Hello to all of my blogging, Facebook and Twitter friends. I am appealing to you for a bit of help. I have started a new blog for Shamrock Lodge (my new job) and would love and appreciate it if you could check it out and follow if you could. The more exposure we get, the longer I get to keep my job. 😉
Here is a picture of where I get to go every day to work, and below is the link to the new blog site.
There are not many things that truly scare me but wind storms are one of the furies of Mother Nature that greatly unsettle me. It doesn’t help matters that my house is nestled amidst numerous very tall trees.
We had a doozy of a storm last night and the wind is still raging, pushing the rain sideways across the landscape.
In the wee hours of this morning a large branch came down on the wires attached to the post that holds the power connection directly feeding my hydro supply. That post now hangs precariously at a 45 degree angle – still barely attached to its mooring. The most disturbing part of this situation is that the power is now back on.
![IMG_0969[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/img_09691.jpg)
I am currently sitting in my car waiting for the cavalry to ride in on their white trucks and rectify the dangerous situation my house is in. With a live power supply – those wires could spark any time. I am staked out at the end of the driveway watching for any sparks – poised to dial 9-11 if the need arises an my dog is safely snuggled in the back seat.
Fingers crossed they arrive soon!
Whether I label it the “Defense of Defecation” or “The Protection of Poop”, either moniker defines the depth of how stubborn my dog can be. In an earlier post I described the trauma she experienced last Thursday by running into a branch and puncturing her shoulder. She is in a medi-vest and has a cone on her head which has led to our morning routine being completely altered.
Most mornings Callaway had free reign of the nearly three acres we call home. She chased squirrels, followed the scent of whatever vermin have graced our property in the wee hours and did her morning business where nobody could see her while I enjoyed a coffee on the deck. That has all changed.
Each morning we now go out together, Callaway on a leash, me without coffee, and we attempt to find an appropriate spot for her to relieve herself. To most dogs this is a mundane task that they are willing to do almost anywhere. Not my dog. Since the “incident” we spend an HOUR each morning, fighting off mosquitos and Deer Flies, trying to find a spot that she deems worthy and protected enough to be able to empty her bowel. She will never shit on my lawn – that is an inarguable truth. She will regard me with great disdain each time we circle the lawn, me with hopes that her opinion on this will change, she holding strong to her right to defile the back woods in anonymity.
The battle of wills continues. Woman vs Dog. The morning stand-off. But she will always win because I am a pushover when it comes to my puppy dog. Armed with only a hoodie and my good intentions, I shall respectfully follow her to where no man should go and turn a blind eye while she chooses the perfect spot to have her morning movement in peace.
A slow crack appeared in my composure and I let the emotion overwhelm me. Tears flowed and the raw feelings were exposed like nerves in a broken tooth. To some she is just a dog, but to me she is family. As she heals from her injury I will tend to her every need. I will care for her and protect her just as she protects me. Dogs are truly man’s best friend.
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Written for the Trifecta Challenge – This week we have a new set of guest judges. Please help us welcome Mary Beth, Shreya and Yve. They’ve got a big responsibility this week, and we are confident that they’re going to do an awesome job.
CRACK 1a : a loud roll or peal b : a sudden sharp noise 2: a sharp witty remark : quip 3a : a narrow break : fissure b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out 4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness b : a broken tone of the voice c : crackpot 5: moment, instant – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.By3O27Ol.dpuf
As I do every morning, I awoke to the smiling face of my dog and we began our morning routine. Coffee in my hand, we went outside and our first sight was a ravaged bag of garbage that a raccoon had left strewn about my entrance way. This piqued Callaway’s interest and she was eager to get off the deck and chase the over-sized vermin to defend her territory.
Within moments of being in the bushes her cry pierced the morning air and my heart began an incessant rapid beat that sent me into high alert. I had assumed that the raccoon had performed some ninja moves and lacerated my dog’s face and I immediately threw on my running shoes and bounded off the deck, shovel in hand, ready to pummel the furry ninja with my weapon of choice.
I was ill-prepared for the gaping wound in her chest that was bleeding fairly profusely. Callaway gingerly limped back to the deck and I noticed a 3/4 inch hole just above her left front leg. She had run into a branch at top speed and the result had left her fairly immobile. My First Aid training came flooding back and I applied pressure to stop the bleeding. After several calls to the answering service for the vet I created a makeshift bandage and lifted her 85 pound frame into the car for the hour-long journey to see the doctor.
The vet was remarkable. He ushered her in immediately and assessed the wound. Without being able to tell if the stick caused further damage, Dr. Jones made the time to examine her further and offered to keep her for the morning so they could stitch and dress the wound properly. His colleague has also offered to have her as a passenger for the hour ride back to their local office where I can pick her up later. It’s comforting to know that medical professionals have as much compassion and concern for my dog as I do.
I am back home now getting ready to go to work and am anxiously awaiting a call to find out the extent of the damage. I miss her already but I know she is in good, caring hands and she will be home soon.
Her birth was nothing short of miraculous and she survived her first eight weeks in a landfill, left for dead. The rescue team that found her nourished her back to health and placed her in the system for adoption. Once I saw those big brown eyes I knew she would be, not only my dog but, my four-legged child and my best friend.
Written for the weekend Trifextra Challenge: On to the prompt. This weekend we’re revisiting an early Trifextra, our second ever. The challenge is to write a complete story in only three sentences. Good luck!
Yesterday my aunt, my brother and I spent many hours cleaning out my mom’s house. She is still currently in hospital awaiting the news of where we will be able to find her new forever home. On Friday, the remaining three cats (from the beginning number of six cats) were taken out of the house and surrendered to the OSPCA for adoption. As much as my mom loved those cats and her two dogs, we had to make the decision to do the fairest thing for them and allow them a chance at a life with a new family. My brother is still currently fostering the two dogs.
During the clean out, I realized why I will never again have a cat. Cats have three basics tasks – eat, sleep and evacuate their bowels and urinary tracts. With six different litter boxes in the house, I’m still perplexed as to how a cat can fail to execute the one task a cat is meant to master. Without getting into horrific details, there are pieces of furniture that were removed from my mom’s house that were more saturated with cat urine than a lifetime of litter boxes will ever be.
It was a cathartic experience throwing things out that my mom had been stock-piling for the apocalypse. I wasn’t sure how I would feel getting rid of some of my mom’s belongings, but the overwhelming smell of cat made the job much easier, and much quicker, than anticipated.
We still have one more floor to tackle, but the truly important stuff from that house is comfortably tucked into her hospital bed awaiting our visit this afternoon and a chance to breathe some fresh air during a trip to a potential retirement home. The rest of the novelties are just things. Sure, there are items with great sentimental value that will find a place in my home or my brother’s home, but the rest of those possessions are replaceable. My mom is not.
My muscles will be put to the test again today as we endeavor to clean up the second floor and get the house ready for more people to create memories in that house that will be as happy as the ones we have. I can only pray they don’t have a cat!
For all intents and purposes, my dog is my child. She has been in my life for 5 1/2 years and has completely wrapped herself in my heart-strings. Decisions I make are based on what would be best for her and how my decisions will affect her. Since my divorce, I have not spent a night away from her – until last night. I went to the city for a work function and left her at home. My neighbor graciously agreed to come and tend to her needs but it was difficult leaving her behind.
I can only imagine how a parent feels leaving their child with a babysitter for the first time. The feeling of anxiety was overwhelming as I drove out of my driveway. My intuition assured me she would be fine, but my guilt kept prodding at that intuition and the inner struggle was awful.
The Guest Appreciation night was a great success, but several times during the evening I felt the pang of regret knowing she was home alone. I’m sure she slept the whole time and enjoyed having the bed to herself but I could not disregard the fleeting moments that my brain was distracted by thoughts of my furry friend. As I write this, I find it a little odd that my connection with my puppy dog is that strong but she has been my friend and confidant through many tumultuous times and I would be lost without her.
I awoke at 6:30 this morning and, as I always do, called her name. When my bloodshot eyes focused on my surroundings I realized that I was in a hotel two hours away and I missed her. Had I not been giving a ride home to two of my coworkers, I would have hastily thrown on my clothes and driven home at that moment.
All is right in my world again. I arrived home to her welcoming smile and an exuberant greeting and we have assumed our usual positions – me on the couch with my laptop and Callaway curled in a ball at my feet.
Do your pets have the same hold on you? Or am I slowly going crazy?
polysyllabic profundities 