Man's Best Friend

I was going through some old photos looking for something and found lots of memories. Since it has been such a long time since I posted, I thought I would share some of those memories.

Last night I talked to my son who is happy to be heading back home to a new place and if all goes well, he would possibly like to get a dog. While a dog is a lot of responsibility and would limit the free roaming lifestyle I know he embraces, I simply can't say it is a bad thing. Thus, my thoughts on dogs I have loved.

My first dog was named Dinky, a family dog. I have vague memories of him but he was tragically run over in our driveway on 29th street when he went out to greet the truck coming up the driveway. This was my first brush with death of any kind but thankfully, being as young as I was, my memory of that pain is not so strong now.

Then, when I was 8 years old, the family got a puppy for Christmas. This was to be the beginning of the most special relationship of my childhood.

Naming a dog is almost as important as naming a baby. It can shape their whole personality in my opinion. This puppy was named Darby. The story goes that on Christmas morning, my sister called him "here doggy" and everyone thought she said Darby and when we repeated it, it stuck. My parents had really been against getting another dog but more than being against that, they wanted to give their children pretty much whatever they wanted and that being a dog, they got a dog. He was the runt of the litter at the B & I Variety store in Tacoma. The purchase price was cheap but getting him treated for his various ailments wasn't.

It didn't take long for Darby to really become my dog. My sister left for college shortly after that, my oldest brother went into the Navy and my youngest brother was more involved with sports, girls and teenage life. When we moved to Day Island when I was 10, Darby stayed by my side and really was my best friend. Darby became the ultimate beach dog and I soon earned the nickname "Queen of the Beach", given to me by the four bartenders who inhabited bungalows at the end of the Day Island Spit. I would spend hours on the beach, in the water and climbing the rocks, always with Darby. But Darby didn't need me to enjoy the beach. All I had to say was "the tide is out" and Darby would run to the beach and play. He would turn over rocks and chase the crabs, he would wade into the water and roust up flat fish to chase and on hot days, he would just swim. No need to throw a stick, he would just swim.

Darby got into his share of trouble. One morning Mom had made a whole platter of bacon and eggs but all of us got up too late to eat it so Mom fed it all to Darby. I got home from school and Darby's face was as big as a balloon. Turns out Darby was allergic to that much protein. Another time, Darby ate half of the anniversary cake I had made for Mom and Dad, never mind the fact I had hidden it under my bed. Darby chewed a lot too, enough said of that. But the biggest incident was when a neighbor who was fed up with our dog in her yard decided it was perfectly acceptable to pour motor oil on him. So, when he came into the house, he just looked wet like he always was but when he rolled on the carpet, it turned black. We got new carpet.

Darby died in my senior year of high school. We came home, he had been in a fight of some sort and had wounds on his neck. That apparently released a dormant cancer that quickly took over. But I think Darby knew it was his time. I was leaving for college, Day Island had passed a leash law that would have killed him anyway. No longer my first experience with death but definitely the hardest and I still remember the pain.

I then went through college, a year studying abroad in Germany, and got my own place in Tacoma, the downstairs of a house. By that time I had met my husband and while we tried to hide it from my parents, for all intents and purposes, he lived with me in that house. The next natural progression was to get a dog, right? We found Beau at the pound. Beau was a yellow lab puppy, as close to purebred as I think you could get. Soon after bringing him home, the landlord found out and kicked us out. We found another house, upstairs this time and Beau helped us reveal our living arrangements to my parents, out of necessity. It was okay.

Beau took us through our younger years as a couple. He was with us on our 16 day honeymoon camping in Western Montana. I can't imagine it without him. He moved with us to Conconully where he loved to go into the woods when we cut our firewood for the year, go fishing and jump into the water scaring them off or just lay in the sun on a lazy summer day. Beau was there to welcome home both of our sons when they were born. We had to share baby toys with him so he wouldn't get jealous. Beau moved back to Gig Harbor with us and for the first time in his life was mellow enough to just be allowed outside without being tied up or contained and I like to think the last years of his life were the best.

Beau had epilepsy, probably the result of getting hit by a bicycle when he was a puppy, and sometimes had seizures. I still have a scar on my arm from a scratch I got holding him down during one. He was so strong. It was on February 17th, 1990 when Beau was 12 years old, on my son's 4th birthday, that Beau went outside in 1 1/2 feet of snow and suffered what we think was a heart attack and died on the floor of living room with all of around. We buried him that day in the back yard of the house we were buying and Beau was with us until we moved from there. This was the first time I had to try to explain death to my sons. I definitely remember that pain, more for them than myself.

It's hard to lose a dog and equally as hard to decide to get another one. After all, the end is ultimately going to be the same, right? But when you 9 year old son decides that he wants a puppy for Christmas, just like my parents, we had to get it. Santa found a little female yellow lab puppy on a farm in Puyallup. She was only 4 1/2 weeks old on Christmas Eve but she was brought home, stayed with the neighbor until early Christmas morning and Santa delivered her. That was such a special Christmas morning and little did we know, it was the beginning of so many adventures, ups and downs. involving this dog over the next 16 years. We named her Murphy Brown.

This post is already so long and to do Murphy justice, I really should devote an entire post to her. My sons grew up with her. She was part greyhound or whippet and could run faster than any dog I have ever seen and jump so high. She would jump up to the top bunk to sleep with my youngest son every night. He would torment her but she seemed to love it and while my oldest son was her master, my youngest son was her friend and he got the best end of the deal.

Murphy chewed more than any animal I have ever seen. Nothing was off limits. Boxes in the garage were destroyed, including my entire journal from my year in Germany, not her finest hour. Before we moved, she had destroyed the insulation blanket on the hot water heater, chewed up the plastic sink in the garage, starting with the legs and working her way up and had made quite a dent in the wood studs and sill plates.

Her master went away to college, we moved to a new home with hardwood floors. She had a hard time dealing with that and shortly after that, she became paralyzed. I was coming home from Mom's Weekend in Pullman and got a call that something was wrong, she couldn't move anything but her head. I got home and we took her to an emergency veterinary clinic. It was determined she had ruptured a disk in her neck. Apparently, all that jumping and disintegrated the disk and some sort of sudden move, possibly on the hardwood floors, had caused it to rupture. When we carried her out of the house that night, our son said "Please bring her back to me". She was 11 years old. It would have been logical to have her put down at that point but not after that. We ended up taking her over to WSU where the only doggie neurologist was at the vet school there. She ended up having a cervical fusion surgery, stayed there for 2 weeks with her master visiting her every day and then she came home. Her friend had to come home from school every day for about 6 weeks and walk her with a towel to support her spine but she slowly but surely got better. She never ran or jumped like she did before but she was able to spend another 5 years with us.

Murphy was the first dog I had where the decision to have her put down had to be made. It was by far the hardest thing I have ever done. My husband spent the day with her laying in the sun in the yard, taking care of her. My sons, having moved on in their lives, were able to meet us at the vet's and we all said goodbye as she peacefully moved on. Even now this brings tears to my eyes. I wonder if it was her time or if we should have done more. She trusted us though and I think it was the right thing to do. We brought her home and buried her in the yard she loved. My son and I planted flowers and a tree over her and I still talk to her there sometimes.

That was almost 2 years ago and maybe someday I will be ready for another dog but not now. I have had all the best over the years. Why mess with that. But understanding what these dogs, best friends, brought to my life, how can I tell my son it isn't wise to get dog? I can't. In fact, I think it is vitally important in life. In fact, I look forward to having a grandog.

Recharge

At any given time, I have something plugged in to recharge, camera battery, cell phone, cell phone hands free device, i-Pod. It got me thinking, what is it that I need to plug into to recharge?

The obvious answer is my kids. I have to admit that when I get to talk to them it does lift my spirits and recharge me to a certain degree. But sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it takes a turn to make me realize really just how far away they are and just how little control I have anymore. And I realize that while they may be the center of my world, I am but one part of theirs, albeit a very important part I know.

Sleep recharges me. This weekend I slept 10 hours both nights. There is nothing like sleep to clear the mind for the week to come.

Sunshine for sure! Both days this weekend had sun and that lends itself to one's mind drifting to the days of summer and sun and lots of activities.

I also have to say I am recharged by contact with old friends. I don't have a lot of them but those I have are very special and when I get to hear from them it makes me happy. You all know who you are.

But right now, more than anything, I am recharged by the fact that I just got my Elton John and Billy Joel Face to Face tickets for November 7th! This is his second show after his first show was sold out in like 5 minutes (I was shut out of tickets to that one). I saw Elton John for the first time a year ago on Mom's Weekend in Pullman (see my prior posts). It is a show that was unforgettable and I can't wait to see him again.

So, for now, I would have to say "Charge Complete".

March Madness

We all know the true meaning of March Madness and sadly my team will not be participating this year. I am still proud of the season the Cougars managed and still hope for an NIT bid.

But March Madness actually exists in many other ways.

Today it is snowing. Not just snowing but accumulating up to about 2 inches so far with no end in sight. It's March 15th for goodness sake! That's March Madness.

Second, it's spring and the cat, Pepper, is obsessed with going outside. It is his hunter instinct. Beware, if he can't go outside he is likely to leave his displeasure anywhere in the house, couch, bed, chair, anywhere but the litter box.

Finally, love is in the air. My son, the oldest, is in love. Now, he has been in love many times. When he falls, he fall hard. But with this one, he doesn't seem to have to compromise himself to be anything he isn't. My son really has never enjoyed talking on the phone. He talks to her for hours, out of necessity of course since he is isolated on a little island in the Bering Sea and she is in Seattle, but also because he really enjoys talking to her. Anyway, I have faith in my son and he seems to have found someone who makes him truly happy so if that is the case, I can't wait to meet her. Of course, I hope meeting this crazy family doesn't scare her off!

Grandma's Pot Roast

So, I have been so envious of my son's travels and the meals he seems to find all over Europe that he describes with such flavor. Well, here you go son. I am going to make you drool for this one.

Prior to his leaving, our son helped us establish a once a week dinner at Grandma's house, Thursday nights. We have been taking the food and cooking it because at 89, a fracture in her back, it has simply become too difficult for her to take on a big dinner, even if it is just for four people. We missed last week's meal because she just didn't feel well.

This week, Grandma decided she would make dinner, she suggested she would make her fried chicken. Her memory not being quite what it used to be, I meant to call her during the day just to make sure this was still going to happen but I didn't. I figured if she forgot, we could just pick something up and take it there.

I have to say, these evenings are very special. Grandpa can't wait for cocktail hour, actually, he doesn't wait so he is quite entertaining by the time we arrive. This week, when we arrived and got out of the car the wafting aroma of something special hit us like a wave! Grandma had not forgotten but rather than fried chicken, she had made probably one of the most recognized comfort meals in the world, Pot Roast.

Now understand, when I met my husband he was used to this kind of cooking and I simply didn't cook at all. It has taken me years of tutelage under my mother-in-law to become even half as good as she has been her entire life. I have my specialties but Grandma, she does it as only Grandma can. Maybe she doesn't do it as often but when she does, it is to die for! I have tried to make her Pot Roast, many times. It is one of the meals she makes that I cannot duplicate.

By the time we arrived, the Pot Roast, parsnips, carrots, potatoes and onions were in the pot and really almost done. Grandma opened the oven to baste everything one more time and it was a glimpse of heaven. The juice from the meat was such a dark brown that when she basted the vegetables you could see the flavor oozing onto them. That same dark juice was soon to become the darkest, most flavorful gravy you can experience. This is where I go wrong. I can't make it that dark. I don't know why. When the Pot Roast was removed and Grandpa was told to carve the meat, the vegetables were dished up, Grandma went to work on the gravy. This is what makes her Pot Roast what it is. This is admittedly not the healthiest of meals but what the heck. The grease in the pan that mixes with the dark meat drippings combined with the added flour to create the masterpiece that is Grandma's gravy. It is the kind of gravy that is not meant just for potatoes. It has to cover just about everything on the plate.

It is no secret how much I miss my sons while they are away. That is why I understand how special it is for Grandma and Grandpa to have us there at least once a week. I sincerely hope that if my sons find their soul mates, or when they do, that they will want to spend time with us. I can't imagine it any other way. But I have to be one of the luckiest daughter-in-laws to be able to have developed this relationship. With my parents now gone I still feel like I have parents because they are so dear to me.

So, sons, come home soon and often, now and forever!