The Year of the (crazy) Dog

Family photo at Pawnee Buttes.
The Good Dog joined right in. The Crazy Dog, not so much.

In terms of the Chinese Zodiac, 2011 was actually the Year of the Rabbit. We don’t have a rabbit, but we do have two dogs: The Good Dog, and The Crazy Dog.

Tonka was thrilled to learn he had been elevated in status to The Good Dog, a title previously held by sweet Raven.

Soon after we brought Daisy home from the Longmont Humane Society, Tonka was promoted to good dog status and Daisy quickly earned her nickname, Crazy Daisy.

Yes, she’s crazy. Afraid of her own shadow and terrified of people (with the exception of Dave’s sister Barb), Daisy eats bark chips, runs headlong through the house, uses the furniture as a springboard to pounce here and there, crawls under Tonka’s belly, and flings Nylabones willy-nilly into the air. She is also a sweet, cuddly little thing and quite the novelty out in the world.

Wherever we take Daisy, people stop us with a puzzled grin and ask, “What kind of dog is that?” (cattle dog/corgi with a side of hound-dog DNA thrown in just for fun… in other words, a mutt). Because she is so darned cute, everyone wants to meet her. Daisy will have none of it. She either backs away, big round eyes darting left and right while plotting an escape route, or she hides behind one of us for safety. Fortunately, she trusts us completely and loves Tonka with all her might. We know nothing of her history but think she may have been kept locked up for most of her young life. The first few months she lived with us, it was obvious the world outside was completely foreign to her, filled with frightening sounds and danger everywhere. Slowly but surely, she is being transformed into a deliriously happy little dog.

In other news – following an MRI where she was squished into a teeny-tiny tube and forced to listen to sappy soft rock music on gigantic headphones – Debbie finally learned the cause of her chronic back pain and sciatica, then was told that spinal surgery was the best option for relief. After much second-guessing and indulging in a host of irrational fears, she decided to go through with the surgery. It was successful and five months later, she is feeling better with some minor lingering pain.

In the weeks following surgery, Dave took on a new role as home health care aide. He has also become quite the respectable househusband and doggy daycare provider. His continued job searches brought forth a flurry of interviews in spring and fall; still no offers. We remain hopeful.

Much time was spent on the road this year, with three visits to Salida, road trips along the Front Range, dog park adventures, and plenty of doctor appointments. The dogs joined us as often as possible, where Daisy discovered her new favorite thing, riding on the center console.



Ever the trooper, Dave added yet another duty to his expanding job description: Driving Miss Debbie, and Driving Miss Daisy.   J

Merry Christmas * Happy New Year * Peace on Earth

Debbie and Dave
Tonka and Daisy

(from our Christmas newsletter)

First Love

It must have been sometime in late 1975. Barely out of high school, a friend and I were drawn to cruising in downtown Denver.

At the time I had a Mustang, a pretty little car. My friend owned a Camaro. Between the two of us we had lots of fun making the rounds.

Then one weekend I met Bob, a handsome fellow in an orange-and-black muscle car, a Chevelle. After some initial flirting across lanes of traffic, we finally pulled into a parking lot and took the time to get acquainted.

We were inseparable after that.

A year older than me, Bob was from Kodiak, Alaska. His parents sent him to Denver to attend the Denver Automotive and Diesel College, so he could learn engine maintenance in anticipation of taking over the family fishing business: mostly crab, salmon, and halibut.

We grew close very quickly. Then at the end of spring semester in 1976, he returned to Alaska.

Bob left his beloved car with me. We parted with hugs and kisses and promises, and Bob suggested I visit Kodiak later that summer. His parents were eager to meet me, and I was eager to learn more about what might potentially be my new home.

And such a wonderful visit it was! Bob took me all over the island and introduced me to some of the wildness that is Alaska.

There were places on the island where you had to stop and look both ways before crossing a dirt airstrip. Ridge top bunkers installed during World War II remained, silent sentinels looking out to sea, still watching for a Japanese invasion. The beaches were filled with black volcanic sand that formed soft round rocks around sea fossils.

Bob showed me rivers filled with spawning salmon, and taught me about his business. The time we spent together seemed to have “future” written all over it. But did it, really?

In re-reading the letters Bob sent before my visit, the tone seems soft, romantic, filled with repeated proclamations of love, tales of his daydreams about us, and his hopes for the future.

After I returned home, the letters became more matter-of-fact, less about romance and more about providing me with detailed instructions on the care and feeding of one super-hot Chevelle.

The story ends just as you might imagine. Eventually we broke up, although I never really understood why. Bob returned to Denver for his Chevelle (quite possibly his real love) and went back to Alaska.

And I mourned the loss of my first love.

This journal was spurred by a writing prompt: Found, by San Diego Momma. Thank you for the inspiration!