Today's thoughts

Category: CREATURE FEATURES (Page 18 of 37)

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! (Plus dogs and cats)

Retirement is not without Hassles: Let It Rain #1074

As Eric Clapton sings “Let It Rain.” I’ve just returned from my morning run, soaked to the bone. Fortunately, I was able to get the dogs outside before it started. Their much anticipated “Schnauzerton” is now out of the question because somewhere in the middle of my 3.1 mile jaunt, it began to pour, and looks like it’s here to stay. I pulled my car into the garage and put the top down to accommodate some more boxes to drive down to the new apartment. 

Yesterday, 1-800-GOT-JUNK stopped by and my wife and I moved part of a bedroom suite over to the neighbor’s garage. The first carload of non-junk then went to my stepdaughter’s house. This was soon followed by a drive to the apartment with a second load. By mid-afternoon, my wife and I were both exhausted, but continued to sort and organize for future trips. I watched the tragic but predictable end of the Cubs game and some college football before we both fell asleep in the middle of a Sopranos episode. Our dog Tally was obviously depressed from losing her chewed-up couch to the junk man. She refused to eat her dinner and retreated to a chair in my dark office. All of our lives are changing every day, as we continue to make the transition from home to apartment. 

Today’s rain makes me feel like I’m not missing out on anything. We’ll soon drive downtown and separate our boxes between storage and closets and probably come back for another car-full or take more stuff to Goodwill. It’s been pretty much the same routine for the past week. Fortunately, my wife is no longer working and can devote most of her time to protective packing and unpacking, filling plastic tubs full of precious knick-knacks, glassware, and porcelain. My role is to load and unload, using my convertible like a pick-up truck. It’s then top-up or top-down, depending on the weather. Today is a top-up day, so I’m limited on how high I can stack boxes and clothes. Maybe I’ll get to watch some NFL football before the day is over? Let It Rain!

 

Old Sport Shorts: ND Number 89 #1073

After this morning’s “Schnauzerton,” a visit from 1-800-GOT-JUNK, and two trips to our new downtown apartment to deliver carloads full of non-junk, I actually sat down and watched some college football. This was just after the Cubs blew another critical game, and I.U. claimed their third football victory of the season. I wanted to see the Oregon-Stanford match-up, but ended up flipping over to Notre Dame – Georgia. Early in the game, the Fighting Irish  recovered a fumble and completed a pass in the end zone, however The Bulldogs had cleverly called timeout and the play was disallowed. As number 89 (currently Brock Wright) caught the ball for the temporary TD, it caused me to flash back to my childhood.

It was just after my 9th birthday (9/24/60, 59 years ago next week), and my dad took me to the University of California opener at Notre Dame Stadium. I remember only two things: the Golden Bear Mascot and my cousin’s #89 number. He was a sophomore Tight End on the 1960 team and my uncle John was an assistant coach. Their last name was Murphy, so they also had that Irish Catholic heritage that undoubtedly attracted them to Touchdown Jesus! They must have gotten tickets for my Dad and I, so this became my very first college football game. I had to look it up, because I definitely didn’t pay much attention to the game at that age. In fact, it reminds me of my own experience taking my son to his first high school basketball game. He was totally focused on the Tiger mascot of my team’s opponent, just as I spent the afternoon watching the Cal Dancing Bear. 

My research this afternoon showed me that Notre Dame won the game 21-7 and nearly 50,000 fans were in attendance. It would be hard to not remember an experience like that! My dad went to Indiana University, and in fact hated Notre Dame, so I’m sure I didn’t get much encouragement in following the team that day. Maybe he even privately enjoyed the fact that I was following the Golden Bears? We did, of course, want to support my uncle and cousin, especially since they provided the tickets. As family, I’m certain we had good seats, plus we got together with them after the game. I also recollect my cousin as a giant, (probably 6’5″) and have a few black & white pictures with him in my scrapbook.

I did discover that Notre Dame had an awful team that year, winning only their first and last games and going 2-8 for the year. USC and California were their two victims. In my cousin’s Junior and Senior years they did improve to 5-5, with Daryle Lamonica at quarterback. Lamonica turned down a baseball contract with the Chicago Cubs and was drafted by the Buffalo Bills. I’m not really sure what happened to my cousin, to be quite honest. It seems like he went into coaching himself, but he’ll always be number 89 to me!

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Red Eyes #1064

For the first time since I can remember, I just came home to an empty home. With the loss of our cat, Frankie, last week and the dogs at the spa for the day, I have the place to myself…temporarily. Soon, my wife will be home for the day following her meetings and I will have to share. I was joking with an old friend last night who is allergic to cats that he was now free to visit us again. About 18 years ago, he spent a miserable  night at our house in anticipation of a flight out of Indianapolis. Dickel drinking was not the cause of his red eyes! (See Post #260). I think we had three cats at that time, and I don’t believe he’s ever been back after that bout of itchiness!

It’s been odd the last few mornings not to have to clean out the litter box or wake-to the nagging “NOWS” of hunger. (See Post #1035). Plus, the only “red-eyes” I’ve ever experienced have been overnight flights. In fact, I’m on one later this week to New York City. While we were in Austin, I had trouble with cedar allergies, but beyond that I’ve had little trouble with the associated sneezing and itching. My wife has constant issues with perfumes and related products that give her uncontrollable sniffles. I’m admittedly not as sympathetic as I should be when she struggles with an open faucet of snot. I sometimes think that she is allergic to me or at least my lack of empathy!

“Red eyes” are too often associated with getting high. I was once taught to keep the Visine handy – “it takes the red out.” This was because I wore contacts for many years and so my eyes were often irritated, perhaps mistaken for the effects of smoking pot. Now that it’s legal, I no longer smoke it. Excessive sniffling can also be associated with cocaine use. Say no to snot! The fact of the matter is that “Red Eyes” could all come down to cat allergies. Frankie’s Sinatra-like blue eyes were frequently red in photographs, revealing the allergic demon within her. Have no fear my friends, Frankie is sadly no longer near. 

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Routines Interruptus #1061

It’s a “Caturday” without a cat for the first time in our marriage. Frankie went peacefully to kitty heaven yesterday after 18 and 1/2 years in our lives. I’ve removed any reminders of her from the house that is now exclusively a dog’s world and feels a bit empty. Our two schnauzers wait anxiously for their “Schnauzerton,” as I wait for my wife to get ready this morning. After this family exercise ritual, our main goal today is to find an apartment. We have three appointments down in the A-B-C District to look at space. 

I’m often interrupted to move or reorganize boxes, as we begin to plan for storage. I went to U-Haul yesterday to buy some bubble wrap and protective plate sleeves. It’s been a tough week and for now, I won’t elaborate. I’ll just say that we have more time for travel and plan to take advantage of it. We discussed renting a car and taking a trip down to Lake Tahoe last night during dinner. The pups could go with us, adding a few more states to their impressive list of dogcomplishments. For once, Frankie, now an angel, will not be left alone, although she also had her share of extensive travel in the car throughout our many moves. 

Tonight, we’ll catch-up on “Movie Night,” after weeks of travel and wedding duties. We’ve yet to see Spiderman – Far From Home. I have some passes that need to be used. Our favorite theater will no longer be convenient, nor will our nearby Outback where we enjoyed ribs again last night. In fact, I expect that all my routines will change over the next few weeks. New running route, new restaurants within walking distance, new neighbors, and new retirement rules. Routine Interruptous!

 

 

Creature Features: Farewell Frankie #1060

Frankie, our apricot point, Burmese cat with blue eyes was born on February 8, 2001, just before my wife and I were married. She was our first joint purchase, spotted on our noon news show, and her oldest daughter thought that Frankie was an appropriate name because of the bright, blue eyes that reminded her of Frank Sinatra. She has moved with us from Indiana to Illinois to Texas to Oregon, crying “Mow” persistently every mile of our journey. We soon discovered that “Mow” really meant “Now,” an indication of her demanding personality. She could also hide like no other cat, even in a small motel room, where we once assumed that she had somehow escaped. We finally found her in the hollow behind a dresser drawer after literally tearing the room apart. A single “Mow” would have revealed her whereabouts, but also knew when to be silent. 

I just served Frankie her last meal. She will be laid to rest this afternoon after 18 and 1/2 years of life. I’m shedding a few tears as I write this because she’s been such a significant part of our marriage. Unfortunately, she’s been very disoriented these past few months and the thought is that perhaps she suffered a stroke that caused blindness. I’ve had to clean-up around the litter box, lift her to the food perch, and even sometimes help her down. She eats little but the chicken broth we serve her twice a day, and is down to about 6 pounds on her skeleton frame. There was a time when she would was part of the pet-pack that craved a late night snack of ham. (See Post #699). She stopped grooming herself some time ago, and as a result her hair is full of stubborn mats. Yet, every morning just before the sun comes up, I hear her cry for attention. “NOW.” (See Post #1035). This morning she was quiet. Maybe she knows that today is her last? 

It’s a major transition time for our whole family. The loss of my wife’s mother several months ago was the beginning. Tinker our 15 and 1/2 year old schnauzer pup is struggling with her health. We just sold our house and are about to move into a transitional apartment, as we prepare for retirement together. Soon, only 10-year old Tally will remain from the pet-pack. She’s still full of vim & vigor and will adapt easily to a new home. As pet care becomes less apart of our married life, extensive travel will be the next phase of our future. We will always carry fond memories of Frankie, as we have with her older sisters – Macy, Dimey, and Marilee that we once known as the kitty committee. My wife had many more cats in her life, but these were the critters that she shared with me. She also brought Chowperd Belle into our marriage that eventually led to the adoption of Tinker – hence Tinker-Belle. We also treasured our time with Roxie, Tinker’s other short-time pet companion. Her life ended tragically in a car accident. I wish I could have that sad moment back.  

Frankie will undoubtedly cry “MOW” on her final trip to the vet this afternoon. She’s led a long kitty life and traveled through at least fifteen states. Tinker and Tally will miss her, as we will. Tally will no longer find chewy treats in the litter box and Tinker will not be able to steal pieces of ham (now turkey) from her. Honestly, I won’t miss cleaning her litter box every morning or when she wakes me up with her annoying “MOWS,” though small prices to pay for her beauty and company. Above all, we want to make sure that she’s not in any pain, but her constant disorientation is disturbing and can no longer be ignored. Rest In Peace, dear Frankie. 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Thin Air #1047

I’ve been running at 6,000 feet these past few days, and it feels like someone is sitting on my shoulders. I’ve tried to stay on flat areas because even the slightest hill takes my breath away. By the time I leave in a few days, I’ll finally get used to it, as I push towards 3900 consecutive days of running every single day. At the end of December it will be eleven years of strapping on the running shoes every morning. There is nothing more challenging than high altitude running, since my legs feel like concrete and it’s hard to suck air into my lungs. It was even more difficult here in the winter time with ice on the roads, but this morning was about 60 degrees with blue skies. A hot air balloon sailed overhead to help keep my mind off the discomfort in my legs and ankles. 

I did a hike yesterday to Fish Creek Falls following my run to perhaps accelerate the adaptation to thin air. Nonetheless, I’m still not there yet! It took 11 songs and a few commercial interruptions on the radio to finish my slightly over three-mile trek. I was glad to finally take a seat at the lap-top and enjoy some writing time. My computer seems to be just as sluggish as I am – slow to react to both saving and publishing. Maybe it’s also a victim of thin air? I’m reminded of the book “Into Thin Air” by Jon Krakauer, who also wrote “Into The Wild.”  (See Post #929). Here I am in the “wilds” of Colorado, dealing with potential altitude sickness. It certainly hasn’t affected my appetite, after consuming my fair share of the Tomahawk steaks that were served last night. The higher altitude certainly isn’t making me feel thinner. My stomach is just another bag of concrete that I carried along with me this morning. 

My friends are all off at the shooting range, after a stop at the gun store a few days ago for ammunition and targets. I was reluctant to join them after my last experience with a shot gun. It actually went off accidentally and fell apart in my hands. Fortunately, no body was hurt. Guns and I never seem to get along, so I’m much better off just writing about it. Rather than target practice, we got in a couple of games of backgammon just after they left – that seemed like a much safer activity. I’ve yet to ride the electric bike or motorcycle, once again fearing for my life, or at least trying to avoid injuries that might affect my ability to run. It’s just a few more days to my birthday, and as the card I received yesterday so aptly points out: “Statistics show that he more birthday’s you have…the longer you live.” Skiing is about the biggest risk that I take any more, and I’m somewhat assured of celebrating another one because there’s no snow this time of year. Instead, “Run, Forrest, Run.”

Creature Features: “NOWS!” #1035

It was supposed to be a day of pet errands, but the groomer is sick. Now, I just have to get Frankie, our aging cat, to the vet for some fur maintenance. It’s rare when we take “old blue eyes” out of the house, but she badly needs a haircut. As a Burmese, she has a beautiful white fleece that is unfortunately all tied in knots. She’s no longer capable of grooming herself, so it has to be uncomfortable. We’re just trying to make her final days as pleasant as possible, since she has little interest in food and continues to lose weight. However, at over 18 years old, she still possesses a feisty attitude and a meow that sounds like “NOW” if her food is not delivered on time. Warm chicken broth is her favorite and she wakes us up every morning with annoying, persistent “NOWS” until we fill her bowl and lift her up to eat in a spot where the dogs can’t devour it first. 

Frankie has little spring left in her step. She can no longer leap-up on the bed or to her feeding loft without assistance. After each meal, I find that little is actually eaten. Her internal time clock is still accurate in alerting us three times a day without fail. The last “NOWS” of each day are for “ham time,” a bedtime snack tradition for her and our two schnauzers. She has to have it “NOW,” but most of it sits untouched in her bowl come morning. “Ham Time” has become shreds of sliced turkey in the interest of heart healthy for the last few years. The nightly ritual dates back to a vet who suggested that the extra protein was key to a long life. (See Post #699) It certainly seems to have worked for Frankie and for our old lady schnauzer who’s approaching sixteen years. It has become all of our pets’ favorite time of the day. 

As I prepare to load Frankie into our kitty carrier, I can expect non-stop “NOWS” all the way to the vet. On the other hand, our pups will have to wait for the groomer to reschedule and will look-on with both concern and curiosity as their feline friend Frankie heads out the door. She’s becoming very fragile with little meat on the bones, and I frankly don’t expect Frankie to be with us much longer. Although she’s led a long, happy, ham-filled life, I’m sadly just not sure how many lives or “NOWS” she has left?

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Spiders and Snakes #1026

Another beautiful day here in Portland. I shouldn’t be spending my time at the keyboard but rather in the great outdoors. The dogs are anxious for their “Schnauzerthon” as my wife continues to get ready. We’re now just one week away from putting the house on the market, 19 days until we head to Steamboat, and 28 days from my step-daughter’s wedding. August will be an eventful month, not to mention my 68th birthday. In the process, I will miss my 50th High School reunion with some regrets. However, after speaking with a fellow classmate last week, he will not be there either, so my circle of friends will be largely unrepresented. There’s no point in traveling 2000 miles to talk to people that I haven’t seen since 1969. 

I didn’t realize that it was Shark Week when I wrote yesterday’s poem titled Bark Shark. With all the hype surrounding the Discovery Channel event, there must have been some influence. I attached a cardboard fin to our schnauzer’s back for a quick photo in honor of the occasion. I should probably watch Jaws, a movie that made me cringe back when it was released in 1975. Now, if you want blood and gore you can watch Dexter, as I have been doing the past few weeks. Sharks could learn from him

Speaking of creatures, I saw my first snake here in Portland this morning. They were a daily occurrence back in Texas, but not as prevalent here. I was startled  when it slithered across the path in front of Tinker’s dog stroller and into the pond. It was just a baby garter, but they are always an unexpected surprise. My wife and Tally must have just missed it. I’m sure she’s happy about that, but she did spot some coyote poop. Tally once had an encounter with a rattlesnake that was shot and killed in her presence, She brought home a piece of it’s rattle and left it in our living room to the horror of my wife. Dogs are often attracted to the scent of snakes, so we were always worried when we’d walk the pups along the trails of the Austin Greenbelt. As far as I’m concerned, the only good rattle snake is one made into a belt!  It was at a time when Tinker was still frisky and a definite flight risk at the sight of any creature. Tally was only 4 years old and even more untrustworthy than today. It was an eventful “Schnauzerthon.”

The Jim Stafford song,”I don’t like Spiders and Snakes” comes to mind. In this particular case, it’s sharks and snakes, since I’ve yet to see a spider today. This is what happens when you go outside, rather than sit in an air-conditioned office and write. I’m not much of an outdoors-man, but on a nice day like today, I feel guilty being inside. I think I’ll go in search of some spiders, since sharks don’t typically lurk in the Willamette River or the neighborhood pond. 

 

 

 

Creature Features: Bark Shark 2 (Poem) #1025

If you read the previous Post #1024, you read about Tinker and the inspiration for this poem. 

Bark Shark 

It lurks not in water,
No fin on its back.
Keep your fingers away,
When it’s ready to attack.

There are no shiny scales,
But dog fur instead.
It could be hiding,
Under your bed.

It has sharp teeth,
And gnaws on a bone.
Don’t get in its way,
Leave it alone.

When feeding time comes,
It may start to stir.
Prepare yourself,
Should this occur.

It may try to stalk you,
Start barking like mad.
Be aware of that look,
Of being hungry and sad.

It smells your cooking,
Pleads that you share.
Whimpers and begs,
Fears you won’t care.

Don’t be afraid,
No need for scare
Bark is worse than bite,
When bacon’s in the air.

Beware of the Bark Shark,
It’s craving your food.
Feed it or flee,
It’s got an attitude.

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com

 

Creature Features: Bark Shark #1024

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the “Schnauzerthon,” a weekend activity with the dogs that we invented. Last year we attended The Soulful Giving Concert to listen to a couple of cover bands and ended up buying a pricey doggy stroller at auction prices to support the cause. Ever since then it’s been the private carriage for our aging schnauzer, Tinker, and enables her to join us for long walks and what we call “Schnauzerthons.” I will run while pushing Tinker in her fancy Air Buggy while my wife walks her sister Tally on the leash. At various points throughout the route, we will switch roles, giving Tally a chance to run, or my wife will take both dogs and give me some solo running time. It takes about an hour to complete, as Tinker finishes the last several hundred yards unassisted.

Tinker is nearing the 15 1/2 year mark, putting her age at about 108 dog years. She got a festive new orange and pink vest (Vesty LeRue we call it) to mark the occasion. My wife bought it on her recent business trip to L.A. “Vesty” comes off every night after her last outing, even though she’s not nearly as itchy as she used to be when the metal tags would rattle in the middle of the night. We can thank the steroids for giving her some peace, although she still does some serious paw licking on occasion. The Prednisone doses we give her each morning and night, embedded in cheese slices, also have controlled her arthritis. On the negative side, it makes her aggressively hungry, so we call her “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” once input leads to output. She also has developed some ugly growths on her skin that Tally likes to playfully lick that leads to irritation. Fortunately, they are non-malignant -just gross. Tinker continues to move slowly, cautious of steps because of her cataracts, and no longer insistent that we lift her up on the couch or bed. It probably hurts too much when she tries to get down by herself. 

Tinker’s only motivation seems to be food. She lays around all day until she sees me headed for the kitchen. Her outings are limited to a short loop after barely making it to the bottom of the driveway for a poop and another few steps to the grass for a pee. Tally continues to persist in stretching each outing to the maximum, while Tinker heads back to the garage to wait for us. Sometimes she gets impatient, just as I do with Tally’s lack of focus, and starts to bark. Barking has become more frequent when Tinker fails to get what she wants, but it no longer includes annoying us for “elevator rides” to the couch or bed. She also has an occasional “poopsident” that has yet to become a serious problem. Sometimes I wonder if it’s Tally, but I think most of the blame goes to “The Poopingest Pup.”

Tinker continues to get a lot of attention when she’s in the stroller, as was the case this morning. She did bark and stand-up, saving us from a messy clean-up, so we’re always glad to let her out to do her business. The stroller is equipped with Wet-Wipes, just in case. As I write this final paragraph, my wife is fixing breakfast, and Tinker is barking at me and heavily panting in anticipation of a few shard bites. There’s a “Bark Shark” lurking below my desk, waiting to strike. She can smell the bacon in the air, and I certainly won’t be able to resist her pleas. Tally does not beg like she does, but I blame some of it on the steroids. I just want to make Tinker happy in what is probably her final year of life. I wonder how many more “Schnauzerthons” she has left in her?

I guess some sharks do bark like a dog and I’m surprised that no one has written a children’s book. I’m on it – but first stay tuned for a poem. It will be along the same silly lines as PigWhalea. (See Post #453). “Bark Shark” – coming soon to this blog. 

 

 

 

 

 

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