hand-cranked adding machine to total the order. Dad bragged that he could wait on 3 customers in the time it took the other clerks to wait on 1.

When he finished his story, I commented that with that kind of experience working in a grocery store, I didn’t understand why he now refuses to go grocery shopping. Whenever I try to send him to the store for something the response I get is, “I don’t do too well at the grocery store.” Obviously, it’s as I suspected all along, he simply doesn’t want to be bothered. He just laughed, but I could tell by the look in his eyes, that he was beginning to rethink the wisdom of bragging about his prowess as a grocery clerk.

Not the right choice

You know how at reunions and some meetings, they give prizes to people in different categories, like who traveled the greatest distance to get there, etc.? Well, if they had given a prize for most overdressed at Saturday night’s cocktail party, I would have won. That’s the last time I ever take fashion advice from a man. It wasn’t exactly what I would call a drinkin’ and prayin’ dress occasion. There were ladies in dresses, but they trended more towards the casual. The Indian print sundress I had initially planned to wear would have been perfect.

Oh well, it was fun playing dress-up and I got a kick out of wearing Mom’s jewelry. Plus, I confirmed that my new Aerosoles sandals with the 3-inch heels are really comfortable. I’m just sorry I didn’t discover them earlier in the summer. I’d have bought them in all 3 colors. Fortunately, Aerosoles has a tendency to recycle their most popular styles from one year to the next, so I’m hoping they’ll be available again next summer.

When I got back home, Dad was in his room in the garage and Dillon met me at the door. He seemed perfectly normal, but when I reached my study, I found an empty candy bag on the floor. It had contained around 8 to 10 ounces of a mixture of Hershey’s kisses, mini-chocolate bars, and Werther’s soft caramels. It was a favor Dad received at his reunion last week. Dillon apparently went looking for a snack while I was gone and ate the whole thing, wrappers and all. I’d told Dad to let him out around 7 and Dad had noticed the empty bag then, but hadn’t realized the significance. That meant Dillon had consumed the candy somewhere between 2 to 4 hours earlier.

The good news was, he looked fine and hadn’t thrown up in the middle of my bed. I did an internet search and the information I found indicated that amount of milk chocolate shouldn’t kill him, but it wasn’t good for him and chocolate poisoning could make him sick. Since I’d discovered the chocolate consumption within 4 hours, the recommendation was to induce vomiting. I conned the poor dog into drinking some hydrogen peroxide, which had him vomiting up the contents of his stomach about 15 minutes later. There were a few candy wrappers in the contents, but not nearly as many as there should have been. Obviously, the majority of the candy had already made its way out of his stomach and into his intestine.

The next step in the process was supposed to be to give him activated charcoal to serve as a binding agent and reduce the amount of the chocolate his system would actually absorb. I didn’t have any activated charcoal. Burnt toast was suggested as a substitute if you “live on the dark side of the moon.” Well, my little town on a Saturday night is pretty much the equivalent of the dark side of the moon. I burned the hell out of a piece of toast and dropped the charred remains into Dillon’s bowl. He gobbled it down and still didn’t show any signs of distress, so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

Today, he seems fine. I guess I’ll be looking for a candy jar or tin with a lid to hold my candy from now on. He’d ignored that bag all week and has never taken anything that wasn’t his before. I guess he’s not quite the perfect dog after all. The internet sites warned that once your dog has had chocolate, they’ll want more. Not on my watch. Do they make candy jars that lock?

The common man

The local news is usually on when it’s mealtime at our house. Yesterday, they were doing a story on the Pope’s visit to Great Britain. They mentioned that the Pope is 84 years old. I looked across the table at Dad. “Did you know that you and the Pope are the same age?” I asked. “No,” he replied. Then he added, “We don’t have the same lifestyle.” “No, you don’t have a Pope-mobile or 600 thread count sheets,” I agreed, “and you’re definitely not infallible.” Dad almost choked he started laughing so hard. “That’s pointed out to me on a pretty regular basis,” he said when he could finally speak again.

A thorough vetting

I took Dillon to the vet this morning for his follow-up visit. Since we discontinued the antibiotic last week, he’s feeling like his old self again. He’s still got a little goop in his eyes, so I’m supposed to continue the eye drops for another week. Oh, goody. Since eye drops aren’t edible, he thinks pills are treats, he doesn’t like them. He sinks to the floor, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to hide his face. Trying to raise his head, pry his eyes open, and get a drop into them requires a lot of effort and almost more coordination that I possess.

Before we left for the vet’s, I chased Dillon around the yard, pie plate in hand, to get a urine sample. He kept speeding up to try and get away from me as if to say, can’t a guy get a little privacy? I had a clean Styrofoam coffee cup and lid from a recent McDonald’s run, so I poured the sample into that. I thought that was pretty clever. The pickle jars I normally use don’t fit into my car’s cup holders. The coffee cup fit perfectly.

I wrote Dillon’s name on the cup so the techs wouldn’t mistake it for an actual cup of coffee. When I went in and put it on the counter, Chris said she certainly hoped that my coffee was better than hers, holding up her Burger King cup. I quickly explained that my cup was full of dog pee, not coffee. She wasn’t sure there would be much of a difference in taste. Apparently, Burger King has switched coffee brands and she’s not a fan of the new blend.

Going to the vet with Dillon is like accompanying a celebrity, everyone who works there is crazy about him. Judy, one of the vet techs, told me I should always schedule his appointments for first thing in the morning because then I wouldn’t have to feed him breakfast. He knows right where they keep the treat jar and he plants his body in front of it, wags his tail, and starts drooling in anticipation. Everyone, including the vet, gives him multiple treats while telling him what a good boy he is. Two of the techs who had come into the room to greet him, went back out into the hall and agreed that he was a “special dog.” Another tech came in, gave him a big hug and a kiss, and told me that it just made her day when Dillon came in because, “he’s such a sweetie.” Even the vets give Dillon kisses.

It’s funny how much things can change from one week to the next. Dillon was feeling 95% better than last week and the waiting room was 95% less crowded. One man came in with a dog while we were waiting. The dog was in a crate and barking his head off, so the noise level was still high, but at least there was no growling and lunging. When we left, the waiting room was empty. I hope that this was our last visit for a while, although I think Dillon would be happy to visit on a daily basis as long as they didn’t do too much poking and prodding. He eats up both the treats and the attention.

100 Must Read Books: The Essential Man's Library

I find book lists fascinating. The 100 Must Read Books for Men are listed on The Art of Manliness blog. I thoroughly enjoyed reading the list and the brief synopsis of each book. The photos of the books themselves are also fun. Wherever possible, it looks like they pictured the original dust jackets. Another article on the site that's worth a look is The Pocket Notebooks of 20 Famous Men.

A midnight snack

Last night when Dillon came in from his final bathroom trip, he deposited something black and slimy at my feet. It turned out to be the decomposing carcass of a hummingbird. I gingerly picked it up, using a paper towel, and dropped it in the trashcan. Then I rewarded Dillon with a dog cookie. I really thought it was cats that normally brought their owners trophies, but since Dillon hadn’t eaten it, rolled it in, or made me pry it out of his mouth, I figured he deserved a reward. Then I headed to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth so we could go to bed.

Dillon started circling in the hall and then dashing from the bathroom to the den, not his normal bedtime behavior. I followed him into the den and let him back out. He spent the next half hour grazing like a goat, scarfing up grass like crazy. Obviously, something upset his stomach. I took a seat on the porch and swatted at the mosquitoes trying to make a meal off my legs. He finally came back and we went inside.

I started down the hall. Dillon kept going back to the den. He didn’t need to go back out. He was waiting for me to get another cookie out of the jar. He gets a cookie before bed every night. I’m not stupid, no way was I giving another cookie to a dog that had spent the last half hour trying to empty his stomach. I made one last stop in the bathroom and then headed down the hall to the bedroom. Dillon was still in search of the dog biscuit he knew I was supposed to have in my hand.

When we got into the bedroom, he promptly sat down, waiting for his cookie. I held out my empty hands and told him no cookie tonight. He sniffed, stared at me accusingly, and refused to budge. I stepped over him, put on my pj’s, and got into bed. Dillon was circling around, sniffing, in search of the dog biscuit he knew should be there. I told him goodnight and turned out the light.

Dillon was still moving restlessly around the room. I didn’t know whether he was still in search of a dog biscuit or if his stomach was upset again. I lay in bed, hoping it was the first choice. I was in no mood to clean the carpet at midnight. He finally gave up and resigned himself to going to bed without his evening snack, but he clearly wasn’t happy about it. Like most males, he’s a creature of habit and doesn’t like his routine disturbed.

Drinkin' and prayin'

I’ve been invited to a cocktail party. Appropriate attire for the ladies was described by one of the male hosts as a “drinkin’ and prayin’” dress. Now, I have been known to both drink and pray, generally not at the same time. However, I usually conduct both activities at home, so no formal attire is required. God’s usually just glad to hear from me, no matter how I’m dressed. I don’t expect the other party-goers to be as forgiving, so I started going through my closet looking for something suitable to wear.

It turns out I actually own a little black dress. It’s been in my closet so long that I’d forgotten I even had it. I must have bought it 15 or 20 years ago. I tried it on and, Hallelujah, it still fits. I practically never wear high heels, but coincidentally, I just bought a pair of black strappy Aerosoles sandals on sale a couple of weeks ago. Now I just have to figure out the jewelry.

I called my former boss’s wife for advice. She dresses better than anyone I know, and goes to a lot of social functions, so I figure she can be my own personal Stacy, like on TLC’s What Not to Wear. Hopefully, she won’t go looking for the trashcan when I present my possibilities. She already nixed the scarf I wanted to wear, sight unseen. We did agree on pearls. Now it’s just a matter of choosing which ones. I’ve got some of Mom’s old fancy occasion costume jewelry that would be fun, but might be a bit too much.

It’s so much easier for men. All they have to do is throw on a pair of khakis and decide on a shirt and they’re good to go. No agonizing over all the possible choices and minimal chance of being under or over dressed for the occasion. I’ll be prayin’ I make the right choice and drinkin’ to ease the sting if I don’t.

Caterpillar Cutie

My cousin, Sheryl, sent me these photos of a caterpillar she found in her yard yesterday. Isn't it adorable? It's so perfect, it doesn't even look real. You'd think it was a child's toy or Disney cartoon character.

Good times

Dillon is definitely feeling better. When I sat up in bed this morning, he came over and started rubbing his body against the bed before coming to stand facing me, smiling with tail wagging. When I opened the bedroom door, he dashed down the hall and into the bathroom to retrieve a ball to take outside. He ran back up on the porch, stepped on my heels when I walked into the kitchen, and danced around me while I fixed his breakfast. I missed those morning rituals the past few days.

Dad and I found ourselves in the kitchen at the same time this morning. I generally try to avoid that as the kitchen just isn’t big enough for us both; we get in each other’s way. I was cutting up a cantaloupe for his breakfast when he came in to start fixing his bowl of cereal. He glanced down at a bowl and spoon sitting on the counter. “Did you put that there?” he asked cautiously. He was clearly confused that I might have actually made a gesture to help him fix his breakfast. “That’s not clean,” I told him.

There were several dirty dishes on the counter; since we eat our big meal of the day at lunch, I only wash dishes in the middle of the day. Everything used after that is parked on the counter to wait for the next day. “I put that there, but not for you,” I replied. “Dillon and I had ice cream out of that bowl.” “Dillon and you had ice cream,” he laughed. Like he doesn’t do exactly the same thing. Dillon always licks Dad’s bowl clean too. He obviously does a good job; looking at the bowl you’d never know it wasn’t ready to use.

Dad has a busy morning planned. Right now, he’s gone to the farmer’s market. After that, the church is having a yard sale and another church is selling Brunswick Stew. No cooking for me today, Yay! A college football game he wants to see is on tv at noon. Last night he went to a high school reunion supper at Ralph’s. There were 6 members of his class there. He came home griping, but I think it’s good for him to get out and see someone besides me every once in a while. He doesn’t normally have that many events on his social schedule at one time. It’ll take a while for him to recover from all that social exertion.

Nice doggie

Since I took Dillon to the vet last week, he started sneezing. At first, I thought perhaps it was because I don’t particularly like to dust, and you could write your name on top of any piece of wood furniture in the house. Then his eyes started getting goopy and he started dragging. No jumping up from sleep in the morning and running down the hall, no carrying a ball everywhere, no racing outside to hurl his body to the ground and roll around in ecstasy. He was still eating, peeing and pooping, but he plainly didn’t feel well. Usually Dillon is full steam ahead and it just seemed like a struggle for him to muster the energy to get up and do anything.

Frankly, it scared me to death. I hoped it was just a reaction to the antibiotic they put him on for a possible urinary tract infection, but I was afraid it might be something else. When you have a dog with heartworms, you live in fear that something serious could be happening as a result. This morning, even Dad noticed that Dillon wasn’t himself. Another trip to the vet was clearly in order. I took a quick shower, grabbed a to-go mug of coffee, and we headed to the vet’s. We got there a few minutes after they started seeing patients.

Dillon perked up when we walked in the door and wagged his tail at everyone. We took a seat on the bench in the farthest corner of the room and prepared to wait until they could work us in. The waiting room quickly filled up and it was a zoo. A man with a big dog came in and sat on the other end of our bench. The dog clearly didn’t like other dogs. He growled at Dillon. His owner told him to stop and corralled him between his legs. Dillon just wagged his tail, prepared to be friends. I kept a firm hold on the leash and made sure he stayed out of the other dog’s reach.

A lady came in with a coon dog puppy. The dog proceeded to bay as if he had treed a raccoon. He kept it up for a long time. If they gave awards for baying, he’d definitely be a champion. There were several other small dogs waiting and all of their owners made sure to stay on the opposite side of the bench from the growling dog. I noticed that one of the vet techs was calling patients from the other end of the room so that other pet owners wouldn’t have to pass in front of him. They never do that. The dog was still ignoring us.

It’s funny, Dillon is scared of loud noises, but other dogs, even if they’re growling, don’t seem to upset him. He did come sit between my legs and did his circus dog trick, rising up and putting his front paws on my knees. He gazed into my eyes as if to say, “You’ve got this under control, right?” I was prepared to throw my body between him and the other dog if necessary and I guess he was reassured by the look in my eyes, because he calmly lay back down on the floor.

A lady came in with a big yellow lab. There was limited seating left that wasn’t well clear of the growling dog. She sat on the opposite side of the bench that was situated at a 90 degree angle to the bench we were on. Her dog decided if the growling dog wanted to fight, she’d oblige. Both dogs were lunging, barking, and growling. The puppy was still baying. It was chaos. Dillon just sat in front of me, gazing at my face. Since everyone was ignoring us, I felt relatively safe. The whole thing started to strike me as funny, so I just sat there and laughed. It was like a scene in a comedy movie.

We got called to a room. I could still hear the growling coming through the door. The vet looked at one of the techs and told her to go find out who was growling and get them into a room before they bit somebody. Finally, someone with good sense. I’d been wondering why the vet techs hadn’t gotten that dog out of the waiting room earlier. It wasn’t like they needed to drum up more business in the aftermath of a fight. They clearly have all the business they can handle.

Dillon is a favorite of everyone at our vet’s office. He got plenty of hugs and kisses and treats. Even the techs that weren’t checking him out came in for a quick visit. At this point, the vet thinks maybe he’s having a bad reaction to the antibiotic. We’ve discontinued that and he has drops for his eyes. We go back next week for another checkup. Since I didn’t give him any of the antibiotic this morning, he seems to be feeling a little better. Hopefully, he’ll be back to his old self soon. I miss that eager face and frantically wagging tail.

Later?

I started my Halloween decorating today. Anticipation is my favorite part of any holiday, so I like to put my decorations up early enough to have plenty of time to enjoy them. Dad slowed me down some because he was hanging pictures in his room in the garage, so he had the stepladder. I never actually saw him on the ladder, but it was in his room and there was clearly a project in progress. He was spending most of his time making trips back and forth to the basement and out to the yard while I waited impatiently for him to finish already.

I needed the ladder in order to reach the majority of my Halloween decorations, which are stored on shelves in the garage. On one trip into the house, he commented that it was starting to look like Halloween. “It would look more like Halloween if you weren’t hogging the ladder,” I informed him. On any other day, he’d have been sitting in his chair reading a book. “You can have it later,” he replied. “Later is the key word. I have to be at work later,” I snapped. He gave up the ladder.

I hope that he’s finished hanging pictures because I’m going to need the ladder again tomorrow. My plastic electric jack-o-lanterns are on the top shelf. I’m wondering if the dangling purple spider lights I saw at Big Lots would be going a step too far on the back porch. I figure since I have no neighbors behind me, I can go as tacky as I like back there. Dad shakes his head, but I enjoy my lights.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Dad likes to schedule his doctor’s appointments early in the morning. He figures if he’s one of the first patients, the doctor doesn’t have time to get behind, so Dad won’t have to wait. He hates to wait. It doesn’t matter that he has no pressing engagements or anywhere he has to be. He still wants to get in and out as quickly as possible.

The problem with this is that he claims he can’t hear an alarm clock go off. Therefore, it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s up. Tuesday, he had an 8 a.m. appointment with the podiatrist in Rocky Mount. “If you don’t hear me moving around by 7 a.m., wake me up,” he instructed. Fortunately, he was already up and reading the paper before 7 a.m. I knew he had a dental appointment scheduled for this morning because they’d called to remind us yesterday. I heard 8 something, but didn’t particularly worry about exactly what time it was scheduled for.

This morning, he was not up by 7 a.m. I didn’t hear the sound of running water or the buzzing of the fluorescent lights in his bathroom. There was no light shining under the door. I let Dillon out and then went back to wake Dad. When I opened his bedroom door, he was turned on his side in bed, sound asleep. I shook his shoulder. “Wake up.” He immediately roused. “Don’t you have a dentist’s appointment this morning?” I asked. “Yeah, at 8:40.” We both looked at the clock, which now read 7:04. It takes about 15 minutes to get to the dentist’s office. “Well, you’ve got plenty of time to get ready,” I assured him as I exited the room.

I pointed out later that if he’d note his appointments on the calendar mounted on the door leading out to the garage, I’d know his schedule and wouldn’t wake him way too early next time. He just gave me one of those looks. It's hard to get good help these days.

Goodbye summer?

I’m feeling sort of schizophrenic these days. On the one hand, it’s after Labor Day, so summer is officially over. Guess that means it’s finally time to take down the red, white, and blue stars and stripes decorations I put up for Memorial Day and left up all summer. It’s time for pumpkins and ghosts and fall-colored foliage. Except the temperature still feels like summer. It’s supposed to reach 90+ degrees today. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my shorts and sleeveless shirts and sandals and even if I was, it’s too warm for fall fashions.

On the other hand, I went shopping on Sunday and it was really fun checking out all of the fall decorations. Pier 1 has some particularly cute stuff, witches hats and shoes and jack-o-lantern windsocks. Michael’s has lighted grapevine pumpkins. I haven’t bought one yet, but I’m going to break down and do it soon. Big Lots has strings of candy corn colored lights that would look very festive wrapped around my porch railing. Target was just beginning to transition over from back-to-school to Halloween, but I did pick up a couple of novelty felt treat baskets for $1 each. I couldn’t decide between the jack-o-lantern, green monster, or black cat, so I got one of each.

In order to embrace the new season, I have to be willing to let go of summer. My hanging baskets may be well past their prime, but I still have butterflies and hummingbirds zipping around my backyard. Dad is still bringing home vegetables from the Farmer's Market. The calendar may say summer's over, but I’m just not quite ready. Maybe next weekend.

Is he a lifter or a squatter?

Dillon had a check-up at the vet’s today. I knew they were going to want a urine sample, so I chased him around the yard, tin pie plate in hand, until I got one. It’s tricky with male dogs, you have to watch out for that hind leg. If you don’t move quick enough and get the angle right, the lifted leg will knock the plate on the way down and there goes your sample. I transferred the sample into an old pickle jar, loaded Dillon in the car, and prepared to head for the vet.

When we pulled out of the garage, I noticed that the car seemed to be rolling funny. I got out and took a look. The rear tire on the driver’s side was as flat as it’s possible for a tire to be. I unloaded Dillon and went back inside for Dad’s car keys. I told him I’d call AAA when I got back. It would have been less time consuming for me to call before I left, then they could have changed the tire by the time I returned, but that would have required Dad to be on the lookout for them. Not a likely prospect.

The vet was very busy today, so Dillon and I were there for quite some time. The vet tech wanted to know if Dillon was a lifter or a squatter. “A lifter,” I replied. The other vet tech quickly interjected, “She brought a urine sample with her.” “You have a smart Mommy,” the vet tech told Dillon. I thought it would save time if I took a sample with me as opposed to having to walk him around the vet’s yard with a tech trailing behind ready to spring into position if he got ready to pee. The problem with that method is that Dillon is so preoccupied with what the tech’s doing, that it takes a long time before he gets down to business.

He got a good report and a lot of dog biscuits. They’re not stingy with the treats. While Judy got a blood sample from his front leg, Dillon sat perfectly still, but turned his head and buried it against the cabinet. I do pretty much the same thing when they take blood. It’s better if you don’t look. As soon as she finished, Judy instructed the other helper, “You give him a couple of dog biscuits right now.” Dillon kept standing in front of Judy, waiting. “She’s got your cookies,” Judy told him. As far as Dillon was concerned, Judy had been the one to stick him, she should be the one to treat him. Or else he was smart enough to realize that of the 3 women in the room, Judy was the alpha. The rest of us just followed orders.

When we got back home, I called AAA. The man came and changed my tire in under 30 minutes. Now I just have to see about getting the flat tire fixed. It didn’t suit Dad’s schedule to take me to the repair shop today. That would also have involved taking me to work and picking me up. Apparently, that would have interfered with his plans. I guess his Louis L’Amour book wasn’t at a good stopping point.