Go Into the Light! Go Into the Light!

Finally - finally - finally.  Sunshine and warm temperatures.  This morning it was 50 degrees - the warmest it has been in the morning in months.  And...what's this?  The forecast is for mid-70's tomorrow, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday!  OK, so it's supposed to rain, too.  Who cares??  It will be wonderful to be wet and not freezing!!!  And next week starting on Monday - mid 70's all week!!!  Woo Hoo!!!

We Floridians can now stop bitching and moaning and whining and hibernating.  We can stop digging in our closets and storage units for gloves and thick socks and heavy jackets that we used to need only a couple of times a year.  We can turn off our heat pumps and quit listening to their asthmatic wheezing as they start up and shut down.  We can open our windows...we...can..grunt...o*p*e*n...bang!...our windows. 

The lawn guy was mowing my yard today when I arrived home from work.  I laughed out loud for joy!  It's been three months since I've seen a lawn service truck on our street.

My neighbor spotted our armadillo the other night.  Another sign it's warming up!  Can the snake-in-a-bucket be far behind?  And...be still, my heart....the tree frogs should start singing the next time it rains.  And mating in the driveway puddles.  And sticking to my backdoor.  YES!  And, Harley, the lizards should be sunning themselves soon, buddy!

Harley and I can go to the beach without dressing like we're hiking in Alaska.  I can dust off my sandals and put my socks away!  I can sit outside at FA Cafe!

Spring!  Spring!  I may dance naked in my backyard.  I may not.  Spring!  Spring!

10 Positive Effects of this Freakin' Cold Weather and Rain

1.  I had fun shopping for rain boots with my granddaughter.  I bought her bright yellow boots with a picture of a monkey on them.  I purchased pink ones (monkeyless) for myself.  Of course, we had to borrow scissors from the cashier to cut off the tags and strings, so we could both put on our boots (YOU TOO, GRENAH!) right there in front of God and everybody at Target.  Then, out in the freezing cold again, Kinsey spies a nice puddle and jumps in.  Yes, our feet stay dry.  Can't say that for my pants.
2.  Another cold Saturday is a good excuse to wear my Christmas snowflake earrings.  Oh, no.  I packed away all my Christmas stuff already.  Of course I did.  It's February in Florida.  Why would I keep out snowflake earrings?  duh!
3.  The local vegetation is getting watered.  Well, what's left of it.  So much has been killed off by the freezing cold temperatures that NE Florida is going to look like Death Valley this summer.
4.  Snowbirds are here and business is good.  But, even our snowbirds are getting cranky.  After all, they travel all the way here from Michigan and Ohio and Canada to get away from bad weather.   Saying a bright "Good morning!" in the library or Publix parking lot to someone with out of state plates can get you run over.
5.  Isn't it wonderful to spread joy and laughter?  That's what happened today when I asked various salespeople if they had any gloves left.  They laughed and laughed.  So glad I could brighten their day.
5.  The local wildlife which enjoys terrorizing me has not been spotted in a while - no tree frogs, no armadillos, no snakes.  No, they are all safe and warm in their burrows having lots of sex so they can have millions of babies when spring does arrive.

There are no more positive effects.  It's either cold and wet...or cold and sunny.  It sucks.
49 out of 50 states had snow yesterday.   Stupid Hawaii.

Venturing Out....Back in the Saddle Again

I am searching for writing support and it has been a slow, gradual process. I attended a book festival back in September, then attended a meeting of the Ancient City Writers in October.  November and December screamed by with family visits and the holidays.  In January I missed the first class of a Creative Writing Class by one day. I consoled myself with the thought that it was really an "Introduction" to Creative Writing Class and I hoped I was beyond the "Introduction" part of writing.  I also determined I would not let any more opportunities pass me by!

I found a Sisters in Crime group meeting in Jacksonville the first Saturday of the month, so I made plans to attend the February meeting.  Since my granddaughter Kinsey was spending the night Friday night (her parents' wedding anniversary) I knew I would have to be razor sharp Saturday morning to get us both up, dressed, fed, and out the door in time to make my meeting more than 40 miles away.  My plan included a list of errands, a quick bite to eat, a quick trip to Publix, and then playtime at home before bedtime.  Friday evening clicked by right on schedule and Grenah and granddaughter were both in bed by 9:00pm and asleep by 9:30!

Harley helped out by jumping on the bed and waking us both up at 2:00am to be let out!  *FLB!!!!  He has never done that before!  I woke up enough to leash him up, take him out (with Kinsey holding my hand - "It's DARK, Grenah!"), bring us all back inside, and get Kinsey and myself settled back into bed.  She went back to sleep immediately.  I tossed and turned and finally dropped off after 2:30am. 

Saturday morning dawned foggy and damp and chilly.  I showered while Kinsey watched Milo and Otis in my bedroom.   We had a quick breakfast and took the *FLB (AKA Kinsey's "BEST FRIEND HAHRY") for his morning walk.  We packed up her things and I dropped her at her mom's house about 15 minutes behind schedule.  I tore up US1 to Jacksonville and only made one wrong turn before I found the SE Branch of the Jacksonville Library. 

The presentation had already begun, but the secretary Pam was gracious and signed me up as a new member and took down my information.  I found a seat - not too hard, there were only about 10 people in attendance.  The speaker was a traffic accident reconstructionist who also investigated crime scenes.  He had brought a slide presentation of an actual case and he demonstrated step by step how he started with the evidence at a crime scene and then worked backwards to see how each piece of the scene ended up where it did.  Among other things he had to determine where the shooters were standing, how they were standing (upright? crouched?), where the victim was standing, how he was standing, the path of the bullets from starting point to ending point, etc.  The main differences between real life and the CSI shows seem to be: 1. CSI's don't solve crimes in real life, and 2. what happens in less than an hour on TV can take weeks in real life.  He logged 178 hours on just this one case in Alabama.

After the talk I met a couple of the members and found out about their book club, too.  Networking, it's all about the networking.  One of their future speakers teaches a Creative Writing class - great!  I received a great boost from attending this meeting and getting "out of my comfort zone". 

I ran an errand and treated myself to lunch, then drove home on A1A with the ocean on my left, sun shining brightly through my windshield, and my windows down to catch the breeze.

*FLB=Harley

You're not the boss of me!

I had such good intentions for this week.  Put away all the Christmas stuff.  Get all my paperwork sorted, organized, shredded, filed, etc.  Normal household chores.  Maybe even start that walking thing - you know, exercise?

But it's cold.  I'm not talking chilly...I'm talking "freezin' butt cold" (as my friend Susan calls it).  It has stayed in the 40's and 50's during the days and below freezing at night.  My heat pump is set for 68 degrees - very "green" of me.   And it's COLD in my home.  I would never set my A /C to 68 degrees!  For one thing that would be a waste of energy and money.  For another thing it would be freakin' COLD in here!!!!  YET YET YET it has not been above 68 degrees in my home since Saturday.

All I want to do when I get home is wrap up in a quilt and get warm.  So I wrap up in my Grammy's crocheted quilt and then I snuggle in my big, fat chair, and I read.  Or I wear one of my two jackets and get on my laptop.  Or I eat - after all, that brings up the body temp considerably.  What haven't I done?  Put away the Christmas stuff.  Get ALL my paperwork sorted, organized, shredded, filed, etc.  Normal household chores.  And forget exercise!  It's COLD outside and I have little outerwear - a couple jackets, no gloves, no hats (unless sunhats & visors count), and no warm scarves.  And there's no way I'm stripping down to some stretch pants and a top and doing yoga in this cold meat-locker living room of mine.

I will admit that I have sorted a lot of paperwork and put a lot away - not all I had hoped.  AND I unloaded, reloaded, and ran the dishwasher.  But that's it.  That's all.

Well, whaddya know?  ....my hands are much warmer now.  Maybe a little tantrum was just what I needed.  I'm feeling much better and I believe I have some things to do .... after all...it's only Tuesday!

THE OMEN

Something caught my eye as I eased up my driveway.  The afternoon was bright and sunny, but with the long shadows of approaching winter.  I turned my head and peered through my windshield and what I saw caused me to slam on the brakes.  A large bird - I think it was mostly brown both on its body and its wings, and I could only see it from the neck down and from below - swooped over my car and then rose over the back fence and the house behind.  A snake dangled from its beak!  (At this point I'm still fairly sure it was its beak and not its talons, but I was in awe and my memory is imperfect.)

The snake was colorless in the strong sunlight.  It was about one and a half times as long as the bird and I believe it was still writhing in protest.  Of course, it could have been swinging but I think it was moving.  The bird flapped its wings and soared over my neighbor's house, then descended out of my sight.  I wondered at the time if it was going to land in my neighbor's front yard and finish off the snake.  I sat in my car for several moments just letting the feelings wash over me.  Amazement.  Wonder.  Creepiness (afterall, it was a SNAKE).  The awe that nature inspires. 

My part in the small drama was over.  I started my car and pulled into my parking spot.  As I walked to my backdoor I kept turning around and looking for another glimpse of the bird and its prey.  I wondered what kind of bird it was.  What kind of bird hunts snakes?  I opened the storm door, unlocked and opened the back door.  The *FLB stuck his nose out in greeting and I invited him to come out and relieve himself.  I watched him as I thought about the bird.  Was it an osprey?  An eagle?  Some kind of hawk?  Harley decided to run off as I stood there.

Twenty minutes later I caught him five buildings east of mine.  Unlike a large dog who will galumph around a neighborhood in the joy of being FREE FREE FREE to run, the FLB is like a nosy neighbor who takes the opportunity to check up on everyone.  He trots up to all the doors and sniffs with great gusto.  He snuffles the various pet scents and he checks out other wilder scents:  armadillos, possums, whatever floats his dastardly little boat.

I didn't call for him.  I knew it was a waste of time and, besides, I was embarrassed.  I knew better than to let him out of the house without a leash.  He didn't even have his halter with his ID tag on it and I was just a tiny bit afraid I would lose him for good.  That would be my punishment for being careless.  I spotted him bouncing up the sidewalk of a pale yellow triplex and kept my eye on him as I approached.  When I was even with him I called out his name in a voice like you would use when you run into an old friend.

He looked up from his snuffling and actually looked happy to see me.  He took a few steps in my direction and stopped.

"Harley, come!"  I said in a more serious tone.

At that point he decided to give in, but he wouldn't do it without a small win on his side.  He cowered.  He crawled to me on his belly looking like the most beaten, pathetic, abused animal you have ever seen.  I tried not to look around to see if anyone was watching; that would make me look even guiltier.  I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and looped the leash around him in a slip knot.  As soon as the FLB realized he was caught and was not going to be kicked and beaten (at least in public), he jumped up and headed for home, pulling on the leash, wagging his tail, and holding his head high.

When we got home I filled his water bowl and he drank all of it.  Running away is thirsty work.  Then he laid down to rest.  I will never never never let him out again without his leash.  (Famous last words.)  I should have known when I saw the bird and the snake that something bad was going to happen.

I looked up birds of prey last night, and  I've decided it must have been some kind of hawk.  The osprey is primarily a hunter of fish and, though it could have been a juvenile eagle, odds are it was one of the seven species of hawk that either live here or migrate here in the winter.

Postscript:  I have a new palm tree in my living room that I purchased on clearance at Home Depot last week for only $7.00.  I needed to water it this morning, so I retrieved my cheap plastic watering "can" from the back patio where I leave it for my granddaughter Kinsey to use to water Grenah's outdoor plants.  I filled it and when I tipped it to pour onto the palm, the water gurgled and only trickled out.  What?  I guessed that some kind of outside gunk had gotten into the spout.  I carried the plastic can back to the kitchen sink.  I fished a bamboo skewer out of my kitchen supplies and was just sticking it into the spout when something caught my eye.

A tree frog looked up at me from the watery depths of the watering can!!!

My blood ran cold, my bowels turned to water, and I nearly fainted.

I grabbed the watering can and carried it carefully to the back door.  The frog swam frantically from side to side while keeping at least one of its bulging eyes on me.  I fumbled with the door knob.  Oh crap, it was locked!  Was the frog getting ready to jump?  Keeping one bulging eye on the tree frog, I flipped the lock, pulled the door open, pushed the storm door open, set the watering can down on the patio, and backed away.  Then I ran back inside and slammed and locked the back door.

The palm tree will have to wait.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

HARLEY - ONGOING FUN & GAMES

Things I do to torture Harley:

1. I play the CD Songs of the Humpback Whale.  The CD contains no instrumentation or vocals - just the whales.   Sometimes the whales even sound a bit...er...romantic.  I was deciding whether or not to keep the CD, and noticed Harley cocking his head back and forth.  Oh, he would try to ignore it!  How he would try!  Then when he couldn't stand it anymore he'd run over to the speakers and stare at them, cocking his head.  Sometimes he'd utter a sharp bark.  It's so easy to get my jollies....
2. I go outside without him.  I don't do this to torture him or punish him.  The fact that it bothers him is a side benefit.  He will stare mournfully out the storm door at me or run into my bedroom, jump onto MY bed, and bark out the window at me.  

Oh, come on!  When I first adopted Harley I let him outside to do his business and he would come right back.  "What a well-trained dog!",  I thought.  Boy, was I stupid.  One night he didn't come back.  In fact, as soon as I opened the door to let him out, he bolted into the dark and never looked back.  Of course, I chased him.  It's human nature.  He never looked back.  I took a flashlight and walked my street calling for him feeling like an idiot.  It is not fun to yell "Harley" throughout your neighborhood.  And, deep down, where I didn't want to admit it, I was terrified I'd lost him for good.

When I got back to the house my phone was ringing.  A woman who lived on the street behind me had found him.  The day before this runaway episode I had put a tag on his collar with a web address, so if someone found him they could put in his code number (also on the tag) into this web site.  The web site had my name, address, and phone number.  Oh, he had his county tag on, but I think we all know how well those work.  Besides, my real fear was that he would get hit by a car because he has no street smarts.

So I drove over to the nice woman's house and listened to her tale of the little wet dog that greeted her when she arrived home from church.  He must have crawled through a hole in the old fence that surrounded a retention pond, mucked around in the surrounding grasses, then crawled under a broken piece of fencing on her side.  (That fence around the retention pond has since been replaced!)   She said he jumped all around her and was just so happy to see her.  She took him inside and toweled him off and fed him cheese.  Her husband (a very smart man) jumped on the Internet and looked up his tag information and made her call me.  I think she would have kept him, but her husband must have sensed T*R*O*U*B*L*E.  I thanked her and almost cried with relief.  I then pulled and dragged the *FLB into my car.  He didn't want to leave the nice lady with the cheese, you see.  A month or so later she dropped in on me so she could visit Harley.  She brought him pieces of cheese and brought me several issues of the Watchtower.  Harley is the gift that keeps on giving.

I only take Harley out on a leash and I find I can't do quick chores with him tethered to my wrist.  I also will tie him to one of my Adirondack chairs but once he starts hunting lizards he gets tangled.  I tied him to the fence near my car once, thinking that there was nothing on which to get tangled.  He ended up crawling under my car then whining because he didn't think he could get out.  sigh.

Who's torturing whom?

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

ONE HOUR (USED TO BE ONE TV DRAMA OR TWO SITCOMS)

Last night I babysat my granddaughter for just over an hour.  Now there's not a lot you can do in just an hour.  The previous week I babysat for about 2 hours and we managed to squeeze in a trip to Staples, a walk to Barnes & Noble, chocolate milk in the Starbucks Cafe, a bathroom break, playing with the train set in the children's department, and a quick walk back to Staples to meet mommy.

For our hour last night I thought we might have a picnic:  get a bite or a drink at the drive-in, and sit at one of the outside picnic tables and just enjoy the evening.  (Grenah was a bit TIRED.)  Kinsey got out of her mommy's car with a milkshake in one hand (forget the bite or drink!) and her daddy's flashlight in the other.  I buckled her into the Princess seat and as I buckled myself in, she told me, "I saw COW!"

This was exciting news.  Cows are very important to Kinsey and me.  You see, Kinsey has always loved stories and books.  And when she was very small, just toddling-around size, about 12 or 13 months old, she was staying with me one day and learned she could close the door to the laundry room.  My back door was bolted (so she couldn't escape!) and the laundry room was fairly safe, so I didn't immediately open the door and check on her.  I knocked, and she opened the door, and I asked, "May I come in?"  She LOVED that.  For a couple weeks just playing with the door was enough.

Then one afternoon she let me into the laundry room and we were just kind of standing in there and she asked me to tell her a story.  I didn't have any books in there and I really don't know why this story came out of my mouth, but I told her a story about Kinsey playing at Carousel Park and COW drops in for a visit.  And COW wants to swing, Kinsey says NO, COW gets on the swing anyway, CRASH goes the swing.  And the same with the slide.  And the carousel.  Then Kinsey tells COW that it's time for COW to go home.  So Kinsey rides in her car (with mommy and Grenah) and COW follows.  They find a farm and the farmer is very happy they brought COW home, and COW is so very glad to be home.  The End.

Then please tell me more story - so I'm thinking this is easy - and it's Kinsey at the beach.  Here comes COW.  COW tries to do human things like surf, boogie board, build sand castles....disaster results...Kinsey takes COW home.

And so on.   COW in Target. COW at Grenah's house.  I had a million of them.   And for weeks she would take me in the laundry room and ask for a COW story.  I was a hit.  A star!  THE GRENAH OF THE AGES!  She would pass these stories down to her grandchildren and tell them what a loving and wonderful Grenah she had....oh...the immortality...the fame...the love.................

Then one day we were in the laundry room and she clung to me and asked if COW was there?!  She was scared!!!!! of COWS!?  I went from a loving Grenah to a PHOBIA-CAUSING NUTCASE.  The stories never had COW as a villain - more of just wanting to be a little girl!   What was I going to do?  And Kinsey still wanted COW stories, but she would hold my hand and peer around me looking for the maniac cows.  This couldn't go on!  I would be vilified!  The topic of therapy sessions and tell-all autobiographies.  The example of evil in every grandparenting book!

So we entered our PC phase where we talked about how COW was lonely and just wanted to have some fun.  I bought her a couple of little stuffed cows - she wouldn't touch them!  We learned the Old MacDonald Had a Farm song - especially the MooMoo here and MooMoo there.  Still scared.  When we were driving or riding around I would point out COWS everywhere I saw them - kind of desensitization therapy for 2-yr-olds.  Luckily, Chick-fil-A is big on COWS and there were big friendly COWS on their billboard, and inside the Chick-fil-A the welcome mat had a big picture of a COW, and there was a cardboard cutout of a COW near the counter.  Lots of pointing and touching and talking about COWS.  I also watched for any and all books that featured COWS in a positive light.  TIME will tell if I'm truly successful.  She seems more fascinated than scared now.  If Kinsey becomes a large animal vet or studies agriculture or marries a farmer - not so bad.  If she becomes COW-phobic,cannot venture outside any city limits as an adult, and needs years of therapy, I will deny deny deny.


So back to last night, Kinsey tells me she saw a COW and she's very excited.  I realize her milkshake comes from Chick-fil-A (It's called a CLUE, Grenah!) and that must be where she saw the COW.  (Her mommy confirms later in a phone call that Kinsey was very excited and yelled "MOMMY, LOOK!  COW!" while she was ordering.)  So I tell Kinsey we are going on an adventure and looking for cows.  It's only a 10 minute drive west to farm country; it's at least 40 minutes to sunset.  Plenty of time.  So we head west and then my cell phone rings.  Can I bring the car by the mechanic's just for a minute?  They have to SEE the hose they are replacing so they are sure to order the correct part.  Sigh. We do a U-turn and I tell Kinsey we have to run a  5-minute errand.  She doesn't mind.  She says, "We go get Harley and go on adventure."  (You see, she's decided the *FLB is her **"best friend" now.)  I say, "I don't think we'll have time to go get (gritting teeth) Harley."  She just nods her head and says, "We go get Harley.  Harley my best friend.  We take Harley on adventure."

That damn dog.

We wait at the automotive place 30 minutes instead of 5.  Kinsey is fascinated by the constant stream of people in and out, and by the picture of the Daytona Race Track painted around the top of the waiting room.  She alternately chews her straw and sucks her milkshake.  Several people speak to her and get the 3-yr-old mute stare.  I tell John the owner that she will not speak to him and he promises me that she will.  When we leave I say, "Bye, John!" with a smirk, and Kinsey says, "BYE!".  He laughs us out the door.

Now we have about 30 minutes left.  No time for Harley (HA!) and no time for COWS.  So we drive one mile east and around the big curve and park at the beach.  We spend the next 30 minutes walking and racing (well, she raced and I pretended) and picking up shells and climbing on mounds of sand and having a great time.  We get back to the car just as the sun truly sets and darkness surrounds us.  We meet her parents, shake off most of the sand on her shoes and rear end (when you climb you have to slide and fall dramatically, don't you know), hand her daddy his flashlight, and hand her mommy a milkshake cup with shells.

All in one hour.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

**A couple weeks ago Kinsey arrived at my condo and I took Harley out on his leash to meet her.  It's the first time she hasn't run to me and jumped in my arms.  She screamed, "HARLEY!" and ran to him. FLB.

Wild Kingdom

I was NOT going to post about this.  Not again.  But then...2 events in less than 12 hours?

So last night I take the *FLB out for his evening peepee.  I didn't even slip on my shoes, just strolled outside in my socks.  Didn't even turn on the outside light; my neighbor's outside light was on and light shined through my storm door glass.  I have to admit I felt a little nervous stepping in some shadowy places.  All the recent heebie-jeebie blogging has kept me in a rather agitated state - twitching now and then, feeling "things" in my hair, brushing my shoulder (what was that?).  I decided to quit being a baby and just take the damn dog out and not think about critters.

After his initial marking, the *FLB insisted on walking past the edge of light and to the line of grass along our fence.   I walked gingerly - looking carefully where I stepped and feeling foolish about it.  He dragged me all the way there, then stood on the pavement and stuck his nose in the grass.  That was going to accomplish nothing.  I "encouraged" him to step into the grass but he ignored me.  I became impatient and pulled him back to the patio telling him out loud, "No way, mister, am I standing in the dark so you can sniff the grass while standing on the pavement."  We walked back to my patio, I opened my back door, hustled Harley inside, and something skittered across my laundry room floor.

"Lizard!" I squealed.

Harley was skittering across the floor after the lizard-thing and I couldn't see around him to see what he was chasing.  I wasn't too concerned; I've had lizards (those little gecko lizards) get in the house before.  Harley always hunts them down and catches them.  It's his own life insurance policy.  And it fits with the 11th Commandment:

THOU SHALT NOT COME INTO MY HOUSE IF THOU IS A BUG OR SMALL CRITTER.  THOU SHALT LIVE OUTSIDE WHERE THOU BELONGEST AND WILL BE LEFT ALONEST.  IN MY HOUSE THOU ART FAIR GAME AND WILL BE HUNTED AND KILLED.

 So I encouraged Harley, "Get the lizard!", but then I saw it.  It was a small brown tree frog.

SCARY MUSIC PLAYS....

 I pulled Harley away; thank goodness he was still leashed.  The frog looked unharmed and I really wanted him back outside.  I don't like how they jump and I don't like their little sucker feet.  Tree frogs don't hop like toads  Toads hop and move a few inches here or there.  Tree frogs JUMP 4 or 5 FEET in the air.

One time a tree frog jumped through our front door - well not THROUGH the front door - but my brother opened the door and the tree frog jumped through the open front door - and the entire family (except for my father who was watching TV in his recliner - erupted in shouting and screaming as the tree frog jumped down the hallway and around the dining room.  The tree frog jumped from the floor onto my dad's HEAD and then hopped onto the living room wall with 4 kids and a beagle chasing him.  We actually chased that frog back out the front door before my dad even realized what happened.

So...back to last night....I stepped over the frog and tried to shoo him out the back door but he jumped up on the door, then jumped back into the room.  I screeched like a banshee - I thought the little sucker was going to jump on ME.  He jumped onto the wall behind the door.  He was hanging on the extra-long leash that hangs behind the door and I made one more attempt to get him out by removing the leash with him on it.  He jumped again.

That must be when I peed my pants.

I was fed up and decided he had broken the 11th commandment.  I unleashed Harley and said, "There he is, you can have him."  And that *FLB looked all over the wall and couldn't see him!  I had to practically take his face and point it at the frog!  What's up with that?  He can see a cat 300 yards down the street!

So the *FLB jumped up and grabbed the frog off the wall, but then he dropped it on the floor and it started hopping all around the room again.  I screamed some more, but this time I added some moon-dancing and ultra-studio-54-twitch moves, too.  Harley grabbed the frog again and finally took him into the kitchen to "play" with him.

Now don't get all "the poor frog" on me.  I did the best I could.  If his little sucker-feet had touched me I wouldn't be here blogging to you today.  I did feel bad because Harley played with him a LONG time.  A really LONG time.  I finally couldn't listen to him anymore and went to bed.  I even felt guilty.

This morning I looked for the ... remains...but Harley was guarding it.  I said a quick prayer that the little frog was dead and hadn't suffered too much.  No, I didn't really, but it sounds nice to say.   I knew I'd find him in the afternoon and give him a proper burial - wrapped in a thick wad of paper towels and scrunched into the trash can.

I took Harley for his morning walk. 

We were returning from our walk and came around the corner of our building when Harley smelled or spotted something.  He was acting aggressive so my first guess was a cat.  It's DARK when we take our walk and I carry a flashlight.  I haven't forgotten that a green-and-brown snake lives under my septic-bucket.  And I don't want to step on anything living or dead.  So I pointed my flashlight where Harley was straining to go.  I saw something....gray.......an armadillo.  eewww.  He standing over by the septic-bucket-snake-house.  Harley went ballistic - barking and pulling and twisting on the end of his leash.  The armadillo looked at us for a couple seconds (another big eewww) then hurried up the septic tank hill and into the brush. 

Kind of explains all the little holes in the yard and the lack of slugs this summer.  Maybe I'll just put a fence around the property and sell tickets. 

*FLB = freakin' little bastard

I MAY BE DUM BUT I AREN'T STUPID: HARLEY GAMES

One of the first "tricks" or behaviors that I taught Harley was sitting and staying for his meal.  In order to eat he has to sit and stay until I release him with the "OK" command.  It is really one of the easiest things to teach a dog because you do it at least once a day and it involves what the dog lives for - MEALTIME.  No matter how bad the dog is or how wild or how stupid he seems, he can do this.  Before I ever attended a dog training class or watched "It's Me or the  Dog" or "The Dog Whisperer" all of my dogs learned this behavior.

From time to time Harley does bark or jump up and down while waiting for his meal.  I then remind him to sit, stay, and be QUIET, then I count to 3 (silently), and release him with an OK.  In his first year with me I would often test him by saying some other word with the same tone, then stop him if he got up.  Believe me, he has this command DOWN.

Several months ago I found myself repeating the OK command.  I set the dish down on the floor, said, "OK" and Harley just sat there looking at me.

"OK!" I repeated.  He then got up and walked to his dish.  This didn't happen often enough to make me even think about it, just often enough to make me repeat myself.  Then I found myself repeating the OK command more than once.  I started wondering if he was losing his hearing.  I didn't give it a lot of thought; I was usually rushing off to work in the mornings when this happened.

Then it started happening in the afternoons.  I would find myself saying, "ok", "OK", OK! Harley!  OK!"  before he would get up and walk to his dish to eat.  What was wrong with him?  Did he really not hear me?  Was I saying it differently?  I still didn't give it a lot of thought, but as it continued and it started to happen at each and every meal, I became annoyed.  I knew the *FLB could hear!  Good gosh,  he could be chewing on a toy in my bedroom and hear a dog walking up the street through a closed living room window!

It occurred to me one day that I NEVER have to repeat the OK command when I'm giving Harley a treat.  What?  A very nasty suspicion took root in my mind and I narrowed my eyes.  "Bastard," I whispered.  I decided to test him.

I touched the lid on his treat jar.  He ran out from my bedroom and jumped around me.  No hearing problem there.  I told him to sit and I used the hand gesture I had learned at dog training.  No, not that hand gesture.  Just a fist that you kind of dip at the dog.  He sat and wagged his tail so hard I wondered if it would detach itself and fly off.

I removed a dog biscuit from the jar and put the lid back on.  The jar and lid are ceramic so the lid always makes a sound whether you are taking it off or putting it on.    Harley started jumping for joy again.

"Oh, boy!  Oh, boy!" he thought as he jumped around my legs.

"Sit," I repeated.  He sat and wagged his tail as hard as he could.  His tongue hung out and his eyes watched that treat like a cat watches a mouse just before she pounces.

"Stay," I said as I put the treat on the floor.  He quivered with the strain of behaving.  He drooled and stared at the dog biscuit.

I stepped away a few feet and in a normal tone of voice said, "Ok."  Before I could draw a breath he had jumped on the treat and run off to the living room with his treasure.

"Hm," I mused.  Slowly it dawned on me.  Harley was messing with me.  For months Harley had been messing with me!  There was no other explanation!  I felt almost betrayed!  Almost.  I knew he was a little bastard, but I didn't realize he could really screw with my head that way.  The months of executing his little plan - what tenacity he showed.  Gradually increasing the amount of OKs he would get before he would eat.  DAMN.

Well, the jig was up.  That afternoon at his dinnertime I called him to the kitchen, told him to "Sit", put his dish filled with food down on the floor, and said,"Ok."  He sat there and looked at me as if he hadn't heard me.  Oh, the treachery.

I walked away.

I sat in my chair in the living room and looked back at him.  He was still sitting but he had twisted his head all the way around and was watching me.  I picked up a book and began reading.  Seconds ticked by.  Then I heard it.  Crunching.

Bastard.

NATURE VS NURTURE: PART DOS

Just 2 or 3 weeks ago I was in the kitchen where I work fixing a cup of coffee to take back to the office.  Carolee is the kitchen assistant and part-time chef.  This particular morning she rushed into the kitchen in an absolute frenzy.  She looked possessed.  

"I don't know how I'm ever going to get home," she muttered.  "Is it on me?  Do you see anything on me?"

"No, you look fine," I answered.

"No, I mean, do you see anything ON me?" she asked.  She was brushing her hands up and down her clothes and running them through her hair.

I checked her over.

"No, nothing," I reassured her.

"Good," Carolee said, but she wasn't convincing.  "That means he's still in the car.  How am I ever going to get home?"

Bit by bit her story emerged.

Carolee has to be at work at 7am when she is the kitchen assistant; that means leaving her home in Flagler Beach before 6:15.  This time of year it is still very dark at until almost 7:00.  That morning she got into her car and headed north on A1A to St. Augustine.  A1A runs along the ocean part of the way, then veers inland through the Hammock, a heavily wooded area, then runs back along the ocean. For most of the trip it is dark; there are few lights until you enter St. Augustine Beach.

Carolee was zipping along just minding her own business when she passed a an open and well-lit gas station.  Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something on her rear view mirror.  A second horrified look confirmed that it was a ... banana spider!  
 

At nearly the same instant that she identified the THING on her rear view mirror she passed into the darkness of the Hammock. She careened along A1A terrified that monster was going to jump on her.  She couldn't stop.  What was she going to do?  It was pitch black on the two-lane road; she'd get run over!  (Besides, if she stopped in the woods in the dark and got out of the car how many BUGS, SNAKES, GATORS, ETC. would be waiting for THEIR CHANCE to attack her on the side of the road?)  She squeezed over against the door and kept staring back and forth between the road and the dark rear view mirror.  Was it still there?  Was it looking at her?  What if it was gone?  Where was it?

She rocketed out of the Hammock, past Marineland, and into the brief spot where A1A widens and has street lights next to 3 high rise condominiums.  THERE HE WAS!  He had spun a short web and was HANGING FROM THE REAR VIEW MIRROR.  OMG!  If she took a curve too fast he would start swinging and swing RIGHT INTO HER FACE!!!!

The street lights disappeared behind her; she and her passenger were thrown into pitch darkness again.  She slowed a bit so she could navigate curves without causing the spider to sway or swing.  She couldn't see him at all and hoped against hope that she wouldn't FEEL anything for the next several miles while she pushed ahead in the dark. 

When she entered St. Augustine Beach and the accompanying street lights she looked for the spider; he was gone.  GONE?  Where was he?  She looked all around and twisted and fidgeted in her seat; one minute tensing because she thought she felt something, the next minute brushing herself off frantically.  For the next terrifying 6-8 miles she looked in vain for that spider - and dreaded feeling him on her leg or in her hair or on her arm, or ON HER NECK or ON HER FACE.

The sun was rising as she crossed the temporary bridge over the Matanzas  River into St. Augustine and there he was!  He was scuttling across her headliner "about 90 mph!".  Thank God, he was running AWAY from her.  She hurtled the last couple miles through town and down the cobblestoned and very bumpy St. George Street and into our parking lot.  She slammed on the brakes, turned off her car, opened the door, and tried frantically to get out of her car.  SOMETHING WAS HOLDING HER IN AND WOULDN'T LET GO!  It was her seatbelt.  She jammed the release button and almost fell out of her car.  She slammed the door shut and stood there for several minutes, just glad to be alive and spider-free.

I really tried not to laugh, because it could have been me and I would have been just as upset, but, the truth is, it wasn't me and I started laughing and couldn't stop.  That morning she didn't see any humor in the situation.  She demanded to know how she was going to get home; I suggested she leave her windows down so he could get out.

"NO!" Carolee said.  "Do you know how many creepy-crawlies live in the parking lot?"

I didn't have any more suggestions so I patted her shoulder and took my coffee back to the office.  I ran my fingers through my hair and brushed off my arms a couple times on the way.

I don't want to say Carolee was obsessed with this banana spider, but she admitted later she asked everyone that morning for an answer to her dilemma.  I don't think she met with too many sympathetic responses.  After breakfast service ended she asked Mike, our maintenance guy, if he had any bug spray.  He gave her a big can of Raid.  Carolee opened the hatch of her Yarus, aimed and fired.  She DRENCHED her car.  She said she could see the spray clinging to some webs in there, so she knew the banana spider had been busy.  She shut the hatch, then opened her driver's side door and DRENCHED her car in poison.  She sprayed until the can was empty.  Then she shut the door and went back to work.

When it was time to go home she took a couple of rags and used them to wipe her seat and the steering wheel.  She rolled down her window, but left the others up.  She drove home with her interior reeking of poison, one window down, and the air conditioner blowing full blast.  She didn't see the spider.  (That much poison probably disintegrated him!)  She had been home for about an hour when her significant other Russ said he was going to take the car to run an errand.  "OK," she answered.

When Russ returned he wanted to know what the HELL happened to her her car!  His hands were all sticky from the door, the steering wheel, the controls.  The interior was covered in something sticky and gross!  What was it?  She told him that if he ever LISTENED to her that he would know it was RAID and that she had bombed the car's interior to kill a spider.

Russell took the car to a car wash place and the rumor is he used the high velocity spray to clean the interior.  He never saw the spider.

HARLEY - YOUR BRAIN IS HOW BIG?

Three months after I adopted my trusty terrier Harley (the *FLB) from the Humane Society my daughter was hospitalized with pneumonia.  This was not Harley's fault and I am not blaming him.  By this time Harley and I had been through the dog obedience class taught by the Humane Society, and we had started to bond.  Somewhat.  My sister and her adorable 8-month-old Golden-shepherd-mix named Max were also in the class.  Guess which couple got oohed-and-aahed over?  The class was made up of all adoptees and catered to their "issues", such as not being socialized, psychological damage from abuse or neglect, not being house-trained, aggresiveness, and fear.

*Please note that nowhere on the ID card attached to Harley's cage when I adopted him did it list any of these potential problems.  Here is what I learned about Harley in the three months following his adoption:
(we're going to compare with the ID card attached to his cage at the shelter)


Name:  Harley       
(Probably true - at that time he would look at me if I called him Harley - of course he looked at me if I called him *FLB, dog, WHAT THE ....!, hey you, want a treat, and want to go for a ride?

Gender:  Male      
Definitely true - I had him neutered before I brought him home but only a male would raise his leg so often and so high.  How high?  High enough that he actually flipped himself over one time.  Not kidding.

Age: 1 year
I guess so.  My only other guess is that he's older than Satan himself and will never be carbon-dated.

Likes:  children and dogs
As I mentioned in my previous post he started a fight with a chow-mix at obedience class.  By then I'd already been warned to keep a tight leash on Harley because he growled and barked at some of the other dogs - not all the other dogs - just the aggressive and scary ones.  I didn't dare let him near children; however, he now has developed a "mutual respect" relationship with my 3-yr-old granddaughter.  He understands that HE IS DEAD if he harms a hair on her head and that she has carte blanche with him.  :o)   Not really, I have to protect them from each other.  sigh.

Dislikes:  cats
Dislikes is not strong enough - obsessed with cats, hates cats, despises cats.

Story:  child developed allergy to dog
My butt...these people had had enough of ruined carpets, chewed up books, dog hair everywhere, and decided to dump him quick.  They probably told their kids the dog ran away.

So...we had been through obedience school and were starting to bond.  Sometime in April my 29-year-old incredibly healthy RN daughter Mary is hospitalized with pneumonia.  And doesn't get better...gets sicker every day.  Longest week of my life.  I spent the entire week going to work, going home to walk Harley, going to the hospital, and going home to sleep.  Thursday Mary finally started getting better.  I decided to take a 30 minute break from the hospital, and take Harley over to my sister's house to play with Max.  The two dogs were best friends and were the funniest pair to watch, especially since Max was more than double Harley's size.

My younger daughter Melissa had driven down from Atlanta to visit her sick sister and we both decided to enjoy the spring evening and put the top down on the convertible.  I drove, Melissa rode shotgun, and the leashed-up Harley rode in the backseat.  I kept the other end of the leash on my right wrist so that he wouldn't jump out of the car if he saw another dog or, God help us all, a cat.  We drove the 2 miles to my sister's house and made the last turn onto her street doing about 15 mph.  As I straightened the wheel I heard something funny and realized at the same time I couldn't see Harley.  The leash attached to my wrist disappeared over the side of my car!

Simultaneously I screamed, "Where's Harley?!" and stopped the car.  Melissa looked over her door and shouted, "He's next to the car!"  I turned off the ignition, jumped out, and ran around to the passenger side.  Harley was panting and limped over to me.  I picked him up; the pads on his paws were all torn up.  I held him to me and shouted for Melissa to drive us the few remaining feet to my sister's house.  She raced around the car, jumped in, and pulled into my sister Sheila's driveway seconds later.  Melissa ran into the house and I took Harley around through the back fence to their screened porch.  I was in hysterics and didn't know what to do!

Sheila kept her cool and looked up emergency vets in the Yellow Pages while I tried to examine Harley.  He acted like he was in shock and his poor paws looked like raw meat.  I couldn't find any other injuries but I was terrified of internal injuries; I didn't know if I'd hit him or bumped him with the car.  Meanwhile an awful stench kept making us all look around.  It smelled kind of like feces but much much worse; however, we couldn't find anything on Harley or nearby.  Sheila called the 24-hour animal hospital, got directions, and Melissa and I were soon on our way.

I am grateful for the kind personnel at the emergency hospital; they cleaned Harley's wounds (which involved trimming his pads...ewww....) and examined him thoroughly and bandaged him up.  About $200 and 3 hours after Melissa, Harley, and I set off on our "quick break" we were back home.  I took the pictures right after we got home.  He was still looking pretty pitiful at that time.  The vet said that from the appearance of Harley's injuries, she would guess that when I slowed for the turn, Harley jumped out with his legs rigid, and tore up his paws when he hit the ground, because he was stopped and the car wasn't.

The funny sound I had heard (now the urge to giggle starts bubbling in my throat)...the funny sound I heard was Harley trying to run 15 mph on legs that are about 6 inches long.  What?  Not funny? Just try to picture it and NOT LAUGH.  And before you judge me, did you ever see American Vacation with Chevy Chase?  Remember what happened to Aunt Edna's dog?

"Once again on their way, the family stops at a picnic area, only to discover that Dinky the dog has urinated on the picnic basket. Everyone is revolted — except Aunt Edna, who shrugs off the flavor and continues eating. After leaving the smelly "Kamp Komfort", in South Fork, Colorado, they learn from an enraged motorcycle policeman (James Keach) that they have driven off with Dinky still tied to the rear bumper. The deceased dog apparently kept pace with the car "for a mile or so".

TELL ME you didn't laugh when you watched that scene! Besides, Harley only ran for about 10-15 seconds before I realized what that sound was.  It's not like I dragged him for MILES through the desert or anything. 

And the smell?  I asked the vet why my arm that had held Harley smelled liked the worst kind of feces, and why we smelled that odor all around us in Sheila's neighborhood that evening.  Well... when an animal is really frightened sometimes they.... "express" their anal glands.  So basically, Harley scared himself shxtless - but instead of pooping he squeezed out all his anal gland stuff.  (You're not eating, are you?)

I realized during that whole episode how much the little terrier meant to me.  I was really and truly scared!  I went out and purchased a seat belt for him so he could ride safely in my car with the top down.  I had stopped adding up the costs** of the "free pound pup".  Not really, but it sounds nice to say.  If you think I'm being unfeeling or cavalier about the whole thing take a look at Harley on the day AFTER the accident.

He's already pulled off one of the foot bandages (left rear).  This picture shows him staring out my living room window at some offending CAT or DOG walking by HIS house.  Does he look harmed in any way? 

Don't you just love the cone around his head?  Let me tell you...I'd take him for his walk and he would put his head down to sniff and get that cone stuck in the grass every time.  OMG it was so funny!  Like a Bugs Bunny cartoon!  The cone would get stuck and he would still take one or two more steps before he'd realize he was stuck!  He was and has been unending entertainment.

*FLB=freaking little bastard

**Adoption fee, neutering, crate, library book, new jacket, carpet, dog food, dog dishes, collar, leash, ID tag, Special Iams dog food for SENSITIVE TUMMIES, toys, obedience class fee, emergency vet bill, doggie seat belt

And thanks for all your wonderful comments!  And for following my blog.  It is gratifying to share my stories.  Anyone want to adopt a free completely house-trained small non-shedding terrier?  Just kidding.  Call me.  No, I'm just kidding.  Seriously, call me or email.  I'll pay the shipping.

Simple Pleasures

 

A brisk sea breeze after another unseasonably hot muggy day in the 90's....
Watching a little girl chase sandpipers...she runs as fast as she can as her arms pump back and forth with the effort....the birds run faster then fly away from the 3-year-old tornado....she laughs and looks to makes sure her grandmother is close by....

A beautiful sunset...pink underscores the darkening clouds...

The sound of the surf....endless...eternal....reassuring....never changing....

Back home there is a shower with much giggling and "I do it!"....shampoo and suds....

Cereal and milk....fruit....toast.....

Dancing to the Backyardigans CD....those soft little arms pumping again...."Dance with me, Grenah!"..."do your arms like this, Grenah!"

Bedtime will come and we should both sleep well.....

The Cure

A walk on the beach can cure just about anything.  Crabbiness, resentment, fatigue, and boredom are no match for the feeling of sand between your toes, or warm surf washing over your feet.  The experience is only improved by having a companion of either the human or canine persuasion along for the walk.

This evening LuAnn popped her laptop shut and announced she needed a break.  I had recently awakened from a nap and was sitting in a stupor in front of my own laptop.  LuAnn asked if I wanted to walk on the beach with her - ABSOLUTELY!  I hooked Harley to his leash, grabbed a couple of poop bags and the key, and off we went.  It was hot and sticky outside but once we passed the tall sand dunes we could feel the cool sea breeze.

One of the many things I love about the beach is I never know what I'll see that day.  Today we saw a wedding being set up with five rows of white chairs wrapped in pale green tulle, an arbor, and a 3-piece string ensemble warming up.  We set off to the south and had walked only a few minutes before Harley took offense to another dog walking toward us, so, in keeping with Victoria Blackwell's (It's Me or the Dog) training, I turned us around and headed in the opposite direction.  (That deprived Harley the fun of going nutso on the end of his leash.)  As we walked we saw sandpipers, a bird that looked like a large sandpiper, a man and woman each carrying a black bucket and picking up shells, a trio of young people taking pictures of each other with the sunset in the background, a dead fish which LuAnn guessed might be a mackerel, a small school of minnows swimming in the shallows, and a few couples reclining on blankets and being affectionate with each other. 

When we returned to our "spot" the wedding was just starting.  We had to wait because the "aisle" was our path between the sand dunes.  First the mothers were escorted between the dunes. The bridesmaids followed, dressed in darling purple cocktail dresses (and barefoot). The string ensemble switched from Pachelbel's Canon in D to the traditional Wedding march and the bride appeared, dressed in a long white gown and veil, and escorted by (I assume) her father.  It was lovely.

While we were waiting we were joined by a family of 3 (dad, mom & daughter); the dad snapped photos of everything while we were waiting. (And next in our family vacation pictures you see a wedding of perfect strangers...?)   A couple of women in bathing suits carrying beach chairs stopped beside us, then a man pulling an ocean kayak on a 3-wheeled contraption came to a halt and watched.  A guy on a motorized bike zipped by just as the bride was arriving at the arbor, so their videographer may have to edit that out.  Of course, that's part of a beach wedding; the beach is public property and the public is ....well...unedited.

The best part?  Whatever grumpiness, resentment, and fatigue I was feeling earlier was totally gone.