(This is a continuation: see chapter one right here.)
Her name was Marsy. Not Marcy, the way normal people would spell it. No, Gramma spelled it Marsy and it stuck. I wanted a flashier name, but she came with it and Gramma insisted that was her name. She did offer to let us change it, but none of us could think of anything better. (I was reserving what I considered the best name of all time for when I got my own dog: Champion.)
First thing, we took her to the vet to have her check up and schedule her spay. He took one look at her and pronounced, "Now this here dog's only about four months old!" He looked at Gramma pointedly. "How old did the shelter say she was?"
"Nine months."
"Well, see her teeth here?" He lifted up her lips. "These are her puppy teeth. She hasn't gotten her adult ones in yet. She can't be nine months! I'd say only four!"
Hoo boy. Gramma pursed her lips and rubbed them in that way that means she's not happy. She scheduled the spay, though a little further off than we were expecting. The pup jumped off the table, happy as could be, waving her tail and smiling at us.
So we did the puppy thing. Marsy was an exceptional dog. I know everyone says that about their dog, and then follows it with a 'but', and I'm no different. Marsy was exceptional, and everyone says that about their dog, but she really was.
She was a pit bull dachshund cross. She had the long and low body, but the bully type head with the big ol' jaws. She had the little rosebud ears to match, none of that long dachshund nonsense! When she got moving, she had the bully roll to her gait. Both of her legs on the same side of her body moved at the same time (think of a cat or giraffe), and it gave her quite the look! She was a brown dog with a very faint black mask that started off very dark, but faded significantly as she grew up. White patches on her chest and toes completed her. My best guess, as I got to know the breeds of dogs was Staffordshire Terrier - Standard Dachshund mix.
We didn't know much of her past, except she was found on the streets either traveling with her siblings or not, the story was never really clear. After a time, her past didn't matter at all. We began to learn about her. The first thing we learned was that she was very lady like. Very dainty, but not haughty or stuck up. She (after potty training) would sidle to the door and bark the most feminine, graceful bark you'd ever heard. If you didn't let her out in the amount of time she deemed appropriate, she would bark again - louder and with an annoyed look.
She was spoiled too. She cleaned off the plates before they were washed - same for the cooking dishes. She got every toy she ever could have wanted. She got four kids to play with. It was doggy bliss.
Today I am grateful for the beauty in people's souls, despite their outward appearances, and the ability to see it.
Chapter 3 - In Which a Dog is Found
(This is a continuation: see chapter one and chapter two right here.)
We returned home without much fuss. My family was excited about having a dog, even though it would be Gramma's dog, it didn't matter.
Before we went to the shelter, Gramma had some rules about the type of dog we could pick out:
Of the rules, number 3 was most important. She wouldn't even entertain the idea of a male. No marking allowed!
So we packed off to the shelter about a week after we returned from Virginia. We found a lovely little spitz type dog the shelter called a Keeshond. They processed our paper work and approved us. When we went back, they reviewed our information again and then noted that Gramma had the most horrible thing imaginable... a cat.
Oh how they carried on! Apparently the dog was cat reactive and they were so upset that they had missed that initially and almost let the dog go home with us (we were there to pick her up). My Gramma, in her plain sensible way, asked, "May we at least try it and see if she's reactive with my cat?"
They hemmed and hawed and carried on some more while Gramma and I stood by. They were a very dramatic bunch (and still are, but I may be biased. I don't particularly like their practices or policies. That is much of the reason I am buying a dog... but more on that later!).
They said no. Gramma was upset. I mean the cat hid all day under the bed and came out twice a day - in the morning for food and the box and in the evening or night for the same. Once in a great while she would deign to be touched by human hands, but only for a few seconds each time. After many, many years Gramma convinced the cat to like her and the cat would crawl on her lap while she watched a ball game. The cat (Snookers) really would have been in no danger.
I was secretly happy that they had said no, because I hadn't wanted a five or six year old dog, I wanted a younger creature.
We went to another shelter in our county a few weeks later to look at a spaniel mix with a funny eye. We took her out and she ran around a bit but was really excited to get out and run around with a person (me) at the other end of the leash. She was a cute dog and really sweet, but bigger than Gramma was looking for. I didn't much like her either. As we were putting her back, we spotted a pug and asked about her. She was on hold.
Gramma turned to me and said, "What about that brown one that was out front when we came in?"
I made a face. I didn't like the brown one either. It was so plain. "Are you sure it was a girl? It looked like a boy," I said in hopes that she would give up on it and move on.
To my dismay she shook her head and said, "No, it was a girl, I saw when she jumped on the fence. Let's ask this worker right here."
They gave us the leash with a little brown mutt attached. They told us she was about 9 months - the very limit for my Gramma's 'no puppies' rule - and wasn't expected to get bigger. We took her into the yard and did the same thing we had done with the spaniel. Gramma stood and watched while I got dragged around by this energetic little thing. After while Gramma said, "I think she's tiring out, she isn't too high energy. What do you think?" I knew Gramma was going insane or something. That dog wasn't tiring out at all, but I couldn't breathe so I just shook my head.
We headed inside and Gramma paid for the little brown mutt. We got to bring her home that very day.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four
Today I am feeling nostalgic and so I am grateful that we did take a chance on that dog. Even if I didn't want her to begin with. I was pretty picky for a girl who was desperate for a dog, and I'm grateful I didn't get my way.
Until next time,
We returned home without much fuss. My family was excited about having a dog, even though it would be Gramma's dog, it didn't matter.
Before we went to the shelter, Gramma had some rules about the type of dog we could pick out:
|
1. It had to be small - no more than knee height.
2. It had to be an adult, none of this puppy nonsense. 3. It had to be female. |
So we packed off to the shelter about a week after we returned from Virginia. We found a lovely little spitz type dog the shelter called a Keeshond. They processed our paper work and approved us. When we went back, they reviewed our information again and then noted that Gramma had the most horrible thing imaginable... a cat.
Oh how they carried on! Apparently the dog was cat reactive and they were so upset that they had missed that initially and almost let the dog go home with us (we were there to pick her up). My Gramma, in her plain sensible way, asked, "May we at least try it and see if she's reactive with my cat?"
They hemmed and hawed and carried on some more while Gramma and I stood by. They were a very dramatic bunch (and still are, but I may be biased. I don't particularly like their practices or policies. That is much of the reason I am buying a dog... but more on that later!).
They said no. Gramma was upset. I mean the cat hid all day under the bed and came out twice a day - in the morning for food and the box and in the evening or night for the same. Once in a great while she would deign to be touched by human hands, but only for a few seconds each time. After many, many years Gramma convinced the cat to like her and the cat would crawl on her lap while she watched a ball game. The cat (Snookers) really would have been in no danger.
I was secretly happy that they had said no, because I hadn't wanted a five or six year old dog, I wanted a younger creature.
We went to another shelter in our county a few weeks later to look at a spaniel mix with a funny eye. We took her out and she ran around a bit but was really excited to get out and run around with a person (me) at the other end of the leash. She was a cute dog and really sweet, but bigger than Gramma was looking for. I didn't much like her either. As we were putting her back, we spotted a pug and asked about her. She was on hold.
Gramma turned to me and said, "What about that brown one that was out front when we came in?"
I made a face. I didn't like the brown one either. It was so plain. "Are you sure it was a girl? It looked like a boy," I said in hopes that she would give up on it and move on.
To my dismay she shook her head and said, "No, it was a girl, I saw when she jumped on the fence. Let's ask this worker right here."
They gave us the leash with a little brown mutt attached. They told us she was about 9 months - the very limit for my Gramma's 'no puppies' rule - and wasn't expected to get bigger. We took her into the yard and did the same thing we had done with the spaniel. Gramma stood and watched while I got dragged around by this energetic little thing. After while Gramma said, "I think she's tiring out, she isn't too high energy. What do you think?" I knew Gramma was going insane or something. That dog wasn't tiring out at all, but I couldn't breathe so I just shook my head.
We headed inside and Gramma paid for the little brown mutt. We got to bring her home that very day.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four
Today I am feeling nostalgic and so I am grateful that we did take a chance on that dog. Even if I didn't want her to begin with. I was pretty picky for a girl who was desperate for a dog, and I'm grateful I didn't get my way.
Until next time,
Chapter 2 - Changed Minds
(This is a continuation: see chapter one right here.)
Then, when I was about twelve my Gramma and I went to visit my aunt and uncle. Uncle Kenny is Gramma's son after all. We drove for twelve or so hours and arrived at their house where I was delighted to discover a Basset Hound named Ginger.
Ginger was stubborn, but sweet as anything. She was papered and AKC registered (facts I knew nothing about, but my eyes filled with stars nonetheless). Her full name was "Gingerbread Shortcake." She was a glorious copper color with small patches of white on her chest and her toes. While she was lovely, she was also a typical hound type. If you didn't have food you were unworthy of her efforts.
It was also at my aunt and uncle's house that I learned about Penny.
Everyone's family has had a dog like this, or a story of one: The Dog With Perfect Manners. The Dog That Was Smarter Than Any Other, Including Some People. The Perfect Dog.
Penny, long since gone at the time, was The Perfect Dog, and there have been many stories told of her intelligence. My Gramma picked out a small brown mutt and gave it to Uncle Kenny and Aunt Lori early in their relationship. She got out once and after agonizing hours searching for her, my weary aunt and uncle returned to their apartment to find her sitting next to their door, giving them a look as if to say, "Oh, there you guys are. What took you so long?"
On the last afternoon of our visit, I remember standing at opposite ends of the room from Gramma. She was leaning down petting Ginger when she straightened up and looked me in the eye. She then said something I never expected to hear:
"I think I want a dog. How about we start looking when we get back home?"
I came away from that visit with a renewed sense of love for all things dog and an invitation to come with my aunt and uncle on their cross-country trip next summer. Not to mention a cloud of bliss at the prospect of getting a dog!
Part One / Part Two / Part Three
Today I am grateful that the daffodils are starting, and crocuses have been up a week already.
Until next time,
Then, when I was about twelve my Gramma and I went to visit my aunt and uncle. Uncle Kenny is Gramma's son after all. We drove for twelve or so hours and arrived at their house where I was delighted to discover a Basset Hound named Ginger.
Ginger was stubborn, but sweet as anything. She was papered and AKC registered (facts I knew nothing about, but my eyes filled with stars nonetheless). Her full name was "Gingerbread Shortcake." She was a glorious copper color with small patches of white on her chest and her toes. While she was lovely, she was also a typical hound type. If you didn't have food you were unworthy of her efforts.
It was also at my aunt and uncle's house that I learned about Penny.
Everyone's family has had a dog like this, or a story of one: The Dog With Perfect Manners. The Dog That Was Smarter Than Any Other, Including Some People. The Perfect Dog.
Penny, long since gone at the time, was The Perfect Dog, and there have been many stories told of her intelligence. My Gramma picked out a small brown mutt and gave it to Uncle Kenny and Aunt Lori early in their relationship. She got out once and after agonizing hours searching for her, my weary aunt and uncle returned to their apartment to find her sitting next to their door, giving them a look as if to say, "Oh, there you guys are. What took you so long?"
On the last afternoon of our visit, I remember standing at opposite ends of the room from Gramma. She was leaning down petting Ginger when she straightened up and looked me in the eye. She then said something I never expected to hear:
I came away from that visit with a renewed sense of love for all things dog and an invitation to come with my aunt and uncle on their cross-country trip next summer. Not to mention a cloud of bliss at the prospect of getting a dog!
Part One / Part Two / Part Three
Today I am grateful that the daffodils are starting, and crocuses have been up a week already.
Until next time,
Chapter 1 - Anything For a Dog
I have always been an animal person. Moreover, I have always been a dog person.
At one point in my early life, we had a dog named Scooter. Scooter was a very young dog, and either a purebred Old English Sheepdog, or an OES mix that very much looked like a purebred. I don't remember when he came into my life, but I distinctly remember the day he left. As any typical day, my sisters and I came home from school, but Scooter was no where to be found. We searched high and low, under the porch, and in places it was impossible or such a large dog to hide (like the couch cushions). We were sure he'd gotten out of the yard or something and went to find mom. She told us that he was somewhere else, with a new family.
Turns out, mom couldn't handle the whole puppy thing in addition to everything else going on, and re-homed him without telling us. I was upset, but our lives changed in dramatic ways soon after and I forgot him for the most part.
When I was seven, mom left our dad and we moved back to the old homestead where she grew up. After some time, I began pressuring mom to get a puppy. My reasons were logical for a ten year old: we had the room (2 acres +) and we had the time (she did daycare out of our home, so someone was home constantly), and I definitely had the passion...
...but Gramma said no. Gramma, who is the property owner, Gramma, who has final say in what does and does not happen around here. Gramma said no. Not once, not twice, not even three times. She said no every time we asked, begged, pleaded, or cried over the want of a dog. Gramma, who is not heartless or souless as I've made her seem, didn't see that we could take care of one, and was quite upset still over losing her beloved Dachshund. (Hit by a car on our busy road.)
And so time went on, cat-filled but dog-less.
Part One / Part Two
Today I'm grateful for the long sunny days ahead.
Until next time,
At one point in my early life, we had a dog named Scooter. Scooter was a very young dog, and either a purebred Old English Sheepdog, or an OES mix that very much looked like a purebred. I don't remember when he came into my life, but I distinctly remember the day he left. As any typical day, my sisters and I came home from school, but Scooter was no where to be found. We searched high and low, under the porch, and in places it was impossible or such a large dog to hide (like the couch cushions). We were sure he'd gotten out of the yard or something and went to find mom. She told us that he was somewhere else, with a new family.
Turns out, mom couldn't handle the whole puppy thing in addition to everything else going on, and re-homed him without telling us. I was upset, but our lives changed in dramatic ways soon after and I forgot him for the most part.
When I was seven, mom left our dad and we moved back to the old homestead where she grew up. After some time, I began pressuring mom to get a puppy. My reasons were logical for a ten year old: we had the room (2 acres +) and we had the time (she did daycare out of our home, so someone was home constantly), and I definitely had the passion...
...but Gramma said no. Gramma, who is the property owner, Gramma, who has final say in what does and does not happen around here. Gramma said no. Not once, not twice, not even three times. She said no every time we asked, begged, pleaded, or cried over the want of a dog. Gramma, who is not heartless or souless as I've made her seem, didn't see that we could take care of one, and was quite upset still over losing her beloved Dachshund. (Hit by a car on our busy road.)
And so time went on, cat-filled but dog-less.
Part One / Part Two
Today I'm grateful for the long sunny days ahead.
Until next time,
Peepers
No matter what the calendar says, nothing (and I mean nothing) indicates spring like a chorus of peepers, and we heard our first ones Tuesday night! First thunderstorm of the year and the first time hearing peepers in the same day? What're the odds!? At last, we here in the Catskills can call it...
Today I'm grateful for the lovely delivery people that bring items right to my door! I find it so nice to get books in the mail as we don't really have much of a bookstore around here.
Until next time,
Spring!
Today I'm grateful for the lovely delivery people that bring items right to my door! I find it so nice to get books in the mail as we don't really have much of a bookstore around here.
Until next time,
Thunder Storms
Our first thunderstorm of the year came through very early this morning at 2am. I can't tell you how my heart sang when the thunder boomed and lightning lit up the night. Rain pattering against the windows - there are few sweeter sounds on God's green earth.
With the warmer weather comes line dried laundry. These long winter days where dodging laundry bars placed around the various heating vents is almost at an end! We will soon be able to use the long outdoor line. Just like there are few sounds sweeter than rain, there are few smells sweeter than line dried laundry. It's bright and clean and airy. Just delightful. Makes I feel like I should be singing Favorite Things from the Sound of Music now, adding in line dried laundry to the mix.
I have the afternoon off and I'm planning on making deviled eggs and crab pasta salad. Especially since the sky is once again turning dark and ominous. Now would be a great time for me to get my brand new tarp out and cover the compost to stave off some of the extra moisture, so I think I will add that to my to do list this afternoon.
Edited to Add:
I ended up putting the tarp on, but it's pretty haphazard, so next time I'm at the hardware store I'll find something more suitable for securing it down.
Today I am grateful for the beauty that this world has to offer. Whether in a sunrise or the tiny pink splotches on a beloved dog's paw, I am grateful that I can recognize and appreciate the beauty therein.
Until next time,
With the warmer weather comes line dried laundry. These long winter days where dodging laundry bars placed around the various heating vents is almost at an end! We will soon be able to use the long outdoor line. Just like there are few sounds sweeter than rain, there are few smells sweeter than line dried laundry. It's bright and clean and airy. Just delightful. Makes I feel like I should be singing Favorite Things from the Sound of Music now, adding in line dried laundry to the mix.
I have the afternoon off and I'm planning on making deviled eggs and crab pasta salad. Especially since the sky is once again turning dark and ominous. Now would be a great time for me to get my brand new tarp out and cover the compost to stave off some of the extra moisture, so I think I will add that to my to do list this afternoon.
Edited to Add:
I ended up putting the tarp on, but it's pretty haphazard, so next time I'm at the hardware store I'll find something more suitable for securing it down.
Today I am grateful for the beauty that this world has to offer. Whether in a sunrise or the tiny pink splotches on a beloved dog's paw, I am grateful that I can recognize and appreciate the beauty therein.
Until next time,
Finally it's Spring!
After a difficult winter that was much too cold for much too long, spring has come full force here. The crocuses are popping up and my gramma found the starts of the daffodils just the other day. Our lilac bushes have made their start by setting their buds.
Spring brings, of course, the growing season. While I'm still not sure if there will be a large garden this year, I did order two Cortland apples trees (self-pollinating), 3 blackberry bushes, 3 raspberry bushes, and 3 lilac bushes. I am ever so excited to get my hands into some soft, loamy earth and begin coaxing beautiful things to grow from it.
Here are the boys enjoying one of our sunny, beautiful days. Barkley (Barked Potatoes) on the left, Bailey (Bailey-Bug) on the right. They are long-haired miniature dachshunds.
The red squirrels and the blue jays were arguing over something outside my window this morning, and the robins are dotting the lawn, robbing it of worms when they can. Spring is finally here!
Today I am grateful for a long winter finally over and the promise of a beautiful (and warm!) spring ahead.
Until next time,
Spring brings, of course, the growing season. While I'm still not sure if there will be a large garden this year, I did order two Cortland apples trees (self-pollinating), 3 blackberry bushes, 3 raspberry bushes, and 3 lilac bushes. I am ever so excited to get my hands into some soft, loamy earth and begin coaxing beautiful things to grow from it.
Here are the boys enjoying one of our sunny, beautiful days. Barkley (Barked Potatoes) on the left, Bailey (Bailey-Bug) on the right. They are long-haired miniature dachshunds.
The red squirrels and the blue jays were arguing over something outside my window this morning, and the robins are dotting the lawn, robbing it of worms when they can. Spring is finally here!
Today I am grateful for a long winter finally over and the promise of a beautiful (and warm!) spring ahead.
Until next time,
A Post of the First Sort
I can't say I've never had a blog before, but I've always been far too defined in what my blog was about. This caused me to feel very limited and didn't allow me to truly be who I am and share what I wanted to. So I thought a change of pace was necessary.
Most people start a blog with a post about what it will contain, but I can't (and don't want to) define it. So I will say that it will be chock full of life and the things in it that I find worthy of sharing. And that will have to be enough for now.
I feel compelled to explain the name of this place. Daffodils are my favorite flower. Have you ever seen Big Fish? Edward Bloom gives the girl he's trying to woo (Sandra Templeton) an entire field of daffodils. I want that field of daffodils, that's the kind of love I harbor for those happy, sunny flowers.
What about dirt roads? I live in a small country town (not on a dirt road though) and I wouldn't change it for anything. I love living in a place where you can see the stars at night and hear the coyotes howling among the hills. It's pure bliss.
To conclude I thought I'd take after a favorite dog trainer of mine, Susan Garrett, and sign each of my posts with something I am grateful for.
Today I am grateful for the fresh beginnings of spring and the love of nature and gardening that the Father put in my heart.
Until next time,
Most people start a blog with a post about what it will contain, but I can't (and don't want to) define it. So I will say that it will be chock full of life and the things in it that I find worthy of sharing. And that will have to be enough for now.
I feel compelled to explain the name of this place. Daffodils are my favorite flower. Have you ever seen Big Fish? Edward Bloom gives the girl he's trying to woo (Sandra Templeton) an entire field of daffodils. I want that field of daffodils, that's the kind of love I harbor for those happy, sunny flowers.
What about dirt roads? I live in a small country town (not on a dirt road though) and I wouldn't change it for anything. I love living in a place where you can see the stars at night and hear the coyotes howling among the hills. It's pure bliss.
To conclude I thought I'd take after a favorite dog trainer of mine, Susan Garrett, and sign each of my posts with something I am grateful for.
Today I am grateful for the fresh beginnings of spring and the love of nature and gardening that the Father put in my heart.
Until next time,
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