A Perfectly Normal Tuesday

Yesterday dawned like any other Tuesday.  Not quite mid-week, and with nothing extraordinary on the calendar.  Just a morning trip to the park with Hattie followed by the running of errands and some housework.  Yet, despite its routine ordinariness, yesterday was nearly perfect.  

For it was one of those days when everything seems to go just right.  One of those days when you feel as if you can take on any task and be successful.  One of those days when you feel completely happy because you are doing the things you love.  

Taken separately, all the things I did yesterday could be defined as mundane, boring even, to some.  For me, though, they came together like the aligning of the stars and they helped me to see that I am in the right place, doing the right things.  

So what was so ordinarily extraordinary about my Tuesday?

First of all, there was my run with Hattie.  You see, this run wasn't like any of our previous runs.  It was perfect.  She was obedient, calm.  She seemed to always know where she needed to be on the trail in relation to me, and she seemed to (finally) figure out how to be my partner in this endeavor.  

Next came the gardening, which really just consisted of potting up a few new primroses

and transplanting those pea seedlings of Nora's.  

But the sky was so blue and the temperature so warm that I didn't even have to don a coat!  And I wasn't the only one enjoying the nice weather.  Cooper, my ancient cat, was happily nestled on the back porch basking in the sun, while Hattie tried her best to consume all the birdseed that the wind had blown out of the feeders.  But it was my discovery, while digging in the dirt, that really made my day.  Those tiny, red, curly tips peeking up through the black dirt showed me that my rhubarb had not, in fact, perished.  

Hello Beautiful!
I am SO glad to see you!

On the contrary, it was very much alive.  And it was telling me there's pie in Dave's future!

But not today.  Today there was just a batch of thumbprint cookies.  Most of which are gone now--thanks to Dave.  

Finally, and most importantly, there was the chicken supply shopping.  While the chicks haven't arrived, their new home has.  And it's waiting patiently, for them, in Anna's old room.  

VACANCY

As you can see, none of my activities were truly spectacular, especially on their own.  But taken together, on this beautiful, sunny Tuesday they created a special day for me.  I'm sure if I had done all of these things on Monday, when it poured down rain, I would have felt completely different.  But that's not how a perfect day works.  A perfect day is just that because, thankfully, the stars do align and everything just fits.  

To Do List

Today's To-Do List

*  Buy ink for printer

*  Buy child-proof cupboard locks 
    (to keep the damn dog out of the garbage can!)

Sounds From a Sick Day

Sniffling Nora

turning pages

humming fireplace

thumping washing machine

clacking keyboard

and a 

quietly resting 

little brown dog

Nora stayed home today with the sniffles and a sore throat.  But does that mean she was confined to her bed?  Well... no.  

For, sick or not, the dog still needed walking.  And, since Dave is gone all day skiing, it also means no rest for the weary (and/or sickly).  

So, I bundled her up, piled her into the van with Hattie, and drove us all to Pt. Defiance where we walked the trails above Salmon Beach.  Hattie, completely unaware of Nora's weakened condition, ran the trails in her typical full-speed beast mode.  Nora, aided by, and very much reliant upon, the walking stick she found along side the trail, moved at a much slower pace.  Much slower pace.  But none of us cared.  Today wasn't about racing, or fitness.  It was about moving, being outside, breathing in the fresh misty air, and being together.  Cold be damned! 

I know I won't win Mother of the Year Award after this little stunt,  (a stunt my own mother never would have permitted) but a little fresh air never hurt anyone with a cold.  And despite Nora's sluggishness, she had a great time.  Especially when we FINALLY made it to the dog park and she got to watch Hattie play with the other dogs.  And by play, I mean chase after them, while frantically barking, as THEY retrieved the balls I threw.  

Nervous Nellie Makes Friends

I take Hattie Mae to Point Defiance almost every day.  Usually we jog the trails; but some days, when my knees and feet are feeling their age, we just walk.  Either way, Hattie has a great time; munching on sticks, sniffing the ground, hoping to stumble upon some deer droppings.  While we are there,  we usually run into the same people.  

Some of these folks I have been running into (no pun intended) for a long time.  However, it wasn't until Hattie started joining me that they became friendly.  Which means they want to stop, chat and pet a crazy, little, brown dog.

Dennis, The Chipmunk Feeder, is the perfect example.  This old guy has been walking the trails with his bag of bird seed for a few years.  He always walks quietly, with his head and eyes lowered, focusing on the trail in front of him and the noise coming from his very loud headphones.  Apparently, he's a fan of talk radio.  Yet, despite seeing him almost daily, he'd never said more to me than, simply, "hi."  If that.  Usually, it was just a nod.

Hattie Mae changed all that.  Now, when he sees us, his eyes light up, he turns down his radio, and he bends down to give Hattie A LOT  of attention.  He really has no other choice.  Hattie demanded that they become friends.  And she did so, like she always does, by barking like mad.  

This crazy behavior of hers did not deter him, however.  It did not frighten him.  It did not worry him.  On the contrary, it seemed to delight him.  The more she barked, the more he smiled and tried to pet her.  "Oh, she's just a pup," he'd sigh and be on his way.

Over a few weeks, her manic barking lessened.  She continued to jump and wag her tail, but a little less with each visit.  Until, finally, he was able to pet her and speak to me.  And speak he did!

"Well, I need to stop at the Metropolitan Market and bring her some dog bones!  That's the only store I shop at now that I'm retired, and sober.  Because they have the meat without all the preservatives and hormones in it.  I try to be healthy now."

I, on the other hand, was speechless!  I had seen this man frequently for several years--passed him almost daily over the last few weeks--and he he'd never said one word to me!  Now he's spewing multiple sentences!  Without pause!

How did this happen?  

Hattie Mae broke through his barrier.  She brought him into our world, or us into his, I'm not sure.  Either way, it's much better this way.  We look for him on the trail now.  As he looks for us.  Now he always stops, says hi, and gives the friend he dubbed The Nervous Nellie a few pets.    And, though I always tell him no, he also always asks if we've seen Susie.  I don't know who Susie is, and I doubt I ever will; but I don't care.  What I do care about is that we're talking.  That he's petting Hattie.  That Hattie's wagging her tail and trying to get her nose into his bag of bird treats.  That he and Hattie have become friends.

So This Isn't Working

small print:
Helps prevent dogs from consuming feces

After seven days.......

Hmmmm.........

Drying Out

 "It's not raining, so I'm going to take Louise to the park for a run after I drop off Nora."  

This was the message I texted to Dave this morning.  Sometimes,  I check in with him early in the day to see what his work schedule looks like for the day.  And, sometimes, if I'm lucky, he has a long lunch, or a break in the morning, and can meet up with us for a run.  Today was not one of those days.  But, alas, that's not the point.  

The point is:  it wasn't raining when I sent this message.  At. All.  Thus, there was no excuse to stay inside and soak up the electricity. (Like we did yesterday). 

Well, those famous last words got the best of me!  For as soon as Nora was out of the van, the rain drops began to fall.  And they continued to fall all the way to the park.  And, much to Louise's dismay, all the way through our run.  

You see, Princess Louise does not enjoy the rain.  So, obviously, she doesn't enjoy mud puddles.  Especially mud puddles the size of Puget Sound.  Perhaps I should tell her that she lives in the Pacific Northwest; the capital of rain puddles, the home of Bumbershoot!  

Or, perhaps I should just do it; become one of those dog owners.  The ones who appropriately dress their dogs for the weather, often matching their own attire.  Maybe, then, she wouldn't mind the rain.  Maybe, then, I wouldn't have to leash her at 10:00 o'clock at night and DRAG her out the back door to go to the bathroom before bed.  

Oh, but I can't!  I can't, in good conscience, walk around with a coat-wearing dog. Not when she already has one of her own.  

Instead, I will make help her overcome this ridiculous fear.  I will prove to her, once and for all, that no harm will come to her from trotting through a mud puddle.  Thus, today's run began with a little Immersion Therapy.

Whenever we  approached a large (or small, or medium, for that matter) mud puddle I ignored the little voice that sounded a lot like my mother's, that was telling me to stay out of the puddle.  Instead, I aimed for it.  I kept my eyes on it.  I kept Louise's eyes on it.  More importantly, I kept a tight rein on her leash.  And as we got closer, I didn't waver.  I didn't detour.  I didn't follow her off the trail, over the log, through the brush, and around the puddle (to grandmother's house we go) like I had in the past.  I charged in, full speed!  I filled my shoes with rain water, mud, and those little tiny pebbles that would plague me for the rest of the run.   And I dragged Louise right along with me.  I soaked her white paws until they were completely brown-ish.  

And, then, I did it again.  

I'm not stating that Immersion Therapy is fun.  Nor would Louise.  But, sometimes, as parents, as dog owners, we have to be tough.  Because, sometimes, the puddles are simply too large to circumnavigate.  

I didn't make Louise run through every puddle.  But I definitely showed her that, when necessary, it's okay to do so.  By the time we were half-way through the park,  I think she had it figured out.  She still hopped the little ones, and launched over some that were bigger when she could; but if there was no way around, in she went.  

So between the rain and the immersion therapy we were soaked (to the bone!) by the time we got back to the van.  All we both wanted was to get in, get home, and get dry!  Thus, there was no slow, leisurely cool-down walk.  There was no stretching (much to my hamstring's dismay).  There was no petting, no playing.  We hopped in, shoes and paws dripping, and I drove home while Crazy Louise licked the rain, and sweat,  off of my face, my neck and my hands.  (Have I mentioned that she's quirky?)

Once home, I immediately turned on the fireplace, and peeled off those wet, brown, shoes and socks.  I, then, continued upstairs, where I traded the rest of my wet clothing for nice, warm, dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, a long sweater, and Dave's Vans cap. It was quite a good-looking outfit.  I thought about taking a photo of myself at that point, but I don't have the self-confidence for that.  

Instead, I ran back downstairs, prayed to the Keurig Gods to be good, to be quick, (which they were) and settled in front of the fire with my dog and a hot cup of coffee.  

And there I stayed, drying out, for a long while.  Looking at my phone's weather app.  And telling Louise what a good girl she is.

Drying Out

Who Says I'm Not Romantic?

This is the e-card I stole off (@Chestertheminiv's) Instagram and sent to my husband at work today....in honor of Valentine's Day and all.

To which he replied,  "I know my place in the pack."

(See why I love him?)

But, seriously, I'm not really that loveless.  And to prove it, here's the REAL V-Day card I got him.

And I'm not!

Happy Valentine's Day all!

XOXO-

P.S.  He also got a few kisses...

And Thanks to @Chestertheminiv!

Feels Like Spring!

The sun is out.  The windows are open and the heat is turned off.  So,  I went outside and got this baby out

and this baby

sorry the sun's in your eyes girl!

because I've got peas to plant!

Feeding Time

In his recent post, "Storm Treats," John Katz discussed feeding time at his farm.  (http://www.bedlamfarm.com/page/5/)  He said, that he has "found in my life with animals that if they are fed and watered and sheltered faithfully, they come to trust it, and rarely get overly aroused or dangerously eager." His photograph of his wife Maria feeding treats to a calm assembly of sheep and donkeys,  further proves his point.  

I'm hoping that, eventually, Hattie Mae and I will come to a similar understanding. After three months, I hope she trusts that I will feed her regularly and shelter her faithfully.  And, despite my earlier efforts to teach her otherwise, I have come to learn that the couches and beds (both human and canine) are all at her disposal.  As is the fireplace, that I shamefully admit, I turn on for her all too often.  

She's there right now... as I type...

I know you can't see the flames,
but, trust me, they're flaming.  

along with the cat and the remnants of yesterday's snow day.  

But when it comes to feeding time, she is still overly aroused and dangerously eager.  All I have to do is pick up her food bowl and her pupils grow to the size of dinner plates.  "That dog is completely over stimulated by food," one dog trainer told me.  Tell me about it! Thus, in order to feed her, I put her in a "sit" and "stay" so that I can walk down to the basement to get her food.  (When I kept it in the pantry, she seemed overly protective of it.) By the time I return to the kitchen, she is no longer sitting or staying, her eyes seem even bigger, and then, The Happy Dance begins.  

The Happy Dance is a whirlwind of movement.  There is twirling, curling, and pivoting, followed by leaping, bending and skidding.  It is an uncontrolled dance of pure joy and delight.  (I wish I could get this excited about my food)  Yet, despite her chaotic movements, it's also all about focus.  For, during this dance, Hattie's eyes never lose sight of her bowl.  Ever!   She has even been known to whack her head on the wall, or the corner, in the midst of one of her pirouettes, because she was too busy watching the bowl and not where she was going.  (hence, the dangerously eager part) 

But she never seems to mind, or to hurt.  She just carries on.  Until she skids to a stop, drops to a sit, and starts to shake. And she continues to sit, and continues to shake, while I place her food on the floor,  and walk back down the hall where I give her the "okay" to eat.  

I realize that trust and faith don't happen over night. I also realize that three months is just a blink in the eye of Father Time.  So, for now, I will keep on feeding, watering, sheltering, loving, and enjoying my dog's dance until the day that we can walk down the hall together.  

Peas Anyone?

Finally---a science project I can get into....

Thanks to Nora Jane's science fair project, there's going to be an early crop of peas around here.

(Even better....there's no chicken on my counter growing bacteria!)

Snow Removal

Like many of us around here, I had to perform a little snow removal this morning.

for my feathered friends

While I plowed, the diners sat patiently on my neighbor's roof.  (Such good birds)

Because they were hungry, (and because I was cold) I hurried.

As soon as the seats were clear, I hurried back inside,  closed the door, and looked out the window.

Damn birds!

An Engaging Student

Where's Nora Jane?

Today Nora Jane was celebrated as one of Downing Elementary School's Students of the Month.  Technically, she was honored in December, but since we were in California celebrating her Great Grandpa's 100th (yes, I said 100th) birthday, she was recognized today along with all the kids from January.

What was she honored for?

Being an engaging writer!  (Yay Nora!)

We were so proud!

Proud Papa

Proud Mama

So, after school, we officially celebrated with frozen yogurt (her favorite.)  Because we weren't cold enough.

Mama's, Nora's
(there is yogurt somewhere in her cup)

Oh, chocolate covered strawberry, how I love you so!

So much that I can't even open my eyes while I eat you.

Love this kid

Even when she's a little blurry, wearing my scarf,
and smiling with a mouthful of food!

Oh Nora Jane engaging only begins to describe you! 

xoxo----

mama

Can't Stop Now!

ALL of these books have been waiting patiently for me.  For me to pluck one of them from the pile and start reading.  But I can't do it.  Not yet.  

Because, yesterday,  I drove ALL the way to the bookstore (in Lakewood) to pick up this....

#3

Can't stop now!

Happy Reading!

Grossy Grossman

More on walking with Hattie  (aka, Grossy Grossman)

A walk with your dog is about so much more than exercise.  It's about bonding, enjoying nature, and, as Grossy Grossman will demonstrate......eating.

Are these walks 
just for exercise?

Oh, heavens no!

They're also 

for feasting, 

for binging,

for dining on the go!

And feast Grossy will--

on anything she sees,

or smells,

or can reach, 

from the end of her leash.

Her tastes are simple.

She does not discriminate.

And, since her manners are lacking,

she needs no fork or plate.

She snatches up dandelions,

that are way past their bloom.

And nuts, seeds-- 

even paper--

the big buffoon!

She likes pine cones

and leaves,

still stuck to their bushes.

She'll eat anything--

and everything--

with nary a fuss.

I've seen her eat vomit!

I've seen her eat garbage!

She rummages through trash,

better than most other varmints.

Nothing's off limits.

Nothing's taboo.

But her favorite

would, 
sadly, 

still have to be

poo.

She always seems hungry.

Does she never get full?

And her desire to eat gross things,

makes our walks rarely dull.

You'd think I don't feed her,

this little brown lass

But if she don't learn to "leave it,"

I'm gonna whoop her ***!

But when I tell her to do so,

she never seems to hear.

For the tastes

that she's tasting----

they're like music 

to her ears!


Walk on friends-

I hope you and your dog(s) enjoy your daily walks as much as 

Hattie Mae (Grossy Grossman) and I do!

A Dance With Hattie

A walk with Miss Hattie
is no easy feat.
It's more like a bad dance,
that each day, 
we repeat.

Despite the white slippers, 
we wear on our feet,

we are no ballerinas--

we fumble,

we stumble,
we struggle,
down the street.

For, she and I,
together,
are never in tune.
We don't know our moves,
as each day,
they seem new.

We haven't got rhythm,

despite practice galore.

Yet, as partners,
we practice.
For this dog,
I adore.

Oh, there have been days

when she's walked straight and true, 

at my side, 
head held high,

taking in all the views.

But these days never last. 
These moments--they are fleeting.

And, again, I'm dragged along

to the song that she's singing.

Her music is rapid,

full of starts and quick stops--

It is fierce!

It is frenzied!

It will move you!

-----NOT!

It makes her leap left, 

then lunge hard 

to the right.

Whilst I pull back--

and curse her--

with all of my might!

Prancing and dancing on 

white tip-toed feet,
she seems not to care
how she looks in the least!

She'll circle and circle,

back and forth,

all around.

Seeking 
just the right spot,
down there, 
on the ground.

Not there!

Not there either!
She sniffs in vain.

"Hurry," I beg!
"Hurry," I claim!

All this,
while I juggle

the leash back and forth.

Behind me, 
in front of me,
I bend and contort.

We are not like those gymnasts 
who perform well in tandem.
Twirling bright colored ribbons.
Wearing bright colored fashions.

Our clothes do not match.
We don't walk as one.
We don't wear bright lipstick, 
or put our hair in a bun.

We don't stick our landings,

though, we sometimes get stuck--

with the leash
all wrapped up, 

behind, 
and in front.

As I struggle to fix us, 

she grabs hold with her teeth.

Leash and collar clinking,
I get no relief.

She looks like she's smiling,
a mouth-full of white.
While I stand there, fuming,
a ridiculous sight.

I try to keep calm.
We are still on the stage.

"Leave it," 
I sing.

"Leave it,"
I pray.

I let out the slack,

then rein it back in.

When-- 

suddenly--

she slows,

or turns,

or spins!

I watch out for feet 
and paws that are stumbling.

We look more like street fighters

about to go tumbling.

To passersby,

we must look a fright.

Neither in charge,

both up for a fight.

And then, 
for a second--
just a moment--it seems.
She walks
calmly and quietly
at the side of me.

She curtsies down low,

before reaching up high.

Her tail curled up tight,

upon her back side.

The leash is loose.
My arm now at rest.
Her eyes ask, "are you coming?"
It's a dare.
It's a test.

Then, in a flash,
the performance is over;
and no one has seen!

And she's back--
There's no slack--
and I want to SCREAM!

But, we are not quitters;

and I'll keep trying to fix

this dog, 
and this dance of ours,

that no one should miss.

For, I dream of, someday,
strolling, side by side,
with my little brown dog
and feeling that pride
that comes with loving,
and teaching,
and being her guide. 

So, I'll try again tomorrow,
and then again next week.
We'll keep prancing,
and dancing, 
and walking the streets.

The End--

Walking Miss Hattie

Some days a walk with Hattie feels a lot more like a dance.  A dance that is never graceful.  A dance that neither of us knows how to do.  A dance that Hattie always tries to lead. 

(more to come...)