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Category: CREATURE FEATURES (Page 32 of 38)

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

Creature Features: Tinker’s Tail (Part 2) #371

December 18, 2017 / / 0 Comments

If you read the last post #370, you know that “Tinker’s Girl” has come to visit. My wife’s youngest daughter is here for the week, with her older sister joining us for dinner tonight. Tinker will be thrilled to see both of them together, although we all know her favorite – and it’s not me or my wife. During lunch today, we shared some more stories about Tinker, our schnauzer, especially after I told them I was putting together a book called “Tinker’s Tail,” the tale of the pooping-est pup on the planet! I may not actually call it that – but I do have a volume of humorous poems about our lovable pup named Tinker along with her mischievous sister Tally, and would like to get together with an illustrator to publish a tribute. I included the “Montezuma” story at the end of my trip down memory lane regarding our pets that I wrote about this morning. Consider the following paragraphs to be Part Two, the sequel to “Bone Wars.”

“Tinker’s Girl” reminded me of the time she took Tinker for a walk in Austin, Texas, where we moved after living in Decatur, Illinois. Following the nightmarish loss of an adorable little schnauzer that we adopted down there named Roxy to a horrible accident, Texas Tally came into our lives. Poor Roxie was with us for only a brief time before she was run over by a car. It was my fault for not paying closer attention, but ironically I had to pick-up Tinker’s poop and could not get out of the way of a fast moving vehicle that nearly took all of us out at a blind intersection in our apartment complex. There were no sidewalks, and the car took a short-cut around the corner without stopping. I will never forgive myself, but would have probably never had met Tally if it weren’t for that tragedy. As you might have guessed, Tinker is always pooping – the pooping-est dog ever, as we call her. She is still a bottomless pit and never misses a meal, while keeping a hairy eyeball and a lightening fast tongue on plates and bowls around her. What goes in – must come out! Justifiably, she was apparently abandoned as a pup and survived by eating acorns in the woods, according to the doctor who examined her stomach prior to our adoption.

According to my stepdaughter’s story, she was walking Tinker on South Congress Avenue near a Mexican restaurant. Tables were set up on the sidewalk and the place was packed with standing room only. Without any kind of warning, Tinker lost control of her sphincter and ruined several appetites by depositing a puddle of poop, the consistency of nacho cheese, on the sidewalk. It could only be mopped up, so the baggy she was carrying was useless, and they could only move on with their walk, regrettably leaving the residue behind. “Tinker’s Girl” was helpless and embarrassed, but Tinker herself was already searching for another abandoned nacho chip. I had a similar thing happen here in Portland a few years ago, but at least it was raining and quickly washed away as opposed to being baked into the hot Texas pavement.  This was clearly not an appropriate lunch tale, but we all chuckled anyway. You just have to be careful about what comes out under Tinker’s tail!

Another story of “toilet humor” that she told us took place back in Decatur, Illinois, when Tinker was still a pup and furry sister Belle was still alive. The three of them went together to a neighbor’s house to let their Golden Retriever pup outside. Before she could even get its leash attached to go outside, the Golden peed in the middle of the kitchen floor and the other two dogs followed suit. Tinker added to the puddle first, while the unsteady, aging Belle tried to add her “two scents” worth. Instead, she sadly stumbled, slipped, and fell into the growing mess. While trying to get Belle back up on her feet, the other two were using the kitchen floor like a Slip and Slide.  I too had gone to take care of this same young Golden two days earlier, and found he had escaped from a cage of smelly, runny poop and tracked it carelessly throughout the house. It was obviously not worth babysitting this pup, since both of us ended up with extensive clean-up jobs just by trying to be neighborly. I fortunately did not take Tinker and Belle along on my visit. In all fairness, Tinker, at a later time, got revenge on this neighbor’s son, who was returning the favor of our help on behalf of his parents, and faced a severe case of Tinkerreah at our house. Dog sitting can be crappy duty – that’s for sure!

Poop stories can be gross, but they can also be funny if they don’t happen to you. This applies primarily to babies and dogs. As a precaution, I always carry extra bags when taking Tinker on even short walks. We’re guilty of feeding her “people food,” so I guess we’re just asking for trouble. She’s also been accused of sometimes having excessive gas. Through the years, however, she’s learned to do her duty outside, and has been great about managing her liquid intake when we’re not home. Tally is equally good about controlling her bladder around the house. Since we live in a condo, I have to walk them both on a leash, rather than giving them easy access to a fenced-in back yard, so I take them outside about five times a day. Tinker is living proof that bad dogs can become good dogs, once they are properly trained. She will not even wander off, even when a squirrel crosses her path. Tally, on the other hand, still has some growing up to do.

Creature Features: Bone Wars (Part 1) #370

December 18, 2017 / / 0 Comments

My wife’s youngest daughter came to visit last night for the week. The dogs got to meet her at the airport after a long flight from her home in Washington D.C. She once lived with us in Decatur, Illinois, finishing up some undergraduate courses to enroll in Medical school. It was there that she met Tinker, our rescue schnauzer, and a connection was instantly sparked. Tinker had been abandoned as a pup and survived on her own until we found her at the Macon County Animal Shelter. At that time, she was in a cage still caked with mud, and my wife thought she was brown in color. However, once she had a bath, we were both surprised that she was a lighter shade of gray, but it was the eyes that caused my wife to fall in love. That was nearly twelve years ago.

We named her Tinker because we already had a Chow-pherd named Belle, and together they were Disneyesque. Belle was the mature, good dog, while Tinker ruined most of the carpeting in our home and was untrustworthy off the leash. We lived on a lake and she would frequently escape, frantically chase the ducks, and return covered in the same coat of mud that we first saw her wear. As a schnauzer mixed with what we believe is poodle (schnoodle), she was not fond of water, high strung, and barked at everything, yet was very intelligent. She had a big vocabulary and even learned to spell, after we refrained from using words that she recognized and spelled them out instead. Tinker was always full of energy and kept Belle young at heart. It was about ten years ago that Belle passed away, leaving my wife and her two daughters without their best friend.

While the older daughter was getting her Masters, the younger one was befriending Tinker in Decatur. We also had two cats at that time, so I ranked at least sixth on my wife’s list of favorites. With the loss of Belle, I had temporarily moved up on her “living list,” and was still trying to gain favoritism by pretending to love animals. Belle had grown to tolerate me, but was still reluctant to go on walks without the company of her owner. My wife and I had also jointly purchased a Burmese cat named Frankie, so I was slowly involved in building a personal family of pets, and would eventually over time grow to love them all. In fact, as a recent retiree, I’ve taken on most of the pet responsibilities, and will even cook some rice later today to help feed our four-legged family. I do much of the walking, feeding, and litter-box duties, but still leave the nurturing to my wife.

While we lived in Decatur, my wife’s youngest took on most of the pet responsibilities. I rarely saw Tinker, who had gladly moved into “Her Girl’s” room, along with Frankie the cat. When Tinker’s girl was at work, I would occasionally have to take her out to do her business, if she didn’t just do it on the carpet. I remember what I called “Tinkerrhea” that left a permanent brown reminder on our white dining room carpet, and a similar incident in the car that left me covered in doggie doo-doo. I was driving and she suddenly leaped off my wife’s lap to sit on mine, so there was little I could do to protect myself. Fortunately, we were traveling, so I had a change of clothes handy. I’m sure you’re all familiar with Montezuma’s revenge – this was Tinker’s! I also fondly recall a window I had to replace at our lake home, as Tinker and her girl were playing fetch. I still don’t exactly know how the window got broken, but the two of them spent many hours playing ball in the hallway. They were inseparable for that special year. It was also good for my wife, who never liked living there, to have the two of them in the house together. I was there, too, I need to mention.

Tinker is getting old and has grown to be the mature leader to her younger sister Tally, that Belle once was to her. Tally is now the high strung schnauzer of the family that likes to chew the limbs off stuffed animals. At least, she’s learned to confine her biting to these disposable creatures rather than the shoes, clothing, and furniture that she used to destroy with her teeth. Tinker still has an incessant, annoying bark that she uses to greet us, or as a mournful reminder that we are leaving her behind. I refer to Tinker and Tally as T-N-T because they can get into explosive arguments over toys and bones. “Bone Wars” happen often, as each becomes extremely possessive about their treats, toys, ball, rawhide chews, and pork chomps. Tally also likes to growl at passers-by, while Tinker is currently barking because “Her Girl” who came to visit is suddenly missing again. Apparently, she missed the fact that my wife’s daughter left to go for a run and couldn’t be found anywhere in the house. Tinker spent last night cuddling with her in bed, but often has to be assisted in making the jump up and down. As she sadly discovered, the bed was now empty, but she had somehow gotten up to double-check and couldn’t get back down, frantically barking for help. Tinker will be so sad when her best buddy goes back home later this week, even though the older sister will replace her in that bed, while my wife and I head back to Indiana for Christmas.

We all saw Star Wars this past week, but ‘Bone Wars” is by far my favorite. Each pet fights for our attention and fights with each other, as siblings often do. We try to share our affection and food equally, but violent wars break out, even when we’re gone. The other night we came home to an expensive broken vase in pieces on the floor, assuming that Tally had chased Frankie, as often happens, and in an effort to avoid confrontation the vase got in the way. Tally just wants to play, but Frankie sees it as a threat, just as older sister’s kitties reacted to her aggressive presence. Tally is a playful seven year old that has taken on the energy that Tinker once had. She leads the way on our weekend walks, tugging on her leash to go faster, while Tinker often lags behind. The “Tally Monster” is always the first one in the door after an outing, hoping to take possession of both chewy bones. Tinker will “bark-bark-bark” in retaliation until we intercede to return her stolen property. If Tinker happens to get hold of Tally’s bone, she will quickly gobble it down so there’s no chance for recovery. Tinker will also shamelessly eat out of her sister’s bowl, who often waits to see if we’re cooking something better. Hesitation loses wars, and when it comes to food Tinker always gets her way.

I’m sure it’s very complicated for Tinker and Tally, and even Frankie, as people come and go from their lives. The older daughter moved in with us in Austin, Texas, where we adopted Tally. She was working on her doctorate and needed to save some money. Tally naturally has bonded more with her, while Tinker had already found her favorite sister. The older sister moved with us to Portland, but now lives in a separate apartment with her two kitties. Tally always seemed to frighten the kitties, while they lived with us, so her bond with the older sister is somewhat restrained by the meanness to her furry babies. However, she comes over often to visit and will stay here whenever possible as we travel. All the pets are excited to see her, but Tinker gets especially excited when the younger sister, her best pal, comes to town. That day is here!

Montezuma (Tinkerrhea)

 .

We were in the car,

On the road.

Far away,

From our abode.

.

Our little dog,

On my wife’s lap.

Calmly taking,

A little nap.

.

All of a sudden,

“Tinker” had to go.

Signs of panic,

Began to show.

.

She jumped over,

On top of me.

I’m driving the car,

My hands weren’t free.

.

Before there was time,

To safely stop.

I quickly realized,

She was ready to pop.

.

It was Tinkerreah,

That came gushing out.

The smell soon left,

Little doubt.

.

Accidental?

Or revenge?

Like Montezuma,

I had to cringe.

.

She had the runs,

And ran to me.

Just how lucky,

Can a dog owner be?

.

 Copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com

Retirement is not without Hassles: Aging #365

December 14, 2017 / / 0 Comments

I realize that I can’t see myself getting older, even when I look in the mirror. I apparently only see those around me getting older. Every day it seems, I watch our dog Tinker move a little slower, often refusing to do stairs, and well behind the walking pace of her younger canine sister. Dark age spots cover her body, along with grayer hair and other skin imperfections.  I know that a similar deterioration is taking place with me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. My wife is also five years younger, so it’s often hard to keep up with her energy, especially since I expend a lot of mine on a daily morning run, while she gets ready for work. In addition, she pays much more attention to her skin, hair, and teeth than I do. As is often said in regret: “if I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of my body.” My son and grandchildren, once the standard of gauging my mortality, now live too far away to use them as a daily measuring stick of the aging process. Consequently, it’s hard to comprehend that my son is forty-three and his oldest will soon be eleven.

My lack of awareness about aging is a factor of my strong inner child, keeping me young at heart. However, my wife pointed out a woman in a restaurant recently that she felt had similar facial features, and all I saw was an old woman that looked “nothing like me.” I’m adopted and have halfheartedly tried to find a birth mother connection, but I’ve never wanted a relationship. My sister is also adopted and was able to form a relationship with her birth mother that has turned somewhat sour. Loving one mother was always enough for me, but curiosity about someone that looks like me has always been important. A simple photo was all I ever wanted, and had I watched my own mother getting older, I might have a different perspective on how aging has affected me. I definitely did not want my wife to approach this woman stranger to see if there was a possible relationship, but clearly my closest friend sees me much differently than I see myself.

My wife’s recent perception of my appearance is eye opening to me. I try to see that in the mirror each day, but what stares back at me is a “youthful” forty-year old. I still find it hard to believe that I’m sixty-six years of age! I haven’t lost my curly locks, my eye sockets are not swollen or dark, and while there are creases around my mouth and my neck shows turkey signs, I don’t have a lot of wrinkles. I’ve also recently noticed some darkening spots on my forehead, the result of sun damage. The daily runs keep me fit, but it now takes twice as long to run a mile than it once did in my prime. In addition, the tips of my fingers and toes have lost some feeling and my hands tend to shake, due to a touch of peripheral neuropathy, and I’ve never had great flexibility. Stretching and regular chiropractor visits have helped keep the stiffness out of my lower back, so bending over is not as painful as it once was. My waist line is definitely thicker, but I’ve somehow maintained the same weight for the past twenty-five years. There’s more flab and less muscle, but I’ve lost any interest for six-pack abs, since now I only possess the fatty insulation to keep it cold.

Today is a monumental post in my blog, since my original goal was to do one a day during the first year of my retirement. There are still 17 days left until the first anniversary and I’ve already achieved that 365 number. In the background is the TV tuned to the Discovery Channel and another survivalist show that seem to fascinate me, despite my personal lack of skill or desire to try to survive in an outdoor environment. Give Me Shelter! Whether it’s a tropical jungle, bush country, the wilderness, underwater, or on the beach, if there’s not a luxury hotel, a hot shower, and a fine chef within walking distance, I will never survive for more than a few hours. Maybe these “background noise” shows provide plenty of justification for my shortcomings. For the same reasons, I could also never be a cowboy, yet I’ve enjoyed Netflix series like “Longmire” and “Godless.” I also watched the Ken Burns documentary this morning, “Horatio’s Drive” about the first transcontinental automobile race in the early 1900’s. Despite the hardships of driving on undeveloped, dirt roads from San Francisco to New York City, at least they were able to find hotel rooms along the route. I could do that, but wouldn’t have had the mechanical skills to keep the car running. To give you an idea how limited my survival and accomplishment skills truly are, I was proud of myself for simply getting a library card, checking-out the free documentary, and figuring out how to use the D.V.D. player.

I managed some constructive tasks today, including changing dentists, resolving a Go Daddy concern with my website, battling with Apple customer service over my watch problems, and finding a solution for buying some new glasses. My current eyewear was damaged during the Hood to Coast Relay a few months ago and my wife’s company insurance company has different providers than my previous employer’s plan. These are all hassles of retirement, but fortunately I now have more time (but not patience) to deal with them all properly.

We delayed “Date Night” until tonight, eliminating my night to cook this week. When all is said and done, I will have been out-and-about frequently this week, including a return to my former workplace for lunch with a fellow I.U. grad, doctor, optometrist, and chiropractor appointments, plus several errands and a trip to the dog spa for monthly grooming. I was also able to get some laundry, cleaning, and dusting duties accomplished. Tomorrow is the weekly leadership meeting at Buffalo Wild Wings, and Saturday Night we have tickets for Star Wars in 3D. Next week my wife’s youngest daughter is coming to visit from Washington D.C., so there will be very little “my time.” (See Post #30). At the end of next week, I’ll be another week older, further threatened by more wrinkles, age spots, and creases.

Creature Features: Lunch Date #360

December 7, 2017 / / 0 Comments

We are making an effort to make our skin sensitive schnoodle, Tinker, less itchy. As she approaches her 90th dog year, her many allergies and the moist Northwest conditions often get the best of her, as ears and rears react. She begins to scratch and lick incessantly to the point where we remove her dog tags every night to keep them from rattling. She wears a vest rather than a collar to prevent any tension on her neck and spinal area when we walk her on a leash. We tease her by calling her “Vesty Larue,” like Pepe Le Pew, making fun of her French Poodle heritage, and distinguishing her from Tally, our younger rescue schnauzer, who still sports a fancy collar. At one point, we tried putting both of them in vests, but Tally chewed hers off, and will chew up Tinker’s if we don’t put it out of reach each night.

Tally has so much energy that she will grab her leash with her teeth and try to take herself on a walk, if we’re not moving fast enough for her. Tinker has a bit of arthritis and moves much slower, so keeping both of them at a comfortable pace is often a challenge.  My wife and I try to resolve this conflict on weekends, by going out together so she can walk with Tinker and I can do short runs with Tally until she loses interest. I then loop back to my wife and leave her with both dogs while I continue my run, joining up with them on occasion to give Tally other opportunities to join my faster pace. It’s become a family tradition, and the dogs look forward to it after spending boring weekdays with me.

I take them out several times each day, but most of the time they will take turns quietly sitting on the office chair, watching me write and waiting for the moment when I get up. They then follow me, hoping for a walk, treat, or any kind of attention. If they are not in my office, I usually find one or the other napping on top of the bed covers, listening for the garage door to roll open. That’s the best sound of the day, signaling the return of my wife from her workplace. They both gather with enthusiasm, waiting for her to park the car and open the door into the house.

It used to be that Tally would not touch her food until my wife got home each night, despite the risk that Tinker would gobble it up. Her plan was to see what was being prepared for dinner, and not filling up on canned food and kibbles. Tinker, on the other hand, is never full and rarely passes up any available food. We think that this obsession dates back to before our adoption of her, and the result of being abandoned in the woods. The pre-adoption physical revealed acorns in her stomach that the doctor said kept her digestive system going when she had nothing else to eat. Since we’ve owned her, she had never missed a meal until just recently.

Tinker’s itching and scratching, and reoccurring ear infections, have resulted in numerous prescriptions. As I’ve commented many times: Pet. Vet. Debt. (See Post #351 for the most recent reference). She had pills coming out her ears, and hated the taste and smell of them. We’d try to force them down her throat but she’d cleverly spit them out later, and we’d find them hidden around the house. She was not fooled by hiding them in “Pill Pockets,” and would detect and spit them out if we wrapped sliced turkey around them. I mistakenly then tried hiding them in her food, and eventually she refused to eat. It was frustrating for all of us, except Tally who no longer had to worry about Tinker secretly scarfing down her food. Tally could now safely wait for Mom’s cooking without the risk of a “Tinker Attack” on her uneaten bowl of food.

We’ve since insisted on strictly injections if Tinker needs any kind of medication, and have completely changed the dining routine, hoping to completely eliminate allergic reactions to the hidden supplements in even the special dog food that we tried for awhile. This morning I made my first batch of rice boiled in chicken broth. It’s about a half hour process, following my wife’s recipe for success. They get a small bowl every morning, and we combine it with cooked chicken chunks each night. Tinker is once again enjoying her meals, and Tally no longer waits for alternatives. The minute I start filling their bowls, their noses are in the way.

Both of us, of course, are guilty of varying from the diet on occasion. Every once in a while, I will walk the dogs down to Starbucks, where they are usually offered a treat. The other day they were out, so I gave them one when we got back home. My wife brought them home some lamb leftovers from Outback Steakhouse last night, and they always get a couple pieces of sliced turkey every night before bed time. We call it “Ham Time,” because a Vet once recommended that a touch of protein every day was good for dogs and cats. All three pets line up at the refrigerator every night in anticipation. Last year, we switched from honey-baked ham to honey-baked turkey slices, feeling like the latter was a healthier option. I don’t think they noticed the difference. I was the biggest violator this week, by taking the dogs out to lunch. We went to Sonic because they have drive-in service and were offering one-dollar hot dogs yesterday. The three of us ate hot dogs and I shared a single French Fry with them. I also ordered a chocolate milkshake that came topped with whip cream and a cherry, served in cup with a plastic dome and a wide opening suitable for a spoon. Without thinking, I made a stop on the way home, and while I was away from the car, both dogs had gotten their share of whip cream, but only Tinker got caught. It was an honest accident on my part! However, I am thinking about “lunch dates with the dogs” as a regular retirement outing option.

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Sleep #352

December 1, 2017 / / 0 Comments

There was a song on the radio this morning by Morrissey called, “Spent The Day in Bed,” that made me smile. I had just finished my morning run on another dismal, gray day, and thought about that special place that’s hard to get out of each day. It’s not so much that I don’t want to face the day; it’s the warmth and comfort of being there. I thought that by the time I got to be 66 years old that I’d surely be an early riser. Instead, I truly could spend the whole day in bed.

When I was a teenager, noon was too early to get up, and it wasn’t because I was out late. I enjoyed waking up and knowing that I had an extra hour or more to sleep. I’ve tried to rationalize that how much sleep you get doesn’t matter; eight hours can go by just as quickly as one hour. What would irritate most people, by waking up every couple of hours, is actually uplifting for me, since I have little trouble getting back to sleep. Every time I wake up and look at the clock, I find comfort in knowing that I have at least another hour to sleep. I realize that it’s a head game and that longer periods of sleep are certainly more beneficial, but it works for me.

Getting out of bed is always tough, whether it’s after a long night’s sleep or simply a short nap, but getting back in is the reward. One of the great benefits of retirement, is not having to set an alarm. However, my wife is still working, so out of respect, I set a vibrating alarm on my Apple Watch for 6 a.m. each weekday, so I can run while she gets ready for work. In my working days, when the bedside alarm went off in the morning, I would never hit the “sleep” switch, since it would only prolong the agony of getting out of bed. I had already been up several times during the night, and experienced the pleasure of getting back under the warm covers and  surrounding myself with soft pillows. Instead, I would “trick” my mind into knowing that in “just a few hours” I would quickly return after earning the right to dream again. Immediately, Frankie our cat then claims my spot on the bed, keeping it warm until my return.

I feel guilty now if I sleep past 7:30 a.m., because the dogs need to go outside to do their business. Fortunately, they are both good sleepers and able to manage their bladders for at least eight hours. I wish I had that kind of bladder control, but old age means prostrate issues, and I get up at least four times every night. To me, that equates to four opportunities to go back to sleep, and that makes me happy. It’s certainly better than “getting madder over an angry bladder.” The more Diet Coke I drink to keep me from napping in the afternoon, the more trips to the bathroom I make each night. The solution is simple: stay away from caffeine and sleep longer.  Yet, I’m sure I’ll have a Diet Coke after today’s noon leadership meeting. Buffalo Wild Wings does not serve Coca-Cola products, so I’ll drink Coors Light. The beer will make me sleepy and the Diet Coke will counter the effects, yet more liquids in leads to more liquids out.

The gist of the Morrissey song is that spending the day in bed is the best way to ignore all the bad news in the world. As a result, he’s “very happy he did.” To me, sleep is not avoidance or laziness, but rather “sweet dreams.” Plus, there’s other enjoyable things you can do in bed other than just sleep, if you know what I mean? I don’t have a “Sleep Number,” but I know that the “number” of times that I get up, knowing that I can go back to sleep, is all that matters.

 

 

Creature Features: Pet. Vet. Debt #351

November 30, 2017 / / 0 Comments

It’s another gray day in Portland, Oregon, a moist environment only suitable for mold, rot, allergies, moss, and infection. It’s especially hard on small pets like our Schnauzer, Tinker. She’s getting up there in the years; we believe her to be almost 12 human years and 94 dog years old. Cold, wet weather is hard on her large, sensitive ears, vulnerable skin, and arthritic joints. Only the veterinarian prospers, with what now seems like weekly visits for ear infections, eye seepage, and lesions. I feel sorry for the old gal, as she itches her way through each day despite our efforts to monitor her diet and keep her regularly treated.

Our cabinet is full of her prescriptions that seem to do little good. She’s reluctant to eat her dinner or snarf down a treat for fear that a pill is hidden somewhere within. Her kibbles often sit in the bowl, too similar in consistency to the tablets that we force down her throat. We’ve now resorted to rice and chicken in lieu of canned foods that are loaded with unknown additives. We know she’s allergic to wheat and eggs, but the constant moisture in the air is her worst enemy and something we can’t control. When we lived in Texas, for example, she had fewer problems with her bat-like ears and aging skin.

Tinker looks like she could fly by simply spreading out her ears like Dumbo, but her constant appetite and pudgy stomach keep her grounded. She could be related to the millions of bats that live under the Congress Street Bridge in Austin, Texas that take to the skies each night like a massive cloud of black smoke. She could smell them on her afternoon walks, as they slept in the cool darkness of the bridge joints after a long night of devouring mosquitos and other bugs. Austin is where Tinker met her younger sister, Tally, a jet-black schnauzer that we adopted nearly 8 years ago. Neither of them had their ears cruelly cropped, as is common with the breed to give them a more distinctive look. However, many will argue that cropping will reduce the vulnerability to ear infections that we constantly battle.

Tally usually accompanies Tinker to the Vet’s office, but other than annual check-ups and shots, she has enjoyed outstanding health. She’s the first to jump on the scale as we enter the waiting room, waiting for acknowledgment by the receptionist. Tinker and Tally (T-N-T See Post #211) are the cutest combination of pups. Tally smells the infection growing in Tinker’s ears and serves as a detector for its presence, by aggressively licking the area. It’s as if she’s permanently attached to the side of Tinker’s head until we get it properly treated. That treatment is now typically an injection, in an attempt to avoid the pills that she has learned to despise. Too often we would find the pills hidden around the house, as she somehow tricked us into believing she had swallowed. It just got to be too much of a battle.

Yesterday, while Tally supervised, Tinker received an impression smear and two injections. Cha-Ching! One was an anti-biotic and the other a steroid to hopefully control bacteria growth and keep her from scratching the affected areas. As I’ve written many times before: Pet. Vet. Debt. Tinker is comfortably napping on the chair in my office, while Tally is content in the living room, guarding the patio door. Hopefully, we can stay away from the Vet until after the first of the year when she’ll need x-rays and an exam. In the meantime, I’ll save up!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Vegas #350

November 29, 2017 / / 0 Comments

My wife is in Las Vegas tonight with her boss, while I am relegated to pet sitting. I know she would rather be with me, since we were married at the Bellagio over sixteen years ago. (See Post #340). She was not enthusiastic about her business meetings there, but our dog Tinker ended up needing my attention with an ear infection, so it’s fortunate that I stayed home this time. In her absence, I had also planned to visit a friend’s house near the Oregon Coast, watch the I.U. vs. Duke basketball game with him, and take the dogs for a romp on the beach. Tinker’s ears are probably burning, not just from infection, but she probably knows that I’m writing about her, and that her health prevented our journey. Instead of Vegas or the Coast, I’m at my computer tonight, reminiscing about trips to Vegas, and killing time before the game.

My first trip to Vegas was in 1970, when I quickly passed through there as part of my “Blueberry Hill” adventure. (See Post #295). I was in college, underage, and traveling with a friend, but our interest was not Vegas but rather the Pacific Ocean. As a result, we did not go to the casinos, although fascinated with the lights, especially as we were approaching through the dark desert. Our funds were limited, so we only stopped for gas, a toilet break, and orange juice before continuing our route west. The ocean seemed to draw us like a magnet, and fortunately we could go no further. As my dad is credited with saying when I reluctantly told him where we were in a phone call back home, “thank God there’s an ocean” was his witty reply. He did not know that we were taking his car that far, assuming that we were simply going camping at the nearby Indiana dunes. Honestly, we did not even know where we’d end up, having packed for only a weekend, but the ocean was calling. I give him credit for maintaining his temper, but I’m sure he was simply in shock from discovering our whereabouts. The wise words he muttered were very true, since we surely would have kept driving if there wasn’t an ocean to stop us.

I got my first true Vegas experience in the late 1970’s as the result of a sales contest. I was selling advertising time for a radio station in my hometown, and was excited at the prospect of winning a group trip to Vegas if our sales team could achieve our annual sales goal. We all worked hard to make it happen, using advertiser credits to put us barely over the top. I think the station manager was stunned that we made it, and was not prepared to lay out the cash to send us all to Vegas and had to justify it with the owner. In retrospect, it was a very low budget trip, but we did get to take our spouses. We flew on an off-brand flight and stayed at the Westward Ho, right next to Circus Circus. We got to go to a show, had a group dinner, and each got a $100 bill to gamble away. I had a young son, very little in my wallet, and fortunately didn’t own a credit card. I lost all my money the first night, but put together a plan to earn some cash. In those days, each casino offered incentive dollars that you could claim each hour. I had to sign up for a time-stamped card and with each hour that passed could claim a roll of nickels. It was like Trick or Treating for cash. My wife and I set up a route down the strip and spent many hours using coupons to collect money. We found that by dividing and conquering, we could gather even more, and when we got back to the room placed all our “candy” in a big pile on the bed. I can’t remember how much we collected, but it kept us busy, bought a few cheap meals, and allowed us one last chance to potentially strike it rich. That did not happen. What I remember most of that first trip, was how thin the walls around our room were, and became convinced that there was a conspiracy among the housekeeping staff to keep us awake all night so that we had no choice but to go out and gamble. There were no clocks and the air conditioning system was not working properly, so I got very little sleep and got frustrated with the whole Vegas scene. I never wanted to go back – but have many times since.

I won another trip to Vegas while working at a radio station in Indianapolis in the mid 80’s, and remember my boss getting us all front row seats for a Sammy Davis show by tipping the host with a pile of poker chips that he had won. This adventure was a big step up from the first and second visits. We had tickets to several shows, stayed in a quieter hotel, and got more gambling money to lose. It was the prelude to several personal trips that we took over the next couple years, making Treasure Island our home base, but I was never as big of a gambler as my first wife, so I was never happy in Vegas. I do remember going to Hugo’s Cellar for dinner at the Four Queens downtown where the ladies each received a rose and we enjoyed our first encounter with a Sommelier and good wine.  My wife at the time would stay up all night playing Blackjack, while I often went to bed early counting my losses. I did enjoy walking the strip, observing the unusual people, watching the outdoor displays, and thinking about all the free money that I collected on the same route years ago.

When I got remarried, we started going to Vegas for work-related conventions. We would stay at the Bellagio and go to meetings, shows, and cocktail parties. Through the years, I saw several different Cirque du Soleil shows, the most memorable being “O,” The Beatle’s LOVE, Avenue Q, and Mamma Mia.  I even got to meet Pete Townsend and The Who at a CBS party as part of introducing the television show, CSI.  I had talked my wife into getting married in 2001 as part of the TVB convention. She was reluctant because at one time she saw a VHS tape of my first wife and I getting humorously hitched by “Elvis,” and it left a poor impression of the Vegas wedding scene. We eventually settled on a much classier Bellagio ceremony in their rose garden, but after our honeymoon night, for business reasons, had to move to the less expensive Rio. She also reluctantly needed to get back to Indianapolis while I stayed for meetings, so even though the ceremony was unforgettable, some of the circumstances around it were less than desirable. Two of the most memorable moments were the limo ride to the courthouse to get our marriage license, and nearly missing the 12:30 p.m. ceremony because I had to wait to cash out on a winning slot machine. We had to scramble to get to the “chapel on time.” We had dinner at Delmonico’s where I presented her with a cake-topper Limoges of a bride and groom.

From 2001 through 2005, we traveled to Las Vegas each year, but haven’t been back since 2011 when we celebrated our 10th anniversary, with the exception of connecting flights. Her being in Vegas tonight is a distinct reminder that we need to go together soon. For us, it’s a romantic adventure that has been missing from our busy lives, even though the city is as accessible as anywhere we’ve lived. Our Vegas dining experiences have included Michael’s, Seablue, Bouchon, Joel Robuchon, Noodles, Aria, Fellini’s, Emeril’s, Aqua, 808 Ceasar’s, 3950 Mandalay Bay, Joe’s Stone Crab, Flavors By Alex, and Chinois, along with several visits to the fabulous Bellagio Buffet. I’d tell you more but, as we all know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Retirement is not without Hassles: Lazy Days #348

November 28, 2017 / / 0 Comments

I have an occasional “lazier than usual” day, meaning that I just can’t get going. After four days of being on the go, I simply didn’t get the week off to a productive start. It was the same pattern when I was working just prior to my retirement, as it took all day Monday to recover from the weekend. I’m definitely slowing down; even my morning runs take longer.  I want to say that there are good days and bad days even in retirement, but actually the bad days are even good. I felt a bit sluggish even taking out the trash and the skies were gray, so there wasn’t much to motivate me, but there will be better days ahead.

Today is my day to cook and I’ll soon put a chuck roast in the slow cooker to make Italian Beef sandwiches. They were always my favorite at Wrigley Field, and remind me of a baseball game in the summertime. My wife is headed to Vegas on business tomorrow, so this will keep me fed the rest of this week. I hope the rain stops and I can take the dogs to the coast for a romp on the sand while she’s away. They are now on a chicken and rice diet and will be disappointed when they get a whiff of the Italian Beef. Maybe Tally can have a bite or two when Tinker isn’t looking, just like we do with our morning eggs. Tinker is allergic to so many things, and we are constantly looking for ways to control her itching, even at the expense of her favorite foods.

I ordered Christmas gifts for my grandkids yesterday, taking advantage of Cyber Monday sale prices. Just getting some of this troublesome shopping done gets me in a better holiday mood. I’m beginning to notice some holiday lighting around the neighborhood, but was never one for outside decorating. A friend posted yesterday that “homes decorated on the outside are happier on the inside.” I think that in some cases, it’s simply an excuse to get out of the house and away from the family hassles. Also, judging from many of the displays I observe, some people should not openly show off their poor taste in decorating for everyone to see and question. It’s bad enough that they don’t keep up their lawns or trim their bushes, so darkness is often a relief. Instead, they show off their laziness by stringing lights carelessly around the front yard that looks like colorful vomit. Maybe it was the result of too much eggnog, They don’t have to look at it because they are happily inside, while the rest of us drive by wondering what they were thinking. I simply put a wreath on the front door. Bah Humbug!

I was never one for excessive decorating and once thought about installing a Lazy Susan in the corner of my living room. It would rotate into a storage room, so the Christmas Tree could disappear or reappear without ever having to take it apart. A chair, end table, and lamp would be on the opposite side of the turntable, restoring the corner to a non-holiday look for the first eleven months of the year. The day after Thanksgiving, I’d simply push a button and the Christmas Tree would rotate into position. Now that’s decking the halls! I also never understood why holiday lights were still up in March, or the height of laziness from those who never took them down. It’s like they thought no one noticed, when they “cleverly” plugged them in each year. Inflatables should also be restricted to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and not on someone’s front porch. More Bah Humbug!

Fortunately, experts have come to our aid. Professional decorators are available to tastefully light our homes, and save us from falling off ladders. They do the work, and we write a check if we’re lucky enough to get that year-end bonus. If not, homeowners can now buy trees with built-in lights, and shower cap like mesh to cover your bushes with lights that are equally distributed. Nowadays, homes no longer have to look like they were wired by a drunken, angry madman. I always felt that there were men who purposely did a poor decorating job just to spite their nagging wives who forced them out in the cold to put up the lights when they could have been watching football. I’m sure their Christmas wish was that they’d never have to do it again, once the neighbors filed a complaint with the Association.

As an old man, I’m also against fireworks and loud explosives in celebration of the holidays when they’re done in a neighbors back yard. Admittedly, I once thought it was cool to buy illegal firecrackers, M-80’s, smoke bombs, cracker balls, and sky rockets. We would always stop in Tennessee on our drive back from Florida each year and stock-up on gunpowder goodies that were always conveniently located next to liquor stores, gun shops, and strip clubs. I soon learned that fireworks were dangerous, annoying, and cruel to animals, veterans, and neighbors, and that there was a reason why they were outlawed in so many states. I do enjoy a good fireworks show in a controlled environment. By the way, I also don’t like honking horns and screaming children. Now, get off my yard!

Honestly, the main reason why I don’t decorate outside is because I’m lazy. What you put up – you have to take down, so if you don’t take the first step then you don’t have to do the last. There was also that one bulb that would burn out and render the whole string worthless, not to mention having to climb into the spooky attic to retrieve the boxes of ornaments, lights, wreathes, and tangled electrical cords. The cold Midwest temperatures and early freezes also made it difficult to maneuver a ladder into position, and thoughts of Clark Griswold stapling his shirt sleeve to a second story soffit gives me the shivers. I’m also scared of heights and do not enjoy the outdoors, so I am much happier if I don’t take the trouble to decorate. I do however enjoy criticizing those who do are not so lazy when it comes to holiday decorating.

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Spend vs Save #319

November 1, 2017 / / 0 Comments

While I was working, I saved a portion of each paycheck to eventually use for travel in retirement.  That time has come! I had to cash-in a portion of my IRA to cover some mounting credit card debt from all the traveling we’ve been doing.  With my wife still working, it’s highly taxed and I’m not really getting the benefit of deferring it all these years.  It’s rewarding to know that I saved the money, but there’s a certain sense of guilt in withdrawing it from my nest egg.

When you’re not earning a salary and putting money into investment accounts, it just doesn’t feel right to spend it, even though it’s what you saved for.  I justify my actions by reasoning that my wife’s future savings will more than counter the loss, and I won’t have to pay the credit card interest. However, I still have that unsettled feeling of coming a little closer to running out of money with a lot of living to do.

I knew that the first year of retirement would involve a great deal of travel and it’s related expense. Before the year is over, we will have gone nearly 50,000 out-of-town miles and have spent nearly 80 nights on the road. That’s nearly $5,000 in pet sitting alone!  Next year will be equally as busy, with trips planned to Amsterdam, Venice, Croatia, Athens, Mexico, Hawaii, Vancouver, Florida, Los Angeles, Indiana, and New York. I thought that I had put together a travel budget that would not eat so much into my IRA, but I’m beginning to worry.  What else do I have to do now…but worry?

I won’t be spending any money today.  Normally, it would be Date Night, but my wife was anxious to dine at Langbaan, a tiny Portland restaurant that is closed on Wednesdays.  I was finally able to get a reservation for tomorrow night, a process that has taken several months.  My wife had initially put herself on their waiting list, but when they have an opening they give you only 15 minutes to respond.  She missed several texts and eventually gave me the job.  Finally, after several near misses, while we were in New York last week I was able to get back to them and secured the long-sought-after table.  It’s the most heroic thing I’ve done for her in some time, and she’s quite excited to go there.  It, of course, will be well over the budgeted Date Night expense.

I cooked a pork shoulder in the crock pot for last night’s dinner, using Ray’s barbeque sauce and Coca-Cola.  She handed out candy bars to about seven groups of Trick or Treaters.  Apparently, it was the first time in nearly a decade that it hasn’t rained here in Portland on Halloween night, so to have this many costumed beggars was a pleasant surprise.  We don’t live in a neighborhood where there are a lot of children and expectations were low until the first ring of the doorbell.  My cooking night had recently been shifted to Date Night, so with this week’s schedule changes, I’m totally confused on what day it is.  I do know that Friday night is the Tedeschi Trucks Band and Saturday morning I leave early for a baseball memorabilia show in Seattle, so it will be a busy weekend.

Movember is here, so we can expect a lot of hairy mugs by Thanksgiving.  I will not be participating again this year due to lack of facial hair, but several of my friends will show-off their manhood.  A pink October has just passed us by, and now it’s time for men’s health concerns.  I did schedule a doctor’s appointment for December so I can say good-bye to my physician, who is joining me in this lazy world of retirement.  I’m closing in on my first full year, and hoping that next year will be even better, but I might need to win the lottery.

 

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: The Big Apple #315

October 29, 2017 / / 0 Comments

I would often travel to NYC on business, but now that I’m retired, I’m here in The Big Apple because my wife is on business. I go where she goes now, with distant memories of corporate meetings, conventions, budget discussions, performance reviews, and client lunches. I even had to fire a guy here in New York over lunch, so many of my memories aren’t good ones. There’s also a certain energy in the air that keeps me awake at night. It’s the city that never sleeps, and doesn’t let me sleep well, either. Traffic congestion, shoulder-to-shoulder crowded sidewalks, waiting lines, excessive horn-honking, sirens, and loud conversations would normally keep me away.

As soon as I hit the ground at JFK the big city hassles began. I frantically searched the overhead bins where I had stored my top coat. A stewardess eventually found a coat but it didn’t look like mine. It was the same style and color but didn’t have the “Made in Italy” tag to identify it as belonging to me. I thought back to a NYC trip years ago, where someone grabbed my coat by mistake, leaving me with sleeves that were five inches too long. I finally got a call from the owner, apologizing for the mistake. He found my business card in a pocket and it turned out that coincidentally we worked for the same company, and soon agreed to exchange Fed Ex shipments.  The Big Apple was already looking rotten.

As we arrived in the terminal, I took the coat that I was sure wasn’t mine to Baggage Claim and eventually was redirected to Lost and Found. As I was about to turn it over to the agent and make a stolen coat report, I reached in the coat pocket and found a business card…my business card from a few years ago.   It was my coat, and I left embarrassed after this obvious “Senior Moment.” I was so convinced that someone had taken my coat just like before. New York was like that! I was then so upset with myself that I left my laptop and I-Pad behind and wouldn’t have even realized it, if it weren’t for the thoughtful agent who tracked me down as we waited for a taxi. I now had all my stuff, but had lost my mind. I’m sure that they’re still laughing at the old guy who tried to turn in his own coat as lost, and then left without two of his most valuable possessions.

I keep thinking that I’m no longer a child in need of guidance, but I’m constantly lost and/or confused. I get upset with my wife for giving me directions, instructions, and advise, but apparently I need it now more than ever. I ran an extra mile the next morning, trying to find my way back to our hotel. At least, I remembered the room key and room number – details I haven’t necessarily remembered on other trips.

We saw four Broadway Shows, had several pricy meals, and bought some artwork. Nothing is inexpensive in New York City. We were also fortunate to reacquaint ourselves with old friends. One happens to still be a major client, and a pioneer in the future of media buying, who we hadn’t seen in 25 years. I also bought lunch for a friend of mine’s son, who just started his career here, 2500 miles from home. Finally, we enjoyed an extended evening of dinner and a show. They were able to get us back stage after the Bette Midler “Hello Dolly” performance.

My nerves have settled a bit, as a sit in the midst of New York style flea market with enclosed glass booths rather than tents. I overreacted to my wife’s enthusiasm to try-on and buy things when we’re supposed to be downsizing and donating. There was a massive street fair just outside our hotel and I was immediately thrust into shopping mode without warning. She’s still working and therefore entitled to expand her personal possessions, not in the retirement world like me.

To make matters worse, I was supposed to be guarding my wife’s designer sweater while she shopped. In another forgetful moment, I left it unattended. After a frantic dash to retrieve it, we were fortunate that it was still there.  I feel that I need mitten clips for everything we own, and that I can’t keep track of any additional stuff.

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