Bobby Gets Even Better

If you read yesterday’s post, you know that Bobby rocks.  Well it gets even better.  Today when we went to Grace’s school for her Halloween Party/Open House, Grace leaned over and whispered to me “Bobby got me a glow stick”, in a tone of voice that suggested that I had failed as a mother to protect her, but Bobby had come through – again.

Later, as I was telling the therapist about the glow stick, Tom volunteered that Bobby gave her a bag of candy too.  When I saw the glow stick I was really impressed.   It could guide jets to a safe landing.  Bobby is worried about her safety even after hours.  Of course if anything happened to her, his cushy two hour a day assignment might morph into a pack of unruly waifs who truly need an aide or two.  The cynic in me says that he is  protecting his sanity by keeping her safe.  But really I think he is just a super nice guy.  I’ve said it before, he rocks.

Bobby the Bus Driver Rocks (Sorry Miss Peggy)

I used to think that Miss Peggy was the world’s bestest bus driver ever.  I even immortalized her in a piece I did about living in Paris.  (Huh?  If you’re thinking what could Miss Peggy possibly have to do with living in Paris, you’ll have to trust me, it was relevant).  Well, Miss Peggy might as well be a slasher compared to Bobby, our new bus driver hero. 

Just when I think that there is no end to his cheerful service, he trumps himself!  A little background, Grace rides a “special” bus to school.  She is the only student on the bus, but the law says that an aide is required to be on the bus with her.  The ride to school is about 30 minutes.  The staff to student ratio is 2:1.  So…Grace gets an hour a day of special time with 2 caring adults.

Bobby follows her progress, is concerned about her welfare and now has our comfort in mind.  He motioned me over to the bus this morning to tell me that we needn’t wait outside.  He will simply wait for her, “especially now that it is cold”, so we can be warm and dry inside.  He has given me his supervisor’s number to call if we need to change transportation plans.  When that backfired, he gave me his personal cell number so that he could fetch Grace when her counselors cancel a visit (on the days that they bring her to or from school) so that I don’t have to go get her.  He has parked the bus so that he and the aide could briefly visit with our foster pups because they meant so much to Grace.

For some people, this stuff might raise red flags.  I think that is a sign of the times, but pretty unfortunate for a guy like Bobby.  He is always with an aide, always safety minded, and goes above and beyond any bus driver we have ever had (including Miss Peggy).  Bobby the bus driver rocks!  He gets top spot on the Christmas cookie list this year.

And in the “nothing to do with the preceding category”, Ursula announced in family therapy yesterday that she only speaks two languages: English and Sarcasm.

Bubbles told me she had a “situation” at the Y involving an “African-American”.  Curious, and mildly alarmed, I leaned forward.  “Yes…” I coaxed. 

“Well, I was playing with 2 kids and they said ‘let’s get that black kid to play’ and I said ‘that’s not nice to refer to him by his race’ and they said ‘but we don’t know his name’ and I said ‘he’s my friend and his name is Samuel’”.  (She emphasized “his name is Samuel”).  How cool is that?

Everyone Needs a Spaeztle Maker!

Bubbles and I were delerious yesterday over the quality of the spaetzle that our new spaetzle maker produces!  Spaetzle should be a new comfort food.  Hot, mouth-watering, right from the pan,  YUMMY!!

I Googled “using spaetzle maker” and found a plethora of recipes and ideas.  For example, you can bake, pan fry, and sautee spaetzle for an unlimited array of dishes.  We buttered ours and added parmesean cheese.  We also only made a half batch just to try it out.  Boy, do I regret that.  I should have made a double batch.

The “old” way to make spaetzle was to push the dough through a collander with a wooden spoon over a pan of boiling water.  It was laborious, fraught with danger and yielded precious little.  The “new” way still involves boiling water, but the loaded hopper wastes nothing and glides over the pot effortlessly, allowing glistening blobs of gooey noodles to fall into the cooking bath.  The whole batch is done in about 5 minutes (or less).

The irony here is that I can only eat a very small amount of spaetzle at a time.  There is little protein in spaetzle, although I am now wondering how much protein powder I could add without altering the taste too much.  Hmm…

We are still looking for Lily.  Especially after dinner when everyone has scraps.  No more “Sit, Stay, and Catch”.  No more smiles.  No more “spank my butt”.  No more white pig.

We Have Puppies!! (and a Spaetzle Maker)

Check out these beautiful babies!  Zelda, Zeke and Zeb (short for Zebulon).  They came from a tiny hound mom and an unknown dad.  There were 11 in the litter, all survived and were split up for socialization and adoption.  They are scrumptious.  (Zelda is my favorite).

I didn’t think this blog would be overtaken by pet issues, but here’s yet another post with…pets.

In other news, our spaetzle maker arrived.  If you don’t know what a spaetzle maker makes, it is, well, spaetzle.  Spaetzle is a german pastry made by dropping dough in boiling water.  This is really tricky and potentially dangerous because the water is boiling.  After trying various methods and failing miserably, Tom suggested that I look into purchasing a spaetzle maker.  What an idea.  It turns out that there is such a device, several versions in fact.  I trolled ebay for a while and then found a “used” spaetzle maker for about 1/3 the cost of a new one.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

Bubbles LOVES spaetzle, so if she’s happy with it, we will all be happy!

Here’s a tip for you.  Want to lose your kids in a hurry, if you’re in, say, Walmart and want some alone shopping time?  Pretend to sing along with your ipod.  It helps if you actully have one with you, but if you don’t, pretend that you do.  Not scattering fast enough?   Grab an object and use it as a microphone.  Now sing louder.  Pretty soon you are all alone in the aisle with other people doing exactly the same thing.  This can be our little secret.

What do You do with a Large, Dead Dog?

The facts:  So Lily is lying under the table.  She is dead.  We are sad.  Now what?  She can’t stay there (obviously).  We are scheduled to have a birthday party in an hour.  The ground is brick-like because of the drought.  It is 80 degrees outside.  It is Sunday.  Our vet who assured us that they would be helpful when the need arose, has a phone that just rings.  No machine, no emergency number.  Just ringing.  Now what?

Ahh, you say to yourself, “Google”.  ‘Cause you can Google anything.  Except, apparently, what to do with large, dead dogs in our area.  (In our last home out in the middle of nowhere, we just dug a large hole in the back yard – no problem- but we are talking city here.) 

I find “Loving Pets Emergency Care” which is only open on weekends and I think they might have a clue.  So I call. 

Me:  Hello, my dog just died and I don’t know what to do with her.

Him:  What kind of dog ma’am?

Me:  A german shepherd.

Him:  What happened?

Me:  (I explain what happened and how she dies).

Him:  (and I swear I am not making this up) If you bring her in we’ll be happy to take a      look at her and see what we can do.

Me:  (taking a moment to digest what he had said) But she’s DEAD! I don’t know what to do with her!

Him:  Oh, I’m so sorry, I misunderstood.  (And then he goes on to explain my options, none of which include bringing her back to life, but rather bringing her to them and getting her back in a small box a week later, which is what we ultimately choose.)

So Tom scooped her up, wrapped in Grace’s old tie dye sheet, bright and cheerful, and I helped him down the steps.  We put her in the back of the van.  Me, wearing my brightly tie dyed shirt.  We match.  It is a beautiful day.

I drove her by myself to the place where they had wanted to help.  Went in to find the guy, and lost it.  I went through my handy pack of tissues like a chain smoker tears into cigarette packs, one after another after another.  They seemed to get what I was saying through my tears because they got a gurney, propped open the doors and went out.  They brought her in and I reached out and touched her one more time.  Out of respect really, and sadness.  My white pig was gone.  They paused, then rolled on.  Through the swinging door, and whoosh, she was gone.

Next, they wanted my plastic; sign here, we’ll call you Monday.  The deal was done.  I got in the car.  Cried some more.  Prayed for peace and comfort, and went home to have a party.

There’s no White Pig in the Window

We came home from the Y today and it’s what we didn’t see that started the tears.  There was no “white pig” in the window.  This term of endearment came about when Bubbles was in Head Start.  She would come and go via the “little bus” complete with aide to assist the children.  Getting her on and off involved taking her to the bus and talking with the aide.  One day, as I was putting her on the bus, a little boy motioned to me, gestured with a pointing finger, and incredulously commented “y’all have a white pig in your window!”

I turned around, and sure enough, Lily was sitting on “her” chair, perched in the window, ears erect, waiting.  She looked just like a white pig.  And the name stuck.  When we would come home, if she heard the car she would hop up in the chair and we would say “look at the white pig!”

The empty crate is a problem too.  She loved her crate.  It gave her security, peace of mind, comfort, whatever.  She would head there if there was the least sign of trouble, impending thunder or fireworks, etc.  Sometimes she would refuse to come out.  Now the crate is empty.  I think I will take it outside today.  It is too hard to see.

It has been 10 years since we lost a dog.  The last one was the week before Christmas when I was pregnant with Bubbles.  We decided to put her down because she was terminally ill and suffering, and I had disturbing fetal testing results which might have foretold disaster.  It was difficult decision, but in that we didn’t want our world to fall apart on Christmas, we took action.  She went peacefully, in my arms, with Chance by my side, on the floor of the vet’s office. 

At least Lily was at home.  She’s in her Heavenly Home now.  What a glorious first day in heaven it was.  Just beautiful.

Lily

Lily

This picture was taken by Bubbles yesterday before we left for church.

Princess Lillian has moved on (Lily Died)

She has gone to a better place, she is free of pain and happy to be with her doggy friends.  The little white puff of a German Shepherd that we brought home in a laundry basket eight years ago (this week) has died. 

Tom was with her as she breathed her last.  He called to tell me she was “about gone” as I was at a red light on the way home from church.  Ursula tried to answer it as I never talk while driving, but I knew, and snatched it from her.  “What does that mean?” I asked.  Is she gone OR NOT?  Why must I explain these things to him?  I analyze every little Asperger moment to guide him into answering my question in the format in which it was given.  Is she dead… YES or NO?  He decided she wasn’t, but was fading.  Freddy prayed an urgent, impossible prayer.  The faith of children.

When the phone rang again, 3 miles down the highway, I let Ursula answer it because I knew.  She asked “are you sure?” and that was that.  Lily was gone.  I am so glad that he was with her as she breathed her last.  She wasn’t alone, wasn’t in pain, and she was in my spot at the table, where she, inexplicably, had been resting for the last couple of days.

We sobbed the rest of the way home and found her where she was resting last, under the table.  I knelt and stroked her, emptying my heart into her still warm body.  Ursula and Bubbles did too.  Grace wondered aloud if this might disrupt her plans for a snack and finishing a craft project, while Freddy ran to play computer to distract his brain.  Grief hits us all differently.

This was so out of the blue, we had been preparing for Rufus to go.  He is old, dragging and smelly.  Then, ZAP, Lily was gone.  We were signed up to pick up some puppies tomorrow, they all still want to do that, amazing kids we have.

This was Bo’s birthday.  I called him to see if he could come a little later as I had a body to dispose of.  He agreed.  Funny thing, Lily was born on my parents anniversary and died on Bo’s birthday.  Rufus was born on Tom’s birthday, but how do dogs know about such things?  Will he leave us on a special day?

Sonny was taken off in handcuffs today, and another neighbor told me I had “enemies”.  What a day.  What a day.

What Would You Make of This?

So I get up this morning and this is what I find on my front porch.  Hmm…what is this?  It looks suspicious…  I look across the street and see my neighbor’s son, (we call him “Sonny”) standing in the road with his arms folded, just staring at our house.  This causes me to quickly shut the door, but not before I notice the toilet paper decorating our railing and the little pumpkin on the step.

Curious, I observe Sonny, through the curtain,  go over to the paper box and peer in.  He looks, doesn’t touch, turns and goes in the house.

Now, I’m trying to decide what to do.  The words “Treaser Cheast”, don’t seem menacing, it could be a box of candy, as the “Trick or Treat” imply, but it does seem just plain wierd.  So I call 911.  “Is this an emergency?” she asks.  “Well,” I said, “I’m not sure”.

At the zoo

At the zoo

(Click on picture to see it enlarged)

We went to the zoo, my kids and I.  We had a great time and actually learned stuff, thus our rationalization that this was an “educational field trip” was realized.  A lot of driving, a lot of walking, a lot of fun.

Freddy wants me to report that he and Ursula pranked me good today.  I made a cup of ginger tea and left it on the counter to brew.  When I returned, I saw a mug of water where I could have sworn I left my tea.  I dipped my finger in the mug to see if it was still hot.  That is where they tripped up.  If there had been hot water in the mug I would have thought I was losing my mind.  I even checked the microwave to see if my tea was in there.  But no, they had placed it behind the mixer and chortling with glee, pointed this out to me.  Silly geese (plural of silly goose).