Winger

My boy, my buddy, best hiking dog, the "Lick-a-tron 2000" is gone. We had to put him to sleep late this morning.
After the vet ultra-sounded his chest and saw the tumor in his heart, we had to decide to let him go.
They brought him to us, and he licked Marty's face. We held him and petted him and cried over him while the very nice vet, Dr. Mark gave him the injection.
I wish I felt like he's crossed over and is at the Rainbow Bridge. But I feel like he's partway here, confused and bewildered. I can't shake the feeling.

Freaked Out

Winger has not eaten since yesterday morning, which was Marty's birthday. He was his usual goofy, noisy self yesterday morning.

Now he is listless and did not eat breakfast. He puked up everything that was pretty much in his stomach at some point last night. I had him out of his crate for the night.

So I am totally freaked out but trying to maintain my decorum. I keep imaging the worst, that he is dying or we have to put him to sleep. So I am very teary. Whatever is going on, it is NOT normal.

7:50 am. Can't call the vet's office until 8 pm. Tick-tock. He's laying by the back door. His stomach is making grumbling, gurgling noises; I can hear it from here.

He didn't even perk up when I said "Ball?" That always gets these cattledogs, they love to play ball.

7:55. Tick-tock. Come on, clock. I know time moves forward at what now seems to be an alarming pace (unlike when I was a kid). Right now, it seems to be slow.

Poor baby, something is not right in Winger-ville. And I can't stop tearing up and I am feeling just barely in control. I know (intellectually) that falling into a blubbering mass will not help anyone, certainly not Winger.

Usually he's barking, "Feed me! Hurry up, feed me! Oh, there is someting I must bark at. A sound, a noise, someone came into the room/house/you name it. I must bark at Evil Squirrel! Feed me! Jesse and Elke are playing, I must tell you in every detail about this!"

Not a peep.

It's 8:02 and I just called the vet. he has an appointment at 9:30. I hate waking people up to tell them I need to go. I'm OK in the morning. I'd never call myself a Morning Person BY ANY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION but I am surrounded by people who are NOT OK, who are not morning people. Which kind of pisses me off when I am worried or distressed. But that's my thing, I guess.

I guess I'll have to wait and see what's going on at 9:30.

Crap.

BAD RAP Blog: Training basics - From Pit Ed Class

BAD RAP Blog: Training basics - From Pit Ed Class

The Dogs today

The cattledogs love to play ball. That hasn't changed. Jesse wears out easier of course, but Winger can still go until his sides are heaving. Elke still isn't much on the fetching thing. She seems to enjoy chasing the other dogs and stealing the ball!

New Pictures & Thank You, Randy W!

I had to "audition" for a gig, long story. While I had my hair done up and makeup on, I had Marty take some pictures of me. I kinda needed an updated photo anyway.... I re-did the background in Photoshop but no, I haven't redone ME. Yet....After all, the door was SUCH an attractive background. Right.

It's weird how I have to stand up REALLY straight and pull my head up REALLY high so I don't get that chicken neck thing happening.

The older I get the more I "get" Face Lifts! LOL! Trust me, ladies (and many gentlemen) MAKEUP IS YOUR FRIEND!!

it's a P.I.T.A. to put it on, yes, I know. I am not enamored with doing the deed but i can see the results. When I am doing a play/show, I kind of like it as it's a relaxing ritual thing. Listen to some tunes and really take your time.

What was crazy was I did a French Twist with a rolled front curl in 5 minutes. Lest you think this is a yawner, it's not that easy. Not really.

Now, I didn't think I could do it. My hair usually looks like I went backwards through a bush. Granted, my hair is longer now,(past my shoulders) which is helpful. But I never was nor will I ever be my late and throughly lamented Gay friend, Randy Wines, who really, seriously, swear-to-God could turn a Sow's Ear into a Silk Purse. If Randy had a hair brush, hair spray, a few hair pins and the absolute bare minimum of makeup, he could make Mick Jagger into Miss America. The pig would be a shoe-in!

I must have channeled my inner Randy because that hair went up like a Prom Queens's Dress at the After-party.

And all this to sing two songs. Sheesh.

Thank you, Randy. All that teasing, spraying, pinning, yanking, plucking, and talking to me in Dream-time must have embedded itself in to some hidden cranial hard-drive in my relatively Hair Challenged brain.

But I still miss you, honey. And thank you for coming to me in two dreams in 2005 and telling me TWICE to quit smoking. (That's another story...) I know you're saving the First Dance for me, then it's Marty's turn....
)

I'm Amazed: How Have I lived So Long?

How did I make it to 56 years old?

When I was growing up: I didn't wear a bike helmet, no seat belts until I was in high school, got smacked when I was bad, had chores, climbed trees, rode horses without a helmet (unless I was jumping), was bottle fed after 6 weeks, been hazed, bullied, tormented.

I got filthy dirty, did hard physical labor, have NEVER had a flu shot, talk(ed) on my cell phone next to my EAR, stand (stood) near microwave ovens, drank pop, ate crap with crap in it, slept in my own crib/ bed, WALKED to school, broke many bones, took my knocks, spilled hot liquid all over myself, got cuffed for bad manners....etc. etc.

I'm serious. HOW HAVE I MADE IT SO FAR? According the "Modern Parenting System" I should be DEAD!!!

Stop the molly-coddling, please, Modern Parents.

Please. Stop. Now.

Kids. Are. Resilient.

A whole generation SURVIVED. They thrived, even.

Boomers. We may be crazy in a ton of ways but we're pretty tough. Granted, our parents were even tougher!

I'll even give some GenXers a Moderate Thumbs Up.

Modern Parents are big old scaredy cats. It's a messy, confusing, basically thankless job, raising the next generation.

Ohmigod, if we bottle feed them, let them sleep in their own rooms, let them ride a trike (much less a bike) with the wind in their hair, let them cry, give them rules, boundaries and limitations, stick them in a play-pen for a few hours, make them eat what's on the table, make them behave in public, have manners, don't sue our neighbor when our kid breaks an arm on the neighbor's swing set, let them GO on a swing set/slide/teeter totter, etc. etc. WE'VE FAILED! We've "stifled their growth." We've "crushed their individuality." We've squashed the little flower that they are.

Oh, please. I am a beautiful, complex rose bush, full of fragrance, softness and thorns. I'll always bloom someway, somehow until it's time for me to rejoin Mother Earth and Father Sky, my spirit soaring.

Guess what? Using the Modern Parenting System, we've raised a generation of self-entitled, spoiled, whiny, self-important, standardized-test-taking, techno savvy but socially inept, irresponsible, lazy, rude brats. And I don't see any improvements happening soon. If I'm unfortunate, they'll be wiping my ancient butt. The thought terrifies me because they won't because it's dirty, hard, sh*tty work.

Please. Stop. Now.

Stop enabling kids.

You are not their friend. You are their parent. You get to be their friend when they're not living with you (or off you) any more. When they're on their own, with a job, paying bills, not living in your house...THEN you get to be friends.

I can't even get some 20-something arse-hole to give up his seat on the bus to some woman old enough to be his great-grandmother. A ten year old may be able to hack into my computer but he can't make his bed or clean out the cat box? God forbid he should stand up when a woman of any age comes into the room. The whiny 22 year old with the dyed black hair and fingernails? God forbid she should do the dishes even though her parent(s) are paying for her car/phone/housing.

Please. Stop. Now. You're enabling.

You. Are. Not. Helping.

If you want to read something elevating, put down the Mouse and read Denis Leary's WHY WE SUCK. He says it way better than I ever will. The audio book is even better.

I give kudos to my next-door neighbor. He's managed to raise two really nice, helpful, funny, bright, athletic, well-adjusted boys/young men. I bet he'd be happy to share his parenting tips. I'm guessing they include a bop upside the head when needed.

Sometimes I think I should way too much like my grand-mother: "Kids today....blah, blah, blah..." Mea culpa.

I ask again: how have I survived so long?

Sometimes You Gotta Laugh!

I admit it. I have trouble with typing. And texting. Especially on my cell phone. The print on the screen is really tiny! It has a white background. The text is small. And so there is Spell Check. I can usually snag mistakes on the computer.

But the cell phone, my Android phone, used "Auto Correct." Most "smart" phones do! And we're all pretty busy, texting madly away, speedily thumbing those letter keys. Trying to get our mostly inane messages out there. I screw up a lot and Marty, who is often the recipient of these mis-thumbed missives, scratches his head in puzzled wonderment.

"What the heck???" And so I bring you a marvellously funny website...."D**n You Auto Correct." All one word, without the **s in there. They do have a Facebook page and you can find them on the web.And I odn't know why links won't post on Blogger....blast!

Enjoy!