Tag Archives: pet

Sum…Sum…Summer Time!!!

 

It’s summertime in the country. Here in the Mid-west we had a blazing week of heat earlier in the month, but since then it hasn’t been so bad. I could live with the 70’s and 80’s–with no humidity. It would be fine with me if it could stay like that, say, until the end of September– than get chilly. Okay, maybe I ask for a lot…

In the meantime I’m bringing you some more pictures for “Take Me Home Tuesday”.

 

The view directly across from the house.

Is it just me, or doesn’t that look kind of artistic?

My daughter mowing the yard this past weekend. She enjoyed herself.

Ready to plant some more lavender.

Home Sweet Home…

Related articles

I Call Him Bubba

A picture is worth a thousand words…

This is not my cat. I found this picture totally by accident. A while back, I stumbled on a site called Cats In Sinks.

I’ve saved this picture because every time I see it, I laugh. Out loud.

So, if the owner of this cat should happen across my blog…thanks for the picture.

It’s been good therapy for me.

 

Related articles

Cat Pee and Other Messy Stuff

Calico cat (Felis silvestris catus)

Image via Wikipedia

My intention was to finish my story from yesterday….but, that will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m too wound up to type something serious this morning.

Some days are better than others. Just sayin’.

1. The indoor pets needed their flea treatments. The weather is getting warmer and fleas and ticks are already becoming an issue.

2. My husband was gone to a meeting in the evening. I was left to my own device.

3. My son helped with giving the dog a flea treatment. The dog behaved himself at the time….but, then proceeded to roll around in the grass afterward —during his evening walk. Sigh. I hope any nasty little blood sucking varmints that happened to be in said grass, were repelled. Sigh again.

4. I commissioned my daughter to help with the two indoor cats. I had been noticing a little scratching going on (with the cats, not her) and decided we needed to treat them now, while the getting is good.

5. The cats were okay during the treatment, that takes all of 60 seconds. Joe (the senior citizen cat) took it like a champ. No problemo. Nikki, my calico, stalker kitty….not so much.

6. She sulked in my closet all evening. I tried to get her to come out, but she just turned her head and continued to lay on my shoes. It was a major snub.

7. FINE! Lay in there and  I hope you don’t roll over and poke yourself with a high heel!!!! Hmmppfff.

8. Well, Nikki finally emerged, but if ever a cat was ticked off….it was her. Cross my heart and hope to die, if she could speak…she would have cursed me. I’m sure of it.

9. She skulked around.

10. Bedtime came. She usually lays at the foot of the bed…..after she gets pet and loved on.

11. Last night she decided to show her ire, by PEEING on the bed. Right up near me. As a matter of fact she peed all over my new Country Living magazine that I was just settling down to read….and a book….and on the quilt, which soaked through to the blanket underneath.

12. At the moment I did not see what was going on…..but, my husband did and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. He carried her out to the laundry room–where she was banished for the rest of the night.

13. While that was going on, I had to strip the bed linens and wash them in hot, soapy water….at 11pm at night. I was not a happy camper. In my mind I was thinking up horrible sayings….things like….”There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”  Yeah.

14. Nikki was crying in the laundry room and I was yelling back, “Suck it up sister. You pee you pay!” (along with maniacal, sleep deprived laughter)

15. She got out of detention this morning….none worse for the wear.

16. The bedroom is OFF limits to her today. She is NOT pleased.

17. Hey, that’s the price ya gotta pay, girlie. You do the crime, you do the time.

18. My bed is now fresh and clean.

19. I am in a much better mood.

20 And Nikki is sulking behind the file cabinet in the school room.

AND THAT IS MY LIFE…..end of story.

Related Articles

God Must Have A Sense Of Humor

Laughing Star

Image by cindy47452 via Flickr

Laughing.

Giggling.

Snorting.

Can’t breathe.

Tears streaming down your face.

Therapeutic.

Humor, is something to be thankful for. Life is a lot more fun if we laugh. There is too much in life to be sad about, or scared, or down right terrified about…..but, sometimes one just has to laugh. Laugh out loud. Who cares if others think you’re nuts? Tell them that you are just fine and this is part of your therapy.

A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones. Proverbs 17:22 ESV

Today I am thankful for laughter. My eucharisteo is thanksgiving to God for blessing me with funny things. Things that make me “smile out loud”. Surely, God must laugh at the craziness that He witnesses.

#371  A cat that stalks me. I’ve never known kitty love before this cat. She is calico love, wrapped up in fur.

#372 The same cat that is a huntress and deposits her rodent “gifts” in my master bath, where I will be sure to see them…and praise her for her great effort and talent.

#373 A dog that will not eat his nutritional bits and instead spews them around the kitchen floor. I find myself talking to the dog, knowing full well he doesn’t speak my language.

#374 Mismatched pajamas and fuzzy slippers…a regular fashionista, I am.

#375 I’m a mom to 3 teenagers and that brings some good laughs…all by itself.

#376 Random conversations in the family van. About what? Weird stuff, usually. Don’t even ask.

#377 Extremely windy days…I think I saw a cat just fly by the window.

#378 Dark stormy day, that allows me to light my cookie scented candles…..the smell without the baking:)

# 379 Good friends that go to home school conferences together and laugh their way through the aisles of curriculum.

#380 Life can be funny.

*****Sharing all the ways that we are thankful. Click on the Multitudes on Mondays graphic on my right side bar. *****

Related Articles

Time Change

Towels at my Other Gym

Image by davco9200 via Flickr

It’s a Monday morning…after yesterday’s time change. I know it is only an hour difference, but I feel like someone hit me over the head with a sledge hammer…and no, that didn’t really happen. I’d know if someone hit me with a hammer. I think. Unless, I was really sleeping hard. Then maybe not so much. Just sayin’.

Monday mornings. Are. Not. My. Thing.

I’ve decided that today is the day to wash all the towels and washcloths from the master bath. A large pile of white. Er…supposed to be blindingly white. Not so much right now. Sort of dirty white actually. That’s what I get for choosing all white for the bathroom.

Sigh.

I’m not letting this stop me from my daily Eurcharisteo. It’s hard to be a grouch if one is giving thanks.

* I have an abundant supply of towels and washcloths.
* A glass of ice cold tea.
* I have cold medicine to give a sick child.
* My children hugged me this morning.
* I emailed a friend.
* People that love me.
* I’m not alone in this world.
* The smell of a new candle.
* The llamas are out grazing this morning.
* The mud is drying up, from the wind.
* How I can silently glide around the house in my stocking feet.
* The cat going berserk this morning, that made me laugh.
* Lonnie dog as he looks at me with big, brown puppy dog eyes.
* A clean kitchen sink.
* Warm light.
* My husband told me that he loves me.

My heart is full. So is my washing machine. It is impossible to stay down when I count all the ways that God loves me.

Related Articles

Lonnie, The Wonder Dog

Morton does not like his Elizabethan collar at...

Image via Wikipedia

I mentioned before that my son got a new dog.  His name is Lonnie. He is a terrier mix extraordinaire. In the past two weeks that we’ve had him, he has become a part of the family. Perky ears, big brown eyes, and a bundle of energy.

Yesterday he had “the procedure” done. He jumped in the van yesterday morning, a little apprehensive as to where we were going while it was still dark outside. Once we got there, we waited in the front lobby. Lonnie was such a good boy. He didn’t even bark when led away by one of the workers. Sigh.I know he is just a dog, and he doesn’t have human feelings in the same way that we do…but, still. I comforted myself with the thought that Lonnie doesn’t need to be a daddy, so I was doing the right thing. He would be fine. He would love us again, after this was all over with.

Last night, it was time for pickup at 7pm. All the dog owners that had their “babies” get the procedure were waiting in line at the big glass windows. One lady commented that it was like watching people at the hospital, looking at all the babies in the nursery. Our babies were a bit furrier, but sweet none the less. Lonnie was one of the first ones brought in. He was quiet. Probably still a little groggy. Once out of the carrier he perked up and was ready to move!

Then it started. Lonnie licked his stitches. “Lonnie, don’t lick. Lonnie, please don’t lick. Lonnie, stop it!”  Lonnie, being a dog, did not listen very well. The urge to lick was just too great. He wanted to do the right thing, but he just couldn’t. He looked at me with the big brown eyes.

One of the ladies told us that since Lonnie was a small dog we could just use a plastic milk jug as an E collar. So…… that was what we were forced to do. Lonnie gave us no choice. I washed the jug, cut the bottom off, and cut a hole for his head. I taped up any rough edges and slid the collar over Lonnie’s head. He was not thrilled. He tried to get it off. He was frustrated and banging his head around because his vision was partially obstructed. He looked up at me with the big brown eyes. “Why are you forcing me to wear the cone of shame? Haven’t I been a good dog? Don’t I show you love? How could you humiliate me like this?”  I tried to explain. I pet his back. I rubbed his head. He just didn’t understand.

Lonnie is currently laying on the floor next to “his boy” who pets him periodically while doing his school work. He looks pitiful.

I told him this was not for forever. He turned his head the other way, with the cone on it, as if to say….”You are dead to me.”  I left the room dejected.

Lonnie just strolled into the kitchen where I’m sitting at the breakfast bar. I felt some plastic brush up against my leg. I looked down. Big brown eyes were staring at me. “Pet me?” My heart melted. I think he is willing to be friends again.

 

Related Articles

Survival Of The Fittest–Part 2

Mice with different coat colors.

Image via Wikipedia

The mouse is winning. After Sunday night’s glimpse of the mouse in my bedroom and then seeing it zip through the dining room yesterday morning, I didn’t see it at all. Mice are stealthy like that. They make a brief appearance than they are gone…until they show up again and scare the bejeebies out of you!

Last night around10:30, my daughter made an appearance at the bedroom door. ” I saw the mouse. “Where was it?  ” It was in Joe’s mouth.” (Joe is our 13 year old, indoor, ‘fraidy cat) Joe? She proceeded to tell us that she was on her computer and not paying attention to Joe, when he walked up to her. She was startled when she saw a tail hanging out of his mouth. The fact that she was startled, startled Joe who promptly dropped the mouse, which unfortunately happened to still be alive. The mouse beat a hasty retreat, thanking God for second chances, as he ran for his life under the bed. Joe took off after him. My daughter claimed she did not know the current location of the mouse. At this point I must say, I am highly impressed with Joe. He might be elderly, and afraid of his own shadow, but he still has some gumption left in him.

Last night I heard a mouse in the kitchen ceiling. Probably the same one I heard in the the ceiling of the pantry. I started to talk to the rogue mouse somewhere above my head. “Listen up fur ball, this is not a mouse house. Get out, or all bets are off. You think you are so smart, but I’ve got news for you…YOU ARE A MOUSE. Your brain is a lot smaller than mine. I will outwit you. I will get you. By the way, you better not be pooping all over my family’s stuff in the attic.”

I’ve never had this kind of problem before (multiple mice).  My family and I lived in an old farmhouse until I was 5 years old. I do remember that we had caught a mouse in the kitchen and I cried because the mouse had died. As a preschooler I didn’t understand the joy of catching a rodent. We moved to a rancher that my parents had built, out in the woods. No mice. Not once in the 14 years I lived there. The reason was we had snakes. Lots of snakes. Snakes eat mice. Now, I don’t know that I was thrilled with snakes either…but, they did take care of the mice or any other rodents near our house. The snakes were outside in the wild, by the way. We didn’t have snakes inside. If that had been the case, my mom would have died of a heart attack a long time ago.

My late husband and I rented a house in the city. It was a beautiful, older stone house. One Saturday afternoon I was on the phone when I saw a furry flash across the kitchen floor. I didn’t want to scream into the phone so I climbed on the dining room chair to finish my conversation, all the while dancing around and flailing my arms at my husband while pointing at the kitchen. He probably was wondering why he had chosen to marry a woman that was obviously insane.  As soon as I got off the phone, I told him that we had a mouse. He did not seem as upset as I was. Men. Puh-leeze. They don’t appear as alarmed about filthy, stinkin’ rodents as I am. What’s with that?

The house that I lived in in Knoxville, TN. only had one mouse incident. A field mouse got in under the garage door. I laid traps in the garage. It was a veritable landmine. I caught him on a glue trap. He was teeny tiny. I didn’t want to touch him so I picked the entire trap up and tossed it in the woods. Now, I lived in the city. The only mouse inside was that one. I did have a RAT problem outside. The rats were huge, and much scarier than mice. These rats would eat my dog’s food. This just goes to prove that Walmart dogfood will bulk up rats. Big time. They’d stand on their hind legs and stare at me as if to say, “Where’s the chow, lady?”. I ended up poisoning those suckers. (away from the dog or food rest assured)

So, this puts me back to our new house here in Ohio. Yes, we live in a farm field. Yes, I realize that there are field mice. I just didn’t expect the influx from outside. I am a grown woman. I should not be bothered by a mouse the size of my little finger…BUT, I am. This is a battle I intend to win.

Let the games begin.

 

Related Articles

Puppy Dog Eyes

P1020057

Image by labanex via Flickr

The other day I pulled into the driveway and all the outside cats and dogs came running. It was cute. The thought crossed my mind, that it was comforting to have the family pets so happy to see me. For all their barking and climbing, meowing, and goofiness….dumped bowls of food on the deck,  AND disappearing food bowls….. I love them.

The other day I took my son to the local Humane Society to pick up his new friend. I had been planning on getting him his own dog for some time. Well, really ever since our other dog, Buster, died several years ago. There was a doggie sized hole in our heart that needed to be filled. So, we decided that going to the Humane Society would be a good way to find a dog that needed a home as much as we needed a dog. (A shameless plug for the local humane societies. There is a lot of love there, just waiting to be taken home.)  We researched the dogs online. We went there on Thursday. The people at the shelter were so kind and helpful. As we looked at dogs, my heart melted at least a million times. I wanted to take them all home. Alas, that wasn’t going to be able to happen….so we chose.

His name is Lonnie. He is a 5 year old, terrier mix. Obviously, at some point this dog had been crate trained.  He loves to take a bath, does well on a leash, and is a good “cuddler”.  He might not be the perfect dog—but, he is the perfect dog for us.

Pet ownership is a beautiful thing.

 

Related Articles

Time For A Doctor Visit

Whiteman CAC, Vet Clinic host 2010 Bark in the...

Image by DVIDSHUB via Flickr

Three outdoor cats. One indoor cat. Two dogs…and a horse. We have some really sweet pets. Really sweet pets that needed to get their shots. I called the vet. She came out on Friday. She had her mobile office all packed up in the back of her pickup. Cool. I liked her a lot. She was good with the animals.

First, was Jazz. Jazz is a horse who I have to say was not all that thrilled with getting blood taken, a couple of shots and a vaccine up her nose. (who would be?) Horses are a lot like young children. A horse will fuss and carry on, but the “parent” has to say, “Look this is for your own good.” (you might not believe me right now, but you need this! Stop it already, I’ll give you an apple if you are a good girl. We are not above bribery.) All in all Jazz was a pretty good girl. Dr. Dyer showed me how to give Jazz the more common shots that she will need. I would have never guessed in a million years that this would be me. I’m now reading a lot about horses and giving my family information that even they didn’t know.

Junior, our mutt, is a senior citizen. He is 13. Poor guy. He has a yeast infection and his joints are hurting. He’s getting arthritis. The vet told us that he can take glucousimine and chondrotine (did I spell that correctly?) just like a human. So we got some for him at Walmart. It is orange flavored. He thought it was a snack so he ate it up. It won’t cure him, but it will help with the symptoms. It’s hard being an old dog.

On the other hand, Ace, the collie is in the prime of life. He is a poo head. Silly dog, who has a penchant for collecting all the food bowls. Not the food mind you, but the bowls. I think he has a bowl fetish. Whatever. He sat through his shots like a pro. As long as one pets him, he is your new best friend.

I found out for absolute sure the gender of all our cats. This has been bothering me for some time now. The three outdoor cats are all strays.  We are the proud owners of two girls and a baby boy. I pretty much figured this out, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. The two girls “act” like girls. Pet me. Love me. I am a queen. The kitten is a boy and he is mischievous and does not understand self preservation. He will dart under the horse, jump on people and hang there, and attack the dog’s tail. No common sense. Definitely a boy.

Joe, the indoor cat, is old too. He was trapped in the bathroom until we needed him for his doctors visit. Joe is a big scaredy cat….but, I have to say that he was good and took his shots like a man…er….cat.

Being a pet owner is a lot of work. Animals depend on the owner for everything. A place to sleep. Food to eat. Kindness.

That is why it always bothers me to watch pet rescue shows. I cannot understand how some people treat their animals so horribly. Animalsare like children,who depend on their parents to survive. Pet ownership is a huge responsibility…..but, it is also fun. Each animal has their own personality. Each is unique.

Related Articles

Snake Wrangling

Line art drawing of a black snake.

Image via Wikipedia

Snakes really aren’t my favorite creature ever created. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Those that love snakes would tell me, “Snakes get a bad rap. They are not really scary. They help to control the rodent population.” Yada….yada….yada. Whatever, people. Let’s face it, one can’t pet or snuggle with a snake. Snakes have fangs. They bite with those fangs, if agitated. Giving a snake a hug could prove dangerous, especially if said snake is a boa constrictor. Just sayin’. How many of us have ever heard of snakes called Fifi, or Fido? No? No! One hears names like Squeeze or Viper. Sorry. It’s just not a love relationship with me. As long as snakes stay outside in the fields they are safe. If they come near my house….they might be separated from their head. Just sayin’.

My aunt emailed me the other day. She was down in the basement of her house and came across a snake skin. Not the kind of thing a woman wants to find in her house. Spiders. Check. An occasional mouse. Check. Check. A long snake skin. Oh, no I don’t think so! She promptly did what any God-fearing woman would do. She called an exterminator. The first guy said they didn’t work with snakes, but he’d put her in touch with someone who did. (Good, make it snappy, Mister!)

A young woman showed up. She went down into the basement to check things out. Uh huh….definitely a snake skin. After some investigation and caulking of any holes, she declared that the snake was long gone. The basement was snake free. She even guaranteed her work for 10 years. (Better be!)

She informed my aunt that it is illegal to kill snakes in the state of Maryland. Say what?! Yep. I didn’t believe it either, but it is true. I guess if I still lived in Maryland that my picture might be hanging in the post office, under the most wanted criminals section. A hardened snake killer. If a snake was in my house he’d deserve what he got. So there.

The young female snake wrangler was at the house for maybe a half hour…and my aunt had to fork over several hundred dollars. I’m thinking I might have my children consider snake wrangling as their desired career. They could make the big bucks. Enough money to help keep me in the lap of luxury in my old age. If they are really good they might be able to have their own cable TV show, sort of like Dog The Bounty Hunter. I would be so proud.

 

Related Articles