Weekly round-up

I know, it has been a few weeks since I have posted, but I really need to post more often. There is almost always SOMETHING going on that I could write about. So, if nothing else, I'm going to try to post at least a weekly update of what happened during the week.

So, although this is a "weekly" update, this first time out will be actually a monthly update.

Well, as I mentioned in a previous post, we lost out dog Stempy to cancer back in early May. Daisy, the youngest of our dogs, took his loss very hard. Her playmate suddenly disappeared, and she searched and searched and cried and cried, and then just moped around. Poor thing! We felt so sorry for her, because we were going through the same thing.

Pam to the rescue! My eldest niece called me out of the clear blue towards the end of May. She had this little itty bitty pupy that needed a home, and thought of us. She brought her by the house, and we fell in love with her.

"Gidget" joined our family on May 25. She was only about 7 weeks old; she was born March 31. Weighed maybe 8 ounces or so. Part fox terrier, part chihuahua, part who-knows-what-else. Mostly white, with black head and ears and a couple of black spots on her back. And BIG ears standing straight up. Fox terrier heritage, I believe, showing up there. And so tiny!

Gidget with the Debster, the day after she joined us

We had hoped that an energetic puppy would rejuvenate Daisy, but for the first few days, it was a little touchy. Neither Daisy nor Chelsea wanted anything to do with this little thing, and our cat just stared at her with a "WTH?" expression.

Well, eventually Daisy warmed up to her, and they have become pretty tight. Daisy is back to her playful self again.

Here is a YouTube video of Daisy and Gidget playing in our back yard last week. 

(Sorry, I haven't figured out how to insert a thumbnail image.)

Our garden has gone insane!

We have been harvesting Romaine lettuce, spinach, green onions, and herbs for several weeks already. Just as well, because with all the rain we've gotten the last couple weeks, the tomatoes, cucumber, and zucchini plants have completely overtaken everything else. I'm trying to keep them tied up, but they have still completely smothered the remaining lettuce and onions, and are threatening the pepper plant, spinach, and the herbs.

I harvested one large cucumber earlier this week, and several more will be ready soon, as will some of the zucchini. The tomatoes are loaded down with smallish green fruit, so we should be able to start harvesting them in a week or two.

Well, if nothing else, I have learned some valuable lessons about planning the layout of the garden that I can apply next year when I expand to two full size 4'x8' beds. The tomatoes and squash-type plants will each be completely enclosed in separate cages about 20" in diameter, and the smaller plants will be kept farther away from them. And I think the herbs will be in individual containers rather than the main beds. Live and learn!

Haven't done much at all lately with genealogy. Too many other things have kept my interest. My interest in prepping has led me to re-discover my love of the outdoors, especially bushcraft and survivalism. My personal health issues and physical limitations will limit the extent of what I will be able to actually do. Long backpacking trips are out of the question, at least for the foreseeable future, for example. 

But I can still do some things. Day-trips are always possible, and camping for extended periods as long as I camp near the car and stay reasonably close to the camp and don't try to do too much at once. 

As the weather gets hotter and muggier, I probably won't be doing much. So for now I will concentrate on collecting and maintaining a decent collection of gear, and practicing various skills that I can do mostly at home. Then, when cooler weather returns, I'll be out and about a lot!

This is a Morakniv Mora Classic #3 sheath knife, and a copy of Dave Canterbury's first book. They were very early birthday gifts from the Debster! Gotta love that gal o' mine! She has little interest in the type of camping and outdoors activities that I prefer, but she is very supportive of me anyway. I really don't deserve this wonderful woman. But God has seen fit to put us together, and so I must be the best man I can be, for her if for no other reason.

Well, that's enough for now. We'll talk again soon.

God bless you all!

Ron, and the Debster

Good by, li'l buddy ...

Stempy Johnson

January 21, 2004 - May 11, 2015

This is a tough blog to have to write ...

September, 2004. I'm a newly married 45 year old man. A guy I work with, Bob, knowing I am a serious dog lover, asks me if I would be interested in a small dog, a nine month old mostly-grown puppy. It belongs to his sister & her husband and young son, and her husband is very displeased because the puppy is chewing things around the house, and occasionally has "accidents" before he gets out the door. The dog is half dachshund on his mother's side, and half golden retriever mix on his father's side. ... Not sure I can visualize how that happened, but ... there it is. His name is Stempy, and yes, he had a twin brother named Ren, who is not part of this story.

I've had a lot of dogs in my time, and had always figured that if a dog couldn't knock me down, it wasn't a real dog, merely a wannabe. But a few years before, I was disabused of that notion by a Maltese Terrier mix that literally followed me home one day and wouldn't leave. I named him Fritz, and he was one of the neatest pets I had ever had. I was heartbroken the day he died. Also, my best friend, a big burly lumber-jack type of guy, and his wife had dachshunds . So, I was at least amenable to the thought of another little guy.

Well, Bob brought the mutt to work, and I immediately agreed. Such a cute little thing! He mostly looked like a tiny golden retriever. Slightly shorter legs and a slightly elongated torso were the sole markers of his dachshund heritage.

The trouble began that evening when I took him home for the first time. Remember, I was NEWLY married, for the FIRST time, and had been single and independent my whole life until just the month before. It just didn't cross my mind to check with my wife first. Although the Debster is just as animal-crazy as I, she had just had surgery on her Achilles tendon, and was hobbling around wearing a boot-cast on her foot. So while I was at work she would be stuck with trying to finish his house-training and keeping his chewing confined to dog-toys and not shoes and furniture. She was NOT pleased. She loved the dog, but was aggravated that I hadn't checked with her first. Understandable. 

So, for about a week, I took Stempy to work with me every day. I was managing a small used-car sales lot, and had some free time at work. He would wander the lot with me, play fetch with sticks, and play with the customers. 

Unfortunately, as he became acclimated to living with us and "adopting" us as his "pack leaders", his aggressive dachshund nature asserted itself. He started growling at customers, especially if they got too close to me. Not good. Not good at all! So, I tried keeping him in a crate behind my desk. Didn't work; he would bark his fool head off every time somebody came in the door, and wouldn't shut up until they left. Can't run a business with that kind of nonsense. So, I was forced to leave him at home with the Debster.

Well, she had gotten over her little fit of pique, and had grown quite fond of the little runt, as I knew she would. There were a few issues that developed over time. Our yard wasn't fenced, and he "decided" that the whole neighborhood was his territory, and that the only people allowed were me, the Debster, and Travis, my step-son. Neighbors, not so much. One day, he chased the neighbor's wife back onto her own front porch and scared the daylights out of the poor woman. After that, whenever he had to go outside, it was on a tie-out lead.

Another issue was his rampant adolescent male interest in mating, if you know what I mean. Although, to the best of my knowledge he never showed interest in any person's leg, any four-legged creature that he could get hold of was fair game. Didn't matter what gender, age, or even species. If he could figure out how to get his front legs around the critter, it was open season! I don't know how many times we had to pull him off of one of the cats before he got sliced and diced by their claws. And the Debster's dog Chelsea? Just two years old herself, she bore the brunt of most of his attentions. She would raise Cain and whoop on him, but nothing would deter his ardor. As he got a little older, he mostly outgrew this, as I knew he would. He wasn't the first male pup I had raised, after all. But for the Debster, it was a fairly hilarious experience.

Other than that, he quickly became an integral part of our home. He loved both of us, but as luck would have it, he became more of a daddy's boy than a momma's boy. Maybe because he and I were the only males around, surrounded by females and cats. (Cats are all female, you know, regardless of what "plumbing" they have.) He also became closely attached to Deb's mom, and she to him. Every time she visited, he spent the whole time sitting in her lap loving on her, and her on him.

He sure did like to get comfortable!

Stempy had one annoying quirk. When he got REALLY excited, he would scream. Not bark, or whine, but SCREAM! Sounded just like a three-year-old girl throwing a temper tantrum. There were a few times I was kinda surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops to investigate the "child abuse". 

When he was about five years old, there was a rather alarming development. He began having "fits", when he would suddenly start scuttling stiff-legged with his head off to the side. He would look for me, scuttle towards me, and rear back on his back legs, waving his front paws frantically. If I didn't reach down and grab him quickly, he would fall on his side and just twitch. I would hold him tight and talk quietly and calmly to him, and after a few minutes, he would snap out of it, jump down, and go about his business as if nothing had happened.

The vet diagnosed it as canine epilepsy, and put him on a twice-a-day dose of phenobarbital. That got the fits under control, but also made him a little lethargic. He was never again the highly energetic bundle of fur that he had always been. But we all adjusted.

Stempy & Daisy, taking a break from playing hard

He was a very sensitive dog, quick to pick up when a household member wasn't feeling well. He would snuggle up to and get all lovey-dovey with any of us, even the cats, if we were sick. This was always a comfort to the Debster, especially when she was going through some nasty bouts of depression.

He was a very jealous dog. If any member of his family payed attention to someone, or something, other than him, he had to get in the middle of it. It got to where it was an adventure just trying to kiss my wife goodby on my way to work. But we turned it into a little game, and had fun with it.

About two years ago, a new addition was added to the family, in the person of Miss Daisy, a tiny year-old terrier mix. This little six-pound bundle of playful puppy energy almost immediately adopted Stempy as her very own "chew-toy", mostly by default since neither Chelsea nor the cats wanted anything to do with her. She most definitely kept him busy! They'd be outside, and she would wait till he was in mid-squat, and hit him from the blind-side like an NFL linebacker. Off and running! Initially, I was a little concerned that the sudden increase in physical activity would be detrimental considering the epilepsy. But the vet said not a problem, in fact, a good thing. It added to his quality of life.

Napping with his daddy

Well, a few weeks ago, the morning of April 11, I came home to a sick dog and a frantic wife. Our beloved Stempy was coughing and wheezing and lethargic, hacking up blood. Wouldn't eat, even when a hot dog, his favorite treat, was put in front of him. An emergency vet run gave us the bad news. He had incurable lymphoma in his lungs, with a prognosis of a couple or three months at best.

The vet put him on prednisone, an antibiotic, and an anti-fungal medication. The anti-fungal was just in case the lymphoma was an incorrect diagnosis, but she was pretty sure it wasn't the fungus. Within a day, he was doing much much better. We were overjoyed! He was still wheezing and breathing hard, and a little weak, but he had regained most of his pep and vigor, and even played with Daisy some. One funny side-effect of the prednisone, which is a steroid, is that it made him revert to his adolescence, in a way. He suddenly became interested in the females again. Poor Daisy! He wouldn't leave her alone! It was so funny to watch them tussle, and suddenly he'd have her wrapped up and doing his darnedest to, well, you get the picture.

Things went well until this past Friday evening. I woke up about 9pm, to get ready to go in for my midnight shift. The Debster had laid down with me for awhile, and she got up first. All three dogs were wanting to go outside. Stempy made it to the back door, but before she got there, he suddenly whimpered and laid down. She got to him just as he drew his last breath. He was gone.

We were both devastated. I tried to take off work, but my boss, though sympathetic, said there was no one available to cover my shift and couldn't let me take off. So we picked him up, laid him in his favorite dog-bed, and set it and him in a chair. The next morning, when I got home, we took him to be cremated. We'll get his cremains back in a short while, and they will have an honored place in our home, until it is time to mingle his, and the other pets', with mine and the Debster's.

He's in heaven now**, laying on Gacky's lap, getting to know the Debster's dad, and my parents, and all the other family and pets that have gone on before.

God bless you all, and thanks for reading.
Ron, and the Debster.

** Yes, I know, in theological / Biblical reality, animals don't really have a soul in the sense that humans do, and thus don't go to heaven. I know that when I get to heaven I'll be completely entranced by the presence of my Lord and Savior and that the dog will only be a pleasant memory. But, until then, sometimes you just gotta wink at "reality" and take comfort in these little fibs we tell ourselves.

I'm back to writing again!

I know, I know. It has been awhile. Sorry about that.

The Debster and I have both been dealing with health issues. Working full time plus taking care of the Debster, the house, and the animals has really eaten into my time.

After going to the trouble of staking out the edges of my garden, and renting a small tiller to get it ready, I wound up planting .... absolutely nothing. My feet, legs, and back have just been too sore to allow the labor involved in the garden. I have even been paying my nephew to keep the grass cut for me.

Thyroid disease finally claimed the life of one of our cats. We had two, named Cow and Bull. Brother and sister. Cow was black and white; her uncanny resemblance to the Holstein breed engendered her name, and Bull's name followed sort of logically. He is coal black. We buried Cow in the Debster's mother's back yard, where so many of the extended family pets are buried. She was a sweet thing, as cats go, and is sorely missed. 

One unforeseen result of Cow's death is the total transformation of Bull's temperament. He had always been a bit on the arrogant and stand-offish side, just a little abusive of his shy, retiring sister, and not very friendly to most people, even close family. But within a few days of Cow's death, Bull became an altogether different animal. He now sticks close to us, often sleeping with, or even on top of, me or Deb. He hangs out in the same room with us. He has even, recently, begun playing with Daisy. At least, I think he's playing. Or maybe she is driving him nuts and he is just too old to really put serious effort into tearing her apart. Whichever one it is, they both seem to be enjoying themselves.

The Debster had knee replacement surgery a few weeks ago. After a few days in the hospital and couple weeks at a rehab center, she came home Friday, on the Fourth. I don't know who was happiest to have her home. Deb, me, or the critters. Chelsea had been pacing the house two or three times a day, searching for her "Mommy", and then coming to me with a little whimper because she couldn't find her. So she is happy. Stempey and Daisy have their favorite lap to nap on again. Bull has his favorite belly to sleep on at night again. And I have my wife back! Until she is fully healed and ambulatory, my own work load will be a lot heavier, as I handle all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so forth the next few weeks. But it sure is worth it! You just never know how much you'll miss someone until they are actually gone for awhile.

Well, I gotta go for now. Need to get a brunch put together for us, and the laundry has piled up a little. 

Until next time
God bless!

Ron

Dogs or cats? Seriously? You really need to ask?

Just for giggles:

I am a dog person. One hundred percent. I have owned a couple of cats over the years, but always because some person of the female persuasion begged me to take in her cat for one reason or another. I have never sought to have one. Don't understand why anyone would, really. Maybe, if I had a large garden or a farm, with a couple of outbuildings, I might have one, neutered to prevent multiplication, wandering around the outside to keep down the rodent population. But otherwise, what is the point? Every cat I have ever seen sits and stares at you with an expression that says, "I know things about your mother, and I will not tell you what they are." Dogs are never that rude and arrogant.

Dogs, on the other hand, are indispensable, period. The more of them, the better. The bigger, the better. I have had a lot of dogs over the years, often more than one at a time. They were all wonderful, each in their own way. All but one were mutts.

Just a partial list would include, in sort-of-chronological order, King, Puppy, Sam, Lady, Princess, Teddy, Tee-Rex, Killer, Highway, Brandy, Fritz, Sammy, Chelsea, Stempey, and Miss Daisy.

My first dog was King. Here I am, about 4 years old, with my buddy:

This one was Ted, probably the best dog I ever had, about 1980 or thereabouts:

Ted's father was a pure-breed Labrador Retriever, his mother a pure-breed German Shepherd owned by my aunt. He was the result of a "cross the fence accident", and the runt of the litter. Full grown, he could stand on his hind legs and rest his chin on the top of my head, and I am almost six feet tall. A smarter and more steadfastly loyal dog could not be found anywhere. When he was around, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, could so much as look cross-wise at me and get away with it. I was still in high school when he was given to me, and by the time he reached maturity, I always knew ahead of time if my mom or dad was going to scold me about something, because they first would politely ask me to lock my dog in my room or put him outside so they could "talk" to me. It got to be kind of a joke in the family, because at any other time, he loved my folks almost as much as he loved me. He also had an uncanny ability to almost instantly judge a person's character, and react accordingly.

Another great dog was Highway, my "gospel dog". A small-ish Lab mix, he had been found by some friends of mine as a half-grown, mangy, underfed stray wandering the shoulder of the interstate (hence his name). Although he was "their" dog for the first couple years, he became so attached to me that they eventually told me to just take him home and keep him, because they couldn't bear to listen to him whimper every time I left their home. I came to call him my "gospel dog" because of an incident in 1996. In a previous post, I described a day I spent fishing with my friend Daryl, and how he told me about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I had Highway with me that day, and Daryl remarked upon how close the dog stayed to me, never allowing more than a few feet between us. I laughed and told him that it was a little weird, because if I put a leash on him, he fought it and did his best to run away, but when it was off and he was free, he stuck to me like glue. Daryl got a thoughtful look, and then said that was a lot like the difference between Law and Grace. It was an off-the-cuff remark that later Daryl didn't even remember making, but it struck home, deeper than just about anything else he said that day.

This one was Sammy

He was a Lab-Spaniel-Chow mix. Sad day last year when we were forced to have him put down.

This is Chelsea, a Lhasa Apso - Poodle mix.

She technically belongs to Debbie. We got married on Chelsea's 2nd birthday. She will be twelve this year, when we celebrate our tenth anniversary. She is affectionately known as "Fuzzy-Butt".

This is Stempey. He is a Dachshund - Golden Retriever mix. (Go figure, right?)

He was a puppy of about 10 months when he was given to us shortly after we were married. He turned eleven this past January. He's my little buddy. As you can see, he loves a comfy sleeping place, and arranges himself in some weird positions!

Our most recent canine companion is Miss Daisy. She is a terrier of very indeterminate heritage.

She is another foundling that came to us last year from a woman that I work with. Her daughter had found the pup wandering their neighborhood. They tracked down her owner, but he said he was washing his hands of her and didn't want her back. Janet and her daughter kept her for awhile, but finally decided that they couldn't keep her, and asked me if I wanted her. The Debster and I went to meet the tiny mutt, and fell instantly in love with her. She is now about 18-24 months old, and very energetic, feisty, and playful. She and Stempey are virtually inseparable. She torments him unmercifully, goading him into playing longer and harder than he ever has before. At his age, he conks out early, climbing into the Debster's lap for a nap. Even then, Daisy has to stay right with him. Chelsea usually keeps her distance, not allowing herself to be drawn into playing with the younger ones. She prefers to lay off to the side and just watch.

That's enough for today. I got home from work a couple hours ago, and I am whupped. That pic of the snoozing dogs reminds me that I too need a nap, and then lots to get done today.

God bless
Ron