Good Medicine

I called in sick today. A virus and the rainy weather had given me an overwhelming need to sleep. I turned on CSPAN Senate coverage to watch for a few minutes. CSPAN is wonderful: it has no commercials. I quickly fell into a deep sleep and woke hours later, in the afternoon, to Sen. Bernie Sanders speaking passionately about the need to expand Medicare to everyone. I love that guy.

I got up to let the dogs out and fix a cup of soup. When the soup was done and the dogs back in, I sat on the sofa to watch more CSPAN. Samantha plopped herself down at my feet. The timing was impeccable, as the Senate was about to adjourn for a time. CSPAN plays great chamber music when nothing else is happening.

When the music began, it was a little loud. I looked down to see if it disturbed Samantha. She lifted her head and looked at the TV. There was nothing on the screen but text and the occasional Senate staffer walking across the Chamber. She watched intently, occasionally lifting her ears and tilting her head to study the screen more carefully. The last time I’d seen her watch TV so attentively, I was watching Winged Migration. I marveled at what could possibly be so interesting to her about Senate down time.

After a few minutes, Samantha took an interest in the sound of the spoon reaching the bottom of my soup cup. She sat up to stare at me as I finished the soup. I shared a carrot and a couple small bits of beef then got up to rinse the cup. When I came back, we snuggled under a soft blanket. I melted into the warmth and the music, so grateful to enjoy a rare bit of heaven on a cold, dark afternoon. Now, that's good medicine.

So, How's Your Day?

Why does everything happen at once?

ONE THING
My husband was headed out to work a couple of days ago when he made a startling find. "Honey," he yelled, "You have got to see this!" He stepped from our utility room into a small room that attaches the house to the garage and found himself face to face with a creature perched above a cabinet.

I knew it was a bird but, aside from that, I was at a loss. It was hard to make out its body shape; it was all puffed up. My husband translated the body language: "Watch out! I'm a BIG bird!" The weather has been nasty, and the bird was smart enough to find its way to shelter through our broken dog door.

ANOTHER THING
A couple of weeks ago, it was the roof. That's still not fixed. The crazy wind continues to bring up more shingles. At least we have a tarp over the worst of the damage while we wait for a roofer.


BACK TO THE OTHER THING
Long story short on the bird, I was able to determine that it's a white dove/homing pigeon from Indiana. It's living in our mud room in a dog crate, dining on Finch food and fresh water. We still have to clean up all the poop it left everywhere before we persuaded it into the dog crate.

When the weather is good, we plan to let it go. These birds are supposed to find their way home on their own. We tracked down the owner from the band on the bird's leg, but no word from them, despite emails and phone calls. Because it's a banded homing bird, no vets or rescues will take it in.

Here's what this gorgeous creature looks like when it's not trying to scare us.


AND ANOTHER THING
So, yesterday at 6 am, Samantha, our Vizsla/hound mix, was raising Cain outside. Hubby went out in the nasty cold and wind to get her. She was covered in mud and tearing up the siding near our bathroom window. The nature of her bark and intensity of her purpose told us she was on the trail of a wild animal. What the?? How does an animal get up under the siding of the house?

Later in the day, I started hearing banging, scratching, and scraping under our bathtub! The initiated will know where this story is headed, and it ain't good. We called a wild animal capture service. The owner confirmed it: a momma raccoon looking for shelter to give birth. I really can't imagine how raccoons get into the places they find for shelter, and goodness knows what we'll have to do to get them out. The bathroom will probably be torn up this afternoon during the extraction effort.

I haven't even finished cleaning up the mud clods Samantha tracked in.

GET ME OUTTA HERE
Dirt and disrepair; noise and chaos; rain, wind, cold; and chores piling up so fast my head is spinning: that's my day. Couldn't I just be sipping tea on the warf in Santa Barbara . . . p-l-e-a-s-e?

OK, OK, I know what you're thinking. I'm still mighty thankful we have a roof over our heads and shelter for the animals we want to shelter. I wish everyone had as much. Some of us in this house are even pretty spoiled.

POST SCRIPT
Oh, did I mention that Samantha tore out the screen door this morning in her eagerness to go raccoon chasing? She's also having an allergic skin reaction and needs a vet visit badly. The grass in the side yard is 8 inches tall now. You can almost see it grow. I think it's taunting me, daring me try mowing it. And dishes are growing mold in the sink. Now that I'm working, there's no time for all of this nonsense. I have more important things, like envelopes to stuff for $10 an hour, damn it.

Deep breath, in and out.

A Sure Sign of Spring

Yesterday was Groundhog's Day, and I have no idea if the little guy saw his shadow. We had a better sign of Spring at our house.

My husband and I were busy trying to revive an old TV in a back room when My Constant Companion (Samantha) went ballistic, barking and jumping, making a dreadful fuss. We stopped and stared at her, puzzled for a moment. Then I realized: this is Terror Alert Level Red. I hadn't seen this behavior since last summer.

Could it be??? I looked out the window toward the backyard, and there he was: OSAMA! Osama is a plump rabbit who made his hideout under our yard barn last Spring. He (she?) would emerge from under the barn near dusk every day, sitting in the same spot, seemingly doing nothing but enjoying the fresh air. Samantha would keep vigil and when she'd spot him, all hell would break loose in our house. "You'd think that rabbit was a terrorist," I remarked. So, we named him Osama.

Sometime in mid-summer, Osama vanished. I suspected that Samantha and the weed trimmer finally sent him fleeing to Pakistan, or a neighboring lot. We never saw him again--until yesterday--sitting there in the melting snow in his favorite spot. Welcome back, old friend. Spring must not be far away.

POSTSCRIPT, Nov. 2010
Several months later, Samantha caught Osama. It didn't go well for Osama. As upset as I was with her, I did praise her being a hell of a lot smarter than George W. Bush.

A Little Bit 'O Honey

This has been a hard winter, especially out in the country. We've had more ice this year and, like so many places, the powers that be are not salting or plowing as much. Still, I love living in a place with distinct seasons, each with its own beauty. This is the view today looking east from our house.

The new snowfall gave me a reason to get out into the elements and get some much-needed exercise--shoveling. It was bitter cold--wind chill not much above zero--but the love of nature is in my DNA, and I enjoyed being outside.

As I dressed to go out, My Constant Companion (Samantha) insisted that she come along. She loves it when we go out together. So, I bundled her up in her fleece Illini jacket, and out we went. In less than ten minutes, she wanted back in the house where she would join her sister, basking in the sun in front of the bedroom windows, leaving me to shovel on my own.

Life is a lot harder these days than it used to be--for me and for many others. We struggle to keep the power bill paid, despite keeping the house way too cold. The checking account is always empty and the cupboard is nearly bare well before the next paycheck comes in. But life's simplest pleasures--the beauty of nature, the warmth of the sun shining through a window, a little outdoor exercise--have remained constant. For that, of course, I am most grateful.

Hard Times: Emergency Aid for Vet Care

Things are tough and getting tougher. Many people are living on the edge with no funds for unexpected expenses. Money for the necessary expenses--food, gas, utilities--doesn't go far enough, despite constant efforts to cut back and cut down. Decisions to seek medical care are weighed carefully, and all too often care is postponed or dismissed altogether as completely unaffordable. Each and every expenditure involves a hard choice.

All of this belt tightening is having an impact on our ability to care for pets. People are adopting fewer pets, and those with pets are cutting back on pet care. I've cut back on optional medical expenses for myself and for my dogs. Fortunately, my girls have been healthy and safe. But what happens when your dog or cat has a medical emergency and you have no money to pay for care? Thankfully, Dr. Lucy Pinkston Schroth, a small animal veterinarian, has established the Veterinary Emergency Funding Mission (VEFM) to help pet owners locate funding for medical emergencies.

The VEFM is still in development with a target starting date of January 2009. Dr. Schroth's VEFM blog provides all the details on its current status and how you can help in this wonderful and much-needed endeavor.

Two spoiled hounds: Katie and Samantha

Note: Since most of my posts are political in nature, I feel the need to separate my endorsement for VEFM from all things political. When it comes to helping hurting animals, animal lovers put politics aside. Fortunately, most animal lovers are good, compassionate people, and that is the tie that binds us. I have no idea about Dr. Schroth's politics; I only know that what she is doing merits our support.

Church on Monday at The Great Holy Temple

Many years ago, I was amply and adequately baptized for life: three times by immersion, one each for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Yet today, I was baptized once again.

The service was perfect. The choir made my favorite music from lofty branches of lush old trees bordering the sanctuary. Leaves rustling in the wind and the sound of water pooling up from beneath the ground made peaceful accompaniment.

I lay on the ground, soaking up nourishing rays of sunlight, watching puffs of bright white clouds roll across a glorious blue sky. All of my senses received a message of peace and redemption from the chaos of mankind. No other place, no other experience, is so full of the Spirit that nurtures and gives life.

My beautiful hound, devoted companion, Samantha, filled her cheeks at the water pool; I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath of fresh air. Without warning, Samantha bolted toward me, thrusting her snout in the air in grand celebration, splashing ice cold water across my face, arms, and legs, baptizing me into the everlasting faith of the Great Holy Temple of My Backyard.

Man's Best Friend Found Guilty

I used to think dogs were completely without guile. Then we got Samantha. She's a beautiful hound mix who looks like a small, sleek Black and Tan Coonhound. She's bright, talkative, and confident that she can outwit, outplay, and outlast anyone.

Samantha uses various ploys to manipulate me, my husband, and our Treeing Walker Coonhound, Katie. For example, the other day I was cutting up chicken for dinner. Samantha went to the back door and barked to go out. As soon as I left the chicken to let her out, she ran for the chicken. I could just hear her snickering under her breath. I managed to save the chicken before it was too late and reminded her that she really is not smarter than I am. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

She frequently uses such "bait and switch" tactics to get Katie to vacate a comfortable spot where Samantha would like to lie down. Unfortunately, Samantha is smarter than Katie, so it works most of the time. However, Katie beats Samantha hands down when it comes to some traits we normally expect from man's best friend, such as trustworthiness and innocence. Katie is as sweet as Samantha is mischievious.

We wouldn't trade either of them for a million dollars.