Trip to the vet

If only you could have heard the chorus of whimpers and near howls from my three crybabies today! i'm not sure if my ears or my credit card paid more dearly. Lord knows that a nap for all was necessary to recover after this adventure concluded....

You'd think a dog would be excited to see a leash and harness, but my Freckles is soooo spoiled that he sulked the entire time he wore it and refused to come when I called him. He actually ran to hide when he spotted me harnessing Snoopy. I had to laugh, as I'd already tricked Blue (my grey "panther") into a carrier and Snoopy was pouting in the kennel (leash attached.)

I decided to put my scowling kitty in the rear floorboard, and went in to get the doxies. I don't know how they knew that this was no trip to the park. I practically had to drag them out. With Snoopy in one hand, Freckles made a furtive dash for freedom. What a little nerd!

Suddenly, they were off and running. I was tangled in their leashes before we got out the door. This made locking the door a bit more complicted than usual. For once, Snoopy was minding better the Freckles. My little adventurer hopped straight over disgruntled kitty into the back seat. Nerdie-poo was making one last effort to run, run, run. I had to haul him in, pick him up, and firmly place his fluffy behind next to his best pal.

Finally, I made it into the car. Snoopy hopped into the front seat with the intent of climbing in my lap, and let a few very fake whimpers out when I told him no. Freckles had just decided to join us, and decided to cower in the passenger seat as ol' Snoops hopped up to the window to take a look at the world whizzing past. Despite the 90 degree heat I rolled the window down a bit. For added safety on his behalf, I locked the window and kept his leash around my wrist. Even at a speed of 30 to 40 mph, givig hime the freedom of the controls on the door seemed a bit much.

Once on our country highway and a speed of 55 mph, Blue started a chorus of protest in earnest with a wailing, "MEEEEEOOOOOOO!" (Sounded more like NO! than meow.) Snoopy immediately forgot his tail wagging & sightseeing. Freckles lowered himself as low into the seat as physics would allow. (He'd been panting for at least two minutes at this point.) Within 30 seconds all three were practically howling! You would have thought we were off to the Humane Society or something! Had it been safe, I would have had to call someone else to listen, cuz it was too insane not to share. Within a few miles, Snoopy returned to his perch at the window, and all gave up their version of Jailhouse Rock.

Once at the vet, the dogs were ready to run for it. However, the scent of countless other animals who'd visited in the past overwhelmed their hound dog noses. I managed to keep from completely getting tangled in leashes as we made our way inside. A receptionist took charge of the doxies so I could fetch kitty. A surprised painter looked up from the outside post he was touching up to exclaim, "Another one?!" as we returned to the vet entrance.

Now I had a singular moment of peace as I took a seat on a bench in the waiting room. It was a New York minute, because the moment another pooch entered both of my dogs decided to bark as if the security of the nation was at stake. It was all you could hear, a cacophony of dachshund woofs and my protesting in vain. Freckles took a momentary pause when I plucked him from the floor. At that moment a vet assistant appeared to ask if we'd like to go into a room. Thank the Lord!

Not to be silenced, my pooches continued to reign a chorus of loud barks at the door. Once released from their leashes, all bravado was gone. Both frantically dove under the chair I had crouched by in my efforts to calm them down. Meanwhile, the cat remained as quiet as he could be in the carrier. I believe he was sure to be forgotten amidst the chaos.

My dogs quickly made friends with the vet assistants who came in to weight them and prepare for Dr. Martin. When not being held they ran about the room as if determined to find a crack in the wall.

Now one must understand that my pets are as accident prone as I am. They get the best food, and regular medical care. They also seem to love trouble. My "panther" actually had to have refills of liquid, tuna-scented antibiotics fed to him for a while after trying to take on at least one country raccoon. He's also a bionic kitty, having recieved titanium joints in his rear legs after an accident when he was about a year old. He's spent at least 3 months of his life in quarantine as wounds of one sort of another have healed.

Eight months ago, Freckles' bravado earned him a slit throat after a close encounter of the fangs of our neighbors pit bull. He was lucky it was the fence and not the dog who got him that day. He collided with the wire fence as he dodged those teeth, and began to bleed as if attacked by a vampire. That resulted in several stitches and a preposterous looking neck brace for the brainiac.

Two months later, an early January trip to Jacksonville was curtailled when Snoopy got a away from my pet-sitting father-in-law on a walk. The man is a sweet one, but age has slowed his reflexes. Snoop dog decided to avenge Freckles, ran towards the four-legged fiends that were snarling from the neighbor's yard. Leash fell from John's arms, pit bulls charged, and somehow (thank God!) our 10 pound adventurer got out without any major internal injuries. The skin was ripped half way off his back in the process. It took two months of repeated vet visits, wound cleansing, re-suturing, rolls of ace bandages and several altered onesies (holes for weenie and tail) to recover from that endeavor.

A week after his Franken-puppy makeover I had my mother-in-law's backing as I oversaw the creation of a long overdue fencig in of the back yard. Walks in our neighborhood ceased for the pups at that point. Life was less eventful for my pets for a while.

Ah, yes, we were discussing the vet visit. It took over an hour to weigh animals, give them each the appropriate shots and examinations, and to discuss the merits of which vaccines and flea meds were most appropriate for my rascals. The cat lost about a pound in shedded fur, and resembled a hissing viper during his turn onto the table. He was not pleased that his ploy to remain invisible failed. Snoopy never once stopped wagging his tail, even when yelping at the pinch of a needle or the snap of nail clippers. Freckles, punctuating the air with an occasional bark, seemed stuck in his woe-is-me crouch the entire time!

I have to admit that by the time we made it back to the receptionist, the cost of this adventure was not high on my priority list. It hurt, but I was ready to go home! (I'd also worked quite an appetite.) A cheerful vet assistant held onto my pups as I watched the receptionist add up an office visit, exam charges, an untold number of vaccines, rabies tags, heartworm pills, flea preventatives, and a spray to help heal self-inflicted doggy wounds caused by scratching in a misquito-filled country marsh neighborhood in a normal muggy June in Georgia. Had I offered her my check card, we would have had to visit a food bank by month's end. Thank heaven's for Visa! (Have I mentioned that my self-imposed limit on credit card spending got gulped up in one simple swipe and, "Sign here?)

I don't remember much of the trip home, save for Snoopy's newfound fascination with the vents feeding air conditioned air onto his intently gazing face. The other two were either pouting or asleep in the back seat. Freckles pouted for the rest of the afternoon.

I took a long nap, and awoke to find both piebalds asleep next to me later that day. At least we don't have to do that for another year. I'll have to add the cost of babysitter to the bill next year.....(Grimace....)

turtles!

turtles for baby....
Do I design my own, or pay for some of the awesome items I found on-line tonight?
This is fun!

There Was a Little Turtle Nursery Rhyme

There Was a Little Turtle Nursery Rhyme from Zelo.com Nursery Rhymes

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A new wedding album for my parents

So, this is my first peek at what it will look like when completed. I only searched for 9 months to find the perfect paper, a book artist whose work appears to be elegant and lovely (Doublehappiness) , and then the perfect book cloth- chiyogami combination. And above is my first picture of what the outside cover will look like. I'm so excited that I can hardly wait.

Next on my list are the album that my parents Okinawa pics were in, and my baby book.

Personal projects a must. So is sleep. .....Yaaaawwwnnnnn........

Mama, Hold My Paw!

If you have ever known a child that seems to need their mama with them at all times, then you know the pains I'm going through with a newly fenced in yard.

We've lived on this culdesac (sp?)-on an island and in the country- for 6 years now. For the first 4 we had a red doxie, named Dutch.


He was friends with every living thing, and I could let him romp around the yard without much worry of him wandering off. He loved to visit the next door neighbor, play with their grand kids, and get a treat when he could. Or he'd roll around in the grass while I gardened, barking at squirrels and passing boats.

We lost our Dutch in late July 07.


Withing two weeks, we adopted Freckles, who needed a new home as much as we needed another pup to love. Freckles delights in running outside. When he's at his happiest, he will leap 4 or 5 body lengths at a time, and has almost caught a squirrel or two. He has a few potty problems, but running back to me when I call him has not been an issue.





A year later we got Snoopy, who we think is secretly part Beagle or something. He has papers (previous owner,) but he is a regular escape artist. Calling him only seems to taunt him into running in the other direction. He aspires to explore every sniffable place he can reach or dig to. When he's on a leash, he's pulling with all that his 10 pound self can muster, and it doesn't matter what kind of lead he's on. He even ended up in the creek at full tide one day. (Thank heavens he was on a leash so I could reel him back in.) He didn't enjoy it much....

To make a long story shorter, Snoops is even good at getting into other dog's yards. And his New Year's gift to us was to let the pit bulls across the street know that he has no fear. He got away from my father-in-law, who was walking him, and ran straight through their gate. He was lucky enough to get away, but not fortunate enough to escape without injury. It took a very arduous 6 weeks to heal the puncture wounds and ripped skin (about a foot long tear) on his back and abdomen. The new fence went up within a week. (I'd been asking for one for months!!!!)

While he was healing, he had to be walked on a leash. Now that fur is slowly inching over parts of his scar, he can run about at will. You would think he'd be romping with Freckles non-stop.

Nah....He's a mama's boy, and mostly sits on the back porch barking up a storm unless accompanied by a human adult. Today he made his voice heard for 40 minutes. Until I let him back inside. Perhaps he's cold without the customized onesie and ace bandages wrapped around his sutures and bandages? It was 70 outside earlier. ??????

Nonetheless, it's a lot like having a dog child who needs a constant, doting parent to hold his "paw."

A Love of Time and Place

The historic coastal towns where I've spent the last decade have become the home of my heart. The ebb and flow of the tides, the Spanish moss and majestic oaks, the serenity of its everchanging marshes hold me spellbound.
One of my favorite places is downtown Savannah.

I could spend years wandering the tree-lined squares of this colonial city, especially as seasons change. It is considered to be an urban forest, with tall trees offering shade to those who live, work, worship, and visit. While some might be disturbed by the palpable feel of souls who seem to still populate the town decades and centuries after their deaths, I find in it a sense of connection to a place that was central to our nation's beginnings.

There are so many places that I love.....

City Market with its many galleries and horse drawn carraiges....

First African Baptist Church, built by slaves, and respite for others who were worn and tired as they traversed the Underground railroad seeking freedom....
Steeples and colonial homes, both stately and demure....

Miles and miles of wrought iron gates and cobblestones....

There is strange appeal to the history of Colonial Cemetery, a place that outdates the famed Bonaventure by many years. Sitting between a historical firehouse and an aged police headquarters, you can walk directly into the city's past. As you wander through it, you can see where bored soldiers altered dates on grave markers with their pocket knives during the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. The place was at one point a wintry camp for calvary, and at another was a holding place for prisoners of war.

Above ground crypts are a strange mixture of red brick and concrete, the latter added to repair walls that were ripped out during cold winters by frigid soldiers. Yellow fever wiped out huge numbers during various periods in the city's 18th and 19th century history, which meant that some crypts became mass graves. Family plots are cordoned off by iron or brick fences and walls. Markers list the names of those who mourned as well as dates of birth and death. Once in southern tradition it seems, obituaries of a sort were carved directly into granite and marble. Much of these words are now worn and difficult to decipher.

As time passed, the cemetery became a relic, and fell into disrepair. Many stones were broken off, leaving unmarked the resting places of person's who had been much loved by another since claimed by time. The city even chose to pave directly over the graves of some persons in order to advance a main road from downtown Savannah to its much newer Southside. (There is an entire Jewish cemetery hidden under asphalt a few blocks away.) As I traverse the sidewalk where these graves once stood, I can not help but feel that in someway I am a visitor in a place that should be sacred. I may live in 2009 with parking meters and paved roads next to me, but this is a place that still exists in another time.

Within the last century, the site has been turned into a historical park. Many of the markers once strewn about with abandon have been set into a red brick wall at the back of the cemetery. Fathers, wives, and children claimed in a time of archaic medical means, business men and immigrants who lost their lives while far from home, even sailors and at least one pirate are memorialized in this place. Button Gwinnett, signer of the Declaration of Independence is thought to be buried withing sight of that wall.

I have seen people walk dogs and throw Frisbees through the park's more open spaces. I once spied a vagrant taking a nap amidst thick bushes in the summer's heat. I've also been told that Colonial Cemetery is locked at night due to evidence of a moonlit Voodoo ritual occurring as recently as 2000. Some tourists have claimed to feel a sudden coolness in the air as they snapped shots of strange vapors floating in the middle of the day.

I am mesmerized by the place. While a large part of me wants to remain cynical, and state that the city is not haunted by a multitude of lost souls, I can not deny that it is hard to feel a real sense of solitude here. It is almost as if the humid air of this place, and of all of the the South that holds my heart, is too thick for the memories of those who breathe it in to fade away and allow real time to completely take hold.

The Unwritten Page

I have always loved to write, and am told that I have a knack for telling stories. Somehow I have managed to collect about a dozen beautiful and vastly empty journals over the last nine years. For a while I posted many of my thoughts on a forum, and I can be very chatty via E-mail and Facebook. I also keep a sort of photo journal on my computer. There are at least forty years worth of photos there....I've completed one scrapbook in my life. I gave it to my sister on her 25th birthday.

I've even considered keeping an art journal. I just spend so much time devouring images of other artists that I hardly get any of my own work made.

Last night I realized that in one thick blue journal I wrote a handful of entries as a single woman in 2000, another just after meeting my husband, a couple of distraught ones while going through rough times in 2004, and then the entry I wrote last night. For a journal with about a 1000 pages, only about 50 have a word on them.

I find great appeal in an unwritten page. There is something alluring in the possibilities of the paper untouched by ink or pencil. I even kept crisp and (primarily) white the pages of two dozen miniature books that I handmade and sent as a holiday greetings this past December. It just seemed to make sense as one year ended and another began.

So now that I've realized that I seem to collect unwritten books, I've begun to compile ideas for creating them myself. I also like chiyogami, a wonderful type of Japanese paper. Perhaps keeping a blog will give me a reason to actually do something besides plan. We shall see.....