Friday, October 31, 2008

And that's showbiz.....kid!

If it isn't clear to you at this point I will clarify something for y'all...I adore my cygnets.  How many kids love it when their mama sings in the car?  I don't mean humming along to the radio.  I mean belting out Broadway Showtunes with the windows down.  In the school parking lot no less.  Mine just sing along.  Our current fave is selections from Chicago.  We also like Annie and Wicked.  

SO to all the drivers at the four way stop waiting for me to take my turn this morning...it would have been a faux pas to take a right just when Amos was wrapping up the emotional ending to Mr. Cellophane.  And to all the concerned parents in the parking lot...we are fine.  There are just certain songs you have to move with.  This morning it was two Jedi and Horton's clover and their mama doing Razzle Dazzle.  We were just channeling our inner Billy Flynns.  No medical intervention necessary.  Thanks for looking out for us, though.

Thursday, October 30, 2008


Dear Amy,

You do amazing things with my hair.  I don't know if I have told you that.  I had a decent relationship with Bonnie for 10 years, but it ended badly.  (I was happy that she got married and was having a baby, but I couldn't sacrifice my haircut for her happiness.)  I had a couple of stylists in-between, but nothing that felt like it could last.  But you, Amy, I think this could be the real thing.  I don't know how you do it...but I like it.  I am even willing to share you with my friends if you're into that.  That's how much I like you.

You make me a better client.  I am not used to being told what to do, but I know you do it out of genuine affection for my hair.  This is why I have to explain my little misstep to you.  I know I promised not to cut my own hair anymore.  You said that only one of us would be cutting my hair and I had to choose.  I picked you.  And I haven't touched it with scissors for over a year now.  Honestly.  

Let me explain the hat.  I had a bit of a problem this morning.  It really was an accident.  The t-shirt had a little button on it and when I pulled it off it got tangled in my wet hair.  Right in the front.  And I was all alone.  The only other person in the whole neighborhood was Mr. S and I was not going to run next door topless to ask him for help.  I tried to be as gentle as possible with my hair.  But all I could think about was Miss M and her twisting-up-in-a-swing-accident which left a mighty bald spot on the side of her head.  So I sacrificed a bit of length to save the scalp.  At the time it felt like the only option.  I hope you understand and are willing to see past it.  Please cut my hair again.

--Alpha Mama

Dear JR,

Yes, this is another picture of me on the blog.  You asked about my photo-phobic nature and how I am managing.  Here is my secret: digital botox.  Also called "retouch" in iPhoto.  LOVE IT.  You'll have to try it sometime!

--Alpha Mama

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Olly Dog


Olly is our newest family member.  He arrived in May by some funky mix of good-intent and good-luck.  My muse-worthy neighbor is currently in the market for a dog.  Not just any dog: the soul mate kind of dog.  The kind of dog you fall for when you first lay eyes on it.  The kind of dog who looks you in the eye when you talk to it and who clearly understands.  The kind of dog you learn to love a little more each day.  No short order.  Now I have sort of earned a dog-lady reputation in the neighborhood.  I am the person you call at night when your puppy has hurt himself humping a stuffed animal.  I am that kind of neighbor.  I also have connections.  I know people...the kind of people who can do a favor for you if the favor you need is to find a rescue animal to adopt.

I had put out the word that I was looking for a young yellow lab for my neighbor and within a couple of weeks I got an interesting call.  A friend had a dog available.  He was not a yellow lab, but he was well trained.  He was actually a Goldendoodle and was trained for service work but he failed his final.  Isn't that so sweet and pathetic?  Duffy, as he was known back then, had run around during the test and left the space he was supposed to stay in.  You can't have a service dog that wanders off, so he flunked out of the program.  Isn't that kind of tragically endearing?  This friend was going to foster him as they worked to "re-career" the boy.  My neighbor, who I adore, spends a lot of time at their vacation property and the fact that he likes to run off automatically crossed him off the list.  But I went to meet the dog anyway.  

He is an unusual Goldendoodle.  He is a red head!  And SO extraordinarily handsome.  He jumped up on the fence and smiled at me.  His long tongue hung out the side of his mouth.  He looked like he should be wearing a pair of Plus Four golf knickers with suspenders and a Tam O'Shanter.  He came home that day.

We named him Olly and the children (ok, the mama too) are fond of singing, "Olly, Olly, Olly get your adverbs here."  [Yes, we know it is Lolly on Schoolhouse Rock.  We change song lyrics all the time.  Sometimes intentionally.]  And Olly may not have had the right stuff for service work, but he is a prince by our standards.  The boy can pick up dirty laundry and put it in the hamper.  He will hand you back anything you drop (TV remote) or throw (TV remote).  He actually puts them in your hand!  Isn't that fantastic?  And aside from the drinking problem (he sticks his whole muzzle in the water dish) and the stuffed animal habit (we are trying to get him in rehab for that one but he is still in such denial that it is a problem) he has been a perfect fit. 

He loves Tanner and Geneva devotedly.  They, in turn, treat him like a little brother.  The girls share their toys but never their treats.  When they all line up at the water dish Tanner goes first and Olly and Geneva jocky for last.  Neither one of them has the least bit of Alpha in them.  

My darling neighbor, who I now feel a bit sorry for, missed out on a great dog.  But at least she can visit him any time she would like.  And some day soon, when she does find the right dog for her, there will be one more fantastic dog in the cul-du-sac-pack.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

whatever you do don't open the box!

When I was a wee little one, my big sis and I had a couple of record albums that had fairy tales on them.  Most of them had songs that we used to listen to over and over on our little orange, leather record player.  One of the stories was Pandora's Box.  The song made us laugh, and I cannot do it justice here.  But the words, sung in a husky-low-fast-rhythmic manner (think Greek chorus), were: 
"Don't open the box, 
don't open the box, 
whatever you do, 
don't open the box!"

This song is in my head today because I finally went to www.pandora.com after a loverly friend's recommendation about a month ago.  It is a free online radio thing.  But wait, it is super cool.  Stick with me sister.  You pick a song or an artist and it custom mixes for you!  You can give songs the thumbs up or down, bookmark them so they play again...this all might be enough to make me stray.  Sorry iPod, but you suddenly seem a little needy.  A little...high maintenance and too hands-on.  Don't get me wrong, sometimes predictability is a good thing, but sometimes I need a little variety.  Something new and unexpected.  I know you are trying with the whole "genius" thing but, darling, it still feels like more of the old stuff in a different order.  But we'll always be friends.  Call me.


Hey, DMV...

My driver's license will be expiring soon so I thought I would practice for it.  Not for any driving test, for the photo. 

I have a thought for the Department of Motor Vehicles: Photobooth pictures for driver's licenses.  People could see what they look like when they are smiling for the camera, push a button and then they could pick one picture to send to the person at the desk.  The person would double check that this is, indeed, the right person and then everyone would be happy!  

Now this has the potential to make the lines very long.  My answer is not to replace the current system, but offer another option for those of us who have photo-related anxiety.  

Big C, Little C, what begins with C? Camel on the ceiling, c c c.

This picture always makes me smile.  It is an old picture, but I remember it so clearly.  Little C was pitching a huge fit.  The kind where you worry about the inner-cranial pressure building and it crosses your mind that if he does rupture something it is going to look suspicious on the scan.  He threw it without much of a reason either.  Well, that is not entirely true.  He had a reason.  But the issue did not merit the shade of purple he turned.  The truth is the baby was exhausted.  It is tough to be 2 trying to keep up with a 5 and a 7.  You want to sleep in and your mama drags you out of bed to take your sister to school.  You are in the middle of playing and you have to go with to drop your brother off at preschool.  You want to watch a show and mama pauses it to go get them from school.  And somewhere in between she hauled you to the store again.  And once they are home, you have to play with them.  Going everywhere and climbing everything just the same and doing it all with a diaper in the way.  

I remember leaving the room while he was on the floor kicking the ottoman.  I was in the kitchen and it suddenly went silent.  Not the normal decrescendo and muttering that would signal the end of a tantrum.  Silence.  Flashback to the thought of his brain exploding.  I went in to check and he was passed out on his face on the chair.  Little C had gone from banshee to baby in 0.7 seconds.   He was so tired his body just turned off.  And after checking for a pulse, I checked the clock.  Shit.  It was time to pick him up and put him in the car seat to go get the Biggins from school.  Or...it was time to call in some markers and ask a couple of friends to pick up my other two at their schools.  I picked the latter and let the doll rest.  

At the time, I will be completely honest with you, I called the friends so I wouldn't have to struggle with him again.  My ear drums were tired too.  But it is still one of those mama decisions I made that I am proud of.   

Monday, October 27, 2008

camouflaged mama

Let this be a warning to mamas with little girls.  They get big.  When this baby stands next to me she is past my eyeballs and closing in quickly on the "only 3 inches shorter than my mama" mark.  She's only 10.  Do I not get more time than this?

But let this also be a word of encouragement to mamas with little girls.  They just keep getting better.  Sweeter, smarter, kinder, funnier, and more and more lovely every day.

Also, when you have a baby that is close to your height, it is easier to do tricky dance moves with them on the living room rug!

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Camouflaged hound dog

I have been looking for Olly.  I'm having trouble finding him.  I looked in the mulch...









...and in the leaves...










...on the couch...











...and on the living room rug.










But I know he is around here somewhere.  (This is why, when I clean the house, I shake my head in wonder at the point of it all.  I was vacuuming under the rugs, trying to suck some dust from the underbelly of my house, and Olly ran through the room with muddy paws.  I'd hide too if I were him!)  

Friday, October 24, 2008

Rrrrraaaaadiio


How would you spell that title to read like it sounds when the Yip Yip Aliens said it on Sesame Street?  You Tube THAT one.  Wet your pants funny.  Especially since I have felt like those aliens when it comes to my radio dial lately.  Look up "Yip Yip Aliens Radio."

Any more hip-hop songs about strippers?  Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope
Any more vintage Pat Benetar?  Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope (Where is that coming from all of a sudden?  And am I the only one who notices?)
Any more apologetic jerks sorry for cheating...AGAIN?  Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope

And now I have heard "Betty Davis Eyes" three times in three days.  I'll bet I hadn't heard it three times in three years before this week.  What-what-what-what-what-what-what-what?

Come on Rrrrraaaaadiio, I need a little Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip now and then.  What do you say?

Two silly conversations

Conversation the First:

Moose: I saw the guy in the hall at work today with the p_rn stash.
Mama: What?
Moose: He has a crazy, 70's p_rn stash.
Mama: And he still has his job there?
Moose: What?
Mama: He hasn't lost his job?
Moose: Uuhhh...no.  Why would he?
Mama: What?
Moose: It is just a mustache.
[proverbial light bulb flips on]
Mama: Oohhhhhh!
Moose: What?
[Mama takes a moment to catch her breath after the laughter]
Mama: I thought you meant a stash of p_rn from the 70's.  Not a stache like a 70's p_rn star.
[Moose doubles over in laughter]


Conversation the Second:

[A mother and young child sit at the family table practicing his handwriting]
Mama: Here, let's write the word "pumpkin."
Little C: OK, tell me the letters.
Mama: P U M P K I N
[the child carefully writes the word and then sounds it out]
Little C: [laughing hard] Haha, it says puMPkin!  Mama, you spelled it puMPkin!
Mama: That's how it is spelled, baby.
Little C: [abrupt change from laughing to serious] What? 
Mama: That is the word. Pu-MP-kin.
[silent consideration]
Little C: Not puNkin?
Mama: No sweetie, the vegetable is a pumpkin.  You are a punkin.
Little C: ???

Drunken Wasps

These are the drunken wasps we get every Fall.  They don't arrive in a stupor.  They come here specifically to achieve it.  They get loopy off fermented crab apples.  I think there are 5 in this picture, but I have counted up to 7 on one crab apple.  The apples are maybe 1.5 inches across.  They are funny when they are done, too.  They stumble around the woodpile, make a few lazy attempts at flight, and then crash to the ground to sleep it off.  

I bring this up for two reasons: it is silly and every species does stupid things.  Not just primates.  Not that this makes risky behavior excusable.  It doesn't make it ok or acceptable or even tolerable.  Some of the wasps never get up off the ground after the merry-making.   It just makes it understandable.  And as tempted as I am to sing the Press Conference Rag from Chicago for you right now I won't.  (You're welcome, because that one can get stuck in your head for days.  Feel free to find it on You Tube but don't say I didn't warn you.)  Back to my point; this is the essence of empathy, I guess.  You can see someone and consider their situation and connect with their motivation as well as their emotion.  

A strong sense of empathy is a good thing.  In fact it is a great thing.  But I also find that it gets a one-sided reputation.  It is not sympathy, though I have noticed people who can define the difference still treat it that way.  As if the only result of an empathetic consideration is to feel sorry for someone.  There are only two people on this planet that I hate above all else.  Should ill befall them I might give a little cheer.  Maybe host a party.  Certainly do a little dance in fancy underpants.  (If you have to ask it is not you.  If it was you, you would know for certain!  BTW, the third member of the list died in a fiery plane crash.  No joke.  There's karma-phala for you.)  I have given each of them a massive amount of consideration.  I believe I understand their motivations and emotions.  It makes me loathe them.  But empathy also allows me to answer questions that would otherwise plague me and then let them go.  

I even turn inward and look at myself with empathy now.  That is something I have learned over time.  Much of that has come through my yoga practice.  (Have I told you how much I love my Yogis?  I like them, admire them, and genuinely love them.  I would tuck them in my pocket too!)  But I think we need a different word for it.  Something that describes the ability to consider your own motivations and emotions.  A term that covers an honest assessment of your present tense and to understand how your past has colored this moment in time.  A word that covers learning from your mistakes and your triumphs so your future is a better place to live.  Mepathy.  

P.S. With that title were you maybe expecting pictures from this summer's RNC? :) 

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Ode to 5

When I finally stopped laughing and wiped away the tears, Miss M helped me finish this poem for you, Little C:

5 is great
5 is good
5 is early
childhood!

And now the reason for the laughter: 5 is also smart.  Smart enough to have an intelligent conversation about the Presidential race.  Smart enough to question some negative adds...but maybe a little lax on the details.  Like when he talks all big about playing cool video games on the "Intendo".  (As in he meant to play that cool video game.)  5 is also funny.  Sometimes on purpose.  Sometimes not.  And before you all click your tongues at me for laughing at my kid...you try having a serious conversation with a 5 about Obama and McHankin.  Close, baby.  Very close.

Old Nut Brown Dog

I have this thing for sweet old dogs who pant constantly and walk a little crookedly.  I love the white faces.  It elicits the same mother-hen response as when I see little old men in hats who shuffle.  I love the high pants.  I really do.  I want to tuck all of them in my pocket.  

Our 14 year old Chesapeake Bay Retriever is one of those dogs.  She wasn't always.  She used to have this wide, muscular chest and was a very powerful swimmer.  She would ride in the motor boat with me when I was coaching rowing and stand in the bow.  She was a very protective mascot who would bark at anyone on shore and scold the other boats who got too near HER team.  She would even bark into my megaphone when I held it out for her!  

Nan had been terribly abused before we got her.  I can only guess how but I don't like to.  She didn't make a noise for two years after we rescued her.  She was happy being Henley's new pet, happy to be the follower.  Being down at the boat house and on the water gave her a job and her confidence.  I stopped coaching when Miss M arrived.  And that worked just fine for Nan because she liked her new job even better.  She watched the kids.  I know that Newfies are notorious babysitters, but ours would rather lay outside away from the noise.  Tanner, however, loves babies.  When Big C was crawling but not really standing, I would come into the living room and find him on the couch.  I could not figure out how he got up there, but Tanner would be standing next to him so he didn't fall.  One day I figured it out, though.  Tanner would be sleeping against the couch and Big C would climb her to climb up to the couch.  

When the babies all went through the eyes, ears, nose phase where they simply cannot help themselves and are driven to manually explore every face they see, Tanner was a willing participant.  She would lay there and let them tug on her ears and poke whatever they wanted to poke.  Miss M especially liked to pull up her lips and check her teeth.  She wouldn't move at all except for her tail, which wagged happily and which she also allowed them to tug.

After Henley was gone, Tanner was seriously depressed until our neighbors got a new puppy.  The next listing on her resume became puppy trainer.  She would play and run but not tolerate anything too unruly.  She mothered that pup and several more.  And when we eventually adopted Geneva (and the Olly), Tanner became the boss dog.  She is totally the boss of the whole cul-du-sac and the 8 other dogs who live around us.  One bark from Nan and those puppies would sit.  She learned much in her life about those in charge.  Some step on others to achieve power, some beat them down, and some will love you so completely that you want to follow them.  She is definitely a Benevolent kind of Dictator.

Those eyes don't work very well anymore, and those ears don't hear much below a shout.  Her joints ache and sometimes she will be standing or walking and just collapse.  And she is getting a bit forgetful too.  She does not seem to care anymore that she is not supposed to be in the kitchen.  She will come up to me at bedtime and look at me like, "are you gonna share that pillow?"  And, yes, she may have a cozy warm cushion to lay on but why not the furniture as well?  I don't have it in me anymore to put on her fence collar because she walks through the line anyway.  And I really don't care that she is getting a little sassy.  It is hard to find fault with her now after a lifetime of being such an incredible friend.

But even this Mama has a limit to how much cute old dog behavior I will put up with.  Yesterday she ate a whole pack of gum.  First she dug it out of my bag.  Out of the pocket in my bag.  The pocket deep inside of a big bag.  She also scored a yummy peppermint I was saving.  Now, the girl is 14.  And she smells like a 14 year old dog.  I understand that maybe she just couldn't stand her own breath anymore.  But, hey, smart dog: bring me your toothbrush and I will help you out, ok?  What I cannot understand is why eat the tube of Smashbox O-gloss?  WHY!?

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Who and Why?


Today was a tough morning.  Neither Moose nor I set our alarm clocks last night.  Thankfully, my bladder has a built in alarm of her own.  But we all didn't get up until 20 minutes before the minivan needed to be motoring across school district lines.  It was pretty close to a "Totally Chocolate Breakfast" for those of you who enjoy the obscure Rolie Polie Olie reference.  Thanks to three kids who didn't care if they brushed their teeth or hair this morning, they made it to school on time.  Of course, I was back there again 35 minutes later delivering the lunches and a box for a diorama project.  But it was definitely a team effort.  Yeah Team!

This frazzled morning (and all without coffee, I might add) had me wondering how this family would ever survive stranded in the wilderness.  This is actually a secret personality test I give individuals.  It comes from the idea that you don't see a person's true self until there is a crisis.  I imagine them lost in the North Woods or on a tiny tropical island.  It is pretty funny to picture a friend with fancy nails using them to dig for grubs.  Would she try to save them, hoping to be rescued before she needs a fill, or find them a useful tool until they popped off, one by one?  And once they were gone how would she eat?  This is how I occupy my mind.  Now you know. 

I have decided that this family would do alright.  In part, because the kids watch any wilderness survival show on TV.  Alone In The Wilderness is the best--a classic PBS special on a man who dropped it all and went to Alaska and built his cabin by hand and lived there.  He filmed and documented it himself.  I think I could carve a hinge like that if Moose will come up with the door.  

I definitely want Big C along.  That boy shines in a crisis.  I will give you an example: two summers ago, Litttle C walked into a wasps nest and was swarmed by the nasty stingers.  Big C heard him screaming and took control.  He sent Miss M to get me.  He yelled loud enough to get Little C's attention and called him away from the nest where, understandably, the little one just froze.  Then he calmly talked to his little brother and pulled off the last few, clinging wasps.  When the crisis was over, he hugged Little C and cried with him out of love and concern.  Wow.  He was 7 at the time.  I want him with me.  Always.  Oh, and he is the one who will figure out how to make the bicycle operated fan to keep me cool on the island.  Our own little "Professor" from Gilligan's Island.

I can't imagine being lost without Little C around either.  For one thing, he likes to run and retrieve and that is very handy, even in the suburbs.  For another, he is the kid who can take the best parts of everyone's ideas and combine them into a great solution.  Must come from being the Third.  And much like Ender Wiggins, he combines the best bits of all of us in one cute little bundle.  Little C has a killer sense of humor and I believe very strongly in the restorative powers of funny.  Also, the babe is cuddly warm and that will be useful if the nights are cold.

None of us would make it without Miss M.  In addition to being brilliant, she is our "Wilson."  She brings empathy and humanity and beauty to our dinner conversations.  Her mind is always asking questions, looking for more, and fully immersing herself in a situation.  She is also our go-to-girl if we need to communicate with any wildlife or fairies.  Miss M is willing to taste anything once.  Now don't go thinking that I would test strange fungi as a food source on my first born.  But that ability to look at something totally foreign and think she will give it a try is terrific.  Plus, if she'll eat it the boys will at least try it too.

Really, with these three along, Moose and I won't have much to do.  Scraps will have been scavenged and assembled into a shelter before I have the sand out of my shoes. Big C and Little C will have a roaring campfire going.  Miss M will have woven flower crowns for all.  And somehow, this desperate situation will suddenly feel like a party.

Feel free to try my test on people you know.  They will never even know you are doing it and it is good exercise for seeing people in new ways.  Take, for example, a certain kid in a certain classroom a couple of years ago.  Tough kid.  Tough situation.  He drove everyone around him crazy.  But, dang, I want that kid with me too.  Maybe not at the Science Museum again (craziest field trip EVER), but in life.  He has found a way to protect himself and project himself in a world that is working against him.  And that is a life skill that can change the world if he finds the inspiration to make this a better place.  

So who would you want with you and why?  Or maybe what surprised you about someone when you put them to the test?


Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Not the neck, please

Dear Mamas of the world, human and non-human alike: do not hold your babies by the neck.  Actually, this baby was being very sassy that afternoon at the zoo.  And I believe that instinct to want to hold a sassy baby by the neck exists.  But it is pretty base.  At some point back along the evolutionary tree, grabbing a baby by the neck may have kept it alive.  Mamas who could be a little tough had offspring that were more likely to survive by not falling into the tar pit or the open mouth of a crocodile and pass along their DNA.  These offspring were more likely to pick up their babies by the neck for two reasons: they were genetically predisposed to it, and they learned it by having their own necks wrung.  And some of these babies did pass on their learned behavior and their DNA so some of them must have survived their mother's grip.  But humans branched away on that tree and one of the factors that now separates us from the rest of the primates is that our infants are much younger at birth, developmentally speaking.  No wild animal is crazy enough to have such helpless offspring that require such intensive care for so long a period.  Human babies are far less likely to survive the neck-wringing.  Please stop it.  

I saw you at Target today.  I even grinned back by the yogurt because the howling baby and sticky toddler were not in my cart.  Trust me when I tell you that one day you too will see something sweet in the image when your own babies move past that stage.  Even if it is just the sensation of, "thank gooodness that is no longer me!"  You looked tired and all Mama-pajama.  I have been there.  I still have days where I can either brush my hair or my teeth but can't possibly manage both before 8am.  And the reason mamas look like that some days (all you preened, single, short skirt and high heel wearing, low level office workers running in to grab a latte for lunch, I am talking to you) is that there is only so much energy to go around and those days our whole selves are given over to the care of our children.  It is not sustainable everyday.  There are days where my kids have to eat a hot lunch at school they don't care for because mama wanted to brush both her hair and her teeth before taking them to school.  But dear, tired mama at Target today: do not toss a toddler into the back seat of a car.  And when I looked at you and said, "That is not ok," I hope you heard me.  I was not clicking my tongue at something unhealthy in your cart (I have had people do that to me) and I was not making a sour face and looking you up and down (yes, that too). I was hoping to insert a moment in your day where you could look at yourself objectively and recognize the need for a change in your behavior.  At the least, you could drive home with those sticky, noisy, beautiful babies and be irritated with me instead.  

My Predecessor


It may surprise you to know that I haven't always been the Alpha in our house.  There was a time when the family only had three members: one male and one female human, and a female dog.  This dog was the Alpha.  Her name was Henley on the Thames, and she was a stunning Newfoundland.  And she was our first baby.  And aren't the first babies supposed to be treated like princesses?  I did not dress her up, unless you count the bows the groomer put on her ears.  The bows, by the way, had a very Baby Huey effect for the bows were tiny and the dog was large.  120 pounds large.  (FYI, I meant the giant, cartoon duckling in a diaper, not the singer from the early 70's whose music had an influence on the development of Hip Hop.)  

Henley displayed her Alpha status without regret.  When she was a puppy, only 90 pounds or so at the time, I was walking her down the snowy streets of Madison, Wisconsin.  It was late and dark, the flakes were coming down thick and slow.  Hen and I were the only ones outside for blocks.  It was cold and I was hurrying home when, about 18 feet behind me, I heard a sharp snap.  I tugged on the 20 foot leash and felt the tension ease.  But then there was this scratching noise coming closer.  When I turned my eyes into the blurring snow, Henley was trotting up to me with a tree in her mouth.  Not a large branch, but a 7-8 foot tall and 2-3 inch in diameter tree.  She had snapped it off close to the ground and was carrying her prize home.  She knew she was naughty and she was proud of it.  She had no intention of letting go of it either.  I am ashamed to say I did not go up to the house and let the homeowners know.  We took a right and instead of leaving tracks that lead to our front door, we walked on towards Vilas Zoo.  There, in the public space, I tied her to a much larger tree and wrestled the tree from her jaws (a great puppy game).  I hid the prize in the woods and walked the dog home, with the leash pulled in much closer this time.  In the morning, I walked her back and forth in front of the victim's house a couple of times to confuse the footprints, even though the snow had already obscured the evidence.

She mellowed as she aged.  If you are in the demon-throws of adolescent puppyhood, people will tell you that the dog will settle when it grows up.  You will not believe them.  Or maybe you will cling to the hope that one day your sleeves will not be riddled with teeth holes.  It is the little things that pull us through, no?  Either way, they do settle.  And so did Henley.  She settled right in to her Alpha seat.  There was no doubt in her mind that she was entitled to being served by us.  She didn't bark to go outside.  She simply walked over and stared at you, boring her message into your mind, until you opened the door.  We even got Hen her own dog, Tanner, to chew on.  That was the power of the Alpha.

Big dogs bring big love and big vet bills.  And many years and three major knee surgeries later, we had to put her down.  By then there were two more humans in the family.  And Henley taught them to grieve.  They were 3 1/2 and 2 at the time.  Miss M would paint pictures and write stories about Hen at preschool.  Big C would carry the granite box of ashes with us whenever we went in the car.  Tanner, who was clearly grieving as well, was tended to and cuddled and fed as many treats as her belly could hold.  It was beautiful.


 
I have been thinking of this time a lot lately because our dear, dear friends lost their dog, Bear, recently.  Bear was their first baby too.  And the reason I stopped my car and jumped out to pet/meet them when they moved in to the neighborhood.  (I honestly do not normally accost people walking down the street!)  Miss M and Big C are older now.  Bear was beloved by them.  Their grieving as grown up a bit as well.  Big C collected a hair sample, which he is using as part of his research.  He is building a "duplicator" out of a cardboard box in his room.  The plan is to clone Bear and give the new puppy back to the neighbors.  It is beautiful.

Monday, October 20, 2008

The Omega to My Alpha


This is Eduardo.  He is our Eastern Green Treefrog.  I am afraid that he does not get the appreciation he deserves in this house.  It is for this reason that I present him to you first. It is the only chance he will get to be first at something.  With three kids and three dogs who all make much more demanding demands, Ed has quietly accepted his role at the bottom of our household hierarchy.  I am, of course, the Alpha.  Between me and our little green Omega, seven other animals duke it out on a regular basis for positioning.  Only Ed and I are solid in our spots.  And, yet, he brings much peace to my life.  

He accepts any name we call him.  Even when he first arrived and we called him Ezmerelda for a few weeks.  That was, of course, before we knew he was a male frog.  You might be wondering just how do we know he is a male?  Huge vocal sac.  Much calling out for females.  It is still a guess, but he seems comfortable with the assumption.  That self-assuredness is just one more thing I love about him.  

Also, he eats whatever I fed him.  In the winter months he happily eats cricket after cricket after cricket after cricket.  When it is warmer up here...moths, grasshoppers, almost anything we catch buzzing around the porch light.  Flies are a rare favorite.  Mostly because my reflexes are slow, not his.   He quickly forgave me the green bottle beetle incident.  The whole event was very "beetle bottle battle" from Fox in Sox for those of you up on your Seuss.  Eduardo went for the beetle.  He usually gets the insects most of the way in his mouth and then does some fancy constricting.  But the beetle bit back and would not let go.  Poor Ed!  This beetle both tasted bad and it was clinging to his tongue.  Our green hero was shaking himself and trying to flick the vile thing from his face.  The vile thing held on.  I had to intervene by picking up the frog and pulling off the beetle.  Ed recovered quickly.  And the beetle...well...he is encased in a glass-lidded metal container and is a star in my bug collection.

But what I love the most about Eduardo is the very still and mostly quiet way he sits almost all of the time.  It is a refreshing difference from the rest of us.  Very Zen-like.  As my Yogi, Herbie, would say, "He has mastered the fine art of nothing doing."  Oh, and he can twiddle his thumbs.  Really.  Look at the picture!
Well, here you go Jen.  Now I don't have to post any more vegetables on your blog!