The Very Best Dog

We have a new Grand dog in our family.  Our daughter and son-in-law recently adopted a rescue dog.
She is a beautiful German Pointer named Lacey.  Her family thinks that she is the prettiest and best-behaved dog there ever was.  We have dog sat with Lacey and she is, indeed, a very special dog.

This last week I have been going through all our photos and organizing them into files.  I put all our photos of the dog you see above into our "Pets" file.  The pet you see in the above picture is the late and great pet named Scotty, who was undoubtedly the greatest dog in the world!  Lacey is very, very nice, but Scotty was the greatest.

He came to us as a puppy.  Don was then athletic director at Highland High School.  It was early spring and he was mowing the football field on a Saturday morning.  He later called home and said to me, "You'll never guess what is sitting under my desk and looking at me with these big brown eyes."  Thankfully, it being Saturday, I could rule out it being any sane human being.  Anyone sane wouldn't hang around school on a Saturday.  "Yes," he explained, "it is the cutest puppy I have ever seen.  I think I'll bring him home if it is all right.  He was either dropped off out here by someone, or has run away.  It isn't safe to leave him here.  He'll be  running out into the road."

I was not happy.  We had just recovered from our last puppy experiences.  We had just lost our not very bright bassett hound named Humphrey.  True, he was cute in a very wrinkly sort of way, but he wasn't very bright........in any kind of way;  He was a behavior-training drop-out.  He had suffered from a hip joint displacement, because he jumped out of the car (it was parked) with his leash on.  Then he sat down in front of a school bus.  We spent several hundred dollars nursing him through those injuries.  And, soon after he was recovered, he ran in front of a jeep and was killed. We had also suffered through de-fleaing and de-worming dear old Humprhey.  I wasn't ready for another dog!

I told Don he could bring the pup home until we found an owner for him, but we weren't going to have another dog.  The rest of the family did not like my refusal.  But I stood firm in my decision.  One of the coaches at Highland said he would like to have the puppy.  So, fine.  But part of our family (the kids) weren't being too friendly toward Mother.

About a month later, the coaches from Highland were making a weekend trip to some sporting event.  They asked if I would mind dog sitting the puppy while they were gone.  Well......... you can guess the rest.  One weekend with that sweet pup and I was a goner.  AND upon returning home from their trip, the coach said his apartment owners didn't want him to have a dog in his apartment. The rest is history.

We named our new pup Scotty, not because any part of him is Scotty dog breed, but after the school's mascot, the Highland Scots.  He seemed to know from the very first that he had to be a very good and friendly dog.  After all, Mom said she didn't want a puppy.  But Scotty proved from the very first that he was indeed a very good dog. He didn't bark much, he never had "accidents" in the house.  He just smiled at you, and liked you a lot.

If you look at the picture way at the top of this page, this shows Scot's reaction to anyone who asked him, ""Do you want to walk around the block?"  Immediately he head tilted and the ears were cocked.  Of course, you could get the same reaction if you said, "Do you want to rock around the clock?", or "Do you want to chalk around the stock?"  But he did love to take his walks.  I often took him on the nearly three mile path around Aqua Gardens along wth my neighbor, Evelyn.  He was still such a puppy on our first time around Aqua Gardens that his little paws hurt and he was so tired about half way round, I had to carry him the rest of the way.  Evelyn thought this very funny.  She laughed all the way home.

He also loved to go back to the football field.  There were farm fields all around the stadium.  After taking a few turns on the track, he would take off through the fields, leaping like a deer over any plant in his way.  Some times he got so carried away with this freedom that we had to wait a long time for him to return.  After one really long wait, we bought a cap pistol.  One shot with the caps, and he always flew back to the car.

Scotty loved everyone, especially all the kids who came to play in our yard.  He also liked all the neighborhood dogs.  He would happily run across the street, and wait in the driveway for the neighbor's dog to come out and play.  Cheryl's best friend, Cindy, had a dog named Scout.  Scout had a built-in clock and he knew exactly when it was time for the school bus to get home in the afternoon.  Scout would pick up

Scotty, and the two of them would go down to the bus stop to meet "their" kids.

As much as he loved walks, Scotty also loved to ride in the car.  And, just like his family, he believed that every car ride should include a stop for an ice cream.  One drive up ice cream store in Anderson had a "Scotty dish" on their menu.  He would quickly finish his dish in the back seat, then lean over the back of our seat and watch us eat our cones.  If you got too close to the end, he would tap you on the shoulder so you wouldn't forget to feed him the end of your cone.

He also loved to go to the lake with us.  He would sleep for most of the two-hour drive to the lake.  But he would always wake up about fifteen minutes before arriving at the lake.  Then he would hang his head over the front seat and get all excited watching for the lake.  He loved to get in the lake, ride on the pontoon, and  to roll in dead fish so that he smelled really bad!  He had his very own seat on the pontoon, in the back right beside Don.  If we had friends on the pontoon, and one of them sat in "His seat", Scotty would simply stand and stare at them until they found a new place to sit!

Scotty loved everyone, except maybe delivery men in uniform (what's up with that - it seems all dogs feel that way).  But Scotty especially loved his family.  Of course there was a very special bond between Scotty and Don because he accompanied Don on almost every trip in the car and on every walk.  And even after all the kids were grown and moved to their own homes, he loved to have them come visit.  Rod was always a favorite because he knew just the right spot to scratch Scotty's ears!

About a year after I retired, when Scotty was getting old and grey around the edges, he took sick one night while we were sleeping.  Don found him very ill and unable to stand one morning.  He immediately rushed him to our vet.  The doctor said that he didn't have long to live, so we had him put to sleep so that he wouldn't suffer.  Boy, what a void it leaves in  your lives when such a constant companion is gone. But I know that he must surely be in heaven where he is The Very Best Dog in Heaven, just like he was always the Very Best Dog on Earth!.

My love and thanks to son, Rod for the tutorial on photo scanning!  I love it.

Remembering the Summer of the Rose

Yesterday Don cut back our roses.  Yes, it is time, but I can't remember a summer when I have enjoyed the roses as much as this year.  I hate to see them go.

It has been a hard summer for most things green and growing - not to mention those things animate and growing.  Thankfully we have survived all the drought and sweltering temperatures, and have moved into my favorite season of the year.

But roses everywhere seemed to love the heat and the drought.  I always knew roses to be beautiful to look at, delightful to smell, and capable of speaking the language of love.  I just never knew that these dazzling flowers were such tough little cusses.

Most of our roses came to us as potted Mothers Day gifts from our kids in Cincinnati.  After enjoying them in the house, Don always plants them in the yard.  I have spoken before of our "surprise" flower garden.  We are just never sure what will decide to pop up and grow in any given year.  But that is the delight of such a garden.  And this year the roses outshone every other flower.  Where everything else struggled with heat and drought, these tough little cusses thrived and survived, and were more dazzling than ever.

It kind of makes me wish that I were still in my child-bearing years so I could have a daughter and name her Rose.  Hows that for a foolish wish?  Oh, but wait, maybe we could just change Cheryl's name to Rose.

After all she is pretty dazzling and perfect.  AND  she has often proven that she can thrive when things get tough.

Just Another Bad Idea - Clean A Closet

I have found that one of the best perks of being retired, is that most days you have the freedom to choose what to do that day.  I do have those regular days when I volunteer, routine club meetings, and occasional appointments.  But it still feels like a luxury to wake up in the morning (late) and realize that I can pick and choose what to do with that day.

There are a few things so routine that they are attended to without thought:  the morning paper, the five puzzles in said paper, the shower and dressing, the muffin and coffee.  But by lunch time and Price Is Right I must decide what comes next.  I still feel morally obligated to accomplish at least one productive task each day.  I don't know why, but I have allowed myself to define "productive"  in very loose terms.

Here are some "productive" accomplishments according to my very broad definition:  call a friend, mail a greeting card, do my nails (finger nails - I can't reach my toes), write a blog entry  ( so productive obligations have been met today), delete old E mail messages, hand sew trimmings on a love bear, etc. etc. etc.
I don't count reading a novel or watching favorite TV shows because those are my guilty pleasures.  I don't count doing the daily load of washing.  Ever since my teaching days, throwing that load of washing in every evening is as routine as brushing my teeth.

When I taught school and had children at home, I always walked through the house every evening and picked up laundry in each room and put a load of clothes in the washer.  By doing this I tried to avoid having the kids do their own "load" of wash.  That is because a kid considers one pair of jeans that they want to wear tomorrow a whole load of wash.  Now I do that load because Don only keeps two outfits per season in his closet.  That's the way he likes it.  It bothers him to have more clothes that he needs!  As a woman, I just don't understand.  But, anyway, my daily load of washing, keeps him in a clean outfit every day.

So, you can see that Don requires very little closet space, what with his two outfits that he will dispose of at the end of each season, when he gets next season's two outfits.  And we have four lovely walk-in closets in our house.  One is a real nightmare where I keep my craft "stuff."  One is Don's closet.  And can you guess what is in the other two?  Right!  All of my clothes and shoes. Yes, I am embarrassed to say that both these closets are full to the brim.

Well, back to my one productive act per day.  A couple of week-ends ago, I desperately needed a very productive activity.  I had seen as much golf and football on TV as I could stand.  So I lost my head and decided to clean out one of my closets!  I removed all the clothes, sorted and put all slacks, blouses, sweaters, and jackets into different stacks.  I had a throw-away bag for the really awful, a Goodwill bag for the still useful.  I sorted shoes, I straightened shelves, I made all the handbags stand at attention, my gosh, I even mopped the floor!  I mopped the floor right before I collapsed from exhaustion!  And then I had to return all the garments back into the closet.

Let me tell you.......it took me the rest of the week to recover.  But the closet looks great.

Now, I only have three more closets to go.  I'm sorry, kids, but you may just have to take care of those after I'm gone.

Another Dumb Thing Old Folks Do - Disrespect Doctors' Appointments

Yes, as the title indicates, we should never disrespect our doctors' appointments.  I mean DON'T  EVEN THINK ABOUT SHOWING ANY DISRESPECT!

Case in point:  Last week we were driving to Indianapolis very early on Thursday morning to keep my routine six month appointment with my eye doctor, the glaucoma specialist.  The morning was very foggy, and the traffic was early-morning- awful.  I said, "One of these days we will be too old to keep traveling to Indy to see a doctor."
And Don said, "  You are getting along pretty well.  Maybe you could ask him if we could just come once a year."
Now, perhaps, you will remember that a few years ago my very good eye doctor removed my cataracts, and at the same time constructed ducts in each eye that drained the eyes and keep the pressure down to single digit readings without the use of eyedrops.  This will hopefully keep the glaucoma from getting worse.
Well, my appointment was for 9:30, and we arrived about 9:10.  The receptionist apologized and said that doctor was running about an hour behind.  Indeed he was.  I saw the doctor at about 11:00.  So Don and I were all set to ask to be put on a year rotation.
Huh!  The doctor discovered that I had another small leak in the roof of my bleb in the left eye.  (I bet you don't have too many friends or relatives who have ever suffered that affliction!]  Well, it sounds bad, but it is just treated with a daily dose of antibiotic eye ointment.
BUT, now I have to return to the doctor in six weeks, not a year, but in six weeks.  And this will  probably continue until the eye heals.
So, don't even think about changing those appointments.
You would think that we would learn our lesson.  But on Tuesday of this week, we took sister-in-law, Janie, out to supper.  She had been to the orthopedic hospital that day for the one year appointment following her hip surgery.  She said that her doctor had dismissed her.
Don said, "He dismissed you?  Phyllis, don't you have an appointment with your hip doctor in February for you two year anniversary of your hip surgery?"
"Yes, I think I do."
"Well, do you think that is really necessary?  Maybe you can cancel that."
Oh, Don.  those words should have never left your mouth.  I got up on Wednesday morning and I could barely walk because my hip hurt so much.  And it has continued hurting today.  The doctor gods are punishing me for disrespectful thoughts.
Don was checking over all our insurance papers this evening.  When he looked at the dental insurance, he said, "That cleaning and exam every is months is mostly covered, but doesn't it seem a little silly to go so often at our age.  Maybe we could change that to once a year."
No, No, No, Don, don't utter those words aloud!
So, tomorrow I am fully expecting some fillings to fall out!

Number One of a New Series - Dumb Things that Old People Do

Well, I've been gone awhile, haven't I?  Once I finished my childhood memories doll house, I just couldn't get inspired about anything to write.  I am enjoying the finished doll house.  And the Art Club here in Anderson was kind enough to invite me to bring it to their meeting and be their program for the month.
I was nervous, but it was a very lovely group of ladies, and they met in the most beautiful home, and I did enjoy the day.  However, poor Don had to "tote the barge and lift the bale."  In other words, he had to
pick up the darn thing and find a way to get it into the car, deliver it and me, and then pick us up.  I solemnly promised to never do that again.

So, I have been thinking about a theme for my next bits of writing.  And, honestly, the only thoughts that come to my head are "all the dumb things that old people do."  The "old people" mentioned here being Don and I.  Believe me, I have a wealth of information to share.

The strangest part of reaching this age is that the brain has these little blank spots that simply pop up at the most inconvenient times during a conversation.  I hate to say it, but Don has suffered from this for years.  The kids and I always thought it was done to amuse us.  But, now I'm thinking that it is definitely just old age.

For instance, he will ask me, "Did you turn off that furnace?"  Now, it is summer and we all know that the furnace isn't on.  But I know how to translate.  He is asking me if I unplugged the hair dryer or the curling iron.

When he gets home from the casino after his morning visit there.  He always sits down while I'm trying to read the morning paper, and tells me about every machine he played, every spin, every bonus, and all the people he talked to.  (I really don't mind; it is rather endearing.)  Also it doesn't require heavy-duty attention on my part.  But the interesting thing about the stories is that Don never calls any slot machine by its real name.  For instance, when he tells me that he played Dolphin Club, I understand that he means a slot machine called Turtle Bay (one of my favorites.)  When he says that he has played Dollar General, I know that he means American Original.  This morning he told me that he played Sex is a Pity.  Well, it is, but he meant a machine called Sex in the City.  I did have to laugh at that one.

Then, there are our neighbors.  He spoke to one gentleman and called him Merlin.  Merlin is the name of the neighbor's dog.  The gentleman's name is Beryl.  So for months now Don has been calling him Berlyn.  I am tired of correcting him, so when he calls another neighbor Dolly, I have quit telling him every time that her name is Dixie.  Today he asked me, "Did you know that our neighbor's name is really Dixie?  I called her to tell her that I would mow her yard.  When I asked for Dolly they didn't know who I was talking about."
Soooo. I guess I'll just keep on correcting him.

I, on the other hand, am not so creative when my mind goes blank.  Darn it!  I have to give Don credit.  It is quite scary that I can almost always translate what he means.  But when I have those same frequent lapses in memory, I simply have to stop talking, and I just stare blankly, not finishing the sentence.

You know, it goes something like this, "Did you see that singer on TV, you know, uh, ________________?
Or, "Don, I'm trying to fix this towel holder, I need your, uh, ________________.  Now,  I may think of it in 5 minutes, an hour, three days, or in  a month.  Who knows.  But it really is a conversation stopper.  No laughs, either.  I have to give Don credit for his creativity and his entertainment value.  This last week I saw a fictitious name on a mock-up credit card on a TV commercial.  It was so close to a former student's name, and Don and I had been trying to think of her name for weeks.  Right then it flashed into my poor little empty- spaces head.

Don wakes in the middle of the night, turns on his TV, then sees something or somebody whose name won't come to mind.  He will get up, turn on the computer, and do a long search, because the question is driving him crazy.

So, there you have it.  Probably the number one dumb thing that old people do.  When I met with my ladies club, you know my good friends who have met for 40 years.  We had this very conversation the other day.
The totally agreed.So said my best friend, uh, uh, uh _________________________.  I'll have to get back with on that.

Why Reading Teachers Go Crazy While Reading, And How Muncie, Indiana ended up in Botswana

I love to read.  And I do read every day......and often into the night!  But I have to tell you that there is something that drives me a little bit crazy when I am reading.  I hate it when the main character(s) have names that are impossible to pronounce!

I used to teach reading and phonics for about thirty some years.  I guess that process left me interminably trying to sound out any new word that I encounter.  That's wonderful unless it is one of the characters in a novel whose name defies decoding.  For instance I recently read Elizabeth George's newest mystery in the Inspector Lynley series.  The story revolves around a large family of characters whose last name is Fairclough.  Okay, so how would YOU pronounce it?   There are 70 or more words in the English language that end in "ough".  Think about it.  There is : rough, though, thought, through, bough, etc, etc.  So which pronunciation should I use at the end of Fairclough?  And let me tell you that name appeared on every page of this very long novel.  I just couldn't give it up.  I kept on trying to pronounce it correctly as I read.

So this weekend I read Alexander McCall Smith's novel "The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection."
This is the 13th in the "#1 Ladies Detective Agency" series.  The setting of the stories is Gaborone, Botswana in Africa.  I can actually pronounce Gaborone and Botswana.  No problem.  But let me introduce you to some of the characters.  First and foremost:  Mma Precious Ramotswe who is married to Rra J.L.B. Matekoni.  Her assistant is Mma Grace Makutsi who is married to Rra Phuti Radiphuti.  AAaaargh!  Help me please!  And these characters NEVER speak to one another using a first name.  They ALWAYS use full names.  On every page my simple little phonics-driven mind continues to try and correctly pronounce the names.  I did figure out that Mma must mean Ms.  And Rra is Mr.  (I think.)

In spite of all this, I do enjoy Mr Smith's books.  Do you think because he is a "Smith"  that he is fascinated with hard-to-pronounce names? Even so,  the detective agency books are so charming.  I have really enjoyed them even more since I watched the HBO series of these stories. Now, as I read, I have a very real picture of each character, how they dress, and how the scene must look.  I can see Gaborone, and the countryside of Botswana.

Another item in this book was very interesting to me.  When Mma Ramotswe decided to  open her detective agency (all the way back in book one of the series), she found a book at the book store that she used as a guide for being a good detective.  It is a book titled "The Principles of Private Detection" written by Clovis Andersen.  Both Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi  (I hope you are going crazy trying to pronounce)  have committed most of the text to memory, as the manual has guided them through the events of thirteen novels.
You won't believe it, but in this No. 13, they at last get to meet their hero, Mr. Andersen, who appears in Gaborone visiting a friend.

And, guess what?  Mr. Andersen tells them that he is from (hold on to  your hat!)  Muncie, Indiana.  He says that he is a detective in Muncie, Indiana, a midwestern town where glass jars are made.  Not only that, but he graduated from a university in Bloomington, Indiana.  I don't know why he couldn't have gone to Ball State.  The funniest development is that at the end of this book, Mr Andersen admits that he is now retired, and was a terrible detective.  Not only that, but his manual was self published, and he only sold about 30 copies.  The rest were home in his garage.  And this manual has guided the two detectives through many successful adventures in all thirteen books.

I was very interested in reading Alexander McCall Smith's biographical information.  He was born in Zimbabwe, graduated from the University of Edinburgh, taught law at the University of Botswana, and now lives in Scotland.  I wonder how he decided to include Muncie and Indiana into this story.

Home for sale in Redbud

The home in Redbud Estates is for sale.

It has 3 bedrooms with large closets.
2 baths
Large open living room, dinette, kitchen
3 season glass/screened porch
carport
Newer kitchen appliances
Newer AC and furnace
Nice carpet and all windows with window covers

Lovely shady yard and on the golf course
All this for $15,900   Call Teddy at Redbud Homes 644-4479    House located at 241 Freedom Way