SCSS+garbage=bad fate.

I have really terrific kids. I know this. But they are kids just the same, and thus are on a crash course many days to make me crazy. I have one, in particular, (no birth orders) that believes heavily in the creation of trash, and that it should be seen, possibly heard. There is a trail of trash left behind this one, surrounding this one.  Bits of paper, parts of broken things, unidentifiable squashed together corporeality, rain down from this child's person. Do any of these bits ever make it to the trash without me having to ask? I cannot say.
But, when asked by Eldest last week what Shel Silverstein poem I like best, without a thought I blurted "SARAH CYNTHIA SYLVIA STOUT WOULD NOT TAKE THE GARBAGE OUT". It is all in caps, because the author understands. This is not a subject for meek lower case.
This poem has been going through my head in a somewhat constant buzz for years and years. Each time I ask for an item to be thrown in the garbage, and each time I ask the child who is in charge of taking out the trash if they had/would do their job. Rarely with a follow up. This poem is what reminds me that karma always is in action, and also, when I am tempted to "go on strike" that it would be a really, really bad idea. When I was a small child, taking the trash out was my chore. I don't remember loving to do it...probably the opposite. Mostly I remember that collecting the trash inevitably involved being attacked by the cat. This made the chore a torture. Still, the circle is round.
Read on at your own risk, for if you have a child like this, the poem my offer some succor, but it also might stick in your head like an Ace of Base song.

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts...
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall...
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!"
But then, of course, it was too late...
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much to late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!

Resolutions, keeping up with the KT's.

Resolutions. Specifically New Years ones, in this case, are tolerated by many, loved by few and kept by???
Each New Year's Day , for more than a dozen years, we have held an open house for friends and neighbors. I do love this tradition, but as I believed I mentioned here a month or so ago, I wanted to shake things up a bit, and change the routine, so no open house for the first day of 2013. At this party, we have the tree still up, with just lights on it, and we get folks to write their resolutions on a card and hang it on the tree. The resolutions go up year after year, there are hundreds of them on the tree at this point, and should you so desire, you can hunt for past resolutions on the tree, and see how you have fared in the "keeping them" group. - the KT's. Many of the same ones appear year after year, the most stubborn of resolutioners-not KT's.
I find that resolutions that centre around weight loss and quitting smoking are doomed to failure. I had my fair share of failed resolution years. Mostly they were things like "entertain more" and that is just not specific enough to hold true. My dear friend, and neighbor, back when we lived in TBC, Gloria, was an inspired resolutioner, and I learned from her example. She would be specific about the timing of a resolution, for instance, "Write to my Grandparents once a week", or "Go on a date with my Husband every month." I can't actually verify her success in falling into the KT's, but I saw potential in the concept. My most successful, and fun trip into the KT's department was when I resolved to cross one thing of my "to do" list every month. I blogged about this process, and it truly was rewarding. I started with completing a quilt, went on to spinning wool and knitting with it, built fencing and a front gate, painted and redecorated our living room and reorganized closets- plus about 7 other things. One thing every month. So, this year, I thought to repeat the time-specific resolution. The thing I really wanted to choose also seemed so dry and un-fun, that I decided on two, one because it is time and the other because it is a pleasure. The first is conquering one financial task or financial learning experience each month. Since talking Huz into putting up with me daily, forever, I have not been integral to all financial dealings. He has taken over the bill-paying...and put it on the computer which is already outside my comfort zone. And I want to learn more about the words that make my head spin, like "investment"- yikes- or numbers like "401K" or "592 plan" - (is that moaning sound out loud?) Still, I attacked it this month, learning how to do "online bill-pay, and meeting with a financial advisor with the bank, who is paid to be tolerant.
Not being overly excited with this resolution, despite it's necessity and sensible nature, I chose another one for me. I decided to get out paints and paint something at least once a month. In January, I have painted twice. The first was a card for a neighbor who is so generous with time and talent. I will find an envelope big enough and take it up the hill. The other painting is of my friend Kara's baby girl. I chose her, not just because she is the most adorable of children (not borne by me), but also because I wanted to work on a face. See, I'm acceptable at faces if I only do one side. I am passable at the left side of a face, but it falls all apart when I attempt the right. So, practice seems to be the next step, as talent has certainly failed. And, if I have to paint a face, pick an irresistible one!

So, I tried to paint both sides of her face, and as you can see, I've given her right eye glaucoma and her right cheek the mumps.

If I only paint the left, I get more encouraged.....

 

As this appears as a non-diseased human, and hints at the child's true charm.  

I suppose I still have 11 more months to figure it out.

 

A Beautiful Suffolk.

We are having a lovely January snowfall. And, it has warmed up a bit, into double digits, which will make sledding a good time this evening. The roads are slippery, making me wish my loved ones were all home, by the fire, and not off at school/work. I know the roads are bad, as I have ventured forth into the white this morning to go have a look at Dottie. Dottie is the neighborhood sheep. She started out at the Z's, one of their little lambs. Cowfeathers adopted Dottie and Fannie as young ewe lambs to take to the County Fair. Eldest and Middlest raised and showed the two successfully. Fannie's tail had been trimmed too closely as a baby, and we had problems with her rectum prolapsing. Some months after the fair, she prolapsed too badly for repair, and didn't make it. But, Dottie stayed with us, as sweet and docile a sheep that has ever lived. She loved Middlest, who loved her back. After Fannie died, Dottie would let herself out of whatever enclosure we were hoping would keep her, and come to the house, standing under Middlest's bedroom window, and bleat for her to come out and play.

Tag was the favorite game. Dottie continued to be shown by the girls, and as Middlest got interested in having Border Leicesters, Dottie was the calm and gentle welcoming committee.

 

This is just after Dolores had arrived, and was refusing to walk up the hill to the barn. Many sheep never get put on a halter and walk around next to a person, and when sheep are unsure of something, their default is to collapse. Dottie went down to the car to greet D-lo, and then encouraged her every step of the way.

I have to find a full body picture of Dottie at the time. She had recently returned to us for monitoring and recovery. See, she had been back to the Z's for a bit, she had a lot of personal engagements, if you wanted a petting-zoo type sheep in the greater Columbus area, there was no one better than Dottie. She did elementary fairs, Maple Sugar days, Christmas Nativities, she was a personality. Anyway, while she was back at the Z's, an irresponsible renting neighbor, who let their German Shepherds roam and terrorize, found Dottie alone and defenseless and attacked the poor gal. Mrs. Z came out in the morning and found her wedged into the bottom of the sheep trough feeder- like putting a head into a sock. After she was freed, they called me, because the poor kid was torn to shreds. She amazingly, had protected her jugular, ears and limbs, but her torso and back was in tatters. Because she is so trusting and gentle with people, she stood patiently, mostly, for the next 3 hours while I stitched up dozens and dozens of lacerations and cleaned puncture wounds. She was bruised terribly as well. So, in any case, Dottie was recovering, miraculously, but looked a wreck.

 

 

This is Huz and Middlest, attempting to get Dolores to walk. Dottie is there for moral support, and to show her how easy walking can be. Rosie is behind Huz, and along for the ride. Yes, my parents drive around the US with sheep in the minivan. I come from determined stock.

 

After the dog attack....which, by the way, ended badly for the dogs, as they were caught in the act at the next sheep farm down the road, chewing on a ewe's leg. The dogs were shot, as was the ewe. Anyway, after the dog attack, Dottie would never breed back. So, she went into retirement. For this, she went to the S's. They have a sweet little farm down the road with the most pampered, fattest critters living undemanding, wonderful lives.

This morning it was Mrs. S. who called me to say Dottie was down and looked terrible. I put on the layers of Carhartt overalls and jackets required for a trip out of doors in the weather, and slid my way down there in my car. Next adventure on the roads will be in the truck!

I arrived looking official with a stethoscope and did a physical exam on Dottie, pronouncing her "unwell."

Poor friend is in what we call "opisthotonus". This is when the neck is flexed back, and the top of the head rests on the shoulders. They are down, and usually pushed into a corner or on a wall. I'm afraid the wonderful journey of Dottie is coming to an end.

 

 

 

A beautiful Suffolk, and sweetheart.

I stapled a fat Chihuahua.

Yesterday, at work, I had the sad occasion to staple together a fat Chihuahua.
You see, the Chi had been attacked, while sleeping, by another dog in the household. This was the third incident of  non-instigated attack by the unstable, insecure, much larger dog. One need not be prescient to calculate that another attack will occur, and the fat little sausage of a Chihuahua, with a banging case of heart disease and a chronic case of swamp mouth will not come out on top. Might not survive the next, indeed. Because the little guy turned blue frequently when handled, we took a lot of breaks while I cared for his wound, and decided to do a local anesthesia and staple his laceration, as I thought anesthesia might be terminal.
The counseling that happens in this situation has to take into account the interpersonal relationships of the dog owners as well. Everyone is sad, but someone, maybe everyone, really loves the dog that is attacking. Still, choosing to do nothing will not protect my broad little patient.
Obviously, not all dogs have these issues with interaction. Many households have multiple dogs that get on well together. I think the root of this begins when each dog is quite small, in the socialization stage previous to 12 weeks. A well socialized dog that begins its positive interactions in this stage and continues to have proper socialization through the stages of puppy hood and into adult hood will be more successful at interaction. Also, dogs that are raised to have clear boundaries and rules, with owners that are, in the mind of the dog, "in charge" are much more likely to accept new and different situations. By "in charge" I don't mean yelling a lot. At all, atall! Since dog minds understand the family or pack unit system, they have physical-mental behaviors that "click" in their brains, signifying the family members who are to be trusted with leadership. When you understand this motions, routines and their origin, if you use them, it is somewhat like pushing a "Best Pet Button". I spend a lot of time with my new puppy owners when they come to see me. Having a vaccination booster is a puff of time in the meeting. Mostly we work on furthering the security of their new pet by helping the owners to learn some of these physical-mental connections. I often enter a room with a puppy that is leaping, yapping, scattered, flustered, and leave that room with a puppy that is looking quietly up at the owner as if to say "Phew! Okay, then, what next? What do you want from me? That? Right then. Thank goodness someone around here is in charge." And there is no yelling, or fuss. The tools the owner now has, if taken home and used, translate to a quieter, more secure puppy each time I see them.  "Go home" I say, "Read. A lot. Spend time asking yourself 'what behavior am I rewarding, what would I like him to do instead, and how much is he looking to me for decisions?'" A truly lovely pet is rarely the one that is made to run the family.

 
As my readers know, we introduced Julia to our pack in 2011. She was a humane seizure by the Humane Societies Officers from an awful situation, and then was adopted and returned to the pound multiple times before I brought her home for good. Oddly, even though her early socialization was likely not ideal, she reacted quickly and very well to my requests. Here is where the second major part of the "Happy Pet" equation comes in- Personality. Nature,demeanor, whatever you like to call it, some dogs are just set up to be easily guided and want very much to please. This helps. A lot.

Tucker accepted Julia with the usual easy going manner he has, but Julia did her part to establish the relationship to be a friendly, if very active, one. They play constantly outside in what I call the "Clash of the Titans" manner. This involves a lot of running, biting of ears, legs, and attempts at "capturing the flag" which is the scruff of the neck. The dog being scruffed will immediately take measures to avoid this. There is lots of battles fought on hind legs, then flopped over onto the ground. It goes on interminably. Eventually Tucker may get tired and stop trying very hard, at which point Julia will grab his tail and pull on it to irritate him into playing again. The growling and teeth etc. would be alarming, I think, to someone not acquainted with the sport of playing dogs. Once in a blue moon (okay, not even that often)there is a "it's all fun until someone puts and eye out" moment, and Tucker gets truly mad at Jules. This sounds very different. Postures change, and the vocalization is NOT a playful one.  She immediately puts her chest on the ground, does not meet his eyes and waits a minute before apologizing profusely- coming in low and licking him on the chin. Eventually it is made up, and they start right back to it.

 Tucker bears his teeth- a little, but even so, the posture, softness of his eye and even the mouth position say "Playing".

 Jules got sidetracked by the boys (Youngest and Huz) throwing snowballs, and Tucker got a brief respite. He loves to lie and roll in the snow. After taking this picture, I had to go dig up a similar photo I took of him 5 years ago.

 Jeez, that makes him look so old! My darling dog has gotten red and grey. Must be an Ohio thing.

Picture postcard day at the farm

 It is 8 degrees. Ohio in winter. It is very pretty, but awfully gray! We could, in the spirit of optimism call it "silver", I suppose.
I am trying something new, and that is to not shrink the pictures down in order to load them onto the blog. I don't know if this will effect you, lookers, from seeing them! So, if you can't see the pictures on the blog, please let me know, and I will shrink them again. Over the holidays we got a new connection for my computer, and it is faster. Huz suggested I may not have to go through the process of shrinking the photos first, and he's usually right about these things.

The snow started out as decent sledding snow, and then it got a bit warmer, becoming packing snow. This makes for perfect horse-play snow, and my boys obliged with a snow ball fight.

Youngest goes in for a frosty blow.

Eventually, they tired of throwing snow at one another, and began to make a snowman.

 The finished product, well, Youngest did add stick arms later, but awfully cute, no?



Lastly, my friend Christie's ponies- Orion, a Friesian who will be two in the spring, and Goliath, a little mini stud. Snowy boys.