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2spoos · 5 years ago

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Day One – The Invader

Fudge my life.

I came home from a long lunch to discover the stray cat that had taken up residence in the yard had somehow got into the house. Well, I didn’t discover it – the dogs did.

Mayhem!!! And that is an understatement. Fur and hair flew (poodles have hair instead of fur as it doesn’t shed – a useless piece of information you will never need.)

The cat finally ended up in my bathroom sink where it remained all night. Once it quit running, the dogs settled and so did kitty.

I had been wanting to catch this cat to have it fixed and dewormed but this wasn’t how I intended on doing it. The area has too many kittens and it didn’t matter if it was a he or a she – it needed to lose its baby making parts. I had envisioned renting a trap. No need now.

The vet was closed since it was after 6:00 pm so I had to figure out how the four of us were going to live together for the next 15 hours. The dogs kept their distance as the cat put up quite the fight when they first met. I was hoping it stayed that way.

Then it went from bad to worse. I got out the only meat I had to lure the cat: prosciutto. While I was corralling Sherlock, Shasta ate the package. And when I say package I mean plastic and all. I’m not sure how many of the thin plastic sheets were there but in the end there were only two and a half. I tried to pull the other pieces out of her mouth but she chomped my thumb and swallow all of the rest. She was very pleased with herself.

Did I mention the vet was closed?

So, I fed her a couple of slices of bread and started blockage watch. I had this sinking feeling that this was going to result in surgery as it was a good amount of plastic. But hey – we were going to the vet with the cat anyway. The more the merrier.

It had begun as such a quite peaceful day. Poodles can turn that on a dime.

Day Two – Update From the Frontline

Shasta is fine so far. She pooed so the plastic should at least be in her large intestine. I need the Magic School Bus to see the journey through her digestive tract. We survived the night with that cat even being in the bed at one point. At first I gave kitty a break by shutting the door. Both dogs kept vigil for hours.

Then I got kitty out and sat it on my lap. The dogs sat waiting for me to give them permission to approach. Sherlock then stood over it until I made him stop because he was drooling on my leg.

The cat was totally unfazed by them being so close.

Bed time I put a towel in the corner of the bathroom counter and he settled in.

But then the night started to go like one where there is a new infant. Mommy (Shasta) got up to lovingly stare at the new wonder. Daddy (Sherlock) got up to wake up the baby in hopes of playing with it.

Visiting Grandma (me) would get up to get everything sorted out and everyone back to bed. Then it would start all over again.

This morning the cat found all the high places in the house while the dogs were out peeing. I then took it to the vets.

It has worms so I got dewormer for the dogs. Other than that, it is a health approximately nine month old, soon to be ball-less, male. I pick it up tomorrow so I have 24 hours to decide what to do with it. Shasta wants to keep it. Sherlock wants to slow roast it and serve it with a mushroom sauce. And I don’t like either of those options.

As long as I don’t name it or buy cat toys all options are on the table.

Day Three – No good deed goes unpunished.

Last night while petting Sherlock I noticed a sore on his back. I got out the magnifying light and sure enough, there was a cat bite. I had thought when the dogs discovered the cat, the cat got a piece of one of them! It was Sherlock, deservingly so. Therefore, before picking the cat up from the vet for being neutered, I took Sherlock in, as by morning the bite was beginning to abscess.

I knew it would need to be lanced but the vet thought it was best to also needle drain the area and then flush the resulting space. There are some pretty nasty bacteria and viruses down here in Central Mexico. This meant Sherlock had to be put under. Since he is five and has never had his teeth cleaned, we thought it would be good to get that out of the way too so he wouldn’t have to be put under a second time next year.

Meanwhile, Shasta had not pooped again so we decided she needed an ultrasound to see where the plastic was. There looked to be one sheet in the small intestine and two – maybe three – still in the large intestine. They weren’t compacted – yet – so we gave her some “grease” to help things slide. If all the sheets weren’t out in two days another ultrasound would be done and we would look at other options. Of course if she showed any distress, vomited, or became lethargic she would go straight in for surgery.

Now, as for the fate of the cat….

He was given a name but no toys so we are on a “we will see” basis.

Some really great names were suggested online but I have the “different drummer” thing. So my choices were:

“Waffle-head” called Waffles for short because that is what I had eaten right before we found him in the house.

“Sock Monkey from Outer Space” called Monkey for short because he goes limp like a sock monkey when I pick him up and he appeared from outer space since all the doors were closed when he was found. I can also call him Socks since he has white socks and Spacey if he turns out to be dingy like me.

“Brain Worm” to be called Worms for short because not only did he have worms, I have had the brain worm of the Meow, Meow, Meow song from the Meow Mix commercial playing in my head ever since setting eyes on him.

“Cyber Kitty” to be called Cyber to be spelled Syber because that is how I like my cats – on the internet. And how I like to spell – wrong.

I was having a tough time choosing but when the vet ask for a name for its charts, Monkey came out. So “Sock Monkey from Outer Space” it is.

What I decided to do was keep him inside for the next week to recover from being fixed and keep his diet healthy during recovery. His food, “house,” and litter box were put in my bathroom/closet and he also had the run of my bedroom. I was not thrilled with this situation at all but it is the only way to keep him from the dogs and not escape out an open outside door. I didn’t want to put him in my guest bedroom as he sheds and I was on target for starting Airbnb in two weeks.

After that, I will have to let the cat choose where it wants to be because there is no way to keep the doors closed to make sure it doesn’t get out. My doors are glass and wrought iron and are intended to be open in pretty weather. Plus, the housekeeper can’t be carrying a bucket of water to dump outside and worrying if she lets the cat slip out, she will be fired.

If it wants to still live inside at that time, I will move it’s litter box to the mop area. And he will be more than welcome. If it prefers street life I will have a box built to go over the dryer and put food out, and catch it for deworming , flea and tick control, and it’s shots. I also am having a tag made for a tear away collar so if he does meander, people finding him will not vaccinate him twice.

I have always been of the opinion that if you own a cat it should be kept indoors for the safety of the cat. But I have seen the number of unadopted cats in the shelters and think living in danger is better than living in a small cage. I really don’t think a shelter will have luck adopting this guy out because there are so many cute tiny kittens to pick from. Monkey certainly would not have been my pick at the pound.

When I went to pick up Sherlock from the vet I left Shasta alone with the cat. I figured this was fine because the cat was passed out from surgery under my bed.

I came home – no Shasta. I looked under the bed for the cat and found – both. I thought Shasta was stuck under there so I went out to get two 2 x 4’s to wedge the bed up. When I turned around after getting the two boards unburied from the shed, Shasta was right beside me. How she got her 75 pound body out is beyond me.

Monkey sticks his head out for Shasta to lick him. They are buddies. Sherlock and Monkey not so much. Sherlock is too rough for Monkey’s taste and Sherlock thinks Monkey will be tender to taste.

And someone had asked me if I wanted to buy a Pygmy goat kid today. Aye yai yai!!!

Day Four – Feline Friend

I have a very good dog. Care to guess its name?

Wrong! It is Sherlock. I know! I’m as shocked as you are. Shasta loves to lick Monkey but she is also muzzle punching the cat. Plus, she will not obey me at all. No leave it, no come, no sit. She is obsessed with the cat and has lost her hearing.

Sherlock on the other hand is backing off when I tell him to and comes when I see he is getting wound up and call him. I have said Good Boy to him so much the last 24 hours he and I are both beginning to believe this Fake News.

I saw how mellow Monkey was with me holding him, him wanting to snuggle, and how quickly he adjusted to the dogs, and can’t believe he didn’t live with people at some point. But when a cat eats your garbage for a month, has tapeworms hanging out by his bunghole, and isn’t fixed, ya kinda are sure he is stray. He might have been dumped after he grew out of the really cute kitten stage. But I know there is one more his age out there so it seems like he may have been from a feral litter and is just freakishly a good cat.

It has been bothering me that he isn’t symmetrical in his markings so I’m taking a Sharpie to try to even him out. I don’t know what to do about the one black dot on his nose. White-out? (Oh! Booger. I should have named him Booger. To late now 😦

My allergies are really starting to get to me. I know when I had an allergy test ten years ago, cats were towards the top of the list. I am snorting and swallowing meds to get me through till I can find an allergist.

And….

Drum roll….

Shasta pooped out a piece of plastic. So, if the train is on schedule, the rest should make reentry tomorrow. I will be so happy not to serve as Poo Inspector anymore.

And speaking of poo. The litter box had to be moved. This morning I went to get “odor control” litter because he gagged the dogs and I onto the sofa at four in the morning. As soon as I could stomach it, I ran in, scooped, and ran it to the outside trash. How can an odor linger so long?

But then, the first go at “odor control” was still out of control so the box went out to the mop and broom area which I lovingly refer to as The Scorpion Den. It would be where I would live if I was a scorpion. Only my housekeeper has the guts to venture in. If Monkey doesn’t want to get a stinger to his behind he will have to look before he squats.

Sherlock’s cat bite sore looks much better today and luckily it is still oozing. He wore a tee-shirt to lunch today though as I thought it would gross out other diners. Also, I had a bug bite on my left boob that looks like a hickey so I dug out a turtleneck to wear for tomorrow. The name of my new fashion line is Bite Wear. To be sold at a creepy abandoned house near you.

Day Seven – I Suffer Alone

What a difference a few days make. This video is of the Sherlock interacting with the cat on the third day. At the end of the video, I had to put down the camera to physically go get Sherlock to settle down.

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Now as you can see in the second video from today, he isn’t moving. Why? Because he is pouting. Poor Sherlock has gotten what he wants 99.9% of his life. He tilts his head, puts up one paw, smiles, and sticks his tongue out as far as possible and people hand him their smartphones and wallets. But for two days now he has gotten a firm NO on the cat toy. He is mad and he is glad he is mad. I put the toy in a cabinet and he goes and lays by the door looking up at me with his coal-black eyes. Pulls every cute trick in the book. When all fails, he pouts.

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Last night I got up from the sofa and said, “let’s go night night.” I got out jammies and went to brush my face and wash my teeth. When I returned, not only were all three sleeping, they were all three on MY side of the bed. And to add insult to injury, Sherlock was sleeping on my jammies.

I slid onto the edge and waited for them to shift positions. They finally did after ten years but Monkey woke up ready to rumble. He attacked anything of mine that moved. I was so tired I did what any techie parent would do to get some peace – I gave him my cell phone to play with.

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Needless to say – dogs and cat are wonderful. I’m sleepless and battling the cat allergy that gets worse every day. C’est la vie.

Day Eight – Be Still My Beating Heart

Sherlock strikes again. He will give me a coronary one day.

We were all calmed for the night and I was cleaning the kitchen. Suddenly I heard Monkey’s bell on his collar go crazy and knew he was running around like a spaz. I wiped a few more swipes then decided to go supervise before something went wrong.

I turned the corner and there was Sherlock with a limp Monkey in his mouth. I screamed bloody murder and took off after him yelling “leave it.” We went once around the sofa and once around the dining room table before he finally came to a stop where the chase had begun. That was when I got close enough to see it wasn’t Monkey. (I need glasses for distance.)

The dogs can open their own drawers of their toy storage and he had dug around to find the exact toy to freak me out. I think Monkey was in on it because he had disappeared to the back and stayed out of sight during the chase. Needless to say, Sherlock was very thrilled to have gotten a game of chase out of me after my nightly “quiet time had started” I was so shook up, it took forever to sleep. Now I’m tired but have to pick up Sherlock’s toys. It is one trick he refuses to learn.

Day Ten – Walk With Soft Paws

Shasta loves to paw photo bomb.

And FYI…do not join a cat forum and ask how to make sure your big dogs do not hurt a new kitten. After all the suggestions of crating the dogs, putting the dogs in one room, or putting the dogs in the yard while I’m gone; I repeatedly explained that the dogs lived here. It is their house. They have run free in it for nine and five years respectively. The cat is the interloper.

I got torn a new one. I’m thinking I now have to go into witness protection. Anyone care to hide me and the dogs till they find a new villain?

And as for villains…does it look like to anyone else that Shasta is giving Sherlock and Monkey the bird? They won’t let her join in on their reindeer games.

Day Twelve – The Beginning of the End

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I don’t know what is more surprising: That Sherlock has such a low voice or that he wants to get rid of Monkey. He prances like he is low on testosterone and he is constantly laying by or playing with the cat. Again – I call this fake news. But my allergies are only getting worse. It seems his humor may be the reality. But what to do with a stray cat that is so sweet and cute? And in Mexico???

Please let this story have a happy ending for us all…….

(Here are recient pictures of Monkey. His fur is so much shinier and he looks so much healthier than the first night. Pretty cat but my snot filled nosterals say he sadly had to go. My heart hurts!!!!)

A Mexico Cat Tale Day One - The Invader Fudge my life. I came home from a long lunch to discover the stray cat that had taken up residence in the yard had somehow got into the house.

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2spoos · 5 years ago

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The 2Spoos are now the Three Amigos.

Nothing worth while is ever easy!

It takes a village to raise…er no check that…to save a rescued dog.

Another spoo has been added to the Land of Misfit Critters. The story is, there was a very sweet spoo boy in the Pacific Northwest of the USA whose prey drive got the best of him. He did not hurt a child or another dog, but he did dispatch with a bird that did not belong to him. This…

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2spoos · 6 years ago

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The 2Spoos are now the 3Spooges.

Nothing worth while is ever easy!

It takes a village to raise…er no check that…to save a rescued dog.

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2spoos · 7 years ago

Text

Day One – The Invader

Fudge my life.

I came home from a long lunch to discover the stray cat that has taken up residence in the yard had somehow got into the house. Well, I didn’t discover it – the dogs did.

Mayhem!!! And that is an understatement. Fur and hair flew (poodles have hair instead of fur as it doesn’t shed – a useless piece of information you will never need.)

The cat finally ended up in my bathroom sink where it remained all night. Once it quit running, the dogs settled and so did kitty.

I have been wanting to catch this cat to have it fixed and dewormed but this wasn’t how I intended on doing it.

Did I mention the vet was closed?

It was such a quite peaceful day. Poodles can turn that on a dime.

Day Two – Pus Poodle

No good deed goes unpunished.

Last night while petting Sherlock I noticed a sore on his back. I got out the magnifying light and sure enough, there was a cat bite. I had thought when the dogs discovered the cat, the cat got a piece of one of them! It was Sherlock, deserving so. So, before picking the cat up from the vet for being neutered, I took Sherlock in, as by morning the bite was beginning to abscess.

I knew it would need to be lanced but the vet thought it was best to also needle drain the area and then flush the resulting space. There are some pretty nasty bacteria and viruses down here in Central Mexico. This meant Sherlock had to be put under. So, since he is five and has never had his teeth cleaned, we thought it would be good to get that out of the way so he wouldn’t have to be put under a second time next year.

Meanwhile, Shasta had not pooped again so we decided she needed an ultrasound to see where the plastic is. There looked to be one sheet in the small intestine and two – maybe three – still in the large intestine. They weren’t compacted – yet – so we gave her some “grease” to help things slide. If all the sheets weren’t out in two days another ultrasound would be done and we would look at other options. Of course if she showed any distress, vomited, or became lethargic she would go straight in for surgery.

Now, as for the fate of the cat….

He was given a name but no toys so we are on a “we will see” basis.

Some really great names were suggested online but I have the “different drummer” thing. So my choices were:

“Waffle-head” called Waffles for short because that is what I had eaten right before we found him in the house.

“Brain Worm” to be called Worms for short because not only did he have worms, I have had the brain worm of the Meow, meow, meow song from the meow mix commercial playing in my head ever since setting eyes on him.

“Cyber Kitty” to be called Cyber to be spelled Syber because that is how I like my cats – on the internet. And how I like to spell – wrong.

I was having a tough time choosing but when the vet ask for a name for its charts, Monkey came out. So “Sock Monkey from Outer Space” it is.

What I decided to do was keep him inside for the next week to recover from being fixed and keep his diet healthy during recovery. His food, “house,” and litter box were put in my bathroom/closet and he also had the run of my bedroom. I’m was not thrilled with this situation at all but it is the only way to keep him from the dogs and not escape out an open outside door. I didn’t want to put him in my guest bedroom as he sheds and I was on target for starting Airbnb in two weeks.

After that, I will let the cat choose where it wants to be because there is no way to keep the doors closed to make sure it doesn’t get out. My doors are glass and wrought iron and are intended to be open in pretty weather. Plus, the housekeeper can’t be carrying a bucket of water to dump outside and worrying if she lets the cat slip out, she will be fired.

If it wants to still live inside at that time, I will move it’s litter box to the mop area. And he will be more than welcome. If it prefers street life I will have a box built to go over the dryer and put food out, and catch it for deworming (it had worms and the other three of us have had to take a dewormer too,) flea and tick control, and it’s shots. I also am having a tag made from a tear away collar so if he does hit the road, people finding him will not vaccinate him twice.

When I went to pick up Sherlock from the vet I left Shasta alone with the cat. I figured this was fine because the cat was passed out from surgery under my bed.

Note Monkey is sticking his head out for Shasta to lick him. They are buddies. Sherlock and Monkey not so much. Sherlock is too rough for Monkey’s taste and Sherlock thinks Monkey will be tender to taste.

And someone had asked me if I wanted to buy a Pygmy goat kid that day. Aye yai yai!!!!

Day Three – Update From The Frontline

Shasta is fine so far. She pooed so the plastic should at least be in her large intestine. I need the magic school bus to see the journey through her digestive tract.We survived the night with that cat even being in the bed at one point. At first I gave kitty a break by shutting the door. Both dogs kept vigil for hours.

Then I got kitty out and sat it on my lap. The dogs sat waiting for me to give them permission to approach. Sherlock then stood over it until I made him stop because he was drooling on my leg.

The cat was totally unfazed by them being so close.

Bed time I put a towel in the corner of the bathroom counter and he settled in.

Visiting Grandma (me) would get up to get everything sorted out and everyone back to bed. Then it would start all over again.

This morning the cat found all the high places in the house while the dogs were out peeing. I then took it to the vets.

It has worms so I got dewormer for the dogs. Other than that, it is a health nine month old soon to be ball-less male. I pick it up tomorrow so I have 24 hours to decide what to do with it. Shasta wants to keep it. Sherlock wants to slow roast it and serve it with a mushroom sauce. And I don’t like either of those options.

As long as I don’t name it or buy cat toys all options are on the table.

Day Four – Feline Friend

I have a very good dog. Care to guess its name?

It has been bothering me that he isn’t symmetrical in his markings so I’m taking a Sharpie to try to even him out. I don’t know what to do about the one black dot on his nose. White-out?

And….

Drum roll….

Shasta pooped out a piece of plastic. So, if the train is on schedule, the rest should make reentry tomorrow. I will be so happy not to serve as Poo Inspector anymore.

Sherlock’s cat bite sore looks much better today and luckily is still oozing. He wore a tee-shirt to lunch today though as I thought it would gross out other diners. I had a bug bite on my left boob that looks like a hickey so I dug out a turtle neck for tomorrow. The name of my new fashion line is Bite Wear. To be sold at a creepy abandoned house near you.

Day Seven – I Suffer Alone

Needless to say – dogs and cat are wonderful. I’m sleepless and battling the cat allergy that gets worse every day. C’est la vie.

Day Eight – Be Still My Beating Heart

Sherlock strikes again. He will give me a coronary one day.

I turned the corner and there was Sherlock with a limp Monkey in his mouth. I screamed bloody murder and took off after him yelling leave it. We went once around the sofa and once around the dining room table before he finally came to a stop where the chase had begun. That was when I got close enough to see it wasn’t Monkey. (I need glasses for distance.)

Day Ten – Walk With Soft Paws

Shasta had to paw photo bomb.

And FYI…do not join a cat forum and ask how to make sure your big dogs do not hurt a new kitten. After all the suggestions of crating the dogs, putting the dogs in one room, or putting the dogs in the yard while I’m gone I repeatedly explained that the dogs lived here. It is their house. They have run free in it for nine and five years respectively. The cat is the interloper.

I got torn a new one. I’m thinking I now have to go into witness protection. Anyone care to hide me and the dogs till they find a new villain?

And as for villains…does it look like to anyone else that Shasta is giving Sherlock and Monkey the bird? They won’t let her join in on their reindeer games.

Day Twelve – The Beginning of the End

Please let this story have a happy ending for us all…….

A Mexico Cat Tail Day One - The Invader Fudge my life. I came home from a long lunch to discover the stray cat that has taken up residence in the yard had somehow got into the house.

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2spoos · 7 years ago

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This post isn’t about poodles or Mexico. That isn’t where my heart is today. Today’s post is about death, societal norms, and coincidences, but mainly how unique each person is with their view towards each and how accepting we should all be to the differences.

DEATH

This morning my Grandmother Honey died at the age of 101. My aunt texted me the news she went peacefully but at 101 I doubt she had the energy to go any other way. My maternal grandmother and grandfather were a huge influence in my life. They were my life boat from a very dysfunctional set of parents. They lived in a small town in the Oklahoma Panhandle, Adams, which at its hay day was about 300 people. I spent as much time there in my youth as I could. It was a barren ugly town but in it I found my joy.

My grandfather passed away when I was 12 but my grandmother remained my rock. After I had left home and was married living a half a continent away, we moved my grandmother out of the little town to the close great “big” town of around 9000 people. She was lucky enough to get a brand new government funded senior living apartment where she lived until she was 94.

At 94 she was still living alone and driving. She went out to her car to get her purse and decided to take a short cut by stepping over a small two foot wall. She caught her toe on the wall, took a tumble, and broke her femur. At that point she did what a pioneer woman would do. She pulled herself back into her home on her elbows and called a family member instead of 911. Sadly, that was when this very strong independent woman found herself in a nursing home care.

The nursing home wasn’t bad as far as nursing homes go. But to her it was a prison. A family member would take her out to eat or even to Wal-Mart (senior citizen meeting place in a small town.) But she had lost her ability to fly. And she was sad.

Years pasted and I had managed to free myself from the toxic members of my family that still were in the area. I knew that the family I had escaped from was going to be out of town so I flew into Amarillo and drove the two hours to the nursing home to see Honey. She thought I was my Aunt Marylea, who is blond and twenty years older than I, for a while. But oddly enough the nursing home staff thought I was Marylea too so I didn’t discount her mental process that much. After talking for a while, it clicked with her who I was and she said, “Kim. You are the smart one. Tell me how I can die.” The whole situation washed over me at that point. She hadn’t smiled since I walked in. There was no light in her eyes. She wasn’t just sad; she was suffering a mental torture.

I explained to her why I had cut myself off from some of the family and she understood. She complained about her life, the people, and the place. I went and got her ice cream from Brahms and she ate it all but I still saw no happiness. And then she would cry. And then she would drift off to sleep. And then she would wake up and take a minute to readjust to who I was. I was sad.

When it was time for me to go, I took her hand and she sobbed. I waited a while till she had calmed and told her more about my new life living downtown in a big city till she drifted off to sleep again. At that point I went to the door, looked back, and knew I would never see her again. So I quietly walked back and kissed her forehead and whispered my last goodbye. My being there had brought her no pleasure or comfort. If anything it stirred memories of her life before her fall. I walked to my rental car and I sobbed so deeply that a passerby knocked on the window and ask if I was okay. I had planned to stay three days but I hadn’t found and checked into a hotel yet so I drove to Adams. It was dark by then and I was so mentally exhausted that I went and parked the car back by where the old school was and slept in the back seat of the car till light woke me up. I took the five minutes needed to drive every street, drove out to where my grandfather was buried, then returned to Amarillo and flew back home.

Today I find joy in the death of my grandmother. But others are weeping at her loss. There is no wrong or right in either. I have lost many people in my short 56 years and have seen every form of grief imaginable. The cocktail of the relationship to the person, our own personalities, the spiritual beliefs we carry, and the manner and timing of the person lost is all mixed differently for each person with each loss. The only wrong way to grieve is to expect others to do it the same as you. The differences we feel towards death are as natural and expected as death itself.

SOCIAL NORMS

After I got home I kept hearing Honey ask me how she could die. She didn’t ask me like she wanted to kill herself but more of a vocalization that it was what she wanted. I pondered if I was able to mix a sweet drink of death and put it if front of her if she would drink it. No. She had a strong Christian continence that would not allow her to commit suicide. I daydreamed about mixing my sweet drink of death into a Brahms milk shake but knew I was not brave enough to do so. This all made me very angry at society’s cruelness to people suffering. When did it become the rule that the sick and saddened were left, or worse – herded into institutions – to exist in their pain? My answer to appease myself at the time was that it was just part of the selfish species we have evolved into. I felt we keep these people tormented because we can’t let them go. I believed the social norm for euthanasia was wrong and mean.

Oddly, I came to peace with the social norm through view through poodle forums and social media sites. It was also where I came to grasp part of ME being selfish was to believe everyone should have the same view as I. There was an individual who posted on a lot of sites about his elderly poodle who had gone blind and deaf due to an autoimmune problem with her brain. The owner documented all the problems they were having getting her to “adjust” to waking into walls and not being able to do so much more. It killed me. My reaction was, “why don’t they put that poor scared dog down?” I saw a suffering animal. But reading the comments, I found many people saw a loving owner saving its sweet animals life.

It became obvious to me the reason for a lot of people being opposed letting a loved one go was not as clear as I thought. While at times it could be an inability to face one’s own pain of losing someone – or a pet, it was often that people believed the suffering felt was worth it because of the love people felt for them. Therefore it was better to be alive and loved then dead and pain free. If you were loved, you had a reason to live. I could not argue that. I have never suffered enough to judge if knowing that someone loved me would overcome my angst. I still feel in my heart that euthanasia is compassion and what I personally would want, and is the best thing to do for animals in my care. But I no longer negatively judge other’s view that every second of their loved ones life is worth living for.

COINCIDENCES

I had a dream. I am a night own and usually don’t get up until noon if I don’t have to. So if I say I had a dream last night, for me it would be a dream occurring late morning as we remember the last one we have. I dreamt I was in Adams. I was barefoot and had my cell phone in my back pocket. And I was very aware of snakes being present in the grass and rocks.

In the first of my dream I was walking around the streets of the town. I walked over to the “highway” that passes one edge and the flat prairie looked so pretty. I took out my cell phone and tried to take a picture but I couldn’t get one that didn’t have power lines in them. It frustrated me. I then walked down the street that lead to the church where my grandfather use to let me ring the bell. I was still looking down to make sure I didn’t step on a snake. Then I noticed there were homeless people living in the chicken coops along the way. In waking state I found this was odd because I don’t remember a chicken coop in Adams at all. I turned to go to the grain elevator to take a picture of it because I heard it was leaning like Pisa. I got there and there was something on fire that I couldn’t get by to take the picture. A man rode by on a horse and didn’t even say hello.

Then my dream snapped to my grandmother’s house. But it was modern and nice. Not the wooden falling down home from reality. My cousin from California was there with her two children. Honey was cooking us something. She didn’t speak in my dream. She was just there. My cousin and I were talking about all the great places we had been and things we had done. Then I woke up. I had no idea at the time Honey had died and analyzed the dream of being how uneasy I was in my past and how it had darkness in it and how now, like my cousin, I had escaped to a new exciting present where things were new and there were happy things – represented by Honey cooking, the bright lovely home, and the shared experiences with the family I have enjoy.

When I read the text Honey had passed probably before or the same time I had the dream I, I had to remind myself to breath. This was the second time. This was another amazing coincidence.

Back in collage, I dated a young man who I still feel was my soul mate. I was going to a university six hours away from where he lived and he had come to visit me. During the visit, he had two minor and one major stroke. He was in his 20’s. There is a long story involved, but when his parents were able to get him back close to them, they put him in a therapy rehabilitation home and told him I had not tried to find him – that he was half paralyzed and I was to selfish to want to see him anymore. Meanwhile they were telling me he blamed me for his stroke as I stressed him out and he never wanted to hear from me again. He sued the hospital he was at in the collage town and it took a couple of years before the suit moved ahead enough to need me for a deposition. He was there and it is when we discovered what his parents had done. BUT: I was married and pregnant by that time. We were a Romeo and Juliet without the death scene at the end. Years later, I woke up one morning remembering a very vivid dream. In my dream I was living in New York. He came to see me and we went out on the balcony of the tall building I was in to talk. We discussed how we still loved each other but had changed too much to ever be together. Then he kissed my cheek and flew off the balcony. Not flew so much as floated. It was an odd but calming dream.

A few hours passed and the phone rang. It was an elementary school friend I hadn’t spoken to for decades. She told me that Jeff, my love, had killed himself during the night. A feeling I can’t put a name to came over me. I was heart broken. And it was an amazing coincidence that I had that dream that night.

When I told people about the timing of the dream a lot were convinced he had come to say goodbye. Or they believed God sent me the dream to help me deal with the impending sorrow. But my mind works like Spock: logic, math, science, proof, statistics. I can only feel both dreams were coincidences.

Here is another difference I except in others. I never mocked or argued people who believed I was sent an angel or a message from God or Jeff. Honey was an angel and very well could be being kissed on the forehead by Jesus as we speak and anyone who feels my dream last night was actually my grandmother coming to give comfort in cooking me a last meal could very well be right. Everyone has the right to believe in what gives them peace. Everyone should be encourage to embrace those beliefs: even if the belief is in coincidences that appear to be mystical or heaven sent. The desired end result of our thoughts and feelings should be healing to ourselves without hurting others.

My hope is that this post makes you think of the way others view things and find acceptance with these differences. My story is just that. It isn’t right. It isn’t wrong. It is mine. And I honor your story. However it is written, it is perfect for you. Honey’s story was perfect even with the pain and sorrow because it was meant to be. And I love her always for the love she gave.

Sweet as Honey

Views This post isn’t about poodles or Mexico. That isn’t where my heart is today. Today’s post is about death, societal norms, and coincidences, but mainly how unique each person is with their view towards each and how accepting we should all be to the differences.

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2spoos · 8 years ago

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His name is Sherlock. No Ship Sherlock Shane Sepahpur to be exact. And can that boy ever play!!! He plays with my dirty socks. He plays with his reflection in the glass at night. He plays with opossums that are playing dead. He plays with my mind. If it exists he can probably find a way to play with it. He is one of the biggest players on earth. Sorry Charlie Sheen and Tiger Woods. You just don’t have as much game.

But what makes this dude international? Well, to start with, his father was frozen sperm from Canada flown down to Texas to be “introduced” to his USA mom’s egg. His conception started and finished in two different countries. Now unless you and your honey are going to take a blanket and a bottle of wine and find a nice spot to lay between North Dakota and Saskatchewan, good luck achieving the same multinational start to a life.

Even Sherlock’s DNA has an international dispute to it. Many sources state the origin of the poodle was Germany where it was know as the Pudelhund – a water retriever. However, the French absconded with the credit for the poodle saying it was a cross between their breed the Barbet and a Hungarian water dog. Germany was in no mood to go to war over the creation of the breed and let France take credit. Strangely enough, Hungary wanted no part of the debate as they were to busy growing cords on their Komondors to give a flip. So, history clearly shows the Standard Poodle as being German, adopted by the French, and shrunk down by the clever Brits. Sherlock’s genes got around Europe like the plague.

What has Sherlock done to maintain his history of international origins? He has become a mini star across the oceans and continents. Sherlock originally appeared nationally in his home country of the US with an odd flash during the NBC sports broadcast of the Belmont Stakes.

His second appearance was only seconds longer a British show called Dogs That Make You Laugh Out Loud. Below is a clip of him barking and reacting to the CD. What a loon!!!

That was followed up by a second US flash at fame on the Jimmy Kimmel Show.

He was back to England where the show Harry Hill’s Tea Time paid for some of his work. I am still waiting to get footage from the production company so enjoy a few pictures of him having tea and biscuits without Harry Hill instead (isn’t it sweet he is sharing his biscuits with Shasta?)

Then the Netherlands and a T-mobile commercial was where he showed up next. Don’t blink. you will miss him.

https://vimeo.com/256691167

And those were just the TV spots. Blogs picked up his video. From Germany to Brazil to the US where the AKC featured it and it was picked up by I ♥ Dogs; he was networking the net.

https://iheartdogs.com/this-poodles-reaction-to-american-pharaohs-big-win-is-amazing-have-you-ever-seen-anything-like-it/

Sherlock’s second video to go simi-viral also had viewers from all over the globe. Below is the video and a screen shot of the last of the 195 pages of countries that the video was viewed in. I don’t even know where St. Pierre & Miquelon are although Youtube says they are in North America. Over 170,000 people managed to view him getting his excitement on for a cartoon.

For added fun, one of his pictures was picked up by a group of Photo-shoppers. They did some really fun pics but I only manage to download a few before the link disappeared. It seems he has spent time on the catwalk in Paris, being an awful au pair in Australian, and appearing on Broadway.

So this playboy needed to do what international entertainers do: move to a different country other than that of his birth. So here is my German/French Poodle who is half Canadian and half American from the Untied States living in our little Mexico village where he he dines on Italian, Indian, Brazilian, French bakery yummies, Sushi, German, Thai, American burgers, Canadian poutine and of course, Mexican – which he swears tastes better if stolen from someone else plate from a hiding place under the table.

He truly is a dog of the world!

The Life of An International Playboy His name is Sherlock. No Ship Sherlock Shane Sepahpur to be exact. And can that boy ever play!!!

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