Jaci Dawn

I thought it was odd that I didn’t hear from the pound by Tuesday afternoon. The dog was supposed to have been scheduled for neutering on Tuesday & I planned on getting him on Wednesday. By Wednesday, I was a nervous wreck but when I called the pound, all I got was an answering machine. And Thursday when they called me back, they said my home phone was disconnected so they’d given the dog to someone else.

Turns out that they were dialing a wrong number! But it didn’t matter: the dog was scheduled to be neutered on Friday and he was going home with these other people on Saturday.

And my heart went into a tailspin because I really liked that dog and I’d put myself through a lot just finding, meeting, and picking out a dog. Plus, I’d purchased a dog carrier and a temporary dog pen with a mesh cover so the dog would be safe while I worked. We don’t have the big dog run built yet.

I was angry, hurt, disappointed – a billion emotions all running amok in my heart, but mostly angry. Angry at the pound, angry at God, angry at myself. Mostly angry at God.

Who better to blame? Like my brother said in my comments, “These things happen for a purpose.”

I fully believe that, but I’d built up my hopes and expectations so much that when the rug was pulled out from under me, I felt like a five year old kid who didn’t get the lollipop in the grocery store and I was mad.

I went on the search again, wrote down a ton of phone numbers of breeders to call this weekend and searched through the pets for adoption lists online once more. Just nothing jumped out at me. Lots and lots of wonderful dogs that need homes and lots of hoops to jump through to get one.

Did you realize that it is easier to purchase a purebred papered dog from a responsible breeder than it is to adopt a rescue dog from most shelters? There’s the application, proving you have a long-standing relationship with a veterinarian, and having to load up the whole fam-damily including your present dog to meet the new dog in a neutral place. (Trust me: neutral is a key word: what happens when the new dog shows up in the old dog’s turf is what will make or break the deal.) Buy a dog from a breeder and he’ll ask a few questions, maybe require an application, but what he really wants is your money.

It was so much easier to drive to Everett, Washington to get our English Pointer (Sadie who died 4 years ago) or to make the long drive to eastern Idaho to pick up Murphy just 3 years ago. This venture of adopting a rescue dog has just drained me.

I knew I wouldn’t have time to even look today: Arwen needed me to drive her around this morning and tonight is Javan’s first birthday party. So getting a dog today wasn’t even on my radar when I woke up this morning.

What was on my radar was that it wasn’t supposed to be a quiet Saturday morning: I had planned on having to take a dog for a walk early. I groaned and tried to bury my head in the pillow. Finally, I just told God that I forgave Him and He could forgive me for being such a pill, and I’d just get on with my day as best as I could. Somewhere, the perfect dog awaits.

At 8:30, I picked up the phone to call Arwen and let her know I was on the way. There was a voice mail message from the Dog Shelter that just asked me to call them. ??? It was left late yesterday afternoon. So I called. I called at 8:30, at 9, and at 9:30. And at 9:30, I got a live person.

The people who were supposed to pick the dog up today changed their minds. Did I still want him?She went on to tell me that this was the third hold on the dog that had been broken this week: mine and two others.

I leave in about half an hour to go finalize the adoption and pay for the dog.

He *is* coming home to live with us after all.

I think God had a plan all along and it worked out so the dog comes home on a weekend when we have time to bond & get him situated for during the week.

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Ugh. I don’t even want to blog about it, but since I dragged you all here: due to a clerical error (not mine!!) the dog is going home elsewhere. So I am back to looking.

<sigh>

Meanwhile, I offer up to you this photo of a fledgling scrub jay that was sitting in the lodgepole pine outside our front window:

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I need to change my  blog intro… Because this is also where I discuss Bigfoot.

Yes! Bigfoot has been sighted again! This time in North Carolina. Now, I’m a little peeved that all the news reporters are making fun of it, but if you can get past their guffaws… Well, let’s just say you should read the article and watch the video: North Carolina June 2010 Sighting.

I don’t know if that man really saw a Bigfoot or not, but I do know that’s one strange homemade coyote-calling device. Quite possibly, the Sasquatch in question was offended by the unharmonious sounds coming out of that device and decided to pay that self-proclaimed “mountain man” a visit.

Hard to believe the Sasquatch was chased off with a stick.

Hopefully, someone gets down there with a sack of plaster to look for foot prints. It’s the only way we’ll ever know if Tim Peeler is telling the truth or not.

Dang! Why did this man not go get his camera??!!

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Photo #319/365   Rhododendron blooms after the bloom and after the rain.

I am giving myself permission to not complete the goal. I only have 46 more days to go to reach 365 days. A month and a half.

I also have company coming, weekends of hiking and camping coming up, and the addition of a four-legged two year old to my life.

I will continue to attempt to take a photo a day for the next 46 days, but I’m not going to beat myself up if I don’t do it. I’ve stuck it out this far and sometimes I’ve come up with some eye-catching photos (but most of the time, it’s been pretty mundane or I’ve resorted to photoshopping something). It won’t be the end of the world if I fail to reach this goal because this was somewhat of a contrived goal. A little challenge and I kept at it longer than most people I know who started out with the same challenge.

Truth is, I know that if life went forward uninterrupted, I could do it. But I foresee a lot of interruptions coming up in the very near future. So I have permission to fall short of the goal or to at least alter the goal a little. I’ll still carry my camera everywhere, but I am not going to try to post the photos every single day.

I know that the new addition to our family is very needy and he will take up a lot of my time over the next few days. I doubt I will get to the computer to upload the day’s photos every single day – and then blog about them. I’ll try, but if I don’t make it, I will combine several day’s worth of photos into one blog post and leave it at that.

It’s the same goal, just a different strategy. I’m giving myself permission to alter the strategy in order to reach the goal.

I can do this. 365 photos. Just maybe not posted every single day. But I am going to try.

(Why do I suddenly feel like the Little Engine That Could? I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…)

Why do I get the feeling that you, my readers, know I just talked myself out of quitting?

(<ahem> Because I just talked myself out of quitting.)

See you next post! With a photo for every day. I promise. I WILL do this.

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I put the flag out on my way to work this morning and left it up for Donald to take down. That’s all I did for Flag Day (I think it is all you are supposed to do).

The other things I did today included working, playing a part in a miracle, worrying about dog names and purchasing things for said dog. It was not as busy a day as it might sound, but it was kind of spendy.

I suppose I should tell you about the part in a miracle, but it really wasn’t anything. I just made a decision based on someone else’s demeanor and I asked my superiors for permission to make that decision. And the affected person said (through tears), “It’s a miracle!” And I was left to contemplate my own role in helping a fellow human out who so obviously needed a hand up. I just listened to my heart.

We should all listen to our hearts.

Mentally, I spent most of the day ruminating over names. Before I go any further, I want to say that while I appreciate and “get” the reference to George, I have already eliminated it as a name. Sorry, Terry: the CFO of our company named a kitten George from the same cartoon. So George has been taken.

Lokai is in the running. Below is a list of names I’ve considered, including the ones I eliminated:

Lucky

Speckles (we had a cat named Speckos, so that is OUT). Likewise: Buddie and Jasper and Butchy. (Butchy was a dog, not a cat, but you get the picture. Former pet names cannot be used twice.) (I don’t know WHY. I just made up that rule, OK?)

Harpo

Bilbo or Frodo (but Gimli is out)

Charlie (but I probably shouldn’t because my mother-in-law’s cat was named Charlie and he just died a couple months ago. Scratch that: former pet name in my immediate sphere.)

I ran through place names, but there aren’t any good place names that represent places I like to be (or places I have been) that are also good dog names: Alvord? Ely? Reno? Boise? Baker? Hokkaido? No, no, no.

How about other animal names, like “Bear”? Well, I knew a Bear, but he was a scaredy-cat Chow-chow. And I don’t want a name that gives the dog permission to be ferocious. Elk? Coyote? Moose?

I may consider Moose.

A color is out and so is a candy bar. Hersheys, Blue, Snickers, Uno, Red… Did you know that all of the Irish Setters in Jim Kjelgaard’s Big Red youth series were named Red something? How original. (I read every one of those books at least three times. Along with “White Fang” and “Call of the Wild” (Buck) and all the Black Stallion, Golden Stallion and Flicka stories.) “Mutt” was the name of Farley Mowat’s “The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be” and that doesn’t fit, either. Scratch story book dog names (and horse names).

Stretch.

I tried actors, musicians, bands that I like. Somehow the dog is not a Led Zeppelin, George Strait, Jim Pipkin or Jackson Browne. Well, Jackson is nice, but I don’t want a dog with a name that resembles my own. My mother had a dog named Mr. Tack, affectionately known as “Tacky”. She would get mad and yell at all of us: “Terry! Jackie! Deni! Tacky!” Tacky was considered one of us kids. It was really awful when she forgot she was speaking to me and said, “Tacky, take out the garbage. Or Jackie. Whatever your name is.”

Tacky was a Schnauzer.

I think I have exhausted my favorite novels, actors, car models, animals, colors, shapes (Stripe is high on my list after the cartoon dog in the comic strip Tiger).

In other news, finding the dog was just a step. It is forcing Don’s hand to build the dog kennel we purchased over a year ago and still have not put up. We do have a fenced yard, but it is not secure (a dog could crawl under or possible jump over one section). I need a temporary dog run for the dog, so I purchased one tonight.

That was fun. I found one that I likes at one site for $64. Same one at another site for $62. The first one offered a wire mesh top (very wise idea) for $49. The other site offered the same top for $24. Hmmmm. I work in a mathematical field… So I went through the steps to order the cheaper one and all was good until I got to S&H page. EEEP: cheap site wanted $65 S&H for STANDARD shipping. I ordered through the pricier site & got 3-day shipping for $10 more than the cheap site & standard shipping. Does that make your head hurt?

I still won’t have a portable dog run until Friday & the dog comes home as soon as Wednesday… YAY. Any ideas???? I can’t take time off…

Now that I have bored you with my dog, I am going to say good night. And expect to hear more about the dog. I think I’m going to be overwhelmed…

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A long and convoluted search for a pet of my own is drawing near to a close. Ever since Murphy came into our lives, my pets have gone out of our lives. I haven’t replaced the cat (which was actually Chrystal’s cat) because Murphy is not good with cats. He thinks cats are to be chased. I haven’t replaced the parakeets because I really can’t cuddle with a parakeet.

But I’ve been very lonely, especially since the grandsons moved back out. While they were here, they filled in for a pet. But now they’re gone and I have a hole in my life.

The logical fill is another dog. And that launched a weeks-long search of the greater Portland metro area for the right dog. There were several close calls, but no dog.

I was disheartened to find that in order to adopt a dog these days you have to fill out an application, have a vet who will vouch for you, and pay upwards of $200 for a mixed-breed dog that wasn’t worth fifty bucks at birth. If I wanted to spend hundreds of bucks, I’d look for a purebred.

But I opted to look for a rescue dog. PetFinder, Dog rescue, newspaper ads and the county pound. False starts, heart ache, internal drama and a somewhat dubious husband: “why do we need another dog? Where will it sleep? Where will it stay when you’re at work?”

I finally found a dog but I might need my head examined.

He’s another birddog and a purebred to boot. But it was pretty much love when I saw his photo on the dog pound’s site.

Then I met him in person. He was covered in his own urine and was nervously pacing, but he paused to tell me his life story in a series of rawr-rawr-rawrs. We even took Murphy to the pound to meet him and they completely ignored each other.

No, that’s good: two male dogs of equal height sniffed noses and butts and then proceeded to ignore each other. No posturing or growling to establish dominance, just “Hey.”

The English Setter is a year younger than Murphy and wanted to play a little. The only time Murphy growled was when the Setter got a bit rambunctious and it was only a short, “stop!” growl. So the Setter will be coming home to live with us as soon as he is neutered this week.

But he’s a birddog. All we’ve owned for the past 30 years have been birddogs. One mutt and two purebreds (soon to be three purebreds). The only thing the Setter lacks is papers because whoever lost him neglected to find him and they have his papers.

If you’ve never owned a birddog, let me tell you a little about them:

They are “hyper.” I mean really, really, really hyper. Some more than others and the English Setter is on the more than others half of that equation. They tend to be quite busy.

They are fiercely loyal but rarely mean.

Show dogs can be really stupid. Field dogs can be really stubborn. We’ve owned one of each. Which one the Setter is remains to be seen.

We will find out later this week.

Oh – I need a name for the new dog. Someone has already suggested Lokai (Low-ki) for the Star Trek “look alike” but I’m not sure yet. The pound has been calling him “Ollie” but he doesn’t respond to that name at all.

Ideas anyone?

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When Arwen first inherited the autoharp, we did not have Internet access.

We took the autoharp to a piano tuner who told us that he thought it was warped and would never hold a tuning. But he attempted to tune it (for free) anyway. We didn’t know where to go to find out how one plays an autoharp, although I used to know a woman who did.

So the autoharp languished and Arwen forgot about it when she moved out and I have it displayed as an ornamental antique.

Flash forward fifteen years. Type “autoharp” into a search engine and over 5,000,000 results pop up. Everything from how to tune one to how to play one to videos of June Carter Cash playing her beloved autoharp. Maybe it is time I learned how to play the autoharp?

I used to take it down from the wall and let Zephan bang on it when he was still cruising furniture. He thought it was quite fun and I thought I should buy him a xylophone to take home. But I didn’t buy him a xylophone for which his parents are quite thankful. (Come to think of it, I think they bought him one.)

Think I can make sweet music with it?

Me, neither. But it was worth a thought.

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Don: “What did you take a picture of?”

Me. “Water. I’m so sick and tired of water for a subject.”

(It is the grid on out portable greenhouse where our tomatoes & peppers are languishing as they await a warm dry spell… Maybe they’ll get planted this weekend?)

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