Category: dogs

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Dog Accessories

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The best things in life are free. The second-best things are very, very expensive.

~ Coco Chanel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amour Amour Dog Collar, 7-carat, D-IF, brilliant-shaped center diamond, 1,600 hand-set diamonds,  18-carat white gold, crocodile leather,  *$3.2 million

 

KO-Couture Dog Tutu, hand made, 4,000 Swarovski crystals, *$6,000

 

Swarovski Crystal Dog Bath, 19th-Century clawfoot style, hand set crystals, *$6,995

 

Gianni Versace Barocco Pet Bowl, fine porcelain, ornate gold and black scrollwork,  22 carat gold leaf edging and accents, *$754

 

Hello Kitty Crystal Pet House, 7,600 crystal beads,  cushion/pillow in the shape of Hello Kitty’s face, *$31,660

 

Louis Vuitton Dog Carrier, signature monogram canvas,  brass S-lock, natural leather handles, zinc dish for food or water, air vents, and space specially reserved for pet owner’s photograph, *$58,000

 

Jonathan Adler Acrylic and Brass Dog Bowl Set, acrylic with polished brass corners,  *$600

 

Roberto Cavalli Track Suit, *$1,200

 

 

La Jeune Tulipe Dog Collar, 1.52-carat marquise-cut diamond, marquise-, pear-, and brilliant-shaped smaller diamonds,  *$150,000

 

 

The Couture Domed Pavilion Dog Bed, fine imitation crocodile skin on the outside and handmade, embroidered silk on the interior linens, *3,900

 

Crystal Aurora Borealis Leash, Swarovski precision-cut faceted crystal beads, platinum tone electroplated brass chain handle, woven genuine leather,  *$495

 

* Prices are approximate.

 

 

What’s Your Dog’s/Cat’s Name?

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They say what you name your children is a reflection of you and your significant other. Your personalities, your experiences.

Kids names don’t hold a candle to the reasons we name our pets.

I’ve had a Rennie (Renaissance Faire, pretty self explanatory), Dickens (C Dickens Write, pretty self explanatory too), Kahlua (we all know what that means), Holly, Harley, and my father-in-law’s Indy (Independence Day Girl).

Cats included Mysty (really lame I know) who we usually call Fat Cat, Jazmine (from the Aladdin movie), Tom (he was one cool cat), and Persephone (someone else named her… too many syllables for me).

Over the weekend I went to visit my friend’s daughter and fiancé, and they have a dog named Charlie. Not bad. Their old dog was named Kochani, which is Polish for sweetheart. Other names at the table were Peso (a monetary unit) and Kohana (meaning swift) and a cat named Ty’setzu (who knows what that means!)

The one I loved the most was the dog named Butters. I didn’t ask where that came from, but, since the evening was FULL of stories, I’m sure there was one there, too.

People are more clever with their pet’s name. More adventurous. More likely to tie them to someone or something famous, goofy, or familiar. I know a Briggs (for Lance Briggs from the Chicago Bears), Coda (the concluding passage of a piece or movement, like the concluding member of the family), King Tedward of Fluffernut (that explains itself), Payton (Walter Payton), Nestle (because he was brown like the drink), and Izzy.

I am tickled to hear the stories behind pets’ names. I barely take time to think about my character’s names in my books — whatever comes to mind and sounds smooth works. No reference to TV stars, family members, or people I used to work with. I’ve even made up names which, to my credit, have worked fairly well, too.

But pets.

I can see some cat names:  Tom. Mittens, Patches, Boots. And dogs — Max, Bear, Rocky.

But Butters? Rennie? 

An article from The Dog People says that among dogs and cats, the name Covi is up 1,159%, followed by Rona (up 69%), Corona (up 24%) and Covie which is also trending up in popularity.

Go figure.

I love creative names — especially for our little guys. I can see me someday, standing in my yard, screaming at my runaway dogs — Burrito! Taco! Get over here!  Whiskey! Here!  You’d better listen, Banana Peel!

What are your dogs/cats names?

 

 

Cats and Dogs and Kids — Oh My!

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Those of you who dream of housefuls of dogs and cats running around happy and free most likely have never had cats and dogs running around free.

Oh, I’m not against having more than one pet per household. I have had two dogs and two cats at one time, and loved them immensely.

Maybe I should rephrase that.

Those of you who dream of housefuls of dogs and cats running around happy and free have never babysat several dogs from several different families at one time.

We took our current dog as a donation from a family member because she was too crazy as a pup around a newborn. We have been taking care of a different family member’s little dog for over a year, (I believe she is permanently mine now), and just took in my son’s young lab for a few days while they move. 

We also have a cat who doesn’t leave the closet for the duration of my son’s dog’s visit.

Throw in two grandkids under 5 and it becomes true chaos.

The visiting puppy relentless pursues the older dog for wrestling matches, and chases the littler dog just because he can. The cat was almost eaten the last time the dog visited, and all three mooch popcorn and cookies from the little ones. 

The visiting dog has to sleep in his cage, which promotes whines and barks at 2 a.m., the other having escaped his madness by sleeping on our bed (along with the hiding cat). The three-year-old constantly chases kitty to give her an oversized squeeze hug, and the five-year-old smothers the little dog when he gives hugs.

Food falls from tables and little hands into waiting mouths, and all this excitement makes the dogs need to go outside every hour.

Indeed, it’s mass chaos.

I’ve been taking care of my grandkids a little more this past month as they pack and get ready to move to their new house this weekend. 

And I realized God knew what he was doing when he decided that 68-year-olds can’t get pregnant.

I love them to pieces — I love their visits and their hugs and their stories. I am blessed with their being in my life every single day.

And I definitely like the affection of dogs and cats.

But by Sunday afternoon I’m in search of a comfy chair, a book or computer, and nobody around. Peace and quiet. All alone. 

Hoping you  find a way to fit mad pets and kids into your life. They add years to your life, and help you enjoy the peace and quiet even more.

We Have Not Forgotten

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Thousands of firefighters and emergency medical personnel responded to Ground Zero, including over 350 trained search and rescue dogs to Ground Zero and the Pentagon. 

The dogs were extremely important in locating human victims, by using their sense of smell and agility to direct workers to the location of those injured and deceased. But according to the American Kennel Club, only about 100 were prepared for the size of the disaster.They deserve our respect and remembrance, too. We will never forget. Victims, rescuers, and search and rescue dogs. 

My Dog Is Smart

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People say animals aren’t smart. Oh, they can mimic and bring the ball back and react appropriately to your words. But they’re not smart.

I am here to say — I honor your opinion, but my dog is smart. My dog can tell time.

My mother-in-law used to give the dogs treats when they’d go outside and do their business. Bad habit or not, I picked up that one. Then somehow or another that turned into giving the dogs a bonie at 7 p.m. Another bad habit, perhaps.

That habit went through a few dogs through the years. But now I have my son’s dog — now my dog — and I swear she knows whenever 7 p.m. comes around. 

Wherever we are, no matter what we’re doing, my dog sits down right in front of me at 7 p.m. every day. Time change? Doesn’t matter. Sitting outside? Doesn’t matter. Rain? Sleet? Snow? Doesn’t matter. No clock in sight? Doesn’t matter. Every evening at 7 p.m., there she is. Watching me. Pacing. Panting. Asking politely for her 7 o’clock B.

If I ignore her, she continues her quest. Moving around. Laying down. Sighing. Squealing softly. Changing positions. Watching. Always watching. Until I get up, go to the pantry, and pull out a chewie and give it to her. It used to be rawhides, but since her teeth are getting bad we’ve moved to dental stix.

But it’s always at 7 p.m. Or should I say, it STARTS at 7 p.m.

Does this sound like I spoil my dog?

I’d like not to think so. I’d like to think that I have created yet another habit that I give her credit for. Like bringing the ball back. That she’s still as dumb as a box of rocks.

She taught my brother-in-law’s dog (who is staying with us now) when it’s 7 o’clock, too. 

See? She even knows how to train other dogs…..

 

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Jess Bell

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Jess Bell is a Canadian photographer and animal lover.Bell is very passionate about animal photography, and recently created artistic images of animals in action.The bright colors and dynamic swirls are captured in  real time,  the powder acting as a perfect action amplification device.As a result, every single image is unique and highlights the amazing differences between how dogs of various breeds and body shapes move. Bell says, “Animal photography is my passion. I endeavor to create impacting images that go beyond the standard photograph to become true works of art.“I use light, color and the beauty of the natural world to bring images alive; to convey the love and energy embodied by our four-legged companions.”“As a result, every single image is unique and highlights the amazing differences between how dogs of various breeds and body shapes move.”

More of Jess Bell‘s amazing photography can be found at http://www.jessbellphotography.com.

 

 

Letting Go

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 35 Comments

Some sad reflections today.

My dog of 13 years passed away yesterday.

Now I’m not telling you this to wring out sympathy or other reactions. The reason I share this with you is that whenever someone or some thing close to you is taken away, there is a little piece of you that leaves with them.

Worse than that for me, though, is that sudden, albeit unwanted, connection with my own mortality.

I know a dog is only an animal. They don’t think and reason like we do (although sometimes I beg to differ). But Dickens’ passing makes me think of those I have loved who have passed before, and those who will pass in the future.

And my own passing.

I have to admit something. Many people find solace in religion. That there is an afterlife, a heaven, a chance to be reunited with loved ones. They believe this fully and adamantly.

I’m not one of those people.

I look for signs of those I love who are in the afterlife, but I always come up empty. In my heart I feel my mother or father or brother with me, but common sense says it’s nothing more than an emotional overload. Wanting is getting. I hope to be proved wrong in the end…that the guardian of the afterlife will chuckle and say “I told you so.”

Dickens had 13 great years. She fetched, she went swimming in the lake, she went on walks with me.We buried her in our field (I live on a hill surrounded by wild fields) with her mom, her bfdf Rennie, and my cat. In my selfish dreams I see all of them running around through the fields, sleeping, eating, climbing and swimming together.

I see her with all the dogs and cats I have lost during my lifetime. How are they all together, when they didn’t even know each other in this life?

My love, my spirit, connects them all.

I believe the same is true for human beings. Our love, our spirit, is what connects us. Whether on this side of the cosmic divide or the other. Whether we live in Australia or California or Midwest Wisconsin. Sometimes that string that connects us is pulled, and we all feel unified, if only for a moment.

Keep that string connected, my friends. It doesn’t matter what’s on the other side — that will be decided for all of us in due time. It’s what we share today and tomorrow and every day we are able to see the sunrise that counts.

Have fun, Dickens. See ya ‘all when the time comes.

 

 

We Will Never Forget…

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Thousands of firefighters and emergency medical personnel responded to Ground Zero, including over 350 trained search and rescue dogs to Ground Zero and the Pentagon. 

The dogs were extremely important in locating human victims, by using their sense of smell and agility to direct workers to the location of those injured and deceased. But according to the American Kennel Club, only about 100 were prepared for the size of the disaster.

They deserve our respect and remembrance, too. 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — Lorraine Corrigan

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These gorgeous papier-mâché dogs are made by UK-based artist Lorraine Corrigan in Hounds of Bath.

Lorraine adores sight hounds with their sleek lines, grace and elegance.

She loves to introduce the surprising concept of rolled paper art to those who have never seen or heard of quilling.

Lorraine began sculpting dogs with paper around four years ago and has now developed a sophisticated technique using wires and layers of fine papers from recycled books.

Each piece is individually made to order and develops a unique personality as the finishing touches of the expressive eyes and fine ears are added.

At the end process, due to the use of the text, the piece is almost stone-like in texture.

Each piece is then finished with two layers of sealant wash to preserve it for many years to come.

More of Lorraine Corrigan‘s amazing art can be found at All Things Paper and http://houndsofbath.tumblr.com/.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Dean Russo

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A native of Brooklyn, New York, Dean Russo draws inspiration from urban landscapes and his love for dogs to create truly unique artwork known for its brilliant colors and bold abstract designs of mesmerizing shapes and symbols.

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To create these one of a kind images he uses a minimum of ten mediums per painting including pastels, ink, oils, pencils, wax, charcoal and spray paint.

3-french-bulldog-dean-russo

“I used to paint portraits of rock icons and Hollywood stars for so many years with my dogs by my side. Till one day I thought, why not paint my two favorite subjects?” says Russo.

ms-understood-dean-russo

Initially inspired by his two cocker spaniels, Dean began working with rescue centers to raise awareness and donate his work.

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Dean strives to communicate a message that encourages people to choose adoption, to acknowledge the world-wide failure of breed specific legislation and to combat dog fighting around the world.

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“When a child sees, hears and acts upon my message, I feel successful. Anytime someone puts a message of love or respect towards people or animals into the universe it builds like a ripple. I hope I live long enough to see my ripples come back to me. That will make me smile.”

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Dean Russo’s designs can be found on t-shirts, posters, tote bags and framed art. His creations of dogs fills the world with magic — and love.happy-shepherd-dean-russo

You can fulfill your love of Dean Russo‘s art and dogs at :

http://deanrussoart2.myshopify.com and http://dean-russo.artistwebsites.com,

READ THESE (gimmicky) GUIDELINES NOW!!

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dos-donts-celebrities1The world is full of gimmicks — full of one-liners and sensational promises for everything from growing hair to making money while staying at home.  Just do this. Only $19.95. Follow these 5 rules and 10 guidelines and you’ll be smarter, prettier, richer, and so on.

Well, I want to cash in on that rigmarole, too. Every blogger wants to be popular. Well read. Recommended. Vital to the survival of the planet. Admit it — we don’t care about statistics, yet every time we get a new follower we do the Snoopy Dance.

So in that same (silly) vein, here are tried-and-true rules for you to follow if you want to be a popular, magnetic, P’s and Q’s type of over-the-top blogger.

DO…

*  Write about kittens/cats and puppies/dogs. No one can resist the cuteness of baby animals. Even if they poop in your lap or chew your new pair of shoes, there’s something cute about the whole thing.

*  Pictures. People love pictures. Nature’s a good one: flowers, trees, paths. Can’t beat Mother Nature for a Stress Buster. Makes ya just wanna go out and do the Sound of Music thing, doesn’t it?

*  Use pictures of food. Even if your recipe/story/antidote doesn’t have anything to do with the pic, who can resist an image of ooey gooey caramel or creamy, cheesy lasagna or a bead-sweating glass of whatever? Makes my mouth water just to think about it.

*  Quotes. People love stories that start or end with quotes. Surely Mel Brooks or Clint Eastwood carry the same charisma as Dali Lama or William Shakespeare. Try a “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue” kinda lead in. You’ll knock ’em dead.

*  Lists. People can’t resist lists. The top 5 to 10 of anything is enough to hold their attention. Now, no one says these lists have to make sense — no one pays much attention to the rules once they leave your blog anyway. But they certainly are eye-catchers!

* Talk to make-believe characters. People love being entertained. I know of a blogger who talks to cheeseburgers and gargoyles. Why not you? And, who knows? They may be more informative and entertaining the evening news.

 

Don’t…

*  Go overly long on the length of your blog. I know you want to unburden your soul, explore the possibilities, make new friends, share recipes, etc., etc., etc. But  you and I know that the attention span of most readers is less than that of a gnat. At 600 words you’ve still got an audience. By 800 people are starting to open a second window on their computer. 900 to 1000 words people are throwing a load of laundry in between sentences. Anything on it’s way up to 2000 words might well be voted “Novel of the Year.”

*  Steal — borrow. The Internet is full of ideas. Borrow what you like and make it yours. If you DO borrow directly from someone, give them the credit they’re due. Readers don’t necessarily care if your words sound familiar — they just don’t want to get sued for reading them.

*  Talk about the same thing over and over. If you are sharing pain, share it. If you are sharing music, or thoughts on television shows, share it. Then talk about something else. Show your progress. Your research. Your over-vivid imagination. People love getting lost. Let them get lost in your mind.

*  Make sure every sentence counts. You want to reach as many readers as you can with your message, no matter what that message is. Good bloggers are followed, not by the quantity they pump out, but by the quality. A story that makes you think, makes you feel, makes you chuckle, will stay with the reader a lot longer than one that flashes in the night.

And — (wait for it…) Who needs hot flashes in the night anyway?

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — George Rodrigue

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Meet Blue Dog. Possibly one of the most iconic pop art figures created by artist George Rodrigue.

Are You Lonesome Tonight

 

Blue Dog Oak

 

Blue Dog has been everywhere from the permanent collection of the Smithsonian to the White House and all over the world.

 

Butterfly Blues

 

Born and raised in New Iberia, Louisiana,  George began painting during the third grade while bedridden with polio.

A Faster Breed

Rollin on the River

 

Later in life, his art studies at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette followed by the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena gave him a foundation that spawned one of the greatest success stories in southern art.

Mardi Gras 2010

 

Rodrigue was a gifted artist who started out painting the landscape and the rich history of Louisiana and the Cajun people. But that all changed when he found his model in his studio: a photograph of his dog, Tiffany, who had died.

Good Morning Acadiana

 

He Stopped Loving Her Today

 

“I’m expressing the feelings of mankind today through the Blue Dog,” George said.  “The dog is always having problems of the heart, of growing up, the problems of life.”

I Am an Artist

 

Space Chair

 

His heart was in his work, in his love of his blue dog and his beautiful wife and loving kids.

Are You Trying To Get On My Good Side

 

Blue Dogs on the Red River

 

More of George Rodigue’s amazing blue dogs can be found at https://georgerodrigue.com/.

The Raven Unicorn

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unicorn

I love writing. I love writing everything — including parodies.

Most of you know I also love unicorns.

I came across this wonderful little ditty the other day. I wrote it as an invitation to my 60th birthday party. I believe instead of complaining, whining, and belittling the day we cannot do anything about, we should make a big deal of it every day.

So enjoy my ode to my birthday party two years ago.

 

 

The Raven  The Unicorn

by

Claudia Edgar Allan Anderson

 

Once upon a weeknight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary

Over a many quaint and curious volume of forgotten recorded TV shows

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my patio door.

‘Tis my dogs I muttered, tapping at my patio door.

Only this and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December

And each separate dust bunny made a mess upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow – vainly I had thought to borrow

A DVD from my son’s room, but sorrow – sorry he had misplaced Avatar

Just a phase and nothing more.

Presently my channel surfing grew boring, hesitating then no longer

Dickens or Rennie dogs, said I, truly your forgiveness I implore

But the fact was I was napping, and so gently you came rapping.

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my patio door.

That I scarcely heard you. Here I slide open the door

Snow piled there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing

The dogs so quietly sleeping, sleeping down the bathroom hall

But the silence was now broken, and the dogs were gently snoring

And the only word there spoken was the whispered words ‘sixty oh.’

Merely this and nothing more.

Open here I flung the patio shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In stepped a stately unicorn of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least chuckle made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;

But with the air of a know-it-all, perched above my breakfront door

Perched upon a duck decoy just atop my breakfront door

Laid down, and smiled, nothing more.

By the silly and irreverent decorum of the smirk that she wore

Though thy horn be sparkly and spirally, thou, I said, art sure no dog.

Smiling and bouncy ancient unicorn wandering from the snow piles

Tell me what thy lady’s name is on the night of the Walking Dead finale!

Quoth the unicorn, ‘sixty, oh!’

The unicorn still beguiling, all my weary bones into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a foot stool in front of unicorn and breakfront and door;

Then upon the polyester sinking, I betook to linking

Fancy unto fancy, remembering all my years of glorious tales

What this full-figured, laughing, ditzy unicorn

Meant in singing ‘sixty, oh!’

Prophet! said I, thing of beauty – prophet still, if real or fancy –

Whether astral traveling or whether sent by Gandalf

Are you telling me age has no meaning

Quoth the unicorn, ‘sixty, oh!’

And the unicorn, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the duck decoy just atop my breakfront door;

And her eyes have all the seeming of a family whose love is beaming

And the ceiling lamp o’er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that now is dancing on the floor

Now is singing ‘sixty, oh!’

Evidence!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

CAM01055I know this is supposed to be a Goddessy blog, with Goddessy, middle-aged stories. And it is.

Maybe this is just a middle-aged reaction to thieves in the night. Thieves in the cold, crisp dawn. Thieves in the whisper of the early morn.

Last night I went to watch my grandbaby and his swimming lessons. Came home, set my purse on the sofa end table, loved and pet the dogs and cats, and went to bed. Somewhere in the late night I let them come and sleep with me for a couple of hours. (Mistake number 1).  Now, I’m not a sleep-with-the-animals kinda girl, but when I’m overtired and I don’t want to hear the dogs click-click-click across the wood floor, I invite them now and then to sleep on the bed.

Hubby comes home at 4, feeds said cats and dogs, and kicks all animals out of the room, and things are quiet until I get up for work a couple hours later. (Mistake number 2).

I get up this morning to go to work, and look at what I found on the dog’s pillow! My glasses soft case, a bracelet, and my flash drive holder! My first instinct was to blame the dogs…they are big, naughty, lovey chocolate labs. They get into the garbage, run away helter skelter if not watched, and bug me 95% of my waking hours. So who easier to blame for the woes of my domestic tranquility than them?

Later in the day I tell hubby about finding my prized possessions on the dog pillows, and, low and behold, he said it was my cats. My little Tom and my fatty Mysty. I say, “wha?” He says, oh yeah, I hear them playing hockey with things I leave out all the time. Pens, pins, bracelets, all kinds of trinkets find their way off the tables and onto the floor courtesy of my kitties.

Humph!

Now, it’s only the two of us (humans) in the house; it’s babyproofed when my grandbaby comes to visit, but otherwise it’s a kind of pick-up-when-you-feel-like-it place. I lived a long time to be able to live this way.

Now I find I have to kitty-proof my house. Including zipping my purse closed, it seems.

What ever happened to the carefree days of middle age? Those days when your kids are gone and you are free to walk around in your underwear and drink milk straight from the jug? The days when you are free to leave your purse open without fear of some ransacking animal pulling things out of it and seeing if they bounce? Before you know it they’ll be pulling out my toothbrush and brushing their kitty teeth or using a fork to eat their cat food, ordering cat trinkets on HSN and ordering tuna pizza from Pizza Hut.

Now that I think about it, though, it’s actually kinda funny to picture fat cat digging around in my purse, pushing the lipstick and gum aside, just to find the empty cloth glass case, picking it up with her teeth, pulling it out, shaking it around, and fetching it across the room, leaving it on the dog’s pillows, setting them up for the fall.

I guess she’s not such a dumb cat after all.

 

Shhhh Kitty Kitty Kitty….

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Let me start off by saying – I love cats. I love MY cats. They are solace when I am sad, they are loving when I feel empty.

Now.

My cats also drive me up the proverbial wall.

They do the usual “cat” things…they lay on my laptop when I’m typing, sleep by my head when I’m trying to sleep. But they also make more noise than the Park Street Band. Especially Tom.

Tom is my grey and white tuxedo. He is the friendliest, coolest cat I’ve ever owned. He holds his own against my chocolate lab, along with the two other labs that practically live at my house. He allows my grandson to carry him all  around the house, feet dangling near the floor, as his body as long as my grandson is tall. He loves to lay on your lap – anyone’s lap – especially if you are under a blanket.

What’s the problem, then, you ask?

It’s multifold, actually.

First off, his meow is loud and demanding. Not just when he’s hungry, but when he wants a snack. When he wants a bite. When the other cat eats more than her share of breakfast and dinner. He’s not a fat cat – he’s just a slow eater. A bite, a nibble, a nap, another bite. So his eating/lifestyle often leaves his bowl empty, and his meow obnoxious. Relentless. Over the top.

I think Tom must be a vocal kind of cat. For his pestering snacking “meow” doesn’t hold a candle to his…cleaning ritual.

I have never heard a cat be so loud in cleaning himself. Not just a licky here, chewy there. This is a full-blown, groaning, squeaking, icky-sticky ritual. Grunts and groans that would make a sound effects master blush. And he seems to pick the quietest times to take a bath. 2 a.m. 4 a.m. When I just go to bed. An hour before I wake up.  If he can’t lick himself, he licks the dog’s head. Unless I close the bedroom door at night, he is there like clockwork. Cuddling, snuggling, licking and yacking and hacking. If I close him out, he and the other cat play tag from one end of the house to the other. I’m doomed no matter which way I turn.

You say maybe he’s got a mineral deficiency. Or needs more water. Or a bath.  I am of the belief that he is just one big, happy cat, and when he kicks back and relaxes, he thinks, “Hey!  I’m relaxed! Laid back! Let’s get clean!”

My other cat Mysty is the fat cat. I feel bad – I have never overfed either one. It’s just that once she got her plumbing “fixed”, she put on a pound or six. As the joke goes, she never met a meal she didn’t like. Rattle the cat food container and she is all over me like white on rice. So to speak. And once she’s full, she loves to lay and snuggle … on my chest. Ten pounds of kitty makes breathing a little labored. Not that I let her lay around my neck – it’s just that she hasn’t forgotten she used to do that when she was a baby. Three years and ten pounds ago.

Pets are a wonderful thing. Cats and dogs are wonderful companions. They give of themselves 100 percent of the time, wanting nothing more than to be loved in return.

I just wish they’d be a bit more quiet about it.

The Weekend Before Christmas

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cats christmas

It was the week before Christmas

And all through the house

The kitties were running

In search of their mouse.

They tore through the kitchen

And under the chair

Then disappeared down the hallway

As if never there

The stockings weren’t hung

I’m nobody’s fool

For all that’d be left

Would be shredded in drool

The doggies were eyeballing

The goodies I baked

They had full intention

of sharing my cake

The tree stood by waiting

For garland and lights

The statues and santas

Were stacked way up tight

Christmas cards were patient

For pen and for stamp

My list just kept growing

There under the lamp

I was cooking, I was cleaning

I was staying up late

Worrying about strudel

And empty Christmas plates

The kitties were wrestling

And howling at night

They were drinking milk from glasses

And causing a fright

Then what to my wondering

eyes should appear

But a Food Network magazine

And a bottle of beer

The recipes flowed

Like snow in the hills

With last minute tips

For stove and for grill

On Candy! On Cookies!

On chocolate pecans!

The holiday planning

Had only begun!

Another beer or two

And I was planning gourmet

Pot-au-feu and remoulades

And salmon pate

After the six pack

The tree decorated itself

The dogs baked a meatloaf

With the elf on the shelf

The cats were all dancing

To Jinglebell Rock

The ornaments were hung

On the dining room clock

The beauty of Christmas

Shown brightly that night

My head did a spinneroonie

But that was all right

The turkey and stuffing

Could wait one more day

I took two more aspirins

And called it a day.

Enter Stage Right …The Drama Queen

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

opera-singer-1Ahhhhh…the life of a Drama Queen. Always in the spotlight. Always one-upping friends and family with tales just this side of Edgar Allan Poe. Their problems, their accomplishments, are always bigger/sadder/more confusing than anything you may have experienced. You’re allergic to cat hair? They’re allergic to cat hair, laundry soap, pollution, and chocolate. You get headaches? They get super-duper three days-in-the-dark whoppers.

I know we all have our physical and mental ups and downs…no race is run without sore feet. It’s just that most times Drama Kings and Queens are more…dramatic…than their counterparts. They always have something wrong with them, whether it be their health, their job, their relationships, or their kids. Every time you turn around — well, you get my point.

Now — what do you do if one day you yourself become the Magi of Drama??

It’s so easy to cross that barrier at times — often you don’t even know you are one. When my friends tell tales about their kids, I always have a story to tell about my kids. You’re going to Las Vegas? I’ve been there three times! You had the flu for three days? I had it for a week! Are these the signs of one-upmanship?  Am I competing or sharing? Encouraging or bragging?

I suppose what it comes down to is how deep the puddle is that you’re/I’m splashing in. I waver between telling friends about serious situations (such as illness or death), and trying to mind my own business. Yet these things boil and bubble inside of me until I find it’s easier to tell the truth than get tangled in the web of lies and half-truths that trinkle out. Before I know it I’ve offered TMI, and think — Drama Queen.

Yet I find there is incredible healing in slipping into the DQ role at times. Like the day I found out I had the big C. My husband and I were shocked enough, and when I went back to work, I immediately told my workmates.  It just kind of bubbled out. I found so much support and tears and understanding that I suddenly was embarassed. Yet relieved. The same was when I had a bit of surgery a few months later. Or my mini bout in the hospital. Not a big deal. Yet it was easier to tell others where I was than pretend I was in Graceland for three days. Same with my dog passing away. As my last blog indicated, A Dog is Just A Dog and a Cat is Just a Cat…Right? was a therapeutical way to deal with a sad situation. Yet as soon as I hit publish, I thought — Drama Queen.

But I also offer sympathy and a lending an ear to others who are in need. I don’t think twice about listening to friends about their saddest moments: their father passing away, their bouts with Crone’s Disease, their inability to find a job. My heart hurts with them, as if it was me going through the ups and downs. Their happiest times, too: a friend at work got a beautiful tattoo; I gushed over it to the point that I want to get one, too. My kids are going away for five days (their first since they were married 7 years ago); I gushed over their adventure to the point that I want to go, too.

So I think — are my friends and family Drama Queens and Kings too?

When you think about it, talking about your ups and downs is very therapeutic. I know at least half of my recoveries have been because of friend and family support. The pressures that build up inside of us are more than we can handle. Even if we are SuperMan/Woman, we all get to that point where, if we don’t let our anxiety out, we turn and twist into something ten times as messed up as before. Sometimes we need an outlet, an ear, of someone who can do nothing about our problems, but still can relate to the feelings. They are our pressure cooker valve, our second glass of wine.

And they are our mirror. Good friends and family don’t let us become Drama Kings and Queens. We get too dramatic, too out of control, they steer us to calmer waters.  Which is what we needed in the first place. The point is, don’t be afraid to share your highs and lows with those around you. Your therapy is their therapy.

And after a hot spell, what’s better than a cool dip? I know lots of people who are cool dips….

Dogs are just Dogs and Cats are just Cats…Right?

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 9 Comments

rennieAlright. Sad news first. My yellow labrador Renaissance Faire passed away yesterday. She was 11; a great huntress who was sweet and quirky and always knew when it was 7 p.m. and time for her 7 o’clock B(bonie). I was by her side to help her transition to the land of open fields and T-bone steaks; a daunting task, unnerving to say the least. We buried her under a tree next to my favorite cat Jasmine and my father-in-law’s dog Indy.

(Thanks for the good thoughts, btw)

Now the humorous part.

Here I am, 60 years old, walking through tick-infested grass and doggie mines not yet picked up with bare feet to give Rennie her final, eternal 7 o’clock B. Crying, wiping my snotty nose on my shirt, my mind taking over and remembering all slights and hurts real and imaginary, piling them together on top of my loss, fueling the fire that burned out of control. I was whispering baby doggie talk to the grave, babbling nonsense that only a dog would understand.

To the dog.

Not a child, a family member, friend or distant relative. A dog. Dogs and cats are dogs and cats — lower rungs on the food chain that do such innocuous things as lick their butt or eat other animal’s…well…you get my drift.

How many of you have done this?

I’m not sorry for my over reaction — I can stand back and chuckle at myself. For what is life but knowing who we are? Yet I ask…How do dogs and cats become our 1st or 2nd or 3rd child? And where do they get these…personalities?

I know one person whose cat looks at him and poops right in front of him every time he comes home from a long vacation. Another person’s dog won’t go outside to do her duty when the grass is wet. Another person’s cat talks on the phone along with its owner. My own Rennie had the uncanny ability to know when it was 7 pm no matter where we were and what we were doing. Where do they get these quirks? And why is it us that has to do the adjusting?

I know humans tend to anthropomorphize (give animals human traits). We give them personalities and assume they understand what we are saying. Why else would we talk to them so much? Many stand firm on their belief that animals think and feel and react as humans do. And on many levels that is true. I am not here to debate the validity of such things. What I will say, however, is that it is amazing how one little canine or feline can change your life.  They listen without complaining; they don’t hold a grudge when they come to sleep with you at night, and want to be with you all the time. They listen while you go on and on about your crummy day at work or your overbearing mother-in-law or the barking dog down the street.

I’m also not saying that pets are for everyone. Cleaning out kitty litter boxes and scooping up lincoln logs are not for everyone. Often it’s easier to spoil someone else’s dog or cat. Why not? Their love is universal.  Their devotion and energy should say something about how the world should work. They don’t care about the color of your skin or how fat you are or what religion tickles your fancy. Their needs are basic — love, food, and pets.  Something the world should take note of.

The moral of this little ditty is to just love your pets, or your family’s pets, or the pets at the shelter. Treat your fellow humans that way too, and you’ll never be sorry.

Just make sure you always make time for your  7 o’clock B.