Fur Children

My first dog was a black Cocker Spaniel appropriately named Blackie. She was my dog. I sang to her, talked to her, put on shows for her. She was my captive audience, but I have to believe she adored me. When I was ten years old, she died. I laid down beside her body on the ground, put my head on her side, and cried my heart out. I don't think anyone ever knew. 

We also had a wonderful Siamese cat named Lady. Although I loved her, she slept with my sister and was really my mother's cat.

Fast forward to my adult life. I bought another Cocker Spaniel- a buff this time. I named her Megan Marie Bennett. That was her AKC registered name. I could never get Megan to calm down. In those years, I wore panty hose and dresses or skirts nearly every day to work and when I returned home, Megan would jump on me and tear my stockings. She would also run away from me. She might chase a bunny or hear some children playing in the distance or get a whiff of a trash can. And she was gone. Each time, someone would find her, read her tags and return her to my veterinarian. I would get a phone call and go pick her up. Finally, she ran off and I didn't get her back. I placed an ad in the newspaper, offering a cash reward. My daughter was two and a half and it was winter. I got all sorts of phone calls from people who had "found my dog." I bundled my daughter into her snowsuit, strapped her into her car seat and off we would go on a wild goose chase. I was amazed at how many people didn't know what a Cocker Spaniel was.  All it took was two words, cash and reward. I never got her back. Whenever I would see a buff Cocker with a white blaze on its chest I would wonder if it was Megan.

I cried for three weeks. My then-husband said "For God's sake, it is a dog." (Please see the word then.)

I had her before I had my daughter and Megan had been my little girl.  I was heart broken.

When I moved to Bloomington I decided I wanted to get another dog. I studied every breed. When I mentioned getting a dog, someone wanted a large dog. I wanted a small dog. I decided upon a Corgi. Finding a breeder in a nearby small town, I drove out to the farm to take a "look" at the puppies. They were three weeks old and couldn't walk. Someone suggested something was wrong with them because they couldn't walk. I retorted "Oh, could you walk on your knees and elbows when you were a little baby on gravel in a farm lot? That hushed someone up. By the time I left, I had paid a deposit on the smallest of the litter. I named her Chelsea Kabob Bennett. Once again, this was her registered AKC name. I'm certain someone at the AKC said "oh, that Bennett woman has bought herself another dog."

 

Isn't she lovely?
Chelsea Kabob 4.5 years old

Chelsea is a sweetheart.  (Oh, I love her so!) She follows me every where. She can be annoying at times too.  I suppose they all can be. She lives to play fetch and will drive you crazy. She barks and has a big loud bark. There are words she understands - Frisbee, walk, fetch and more.  Her ears perk up and it is all over. So we sometimes spell as if we are in the presence of a toddler. Should we take her for a w-a-l-k?
I love how Corgis put their chin out flat when they lie down.  She will cuddle up with me and put her chin on my leg.

Typical Corgi

Doug's cat, Tree, is the original country farm cat. (His sister found him in a tree when he was a kitten and named him, Tree.) He catches mice, rabbits, moles and voles (is a mole and a vole the same thing?) and leaves their corpses on the front porch as a gift. Once, my house/pet sitter friend was here and Tree brought her a decapitated bunny for a gift on Valentines Day. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.
My cat, Milo, was an indoor cat before moving here. In my hometown I lived on a busy street and  never imagined he would ever go outdoors. When I first moved here, every door had a sign Orange Cat Does Not Go Out! Then the orange cat started to see the other cat and the dog going out and you could see him thinking...hey, why don't I get to go out? I was worried at first but now I know he is fine being outdoors. Milo is fourteen years old and if he wants to do anything other than lie around and sleep, I am going to allow it.

This is why we cover the sofa.
left to right: Tree, Chelsea Kabob and Milo

I am one of those people- my clothes have cat and dog hair on them and I carry my lint brush in my brief case. Because Chelsea is a tri-color, her light fur shows up on my dark clothing and her dark hair shows up on my light clothing.
How do they know, I wonder.  How do they know when I don't feel well or I am feeling blue? They seem to know and give me lots of love and affection. Chelsea and Milo greet me every morning and I pet them simultaneously saying "there is enough love...there is enough love for everyone."

The last walk is the best walk

If you walk a dog, you are more in touch with nature than most.

I'm not talking about opening a door and letting your dog out-

I'm talking about getting out there with your dog- walking him or her.

Because no matter what is going on out there, you are going to be in it.

It has been blistering hot and dry this summer. 

I've always loved the last walk of the day, but this summer it is even sweeter.

A few degrees cooler is a relief at the end of the day.

On the last walk, the stars are starting to shine through.
The crickets join the cicadas to sing a lullaby.

I've been a single pet parent this week. 
Doug left last Saturday to visit his family. 
He will return tomorrow evening.
If I was a smart gal, I would just keep all of the pet duties because when you are fetching water for twenty-three chickens and two cats and a dog, you don't have time to be even a little overweight. 
But I am looking forward to his return.
I had a meeting and a hair appointment tonight after work so I drove in from the university on my lunch hour and back just so Chelsea could go potty.
'Cause a girl has to go potty.
Doug works very near to our house so it isn't quite the effort for him to run by and walk her as it is from where I work.
I can still hear the crickets and cicadas singing and this grandma is about to nod off.
All this runnin and walkin and waterin and feedin and collectin of eggs has done wore me out.
Night, John Boy.

City cat/Country cat*

*as requested by Doug

No, this is not the tale of two cats. 

This is the tale of a city cat

turned country cat.

When Milo originally came to live with me, I lived in a house that was on the last block of South 14th Street in New Castle, IN

the last block in the city before South 14th Street became State Road 103.

This was great when it snowed.

As we lived on a street that was essentially a state road, it was a main thorough-fare

and they always kept it plowed.

Located kitty-corner from a shopping center,

we lived on a very busy road.

I never let Milo out of the house.

As you can see, he lived a pampered life and he was quite content.

After several years, both of my children were gone to school
and I was an empty-nester.
I was also finishing my bachelors of science.

Many a night, Milo and I sat together. 
I studied, and Milo kept me company.
Hunkered in, together,
we were quite content.

Milo slept on the comforter of my bed.
It was just he and I.
He was contented as could be.

Then we packed up a twenty-six foot truck
 and moved to the hills of southern Indiana.
To a house that was in the country. 
Bordered by woods.
Woods that are rumored to have cougars and bobcats. 
I've twice seen bobcats since I've lived here - one evening out on our road
the second time on our property in broad daylight.

Doug had a cat that went in and out. 
In fact, Doug's cat went in and out so much, 
Doug had a cat-door in a window near the front door of the house.
I was terrified that Milo would want to use the cat door, too,
so I asked Doug to remove it.
His cat had to use the door from that day on.
I was so afraid that someone would let Milo out
and I posted signs at every door of our house
(there are four)
orange cat does not go out!
Everyone that visited us would read my sign out loud and laugh. 
It made me feel better knowing I was doing all I could do to protect my little city kitty
from the wilds of the country.

Milo settled in and loved to lounge before the fire that winter
contentedly,
he baked himself in the warm heat.

The next spring  we bought a Welsh Pembroke Corgi.
She, too, went in and out.
Milo started to become curious.
He would watch the other cat and the dog go in and out.

Milo started to wonder what the fuss was all about.
Milo started to hang out around the doors.
He seemed to want to go out.

"Oh, let him go out" Doug said.
"what is the worst that can happen to him?"

I had all sorts of answers such as
"A cougar will eat him"
"A bobcat will eat him"
"He will go off in the woods and get lost"
"He will get out on the road and get hit by a car"
Oh, I had lots of answers.

But Doug continued to ask
and it truly did seem that Milo wanted to go outdoors.

At first, he would venture out and right back in.
It was interesting- but in short visits.

Then the visits became longer and longer.
Then he didn't come in one night.

Oh, I was so scared that he had been eaten or gotten himself lost in the wilds of the country.
But the next morning when it was time to eat- there was Milo- crying at the door.

Now he comes in the back door
and right back out the front door.
He literally walks through the house.
I think he just wants to be sure we are still here.

He loves to lounge in the sun on the front porch
and explore
and as a country cat
he is quite content.

Milo will be fourteen this fall. 
He has gotten old and skinny.
And if he shouldn't come home sometime
I will just tell myself that he was happy
and content.

A city cat turned country cat.

Wizard of Oz - famous deleted scenes

Remember the famous scene from Wizard of Oz where the lion sings If I were the King of the Forest?

Well, this morning, Milo decided to re-enact one of the deleted scenes from Wizard of Oz when the lion sings If I were the King of the Laundry.

I no more than put warm laundry straight from the dryer onto the kitchen table, than Milo is on top of it...all the way through the folding of the warm laundry, he is on it...checking it out, in charge.  Roar!

Birthday girl



Ms. Chelsea Kabob Bennett

 When I moved down here in November of '07,  I knew at some point that I wanted to get a dog.  I started doing research.  I wasn't certain what I wanted, but I knew I did not want a big dog.  I am five foot two inches tall and don't care to be jumped on by big dogs.  I did a lot of research on the internet.  I thought that I wanted to get a Corgi.  I thought I wanted to get a tri-color because they are different.  I knew I didn't want to have a dog shipped because I think that is cruel.  Then I started to look for a breeder that might be local and I found one in the next town south of us.  I started emailing with the woman at the farm.  Then we spoke on the phone.  I arranged a time to go "look" at puppies.  Chelsea was born June 30, 2008.

I came home and told Doug I was going out to the farm to "look" at puppies and asked if he wanted to go with me.  The puppies were only three weeks old.  The runt had died and Chelsea was the smallest of the remaining pups.  People ask me how I picked her and I tell them that Chelsea picked me.  I was holding Chelsea and she licked my arm.  I put her down on the ground of the farm lot and she made swimming motions but could barely move.  Before we left I paid my deposit so that the breeder would hold her for me. 

On the way home Doug told me in no uncertain terms that he thought she was mentally deficient.  I asked him why and he said it was because she couldn't even walk.  I told him that she was a baby and asked him if he could walk on gravel when he was three weeks old on his knees and elbows. 

Two weeks later we went back to visit.  I went into a shed to get Chelsea.  She had turned into a ball of fluff.  I walked out of the shed and Doug melted.  That was the day he fell in love with Chelsea.  We visited one more time before we were able to bring her home at eight weeks of age. 

Anyone who has a Corgi knows how wonderful they are.  They also know how much they shed.  The shedding is the only drawback.  I like to say "how long do you brush a Corgi?  Until your arm gets tired!"  I have a furminator and she loves to be brushed.  Corgis are very smart.  We did agility with Chelsea when she was one year old and she loved it.  When you talk a Corgi they always cock their heads when they listen to you.  Chelsea understands certain words.  We have to spell "w-a-l-k and f-r-i-s-b-e-e."  She is a champion frisbee catcher and will play fetch until she (or the person throwing) drops.  She loves to play tug of war and growls like a pit bull.  She is very ferocious.  Chelsea loves to swim and fetch sticks in the water.

She is always gentle with children.  She is polite when I take her out for a walk and never lunges at people or other dogs.  She just walks straight ahead and minds her own business.  Now, if you come to our house for a visit, that is another story.  She says "Mom and Dad who?"  and "Isn't this fun- they came to see me!"  Everyone loves Chelsea.  People who don't care for Chelsea just don't care for dogs. 

She has recently matured enough that we have started to allow her to stay out of her kennel at night and while we are at work.  She does like her kennel though and seems to regard it as a safe spot.  She is a very good girl and I am so glad that she picked me to be her person.

Moving Day!

Doug finished the pen for the chickens and it is hotter than blue blazes- so today we moved them out.

Here is Ella checking out her new digs.

 Doug helping them to get settled.

 Doug and I carried each one.  One by one we moved them from the cage in the mud room to the pen outdoors.  They seem so happy.  They were funny.  One would jump or test wings and they would all be jumping and flapping.

 And guess who had a front row seat?

Nancy and Nancy, Jr.

My mother has been in poor health for some time.  When someone asks how she is, my answer is "how long do you have?'  She has had her left knee replaced once and her right knee replaced three times.  Her bone kept deteriorating from the prosthesis.  She now has a "super prosthesis" and the Dr. was aggressive in replacing bone with prosthesis.  We call her the bionic woman. 
About six months ago, she started to get out of bed first thing in the morning and she fell out of bed.  After the fall, she had deep tissue injury and strong infection set in.  About six weeks ago, she had surgery to clean out the knee.  During that hospital stay, they put a port into the inside of her right arm.  The port has tubing which runs directly into her heart.  The antibiotics are put into the port and then her heart pumps the antibiotics through-out her body.  This won't be forever- but for a while.  A couple of weeks after she was home from that surgery, she had another fall and her knee burst open.  It was something akin to a compound-fracture except what was protruding wasn't bone but her prosthesis.  Horrific.  My Dad called 9-1-1 and then held a cloth over her knee.  She lost a pint and a half of blood.
I was sick with sinus infection and probably bronchitis or pneumonia and when my sister contacted me, I could not go to the hospital.  I was  torn, but it wouldn't have helped anyone for me to go.  I am the oldest.  My role it to sweep in and take over.  To take care of everyone.  I have two siblings so my brother and sister each stepped up to help our parents.  I was sick for almost three weeks.  Yesterday was the first day that we were able to make the two-plus hour trip to see my mother.  I called ahead and asked if we might bring Chelsea.  My mother was tickled.


well, hello there!



ma mere et moi

Chelsea is so over this little photo session

 Mother was only seventeen when she had me.  All of my life we've gotten the "oh, you two look more like sisters than mother and daughter."  My mother would giggle and I would groan.  We do look a lot alike.  That is why I refer to myself  as "Nancy, Jr."  

My mother still has a long road to recovery ahead of her.  They have told her she may be on antibiotics forever.  She has lost a lot of muscle mass and strength.  (And confidence.)  They are working with her on walking.  My Dad has been instrumental in her care for quite some time, now and he has done a great job.  Please send all prayers, good karma and healing thoughts her way.  She has a great attitude and she is a fighter.  I get my positive, tenacious spirit from her example. 

Mid-life

What matters?

I've been thinking about mid-life. 

My mother took a fall yesterday.
She took a fall about six months ago and got a bad infection in one of her (two) artificial knees.  They did surgery and irrigated and cleaned out the infection about ten days ago.  Then she fell on that knee yesterday and busted it open.  I guess it was pretty gruesome and horrific.  She lives in my hometown, two hours from where I now live.   I couldn't go because I have been sick. 

I've been sick as in wheezing so bad that you can hear me wheeze even when I have my mouth closed.  Hacking with a cough that sounds like a bark.  Coughing to the point that it is embarrassing.  In the beginning I could hardly talk because I couldn't breath through my nose. I was off work last Monday and Tuesday.  Now dug is coming down with it and he was off work today. 

So yesterday when my family contacted me, I was in pajamas- late in the day.  I asked dug when, if ever he had known me not to shower and get dressed.  Even when I was off work last week, I showered and dressed.  But not yesterday.  So my family contacts me when my mother falls and I had this terrible struggle of feelings to rise up within me as if I should run and shower and get in the car and drive the two hours north to be there.  To be the strong, steady oldest child that I've always been.  But I couldn't. 

And the baby is coming and I have a plane ticket to go on March 31st to the east coast to be with them.  And I want to run and be there and peer through the glass at him or her and say to the stranger standing beside me "that is my first grandchild."  But I can't and I will hold him/her when he/she is a few weeks old.  Life doesn't allow me to dash here or there or to be where I want to be when I want to be. 

And I am torn between aging parents and children having children and I am learning this is what mid-life is. 

My gal pal Jennifer and I were talking on the phone tonight and she asked me how dug and I are doing.  I said
"oh, he is o.k.  I'm o.k. with him." 
Because sometimes I am not o.k. with him.  And I said to her "you know, sometimes being with someone is just being with them?"  The two of us sit in front of the fire and his head begins to nod and his book begins to fall and I say
"dug."  
"you are falling asleep."

And sometimes your best friend is the orange marmalade cat that stands on the kitchen table and nuzzles your head with his and he has been in your life longer than the man you are living with.
Or the little Corgi glued to your leg who has stolen your heart and is your new best friend. 
And you sit with the phone next to you waiting to get the next phone call or text telling you
that she made it through the surgery just fine and the artificial knee wasn't damaged in the fall
or they just broke her water
and the cat is at your feet
and the dog is at your side
and the man has gone to bed
and it is quiet
and the fire burns on.

My Mi

I have a kittrs named Milo.  Milo is an orange marmalade tiger stripe with leopard spots kitty.  He is thirteen years old.  As anyone, when they get up in years does, Milo has his good days and his bad days.  He is thin. When I got him I named him Milo after the Milo and Otis cat.  Plus, Milo is a talking cat.  He and I talk to one another all the time.  Uh-oh, I think I sound like a crazy cat lady now.  If you have a cat that talks to you, you know what I mean.

Now I lay me down to sleep...

I had a dream last night that Milo was talking to me with a human voice.  He was dying and telling me that he didn't want to die and I was telling him that it was o.k.  (WHAT has been my fascination and fixation with death as of late?)
Milo is soft as a bunny and I love to cuddle him.  He kind of took a back seat to Chelsea when she came along.  Chelsea is in your face...pet me, Pet ME, PET ME! And Milo doesn't have the patience for that.  Milo looks at Chelsea with this pissed look on his face and then ever so often he will just haul off and slap Chelsea with his paw.  When Chelsea meets other dogs out in public, she is always timid and holds back.  I always explain "she lives with cats that slap her."  (Doug's cat Tree joins in the slap-fest, too.)
Milo has a barfy tummy and acts like his teeth hurt him sometimes.  I know he could live another three years or so or he may be nearing the end.  He is a wonderful kittrs.  Even when he slaps Chelsea.

Don't tell anyone




Don't tell anyone where I like to hide...o.k., Mom?
Wait- did you just take my picture?  You aren't going to show it to anyone...are you?

 

The red coats are coming!

We have had a lot of snow the past couple of days here in Southern Indiana.  Belly high on my Corgi girl.  I love to watch her bouncing through the snow, looking like a bunny cousin.  She shoves her nose down deep and sniffs and brings it back up - all covered in snow. 

Chelsea et moi, Christmas Day 2010

I heard that there is snow in 49 of the 50 states.  Can you guess which state does not have snow?  FLORIDA!  When we were in Hawaii last February, we didn't have snow, but we were at the observatories on Mauna Kea was freezing! 
Do you like our mother-daughter coats?

Movie night

I love the anticipation of someone coming out to the farm. 

I bought the plate the candle sits on, recently, at a road-side sale.



I love these decorative boxes of matches and have been known to refill the boxes.



on my desk




on top of the refrigerator



Jennifer and I decided that we needed to have a movie night and watch Steel Magnolias.  Before we sat down to watch the movie, Doug grilled for us.  He kept asking us what movie we were watching and we told him it was a surprise.  Finally, we gave him clues and he figured out what we were watching. 

 

Jennifer





look at little Miss Chelsea peeking



doesn't it seem she is watching the movie, too?

hey, pay attention to me!

sittting pretty

Milo, peeking out the window



and here is the duggles "watching" the movie with us



I love spending time with Jennifer.  She is dog mom to her standard poodle, Lucy, and she is always wonderful with Chelsea.  It was a great way to spend a Friday evening.  What movie should we will watch next?

I wanted to take her paw and finger spell w-a-t-e-r

huh?

The dog daze of summer are certainly upon us!  It is so hot that we got out the "hot tub." Sometimes we sit in the hot tub but recently we got it out for Chelsea.

hey...what is this?

hey...that's my football!

um...

almost..

finally!

Chelsea doesn't have the cognitive skills to realize that the water that is in the hot tub and the water that is in the bathtub and the water that comes out of the hose is the same thing that is in her water dish.  She drinks from the hot tub and goes all the way around it, taking one sip at a time.  This evening I was watering flowers and held the hose out to her.  I need to get a video of what she does.  She seems to think the stream of water is an object.  She paws at the ground where the water strikes, she bites at the stream of water.  I just wanted to take her paw and finger spell w-a-t-e-r.

Cats on chairs

This is what the cats do when it is hot and the overhead fan is on in the kitchen.

Milo

Tree

My girl turns two

 Two years ago today, Miss Chelsea Kabob Bennett was born.  When I met her, she was three weeks old.  She lived on a farm in a shed with her Mama.  We picked her out (or, she picked me out when she licked me,) when she was three weeks old, then we visited her two more times before we brought her home at eight weeks of age. 

When Chelsea was little, one of her favorite toys was her bunny.  For her birthday present, I bought her a new bunny. 

Chelsea meets the bunny.

 

Poor bunny.

Trying to get me to play fetch- just before I wrote this post.

Chelsea is very musical and loves to "play" a toy that has a squeaker in it.  For now, the bunny has a squeaker.  I am surprised that the bunny isn't destroyed, yet.  Doug played fetch with Chelsea in the yard this evening and then the three of us were in the yard for quite awhile- he working in the vegetable garden and me working in my full sun flower bed.  Then, when I came in, I gave Chelsea her present and she is tired, now.

Baby Chelsea

2010, Two years old.

All in all, I believe she had a very good birthday.  She makes us very happy.  Loves unconditionally, is happy and smiling all the time, enthusiastic, smart, loves to play. 
She is a good girl.

Blogging Abe Lincoln style

All my life, I heard about Abe Lincoln scratching out his lessons by the light from the fire.  The other night, I blogged by firelight candlelight, so I figure now I got somethin' in common with old Abe. 
In the old days, ("back in the day") as my children say whenever I tell a story, I was accustomed to writing long-hand on a legal pad.  I liked writing longhand on a legal pad.  When I first started using a computer, I would always write my stories long-hand, then "type" them up on the computer.  I probably started to transition to writing via keyboard only after someone wondered why I was using the computer basically as a typewriter and not using it to capability.  Once I got the hang of it, I loved it of course.  I feel like I'm making myself sound ninety years old.  (I'm not.)  The following is what I blogged one night last week, by candlelight when we lost our electricity for many hours.  I was at the table surrounded by Chelsea Kabob Bennett, Milo and Tree. 

Slowed by the lack of electricity, lulled by silence, not even the hum of electricity interrupts our interlude.  I pause to do what it is that I love to do- read.  I sit at the kitchen table, surrounded by a semi-circle of candles to shine upon the page.

The animals, too, sense the calm.  Two cats and a dog sleep nearby.  Normally, the dog demands attention, rudely nudging my thigh with her nose, depositing her toy on my lap, demanding a game of fetch.  This evening, realizing the twilight within the house, serenaded by the sounds of frogs and crickets, she rests at my feet. 

Teased for a moment, with a surge of power which doesn't take, (it is so brief, that the dog doesn't even bark- she replies to the surg with a soft "wumpf" of sound) I am surprised to feel a sense of relief.  Our evening of silence and darkness continues.  Without keyboard, or the light of the laptop screen, I reach for pen to express myself.  My old friend, the legal pad complies, accepting my words.  It is 9:30 and I am ready for bed.  I will rest, expecting my slumber to be halted by the rude sound of electricity. 

**Our electricity didn't come back on until late morning, the next day.  My sleep was uninterrupted, I was able to eek one more hot (fast) shower from the water heater and went to work, not looking too far removed from my normal appearance.