Wednesday, August 12, 2015

friggin' adorable: Tyson's adoption story

I gave quick mention to needing a dog in my last post. It actually started much earlier.

Last winter, after first having to think about the high school as reality, I really did panic. And I really did tell CD that I needed a dog. Bug and I got quickly into the idea and were looking online at rescues, oohing and aahing over adorable balls of puppy-fluff that we found.  When I asked CD to take the idea seriously, he and Pook showed me some dogs they found attractive. They all looked like wolves. So that took some time to reconcile. 

Bug and I continued to look at websites, and decided that a labradoodle might be the best breed to have for my allergies, the dog's temperament and blending the varying interests of our family.

Suddenly this showed up in May, just as the end of school craziness was beginning:

Before letting Bug get too enthusiastic, I cautiously showed it to CD. He was approving, so I showed the boys and contacted the rescue organization. The photographed dog had a sister at the same shelter, and we leaned toward getting a female. We decided to drive the hour-plus to go meet them both. At this point we all felt a tentative excitement but were afraid to count on it working out.

But we fell in love with Tyson before meeting his more reserved sister. He chose us and licked us his approval. Labradoodle? Probably not, although there are some mixes that look like him, so maybe. Terrier was written on his vaccination paperwork, so we'll assume he's some blend of those breeds. The vet tech who first met him back at home has told us his breed is "friggin' adorable." We can live with that.

Tyson is the perfect first dog for us. He has barked a few times, at chipmunks, but is otherwise quiet. He doesn't jump on people or furniture, and he's old enough to be completely potty trained (about 1 1/2 yrs.) In fact, our only problem is that he gets anxious when we're out, so we're crating him to avoid more of this:

 Yes, it was homework. Thirty pages, finally ready to be turned in after weeks of work.

Most of the time he's doing his job and keeping me/us company. Hard to resist this smile!

Thursday, July 16, 2015

it's fine

I just dropped off my baby, my firstborn child, at the high school.  High School. See? I said it out loud, or in ink, or... something like that. That means I'm on my way to acceptance, right?  I seem to be comfortable with the words "ninth grade" but the "fresh..." word hasn't made it out yet. I'm trying.

No, school doesn't start quite this early. August tenth is bad enough. This is the start of rookie band camp, held at the high school for two days. Next week they go away to a 4-H campground for five days with the full group. 

We talked him into marching band. He has enough friends participating that I think he'll love it.  He needed a group of peeps to start school with. The kids in the high school are the same as those in the middle school, and the place is just across the street, but somehow it felt like it would be important for him to have a circle. Kids he already knows, who can watch his back, other boys who can play wingman for him with girls.

He's tried a variety of extracurricular activities and nothing has really stuck. Chess club was "ok," winter swimming was "meh," Lego robotics club was "fine," and Ultimate Frisbee is "fine when my friends go."  His motto would be "it's fine."

And marching band will be fine. High school will be fine. For him. But for me? I still get the words stuck in my throat, a lump in my gut, and tears in my eyes every time I talk about it.

The way my brain goes is this:
1. Pook started preschool at 2 1/2. That was the end of ever knowing what he did during the day. It was "fine" every day. He liked the playground.
2. Elementary school lasted a long time. I'd gotten pretty comfortable there and saw no reason to leave. I still never had a clue what he did. He told me about the cafeteria and the rest was just "fine."
3. Middle school went by like a quick roller coaster. I learned about his friends and activities through the mom of his buddy. He said it was all "fine."
4. High school will go by quickly. He will never tell me squat. It will be "fine."
5. College will be far away, physically or metaphorically. He will communicate with text and tell me it is "fine."
6. He will move somewhere cold. It will be "fine" and I will be lonely.

At this point in the thinking process, I get teary. I announced to CD that I needed a dog.

Friday, February 27, 2015

bad kitty

Next door to me live Bob and Morris. I've mentioned them once before, commenting on their co-hunting techniques.  In 2010 I said they were eight years old, so we'll go ahead and assume they're 13 now. Teens! Perhaps I can blame teenage brain syndrome on Bob's behavior then. 

Bob,on left with white belly; Morris, on right, fully orange.
One morning several weeks ago I exited the house, into the garage, and startled Bob, who had apparently spent the night inside it. He dashed away to his own home very quickly.

He did it again a few days later. And then again. And then one Monday morning when I stepped out to go to work, I heard a meow but didn't see a kitty source. I listened carefully and then gingerly opened the workroom door.  Out came an orange blur which ran straight into my neighbor's house.

I agonized over this. The best that I can remember, no one had opened the door to the workroom since the previous Wednesday. Five days? Including a full weekend when we were home but never heard him calling?  Possible, but I hoped not.

Soon after, I spoke to my neighbor and told her about his escapade.  She looked wide eyed and said that he'd been missing for a full five days just a few weeks before. She'd finally decided he wasn't going to come home. We discussed whether he could have been ok without food or water for five days, but weren't conclusive. Our workroom isn't really a room, but more of a closet full of tools and paint cans. There is a box full of drop cloths which might be cozy, and warmth from the water heater. There is a sink, but no water source available to a kitty without opposable thumbs.

I hoped Bob had learned his lesson.

But, no!  I was trying to leave the workroom door open to air it out because in whatever length of time Bob stayed in there, he'd needed a potty at some point and I haven't located anything I can clean up. The next day when I opened the garage door, the dear little orange blur came running out of the open workroom and out of the garage.

Meanwhile, our garage door has quit opening electronically. We're hoping it will cooperate again in warmer weather (sub freezing here recently) and haven't done anything to fix it. But it's a pain to open and close it when I'm running short errands, so I've been leaving it open when I'm not home occasionally.

So, now I'm stuck. I can either leave the garage door open for simplicity, or I can air out the workroom, which stinks. (Sorry,kitty, I know you like the scent, but I think it stinks.)  And Bob keeps sneaking back whenever he's able. I was outside unloading groceries today and he tried to sneak in!

Any kitty people who have tips on how to deter Bob?

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

no vacancy

I'm here. I haven't written for reasons of laziness and busyness and winter blues and indecisiveness.

Those same problems have caused us some trouble. We've been planning to go to the Grand Canyon during the summer of 2015 for about two years. Two years.  And about one of those years ago we should have made reservations because... we are not going to the Grand Canyon this summer.  There are NO VACANCY signs hanging outside the canyon, just for us to see. And to make us feel dumb. Nothing but laziness prevented us from planning ahead. Apparently there are over 900 rooms on the South Rim alone. All taken. North Rim? Nada.

Instead we will travel to All The Parks except the Grand Canyon. We will save the Grand Canyon for another trip another summer. Someday.  The kids also want to get to New England, maybe driving up the coast all the way to Maine. Again, another trip, another summer. We have a few left before our dear Pook tries to get away.

We've started our planning. The boys both want to drive through Arkansas. Not that they want to see anything in Arkansas, but somehow it's a state we just plain missed on our big Yellowstone tour. It's right there, so I don't know how or why we didn't drive through it just to say we'd been there, but we didn't, so this time we've got it in the itinerary.

The rest is quickly evolving. We'll hoof it out there in two long days, then start day trips. Carlsbad Caverns and the Petrified Forest will accept us sloths even without a year's preparation. We'll stop in Monument Valley and Natural Bridges, and carry on to Canyonlands and Arches National Parks. Somewhere in there will be rafting on the Colorado River, probably in Utah.

We'll see the Four Corner states in more depth than we saw any of them on our Yellowstone tour.  We should have enough time to see each park thoroughly. The Grand Canyon can close its doors on us and we'll simply divert ourselves elsewhere. We're starting to look forward to it already.