Fleetingly Carol

"The hardest part was yet to come." It's been a while since I checked in. I hope everything is well with you, Dear Reader. Things seem to be calming down in our little corner of the world. "The hardest part" that was "yet to come" has come and gone. And Princess and I have been busy ever since. Old Man, Younger Son and Awesome Grandson made certain that Princess was safe that awful night. The next morning, I went out to the dog run to see how Princess was doing. Since the storm was gone, she was considerably more calm. She allowed me to check the pads on her front paws. Everything checked out alright. Then, I couldn't help it, Dear Readers, but I fussed and fussed and fussed, then hugged and petted the poor puppy. Wagging tail, licking tongue, wiggling body all told me that the fear from last night was gone. I put the leash on her, and she was so very happy as we exited her pen and began to run. The first task is to teach her to behave

The Devil had passed, but not Princess’ memory of him. She stayed with the shakes, like the DTs. She shook so violently inside the crate, I was afraid for her.  The wild dog came out in her as we tried to approach the crate to check on her wounds. We couldn’t open it for fear that she would escape and try to dig a hole in the floor or couch again. Old Man and I decided it was time to call Eldest Son. He told us that if we couldn’t keep her, call him. We couldn't and we did. Eldest Son had just lost his job, his car was repossessed and was in no way able to come to our aid. He lived several states away. We talked and we cried. We came up with this solution and that solution, but none were acceptable. He finally said the most feared words, words that I knew were coming, but didn’t want to accept. He had a friend who practiced veterinary medicine and who lived close to us. Eldest Son said he would make the call. As we were talking, Eldest Son was on speaker-phone so Old Man cou

         The trees did their voodoo dance, conjuring up a thunderstorm to rain down on our little house. Old Man was on the lawn tractor, completely oblivious to the warning signs, ears plugged up with strains of Satchmo. The first drops of rain on his glasses sent him into action.           He drove the lawn mower across the yard and into the shed, hopped off and ran to Poor Hound Dog who is being treated for heart worms. He wanted to get him into the house before he became too excited about the Devil bearing down. He glanced in Princess Super-girl's pen to make sure she was secure and safe. Leading Poor Hound Dog across the yard, Old Man remembered the windows were down in his truck. Remembering the windows down in his truck led him to look over at the neighbor’s vehicle to check their windows. They were down. Now it was a race to the finish.            Poor Hound Dog had to be kept very calm, because any active behavior may break up a clump of heart worms in his veins tha

Eldest son gave Old Man and me a gift that keeps on giving. And, for no reason! It wasn't Christmas, an anniversary or either of our birthdays. My mother would say he's awfully 'thoughty'. And it was a tremendous gift! One that I would not have ever thought to get for myself. The gift is about 2 feet tall and weighs around 45 to 50 pounds. It leaps tall buildings and stops a speeding bullet. No, that's not right. It leaps hurricane fences and scales 6 foot tall dog runs. And stops at nothing to get in the house when someone is shooting a gun, or there is thunder, or the door is open, or another dog has entered the house. Any of these reasons. Yes, you've guessed it - it's a dog. A Catahoula Leopard Dog, to be exact! Old Man and I already have 2 dogs. Girlie-Girl is a 25 pound Heinz 57 and looks like a big Miniature Pincher. She is very well behaved, never jumps up on people; she doesn't bark much; she's small and compact; she comes when she

     I have a friend who works in a public library located in a small town that serves the town and the surrounding countryside. She, herself, lives out in the country, as does most of the employees at this library. The town is just too small to contain everyone. Nonetheless, it is a very professional library and they go to professional development meetings fairly often to improve their skills. Most of these meetings are held in larger, more urban libraries. The following story is from one such trip.      Exploration seemed to be the order for the day, since they arrived a little early. Librarians are always exploring and getting into things. You know the old saying, “Curiosity killed the cat”? Well, librarians can get into that sort of trouble. And they did that day .(NO, of course, no one died)  . .      The children’s area in a library is always the most interesting with its vivid colors, clever use of floor space and usually a fun puppet or two on display. Thi

     Dear Reader, do you remember the post titled "My Fleeting Labor Day" posted September 6, 2010? If not, I encourage you to go back and read it, for the following story is about the same person. Her identity is hidden for her own protection because my friend is more blond than she pays to be.  Take for instance, her recent trip to the mountains. I would not have discovered this if her husband wasn't such an eavesdropping pea-ninny. My friend and I were having casual conversation over coffee one Saturday morning, talking about our experimental container gardening, pets and the problems inherent with them, husbands and the problems inherent with them. Somehow talk of husbands led into getting away from it all. My friend expressed her desire to see Europe on $100.00 a day, I want to see the northeast U.S. in the fall. The talk turned to driving through mountain passes when her husband entered the room with a wicked look on his face. We didn't realize he w

A very dear friend from childhood came to visit last week. We had not seen each other in several years, although we kept in touch via email and social networks. When she called to say she would be in town, I looked forward to a delightful time reminiscing about old friends, teachers - oh, and old boyfriends we stole from one another.         When we met at the restaurant, I almost didn't recognize her. Her once-cinnamon colored tresses were every color of blond imaginable. And her deep brown eyes had become a strange color of green.          "How do you like my new look?" she beamed.          "Um, wonderful . . . um, beautiful . . . um, why?" I couldn't think of anything else to say.          "Oh, you know."          Oh, I do? I have the same mousey blond hair I was born with.          "We're getting to that age, you know. Where the grays are popping out. Anyway, I always wanted to find out if blonds really did have more fun."