Our Pearlie Girl.

Pearl

 I loved Tucker. He was a sweet soul, a steadfast friend, a light in any cloudy day. It was impossible to have a bad day when you also had Tucker. When Tucker's cancer became more fierce than my chemotherapy and radiation, all of my tools of modern western and alternative medicine combined, and he was ready to leave us, he left a hole behind. Too large to fill, it took me some time to start saying "I need another dog for Jules."
Julia had mourned terribly for Tucker, was depressed and listless for many months. Julia, or Jules, is our "black dog". A wire haired mutt seized as a 10 month old by the County for abuse, Julia called me from dog jail and I posted her permanent bail. Jules has been a joy from the first, and took all her cues from Tucker, who taught her well. Now Julia is the "older dog" needing a partner to train.
So I started saying it aloud.
"I am ready for another dog." Not really believing so, but thinking that I would be ready when the opportunity arose. But, truly, I wanted another Golden. Not "like Tucker" because I am too jaded to believe you can recreate the soul of any living creature, but "Tucker-like." Sweet, and kind. Sensitive and devoted.
So, I started saying it aloud.
"I am ready for another Golden." To be true, a Golden Retriever, but the second bit often is left off for the dog types.
I said it at work, and to my friends. Heck, I probably mentioned it to strangers, as I seem to speak to everyone. Last month I found myself "high-fiving" a lady in the grocery store because we kept passing each other in the aisles. I am intrepid by aisle 3... ( Research says that people who speak to strangers are happier, and live longer- I'm gonna be Gram-Gram old. #101 baby! Epley, N., & Schroeder, J. (2014). Mistakenly seeking solitude. Journal of Experimental Psychology: General, 143(5), 1980-1999.)  
I kept putting it out there, and secretly praying for the Golden to arrive in mild weather- I hate house training in the winter!
One of the friends I mentioned it to texted me with a photo of two Goldens. I said "OMG, Adorable!" Followed a few texts later with "I want one!!!"
Well, wouldn't you know, the pair belonged to a family who was needing to re-home one of the dogs after taking on a LOT of life, and then having a house fire that put them out of their house. They wanted to find a loving, caring home for the white haired Golden, and doncha know, I knew just the place! I was there in an hour to meet her and bring her home.
Her name is Pearl.
Now,  Cowfeathers Farm Blog faithful (my mom) will recall we already had a Pearl. Practically Perfect Pearl was Youngest's first pony. She was a grey Arab pony of advanced years and a big heart that gave him the confidence to become the rider his is today (a good one!).  So, my family made some suggestions for a name change for Pearl.
But our sweet Pearl- and she is the sweetest of canines- doesn't see very well. She has some congenital ocular defects that mean she isn't quite blind. If you want to understand what Pearl sees of the world, take you hands, and make fists. Holding the thumb side towards your eyes, place the fists about three inches away from your eyes. Now, quickly, move them back and forth, about 1 inch of sway either way. Try walking, or running. It makes a lot of sense why she will stop and lie down if she feels uncertain!

She is, as I said, the sweetest of dogs. She loves all creatures and has made fast friends with the cats and with Baily, above- a logical friendship as Baily is the Pearl of equines.
We are still working on training, she isn't practically perfect yet! She had a urinary tract infection when she first arrived, but I took care of that right away, and she has taken to house training quickly. But along with her eye problems, tests have shown her kidneys are challenged as well. She tends to "follow her nose" which has gotten her into trouble, as she will find something she is keen on and wander away from her people! So, she still spends a lot of time on leash. She knows how to say "please" and has become rather polite, but she gets excited to see me and wants to put her paw on my leg. She rarely chews, but rarely is not never... okay she is practically perfect.

Welcome to Cowfeathers Farm, Pearl!

50th Birthday...Bustin' out a PSA

When I was very young, I thought all the fireworks and parties around July 4 were for me. Talk about a Princess complex,  right? Perhaps my older sisters suggested this, a joke, to make me look foolish. Perhaps I just misconstrued the facts because the parties started on the 3rd and ended in my birthday- like the build up to Christmas. In any case, I did eventually give that notion up, I don't recall how young, or being at all disappointed, just that it was two separate events. My mom did a great job of making birthdays special with parties my friends still recall. No fireworks, but certainly the occasional sparkler, lots of field games and make-your-own sundaes. Plus, if you're lucky, you get presents on your birthday, so all the hullabaloo around the 4th seemed like second-tier.
A few years have passed. A-Hem. And this week, I flip into a next half-century. It seems like something big. I made it this far! WAY TO GO, ME! I'm well past the years of dangerous decision making, and boy did I make some doozies. Lived through every one of 'em. I had great luck.
Maybe someday I'll share the ones I can remember. I think my personality is the type that lives forward a lot, and my memory leaves out a lot of the details. I'm frequently surprised by things my long time friends bring up of which I have zero recollection, or sometimes a vague sense of familiarity. My dangerous plans nowadays usually include a horse. Still, I have become more cautious.
And yet, despite this auspicious anniversary, I have no plans to have a big 50 celebration. I have been kind of ill this year, and it zaps your energy most soundly. So it will be a low-key birthday, maybe I'll see if I can drum up some zoom-zoom for 50.5.

I did take on a task I think every woman over 18 should do around her birthday each year, and gets more weighty with accumulating years. I went bra shopping.
Bras are expensive.  But they get a lot of use, wear out even with hand washing and air drying and should be replaced before they lose their "oomph". And even though they are only be seen by those you are most close with; your husband, best girlfriends, immediate family, they change the way the clothes fit on the outside. Like good posture for bosoms, they can change the way you feel as you move about in the world, boobs forward preferred. So, they are worth the effort to make sure they fit, and are reasonably comfortable.
I remember getting off a plane, or home from a trip as an early 20 something, and I hadn't seen my eldest sister in a long time. She didn't even greet me before grabbing my bra straps and saying "You gotta get those things up!" Your sister will tell you straight, and she wasn't wrong. She hasn't had to do that to me since. Advice taken.
So, after my morning visit to the dentist and before my cruise through Costco (the white peaches are in!!), I went to the breast place in Central Ohio for brassieres; Columbus based Victoria's Secret. The Easton store is enormous, and overwhelming, but I don't care. I don't have to figure it out. I just bounce right back to the fitting room, because VS is the boss when it comes to Bustomer Service. I tell the saleswoman, Anise, I need to be fitted for bras, and I'm looking for a practical everyday option, and something a bit less so- it is my birthday! Anise is a young woman with a tape measure around her neck, and that perfect "no-nonsense" attitude you need when a stranger is sizing up your chest. She looks at me and announces I am "probably a (size here), but we don't have that size so I'll see if we can fit you into a (one size smaller)." Then she measures me, and nods in satisfaction. Anise is an expert confirming her assessment. I am in good hands. (I elected to leave my size out, as that is TMI, and when I wrote it, I rolled my own eyes, so insert obscurity. Don't want to cause ocular injury to my readers. Also, a word to the uninitiated- a bra is measured around your ribcage below the breasts, where the strap will sit. That is the number portion of the size. Then, the fullest part of the bust is measured. That is the letter portion. Each inch of difference between the ribcage measurement and the full bust measurement gives you a letter increase. An "A" cup is one inch bigger. For some reason once they get to the letter "D" They just accumulate "D"s, up to three. Then, skipping E and F, they bounce back to "G" and so-on. It is really, REALLY important get measured and to try on bras. They do not all fit alike! But, remember bra size is just a number and a letter. It is not your identitty....)
She disappears from my dressing room and returns with a black bra with a pink ribbon tied to the strap. The ribbon denotes that it is a try-on bra. In the fitting area, they keep all types of bras in a try-on version, so you can find the size and design you want. I try on a passel of black bras with pink ribbons, and Anise writes the size and style of my selections on a card.  When I need a different size, or advice, I push a little button that causes Anise to knock and get me settled.
She brings me one that has so many straps and bits to it, I have to figure out how it works, like trouble shooting a broken lawn mower. I wonder if 50 year olds should just say "no" to complicated bras. I decide the answer is yes, I need a bra that can be used without trouble shooting. But, I am here, so I give it a try. I press the button, because even though it is on, I can't believe I've got it on correctly. Anise arrives and tells me "that's right! And it looks awesome!" To me it looks like a ratchet tie down and Batman had a bra-baby. I ask for something a little more "classic".
Anise delivers with a few bras that are softer, and pretty. I have her note down two pretty bras that I like. I tell her, "maybe two pretty ones- tomorrow is my fiftieth birthday!" Her eyes get big as she does a quick scan of me in my underwear and declares "Wow! You look great for 50!" I know this is meant to flat-ter, and very sweet... supportive even... but it makes me instantly wonder, for what age do I look gruesome? Just "meh"? What birthday number would get a "Poor dear, I'm sure you're a very kind soul." I decide not to ask, don't need to know.
Decisions made, clothes back on, she takes me out to the store and shows me what colors my bra choices come in, dashes upstairs to what I picture is a warehouse of bras and panties to check for my hard to find size in preferred colors. I thank Anise for her help and check out, birthday bras in the pink and pink striped bag, pink leopard print tissue puffing out, just so.
Boobs forward to face the blessing of a new half-century.