I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the last couple of years reading about shelter animals and rescue dogs, and the number of puppies and kittens that are brought back to shelters after the holidays is staggering. I’m not going to get on my soapbox for long, but I would like to make a request in that I’d like for anyone that is considering a puppy this year to consider a couple of options.

One option is to consider a fully grown dog or cat from a shelter or a rescue site. Dogs are often trained and do well with children. They can be just as cute and cuddly as puppies and need just as much love. They are silly and friendly and sweet. They also piddle on the floor a lot less. Cats are independent and don’t need much to be amused. They are easily potty-trained and if you ever wanted to know what to do with empty toilet-rolls, now you know.

If you absolutely must have a puppy or kitten, please find them at a shelter, if you can. Shelters are overrun in the cold weather and the number of animals that are put to sleep is astounding.

Lastly, when you get your new animal, please take care of it’s doggy/kitty parts and make sure it can’t procreate. It helps keep the pet population down and animals from being stuck in poor situations.

My dog, Sophie, is one of the joys of my life. She was rescued by a family about 2 hours from where I live and I wouldn’t trade her for anything. When I’m sick she sleeps by my side. When I wake up in the morning she cuddles me. When I leave the house, she cries because she can’t go with me. As I type this, I sit cross-legged on my recliner. Sophie is at my feet. She wasn’t a puppy when I got her and she’s not the most beautiful dog in the world. I love her tremendously and she is one of my best friends.

You can see my right sidebar for Dogs in Danger, which is a site that lets you know about dogs that are in Kill shelters and need a home near you. You can also donate to the humane society there. You can google for shelters in your area and Petfinder.com often allows shelters to use them as a resource.

Please help save an animal this season. Dogs, cats, turtles, you name it, need a good home. If you choose an animal this year, please be a responsible pet owner.

Blaspheme, right? It’s true. Part of being a parent means that I have to do the hard work such as disciplining my child when he misbehaves or chooses to mess around in class as opposed to choosing to learn and distract those around him. This makes my job as a parent difficult and unenjoyable.

Lately, AJ has been testing his independence and his boundaries at school. This week he forgot something necessary at school and, as such, he ended up going to bed early and his dog was not allowed to sleep in his bedroom. In this house, one thing is always true: Wherever my child goes, so goes his dog. There has never been a more loyal dog than that dachshund to her boy.

What I knew was that the separation of the two was going to hurt one person: me. Why is this? Because AJ was going to go to sleep and I was going to be left with the whiny, leaky eyed dog that would look at the gaited stairs and turn eyes on me that were alternately hateful, pitiful and pleading. This is exactly what happened. She would go to the gate at the stairs and stand there for 10 minutes at a time while looking up at the darkened stairs and waiting for him to come down to get her. When it didn’t happen, she would come to me, grunt sadly and run back to the stairs. Her message was clearly “Please let me be with him.”

I had to say no. Over 100 times in the 4 hours I was awake after he went to bed did I say no. Eventually, she wore herself out and curled up on my legs. When I finally went to bed she calmly waited at the gate for me to allow her up. When I didn’t, she whined at me and watched me climb the stairs. I glanced at her sadly and went to bed.

Two hours later, I awoke and, eyes half closed, headed for the bathroom door. I happened to look down the stairs and she sat there, quietly and patiently, waiting for her boy.

In the morning, I cannot imagine what their reunion was like, but my son has been on his best behavior ever since and she has not left his side. He also has not forgotten a single bit of work since. Sometimes, a reminder of the people we let down by our failures can be the most honest motivator in our lives.

And sometimes people aren’t actually people but the vision of a dog that loves you more than anything standing alone in the dark waiting for you to come for her…

One of my favorite things about summertime is the storms. The outrageous, amazing, beautiful, loud, house-shaking, booming, scary movie, better wrap yourself in a blanket and have some hot chocolate and snuggle with your honey thunderstorms that hit the South are this wondrous creation that you have to experience to believe. I’ve mentioned my love of the storms while I was growing up in Illinois. There are few things I like better than a good thunderstorm. I like to sit in my car and watch it through the sunroof. Or through the windows of my house. Or if I’m at a house with a screened in porch, that is the bees knees, right there. If a slight breeze is to be had to give me goose pimples, oh goodness, that is about the best to be had.

It’s about my idealized version of heaven.

I do love a good storm.

Not everyone shares my feelings of a storm. No, not everyone.

Not even everyone in my house. The humans are fine with it. Generally, they think of it as a burden to their baseball schedules. Well, with the exception of this human who clearly finds it a delightful slice of life. The turtle and the cat seem to be a-ok oblivious to the storm and think of it as another sound effect to a life of monotony. And 3 out of 4 dogs like to snuggle under the blanket and beg for the hot chocolate.

But that 1 dog…she is an unhappy little noodlehead when it comes to thunderstorms. She’s a much better predictor than the weatherman, bless his heart. I can tell a storm is coming about 45 minutes early. Her ears will perk and the whining starts. She can be in her kennel or in the house.

When she’s out of her kennel, immediately she jumps on the couch and her head goes into my lap. She begs for ear rubbing and looks at me like we are going to die. Right now. She’s serious. Rub her ears because we are going to bite it.

T-minus 20 minutes to storm. Her butt starts to wiggle and she tries to put all 35 pounds of her directly onto my lap.

T-minus 10 minutes to storm. I hear a wailing like that of a banshee who has been caught by a death eater who has just been told this is his last snack and he must om nom nom before lethal injection.

T-minus 3 minutes and counting. She paces the floor like an expectant father while continuing to wail and look at me like I’m a jerk who won’t stop the weather. This includes me looking at her like her voicebox is optional in dogs.

Storm-time. She is back in my lap, shaking like a leaf while I croon to her and whisper all kinds of human soothing noises that dogs don’t understand because, according to my son, “Dogs don’t speak English.” After about 5 minutes, Molly is fine again because, “Oh, hey, it’s just a storm.”

The three tiny dogs are looking at her like, “The big dumb dog just got it, let’s go fight over our chewy!” and the world is again at peace in the house.

The last gift I opened said “This certificate redeemable for one puppy of your choice!”

Oh, the excitement and joy! I knew exactly what I wanted: a blonde cocker spaniel. My mother, who tends to hate animals, stipulated “this is an outdoor animal” while I cajoled and begged and pleaded.

On New Year’s Eve, we finally found him. The most beautiful blonde cocker spaniel puppy there ever was. He hid from everything and because of his introversion, I called him my little “Shadow.” Later, I realized that it was a name mostly reserved for black animals, but I was 11. Cut me some slack.

In a rule that I still think was completely moronic, I was required to spend an hour a day with Shadow. I didn’t mind the hour, but there were days it was freezing outside and this was not an easy task. When it was at the freezing point or raining, I could bring him into a shed we had in the back yard or into the garage. I remember holding him in my lap and stroking his long, soft ears for so many of those hours and, though he was an incredibly hyper dog, he let me.

My time got shorter as I got older and became more involved with school and work. I took my first real job at 15 and I had to “make up” the time on the weekends, when I could. This led to some days where I would attempt to entertain Shadow for four hours at a stretch and he grew weary of me.

As he grew older, the gate in our backyard did, as well, and he grew more mischievous. He began to break free of his jail more and more frequently and somehow, no one had enough time to fix the gate. I spent hours searching for him and thankfully, because he had a collar, we always managed to find him.

Until early one morning over the summer of my 18th year.

The phone rang and woke me out of a sound sleep. It was my grandmother and asked me if my dog was missing. I had no idea and looked out the backyard where I could see the gate standing wide open. We’d had a storm the night before and I had no idea how long it had been open. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said that yes, I thought he might be.

Her voice quivered and said that her neighbor had called and said a dog had been hit in front of her house. It had been grazed by a car and was still breathing, but it wasn’t going to make it. It wasn’t bleeding, but the collar had my name on it. Was it mine?

I couldn’t speak.

My grandmother said that animal control had been called to come get the dog and not to bother coming to see him. He wasn’t going to make it.

I still regret not coming to see him. I was such a coward. He lay there alone.

30 minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. A tall man stood there and gently removed his ball cap. His eyes filled with tears and he said, “I got your dog in my truck. He got hit by a car. He didn’t make it.”

I nodded mutely and stared at the words forming at his mouth.

“He ain’t bleeding or nothin’. He looks fine. You can see him if you want to.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks and I shook my head head softly from side to side.

“I’ll take good care of him, miss. They don’t always take good care of these dogs, you know, but I knew he was special, this one. You took real good care of him and groomed him and everything, didn’t ya? I’ll take care of him, myself. I’ll make sure he’s ok, miss.”

I tried to smile and croaked out a thank you as the tears continued to roll from my eyes. He nodded slightly and backed down the concrete steps. He took one last look to the back of his truck, where I knew my dog lay.

I couldn’t close the door until the truck was out of sight.

All dogs go to heaven. I can’t believe in a heaven that doesn’t have them. They are the most pure hearts besides children and if there is an all-encompassing creator, surely He loves the pure hearts. If He doesn’t, then what kind of heaven would it be? I don’t want to be anywhere that doesn’t have my dogs.

Sometimes I dream of petting long, soft ears…

Really, don’t.

I got emotional and upset and hugged my dogs even closer. The truth of the matter is that animals get the short end of the stick quite often. I have three of the most amazing creatures I have ever met and one smart aleck cat who hates me. Animals are important to me and always have been. If you’ve been reading, you saw what happened when I got attached to the chickens. This has been true for every animal I’ve ever had. Except for Francis. Anyway, I know that there are important diseases and people give money to charity all the time. They don’t want to be harassed into parting with their money for something like animal care and prevention of animal cruelty. I can’t explain to you why this is more important than health care or scientific research, except to say that when I’m sad or hurt, my animals help me more than any human I’ve ever met. They soothe me like nothing else. They understand, listen and hug in a way that I need without judgment. Sometimes, the things that seem unimportant in life are the things that get you through when you need it the most.

With that in mind, I’d like to organize a small donation in the amount of $250 for the ASPCA. This is on my heart and if you can give even $1 per person, I’d make this in no time. If you can give more, you help for those that can’t right now. I’m not giving up until I meet my goal, so the sooner I meet it, the less you have to hear about it. Also, if you have an animal that is important to you, I’d like to hear about him or her.

EDIT: I called the ASPCA, as donations were not showing on the widget, and apparently donations do not show up for TEN days. If you email me the amount donated, I will keep a running tally without divulging your name on the post. Sorry about that.

Running tally: $30

This made me laugh so hard I cried. Dogs are hysterical. Finicky little buggers.

Oh dear.

Mama would have to put the smack down on this.

In this story, the poky little puppy wandered to another land, far, far away. A place where puppies aren’t safe. A place called South Korea. And in this place, the Poky little puppy had his DNA cloned and merged with genes similar to those of a sea anemone, which is an underwater creature. This was done by a scientist who said that he was was doing it to produce a puppy that, because of a long lifespan, might help cure human illness. However, what this merging did was TURN THE PUPPY INTO A GLOWSTICK!!!!

For comparison: The glowstick

Glowstick 1.0

The puppy:

Poky puppy 2.0

Please, enlighten me?

AJ: “Mom, can we get some shade over here? I’m really hot?”
Me: “How would you like me to do that?”
AJ: “I don’t know, but I’m really hot.”
Me: “I tell you what, I can turn up the air, but that’s all I can do. I’m sorry I can’t turn off the sun for you.”

May 15, 2009

Last night, I’d broken down and had Leon get us some cookies to satisfy a minor craving I’d been having. We’d had them less than 24 hours and had hidden them from AJ because the only thing he likes more than cookies and cake is ice cream.

He went in the kitchen to find a spoon and lo and behold:

Messenger conversation:3:45pm
Me: He has already found the cookies. Amazing.
Leon: What? What was he looking for?
Me: A spoon. Even though they were right in front of his face. I’m telling you–he has cookie sixth sense.

May 16, 2009

We’d gotten up early for a Little League game that had, at the last minute, been canceled due to rain, but could possibly be rescheduled for later in the day. AJ was trying to decide which of the dogs I would bring to the game with me, as is normal for us.

Me: “I don’t know that I will bring any dog to the game. You don’t get to decide if I bring one because you don’t have to keep an eye on them during the game.”

AJ: (eyeing me closely and shrewdly) “You can always go back to bed.”

Was he implying I was cranky?

We live in a nice, safe neighborhood that is filled with well-manicured lawns and well-designed sidewalks. Daily, Duder, Weiner and Pea lose their noodles over people who walk or ride bicycles past the house because the area invites us to get out and move. I have a membership to a local place, but the beauty of the weather, when it hasn’t been raining, has beckoned me to get out and move. Well, that and the dogs are eating us out of house and home and I’m afraid that they won’t be able to get up the steps if they don’t exercise soon. I’m not kidding. Weiner could pass for a Sumo-dog and Pea is getting close to Shamu proportions.

So, I ordered them some harnesses because they are adept at getting out of collars, especially Pea who is like Houdini. For the record, I like Puppia harnesses and I don’t get paid anything to endorse them. They are comfortable and they keep my dogs safe. That’s what matters to me.

What I’ve been doing is taking the dogs around the neighborhood several times. They are so good! They don’t do their business on anyone’s yard and they walk at a brisk pace, which keeps me on track. Pea is good for a couple of trips around, which is good for her little legs. However, this is where Weiner isn’t just good: She SHINES. She’s like a miniature Energizer Bunny. She will go around the block as many times as you’ll take her. She’ll walk quickly and be a good dog. There is no sniffing for a sweet spot. She’s all business. We’re here to walk.

I wondered how effective our walks were as exercise. I go for about 45 minutes. Thanks to a book I’m reading, I was pointed to a website, CalorieControl.org, that tells me exactly how effective my walks are and I was blown away. I’m not going to tell you how many calories I burn while taking care of my dogs, but it was a lot. How many calories are you burning every day? Was it more or less than you thought? This is a great resource and I’m glad to have found it.

My dogs are just glad to get out of the house.

The focus of the show was on a program called “Puppies behind Bars.” The program gives puppies to inmates in prison and has them train dogs to be service dogs for disabled, handicapped and ex-servicemen from the military who have needs. The show focused on how the dogs change both the lives of the prisoners and the lives of the servicemen for the better.

Now, I have no problem showing emotion, but I was doing everything could to hold it together for this one because if I let it start, it wasn’t going to stop. Dogs are special to me because I know what they can do to heal someone’s spirit. I’ve long considered using my dogs in therapy and it may yet happen. To watch these incarcerated men, some for violent crime, break down and weep because of these dogs, was heart-wrenching. To see someone with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder slowly healing with the help of a dog was humbling. We all want unconditional love, don’t we?

April 18, 2009
I want to heartily thank the person who decided to flush the toilet/start the dishwasher/start the wash machine while I was in the shower this morning. At that point I was still so asleep that I was cleansing myself with one eye closed and was in the middle of a deep condition for my back length hair, which takes approximately the same amount of time it would take me to read Moby Dick and slay the beast myself. I would like to take this sidebar to remind you that Karma is a fierce mistress and I will be courting her with a passion until she shows you the error of your transgressions.

April 20, 2009
The other day I was driving to school and I saw a really large African American man who looked completely “ghetto.” He had on his head-kerchief, his football jersey and walked with a swagger that would scare an U.S. Ranger. I drove up behind him and noticed something hanging from him hand. I looked off to his side and saw the smallest wiener dog I’ve ever seen in my life. As I drove in front of him, I watched him in my rearview mirror. He was cooing at that little dog like it was the most important thing in his life and dragging it along behind him while the poor thing tried to pee. Ah, love.

My smallest dog, Pea, is a cuddler. When I’m home, she is my shadow and is, for all purposes, attached to my hip. At night, if she can’t be near me, she will cry and whine for me. I know, I know. Spoiled doesn’t begin to cover it. She was a rescue dog and I think that I overcompensated for her past hurts by allowing her to do whatever it was that she wanted to do without fear of repercussion. Her perky personality and love of any food that looks healthy or green makes her all the more lovable.

When it’s time for bed, Pea requires at least 20 minutes of what she responds to as the word “cuddles.” It begins with her nuzzling someone under their neck with her head and then laying full body across them. When it’s time to wake up, Pea requires at least 5 minutes more of her cuddles in order to move off of the bed.

None of this is why Pea is evil. What makes her evil is what she pulls in the mornings that I have to work. When I get out of bad and immediately change out of pajamas and get ready for working, Pea knows I’m going to leave her. So, she will take her 5 minutes of cuddles then growl when I get out of bed. She glares at me while I dress and pouts while I put on makeup and do my hair.

Her true nature comes out when it comes time to go out and do her business, however. She flat out refuses to come inside the house. It doesn’t matter how long I leave her out there. The other 2 dogs will go out and come back in for their treats. I can beg, plead, cajole and offer treats out the wazoo. The little wench sits outside and barks at me while I sit in the house watching her and becoming, minute by minute, later and later for work or school. When I go outside to get her, she runs under the back deck so far out of my reach that I can grab her.

The other day, I finally got mad enough that I went out in the backyard and told that dog exactly what I thought about all of these shenanigans. I sat on the steps of the deck and then it occurred to me that I could beat her at this game. I immediately said, “Who wants to cuddle?” Within 3 seconds, the dog was on my lap and curled up cuddling me. It was all I could not to shake her sweet little body as I scolded her bad behavior.

The face of evil. Her reign has come to an end.

Within 10 minutes of curling up with it, any member of our family is asleep. Look, I can’t guarantee that yours will be as magical as mine, but, in our house, it even works for dogs. Let me rephrase that: In our house, it especially works for dogs. Particularly those fond of little boys who like to snuggle when the little boy magically falls asleep within 10 minutes of wrapping himself up in the blanket.

It’s magic. You won’t convince me otherwise.