Delta, a 7-year-old Border Collie

I'm in love again! 

Try, Try Again

This is Max. He's a 5-month-old shepherd/collie mix--or that's how old he was when this ad was posted. He's in a Locust Fork, Alabama shelter or foster home. At least I received acknowledgment of my email request, said it was forwarded to the shelter. Every time I look at this photo, I think, "Just look at that! Just look at the white tip of his tail!"

My Facebook friend Debbie posted a list of books to read, and I've copied it in this blog's left column. I've already just about finished one of the books, an old copy of The Song of Roland that I haven't previously got around to reading. This is the ancient saga/poem on which Browning's Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came is based, as well as Stephen King's Dark Tower series.

Coming 'Round the Mountain

I've been playing with my train set.

Jed phoned this morning, and he'll be here sometime this week. I've invited the family here for Christmas Eve midday dinner, on Thursday afternoon. And this afternoon, Susan and I plan to go to the Tower of Prayer Church to hear them preach and sing.

*

This month I have requested information about adopting seven different dogs, and haven't heard a mumbling word about a single one.

This Is the Dog I Want.

A. Oliver - Great Pyrenese - male 3 y.o. - Talladega, AL

B. Rogan - Collie mix - Male 3 y.o. - Columbia, TN

 

 

C. Jacob - Irish/English setter mix - Male 18 m.o. - Remlap, AL

 

Of course, you know the one I want most. But I'm not sure. Rogan makes me smile, and he "looks like us." Jacob looks like a real dog. But Oliver! Oliver! Oliver!

They're all listed with Pet-Finder. I'm reluctant to inquire about any of them; it's so hard to get someone to talk to me about a dog. Dave wants to get me a 6-m.o. German shepherd named Carly, "the prettiest dog you ever saw." But I don't want a GSD if I can get one of these (above).

These are all large dogs, but all three seem to be content with a minimum of exercise--especially Oliver. If I succeeded in obtaining one of them, I would take him to the best vet around here, find out what's best to feed him (prime rib? filet mignon?), and price getting him groomed regularly. He would be my hobby from here to eternity.

This is too much!

I've been up since 3:15 a.m., walking around the house with the telephone in my hand, looking to see if I was awakened by a window breaking. Meanwhile I've drunk two mugs of coffee.

***

I've requested information about this dog, a lab mix. Have received no response about Fluffy or Bella.

Still Looking

It looks like Fluffy Puppy has already been adopted. The email and telephone listings don't respond.

*

I just put in a call message about Bella. She's a golden retriever, six years old, but her adoption fee is pretty high. Maybe I can plead old age--the site says senior citizens can adopt senior dogs for free. So maybe I can connect up with this or another Golden.

I really wanted that Fluffy dog. I like Bella because she "looks like us--" that is, she reminds me of Ginger, the Chow-Chow mix that I grew up with, and Buck, the shepherd/retriever that I kept for 24 hours a few years ago. She also favors Wilbert, and Monty, and Pat's dog Weezer.

I don't have much ambition to write or blog any more, but I want to remember some details. The police posted a video on Facebook, supposedly in my neighborhood, supposedly showing a guy rather similar to the face/form that was on my porch, trying to break into a house and carrying something away. The police and I speculated that he might be someone who lives over on King's Forest or in that direction, because I didn't hear or see a car.

I didn't want to call Jed, because I knew he would cancel his vacation trip and rush over here. Which is what he did. He got a man to come and measure for the new windows, who called me back yesterday and said he'd install the new panes on Monday. Then Jed went back to Atlanta yesterday.

For so long I've had this half-scared, half-excited feeling that something was going to happen. So I got a burglar, and the world got the Paris disaster. I'm going to try to reverse the trend of waking at night and sleeping in the daytime. But I don't know if I can sleep in my bed by that window again.

I wish I felt as strong and normal as I felt this time last year. I would switch my bedroom and office furniture. Maybe Dave and Jennifer can do it over a period of time. All those books.

***

Oh, a cheerful note: I found this adorable dog on FCDF, his name is "Fluffy Puppy." He's a mix of bulldog and Rottweiler. I emailed the person who advertised him but haven't heard back.

 

He's about a year old, and the ad said he likes to stay inside, which is better than having to buy a fenced yard. If I get him or a similar fluffy little dog, I'm going to buy him a strong harness, and walk him all around the neighborhood, and hang his picture outside all my outside doors, and record his barking to play in case he turns out to be the laziest dog in the world.

Ker-Blam!!!

Well, at least it wasn't a ghost. I'm shaking so that my fingers are typing by themselves, more accurately than I usually type.

I went to sleep on the sofa, then woke up later and thought my back door was open. It wasn't. I just looked around, made sure all the doors were locked and the front and back porch lights on, and lay back down on the sofa. About 4:15 a.m., something went CRASH! and shook the east side of the house. I woke up and thought, now, did I dream that, or--KER-BLAM!

Something definitely hit the house again. I jumped up and grabbed the phone, but couldn't see it well enough to dial. I ran to look out the kitchen window, and a guy was on the deck. He shone a flashlight through the window, and the back porch light went out. I finally got 911 on the phone and told them someone was breaking in.

Well, that's all the excitement except for my little shaky legs trying to hold me up. The police car arrived about five minutes later, and two policemen rang the doorbell. They asked me to describe the man. About all I saw was his face and the flashlight, but I told them he was medium height, 20's or 30's of age, and African American. I wish he had been white, but he wasn't.

They looked all around the house. I told them I thought the banging had been on the garage door. They said the door into the side of the garage was muddy, as if someone had been kicking it. The back porch light wasn't broken, but the bulb was unscrewed.

I'm almost grateful to the guy for being real. All the strange noises I've heard around this house have made me wonder if I was losing my mind.

The policemen left, saying they would cruise around the neighborhood until daylight, and that if I heard anything else to call 911 again. And that I had a very clean house. I said thanks.

I guess it doesn't happen when Jed's here, because his car would be parked in the driveway.

 

***

I just went into my bedroom, and one of the windows is broken. Glass all over the floor. And you tell me to quit smoking?

*

The policemen came back and wrote up a report of the incident, which they said would cost $15 if I requested a copy of it from the Department.

I'm glad I wasn't sleeping in my bed when that window broke. It's right by the head of my bed, and I would have passed out probably. The policeman found two rocks under the night stand.

I think I definitely will get a dog. One of those great big ones with huge jaws.

Scrumptious on Rye

Sandwich for Lunch:

Mayo, lettuce/salad mix, jalapeno/Monterey Jack, tomato, all layered with pastrami, salt, black pepper--yum!

I drove to TKC yesterday and actually enjoyed the trip. Driving, that is. Dr. Gruman has just about talked me into quitting my 2-3 cigarettes a day--I have to admit that the count is not always accurate. (What occurs in my car, stays in my car.) After today (or tomorrow), I won't smoke at all any more. Ever.

No friend Jackie to talk to. No dog Gretchen for company. No cigarettes. No Coke. What's left? Eating until I'm unconscious? I weighed 117 pounds this morning. Unless I get busy writing this new book, Cassandra, I predict I'll be back up in the 150's before the end of the year.

I'm really pulling out all the stops for this little novel. Most of the people whom I'll libel or slander are dead. Except me.

This will be my fourth-and-a-half novel. Never mind that I've only made one effort apiece to get the three finished ones (drafts) published. I've even lost the two-and-a-half "romance" novels, have no idea what happened to them. Don't care.

Busy Day

I went to the bank, dentist and pharmacist. Drove to the water and power companies to pay bills. Gassed up the Tracker, and bought groceries. Then I felt sort of wiped out, so I slept all afternoon. In the evening I visited a sick friend:

 

Sweet Gretchen, estimated at 15 years old (human years).

Bringing the Outdoors In

Sometimes when I go outside, I bring the prettiest thing I see into the house.

*

Dog Language:

When someone she doesn't know comes to the door, Gretchen goes into defense mode.

"Don't you try to come in this house," she barks, "to get my dog food and aggravate my step-momma! I'll be obliged to eat you up in a minute!"

Foiled again!

I set out today to steal a dog, or to buy one if I got caught stealing. But the only one I saw, that seemed detachable from his yard, looked older than I am. Wasn't sure he would survive the trip home. Seriously, I really do need a dog, or a cat, or even a husband would be better than nothing. I think. No, scratch that option.

Surprises

My freshman year at the U., the dorm had a dress-the-dolls-for-children Christmas contest, and I won it. My prize was a sterling silver fork, my first piece of silver.

Last night or this morning I had a dream almost identical to that, except the doll was a look-alike Maureen O'Hara Barbie doll. Come to think of it, the doll I dressed was really red-headed. (In the dream, the contest judge was Alex Trebeck.)

I also dreamed I heard scratching at the door, got up and looked, and it wasn't Gretchen, but a big black-and-tan-and white collie.

Another Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Last night, Ramey and I attended a meeting sponsored by ASPS, at the Andrea Lucas Studios in Irondale, and each read a couple of poems to the group. Neither of us fell on her face.

 

From now on I'm going to carry my camera everywhere I go. Jerri H. shot these with her phone.

*

Prof. Alan Perliss of UAB attended the meeting, and I slyly reminded him that many years ago, he critiqued two poems of mine, saying that one wasn't worth anything, and the other had possibilities. I regret that I didn't tell him he was right about the second one; it has won several prizes and has been published at least twice.

*

The main reason I wanted my camera at the meeting was Andrea's dog. This isn't him, but very much like him.

I said he was a Great Pyrenese, but I could have been mistaken. Andrea's dog wasn't this furry, and his head was shaped more like a German Shepherd. Maybe he was a little mixed, but he was such a bee-yutiful dog! I almost cried. I had a mental flash of several ways to take him home with me--make him like me so much they'd have to give him to me, offer them a large purchase price, or just outright come back and steal him. It was hard to remember "Thou shalt not covet."

 

 

The Celebrated Jumping Dog of Jefferson County

She wore herself out jumping for treats (a chopped-up hot dog). After a little more lunch, and a walk outside, she lay down for a nap.

 

*

 

Yesterday I got a bright idea of how to fix the TV. I unplugged it from the wall, waited a minute, then plugged it in. And the sound came on. They don't call me Miz Fixit for nothing.

Dog gone

Wiping down the outside of the front door, I found a large paw-print at eye level. There's a black-and-white, blue-eyed dog that roams around here from time to time. One of these days, I'm going to attach a note to his collar: "Next time I see this dog, I'm going to keep him."

***

Some things are blooming.

 

The oxalis has survived in the lawn. Have to dig up the roots before Mr. Reed's crew cuts them down.

Gibbs, adoptable, in Birmingham

If I saw this dog in person, I could not resist bringing him home, if they'd let me. If I had 40 acres with a 10-foot fence all around it, so that he could run and exercise but not get lost, I would go and get this dog. Of course I'd have to clear and spray the 40 acres, so maybe he wouldn't get ticks in all that fur. I would also need an income sufficient to buy all it would take to feed and groom him. So it's just as well. But I reckon there's no penalty for looking at the picture.

P.S. I do not want a dog.

Hero

Gretchen is a pretty little dog of the Jack Russell persuasion. She lives with Ramey and India up on the hill, but she visits here almost every day, and sometimes she spends the night. This morning she took a walk outside, and encountered three trespassers.

A pit bull and two little dogs, looked like curly-haired dachshunds, had wandered into my yard. The big dog was dragging a leash, actually a piece of rubber hose or something similar, about three yards long. Gretchen ran them out of the front yard, and the little dogs hung around the periphery. But the pit bull ran to the back patio and got his leash wrapped around the deck stairs. I had to go and untangle him before he and his two little companions would leave the area, with Gretchen hot on their trail. She made sure they were all off the property.

The old pit bull looked at me and grinned when I got him loose from the stairs, and none of them acted aggressive toward me or Gretchen. Those were three beautiful dogs, and I hope they go home or their owner finds them soon. I'm sort of cautious about dogs I don't know, so I didn't get close enough to look at their tags.

*

Yesterday I finished quilting the border of my leaf quilt. Now all I have to do is trim and bind the edges; hope I get it done sometime this year.

Also yesterday I sent a bunch of poems to Negative Capability Press.

Three Notes and a Falling Trill

I dreamed we had bought or rented a house in England. By "we," I mean Mama, Daddy, the girls and me. It was an ugly house but very big and square, sort of rusty-looking brick, and it sat in a field facing banks that looked as if they had been flooded many times. But I was thrilled that we had a real house. I kept hearing this bird call, and I said to Mama, "That's a meadowlark!."

Then I thought to myself something like, "You don't know a meadowlark call from a fog horn. The only bird call you can identify is a crow."

 

*

A tranquil day in the neighborhood:

 

Gretchen with her head jammed against the arm of the sofa;

 

Mo curled up in the litter pan. He has a blanket and a beach towel to sleep on, but this is his choice, clean or dirty.

Hello, Goodbye

One cold rainy day last week, I went to the drugstore to pick up a prescription. When I got back and opened the garage so I could get in, a pretty black and white dog ran in ahead of my truck. He was wet and cold and shivering, and I sort of rubbed some of the rain off of him. Then I went upstairs and fixed him a plate of leftover beef stew and rice and things and took it down there.

He tucked his long bushy tail between his legs and looked sort of sheepish, but after a while he ate it all up. He had on a collar, and I turned it around and around, looking for a tag, but he didn't have one.

"You're a right nice dog," I said. "Matter of fact, you're the very kind of a dog I've been looking for, with your long wavy hair and your medium-sized build. How would you like to hang around here?"

"No'm," he said. "Much obliged for the dinner and the rubdown and all, but I reckon I'll get on back to the house when it quits raining."

"Well, it was mighty nice talking to you," I said, and he said likewise. So we shook hands, and after a while I let him out. When I looked out the window, he was long gone.

I really don't want a dog, but it had slipped my mind.