Stick Horse Cowgirls

Well, V and I have certainly been derelict in our blogging duties.  The Christmas season was all-consuming.  I was blessed with a houseful of nephews plus a niece.  The house seems quiet after that many people, but at least one has promised to come in the summer to help me stain porches. We have lots of snow for our area.  Here is what my place looks like: Chili is loving the snow.  My problem is that he’s decided he wants to go out in the middle of the night (unusual) and play in the snow for an hour or two, whining at the door when he’s ready to snuggle back down.  I don’t have the heart to leave him out there in low teens weather, so I drag back up to indulge him by letting him back in to sleep. Notice the deer rib cage Chili has dragged up.  So picturesque in the snow. And, now, for the sad news.  Earlier this week we had to put my Sheltie, Scout, down.  She rallied a bit last month after her vet visit, but the last ...

My faithful l ittle Sheltie, Scout, is  now twelve years old.  The past couple weeks, MIL and I have noticed her having an occasional cough and it seems to take her longer to get from MIL’s to my house each evening. Scout is a near-perfect dog.  She is smart, attentive and willing.  MIL and I are central to both my dogs’ lives—their routine revolves around us, and we appreciate that. Scout is hardy.  She has only been to the vet for well-checks her entire life.  We had a Sheltie, “Gus,” at the time we got her and had planned to have puppies, but she never conceived.  She has lived all her years(save the first eight weeks!) here with me in the country.  She is an outside dog in the day (unless she cons MIL into letting her in, which happens frequently) and spends her nights in with me (occasionally staying the night with MIL). She is a peaceful soul who occasionally goes out on the back porch to visit Kitty Sasha with me—unlike Chili, who gets a pr...

Like Dorothy, I have learned that there’s no place like home!  Last weekend I spent one night away from home with Mom, MIL and Aunt E.  My own bed felt so good when I came back. But, it’s not just my familiar bed that beckons me back.  No, it’s the warm greeting I receive from those who await me: my pets! Last Saturday, as we were making were way home, my phone rang.  It was my son: “ Mom,” he said, “ The weirdest thing…the dogs won’t come home!”   Now, let me give you the back-story: My two dogs, Chili and Scout, are usually home whenever I’m home.  When I leave for work each morning, they immediately head to Grandmom’s just up the driveway toward the road from me, where they spend most of the day. MIL spoils them, letting them in and out of her house and providing treats. Wh en I return, the dogs greet me at MIL’s and watch to see if I am turning in to visit her or if I’m passing her turn and going straight home.  Wherever I go, they go....

Yes, I understand that the dogs are spoiled. I do try to keep the separation clear between homo sapiens and canine in this household. Unlike V’s “Dudley” or my sister-in-law’s “Sophie,” my dogs do not presume to sleep on my bed. But they each have their own bed at my bedside. I’m not sure that’s particularly “canine” but, still, it is on the floor. My dogs both sit beautifully on command and obey the basics. I make sure to order them around every so often just to remind them. “ Stay !” I will command, for no good reason. And they both dutifully do, albeit with rolling eyes sometimes as though they are humoring me; but they do it. Rarely do they give any offense whatsoever. Still, the title of “Pack Leader” sometimes seems to hang in life’s gray area around here. Sometimes we can blame that on others…. Take the couch, for instance. Scout is eleven years old. The first nine years of her life as a dog in the house were spent contentedly on the floor. You know, where dogs liv...

If you have read very many of my posts, you know what a blessing my dogs are to me. When I was sent this video by a friend, I thought "Wow! What a sermon is that!" I had to share: C