Counting the days

It was three years ago today that I started my little blog. For three years and through 987 posts, I've been anesthetizing you by sharing the daily exploits of a boring hospice nurse who just so happens to knit. There is no charge for this service. I do this out of love. After all, conscious sedation is one of my specialties.

Though this will post on Tuesday, I wrote it on Monday. Still feeling hungover from last week, I clocked into work remotely and realized when I hung up the phone, I'd pushed the code to clock out instead of into work. This mistake may have been wishful thinking, but inadvertently, I'd created a monster which will perpetuate itself without correction and now I will have to involve my boss because I can't fix my own mistake. Sheesh. Did I mention it's only Monday? When I thought about the whole thing, I realized I likely didn't clock out Saturday at 0h two hundred and since the pay period ended Saturday night, I really messed things up. It should take at least 2 pay periods to fix my sloppy time keeping skills. Ugh.

I need that vacation that's coming soon, don't you agree? I'm counting down the days (32 to be exact) on this beautiful Australian calender that Ruth sent me (see top photo). I like looking at it because when I see photos like that, I can pretend I'm there and it's likely warmer than here. Much warmer. The temperatures here are still in the 20s and we're to get a little snow today. I'll not despair as the countdown to Ground Hog's Day is just a few short weeks away. Whatever may happen, the days are getting longer and sooner or later, this frigid weather will go away.


To help myself feel better, I temporarily set aside the second mitten (unfinished) and cast on, Pimpelliese, a little something I think will be quite special when done. I'm using Blue Ridge Yarns Kaleidoscope in the Mossy Hollow colorway. Instantly, I was transported to spring--never mind that I ripped the first repeat out 3 times before I got it right. The colors are perfect for spring and the yarn came from Virginia. I'd been waiting for the right project to come along for this yarn and last night, there it was right before my eyes. I was helpless in the process. A clever little pattern, it begins with only 7 stitches and grows in width on one side of the marker. The other side of the marker is the border which helps me because I don't have to add it at the end. It'll all be finished at the same time. Done in garter stitch, there are no purl stitches--only knit stitches, yarn overs and decreases.


Lastly, I thought you'd like a word or two about Leo. He's been so good lately and I'm truly hoping his winning streak will continue. There have been some break-ins in the neighborhood and we had a discussion that we'd feel better if the dog wasn't crated. We started with short little trips and on Friday, he was on his own for most of the night. Nothing was chewed, no food missing, no messes to come home and clean. In short, he was very successful and I'm so happy for him. Not that he minds his crate, because he doesn't; it's just that he seems happier loose and able to stretch out on the sofa.


Here he is trying to conquer his desire to shred the paper on the floor and balance that with his desire to please me by paying attention when I tell him no. I won. So did he. We were both pleased with the outcome. He's been a welcome and refreshing addition to our little family and I'm thrilled he's adapted so well.

I'd like to say thanks to everyone who reads and to all of you who have become long distance friends and pen pals. I never imagined how much fun writing a blog and reading all of yours could be and can say that this is definitely an entertaining part of my life.


Oh... And I'm giving away a little something as is my tradition on my blogiversary. Leave a comment by Friday night at midnight and win a fabulous hank of my handspun yarn (I think it's BFL) in the Sangria colorway that my friend Sarah dyes so beautifully. This will be awarded by random selection. Don't knit? Leave your comment and I'll make you a hat or cowl to help ward off what's left of winter's chill.

Hey Lady?

Can I move in too? I need a home.

Oh, Oh. Pick me-pick me-pick me!

My name is Hitch. I'd like to take a ride with you. I do not eat a lot and I'm a svelte 19 pounds.

Uhm. Hello. My name is Moose. It is not a reflection of how much I eat. To the contrary, I'm dainty and I think I'm a lap dog. I love to be held like the baby that I am.

Look at my sweet face. My name is Trooper. Look at my pretty brindled coat. I promise not to shed. Much. The neighborhood dogs told me you're moving to a city that loves dogs. I think I'd like to live there with you. Think about it, won't you? And don't think too long, I'm in a shelter that doesn't have a no kill policy.

All I can say is they're wearing me down.

I am spending the day with my favorite women. We are going to an ANRS conference down at the casino. We'll be the loud ones near the roulette table if you'd like to buy me a birthday drink. See ya there.

Something's Missing

It's just so damn quiet in this house these past few days. Last Saturday, I awakened to the sound of ferocious barking. There must have been barbarians at the door, or squirrels on the telephone line that crosses my yard. My dog had a hair-raising bark that gave fair warning to any who stood on his property. I miss the noise. I particularly miss the nightly ear rubs and his quiet moans and sighs of contentment. Oh! This is so hard that at times, it takes my breath away. My routines with him are broken, and so is my heart. For a couple of hours at a time, I'm OK, then I see something that reminds me of him, like these photos on my camera, and the next thing I know, I'm blubbering like a baby.

When we got Duke, it was really a poodle I wanted. A standard sized, fluffy black poodle. I'm not one to dress up a dog, or shave its hair in odd ways. I love the look of standard poodles with their fur all grown out, and generally speaking, this is a smart breed and easy to train. My son, who was a shy 11 year old at the time, told me, "if you get a poodle, I won't love it." I believed him, and researched hard for something else. I didn't want to risk getting a dog he couldn't love-or break an 11 year old boy's heart. It wasn't long before we were all piled in a car driving west to go meet our newest family member. He was from a large litter of very active pups, all of them barking, scratching to get out of their barn, and taken as a group, a little overwhelming. My son, delighted by all of the racket, sat in the middle of this melee of puppies, and was completely bewitched by the pup who climbed onto his lap and promptly fell asleep. There was no bartering, and no begging; it was a done deal from that moment forth.

Training this dog was difficult. He was not one to tolerate a crate, and when jailed in this manner, the entire neighborhood could hear his complaints. As much as I researched this breed, for some reason, I must have missed the part about their genetic issues. I think he had most of them. I missed the part about the chewing too.  It was incredible to watch him chew toys and watch him use his paws like he had hands with opposable thumbs.  He could untie the thickest of dog ropes with his teeth.  He didn't chew the ropes until he had them untied.  This boy chewed anything and everything in his path, but had a special hankering for expensive shoes.  Not everyone's shoes, just mine.  One day, I remember yelling at him over one particular shoe he chewed, long after the deed was done, and just like that, he never chewed another pair. It was as though something clicked and he finally got the message.

In his prime, this dog reached nearly 150 pounds.  He was huge.  When he was about 8 months old, I went out of town, and when I came home, it was like I was seeing this giant with new eyes.  It seemed that overnight, his chest had become massive in size, and finally looked to be in proportion to those long, long legs.  Maybe I was just seeing him with fresh eyes after a trip, but truly, I think he grew to immense size while I was away.  With his great stature, this dog was almost regal in his behavior.  He would go for walks around the neighborhood as though he owned it, and one of the few dogs he ever barked at was the Great Dane who lived a half a mile away.  It was no coincidence that the dog he chose to bark at was the only one bigger than him.    With the exception of Mr. Farmer's Kerry Blue Terrier, Duke never barked at other dogs.  He hated that terrier, almost as much as he hated the farmer behind us.

While other dogs avoided her, Duke loved Rachel unconditionally. They had a symbiotic relationship-she had the food, and by default, so did he. If she had something in her hand that he wanted, he would just take it from her. He never snapped at it, he just pulled it away from her, then she'd pat him on the head and go and get them more to eat. I was unsuccessful breaking the habit of him taking advantage of the weak.  These two worked well together. Even though she was unpredictable with movement, he was never skittish around her and trusted her implicitly. He taught himself to tell me when the bus was at the end of the drive.  He'd yip, not really bark, and this heralded Rachel's return home from school and thus, snack time. I don't know how Rachel feels about his absence here, or that she even notices it, but I think she does. When she came home from school Wednesday, I told her Duke had died. She came up to me and held my face in her hands, and hugged me. I think she knows, and just like the rest of us, she misses him.

Two years after I got this dog, I lost my dad. I went through such a terrible depression during those months that followed his death, that if not for this dog, I don't think I'd have weathered that time well. It was for him that I even got up every day.   I had to see to his needs even though I didn't care about my own. When I was feeling really down, I'd go lie down in bed, and the next thing I knew, I was being snuggled by a great big dog. Eventually, he'd fall asleep, and push me out of bed with those long, stilt-like legs. When I got up, he'd instantly awaken as though kicking me out of the bed was his plan all along, and now we had to go do something for him. Even up to last Sunday, his favorite thing to do was play hide and seek. I'd hide, and he'd search me out. No matter how hard the hiding place, he'd find me-as long as it didn't involve stairs.

With all of these big life changes upon me, I don't know how I'll weather these storms without my buddy. I've lost 4 pounds since Wednesday and also, most of my joy. My sister and I had a long talk the other night. Neither one of us think my Duke could have tolerated a big move and all the upheaval associated with leaving here. Perhaps the timing of all of this was meant to be. It doesn't hurt any less, but does ring true for me.

Duke's remains are ready to be picked up at the vet's office. I've been in touch with Debra (From Skilled Hands), and her husband is going to make an urn for Duke's ashes, and personalize it for me. Bless her little artist's heart, she's even offered to place his remains in the urn if I send them to her. I've never felt compelled to do this for a dog before, but I feel I owe it to him.  This way, he will have a prominent place in my next home, and this new chapter in my life.  

Dukealicious Dog

You would have thought we had a near catastrophic event with Duke and Rachel today. The dog was snoozing, which is what he does almost all day long now, when Rachel crawled along the floor, and used the sofa where he was napping to pull her self up. Startled, Duke yelped, jumped up, and landed on the world's loudest squeaky toy. The racket scared the hell out of all of us, including Duke. Thoroughly annoyed, Duke kicked the squeaky toy off the sofa and looked at all of us with suspicion and obvious disdain, then he yawned and went back to sleep. He's a funny boy when he sleeps-always chasing something with those long legs going a hundred miles an hour. Maybe he's dreaming of times he was capable of running like the wind.

Ever watchful and alert, except when he's napping (we've already established that's just about all day long), Duke likes to keep an eye on the barbarian activity (squirrels and rabbits) in the yard. I think he also keeps an eye on the farmer. Same difference.  Those two never really hit it off. When Duke was just a wee little hot dog on stilts (that's what he looked like), we tried to crate him. He would let loose with a symphony of dog noise only the deaf could ignore. One day, my husband was working in his home office and crated the puppy (he had a hankering for expensive shoes). The dog scratched, cried, yipped, squealed and howled for 20 minutes. Certain we were beating the spoiled little beast, Mr. Farmer hopped the fence to see why the dog was carrying on. Even though the man was there to rescue him if need be, the pup never liked him. He still doesn't care much for him-or his dogs.

With the exception of beef tenderloin, there was one thing this dog seemed to love above everything else: chasing shovels full of snow that we'd toss to him. For us this was a chore, but for him, it was a game he loved. My son used to take him in the yard for an hour and throw snowballs. Duke never tired of it, but when frostbite threatened, my son would throw in the towel. Duke always won in the stamina department. He still loves snow, but instead of catching snowballs these days, he sticks to eating it off the table I always forget to put away in the fall. Since it's the only time he's allowed to eat from the table, I can't say I blame him. He's still a handsome boy, and even if he can't chase snowballs anymore, at least he still gets to run after them in his dreams.

Today's therapy is a pair of thrummed mittens in Cascade 220 and Louet Merino roving.  This is as good for my soul as watching Dukealicious eat snow.  For today, it doesn't get better than this.

The Dog Always Nose Best

My Dukealicious Dog is going on 9 this year and he isn't doing so well.  Every time I look at him, he has a new lipoma and limps a little more.  The Tramadol I give him for pain gives him the trots-and not in a good way:  the dog isn't trotting, his gut is-all over my house.  I vacillate about giving him his pain medication.  If I do, he has an upset stomach and if I don't, he's in pain.  Maybe we just need a new drug.

This has been the best dog I've ever had in my life.  He is the sweetest beast and I had my concerns about a Doberman.  They have such fierce reputations that I've found are completely undeserved.  Duke has personality with a capital P.  He is fiercely loyal and protective.  At night, he routinely made the rounds of his pack in their rooms.  If the door was closed, he'd knock with his paw or nose to come in and check.  If you didn't let him check, he'd pace and knock until he won the battle.  He wanted to know everyone was safe.  This work ethic must have been part of his genetic code.  When he was young, I couldn't even pee without him in attendance.  Nowadays, he doesn't even get up to greet me when I come home and he no longer makes the rounds of the bedrooms at night.  He has retired.  I think just like my dying hospice patients, he mostly sleeps all day long.  He still likes to eat and like any good girl of Arab descent, I believe eating and appetite are good cardinal signs.   Despite this, he is thin and his legs have atrophied from disuse due to arthritis.  It's so sad to watch his decline.

He has been the most correct judge of human intent and worthiness.  For the most part, this judgement on his part has been toward my daughter's suitors.  If the dog had an inkling that their character was flawed, or wanting, he'd growl and snarl until he intimidated the young men into leaving the house.  Because he batted 1,000 in respect to ferreting out creeps, for years if my daughter found someone she was particularly fond of, she was afraid to bring him around for the final test with Duke.  This dog's opinion was never wrong and he pretty much disliked them all.  The last serious boyfriend she had was the exception.  He never snarled and let the boyfriend pet him.  He didn't just tolerate the young man, he liked him. This relationship went on for a year and we were all comfortable with things.  I had visions of a fabulous wedding and grandchildren dancing in my head and then abruptly, Duke changed his mind about things.  He sensed what the rest of us couldn't see.  Two weeks later, the young man was out of our lives because his feelings had changed.  Duke knew it first and when he first sensed it, he had snapped at him, almost snagging his ear.  This was a rare behavior for my dog.  He never bit anyone, but wanted to this time.  Maybe he was hurt too.

Sometimes, the people he likes surprise me.  He has a thing for Mr. Larger Than Life.  I'm surprised only because MLTL doesn't like my dog.  He barely tolerates Duke.  To the dog, this is a challenge he has never turned down.  He's made it his mission to make my father in law like him.  I don't think it'll ever happen.

I'm feeling badly about my dog's suffering.  When and where should I draw the line?  When he can no longer get up?  When he stops eating?  How can I tell he has had enough and my forcing him to do things satisfies only me and not him?  I've got to tell you, this one hurts.  I know to some, he is just a dog, but to me, he is my companion and a part of my pack. 

Almost Heaven

I'm packed and heading out first thing in the morning.  A blissful (hopefully) 5 day retreat awaits.  I don't have a problem packing for vacation in a college town, that's easy.  Jeans, t-shirts, flip-flops, jammies and clean underwear. Clothing wise, this is a no-brainer trip.  No fancy dinners are planned though we do have a fancy Sunday brunch planned at a wonderful spot where my niece fell head over heels for a boxer pup last fall.  I'll wear jeans, a tee and flip flops to that and we'll take the dog to the spot we all first met her.

I'm packing the following meds: levaquin, medrol dose pack, albuterol and my personal favorite today, robitussin with codeine (I haven't slept due to my cough for 5 days.)  I promise not to take the codeine until I reach VA.  After that, I'm having a lie down.

I am having a bit of difficulty deciding just which yarn to pack.  I packed ALL of the yarn I'm using to work on my sister's anniversary/house warming gift (even the stuff to make the edging.)  I took out the yarn swift and ball winder and rolled it all.  I think it may be ambitious but perhaps I'll be inspired.  I packed the rest of the pink sweater yarn in case I get to start the sleeves (I am so close to binding off the sweater-I swear.)  I packed the Chinatown Apple Smooshy and extra sock needles.  Also in the bag are two other socks I'm working on.  That should do it and if for some reason I find myself yearning for something new, there are two decent yarn stores in town.  I should leave my amex at home.  I don't suffer from project loyalty (much) but feel inspired by a variety of options (yeah, right.)  I also packed one book, nothing special and my favorite, ACLS (advanced cardiac life support) review.  I can't believe I'm taking this......

As soon as Miss R is on the bus for school, I'm off.  I'll send pictures from the city that gave us 3 U.S. Presidents- Jefferson, Madison and Monroe.   If time permits, I want to wander around Monticello again.  At a store on the grounds, I can buy seedling plants from Jefferson's estate.  I'm hoping for a little lily of the valley and anything else I think may grow well this far north. I'm also hoping to snag my very own picture of one of these creatures.

 For my musical enjoyment today, I've removed the dog's music and replaced it with this:

Womanly Ways

Having not had an un-spayed female dog in my house in many, many years, I had forgotten the joys of the female heat cycle. Aside from the general mess, I've come to believe that many of Jezebel's obnoxious behaviors are due to her heat cycle.

My floors have never been washed so often. Keeping this dog in pull-ups can be a full time job. She is an accomplished escape artist in more ways than one. I go through the trouble of cutting a hole in the pull-ups for her tail and slipping them backwards on the dog-voila, instant dog menstrual pads complete with tail escape hatch. She responds by first looking humiliated and then by adeptly stepping out of them. Note the down and back position of her ears and the "silent tail." This dog is not happy in her embarrassing panties.

There is blood splatter here that one doesn't need luminol to appreciate. It would make a crime scene investigator wonder just who I stabbed and where the hell I put the body. He'd be able to follow a trail Hansel and Gretel couldn't miss. Around and around the kitchen table in circles it goes, then makes a beeline from the front door to the back door and back again. It's everywhere and quite impossible to keep up with. If I happen to be cooking, this hound can barely sit still. She prances in circles in my kitchen's cooking area waiting for a morsel of something other than dog food to fall from the counter. Drip, drip, drip. At this time, the mess is almost more than I can manage in my germ laden state. It can't be helped for now, she'll be spayed in a month and therefore only has a few more weeks to embrace the joys of her womanhood.

She must be watched like a hawk in the yard. She'll not turn down a single opportunity to jump the fence in a never-ending effort to find conjugal dog heaven. She is shameless. Her tail is often high and to one side with her behind in the air. This place has turned into a canine anatomy and physiolgy classroom/dog brothel. I'm thankful we've not had inclement weather, at least I'm able to enjoy sitting outside with her. I don't know if it's our constant presence when she is out or if my makeshift head knocker on the gate is keeping her on this side of the fence. I have noticed her checking out other fence climbing options. I'll run out of garden tools if this keeps up.

She is INCREDIBLY clingy. An annoying feature to be sure. If you're sitting and trying to do something, she'll nudge her way in, tuck her head down and then stick her ass in the air. God I hope this goes away, it's beyond offensive. Nothing however, beats the disgusting attention to detail she is giving herself in her nether-regions. This, is something else.

I read this knowledgeable info from Pet Bits For You. The parenthetical comments are my own:

Do not take her for walks at all, but keep her confined to the fenced back yard for the whole time. (Ummm OK, I'll try, but this beast has a one track mind and is far more capable of escaping than I ever thought possible. She's not affectionately nicknamed Jezebel for no purpose-she's earned that name. Also, I am running low on garden tools.) The reason for this is that she will urinate frequently while on a walk, just to let the boys know she is available.(Does this explain the piddling inside the house? God, I hope so for her sake because I'll tolerate that bullshit just so long and then it's doggie prison for un-rehabilitated dogs for her.) The males will pick up the scent and follow her trail to your home.You really don't want a motley collection of canine suitors hanging around your house. (If that happens, I'm charging an entry fee.)

(Can Ellie Mae come out to play?)

This particularly joyful state of affairs has put the kabosh on this dog going to the mountains this week. Thats too bad because we were heading to the birthplace of black and tan coonhounds (a breed created by George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.) Perhaps she would have run into a relative. She shall stay home instead because her "condition" is just too much to handle right now. I know she'd love the ability to tree whatever her little heart desires, but her mating behaviors are just too unmanageable at this time. Besides, can you imagine the motley suitors following us from rest area to rest area all the way to Virginia and back?

What Would You Do?

Here's the thing.  My home hasn't been the same since Augie Doggie passed away last May.  I've been hemming and hawing and riding the fence about adding a new dog to the mix.  I think dogs are like children; it's a test of skill to put up with more than one. If you have one child and things seem amiss, you know who to put the finger on.  If you have one dog and one chewed shoe, you know whodunnit.  Since I've been unsure about having another beastie around here, I've done nothing.  Until now.

Meet Ellie Mae.  She is a beautiful coonhound who was abandoned because she is afraid of gunshots and is therefore useless for hunting.  Welcome Ellie Mae.  You'll fit right in with this house of misfits.