Dogs and Cats

You can see that scheming, diabolical look in their eyes.
At least this way Kristi can see that I haven't killed them yet.

We're sitting our daughter's dogs for four days. (Wish they would sit, or obey any other command for that matter.)  We do this because we love our daughter.  They are a pair of Dachshunds.  They've taken over our lives.  It is a takeover of the hostile variety.

We're fortunate that it is cool weather and that Mosquito Abatement has the bugs under control.  For the sake of the rugs we've been able to leave the patio door ajar so they can come and go as they please.  "As they please" being the operative phrase.  So far they've been pleased to go outside.  Remind me to wear shoes on the lawn for a few days.  We've placed pads around the house just in case, but past experience has shown that the dogs think the pads indicate where not to go.

Weenie dog's would only qualify for remedial obedience school as they are most certainly learning impaired.  Essentially, they're cats that bark.  You probably already know that I harbor no affection for cats either.  We love our other daughter and so we are the proud owners to two creatures of that ilk.  The only good thing about the dogs is that it's been three days since we laid eyes on the cats.  I don't know how they're faring in exile, but then I don't really care either.  I couldn't possibly be so fortunate as to have cats that would consider this sufficient an insult as to warrant moving out.

Have you ever noticed that pet owners think their pets are their children, until they have children.  Then reality sets in and their pets lose their anthropomorphic status and become just ordinary dogs and cats.  This must be quite a shock to a pet.  They must miss their former status.  Whereas before they were honored guests at Petsmart whose employees referred to their owners as their parents; where their food was gourmet; now they get generic chow from IFA, get fat, neglected and for once, actually need the pet shrink that was once their second best friend.  No more play dates with the poodle down the street.  No more grooming at the beauty parlor.  Goodbye to manicured claws, hello to dingle-berries.  No more pampering kennels when the folks are out of town; just extra big bowls of chow and water and abandonment in the back yard.

I, for one never kept pets before the kids arrived.  That was duty the kids pressed me into as they grew.  "I'll feed him, I promise!" we heard to the accompaniment of batted eye-lids and a pouty "pleeeeease."  The feeding lasted a day and any interest in the actual pet faded in a week.  Pets, with the noted exception gerbils last a lot longer than a week.  Gerbils have babies in about a week and then begin cannibalistic rituals that quickly render the $60.00 Habitrail you bought into yard sale fodder.

We have a cat that has looked to be at death's door for years now.  He's really let himself go.  He doesn't groom himself any more.  His fur is a mess.  He seems depressed all the time.  I can't understand why he doesn't spend more time in traffic.  We've had him for 15 years!  He looks insulted all the time.  He probably hasn't forgiven us for the last time the dogs took over the house.  At one time I thought I'd let him into my lap for what some TV show billed as some soothing companionship.  I'd never felt soothed by a pet in my life.  Thinking perhaps I hadn't done my part I gave it a try.  When I finished I had to go take a shower to get rid of the little puffs of stray fur that kept following me around, clinging to eyebrows, tickling in ears, getting suddenly drawn up a nostril or something.  I couldn't quit sneezing and have steered clear ever since.

The other cat insists on weaving through my legs.  This has resulted in a kick every couple of hours for the past six years.  I can only conclude that cats love to get kicked and have learned that leg weaving is the way to bring that about.  Works every time.

As I sit here listening to little claws clattering over the Pergo, I wonder who in their right mind would do this to themselves?  Is there a diabolical Alpha Dog somewhere who really is anthropomorphic?  Has he taken over the media and spread the propaganda that pet ownership is somehow soothing, somehow therapeutic?  Has he brainwashed us into thinking that having your big toe mistaken for a squeaky toy is somehow appealing?

Humans of the world, rise up.  Put a stop to this madness!  Stop spending billions on pet food, meds and accessories!  Stop replacing shredded furniture and stinky rugs.  Stop, just for a minute, and think how soothing it would be to sleep an entire night without barking dogs or bellyaching cats wanting to come in or go out or both.  Put a stop to the indignity of having your crotch sniffed by every dog you encounter or having the butt of every cat flounced in your face.  How have we let these self serving creatures gain such hold on us.  Rise up and put them in their place, back in the barn.  Where is the SPCH when we need them!

Book Review - Change Your Questions Change Your Life by Wendy Watson Nelson

There's an old Chinese proverb that says, "When the student is ready the teacher will come."  I was so ready for this book.  Wendy Watson Nelson is every whit the brilliant, inspired teacher her husband Russell M. Nelson is.

I have long been aware that if I don't ask the right questions, I'm not going to get the right answers.  Understanding that principle in generalities helped some, but Sister Nelson has helped me bring much more specificity to my questions; resulting in much more specific and useful answers.

I have drifted away from self help books over the years.  I find them too success oriented.  They seem to all have money and power and independence as their central themes.  Even Stephen R. Covey, who preaches interdependence eventually caused me to abandon ship because his boat lists toward taking control of our lives.  I didn't get where I am by taking control, by enslaving myself to a planner.  I got here by giving control to God and letting Him, not lofty goals, direct my life.

Change your Questions Change your Life is all about communing with God.  It is about discovering your mission in life.  It is about receiving revelation, motivation, purpose and power from God.  It is not about what I can obtain, but rather about what I can give.

Wendy Nelson's book ranks (outside the scriptures of course) in my top ten books ever read.  It is up there with The Three Deceivers, My Grandfather's Blessings, The Peacegiver, He did Deliver Me from Bondage  and Believing Christ.  It is beautifully bound, pleasantly laid out and made to engender expansive growth rather than restrictive regimentation.  I came away thinking of possibilities rather than limitations.  I came away with a active, more constant, companionship with the Holy Ghost; whose role it is, to lead me to "the truth of all things."  This is a work book. Take the time to do the work; it is so worth the effort.

Five Stars

Look Who's Expecting A Visit From The Tooth Fairy

Wishing On A Shooting Star

Jeff was over yesterday afternoon.  He had this notion that we ought to go midnight kite flying.  He thought it would be great fun to suspend a glow stick from a kite and "fool people into thinking it was a UFO!"  Sounded good to me.  It being August and as I was aware that the Perseid Meteor shower takes place in August decided to look it up.  As luck would have it, their peak performance was scheduled for that very night!

We decided to kill two birds with one stone.  Mom approved the outing and Megan was invited to come along.  I also called Steve, a night sky enthusiast friend and brother-in-law of mine.  We stocked the car with goodies, sleeping bags and ground pads and at eight o'clock, headed for the mountain.

There's a large sloping meadow above Grasshopper Flat on Taylor Mountain that made a perfect observatory.

We arrived just after sunset and eagle-eyed Jeff discovered the fingernail moon just about to set as well.

There was a wildfire in the west that turned the horizon to a deep red brown.  Through the binoculars the moon seemed ethereal and mysterious.  We all thrilled to have seen it, so thin and tall against the distant mountains.

There were clouds most of the day, but they were dissipating as the heat of the day cooled away.  At one point the sky above was brilliant with stars, but a light misty rain showered on us out of nowhere. 

We had such a great time, munching cookies, while lying in our warm bags and gazing at the majestic sky.

I suspended a glow stick from a broad delta kite I have.  I chose it because it can sail on a breath.  Trouble is, there wasn't even a breath of wind and we failed to get it launched.  You can only watch shooting stars when they're shooting and you can only fly kites when there is wind.

I told them all the story of Katie and I taking her butterfly kite to the park.  As we walked to our destination we passed a very elderly Chinese fellow sitting on a bench.  As we approached he remarked, "Beautiful kite."

It was beautiful in the shape of a butterfly.  Her sister had given it to Katie for her birthday.

"Thank you!"  I replied thinking he must be a masterful kite flier as kites are common in Asia.

"That kite not fly." he certified in a rather authoritative statement.  I expected him to call me Grasshopper, but he didn't.  Thinking I might truly benefit from the wisdom of a master, I asked, "Why not?"

"No wind."

It was funny at the time, but thinking back, there is wisdom.  We need to seize our opportunities when we have them.  Which is why we're on the mountain tonight instead of next week.

After dark, Jeff drifted right off to peaceful dreams of Alderaan and higher adventures than this, in galaxies far far away.  Megan was more determined and stuck it out until she'd seen a shooting star upon which to make her wish; before also wandering off to slumber-land.  When a coyote began to howl, she stirred seeking assurance, but soon was gone to visit the imaginations of her own dreams.

This left Steve and I to watch and muse and wonder to our heart's content.  We didn't head for home until after midnight.  The meteors were few, but not disappointing.  Most carved long slow arcs across the brilliant sky.  They put on quite a show as we mused about why they shot in various directions, and why these are long lived while others we've seen are brief little flashes.

We always bring binoculars, but I don't use them much.  The immensity of space and the multitude of stars is more than I can take in, even with the naked eye.  On the mountain, it becomes more difficult to make out the constellations as they're obscured by the visibility of so many more sparkling points of distant light. The milky way is so brilliant it looks like a cloud.  I begin to hum John Denver's Rocky Mountain High.  It isn't exactly "raining fire in the sky" this time, but there are fireworks and they are worth staying up, climbing up, to see.

Sleepy heads, still in their bags, are buckled into seat belts for a satisfying ride home.  Home is visible much of the way.  A pleasing cluster of welcoming lights spreading across our quiet valley, stars above and stars below, both beckoning me home.  I guess I'll go down for the time being, resting assured that up remains a distant certainty.

Behind the Glines Church

For years, Sweetie has had an afternoon ritual that we've all come to wonder about.  For a long time all we knew was that she went some where to eat lunch and read.  I think it began with a desire to get some sunshine to alleviate the encroachment of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  She had a lamp that would help deal with the long dark winter months, but nothing beats real sunshine.

Earlier this Summer when unemployment rendered me available during her lunch ritual, she graciously invited me to participate.  I had always assumed that another of her motivations for this practice was solitude.  Her midday practice began back when the house was rather full and chaotic.  I was humbled to be invited to participate in this private, personal realm into which I had never expected to peer.

Sweetie is a principal stock holder in McDonald's Corporation; or so I've always teased.  When she taught school, a swing through McDonald's drive-thru was the foundation of every work day.  I was always amazed that she could get her books and breakfast in the door, secured with a pass key, up the stairs, down the hall and through a locked classroom door, without ever setting anything down or spilling something.  She has always been more coordinated than I, but this was pure athletic grace!

Now, her ritual has migrated to lunch at McDonald's.  I don't like McDonald's all that much so I pack a lunch. I usually make a chicken, Gouda, spinach and pesto sandwich on whole wheat bread, accompanied by a few carrots and grapes or something.  I fancy it to be reminiscent of a sandwich I once had at a sidewalk cafe in Friday Harbor.  We grab our current novels and climb into the Yukon.  Its a little different than usual.  I always drive everywhere.  On our ll,080 mile trip to Newfoundland and back, I drove every mile.  But on these occasions Sweetie drives.  She likes the interaction with her friends at McDonald's and she likes to lean her book on the steering wheel.  This is an accommodation I'm completely comfortable with.  I've had to learn to keep my reading to myself and am not permitted to use either cup holder, but aside from those few parameters I'm completely welcome.

It is just a few blocks from our house to McDonald's which I've always considered a blessing.  We pull into the drive-thru and she begins her order.  "I'd like a Three Piece Chicken Selects meal, medium..."  At which point she is typically interrupted with a smiling voice continuing the order, "...with a Large Diet Coke, Apple Dippers instead of Fries and Sweet and Sour Sauce for the dip!  If your order is correct on the screen that will be $5.36 at the first window."  Giggles all around.  She has done this for so long she's become an institution.  They recognize the car and voice and since she never varies in her request it's just a foregone conclusion.  They treat her like she's the CEO, except they're not timid as they might be if their Big Kahuna showed up.  There's always a little chat with Melissa (a friend and former student) and some pleasantries with other familiar faces.  These people are like family.  She greets them every day and they count the passage of time by her daily smile.

As we head for the Glines Church I think of all the hours we've spent in this wonderful ride.  The Yukon has now carried us 101,325 glorious miles.  It has taken us as far as Victoria, BC in the Northwest, Cape Spear and L'Anse aux Meadows in the Northeast, and Dallas, Texas in the South.  Every glorious mile has been precious to us and each moment back in the car is reminiscent of those glorious journeys.  You know how biting into a crisp tart apple can return you to so many autumns and apple dunking contests, and Halloween pranks, and jars with caterpillars spinning cocoons, and new boxes or crayons, and jumping in piles of colored leaves?  That's what climbing into the Yukon does for us, only its, forest framed seascapes, and fresh blackberries, and audio books, and the hum of ferry propellers, and High Teas in splendid places that come to mind.

Behind the Glines Church on West Highway Forty are Green Ash trees that have been shading the parking lot since I was a boy.  The building shields the place from the hum of traffic and the grass beneath the trees lends a cool inviting air.  We don't get out of the car.  We just kick back for a quiet moment, leisurely eat or lunch and let our novels take us wherever they will.  Too poor to travel much these days, these are our daily mini-vacations.  I wouldn't trade them for all the world.  In a very real way they are giving us the world.

We are not the only ones who've made this discovery.  Not far from the hustle and bustle, this quiet retreat invites visitors every day.  We are seldom the only wayside occupants of this serene, convenient spot.  The guys who mow the church lawns, lunch here too.  Other's who've swung through the various nearby fast food joints stop here to eat before heading back to work or return to their day's journey.  Some get out and sit at the picnic table beneath a tree, most, like us, remain in the car.  Yesterday, Sweetie stopped to commiserate with another fellow reader, wanting to know what great book she was missing now.

The drive home affords time to share tidbits from the books we're reading; which we always delight in.  We share quotes and insights and learn together.

I used to wonder why Sweetie performed this ritual.  I couldn't see how sitting in the car could be better than just sitting home and reading.  Now, I get it.  It is a vacation.  Small and short though it may be, it is fresh and exciting every day!  I hope we never stop these priceless, rejuvenating moments together, except to go on those real, long vacations that stock the stores of our imaginations and fuel the batteries of these more constant and sustainable ones.