October 2015 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Lay A Little Training on Me!

Most pet owners are by-the-book-law-abiding citizens but there are those we must call out for the sake of their pets and well… just because Momma and I are born this way.

Here I am, thinking about what we saw and how to tell you, without sounding sanctimonious.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. My only complaint and I always can find something, was that this kind of not hot, not cool, just right temperature, brings all those owners out that walk their dog once a week, if the sun shines, if nothing more pressing is on the immediate horizon and goes without saying, if the creek doesn’t rise.

Momma says these poor dogs do not know how to even walk on a leash. They are so excited that they are jumping and bucking like wild stallions, saddled for the first time ever. The owners are oblivious, since like their children, their dogs can do no wrong.

In a fit of pure love (laced with buyers regret) some owners decide any park is an off the leash zone (NOT) and their well-behaved (in the eyes of the beholder) should be free, like the wind, to run hither and fro, jumping in front of bikers and joggers, knocking down toddlers, terrifying the old folks, who are leaning on their walkers, with trepidation, waiting for their next broken bone to happen.

And the owner….well,,,, he / she is checking their messages on their iPhone, texting, starting long drawn out ‘he said, she said’ conversations, probably with another deadbeat dog owner who has unleashed their dog in another park.

What this means is that as an Ultimate Earth Dog, I have to be on high alert and have my 360 degree head swivel tilt in place to avoid crossing path with this poor creature who thinks the whole world wants to play with him and doesn’t mind being slobbered on. Well, call me crotchety, but I like to choose who I play with and no slobbering, p-l-e-a-s-e. You never can tell what kind of canine germs could be passed on and with my immune system being so rickety, there is no end to the diseases I could end up with.

After every walk Momma sanitizes me head to toe with baby wipes. Knowing Momma, next step would be quarantine if I had a relapse and I enjoy my walks, so please, you ignore me, I will gladly ignore you.

Then there are dogs who yank at their leashes, growling ferociously because they are scared to meet up with me, I suspect – all twenty pounds of might. On a good day, I might lick you to death…. like I am a real threat…. an out of control hand grenade. Their dog never acts like that at home, they claim…and we believe them….nod…wink.

Here’s a free tip. Train your dog to realize a leash is a good thing. It is not a restraint to fight.

The beauty of the gardens along our walk can be upset by ill mannered dogs and their owners. — **The beauty of the gardens along our walk can be upset by ill-mannered dogs and their owners.**

If you want the dog off leash, take it to the designated Off Leash Dog Park. A dog is a commitment. With patience, time, and training, we will give back even more than we receive. I hate to admit it but I was quite the tough case myself. I would be gone with the wind every time I saw the opportunity. Now, even given the opportunity, I don’t bolt, because well, someone has to look after my Clumsy Mumsy. It is never too late to start. Hey, NOW works.

So lay a little training on me (us). Honey, doggone it, I (we) depend upon it, so lay a little training on me (us).

And They All Lived Together in a Little Rowboat

I got a story that might just make you pause to consider.

I got a story Momma told me, a kind of sensitive tale that I am not sure the politically correct would endorse, but it needs telling because it could have happened to anyone, especially if they had the misfortune to be born in those days. So pay attention, Ruby, Tigger, Babbie, Charlie and Gen. You’ll want to remember this one.

Most of the locals just called him Touched-in-the-Head. Born breach, deprived of oxygen, his mother struggled to deliver him. The good midwife did her best but his mother haemorrhaged to death, as was common in those times, without doctors and or Caesarean Births. Even years later, in the early 1950’s, there was no hospital, babies were home birthed and Good Luck with that.

Touched-in-the-Head never quite functioned the same as the rest of the world. Although he could walk, he had jerky, rapid movements. He talked in such a rush, that you were still trying to put together the first part of his sentence when he was finished the last part. Today he would probably be labelled a ‘savant’ because he had the memory of a genius, whatever he heard he never forgot, such as the genealogy of not only his own family but every person in the neighbor hood. It was like family trees took root and grew in his head. It was astounding, but then he was just Touched-in-the-Head.

The one good thing in his life was that the orphaned baby was taken in by his Aunt and Uncle, who were childless. That is what families did in those days. No one really could fathom his brain, but still everyone sensed his intelligence on divergent levels.

The school system in those days could not handle anyone different (a problem, even today), so his Aunt and Uncle home schooled him, teaching him to read and write using the Bible and the Hymn Books, as well as taught him basic math skills. If anyone dropped by at night, they would find him, even as an adult, sitting in the corner reading the Bible out loud, or belting out the hymns, like ‘Jesus loves even me’, at the top of his lungs, in the dim light cast by the oil lamp, because his Uncle did not believe in that new fangled electricity. It was too dangerous. Touched-in-the-Head, being the scientific type, might stick his finger in the socket.

On a stack of Bibles, they swear, they saw them.From Morguefile.com lamborghini-red-car.jpg By Jessica Gale — On a stack of Bibles, they swear, they saw them.From Morguefile.com
lamborghini-red-car.jpg By Jessica Gale

Touched-in-the-Head was always disappointed in himself because he never could drive a car. He would take the locals to his now empty barn and ask, ‘Can you see them?’ ‘See what?,’ they would ask, playing along with his fantasy. ‘My two cars, a black one that I drive, Monday to Friday and a red one I drive Saturday and Sunday. Red is my favorite color so I drive it only on the weekend.’

Even after all those years passed, the locals remember the miracle that took place each time Touched-in-the-Head would ask if they could his cars. It seemed, if they would just squint their eyes, and believe, a crack in the barn roof would let through a beam of sunshine, a rainbow of colors and they swore, they saw them – two convertible roadsters, parked side by side, one blackest black, one cherry red.

Touched-in-the-Head was a reminder that it takes looking past the outside packaging, to the contents inside. We may be surprised about the riches contained inside of a most unassuming present, wrapped in brown paper, tied with binding rope.

Remember: There but for the Grace of God go You and I,,,,,

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Sometimes I see things and hear things and feel things that others are not quite clever or maybe even quick enough to assimilate.

**I look, I listen, I keep my mouth shut.**

It might be because I am a monkey…or just that I am The Incredibly Wide Eyed Ruby…which puts me in a Superior Classification.

Are you smirking at me, Diva Calico Gen? Are you shaking your head Miss Fancy Pants, Jakita? Look at Charlie and Tigger. They just believe me and give me their rapt attention. Now that is the attitude I like.

You know during the day, Charlie jumps up on the bed, walks up to the pillow, and plunks herself down, rolls herself in to a tight ball, like a skein of wool and falls asleep. Sometimes she chooses to cuddle beside me instead of the pillow.

Then there is Tigger, who is no problem, just goes wherever Jakita drags him. Whatever the destination, he just fades in to the back ground unless Jakita and Gen decides it is a grooming day. That poor little Tigger is beached like a whale and drowned in slobber. Good news is that they are trying to show him a groovy kind of love and so far he has always recovered.

Little Miss Muffet Charlie on her Little Miss Tuffet.

That Jakita and Gen are always up to something. Gen’s eyes are like a crow, searching out shiny baubles on dressers, or night tables or trunks or armoires. You name, it is never too high for Gen to scale. I mean, I see her, she sharpens those claws of hers three times a day. When she leaps from object to object, her balance is pitch perfect. And just like the moon landing, it is her mission to bring treasures back to earth…to her Best Friend Forever, Jakita …. it is always game on. Sometimes they tire of the game and leave the bauble in the middle of the floor.

Often Jakita hauls the treasures back to her pillow under the kitchen table (so Gen tells me – I never leave the bedroom). And sometimes, Momma is like that widow, from the Bible story, on her hands and knees, with a flashlight, looking for diamond engagement ring, that could end up anywhere. One time it got stuck in a gap between the hardwood floor and the trim. I’ve told and told you Momma. Lock them up. These two are scallywags.

Another problem…. see Momma has spoiled Diva Calico Gen since she was sick a couple of years back. Gen is still served food on the bed….and Gen leaves little crumbs all over the duvet…which porky little, starved Jakita needs or she may collapse…now ….please. Lickety solit, not two seconds later, the crumbs are gone, Jakita is gone, Charlie, Tigger and I are back to peace and quiet…for now.

Jakita and Gen - Awesome looking team. I'll give some advice...for free...stay out of their way. — Jakita and Gen – Awesome looking team. I’ll give some advice…for free…stay out of their way.

I believe in tough love. If it was up to me, Gen would lose eating privileges on my (I mean Momma’s) bed. Apparently, I am not too far up in the pecking order but, hey, a monkey can have and share her opinions, right. Last time I checked we were living in a democracy….well, not really, says Momma.

Apparently the Canadian Electorate are no longer charmed by the ‘my way or the highway’ prime minister…..Good riddance! Let him take his cowboy boots back to his adopted province where the constituents will vote for a bale of hay…long as it is far right conservative,,,,so I been told…

It Was Long Ago and Far Away

Charlie (on Left) Jakita and Gen (on Right) with Tigger, listen to Ruby talk about Momma wishing and hoping.

Gather round, Jakita, Gen, Charlie and Tigger. You all remember RIP Daddy so this one is for you.

You know Momma, always wishing and hoping, yet a stick-in-the-mud realist who readily admits she just longs for the veil that separates the living from the dead, to be just a bit more translucent.

It just seems every time you pick up a magazine there is another amazing story about someone who died, that had no faith in anything but his own puffed up powers, and he (she) reappears in mysterious ways and even on the anniversary of their death. They write on a mirror in chalk, or send flowers or find a way to have their favourite song played on the local radio station. Momma believes them because well, she is pining for a similar interaction.

Not RIP Daddy, says Momma. No, he is like Houdini. You can hold séances but RIP Daddy is a no-show. Good Christian Reform member that he was for so many years (until he was excommunicated for failure to attend services), he did not believe in that stuff and nonsense.

Uow Momma, good Virgo that she is, wants to have him come visit her while she is in a conscious state, not just sporadically, in dreams that have no beginning and no ends. He just appears, then abruptly leaves, in a middle of a conversation. Come to think of it, just like he did when he shared the earth plane – things to do, places to go, you know….

Momma’s plan is ….well, she would like him to at least sit with her a while and explain the whats, whys and wherefores of life that are a total mystery to those of us still tethered to the earth plane.

Home grown miniature roses, dew from the morning still clinging to the petals and leaves of the yellow and tinged pink yellow roses in front garden.

Now you and I know, the Momma’s of this world are too fanciful. She knows she should be content that he drops by in her dreams and pops up in her flower gardens…those tulips in the spring, peonies, and roses in the summer, mums in the fall …or so she likes to think…..but she could be delusional…or could it be the dreaded dementia descending like a black cloud.

It goes without saying our Momma is always open to learn more, to hear of the meetings that take place between folks and their loved ones that have gone to their greater reward, after a life well liven….or not It makes her envious, yet feeds her hope that any day now, when she least expects it, RIP Daddy will come striding in, with a story to tell, a long story (he was good at that) and she’s ready.

Any bets, guys? I’m thinking Momma should be content with the dreams, even if she can not script questions like a reporter at a White House Daily Briefing.

There are just some things we don’t need to know….but don’t tell Momma because she can be like a dog with a bone, digging and digging, in the hope somehow she’ll feel the earth move under her feet, the sky come tumbling down and there will be…RIP Daddy.

Andy’s Plight Without a Fight!

It’s not easy being a Bad Boy.….nobody approves of you, unless you happen to be fighting their battle. Now being a Brainiac is easy-breezy. Everyone wants you on your Team …. they want the Bad Boy attitude with a well thought-out considered response to avoid confrontation.

Those were the days – the three of us harmonized like a well run orchestra without the strings. Beau on left, Andy on right, Calico Diva Gen bridging us.

It used to be so easy or at least that is the way I remember it, when my Big Bro’ Beau had my back, my front and my sides too. Life has changed since our Protector Beau took his blue cloud to join RIP Daddy in Heaven.

First off our Diva Calico Gen has become more skittish. While Beau roamed the highways and the byways of our lives, Gen would stay out past 10:00pm. On a moonlit summer night the three of us would routinely troupe together, me first, Gen second and Beau bringing up the rear. Over the street, under the fence, down the hill to the creek we would roam. Not any more. Gen would rather be safe inside, than take her chances with me as her Protector. After what happened to me who could blame her?

It was a beautiful night. I remembered Momma had said FDR claimed that ‘the only thing to fear is fear itself.’. .. I was good with that. I would go trekking by myself, I would. It was so easy. I pushed under the fence, peered around to give myself the ‘all clear’ and whammo. It was like I stepped on a buried hand grenade. Sharp teeth sunk deep through my bone, eliciting piecing pain in my right paw.

What the Sam Hill was that? Could it be that long talked about Forest Freak that I thought was an old wive’s tale to keep cats inside the house? I emitted a guttural growl that started at my toes, and spewed from my mouth and ears, deafening my attacker, who bolted away at the speed of lightning, never to be seen again. The silence of the dark forest was broken wide open as rabbits, mice, raccoons and squirrels scrambled to gather up their young ones and disappear into the dense woods. Birds squawked and flapped their wings, as they too recognized danger had replaced the tranquility of the night.

Like the Farmer in the Dell Rhyme, ‘The Cheese Was Left Alone.’ I had no one to help me. I belly crawled up the hill, under the fence in unbelievable pain, no idea what had happened. Some Brainiac I was. Without Beau-Re-Guard I was helpless to defend myself from these thuggish guerrilla warfare tactics.

Still, I had a plan. I would go wait on the bench for Momma to open the door. She could fix it. She can fix anything!

Jakita in Mr. Roger’s Neighbourhood

I love the Two Footed…..well, mostly…but on our street, in our neighbor hood, I come alive…and, no thanks, Momma, I don’t want to leave.

A great place to sit and spy on anything or one that even moves in our neighbourhood.
Veranda
From Morguefile.com
P2236845.JPGBy mconnors

I am very comfortable on Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want’s step. It is the best vantage point in town to watch over the neighbors. My head swivels left to right, right to left, up and down, round and round. If Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want is inside and I take a notion to visit her on my own, I go back to the sliding glass door, whine and paw until I get her attention. Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want has had dogs and she totally understands me. Guaranteed she will give me a blissful massage before she returns me home.

Next to Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want lives the Martha Stewart Family. Every blade of their green, green grass is the same length. There is never even a bloom on the flowers to be dead headed. Perfection resides here. I love running up their driveway, through the open garage door, out a side door to their back yard oasis because….

Back yard pond where little frogs jump out at me. From Morguefile.com gardenfishing.JPGBy taliesin — Back yard pond where little frogs jump out at me.
From Morguefile.com
gardenfishing.JPGBy taliesin

They have a man-made pond and God made frogs of all sizes, cricketing, jumping, like molecules in constant motion. I sit there mesmerized, watching their antics. Then it is off to find Mr. and Mrs. Martha Stewart who treat me like, well, an honoured guest.

Right next door to us is a couple just older than Wonder Boy, Little Miss and Master Millennium. I already was crazy about them, then they brought home a Baby Boy Millennium and I just love babies.

I am just mad because I have not been able to get very close yet but the day is coming and I guarantee you, Baby Boy Millennium and I are going to be closer than white on rice. Every time Master Millennium comes outside, I dash through the flower bed that divides our driveways, run to back of their property, just to confuse him, then charge back to Master Millennium’s feet to get a head scratch.

I am having a long conversation with Little Miss Millennium about how sweet Baby Millennium is. — I am having a long conversation with Little Miss Millennium about how sweet Baby Boy Millennium is.

However, if the Little Miss comes out as well, it is like I have blinders on. I race straight to her because it is like part of my heart belongs to her. Don’t ask me to explain. Thank goodness Momma’s not the jealous type.

Oh, there are plenty more who love me, the Dog Treat Lady, (it would be rude to not accept a treat from her), the Scooter Man, who I like better than his little Black Dog and of course, the Generation Y family who have not one, but two dogs. (No thanks to two…I like being the ‘only’ dog)….

Two border collies, one that jumps and one that snarls …but they both like me.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_4147-001.JPGBy diannehope

Some time I got to tell you about them because are way awesome (well, they like me…but fight other dogs….works for me).

They are my responsibility (because everything is…or so I think)…as well….because if we don’t help others, who will lend a hand when we need help….I am just saying…think about it!

Spirit in the Sky

By now you know, Momma has a weakness for a good mystery (especially if it involves Spirits in the Sky, who she can’t see, but believes in, anyway.) And Grandmama was a force to be reckoned with here on earth so why would she be any different in heaven? So grab find a comfortable spot on the bed, it is story telling time.

There are gifts, then there are gifts that appear in inexplicable, mysterious ways. Such is the Story of the Spirit in the Sky. About two months after her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul winged her way to Heaven (like Enoch, she was. RIP Daddy said), Momma rushed in to the kitchen. It was the Sunday morning after Christmas but before New Years.

Momma noticed the cupboard door was open, again….

You can see very well that the cupboards go up to the ceiling so when you are height challenged like Momma, you need to jump on the counter to get or take things from the top cupboard.

This was a pet peeve of her poor, proper Dutch husband (RIP Daddy) who felt because she was in such a hurry, all the time, he had to be the official family door closer. (Another pet peeve was why Momma would haphazardly throw down a place mat, upside down on the table, so for instance, the flower fell out of the pot or the horse was on its back with its feet in the air and the grass pointing up…you get the picture). Little wonder his blood clogged his arteries, his blood pressure rose. All that because of Momma, ya think????

Momma spied the highest cupboard door open and something that did not look familiar on the top shelf. Since she was the one that was always guilty, she must have left it open. She grabbed a chair, climbed on the counter. Hiding, yet in clear view, Momma found an open bag of her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul‘s pink, white and green mints that Wonder Boy loved to share with her. Uh………. how exactly did they make it to Momma’s top shelf? Beside the bag of mints, was a separate bag with Wonder Boy’s name written, in Grandmama’s handwriting. Inside the bag was a Christmas mug probably purchased at her last church bazaar and a pair of homemade puppet mittens.

For real - the Christmas Mug (probably bought at the church bazaar, the open bag of pink, green and white mints and the puppet mits knit by Grandmama. — For real – the Christmas Mug (probably bought at the church bazaar, the Christmas mug, the open bag of pink, green and white mints and the puppet mittens.

Momma knew her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul bought pre-Christmas gifts for her grandchildren and could only assume the last time she visited, unbeknownst to Momma, her Mother had climbed up and put this on the top shelf of the cupboard, away from young Wonder Boy’s prying, all-seeing, all-knowing big blue eyes. Since she had omitted to tell Momma before going to her greater reward, she had to get Momma’s attention, somehow, someway, even if it meant getting her in trouble for not closing cupboard doors behind her.

Momma could only assume her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul was thinking, if Momma saw it, she would actually give it to Wonder Boy. (Right again) Since the bag of mints was opened already, Momma said she always questioned if her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul had a premonition that she would not live to enjoy them and so brought them along with the pre-Christmas gifts?

I like to think Grandmama -God-Rest-Her-Soul's spirit would glow all colors of the rainbow, just like this crystal angel — The color of Grandmama -God-Rest-Her-Soul’s spirit.

Since Christmas was already over, who knows how long and hard her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul tried to get Momma’s attention. All these years later the mints, the cup and the mittens are stored in the China Cabinet, a confirmation of the ties that bind Grandmama’s and Wonder Boy’s relationship.

One day when Momma, RIP Daddy and Wonder Boy moved, her Sister, who was helping, tossed out the bag, with her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul’s handwriting, not knowing the history. No matter how hard Momma looked, sadly, that bag was just like her Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul – Gone, Baby, Gone.

Now when Momma sees she has once again left a door open in haste, she wonders, is her Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul trying to send another message? What do you think my Four Footed Friends?

Momma says no one knows for sure, till: In the sweet by and by….When we meet on that beautiful shore….(Hymn)

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