Our family dog Jazz died yesterday. She was my son's constant companion. I rescued her, but she rescued Matthew when he came home after a heartbreaking divorce. She was both adorable and adoring. Devoted and loving and playful and fun and loyal and fiesty and protective and.... The list is endless.
Every once in a while a dog will select one person, pick him or her out of a crowd or in a family, and choose to be that person's constant companion. Jazz did that with Matthew.
I was blessed with a dog like that, too. I got her at the city pound for Matthew's birthday. He was leaving for college at Texas Tech, and I thought he'd need the company.
I had to get into the dog cage with her, she was so withdrawn and scared. I remember filling out a 3-page adoption application and going through an intimidating interview. My friend Lee Orrell was with me and he vouched for my character, telling the interviewer, "Ma'am, that dog is gonna think she died and went to heaven after she gets home with Joyce."
When my son came home with a few guy friends that afternoon, the dog backed herself under the table and barked and barked and barked. It became obvious she had a problem with men, possibly the result of neglect and abuse. Matt summed up the situation and told me, "This is not my dog, Mother, she's yours." And he was right. Turned out, I was the one who needed the company, and somehow she sensed that.
She was an Australian shepherd-terrier mix, and I named her Trixie. She was the best pet I ever had. She listened to my whining without ever giving advice, she took me for walks every day, and she never lectured me for eating Blue Bell at midnight--even let me share. She was crazy for a toy duck that went "Quack-Quack" when she bit into it just right. She'd shake it, toss it, chase it, and bite into it again.
She loved to sleep in my bed, loved to eat food from the table, loved to sit on the couch next to me, loved to have her tummy rubbed. Most of all, she loved me. Completely.
Trixie is dead now, has been for six years, but her spirit still feeds me. That's the gift you get from a dog who chooses you. That's the gift Matthew received from Jazz. Unconditonal love.
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Spring is in the air
Sunshine finally burned through the overcast sky today. I feel Spring pushing through this stubborn winter. It's been a tough winter for us. In the past I've always said winter in Texas is never more than a few days of freezing weather and then the sun comes out and warm us up. But this year it seems the opposite was true--every time the sun showed her face for more than a couple of days, Canada sent down an an icy blast to frost our bones. I'm glad the seasons are finally changing.
The doves that made a nest in the overhanging eaves in the roof of the back porch have returned to build another nest. Or are they are the offspring that burst from those tiny eggs last spring and sat in that nest for two weeks until they were strong enough to take flight? Ronnie and I aren't sure. We aren't ornithologists, but we sure are excited to see the nest of twigs and pine needles.
I've read that doves will abandon their nests if they feel threatened, and this nest is on the porch where the dogs sleep. What's up with that? I think the doves know the dogs will keep the neighborhood cats away as well as the squirrels living in the pecan trees that shade our home.
The red bud tree in the back yard is in full bloom, and the daffodils are beginning to appear in pretty bunches. Hopefully Jackson won't dig them up.
My friend Wynell drove up from Houston yesterday, and we went to College Station to do a little shopping. Indian paintbrushes, bluebonnets, and sunflowers dotted the roadside. They will blanket the pastures by Easter.
The doves that made a nest in the overhanging eaves in the roof of the back porch have returned to build another nest. Or are they are the offspring that burst from those tiny eggs last spring and sat in that nest for two weeks until they were strong enough to take flight? Ronnie and I aren't sure. We aren't ornithologists, but we sure are excited to see the nest of twigs and pine needles.
I've read that doves will abandon their nests if they feel threatened, and this nest is on the porch where the dogs sleep. What's up with that? I think the doves know the dogs will keep the neighborhood cats away as well as the squirrels living in the pecan trees that shade our home.
The red bud tree in the back yard is in full bloom, and the daffodils are beginning to appear in pretty bunches. Hopefully Jackson won't dig them up.
My friend Wynell drove up from Houston yesterday, and we went to College Station to do a little shopping. Indian paintbrushes, bluebonnets, and sunflowers dotted the roadside. They will blanket the pastures by Easter.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Ronnie to the rescue
Wednesday was a nasty day. Navasota was gray, wet, windy, and cold. The streets and sidewalks were muddy, and no one was out, unless running from a vehicle to a store. Even the birds huddled hidden away under building eaves.
I wouldn't have ventured out of my warm house if I hadn't had a doctor's appointment, but I did. Ronnie, sweetheart that he is, drove me. I left him waiting in the reception room while I had my check-up, but he was outside in the bitter, biting cold when I came out. What the...?
As soon as I opened the door, I had my answer. He was sitting on a bench with a tiny, trembling Chihuahua cuddled against his chest inside his jacket.
"We're not keeping it," I said. I didn't know where the dog came from or what Ronnie was doing with it. All I could think about were the three rambunctious dogs in our backyard and the fourth with my son. Five dogs? I don't think so. Someone had to draw a line in the dirt.
He beat me to it.
"I'm not leaving her," he replied. "She's lost and she's freezing." He stood, resolute, holding the little dog close to his body.
A flurry of conversation followed, with the doctor and her staff joining in. The dog had been seen running with another dog and then all alone, up and down the sidewalk for the past half hour. Ronnie had seen it following a kid on a bike, but the boy said the dog didn't belong to him and he didn't want it. The doctor said the dog had to belong to someone and Ronnie agreed but insisted he wasn't leaving the dog in the cold. Instead, he continued to warm her with his body heat and calm her with his touch.
We brought her home, but with a plan. Tomorrow Ronnie will call the dog pound to see if anyone is looking for a 4-pound female Chihuahua, and he will put an ad in the "FOUND" section of the Navasota newspaper.
In the meanwhile, she's safe with a man who has a heart as big as Texas for God's creatures. Her tail dances like a conductor's baton setting the cadence for the March of the Bumblebee. Her big brown chocolate eyes rival Antonio Banderas' Puss 'n Boots character in all the Shrek movies. No longer trembling cold, but flying up the stairs and snuggling under the blanket he's put for her in his office, she's full of spirit.
I wouldn't have ventured out of my warm house if I hadn't had a doctor's appointment, but I did. Ronnie, sweetheart that he is, drove me. I left him waiting in the reception room while I had my check-up, but he was outside in the bitter, biting cold when I came out. What the...?
As soon as I opened the door, I had my answer. He was sitting on a bench with a tiny, trembling Chihuahua cuddled against his chest inside his jacket.
"We're not keeping it," I said. I didn't know where the dog came from or what Ronnie was doing with it. All I could think about were the three rambunctious dogs in our backyard and the fourth with my son. Five dogs? I don't think so. Someone had to draw a line in the dirt.
He beat me to it.
"I'm not leaving her," he replied. "She's lost and she's freezing." He stood, resolute, holding the little dog close to his body.
A flurry of conversation followed, with the doctor and her staff joining in. The dog had been seen running with another dog and then all alone, up and down the sidewalk for the past half hour. Ronnie had seen it following a kid on a bike, but the boy said the dog didn't belong to him and he didn't want it. The doctor said the dog had to belong to someone and Ronnie agreed but insisted he wasn't leaving the dog in the cold. Instead, he continued to warm her with his body heat and calm her with his touch.
We brought her home, but with a plan. Tomorrow Ronnie will call the dog pound to see if anyone is looking for a 4-pound female Chihuahua, and he will put an ad in the "FOUND" section of the Navasota newspaper.
In the meanwhile, she's safe with a man who has a heart as big as Texas for God's creatures. Her tail dances like a conductor's baton setting the cadence for the March of the Bumblebee. Her big brown chocolate eyes rival Antonio Banderas' Puss 'n Boots character in all the Shrek movies. No longer trembling cold, but flying up the stairs and snuggling under the blanket he's put for her in his office, she's full of spirit.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
State Fair
My sweetie and I went to Dallas to visit my younger brother and his wife and go to the State Fair. It was the best weekend for all our calendars--unfortunately we didn't check the football schedule. That's right... it was the Red River rumble between University of Texas and Oklahoma University. The stadium was packed. The overflow of Longhorns and Sooners filled the fairgrounds and kept up with the game by watching big screen TVs strategically placed throughout the place.
We passed up the fried olives, the fried pickles, the fried green tomatoes, and fried ice cream. But we each had a corn dog slathered in yellow mustard with a nutty bar (nut and chocolate covered vanilla ice cream on a stick) for dessert.
We saw a dog show with pups that have appeared on David Letterman and that could fetch Frisbees at almost warp speed before splashing into water. Other dogs ran an obstacle course--the blue dog team against the red dog team. The red dog team won, but maybe not--it seemed scripted. There was a three-legged dog that the barker ( no pun intended--that's the carnival term for the announcer and by this time, the atmosphere had a carnie feel) promised would be around for family photo ops. We moved on to the goat show and watched the judge pick the champion goat. The winner (that is, the owner of the champion goat) was euphoric, while the other contestants put on brave smiles but you could see the disappointment in their eyes.
I loved the quilt exhibits. The grand champion prize went to a quilter who took two years to create her winning quilt. It looked like it was made of Tibetan silk. Beautiful, exotic.
My sister-in-law and I got Deep in the Heart of Texans 2014 Cookbooks with a collection of State Fair prize winning recipes from the 2013 competitions. Recipes include Bacon Spud Hugs; Roasted Corn, Peppers and Jicama Salad; Southern Comfort Buttermilk Fried Chicken; Jalapeno Cheese Bread; and Angel Food Cake with Heath Bar Icing.
If I can get an ambulance on speed dial to take Ronnie and me to the ER, I may cook up that menu for dinner next Sunday.
We passed up the fried olives, the fried pickles, the fried green tomatoes, and fried ice cream. But we each had a corn dog slathered in yellow mustard with a nutty bar (nut and chocolate covered vanilla ice cream on a stick) for dessert.
We saw a dog show with pups that have appeared on David Letterman and that could fetch Frisbees at almost warp speed before splashing into water. Other dogs ran an obstacle course--the blue dog team against the red dog team. The red dog team won, but maybe not--it seemed scripted. There was a three-legged dog that the barker ( no pun intended--that's the carnival term for the announcer and by this time, the atmosphere had a carnie feel) promised would be around for family photo ops. We moved on to the goat show and watched the judge pick the champion goat. The winner (that is, the owner of the champion goat) was euphoric, while the other contestants put on brave smiles but you could see the disappointment in their eyes.
I loved the quilt exhibits. The grand champion prize went to a quilter who took two years to create her winning quilt. It looked like it was made of Tibetan silk. Beautiful, exotic.
My sister-in-law and I got Deep in the Heart of Texans 2014 Cookbooks with a collection of State Fair prize winning recipes from the 2013 competitions. Recipes include Bacon Spud Hugs; Roasted Corn, Peppers and Jicama Salad; Southern Comfort Buttermilk Fried Chicken; Jalapeno Cheese Bread; and Angel Food Cake with Heath Bar Icing.
If I can get an ambulance on speed dial to take Ronnie and me to the ER, I may cook up that menu for dinner next Sunday.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Family dogs
My sweetie and I recently moved to Navasota, and with us came three dogs. We're a blended family--Lucy, the oldest, is his; Jazz, the smallest, is mine; and Riley, the fast-growing pup, is ours. Labrador, Shih-Tzu, and Springer.
Riley is rambunctious, rowdy, and the life of the party. He's 11 months old and leaps, like a jack rabbit or antelope, rather than runs. He love-bites Lucy, pounces on her like a kid bushwhacking an older sibling, and chases around the yard like a dust storm. Lucy is subdued and maternal, sort of like a menopausal mom. She's patient and will rough-house with Riley, tugging with a rawhide or squeaky toy, until she gets tired. When that happens, her growl will change from playful to a don't-mess-with-me tone, and Riley backs off.
Jazz, who was an only dog for six years and still hangs onto that notion, is stand-offish with the other dogs. She flops off by herself and watches the frolicking with tepid interest. She's used to being pampered, not pawed, and she sees no logic in pretending to like Riley's attention.
My sweetie fenced in the yard and put a wire kennel on the back porch for the dogs. Lucy and Riley pile together inside the kennel. There's plenty of room for Jazz, too, but she sleeps outside on the porch by the back door. What can I say? She does not share well; she wants her own space. My sweetie, who understands that every dog is as unique as its paw print, is building her something to fit.
When we leave the house for errands, I bribe the dogs with milk bones so they won't whimper and yowl. Lucy gobbles her treat in three bites. Riley takes longer, but he chomps it down pretty fast. Jazz, on the other hand, grabs her treat with her sharp little teeth and retreats under the picnic table. Like a princess having her own private tea party, she mouths the treat and takes tiny bites, making it last. Lucy will eat as many as you give her, but she won't steal from the others. Riley? Well, that's another matter. With his eyes averted, he takes the sand crab approach, walking sideways but moving closer to Jazz. Jazz isn't fooled though, and she growls around the treat that sticks out of her mouth like a slim cigarillo, letting Riley know that she'll take a piece of him before he will get a piece of her treat.
I sit in the backyard with them in the mornings while my sweetie does his man chores. Riley will pounce around the yard with a chewy bone in his mouth as a challenge to Lucy or Jazz. Sometimes Lucy will chase after him. If the chew bone drops and they continue to parry and play, Jazz will walk over, get it, and scoot back where I'm sitting in the shade of a Bartlett pear tree. She'll nestle between my feet and gnaw on the bone, confident that the other two will consider her off limits. Doesn't matter. Riley is more interested in having a good time than in chewing a gnarly old bone crusted with dirt. Lucy tires before Riley and drops in a cool bed of clover. Riley paws at her, trying to get her back in the game, but she ignores him. He gives up and bounces over to the fence to play sentry guard, checking the perimeter. The neighbor's cat, hidden in the monkey grass, is startled to its feet, and Riley howls. All three dogs are suddenly in hot pursuit, but the cat fires through the fence to safety.
My sweetie is a former police officer, so he's adamant about locking the house and securing the gates. He thinks there's an element out there in any community that, given the chance, will rob you blind, so he believes in canceling their chances. I'm more trusting, but my trust is in our dogs. They're sweet and loving and loyal. But I have no doubt, they'd eat you alive before they'd let you burglarize our home. They're territorial and protective. Just ask the cat.
Riley is rambunctious, rowdy, and the life of the party. He's 11 months old and leaps, like a jack rabbit or antelope, rather than runs. He love-bites Lucy, pounces on her like a kid bushwhacking an older sibling, and chases around the yard like a dust storm. Lucy is subdued and maternal, sort of like a menopausal mom. She's patient and will rough-house with Riley, tugging with a rawhide or squeaky toy, until she gets tired. When that happens, her growl will change from playful to a don't-mess-with-me tone, and Riley backs off.
Jazz, who was an only dog for six years and still hangs onto that notion, is stand-offish with the other dogs. She flops off by herself and watches the frolicking with tepid interest. She's used to being pampered, not pawed, and she sees no logic in pretending to like Riley's attention.
My sweetie fenced in the yard and put a wire kennel on the back porch for the dogs. Lucy and Riley pile together inside the kennel. There's plenty of room for Jazz, too, but she sleeps outside on the porch by the back door. What can I say? She does not share well; she wants her own space. My sweetie, who understands that every dog is as unique as its paw print, is building her something to fit.
When we leave the house for errands, I bribe the dogs with milk bones so they won't whimper and yowl. Lucy gobbles her treat in three bites. Riley takes longer, but he chomps it down pretty fast. Jazz, on the other hand, grabs her treat with her sharp little teeth and retreats under the picnic table. Like a princess having her own private tea party, she mouths the treat and takes tiny bites, making it last. Lucy will eat as many as you give her, but she won't steal from the others. Riley? Well, that's another matter. With his eyes averted, he takes the sand crab approach, walking sideways but moving closer to Jazz. Jazz isn't fooled though, and she growls around the treat that sticks out of her mouth like a slim cigarillo, letting Riley know that she'll take a piece of him before he will get a piece of her treat.
I sit in the backyard with them in the mornings while my sweetie does his man chores. Riley will pounce around the yard with a chewy bone in his mouth as a challenge to Lucy or Jazz. Sometimes Lucy will chase after him. If the chew bone drops and they continue to parry and play, Jazz will walk over, get it, and scoot back where I'm sitting in the shade of a Bartlett pear tree. She'll nestle between my feet and gnaw on the bone, confident that the other two will consider her off limits. Doesn't matter. Riley is more interested in having a good time than in chewing a gnarly old bone crusted with dirt. Lucy tires before Riley and drops in a cool bed of clover. Riley paws at her, trying to get her back in the game, but she ignores him. He gives up and bounces over to the fence to play sentry guard, checking the perimeter. The neighbor's cat, hidden in the monkey grass, is startled to its feet, and Riley howls. All three dogs are suddenly in hot pursuit, but the cat fires through the fence to safety.
My sweetie is a former police officer, so he's adamant about locking the house and securing the gates. He thinks there's an element out there in any community that, given the chance, will rob you blind, so he believes in canceling their chances. I'm more trusting, but my trust is in our dogs. They're sweet and loving and loyal. But I have no doubt, they'd eat you alive before they'd let you burglarize our home. They're territorial and protective. Just ask the cat.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)