It was Fourth Grade. I remember because Miss Sant was my teacher. And our classroom was in the portable units closest to the playground. Some of the girls would sit outside on the steps of the portable units during recess and tie friendship bracelets. Those steps got icy in the winter because the portables were close together and there was no sunlight between them, so even though the snow got was shoveled and removed, they still had a lot of ice on them. We had heat though, and we had the best teacher, so all seemed right with the world.
I only lived a block from the school, so I walked to and from school every day. It was no big deal. Dad would watch me from the front room window to make sure I got there safely. Plus, there were lots of other kids who lived nearby, so we had safety in numbers whether we wanted it or not. We did have to cross one major street though, so Dad always watched me until I made it to the school grounds.
One day after school there was a dog hanging out in the school yard. He was kind of a scraggly looking thing. He was medium-sized with dark brown and black hair. It looked like he hadn't been bathed in a long time, but you could see he was being fed okay and was obviously healthy in other ways. To this day, I have no idea whose dog it was, but when we met that day after school he was my forever friend. He followed me home from school that day and hung around for a few minutes so I could play with him. (We had lost our dog, Taffy, at this point, so the idea of having another dog around sounded good to me.)
The next morning, he was at the end of our driveway waiting for me. He walked me to school. In fact, he walked me right up on to the portable steps. And then he waited. He waited outside until recess, and the girls came out and tied their bracelets while I scratched the dog and he laid in my lap. When we went back in for more schooling, he waited. He stayed all day. And when the day was over, he walked me home again.
I have no idea where that dog lived. He could have been miles from his own home for all I knew. But he was faithful. For weeks, he walked me to and from school, waited on the school grounds, played with us at recess, cuddled with me, slept in my lap, and went home at night - wherever that was. I told Dad about him. Dad watched him walk me to school in the morning. All I had to say was, "C'mon" and he was right there with me.
All these years later, I still think of that dog. I think about how loyal he was. I think about what a good friend he was to me and to the other kids. I remember one of the boys got mad at him over something and lifted his foot to kick that dog, and I was right there giving that boy what for and telling him that is NOT how you treat an animal. I remember that boy walked away as I scowled at him, but he must have spread the word because nobody ever tried to hurt that dog again. And all of these years later, my heart aches because I don't know what happened to that dog.
He just didn't show up one day to walk me to school.
I thought maybe his family had gone on vacation and taken him with them.
I thought maybe he wasn't feeling well and needed some rest.
I thought maybe he was helping his owner with some chores or a good project.
It went on for days. The dog never came back. I was devastated. Dad said the dog probably moved on to another little girl that needed a good friend, but that he would never forget me and how good I was to him. In my heart, I knew. I knew that dog had died. Whether he had been hit by a car, or been sick and finally found relief, or something else had happened, I knew that dog had died. And it made me sad. It still makes me sad, and I don't even know that dog's name.
Because of that, I can't watch those ASPCA commercials on TV without getting a lump in my throat. If nobody is home and one of those commercials plays on the television I will openly cry. Like a baby. With the big, wet, drippy tears.
That's probably why I started bawling when Bear yelped out in pain a couple of weeks ago. And probably why, even though the vet says he's okay, I still worry about him and won't let him jump off the beds or the couches if I can help it. And probably why I baby him and cuddle him and let him get away with whatever he wants. Because who can resist this cute face?
I hope I get to see that other dog in heaven some day and thank him for taking care of my Fourth Grade Self. It really meant a lot to me to have him for a friend. Those four-legged humans are some of my very favorite kind!
When I was in high school I was blessed enough to not suffer from much acne. A few pimples here and there was about as bad as it got. I never really thought much of it because it wasn't an issue for me. In my late 20s and early 30s and after major surgery, however, I started to have these weird break outs. It's like my hormones decided to finally show up and give me a run for my money. It wasn't terrible, but it was enough to annoy me and make me feel a little self-conscious about my looks.
A little while ago we realized Le Dog (aka The Bear) had an ear infection that was yeast based. I did a ton of research trying to figure out how to "cure" his infection naturally because we'd already had him to the vet three times, each with a round of treatment and/or steroids, and nothing was touching this infection. Over $400 later and the thing was still raging. He was miserable, and Mom and I thought we'd lose our minds listening to him scratch, dig, and cry over his ear.
In my research, I came upon a couple of really great products that we've been using (along with a 50/50 vinegar/water wash) that have helped tremendously. For the first time in a long time, I think his ear is actually getting better instead of worse. He's even scratching and digging at it less. It hasn't changed his smartie pants way of trying to get out of treatment though (hiding under my bed, hiding under Mom's bed, pretending he doesn't hear us when we call him ...), but at least he's feeling more dog-like instead of monster-like.
We clean out his ear with a washcloth and the vinegar/water mix, rubbing gently to get the debris out that we can actually see. Then, we use this amazing stuff:
Holy cow, it is incredible! We've only been using it once a day (taking the healing process slowly in hopes of actually getting rid of this thing) instead of twice a day, but it's mind boggling to see how well his ear is doing over a couple of weeks of treatment versus struggling through antibiotics, ointments, blah, blah. And not even close to the same cost as what we got from the vet.
After we flush his ear out with the Eco Ears, we use this stuff:
I told Mom what I'd found out about Witch Hazel and she said, "Yeah, it used to be that every house had some Witch Hazel in it. Everyone used the stuff. It was a must-have in every home in the good ol' days." Well, seriously, why have I never heard of its uses before now?!?! Jeesh. We just wet down a cotton ball and soothe Bear's ear with it as the last part of his treatment, and it has worked wonders in keeping his skin free of scaly patches and redness and itchiness. Totally worth every penny I spent on it, and I'm not sure now that I can ever live without it again.
But let's go back to the beginning of this here post. My acne. What does that have to do with the dog's ear infection you ask? I will enlighten you. Witch Hazel is a natural skin toner. Yeppers, I just wash my face with normal soap (SoftSoap, actually, because it's convenient and really gets the grease and grime out) and then use some of this same product (different bottle - don't worry, I'm not one of those weird humans that shares everything with her four-legged human friends) on a cotton ball and slather it on my face. I let it air dry, hit the sack, and voila! My skin is like new in the morning. The few pimples I did have quickly dry up. It keeps my skin moisturized without being greasy, and the rose petal gives it a nice smell without being too flowery or Witch Hazel-y. Plus, my skin is way soft, and if a pimple does happen to come along it is very small and goes away very quickly. I think it's even helped with the crow's feet along my eyes (they weren't really bad, but *I* noticed them). I can't believe the difference in how my skin feels, and I'm completely amazed by what it has done for Bear's ear. Who knew?
Raving about a product is not something I generally do. If I like something and it comes up in conversation with someone, and I find it might be helpful if they know about it, I'll mention it and go about my merry way. THIS is a whole different story. I would legitimately tell everyone I knew about Witch Hazel (and Eco Ears!) if I weren't such an introvert that hated small talk. If you're reading this blog post, you're in the know now. You can't say I didn't tell you.
What I would like to know is why we don't have more things like this in our homes from the good ol' days. What else am I missing that could completely change my life? We still believe religiously that J.R. Watkins Petro Carbo Salve can cure literally everything. Watkins also has a lip balm (raspberry flavor) that keeps my lips from drying and cracking. Burt's Bees has a lip balm, too, that cures what ails you. It's their new coconut and pear moisturizing balm. Between the two, my lips never crack anymore. It's because the products have REAL ingredients in them that you can actually pronounce. Now, I'm not going on an "it must be natural to do any good and I'll never go back to anything that is not completely natural or organic" rant, but I truly believe after using these products that they had it better in some ways during the good ol' days. I say we bring back the real stuff and throw out the rest. Witch Hazel is sticking around our house for good, even after my acne decides it's gone for good. That stuff could probably cure the common cold and flu for all I know. It should be in all of our emergency supply kits just because.
In the meantime, it's still going on my face every night (and sometimes every morning because I can). And I think Bear would give two thumbs up if he actually had opposable thumbs because his ear is getting better even if he hides every time we say, "Let's go to bed." Somehow that's code for, "Let's clean your ear out." Who knew?
When I was around 4 or 5 years old our dog, Taffy, had puppies. (At least, I think it was Taffy. Or was Taffy a boy? Oh dear, this post could quickly get complicated.)
ANYWAY, we had a dog and it had puppies, and we put them in a box with an old blanket and let their mommy take care of them. She was a good mommy and let me hold those little puppies as much as I wanted and for as long as I wanted. They were so cute, and I loved to watch them try to open their eyes and see the world around them.
One particular day (when my BFF Shauna and I were bored, of course), we went downstairs to play with the puppies. We took them out of their box and put them on my sister's water bed. Their eyes were opening more, and they were starting to walk around more and play with each other, but they were still pretty new. Their mommy was somewhere, so we were free to do with the puppies whatever we wanted.
Soon enough, the water bed took over. We jiggled, bounced, jostled, rolled, and surfed those puppies around that bed. They loved it! (Remember: I was 4-5 and not fully aware of "dog emotions" at this point.) We stopped the fun and went to take the puppies off the bed and return them to their box when all of a sudden - PUKE.
Puke was all over the bed, but mostly by my sister's pillow. We had thrown the covers back (duh!) in order to keep the pups from getting "tangled" in them during their adventure. I looked at Shauna, Shauna looked at me, and then we picked up the pups, placed them in their box, and I threw the covers up over the bed. We quickly left the room and went outside to play.
If I remember correctly, it was a while later that Shauna turned to me and said, "Ew. That was gwoss. And we're gonna be in twouble." With a pit developing in my stomach I assured her it would be fine and not to worry about it. After all, I could fake sick and sleep with Mom and Dad that night so as to avoid the ensuing tears and screaming that would assuredly come from leaving dog vomit on my sister's bed.
Sure enough, there was screaming and a few tears, but I was off the hook. My sister blamed the dog for bringing her puppies up on the bed. Boy, did that dog get an earful! Poor dog. I did give her an extra long hug that night and told her and her puppies how much I loved them all. I even rubbed her ears to block out the ringing that must have been going on after the high-pitched screaming.
I have no idea what covered the bed that night as we slept since the sheets were in the wash. I was just glad the screaming and yelling hadn't been at me. I still thank that dog for covering up my silly antics. Too bad she didn't know what the heck was going on. She must have been so confused!
Just a few years ago, I made plans to get up really early one Fall morning and take Bear with me up the canyon to catch pictures of the sunrise. We had a grand time. He peed all over everything, marked his territory like a champ, and we ate all sorts of snacks as we walked around taking pictures of trees, leaves, the lake, and the sunrise. Since we were already on a new adventure, I thought we should take advantage of our time together and decided to travel up and over the mountain and return home the long way. Bear kept getting antsy and moving around the front seat. He'd never done that before, so I thought maybe the altitude must be getting to him.
We finally got home several hours (and hundreds of pictures) later. I opened the car door to let Bear run free for a bit. He walked across the driveway and headed straight for the lawn. Next thing I hear is: guh guh BLEGH. Bear hurled his guts out on the grass. Poor little guy was motion sick, hence the moving around the front seat. He was holding it all in so he didn't mess up the upholstery in my car! After several rounds of dry-heaving, we finally went in the house where he assumed the position of a curled up ball and slept the rest of the day. He refused to eat anything and only drank when I reminded him there was water available. It was so sad!!!
All I could think about were those puking puppies from years ago. None of them are probably alive today, but I felt awful for putting them through such innocent torture (is that an oxymoron?) years ago. Bear has had a semi-sensitive tummy since that time, so I'd like to apologize now to the families that adopted those puppies years ago and say that I sincerely hope your puppy didn't have tummy troubles because of me.
Can you imagine what kind of mother I would be?! *shudder*
Growing up, we had a dog named Taffy. She was great. When we sang "Mary Had A Little Lamb" Taffy would howl at the top of her lungs. It was just that one song, but apparently she loved it a lot and wanted to sing along. She was a mutt - as in we have no idea what mix of dog she was - but she was such a good dog.
When I was seven, Taffy had to be put down. I was young, so I didn't really understand, but this is what I remember. Every time I would play the organ or piano there would be an awful stench throughout the house. Weird - I know. It took us a little bit of time to make the connection, but the smell was really coming from the organ and piano. As the strings were played they heated up against the wall, heating the smell of Taffy's urine up as well and permeating the house. We realized she had a bladder problem.
Shortly before Christmas (I think of 1984), my parents took Taffy to the vet and found that her bladder problem was one among many. There was no sense trying to fix her through surgeries, etc. because she was sick and wouldn't live much longer anyway. They had her put down so she wouldn't suffer. In my seven-year-old mind, however, I had no idea why Taffy never came back, and Mom and Dad just told me she had been sick and died. I remember being sad, but the real depression set in when my brother teasingly told me that Santa had taken Taffy from us (supposedly because we'd been naughty).
It was sad enough that Taffy was gone, but thinking that Santa had killed her put me over the edge. Every morning before school I would sit in the front room of our house next to the Christmas tree and sob my eyes out. It drove Dad crazy. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer and asked why I was so upset about Taffy now when I seemed fine at the time they told me she was gone. My response (illogical as it was) was, "Santa took Taffy and that's why she died. I hate Santa!" Dad explained that wasn't true, but that he and Mom had taken Taffy to the vet to have her put down. Somehow, I made a connection in my head and sobbed, "YOU'RE Santa?!" It pretty much ruined that whole Christmas. I think Dad wanted to beat the snot out of my brother for putting such ideas in my head and forcing Dad to deal with a sobbing, hysterical seven-year-old every day before school.
Perhaps because of this particular incident, Dad was dead-set that we would NEVER get another dog. For years, I begged and begged to get a dog. The answer was always no. One particular time that really stands out was a warm, late summer day. We had stopped at Sportsman's Warehouse for something - probably a birthday present for said brother that made me think Santa killed Taffy. Anyway, Mom and I saw a litter of Springer Spaniels that was so cute! Even Mom kind of fell in love a little bit. She just looked at me with pity, however, and finally said, "Call and ask your dad." That phone call was awful. The answer, of course, was no, and I was beside myself. I stood looking at the pups and bawled my eyes out. Poor Mom couldn't do anything to console me. I didn't like Dad very much at that moment. It took a while to get over the hurt from that incident.
Another time, I saw a Cocker Spaniel at an adopt-a-pet fair. He was so cute! I had him on a leash ready to walk out of the place. Mom and Dad were serving a mission for the LDS Church at the time. We were already "tending" my sister's dog (which was a wild and crazy black lab), so I figured a Cocker Spaniel would be an immediate yes. Dad's response was, "That breed has been bred to the point of dumb. I'm not saying no, but I am saying be careful." I'm standing in the parking lot with a dog on the end of a leash and realize the dog is a complete idiot. He's chasing imaginary things in the air, freaking out when his tail wags as if it's not an appendage to his body, and generally doing dumb things. We quickly turned back around and I gave the dog back to the shelter. It broke my heart to know he may never have a good home, but it also made me realize I was not ready to care for a dog that didn't know up from down.
Shortly after that, my sister took me to the county animal shelter where a couple of her kids were working off community service hours. She promised me I'd love the place. She couldn't have been more wrong! We walked in, everything was good, and then they opened the doors where all the dogs were. They were so scared and trapped in their kennels. The place was clean and it was obvious they were well-fed and watered, but it shattered my heart into a million pieces to see that. I started sobbing uncontrollably. One of the prison inmates helping out at the shelter was so shocked by my response that he came and asked my sister if I was all right. No, dude, I'm not all right!!! The waterfalls coming out of my eyes should indicate I'm not all right! That was a horrible day. I'll never forget how sick I felt. It was then I decided having a dog probably wasn't for me since the day it died would send me over the edge and warrant a stay in the insane asylum. It was too hard to love so much and then lose, especially if they were sick or run over by a car.
Fast forward to early March 2008. On my way home from work I was talking with Mom on my cell phone. She said to be sure and come upstairs as soon as I got home. She wouldn't give a reason when I asked why, but I had to promise to do that for her. The problem was that it had been a rough day at work, and when I pulled up at the house I could see that my sister was there with her kids. I was simply not in the mood to deal with a group of people as soon as I walked in the door. Raise your hand if you just need a moment to breathe when you get home from work ... me, too!
Almost as soon as I walked in the basement door, my niece and nephew were downstairs asking, begging, pleading for me to come upstairs. I kept telling them, "In a minute. Give me a second. Tell Grandma I'm coming." Finally, Mom leaned over the stairwell and yelled for me to come upstairs "right now!" Even when you get older you do what your mom tells you. With a sagging heart, a weary head, and a very tired body I dragged myself up the stairs.
My nephew was holding a white ball of fur. He immediately said, "Look! It's my new puppy." There was a twinge of jealousy as I said, "Oh. Well, how cute!" Then Mom said, "Look at this one. It's yours." My brain wasn't quite connecting the dots as I watched a brown ball of fur move around on the laminate floor. It was difficult to see the puppy since it was the same color as the floor, but it was obvious that something was moving around. I don't know how long I stood there, but it must have been torture for Mom as she watched my face process what was going on. Finally, I remember saying, "That's ... wait ... what?"
This is when Dad piped up and said, "We bought you a dog. It's a Shih-Tzu. What do you think?" Mom had picked up the puppy and handed it to me. I stared into those dark brown eyes and fell in immediate and absolute love with that cute ball of fur that was no bigger than my two hands cupped together. I thought he'd break in two if I squeezed him too hard, but at that very moment we became the best of friends. Actually, we fell in love with each other. He liked to suck on the end of my nose and sleep on my chest between my chin and my cleavage. (He still likes warm spaces.)
As I write this post, Bear is sleeping on the couch next to me. He's actually just come down with a mild version of the hiccups, and I can hear him snoring through it. His back paws are resting against my leg, and his nose, as usual, is buried in a pillow just a tiny bit to keep him warm. Every night when I come home from work he greets me at the door with a wildly wagging tail and (I swear) a smile on his face. He's no longer dark brown and black like he was when he arrived, but he's just as cute as ever. His hair is now a cream color with light brown accents. He looks more like a Polar Bear than the Brown Bear he originally looked like. His tail and ears are a bit long, but we keep his hair short, and Mom likes to joke that Bear's hair maintenance costs more than hers. She's probably right! But he's worth every penny.
What made Dad change his mind? Mom said when my sister brought over their new puppy she indicated the seller's still had other pups from the same litter. Mom told Dad they ought to go look at the puppies, but he was still hesitant. She let it go (remember our previous experiences ...), but a little while later Dad said, "Let's go see those puppies." The story goes that they went to the seller's home, saw Bear, and fell in love. Dad couldn't leave him there, and Mom was so amazed at his 180 degree turn around that she ran with it. That's how the little ball of dark brown fur named Bear ended up at our house.
The day The Bear arrived changed our lives, and we wouldn't have it any other way. We love that little guy WAY too much!
