I’ve stooped to a new level! low! I am the epitome of stupidity! I’ve been so bold as to tell Les, (my well-meaning but somewhat overbearing husband, who lives in a state bordering the one where I live), the reason I like it when he’s gone. It’s because I can sit around a clean house and watch whatever I want on TV. Well, he’s in Wyoming watching a scary movie and insisting I watch it with him here in Salt Lake! And I’m doing it!
Now, you must have some background. I’m the most chicken shit person on the planet when it comes to watching scary movies. I deal with the occasional required scary movie in several ways. I tolerate them, hide my eyes and pretend to be watching them, watch them with one eye closed through fingers clamped over my eyes, avoid them altogether, and wish away even the trailers about them. And Les watches every horror movie ever produced, several times.
To his credit, he tries to be good-humored about his coercion. Since he can’t really insist I watch the movie he’s watching, while we’re located in separate states, he’s created a new category of “sluggo” for the occasion. It’s “chicken shit sluggo,” similar to the standard game, but vastly more humiliating for the chicken. I just learned a reenactment of the movie’s climactic scene is in my future. I can’t wait until he gets home.
Speaking of chickens, I must relate this year’s deer hunting story. (Don’t mistake this for revenge. He’ll get what’s coming to him later.)
Les was returning from his hunting trip and the weather turned bad. It was nearly dusk when he saw a worthy buck and went after him. He drove his 4-wheeler down into a ravine tracking the deer. Big fluffy flakes of snow were falling and the headlight bounced odd images and reflections off the trees and hillside.
Just as he was getting off the machine, he was hit from behind by something that startled him so badly he, (in his own words), “screamed like a girl.” Upon gathering his faculties, and assessing the situation, he discovered he had been ambushed by three Sandhill Cranes! (I’m not kidding.) Two off the near 5 foot tall birds had landed in the nearby clearing, while the ring-leader proceeded to register his (or her) dissatisfaction by doing a hopping, pecking, dance-like thing right in Les’ face.
The initial blow was between the shoulder blades and Les countered with a right cross, which the cagey bird dodged. Feeling like he’d been sucker-punched by a ghost, he immediately prepared for fight or flight and since he lacked flying equipment, he was ready to punch it out with Big Bird’s little brother. I’m not sure of the length of the encounter but I was near rolling on the floor and holding my sides while Les was breathlessly relaying the incident via cell phone. His climactic statement, just before giving up on me ever taking this insult seriously, was, “Do you know how hard you have to kick a bird to make it leave you alone? I kicked that sucker harder than I’ve ever kicked a huntin’ dog.”
I guess the point of this rambling story, is that everyone is a chicken in front of something.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Humans are Dog's Best Friends
Our little Chihuahua Feliz, died today. She was almost 15, which is roughly, 105 in "dog years." My heart's broken. It's been nearly 15 years since I slept without her snoring next to me. I'm having trouble sleeping.
I've been a dog person all my life and usually had bird-hunting dogs. Feliz was my first little dog. When Les began talking to Amie, (my husband to our daughter) about a Chihuahua as a possible birthday gift, my initial response was "I don't want a dog that looks like a rat!" (Sorry Fe.) Amie was around 12 at the time. Les reasoned that it would be good for her to have her own dog to care for and it could be company for her after school. (We already had 2 German Short Haired Pointers.) I agreed to being okay with them beginning a search.
They didn't exercise much restraint on their first excursion to "look at a litter," and upon their return, I was introduced to the cutest, littlest, most lovable little creature I'd ever laid eyes on! Amie and Les shared mutually in her purchase and thus, were able to claim her as their own. She, on the other hand, claimed me as her "person" immediately, and that's the relationship in which I've stayed for all these years.
In the Chihuahua version of Sir Edmond Hillary planting the first flag on the top of Mount Everest, on Feliz's first night as a member of our family, she carried out an amazing feat of acquisition. She snuggled into my bathrobe and kept snuggling until she emerged out of my left sleeve. Had she had opposable thumbs, she may well have planted a victory flag on my left hand.
There are hundreds and hundreds of wonderful memories. I'll share some of them later. (For the benefit of my porous memory, don't forget to share the epic fishing trip on the Green River just below Fontanelle Dam. Her first swim, fear of fish, an owl looking for lunch, an Osprey catching the first fish, a fox or coyote getting the Dutch Oven Pineapple Upside-down Cake and Feliz behaving as an actual dog.) (Remember to relate "Attack of the Tourist" in Jackson Hole, too.)
At any rate, Feliz hadn't been feeling well for a couple of weeks. Her breathing was labored and very difficult. She was very distressed last Wednesday night and didn't settle down to sleep at all. On Thursday night she kept Les from concentrating on late-night television with similar behavior. At around 1:00 a.m. I took her to the Veterinarian ER because she was so distressed. The Vet took x-rays of her heart, put her in an oxygen container and gave her a bunch of medications. We expected her to stay there for several days and then come home healthy.
The Vet on duty Friday afternoon did an ultrasound because her improvement was minimal. The ultrasound revealed she had cancer in her lungs and liver. Euthanasia was their suggestion, describing it as the humane choice. We weren't ready.
We brought her home Saturday night to keep her comfy and to get ready for her death. Les went to Wyoming, and I spent the day trying to pretend she was okay.
Amie and Zack came over in the afternoon to comfort her, and me. After Feliz listened to about an hour of tears and reminiscing, she laid her little head on Amie's shoulder and quit breathing. It happened so peacefully and now she's gone.
Feliz, Thank you for the enormous amount of sunshine you brought into my life. And in such a small bundle! Thank you for making me believe my arrival always made your day. You were the only creature on the planet that was happy to see me every time I came through the door. With you went a piece of my heart. Right now it feels like a giant hole, but I'm patching it up with happy memories of you. I love you, Your biggest fan, Mom
One side-bar: All dogs go to heaven. My Mom passed away over a year ago and she's in heaven doing whatever angels do. She loved Feliz, but never got her name right. She called her Phyllis. Amie, Zack and I laughed out loud talking about Feliz meeting up with Grandma Blanche. We are sure that Feliz is with Mom/Grandma and Grandma is calling her newest charge, Phyllis.
I've been a dog person all my life and usually had bird-hunting dogs. Feliz was my first little dog. When Les began talking to Amie, (my husband to our daughter) about a Chihuahua as a possible birthday gift, my initial response was "I don't want a dog that looks like a rat!" (Sorry Fe.) Amie was around 12 at the time. Les reasoned that it would be good for her to have her own dog to care for and it could be company for her after school. (We already had 2 German Short Haired Pointers.) I agreed to being okay with them beginning a search.
They didn't exercise much restraint on their first excursion to "look at a litter," and upon their return, I was introduced to the cutest, littlest, most lovable little creature I'd ever laid eyes on! Amie and Les shared mutually in her purchase and thus, were able to claim her as their own. She, on the other hand, claimed me as her "person" immediately, and that's the relationship in which I've stayed for all these years.
In the Chihuahua version of Sir Edmond Hillary planting the first flag on the top of Mount Everest, on Feliz's first night as a member of our family, she carried out an amazing feat of acquisition. She snuggled into my bathrobe and kept snuggling until she emerged out of my left sleeve. Had she had opposable thumbs, she may well have planted a victory flag on my left hand.
There are hundreds and hundreds of wonderful memories. I'll share some of them later. (For the benefit of my porous memory, don't forget to share the epic fishing trip on the Green River just below Fontanelle Dam. Her first swim, fear of fish, an owl looking for lunch, an Osprey catching the first fish, a fox or coyote getting the Dutch Oven Pineapple Upside-down Cake and Feliz behaving as an actual dog.) (Remember to relate "Attack of the Tourist" in Jackson Hole, too.)
At any rate, Feliz hadn't been feeling well for a couple of weeks. Her breathing was labored and very difficult. She was very distressed last Wednesday night and didn't settle down to sleep at all. On Thursday night she kept Les from concentrating on late-night television with similar behavior. At around 1:00 a.m. I took her to the Veterinarian ER because she was so distressed. The Vet took x-rays of her heart, put her in an oxygen container and gave her a bunch of medications. We expected her to stay there for several days and then come home healthy.
The Vet on duty Friday afternoon did an ultrasound because her improvement was minimal. The ultrasound revealed she had cancer in her lungs and liver. Euthanasia was their suggestion, describing it as the humane choice. We weren't ready.
We brought her home Saturday night to keep her comfy and to get ready for her death. Les went to Wyoming, and I spent the day trying to pretend she was okay.
Amie and Zack came over in the afternoon to comfort her, and me. After Feliz listened to about an hour of tears and reminiscing, she laid her little head on Amie's shoulder and quit breathing. It happened so peacefully and now she's gone.
Feliz, Thank you for the enormous amount of sunshine you brought into my life. And in such a small bundle! Thank you for making me believe my arrival always made your day. You were the only creature on the planet that was happy to see me every time I came through the door. With you went a piece of my heart. Right now it feels like a giant hole, but I'm patching it up with happy memories of you. I love you, Your biggest fan, Mom
One side-bar: All dogs go to heaven. My Mom passed away over a year ago and she's in heaven doing whatever angels do. She loved Feliz, but never got her name right. She called her Phyllis. Amie, Zack and I laughed out loud talking about Feliz meeting up with Grandma Blanche. We are sure that Feliz is with Mom/Grandma and Grandma is calling her newest charge, Phyllis.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Jordan River Parkway Ride-8/1/2008
I ride my bicycle to work and back on the Jordan River Parkway. The Parkway trail winds along the Jordan River through the Salt Lake Valley. It is a beautiful stretch of green space through the center of this urban, very desert valley. Its 8 miles to work and all but two of them are on the trail. I observe the seasons changing first-hand on my daily route.
Yesterday began as a typical ride. Although daylight is delayed a little bit each day, it is still very light when I leave home at 6:45. I don my sunglasses about half way to work these days, and soon, I won't need them until the trip home.
About two miles into the ride, I heard the sound of a large startled animal. A familiar sound you often hear hiking in the mountains. The sound of an agile creature jumping from a resting position to four alert feet, then the thump, thump, thump of it bounding a few steps, then the silence when the animal freezes to pay attention what startled him in the first place.
Right in the middle of the asphalt trail in front of me was a four-point buck looking right at me! He was beautiful. His antlers weren’t wide, but very high, probably 6 to 8 inches above the top of his ears. They were covered in velvet, which he hadn’t begun shredding, yet. His coat was the tawny tan that gave rise to the term buckskin, and he appeared well-fed and healthy. He wasn’t about to stick around long enough for me to figure out how to use the camera on my cell phone. He was with a doe. She stayed in the thick brush near the river’s edge. The exchange took only seconds, but seeing the pair restored my faith in the healing power of nature. I’ve been renewed.
Yesterday began as a typical ride. Although daylight is delayed a little bit each day, it is still very light when I leave home at 6:45. I don my sunglasses about half way to work these days, and soon, I won't need them until the trip home.
About two miles into the ride, I heard the sound of a large startled animal. A familiar sound you often hear hiking in the mountains. The sound of an agile creature jumping from a resting position to four alert feet, then the thump, thump, thump of it bounding a few steps, then the silence when the animal freezes to pay attention what startled him in the first place.
Right in the middle of the asphalt trail in front of me was a four-point buck looking right at me! He was beautiful. His antlers weren’t wide, but very high, probably 6 to 8 inches above the top of his ears. They were covered in velvet, which he hadn’t begun shredding, yet. His coat was the tawny tan that gave rise to the term buckskin, and he appeared well-fed and healthy. He wasn’t about to stick around long enough for me to figure out how to use the camera on my cell phone. He was with a doe. She stayed in the thick brush near the river’s edge. The exchange took only seconds, but seeing the pair restored my faith in the healing power of nature. I’ve been renewed.
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