My mom is in a skilled nursing facility. She broke her hip. She had surgery. She is starting to have a short-term memory again. It is a rough time for anyone to have no short-term memory. You have to be reminded of the same thing every minute of the day. And your family needs to remind you why you’re in the hospital and reassure you that you’re actually going to be ok and going home sometime. I hope she is on the road to recovery. My mom and dad sounded like their old selves again today.

It’s been a stressful time.

I’m flying down to Texas in a week or so to spend some time with them. It’s been hard to be away.

The dogs are starting to be normal. They are not trying to kill each other every minute of the day. They are growing fast and they are both lovely in their own puppy ways.

We went to PetSmart today to get more puppy food. Ian tried taking Nemo inside, but he screamed his head off the moment he saw any other dog in the store. In the meantime, I was trying to get Chloe out of the parking lot and into the store. Luckily, some Golden Retriever owners saw her resistance and called her closer to the store. Chloe will always go toward people, but toward things, not so much. Once into the store, she found the carpet and refused to move. Nemo was back in the car, so Ian watched her for awhile until I could grab some food and we left the store.

Not an amazing bonding story, by any definition of those words. Oh well.

Pictures of the day..

Once upon a time, I memorized a little poem that I can say when I miss someone who’s gone.  It’s this:

Turn Again to Life
Mary Lee Hall

If I should die and leave you here a while,

be not like others sore undone,

who keep long vigil by the silent dust and weep.

For my sake turn again to life and smile,

nerving thy heart and trembling hand

to do something to comfort other hearts than thine.

Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine

and I perchance may therein comfort you.

It’s about the words, but it’s also about the repetition.  It’s almost like a prayer, only not.

Then there is this advice I gave to Britty when she was upset about life and couldn’t stop crying (somewhat like me, I think):

Breathe in the roses

Blow out the bubbles

Instead, I just have a parrot staring at me. 

This has become “Ian’s Dog”.   Why?   Because she is getting ornery in her old(er) age.

This morning, I let the dogs outside on their leads.   Miss Ginger requires a run at least once a day, but since we just got a newsletter saying “keeping your dogs on a lead is required”, I thought I would.

She was having none of this.  She wouldn’t pee.   I told her, “Alright then.   Let’s go inside.”   She stood there,  defiant, really, and stared at me.

“Let’s go”, I instructed, as I gently tugged on her lead.   She pulled back.   “Oh really,” I said.

Understanding that she probably DID need to go to the bathroom, I took her for a walk around the backyard, hitting all the areas where she loves to pee or poop.

Nothing.

“Let’s go, then.”   She followed me this time.   I made the mistake of letting her off the lead just outside the door. Can you say, “Goodbye Ginger!”?   I thought you could.

She took off running, hundreds of yards away.     A few minutes later, she came charging back, like a mad hatter, and ran inside the house.

This was all after I lost my balance in the yard and fell down in the mud.

You can laugh now. 

Later, I talked to Ian on Skype.    “I have a bone to pick with you…   Your dog is being unruly.  Yes, it IS your dog. ”   lol   

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

 p.s.  It’s a long way from the back door to the shower.     Thank goodness for stainguarded, retriever-coloured carpeting.

I used to own a pit bull.   His name was Cujo.   A brindle and white pit bull, he was tall for his breed, and weighed 60 pounds.   When out on the lead in the yard, he would scare the crap out of anyone walking up the street.  I mean, they would stop dead in their tracks and stare.   I could never figure out why.    To me, he didn’t look scarey.   He was muscular, though.

He was the perfect pet, sweet and gentle.   At night, if I was alone, I would lock him in my room with me.   I figured if anyone broke in, they would have to deal with him first.   If they were like the passersby, they would freak out and leave.

Cujo died several years ago of cancer.  

It still amazes me that anyone uses animal fighting as a way to make a buck.

This is Joey.  Joey is a quaker parrot, oddly enough.   When I think of “parrots”, I always think of macaws.. you know… large birds.   But this one is quite small, about the size of a cockateil.

Joey’s been slow to learn words, but after two years, he’s acquired a few, like “Joey” (must be said in a tone that reflects the sentiment, “What terrible thing have you been doing?”) and “step up” (meaning he should be climbing up onto a person’s finger, but he ignores that part).

He also makes “tsk” sounds, gives me little beak kisses (sometimes lunges at my nose, which hurts, thank you) and chatters something unrecognizable ocassionally.

I’ve been trying to teach Joey to say, “Here, kitty kitty”, although we have no cat.   I also have tried to teach him to make a bomb explosion sound, for no apparent reason other than I saw another bird do it on t.v.     So far, no luck.

Looked under the entertainment center where Molly had been staring. Sure enough, there was Mousey.

Calling Mousey had little effect. She stared at the flashlight in my hand. She was unphased by her favorite treat, the rat kibble.

I had to move the entertainment center and grab her before she ran off. Safely scooped up and returned to the hamster encloser, I rechecked for open escape routes.

There were none.

Houdini.

Thanks for visiting Lisa’s Place.

Meet Molly, whom we adopted earlier this week. Molly is 4 years old. Her owner lived at my FIL’s retirement apartment complex, until he became critically ill and needed to place her with someone.

For the last month, Molly’s been housed at the vet’s office kennel. When we brought her home, she ran like a mad woman through the house and can’t get enough of the fenced back yard. She’s a little over-weight, but I imagine running like a mad woman will help her get the weight off in no time.

She’s not used to more than an older man taking care of her, but she’s warming up to us and to our golden retriever nicely.

They even forage through the bathroom trash together.

How nice.

Thanks for visiting Lisa’s Place.

And, yes, I have started the booking process for my dog in 日日夜夜撸啊撸, over the Thanksgiving holiday.

In order to attend camp, your dog has to go through an interview process, which involves introducing the dog to two campers (dogs) and seeing if they get along. If so, then they can stay from 3 hours to a whole day, for free, to make sure they pass the test (ie are not too agressive to get along with the other dogs).

Take a peek, if you want, at the website. Choose a California store that’s still got the dogs out running around with each other. I’m not sure what the night kennels look like.

Thanks for visiting Lisa’s Place.