Dear PenMen: Contemplations on Everyonceinawhile and Other Moments in Time

Seeing as how we might, at this point, be the only ones reading each other's blogs, I figured it was okay to directly address the two of you. Plus, I had this feeling of wanting to write, but what? And then I thought I could just write what I would tell Pen and M.

It's raining here right now, and while soothing, I find this greatly disappointing because I need to mow my lawn. I was all geared up for it, too: The First Mowing. But I know if I actually do that after the torrential rain (accompanied by copious thunder and lightning) that I will have wet grass stuck to my ankles and big clumps of grass clippings to dig out of the bag. That seems like not the experience to have for The First Mowing, and so I will think of my ever-growing lawn as a verdant carpet instead of an overgrown grass pouf to ease my conscience.

I finished reading this book last night that was so good - one of my indulgently trashy romance novels. And sometimes, they're just like reading candy - totally empty calories that go in and pass through with no real nutritional value. But everyonceinawhile, I find one that's more like...designer candy. Still no real nutritional value, but something extra luxurious about the indulgent experience. I think it could have to do with the fact that Mom and Dad went to see Anna, and I was blissfully alone and slept on the couch when I got home and then woke up and read and read and read - skipping dinner - until I finished. That's the kind of reading one needs to do everyonceinawhile to really fortify the soul.

Yesterday was a fantastical, magical day at work. Everyonceinawhile, a very great while in fact, the stars align in this way that you get exactly what you work so hard for the other 3oo-some-odd days of the year. To get a story in the ACRONYM Today is something of a Holy Grail of PR. And then, to find out later that the pitch you made to a certain other nationally renowned publication like FOUR-BES, actually got picked up, too? Well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Except that it happened to be my three-year anniversary with the company, and The Linguista and I went to my favorite Mexican restaurant and drank frozen margaritas at lunch.

The Exotic is getting so close to her due date, and it's starting to make me a bit sad. What will I do without her calming presence in the office? She does yoga so I don't have to, and she offers me zen-by-proxy when I need it. I think I will feel spectacularly off when she's on maternity leave.

I am, however, excited about the next couple of months, which are rife with the kind of adventures I never have. On Monday is David Gray/Ray LaMontagne, the dreamiest of dream concerts. I'm taking one of the Big City interns with me, and it will be delight. And then we will enter the string of weeks from September to October when I have something all the time rather than everyonceinawhile to keep me occupied. Like a trip to D.C.! Mountain Day! Dallas to see Joel McHale with my Texas Twin in our Texas office! Valle Crucis! Company retreat! Oh my! Plus there are two volunteer events on my calendar in September and one in October, plus dinners and drinks with friends (yes! friends!). At times like these, I feel like...maybe I'm doing a better job than I think of carpe diem and not letting the fact that I'm not exactly where I want to be on The Great Life Continuum keep me from doing things that make this place on it so much better.

Despite the rain, I think it's time to pack the Rav and take a load over to My House where I will clean the bathrooms and dress them nicely with the bathmats and matching towel sets I purchased last week. And then I will stand back and contemplate that I could actually be moving soon in a way that is good and comfortable. And then I might be able to think about new companions for my sad heart - still so hard to let go of Kudzu, but so clear to me that I need that comfort from the four-legged varietal.

Wishing you both everyonceinawhile days.

xo,
Ash

Requiescat in pace, Kudzu

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

May you rest knowing that you were loved to the greatest depths of the human heart. May you rest knowing that you were and are cherished.

May you rest knowing that your constant companionship warmed even the loneliest, the most sorrowful of hours. May you rest knowing that you were light in a dark and sometimes unkind world.

May you rest knowing that your presence brought joy, comfort, happiness, peace. May you rest knowing that you were all things good (even when you were bad).

May you rest knowing that beyond pet, you were family, as much my lifeblood as anything. That you were my very heart.

May you rest, fully restored to your gray fuzzy bellied glory, with no scars or marks or patches to evidence of your illness.

May you rest knowing that you will never have to endure my picture-taking ever again.

May you rest after your long and hard-fought battle. Having been so brave and true, holding on for so long for me, so that I could accept that it was your time.

May you rest knowing that I never wanted you to die, except that one time you ate my blue merino wool J. Crew sweater (and even then, not really).

May you rest, weary traveler, from all those thousands of miles on the highway between here and North Carolina that would have been so much longer without you.

May you rest, knowing that you will never have to be stuck in the car with me in the McDonald's drive-in in Leland, North Carolina while I have a panic attack over the holiday weekend traffic.

May you rest knowing that you will be remembered in repose on the windowsill, on the kitchen towel, under a blanket nestled against my stomach.

May you rest gently purring or making sleepy kitty noises as you slumber. With your snaggletooth hanging out.

May you rest with my gratitude for having never eaten my eyeball as I feared you would.

May you rest having served me well with the greatest devotion and loyalty - no matter what mistakes I made in life.

May you rest from leaping onto the cabinets, the countertops, the bookshelves, the bed with sprightly grace.

May you rest with an endless supply of spider plants whose leaves you may nip to your heart's content.

May you rest from strewing toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom into the kitchen.

May you rest, never to be forgotten.

May you rest, my darling. May you rest from exhaustion, from pain and from this namelessness that has consumed you.

May you rest in the hands of the Heavenly Father who made you.

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

While You're There, Comb Your Hair - Don't Forget Your Underwear

* Getting ready to shower on Saturday morning at Anna's, I realized that I'd forgotten to pack any underwear. I had to borrow from Anna - and for those of you who know the difference between our body types, you can understand that even her granniest panties were my thongs.

* I saw Les Mis for the fourth time this weekend, and it threw me back to my insane theater freak days. I confess - "Bring Him Home" still gives me shivers, "The Final Confession" still makes me cry, and the smell of the Fox Theatre still makes me happy. Javert was out-of-this-world good, and Eponine's "On My Own" was perfection.

* On the way to Les Mis, Eva looked over my outfit - a black cropped swing jacket over a sheer cream colored ruffled blouse and black pants - and said, "Wow, you look fabulous." She thought for a minute and said, "I had forgotten what I used to be like - I would've planned what to wear today. Instead, I just threw something in the bag." She sighed a little, and I thought...there are two sides to everything.

* Dillon has gotten so big! And talkative! He now calls me "Ashley," although the "l" is pretty subtle. I'm amazed how much he can already communicate - and how much of a little boy he's become. (All 25 pounds of him!)

* Anna decided to let Zeke and Eli run free in her yard on Saturday. Only, they didn't - as she had hoped - merely frolick in the backyard where she and Dad were weeding. Instead, they took off like bullet trains through the woods. The recovery effort took about an hour. It made me feel slightly better to know that it isn't just me.

* While we sat on the back porch this afternoon and enjoyed the crisp mountain air tinged with fall, Anna did her Sunday coupon clipping. "I need new shampoo," I said, thumbing through one of the sales papers. She tossed me an envelope stuffed full of coupons to see if she had one for shampoo. I sorted through the massive pile, chuckling at the fact that she cuts and sorts every coupon. Including one for Durex condoms and two for Depends.

If You're Going to San Francisco...

* Be ready to pay with cash (SF is a town without credit)

* Wear comfortable shoes

* Read the map scale carefully ("a few blocks that way" can be deceiving)

* Beware of THE FOG

* Good luck finding Hayes Valley

* Know that "hills" is an understatement (particularly the Russian ones)

* Do not eat at Lori's Diner (to be regretted the next morning by all parties)

* Wear your elastic pants to Ghirardelli Square

* Pack an extra memory card for the 385 photos you will take

* Get scared by The Bushman

* Check out the Get Offs at the Hemlock Tavern (only if you have industrial strength ear plugs)

* Try not to get killed by the rabid cyclists

* Skip Shakespeare's Gardn [sic] at Golden Gate Park. Jenn's description is far more satisfying than the actual garden.

* Contemplate that the Japanese Tea Garden is worth seeing but maybe not $4 worth seeing and how you would've been much less disappointed if you'd only had to pay $2.

* Avoid the cable car with the scary herky-jerky driver

* See the sea lions

* Prepare yourself for smells ranging from garbage to urine to beer to homeless people to dirty bay water to unidentifiable odors that you'd rather not even contemplate what they actually are.

* Buy art from Eduardo Gustav on Fisherman's Wharf

* Meet up with old friends

* Spend too much money

* Flirt with the European boys on the pier

* Get chills in isolation #13 at Alcatraz

* Giggle on the giggle hallway in the Powell Hotel

* Be prepared to be very, very, very sad when you have to leave

Confessions of the Strange but True

* Tonight I attended a sheep shearing. I also correctly identified a tool used for castration.

* I have taken to wearing a velour track suit cast off to me by Anna who received it as a Christmas gift from her in-laws. I am so ashamed.

* I bought three pair of shoes this weekend. And two of them were comfortable. I know. I don't know what's wrong with me.

* I went to a groundbreaking today for the very first hotel in my home county. Scout's honor.

* In the office NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament pool, I am currently in 51st place out of 51. There goes my $5.

Dillon: 14 1/2 months

Makes: Animal noises: chicken = bok, duck = ack, and monkey = ooh ooh (accompanied by shoulder motions); refusal to speak of what a kitty or doggy says

Says: please, outside, more, again, ball (pronounced "baaawllll")

Wears: Size 5 shoes, big boy pants, most of his meals

Walks: Leading with the belly, arms unpredictable

Watches: Baby Einstein's Animals in the Neighborhood (except for the part with the cat mobile), Mickey Mouse Club, Curious George, and The Wonder Pets Save the Unicorn (possibly the most bizarre children's show I have seen yet...)

Grows: Teeth - an even dozen - 12 teeth!!, a thatch of baby-fine white blonde hair

Eats: Nana Bread (otherwise known as Mom's homemade sourdough bread), dried apples, and yogurt

Firsts: Haircut, Easter basket

Dances: To the banjo music on the Leapfrog magnetic barn and the marching band version of "The B-I-B-L-E."

Learned: How to give Anna's dogs treats, blow kisses, open markers (uh-oh)

Continues: To be a delightful and hilarious little boy, to make us smile, to remind us of innocence, to steal my heart

Excuse Note

In lieu of a real post, you get the following excuse note:

* There was a tornado warning and we had to go to the basement for an hour.

* Justin and Eva's internet is broken.

* It was way more fun to take approximately 100 pictures of Dillon and the fam (see post below).

* My thumb hurts due to lacerations sustained during the administration of medicine to a cat (Poor Mr. Ranger).

* I was watching the episode of Scooby Doo guest starring Davey Jones.

* I'm three-quarters of the way through a book that I'm enjoying rather much.

* My back hurts from lifting the Chunk-a-Munk all weekend. (I know, Pen...lift with the legs. I simply must learn!)

* Tomorrow is Monday.

I'm It

Pen tagged me because she doesn't know enough weird stuff about me, so she needs to know seven new things. Here goes:

1. I have a nearly photographic memory. In a recent meeting, I was able to recall (and name out loud to the group) the first and last names of 20 people I had just met. I used to be able to remember answers on tests by visualizing the location of the answer on the page in my notes.

2. I almost always pick a good wine from the wine list. I know almost nothing about wines, but I can usually look at the list and know which one will be good.

3. Sometimes, I find reading a book jacket as satisfying as reading the book. I love book jacket copy. I like to get on amazon.com and troll around, reading the book descriptions. It's like speed-reading.

4. For the longest time, I refused to eat olives. I swore did not like olives. Recently, I rediscovered olives. The other day, I was eating kalamatas out of a jar with a spoon.

5. When I was little, I had an imaginary friend. He looked like Johann from the Smurfs. And I'm afraid that his name was Gaddy. I have no idea why. Also, I had Holly Hobby wallpaper that I talked to - and grew so attached to, that I would not let my parents remove it, even when the glue failed and the paper would fall down on me in the night. I kept it held up with thumbtacks.

6. We have a feral cat that lives in our house. Inside our house. No one can touch her. We see her; we talk to her; we feed and water her; we love her. But, for all intents and purposes, she is like a wild animal. We never, ever pet her. (Except for occasions like the other day when we trapped her in the bathroom to cut matted hair off her back.) And her name, appropriately, is Shadow.

7. I abhor Pepsi. And Diet Pepsi. If I order Diet Coke in a restaurant and the server asks, "Is Diet Pepsi okay?", I will say no and order water. Diet Pepsi is like getting Patrick Duffy when you ordered Patrick Dempsey.

Passing on the weirdness...I'm not feelings so tag-a-licious about this. If you're jonesing to share seven oddities - you kids over there on the right, I'm talking to you - go for it.

Thank You: Part Two

I have possibly been usurped in greatness by Aunt Anna who allowed
Dillon to clean up the Cool Whip spatula when she was done with it.
And yes, his shirt does say, "Baby's First Thanksgiving." And the sleeve says, "Gobble."

Thanksgiving included quality time with all my nephews - four-legged variety included.
Eli and I caught a break on the kitchen rug.

Laura asked me the other night how old Dillon is. I said ten months. She said, "Oh, so he's not very fast yet." Enter the Elmo walker. He can make tracks. And get very agitated when he runs into the fireplace.

Three generations of the family - something to be thankful for.

Fall, Festivals and Funnel Cake

This past weekend, I traveled to the western North Carolina mountains to take in a couple of festivals synonymous with the onset of autumn. Eva grew up in that part of the state, and we had the pleasure of starting the day with breakfast at her parents' house on Old Spanish Oak Mountain with this spectacular view of Grandfather Mountain from the back porch. (Grandfather is partly obscured by the clouds here, but it truly does look like the profile of an old man, as though he lay down and went to sleep among the ridges.)

We started our festival trek at Valle Crucis, an arts and crafts fair replete with mountain music (bluegrass!), homemade goodies (apple butter!) and a petting zoo (alpacas!). I couldn't get photos that did it justice, but Valle Crucis is a beautiful valley nestled among ranges of gently rolling hills. It's surrounded on all four sides, and this weekend, it was cloaked in the colors of peak fall weekend in the mountains: gilded in yellow, vibrant orange, russet and blood red. Perhaps my film camera captured it better, but I know my digital just couldn't absorb the colors.

The fair itself was charming with all its folksy art - a genre I'm pretty familiar with, as it's very popular in my hometown, but this art was from the mountains and so had a different flavor to it. A lot of interesting metal work, found object art and wood carving. Some of it wonderful and well-crafted - and some of it was a little scary. I chose an unusual biscuit jar from a Boone potter that was glazed in black and white and bore a hand carved mural and poetry on it. I wanted one of these beautiful natural wood bowls, but they are ridiculously expensive. So I took a photo instead.

We couldn't have asked for more beautiful weather - sunny and crisp with just enough chill to make you grateful for your coat and smile that autumn had chased away the oppressive summer heat. And the smell was marvelous - damp dew, grass, woodsmoke and mountain air. It was invigorating.

We drove out of Valle Crucis and through the mountains, past what Eva's dad claims is the most photographed farm in the state of North Carolina perched on a wide expanse of green between two towering peaks. I, unfortunately, was concentrating on not letting the winding mountain road get to me and did not join the legions of photographers who have captured its likeness. We made our way to Banner Elk, closer to Eva's hometown, for the Woolly Worm Festival. What, you ask, is a woolly worm? I don't believe we have them in Georgia, but they look like crawling pipe cleaners. They have 13 segments of brown and black. And at the Woolly Worm Festival, these creatures are raced (yes, raced) up a 3-foot length of string. After 1,400 worms raced, the winning worm, Armstrong, was used to predict the winter weather. His segmented body bore 4 black segments, 4 brown segments and 5 black segments - so look for a severe onset to winter followed by a mild period and then out with an arctic blast. Oh, and by the way, the whole concept of the Woolly Worm Festival was dreamed up by two guys who were high.

The Woolly Worm Festival offered all sorts of culture, from the folk music to the colorful array of people in attendance. I was lucky enough to procure a hot-out-of-the-fryer funnel cake and Mom selected some delicious apple beignets - deelish. Justin and Eva let Dillon have some funnel cake, and, well, folks, he's from the South - he liked it. But not quite as much as he liked the little maracas Eva purchased from the Cherokee Indian pan flutist.

And so we ended our day of festivals - with sunburn, indigestion and a very happy little boy.

As Meg pointed out recently, having the blog often presents a predicament over what parts of life to chronicle. And sometimes, leaving life events off the blog feels odd when you know they're what are coloring that moment in time. I've struggled over whether or not to blog about what happened to me last week, and if I did, how to blog about it. To tell the whole story or just the essence. In the end, for better or for worse, I decided to blog it because I couldn't seem to get past it to write something else.

On Wednesday, Mom and I drove to Atlanta to stay with Justin and Eva for the night so that they could go out on a date while we kept Dillon. The night before, their oven element had burnt out (read: caught on fire), and Eva asked me to ride along with her to get the replacement part. And it was a totally normal sunny hot June afternoon.

When we returned and pulled into the garage, Eva rolled to a stop, put it the car in park, and we heard a very strange noise. A noise of something bumping up under the car. The sort of noise you hear when a cardboard box is caught underneath the car. She turned off the motor. We both exited the car. And it was no longer a totally normal sunny hot June afternoon but a blur of panic and anguish and andrenaline.

Seizing underneath the car was Justin and Eva's cat, Booker. I could tell it was bad. I yelled at her to get Mom. He was under the middle part of the car, and I'm not even sure how I reached him - I have bruises on the top of my feet where I pressed them to the concrete trying to get him. And when I did get him into my arms, he stilled and was quiet and there was blood in his mouth and coming from his nose and his pupils dilated and I laid him, as gently as I could in my panic, in the backseat and got in the car.

I don't know how many times Eva backed from the garage and pulled forward trying to get angled out of the driveway before I said, "You can't drive." I ran inside to get Mom, told her I didn't think he was going to make it as she passed me.

Inside, I looked at my hands and forearms spattered with blood and blood down the leg of my jeans. I washed up and then I sat in the floor in front of Dillon in the Exersaucer and wept. When Justin called the house, I told him Booker had been hit by a car, for some reason, unable to confess that it was Eva and me. Cowardly, I know, but I had to hold it together while in sole possession of Dillon.

When they came back forty-five minutes later, Eva told me he had died instantly and that the vet said all his subsequent movement was reflex. We scrubbed the car and the garage and my pants and wondered over how this had happened.

I haven't been able to stop replaying it all in my head. To try and sort out what exactly did happen, examine the forensic evidence and reconstruct the incident. And in doing so, determine the million points along the timeline at which, if we'd only done x differently, it wouldn't have happened. But the truth is, it isn't possible, no matter how many ways you write the equation, to prevent all terrible things from happening. No matter how careful you are, how closely you look, how slowly you're going, how many times you've pulled in before, the fact that we just didn't see him. And on top of it all, between the lost dog and the car accident and now this, I am unable to shake the feeling that some terrible karmic energy is hovering over me and that somehow I'm to blame for making this happen.

Justin loved Booker so much. He entered their lives as a stray when Justin was in grad school, and they started to feed "Myrtle" who looked terribly dirty and mangy. Until one day, they took him to the vet and found out "he" wasn't a "she." Booker had a tiny meow that earned him the moniker Mr. Meepers and so much fuzz on his back legs that we used to say it looked like he was wearing chaps. And he loved to sit on Justin's stomach and knead and knead. He let Dillon pull his hair, sitting calmly while we extracted Dillon's fist from his fur. On the day he died, he'd been sunning on their back deck and played with the neighborhood kids.

Holding Booker after the accident, knowing that life was literally seeping out of him, was somehow intensely profound for me. I'm sure some people will read this post and think it ridiculous, with all that's going on in the world, that I was so shockingly affected by a dying cat. But somehow, it was a reminder that the innocent suffer for no apparent reason. That in an instant, something that brought great joy into this world was gone. That there is no rhyme or reason to it. That it's not anyone's fault. And perhaps worst of all, that something like this, some inexplicable terrible thing, will happen again. Sooner or later. And there's nothing I can do it stop it. Death creeps up; it lurks around the corner. Whether it comes for the pets or the people that you love, when death comes, you just have to live with it.

Adventures in Babysitting

Yesterday morning, I left my sister's house in approximately the middle-of-nowhere and headed to my brother's house with three small dogs. Jake, almost 9, a pomeranian poodle mix, and Eli and Zeke, two small black schipperkes almost a year old. Some of you may remember that my sister lost her first schipperke, Ben, last summer. And that these dogs are the loves of her life.

So you can imagine how I felt, about forty-five minutes after arriving, when I realized that only one of the three dogs was in the house with Eva and me. She had come in from outside minutes before, setting the dogs to barking. We were trying to keep them quiet because Dillon was napping. I kept fussing at Zeke, as he seemed the most agitated. But then, I realized he was the only one barking.

The other two were gamboling about in the backyard - unleashed. Jake was no problem; he comes when called. But Eli is a runner. After about an hour of chasing him around the house with Eva and me acting the part of the Two Stooges and trying all sorts of useless plans to trap him, Eli made a run for it. And disappeared.

At roughly 12:30, I broke down and called my sister and told her that he was lost. At roughly 12:32, I called my mother and had a hysterical breakdown. All the while, Eva is tromping through backyards with Dillon strapped to her front in the Baby Bjorn, and I'm cruising the neighborhood calling. And calling. And calling.

Finally, at 1:30, I spot him, thanks to a tip from a landscaper. He's crossed the main road and sitting in a yard in the adjacent neighborhood. At first, I'm not sure whether I should believe my eyes. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day. But there he was, sitting calmly in the yard, like it was his own. As slowly and calmly as I could, I got out of the Rav and approached him. And he ran. Ran like the devil was after him and vanishes around the corner.

I search another neighborhood. It is 90 degrees. My sister has left work and is on her way. I am nearing an absolute meltdown. Eva calls me and says that the dogs are barking at the front of her neighborhood. I drive back that way, and I see him. He's by a fence on the opposite side of the road. Now, when I was first shopping for the Rav, one of the salesman insisted on demonstrating its turning radius. I was fascinated at the time. But yesterday, I slammed the brakes, turned on a dime, and parked it in the ditch.

Eli chose that moment to go under the fence, but luckily, he took shelter in a fenced in backyard. Moments later my sister arrived. Moments after that, I was wiping the hysterical tears from my grimy face. In my defense, he ran from her a bit when she arrived. Bad dog. Very, very, very bad dog.

Moral of the story: The Dog Whisperer, I am not. I will be striking dog-sitting from my resume and subsequent job search.

On the Road...Again??

I must be a glutton for punishment. That's the only way I can figure out that I agreed to pack a bag, drive to Atlanta, and spend two days with my sister and brother. I will be dog-sitting for my sister while the realtor shows her house tomorrow, and then spending the day with Justin, Eva and Dillon. Several of you have inquired about Dillon since I've been home, so I thought I would post a couple of pictures I took when he was here last weekend. He's almost 4 months but already filling out the 6 months clothing. Cute as a button, too. Back on Wednesday.

In Good Company

A violent storm arrived in the wee hours this morning, buffeting the windows and shaking the house until the bed rattled. But in its wake dawned a perfectly sunny day in the mid-seventies completely out of character for early January. Despite the desperate need for me to tend to my long-neglected apartment, I opted for a quick run to Dunkin Donuts for coffee and a healthy breakfast of chocolate frosted and jelly donuts. I took my morning fare out onto the porch for some reading and dozing in the rocker, amused that I could be wearing flip flops and a tank top in the winter.

Kudzu and this little green fellow joined me for a time. Kudzu was very earnestly watching a mocking bird in the tree at the opposite end of the porch. And the lizard seemed to be seeking a nice place on the stucco to sun himself. Photos courtesy of my new digital camera - which will be used especially to provide more delightful photos to the blog.

Today was one of those days where - with the exception of a couple of phone calls and the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts - I was in complete solitude. Alone in my little world on the porch, with my book. And for the day, it was nice to not have to hear my own voice so much and live instead with the sound of silence.

Bed Bugs

While trying to nap this afternoon, I could hear Kudzu speeding around the apartment, scrabbling against the wooden floor. I thought he'd just been overcome by an attack of the cat crazies, as he often does when I'm ready to sleep. The phone began to ring, and at that moment, Kudzu leapt onto the nightstand. I sat up to see what brought on this uncharacteristic behavior and found a large locust perched beside the alarm clock. At least 2 1/2 inches long.

Kudzu pawed at it, sending it into the blinds. He nimbly jumped on the sill and neatly snatched the bug by its hindquarters. I, of course, screamed and ran into the other room. At this very moment, he's waiting patiently for the locust to emerge from behind the wardrobe. (And I am watching from the safety of the couch.) I know it's still alive. And now I have that horrible creepy feeling like after you watch the bug tunnel scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I think I'm going to have to abandon the house for awhile. If I find that thing in one of my shoes tomorrow, there will be hell to pay.

Shhht!

If you've never watched The Dog Whisperer on the National Geographic Channel, you must watch. This guy, Cesar Milan, is the ultimate dog psychologist, and he has about 40 dogs that he keeps in a pack. He can make any dog submit by very sharply calling, "Shht!" And they will just lay down at his feet like they've been shot! I've never seen him fail to get a dog to do what he wants - it's AMAZING! And it usually makes me cry. Even Mr. Kudzu loves to watch The Dog Whisperer.

Everybody Loves Puppies

These fuzzy little guys are the newest additions to the family. My sister and her husband picked them up this morning. Meet Zeke (the cherubic chubby one) and Eli (the bent-eared mischievious one). I'm sad that I wasn't at home to see them this weekend, but I'm sure I'll get my hands on the fuzzballs before too long. Aren't they cute?

A Somber Post

As most of you know, I have a cat - a long-haired black & grey cat who eats all plants and J. Crew sweaters. And Kudzu, whose name I stole for my blog, is first and foremost family. And in my sister's family, there is her husband, one cat and two dogs, after having just lost one of her cats to old age and cancer in early June. The remaining cat, Oreo, is a cat rescued from a homeless existence outside the school where she and her husband teach. The dogs, Jake and Ben, are two lively little fellows - a pom-poo (pomeranian/poodle mix) and a schipperke. They are the loves of her life.

Ben is the schipperke, a breed known for its curiosity and intense loyalty. Truly, I have never seen an animal so devoted to its owner as Ben to my sister. So we were all unnerved when he started having trouble with his legs late last week. It's amazing how you can know sometimes that one time a pet or friend or family member isn't feeling well that it's more ominous than another time. This was one of those times - an instinctual knowing that this time was going to be more dire, more severe.

And so when the phone rang before seven this morning, I knew that it was bad news. I wasn't suprised when Mom told me that he had a seizure in the night and that he had died in the car before they could get him to the emergency vet. My sister is devastated, and it was hard to see her and know that there was nothing to be done. And so, I'm putting up a little post here in memory of Ben. We'll miss you.