Steele (the Day)

Yet Another Tweetup

// June 14th, 2010 // 10 Comments » // My Fabulous Life

Best news flash ever: I got to meet another imaginary friend last week. Two, actually. They live together. Sara (Gitzengirl) and Riley. I’ve been dying to meet them, and one word says it all: awesomesalsa.

I’ve mentioned before that Sara and I first “met” on Pete Wilson’s blog when we sort of hijacked his comment section with a conversation of our own. Sorry Pete. Then I began following her on Twitter, but after that we started “hanging out” on the internets. We have in common (besides a little sass) the love of Jesus, the Panthers (yes, the ones who out-basketballed Kansas), and food. Well, sort of.

After I tweet a meal she often says “I’ve never even heard of that.” She is a meat-and-potatoes Iowa farm girl, and my mom tried her darnedest to raise me as one. Mom never could talk me into a pork chop, and Sara was raised on them. Despite that minor difference, it took me all of five minutes to feel like I’ve known her all of my life.

The really random but absolute God thing is that we live about 7 miles apart. Really. We virtually travel to Mars and meet in the midst of the Nashville internets only to find we live 7 miles apart?

So when I had the chance to pop in on her last week, I carpe diemed the opportunity.

Probably wasn’t grammatically correct to verb that, huh?

I followed Riley’s “hysterical barking” (Sara’s words) to the door of her condo. Sara’s skin caught my eye right away – smooth as silk. Wow, gorgeous! Almost as great as her smile. Why she’s so camera-shy, I’ll never know. And her warm, loving hugs were just what I needed at the end of a long week. She loves to laugh in spite of having to stare chronic illness in the face every single day. We started talking about a million things in the short time I was there and finished maybe two of them.

I’ll be back. There are stories to finish and stories to start.

And then there’s Riley. He is like this little obedient 4 year old person outfitted in fur. He tells you where to scratch him and he sits and poses for the camera. Seriously, this dog is not normal. Adorable, loving, hyper as all get out (he literally sprouts fur-wings and flies over furniture) and then just sits and admires you (me). He graciously gave me kisses (not sure who made the first move) and let me hold and snuggle him. If you ever need a puppy fix, Riley’s your man. You may have to go through me first though.

That’s two imaginary friends I’ve met now (three, counting Riley), and I feel so blessed that neither was an ax murderer. Whew.

Tea today: Yogi Green “Revive”

EDIT AND UPDATE OF EPI C PROPORTIONS:While in Seattle meeting Annie, you may (or may not) remember that I also met another imaginary friend Wendy of Weight…What?! How I could leave her out of this, I’ll never know. Obviously I should have eaten pork chops as a child. And not tried to write a blog post at bedtime.

One Year Later

// June 7th, 2010 // 18 Comments » // Family, My Fabulous Life

He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart.

You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion.

~Cicero

It was a year ago that Lucky told us he was ready to go to The Bridge. We were so worried that we wouldn’t know the right time, but he “told” us on a Sunday evening, and on Monday morning we made the call. I don’t think a day has gone by since that I haven’t thought about him. That’s what happens after a mutt spends 14 years wrapping himself around your heart.

I miss hearing his tags jingle as he trots through the house.

I miss his toenails clicking on the floor, and the smell of his Frito feet.

I miss seeing his nose pressing against the window in the breakfast nook when I’m at the outside faucet, getting pupkiss all over, and whining to come out and “help.”

I miss cooking his chicken vegetable soup every Sunday night, the only thing he would eat for his last six months. It was a labor of love (and we haven’t had chicken vegetable soup since).

I miss the sound of his breathing at night as he slept between us, and even his really bad doggy breath.

I even miss his last days when he depended on us for everything and got pretty messy.

Enjoy the “Lucky at the Bridge” video in my sidebar, or read how this hapless little puppy found his way into our hearts for 14 years here, here, and here, or check out other “related posts” below.

Lord, let me be the kind of person my dog thought I was.

Tea today: Stash Ginger Peach

Moving On: The last Lucky post (perhaps)

// June 15th, 2009 // 8 Comments » // Family

My friends, (including the bloggy “imaginary” ones), coworkers, family and extended family have been totally awesome as I have spent a fitful, sleep-deprived, starving week of missing my precious Lucky. This will be my last post about him, as I am determined to live with the wonderful memories and not dwell in misery.

Move on.

I never thought I would miss him so much, particularly since his last few days he was struggling so. But with Ron Burgundy always working evenings, it has been Lucky and me, just the two of us, all the time for nearly 15 years. In his able years, evenings were our walk time, snuggle in bed time, discipline time, bite realtors in the crotch bark at the doorbell time. Remember, he was terrified of people who wore sunglasses.

These last few months it was simply nurse and patient. Loving, palliative care given by former. Looks and gestures of sincere appreciation by latter.

It was a bond that was all too familiar, as so many of these interactions conjured up thoughts of my dad as he lived out his final years in the throes of Alzheimers. I think my dad always knew more than he was able to communicate. I could see it in his eyes.

There were some real God moments that got me through this week.

Lucky put his head back and looked me straight in the eye as his pupils dilated, his heart thumped its last beat, and he crossed to the Rainbow Bridge. That puddle of pee was probably his final hurrah for me, too. But in that moment, his cataract-covered eyes became that deep chocolate brown again and appeared instantly healed. I didn’t think much of it at the time. It was probably just a physical change that was occurring as life left his frail body. I was too selfishly distraught at that time to cry out to God and thank him for eternal healing of those beautiful expressive eyes.

We bundled Lucky up like a baby in one of the boys’ old bedspreads to bring him home to his resting place. The vets and their staff, all teary and compassionate, ushered us out the back door to the truck. When we got in, Ron Burgundy’s lip trembled a bit as he recollected what a loyal friend Lucky had been. I slowly uncovered Lucky’s precious face and held him like a baby. “The tumor on his nose seems like it’s hardly there,” I offered. I’m not sure RB was paying attention. I stroked Lucky’s ears and nose all the way home, and we proceeded to dig his final place of rest.

RB went back to the garage to get a different shovel, and sitting beside the lifeless bundle, I lifted the bedspread back one more time. His face was so perfect. I stroked his ears. His open brown eyes did not freak me out in the least. They were clear and beautiful.

And then I stroked his nose. His perfect nose.

I swear, as God is my witness, there was no tumor there.

I didn’t say anything to RB and we proceeded with the burial, but the vision of that perfect nose will forever stay with me. A few hours later when talking to my son’s girlfriend, I told her. Good ole Rachel, she got to be the first one to bear the brunt of my post-mortem meltdown crazies. I hesitantly told her about the tumor being gone.

“He’s healed now,” she said. And she didn’t think I was crazy at all.

Yesterday, a letter arrived from my mom who is up at her trailer on the river summer home in Wisconsin. She had run across a disposable camera with expired film that she decided to get developed last week. She included three pictures that were on that film.

We have no idea when they were taken, at least a year ago, but what a bittersweet thing to receive them. Just another God thing – she never really wanted to waste film on the dog.

Wasn’t he beautiful? Look how his ears are perked up! That was his healthy self.

Almost as healthy as he is now as he is perfectly healed.

No. More. Tears.
Tea tonight: Genmaicha

Love from LuckyPuppy at the Bridge

// June 8th, 2009 // 17 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m at the Rainbow Bridge now. It’s so beautiful here – I know you are very sad and your tears feel like the soft, gentle rain that fell while you were burying me this morning, swaddled snugly in the boys’ old bedspread. Please know I’m running and playing like a puppy again. I have no pain. I don’t limp or fall and the rabbits actually let me catch the up here! But I just play with them, because up here, they are special, too. All of God’s creatures are free to run and play without fear. And I am no longer afraid of people with sunglasses.

My nearly 15 years of being a part of our family were the best any puppy could have had. I remember well the day Mom and KT came to pick me up after my birth mom was killed by a car and I had to fight my brothers and sisters for food in that barn. Yes, I was the runt, but KT knew right away I was meant for our family. She and the boys loved me so much; they never turned away my kisses. I always hated it when you sniffed my feet though. I never understood why you thought my feet smelled like Fritos.

Dad, the time we spent together was precious. Like sleeping very late, especially on cold winter mornings. And playing in the yard while you worked so hard to get the pond in tip-top shape for Mom. It’s fitting that I should be physically buried in a place we all love so much. I loved laying under the crab apple tree and just feeling the cool grass on my tummy. (And while you were digging today, I heard you say you felt like Tony Soprano. Stop it, Dad, – not even close)!

I’m really sorry for the “stink bomb” I left on your new suit that day you took me along when you interviewed President Rawlings, just because I was a new puppy and you simply didn’t want to leave me alone. And for all the “pupkiss” I left on the windows of your truck (except I agree with Mom – you never really noticed it). I just wasn’t a very good traveler, but I sure loved being with you! I loved boat rides! And that present I left in your truck on our way up to Dr. Taylor’s today? That was one last special gift to you!

Mom, you were the one who always walked and walked me. Wasn’t that fun? I never got tired! Oh, the places we’d go! And when I got a little lame, you so gently carried me home, even though at almost 60 pounds, I know I was a bit heavy for you. But you just kept saying “You’re not heavy, I’m your mother!” Remember when I ate the entire WonderRoast chicken you bought for Dad, bones and all? And how about when I ate all of Ben’s graduation mints while you guys were at church – and threw them up all over the carpet just before the party? And yet I always felt forgiven, loved, and pampered. Especially these last few months when you made me chicken and vegetable stew since I couldn’t eat my dog food. Not too many puppies have a personal chef. Those sweet potatoes were my favorite!

Yes, you are the best family any puppy could ask for.

You will hear my tags jingle, even now that I’m gone. You are not imagining it. I’m shaking them for you, just to tell you I love you and to keep your chin up. I know you miss me terribly, and I miss you too, but really, I am at peace and romping just like I did in this beautiful video Dad made in memory of me.

Thank you for all of the gentle, loving care. A puppy was never loved as much as I was.

LuckyPuppy

Lucky at the Bridge on Vimeo.

Tea today: Green with lemongrass

Our Waterfront, er, back Property

// June 2nd, 2009 // 13 Comments » // Uncategorized

After many years of family boating and spending day after day on the water, it was always in the back of our mind that someday we wanted some waterfront property. When we built our home back in 1996, it came to pass. Sort of.

All I really wanted was the sound of running water outside our bedroom bay window on a cool evening, relaxing me to slumber. Little did I realize how much that sound conjures up the urge to get up every hour and pee.

With the house, I no longer had the passion for another place to keep up. What about a small pond with maybe a fountain and a couple of fish? Puh-leeez???

We had our landscaper plot out the pond and estimate the cost. Ouch. $4K for the sound of running water in my sleep was a bit too steep. So we borrowed the blueprints and said we’d think about it.

Ron Burgundy doesn’t do anything small. Or easy. Or quickly. Bless his heart. The gradual hill that lingered in our back yard provided a vision that was not to be squelched. “How about we just build it into the hill a little? And have a little waterfall?”

“It’s just a hole in the ground. I can dig it.” Always the optimist, that boy. But dig it, he did.

The curious neighbors would come over and say “You’re digging that with a shovel? Most people use a backhoe! Or at least a bigger shovel!” He’d smile and sweat and say “Almost done” while mumbling “It really needs to be deeper.”

And deeper it got. When one waterfall didn’t seem like it captured the corner of the yard quite right, he decided on two. He went around the neighborhood collecting huge rocks from lots that were being dug for construction. And he made a trip to Stone City for limestone, loading and hauling 2 ton of rock in a 1 ton truck, pulling a trailer.

All. By. Himself.

Our pond as an infant.

And at its midsummer best.

We added lots of plants, including carpet roses that have looked worse each year, I had one little corner for an herb garden (which has moved to patio pots except for the chives and spearmint I can’t kill) and we bought two Koi and a baby fantail goldfish. Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Fish have to have names, and these fish had personalities. You knew who was whom.

It took about 3 weeks for the disciples to follow, and after that, well, you know The Story. Literally thousands of followers. Including frogs.

Mary, and Joseph made it about 6 years – pretty remarkable considering our -20 degree Iowa winters (the temp below the frost line is a constant 50 degrees – so glad RB kept digging)! Jesus lived on, and after that we went with just fantailed goldfish – they were 19 cents a piece as compared to $30 each for the Koi. Only a few bit the dust by getting sucked up in the pump. But Jesus’ legacy of thousands of fishes prevails. Haven’t seen any loaves, yet.

Last year RB did a major overhaul when the liner tore and we lost most of our water, but amazingly, very few fish perished. So we he started over. He put in a bottom drain, new liner, new pumps, and restructured all the stone, including adding stone edging. It’s a teenager now (like the bags of mulch?), full of fish (take some, please), thousands of tadpoles, and more chocolate mint than you can shake a weed-whacker at. Whew, that smells so good, especially when grows in the rocks by the falls. You can smell it all over the yard. You can come take all you want of that, too. But like a growing child, this project needs some serious discipline.

My obligatory Lantanas, the unknown plant in Luke’s old football shoe for old times sake, and a new variegated sweet potato vine are about all we added. Other than a truckload of mulch. It will take a few weeks for the switchgrass to grow up, but my favorite part is the thornless hawthorne tree at the top. It has a unique clumped trunk and a perfect shape for shade.

This all puts my salad garden to shame – a simple two-foot strip behind the garage with mesclun, banana peppers, jalapenos, 2 heirloom tomatoes and one Better Boy.They usually don’t make it to a state of ripeness because of my insatiable passion for fried green tomatoes. But we will have salad all summer for a 59 cent pack of seed. It’s all we need.

Well, other than my herb pots! Can’t live a summer without fresh Italian parsley (half of which I’ve already used so it better grow fast), cilantro (my favorite herb-crack), rosemary, oregano, thyme, chives, and of course basil to help flavor my favorites – wheat berry salad and barley-mushroom salad on grilled asparagus.

Tonight, I’m blessed with the lingering presence of LuckyPuppy, who is probably spending his last summer laying under the crabapple tree. With sweet potato still on his nose from lunch.

He’s a little embarrassed to have his picture taken, being he’s in such a morbid state. But despite the tumor on his schnoz, lack of meat on his bones, spring in his step, and sparkle in his eye, he knows he’s loved. And he knows that once again tonight Mom chopped and peeled and stewed his vegetables for his wonderful homemade chicken soup. He even closes his eyes when you ask him to look at you, because then he thinks you can’t see him.

And no doubt he’s muttering “Why did I have to wait nearly 15 years and be so near death for her to feed me table food?”

And the two of us sit out there, listening to the waterfalls and think there is no more perfect refuge in the world today. There’s no more perfect place to pray. Maybe that’s why he has his eyes closed.

While his veggies were stewing, I slammed down half a Zola acai juice and I took a quick bike ride. On my way home, the sun was slipping behind the clouds, and I caught beautiful reminders of the One who gave me all of this exhilarating place I live. My legs were shot – I had not one smidgen of glycogen left by the time I hit the last hill for home, so it was a quick smoothie made with vanilla yogurt, blackberries, the other half of my Zola and a little ice. I guess that was supper. But these views, and returning to the sound of my running water made it all worth it.

Is this heaven? Pretty darned close. It’s Iowa,

Tea tonight: Jasmine

Buddy the Dog or "What’s for Lunch?"

// May 25th, 2009 // 16 Comments » // Uncategorized

This is my first time participating in Wendy’s “Life is Funny.” Join her for some giggles! No promises I’ll be back next week. I’m a random blog carnee.

We waited many years to get a dog at our house. I never grew up with one, but since Ron Burgundy continued with his nightly prayers “God bless Duke, Scampy, the other Scampy, Cookie, Tiger, Becky Paulson….

Becky Paulson?? We need to find another dog for the prayer list and get that old girlfriend out of there.

So along came Buddy, a brand new pup born to my secretary’s prize pooch. Beautiful purebred black lab. The cutest little puppy we’d ever seen. It was love at first lick.

We waited a few months to get Buddy feminized. Nobody’s leg was safe in the house, and with the kids in high school, his humping was becoming a spectator sport fast.

I called on the local vet, who had been a friend of ours for years. I got the instructions – keep him without food from 10 pm on, and bring him in at 9 am. He’ll be ready to pick up at 4.

When I took him in, I said to Dr. Phil (no joke) “So what do you do with those testicles, anyway?”

“We cut them off.”

“No, I mean, do you just throw them away?” I’m not sure why I wanted to know. It was the nurse in me, I guess. I didn’t want any part of illegal dispositon of body parts, and testicles in particular.

“We can save them for you if you like. Perhaps you’d like some lovely jewelry.”

In the back of my mind, I knew Dr. Phil, and I knew he was up to something.

When I picked Buddy up at 4, I was presented with a very dopey dog and a white gauze package. Dr. Phil couldn’t wait to see the look on my face.

When I unwrapped the gauze, there they were, in all their glory. Buddy’s family jewels. Each one had a jumbo paper clip stuck through the narrow end, making some oh-so-gross earrings!

I laughed until I thought I’d cry. These were special.

I took them home, laid them on the kitchen counter, and couldn’t wait to show Ron Burgundy Dr. Phil’s handiwork. But alas, it was never to be seen.

Poor Buddy, starving from not having eaten all day, had a nose for raw meat. And after laying sleepily on the floor for an hour, he suddenly jumped up, placed his paws on the kitchen counter (he was a rather large black lab), and promptly grabbed those testicles. I was across the room and leaped toward him, but to no avail.

He was already eating them. I was able to wrestle the paper clips away – he didn’t have much interest in them.

The testicles. Were. Gone.

In a panic, I called the vet, but the office was now closed and I got the answering service.

“I don’t know what to do! My dog just ate his testicles!”

“Um, yeah, Ma’am, they do like to lick them sometimes, but they won’t actually eat them.”

“You don’t understand…you see, Dr. Phil made me these earrings….” My voice drifted off. This could not be happening. “I’ll call him at home. I need to talk to him now,” and I hung up the phone.

“PHIL!!!” I screamed in the phone. Buddy just ate his testicles! What should I do??”

“He must be feeling better and he’s hungry. I’d feed him if I were you.”

Tea tonight: White cantaloupe

The Rally

// April 15th, 2009 // 18 Comments » // Uncategorized

About this dying dog we have living in our house…. the one who blogs and for whom I’ve made a fresh vat of home made soup every week since December? Well, we took him to the “spa” (aka boarded him at the vet) over the weekend while we were out of town. First of all, they were shocked that he was still alive because he was supposed to have been gone months ago. They must have figured we disposed of him illegally (**cue cremation ash cannon here**).

Well he’s apparently using some of our cat’s nine lives, because she’s so lazy she hasn’t even worn out her first one yet. I expected him to come back from the spa all depressed with bloody paws from nervous chewing. I carefully packed his lunches and suppers (doggy hospice soup) because he wouldn’t be able to eat spa kibble. We packed his favorite blanket, so if he died while there, it would be in a familiar “spot.”

But no.

He came home with a bounce in his step and a gleam in his eye and some new arthritis medicine that was disallowed under my FSA. Seems to me if we can make gay marriage legal in Iowa, we should be able to put our pets on our health insurance. All is fair in love and yard apples, right?

Then the low blow…the vet told Ron Burgundy that “the better the soup smells the more he’ll eat” and “he’ll have a hard time chewing.”

Let’s get this straight. Lucky quit eating his kibble because he couldn’t chew and even softened with beef or chicken broth, it did not appeal to him. He could no longer drink water because his mouth and tongue just can’t handle the thin consistency. The soup is made from all fresh vegetables cooked to tender, chicken, and frozen egg noodles. TONS of vegetables and a whole chicken, stewed with all the bones to bring out the flavor, and just a pinch of salt to extract the flavors. No, it’s not seasoned with thyme, marjoram, a bay leaf or a shot of hot pepper flakes like if I was making it for us. But he pants and drools and stands underfoot the whole time it’s cooking. He waits patiently by his bowl to eat. He licks the “place mat” in front of his bowl if it’s empty to get every last bit. And his coat is the healthiest and shiniest it’s been in years. His coat loves chicken fat, apparently.

But the vet apparently doesn’t think it smells good enough.

I wonder if he tasted it?

Yeah, it needs more salt. Just don’t tell Lucky.

Somebody forgot to tell him he’s dying, too.


Tea tonight: Green Ginger

The Community of GOD (or spell it backwards if you must).

// March 28th, 2009 // 6 Comments » // Uncategorized

Do not read this if you are not a dog lover. You will be bored out of your mind, and you will think I’m out of mine.

Sometimes we do things that seem so stupid to others. A waste of time. Or important things to you become habits. Like brushing your teeth, pouring your coffee (or so they say, I’ve never had a cup), or tying your shoes.

And emailing dogs.

Lucky’s been doing it for several months now, after he joined Doggyspace. He has special friends like Jack-Jack, Sandy, 12, Chappy & Whiskey, Kane, and Sierra, just to name a few. There are even friends like Moses who are already at the Rainbow Bridge and tell him how wonderful it is there, how he will run like a puppy again when he gets there. They are doggie bloggers. They are not people. They type and they send (virtual) gifts like bones and frisbees and basketballs, and they have favorite sports teams like the Cubs, the Michigan State Spartans, and the Arizona Cardinals.

So when Lucky responds to these emails, it is not me.

It is Lucky. And he so dearly loves our new friends.

I know they are real dogs and not blogging people. They talk about their “furiends” and their “pawrents” and pray with “paws together.” They send quick messages like “OMD” and “BOL” and even “ROFBOL.” They tell you what a “pawsome” friend you are and mail you bandannas purchased from non-profit organizations that care for hungry, hurt puppies. Someone is always there to give you a “Paws Up.”

These dogs have been raised by loving pawrents parents, so they have learned well. They have Doggy Prayer Chains, Secret Paws, and a Cheer Up Campaign headed by Gizmo, which is much like my Bible study group at church. They know when Lucky needs some cheering up, and the emails just keep coming. And then Hans at the Bridge or Moses shows up with encouragement like “keeping my angel wings around you” and you know that yes, everything will be ok in the end.

They ask “can you ask your mom to send me the recipe for your soup?” and “are you snuggling with your mom and dad tonight?” And when he has “accidents,” they tell him how much his pawrents love him anyway and not to feel bad. They even send tips on how he can clean the inside of my computer screen, just in case he gets too much pupkiss on it.

They even have their own private jokes, like The Community Service Haircut or The World’s Smartest Dog.

Lucky always responds from his heart. When he’s sad, it shows. When he’s peaceful, it shows. When he’s restless, it shows. He wears his heart (and mine) on his paw.

And as he’s dying and moving closer to the Rainbow Bridge, well, that shows, too.

When Lucky gets on this computer, it means he needs his friends, and he’s in the zone. So don’t you dare bother him, or for heaven’s Bridge’s sake, change your password without telling him. He’ll give you the stink-eye, for sure.

Doggyspace isn’t addicting, but getting into the heart of my dog in his final days sure is.

Note to Lucky: please drink some water tonight. Please? It’s been 3 days and you are very dehydrated. Moses and Hans say you’re not quite ready to visit them yet.

Wondering When

// March 4th, 2009 // 10 Comments » // Uncategorized

You’re giving me a special gift,
So sorrowfully endowed,
And through these last few cherished days,
Your courage makes me proud.
But really, love is knowing
When your best friend is in pain,
And understanding earthly acts
Will only be in vain.
So looking deep into your eyes,
Beyond, into your soul,
I see in you the magic, that will
Once more make me whole.
The strength that you possess,
Is why I look to you today,
To do this thing that must be done,
For it’s the only way.
That strength is why I’ve followed you,
And chose you as my friend,
And why I’ve loved you all these years…
My partner till the end.
Please, understand just what this gift
You’re giving, means to me,
It gives me back the strength I’ve lost,
And all my dignity.
You take a stand on my behalf,
For that is what friends do.
And know that what you do is right,
For I believe it too.
So one last time, I breathe your scent,
And through your hand I feel,
The courage that’s within you,
To now grant me this appeal.
Cut the leash that holds me here,
Dear friend, and let me run,
Once more a strong and steady dog,
My pain and struggle done.
And don’t despair my passing,
For I won’t be far away,
Forever here, within your heart,
And memory I’ll stay.
I’ll be there watching over you,
Your ever faithful friend,
And in your memories I’ll run,
… a young dog once again

Tea tonight: Young hyson

Doggone "C" word

// November 23rd, 2008 // 2 Comments » // Uncategorized

Lucky’s not feeling well today. But probably better than I am. He seems to have a better peace about him than I do. ***heavy sigh***