Tag: Dogs

Moving Right Along

I don’t like moving. I know there are some military spouses that get “the itch,” but the only itch I have are my red ant bites.

Let the record show that I am not usually around for the move-out portion of any relocation. I typically pack up and run away. But no matter how many times I said, “Justin! I have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle that requires I not participate in this,” he has only rolled his eyes and told me I’m spoiled.

It’s true. I won’t deny it.

Yesterday, after a thoroughly restless night of making and checking off lists in my head, I took my van in for an oil change. After signing the paperwork, I grabbed my keys and the dealership’s copies and headed out. “Ma’am. Those are my copies.” Of course they are—why would you make me sign papers meant for me.

From there, I headed to my next stop on my whirlwind tour of errands: the UPS store. I parked and looked at the store front, thinking, “why would the UPS store have tv moving boxes? Why did Justin want me to stop here??”

Oh yeah, just kidding—I was supposed to go to the UHaul store. So, off I went, to my actual stop on my tour.

While purchasing the magical tv box of transportation, I got a text from Justin, about an issue with our truck reservation. I paid for my box, thanked the lady, and walked out….all the way across a giant parking lot to my van…where I realized—I didn’t actually take the box. I turned around and the tiny cashier was chasing after me with the massive tv box. I have Moving Mush Brain.

Also, I’m beginning to wonder how Justin always does this by himself. I’m supposed to be the one with anxiety who freaks out about these things, but this man is in full panic mode.

Also also, I miss Bruce. So no less than 10 times a day I ask, “we made the right decision, didn’t we?” “Yes Sammi. He couldn’t breathe. You know that.” I do. But he’s been my travel companion on these adventures since just before I turned 24. He’s always been my copilot, and now the front seat will be empty (because I still won’t let my kids sit in the front seat, and Rufus & Emma are way too squirrelly to be up front. I don’t need a 75lb dog trying to sit in my lap while I drive).

See how well Rufus fits in my lap? I could totally drive like this…….

This is the point in moving where I just want to be driving to my next location. Let’s get this party started! 20 hours to El Paso, baby….except….we still have 3 more days of “prep.” I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle! One that requires I not deal with any of this.

See?? Spoiled.

March: In Like a Pandemic, Out Like a Tornado Watch

My goal for Coronapocalypse was to be better about writing every day. The problem with that is my world went from “pretty darn uneventful,” to “what day is it!?” These are weird times.

Also, March has been the month that kept on giving. We started with what seemed like the potential for good–after 18 years, the “war” in Afghanistan might actually come to and end. NYS had its first coronavirus case, and Washington state had announced its second Covid-related death. Way back then, life was still mostly normal.

Now we can sing, what a difference a month makes. 31 super long, painful days.

Of course, it would only be fitting for a month that started with potential (and slowly–no, rapidly–snowballed out of control), to end with me receiving a Tornado Watch alert. Not as bad as a Tornado warning, but certainly worse than the daily pollen alert I receive.

There are so many interesting aspects of living in the south. Fifteen years ago, I stood out like a sore thumb. At my very first job in Georgia, after being asked where I was from, I was then asked, “are you gonna speak Yank to us?” I guess I can try? I’ve never been good a picking up foreign languages.

One of the “interesting in a bad way” aspects can be the extreme weather. While we don’t have snow days, we did have a “flash flood day,” way back in February. Picture white-out conditions, but with rain and flooding. So much flooding.

Alabama isn’t part of “Tornado Alley,” but it is located in “Dixie Alley,” which I didn’t realize was actually a thing. Dixie Alley is known for a different style of tornado. The wetter style, I guess.
My children are professional Tornado siren experts. In 2015, a tornado touched down less than a mile from our house in KY, and the second that siren went off, they curled into little balls on the floor, tucking their hands over their heads. “Come on, Mom! get on the floor like this!” Yeah, I thought the on-post fire department was just being overly cautious…until we drove past the uprooted trees. Oops, I guess tornados are serious.

Our Tornado Plan consists of everyone cramming into a 6’x4′ bathroom. 4 humans, 2 boxers, a pug, and 3 cats. Yes, it will be a wonderful bonding experience. Thus far, we have yet to activate the tornado plan, although there have been moments when the kids were ready (Shea even packed a bag full of stuffed animals, and had to be reminded we would barely have room for the living creatures). Shea believes the best way to increase our space, is to make use of the under sink cabinet–cat storage, if you will. At one point I believe it was suggested that Justin could join them, but since he isn’t even flexible enough for child’s pose, I don’t think it’s going to be possible to get him into a space 4 feet wide by 2 feet deep…and only 3 feet tall. We haven’t tried cramming him in there, but logistically speaking, I don’t think it’s going to be possible.

Our Tailless Trio: Rufus, Emma, and Nebula

Our pug, Bruce, is 14 years old, and poops if you scare him. Awesome defense mechanism. I’m sure it will really go over well in our confined quarters. Rufus, has no concept of personal space, which I’m sure will be the perfect trait for Sardine Can Bathroom. Emma gets extremely bouncy when she’s excited. Or if Justin acknowledges her presence. Picture Tigger, in a bathroom, with too many individuals. Then sprinkle in 3 cats, and keep in mind that two of them are frequently tormented by the boxers; the third cat has no tail, and therefore is just like the boxers…I guess?

via GIPHY

31 days ago, we were still planning for Spring Break; it has now come and gone, Social-Distancing-style. March 1 began 734 hours ago, but if you ask anyone, they’d probably tell you it has felt like 734 days. Instead of school days and weekends, we have school-at-home days and the 2 days a week you have no rules. Well, limited rules.

Two more hours until this Tornado Watch is lifted. I will watch it touch down before attempting to cram anyone in the bathroom.

What a difference a pandemic makes.

Holiday in Covid-19

Here in Alabama, we are 2 days into spring break. So far, we have…..we have…..we….um….

Ok, we haven’t done anything. I’ve been putting an hour of work into getting my vegetable garden started, so that if we make it to May, our little 18×23 Liberty Garden, Corona-Edition, will keep us fed. Here’s hoping we fare better than last year.

My gardening skills sort of come and go. Some years were super successful, while others were not so great.

Last year was one of those “not so great” years. As the first gardening season in Alabama, I had tremendously high hopes. I had a 3 season plan that would keep us in veggies from February through November. There were just a few issues.

The sad and lonely, gardenless arbor.

The first being, our Tigger-like pup, Emma, loves to help. She digs a mean hole, and is a professional at weed pulling. Of course, she doesn’t know the difference between a week and an actual plant, so everything gets yanked out, thrown around, and murdered by her. It’s so helpful. I bought some wire fence, some metal fence posts, and a gated arbor, to keep the garden monster out. I then spent a solid 3 months putting up the fence, the arbor, and digging out the grass.

The next issue was that I procrastinated like the true, Professional Procrastinator that I am. Once the garden was planted, I also noticed these little baby plants coming up in tidy little rows. I told Justin that we should wait and see (worst plan for any situation), because maybe they’re something.

Third, I took our kids to NY for a few weeks, and left my husband (who is often at work 16 hours a day, and sometimes as much as 40 hours straight) in charge of taking care of it. I came home to Jurassic Garden. At which point, not only was the entire space overrun with WILD MORNING GLORIES, but my little “Let’s see what these turn out to be” plants were really looking a lot like peanut plants. After 2 weeks of de-wild-morning-glorying the space, I decide to take inspiration from Jimmy Carter and become a peanut farmer……

…..Of course then it ended up my peanut plants were really some kind of weed that only looks peanutish, but is in fact a whole lot of nothing. Jimmy, I failed you.

My garden produced a solid 2 cucumbers. Which, in a space of 414sqft, is sad. I vowed that 2020 would be better than 2019.

February came and went. Every day I told myself that today would be the day I started this garden. Ok, maybe tomorrow. Ok, maybe Monday.

Then the world started freaking out and buying up meat and toilet paper. Nothing like a little Pandemic Panic to Prompt Produce Production. Let the planting begin!

Today is day 4 of my Garden jumpstart frenzy. I have just under 1/2 of the garden planted. According to my fancy Alabama Garden App (it’s a thing, don’t be jealous that you don’t live near a major agricultural university. We can’t all be this rural), I should start having vegetables by the beginning of May.

In the meantime, I guess it’s back to honing my “gathering” skills. Which, aren’t great. Justin told me he doesn’t think my giant dandelion plants are actually dandelions, so I should probably halt all attempts at feeding my family weeds. And since I’ve never shot a gun (don’t gasp. Just because I’m married to a gun-owning soldier does not mean I care to have anything to do with them myself), the hunting portion of this Covid Apocalypse is going to have to go on the back burner–where it will stay until the Zombie Apocalypse, at which time I suppose knowing how to shoot a gun will be a necessity.

As for the rest of spring break? Well, I’ve taken my usual social distancing and really kicked it right up into homebound recluse status. Are we almost out of juice? Yes. Have I decided that they can wait 2-4 months for our garden to start producing and then we can enjoy some fresh-squeezed tomato juice? Also yes. Pandemic Paranoia is Prominent.

Take Another Little Piece of My Heart(worms)

Back in August, after fighting the rest of my family’s desire to get another dog, I gave in. Mostly because I said to Justin, “find me a male adult boxer, and we’ll talk.” Wouldn’t you know, our county shelter posted a picture of a “stray” male boxer in August. The shelter puts a 7 day hold on strays, to give folks time to come back, if they are the owner. The day came, he was still there, Justin and I tried to figure out just how we could get there right when they opened–he had to work, at least until noon, and I had a doctor’s appointment at 11. We would have to go after, and trust that if it was meant to be, he would still be there.

This is our second rescued boxer. 3 years ago, Maddie came into our lives, and 6 months later was gone. The individuals we “rescued” her from sold her for drug money. While we were told she was only 5, the truth was, she was probably much older. My heart broke into a million pieces when she left this world.

So, on the afternoon of August 23rd, Justin and I met at the shelter and rushed inside: “is the boxer still available?!” Keep in mind, dozens of individuals had shown interest in him, so I fully expected him to be gone. But there he was–skin and bones and as cute and can be. In his initial picture, we couldn’t tell just how skinny he was, which ended up being 20lbs underweight. He was a walking skeleton.

Also, he makes the silliest snorting noises when he sniffs, or while he’s eating. It’s constant, and hilarious. There was no way I could leave this sweet boy behind. The criteria had been met; the boxer had been adopted. And just like Maddie, he was the sweetest pup. His back legs are covered in scars, as is his nose and one ear. I would love to know his story: what was life like for you before us??

I instantly decided his name had to be Rufus. And for anyone who knows me, my dogs each have a voice to go with their personality. Bruce (the pug) has a lisp, and a bit of a crotchety old man attitude. Emma (our “mutty boxer”) is a fast talker, and highly excitable. Rufus is southern. And slow. And that boy drawls. He’s a little dopey, a lot doofy, and just seems to spend his life in a “dum-de-dum” sort of way.

Here’s the thing about the south, and dogs. This is not upstate NY. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are animal lovers in the Georgia/Alabama states, but there is a whole lot of neglect. The woman at the shelter was complaining to us that they tend to get the same “stray” dogs, and after the second time your dog is picked up by animal control, you have to pay to get your puppy back. She also told us people will wait the full 7 days before coming to get their dog. I wanted to turn around and ask if we could bring every dog home from the shelter.

The other thing that goes with animal neglect, is Heartworm. And wouldn’t you know, Rufus was the lucky recipient of the “Heartworm Positive” diagnosis. I had expected it, honestly. I knew it would be expensive, but this boy was a million times worth it. So, away we went.

There are a few things you need to know about boxers if you’ve never met one. They don’t know the definition of “personal space.” They snore. They drool. They “kidney bean,” which is this silly thing where they twist their bodies in half and walk toward you, while also showing you their buns. They also love to rough house. Now, the thing about Heartworm treatment, is that during treatment your dog has to be on “restrictions,” basically kept docile. The reason being that, while the worms are dying, they break up and and carried away in the blood stream. These dead worm chunks can then cause blockages or clots.

This is the halfway point in the treatment of Rufus. His first round of treatment meant that after his shot, he had to stay at the vet overnight, and in 24 hours poor Emma nearly died of a broken heart. The second round of treatment was 2 shots in two days, and 2 nights at the vet. The vet employees always tell me how much they love Rufus. “He’s the sweetest boy, and he makes the silliest sounds!” One tech refers to him as her “friend Rufus, who makes the piggy sounds.” I hated the idea of him having to stay over, especially since he came to us after being abandoned. Honestly though, he’s so laid back, he really doesn’t seem to care. Every time I go to pick him up, the dogs that come out before him are always excited to see me: “oh my gosh you’re here! You came! I’m going home!” They don’t care that I am not their human. Rufus comes out the same way every time: “oh hey. What are you doing here?” Again, he’s has a very “dum-de-dum” personality.

While our luck with rescuing boxers is not the greatest, I have no regrets. With Maddie, our time was short, but she got to live the last 6 months of her life absolutely loved. With Rufus, he has plenty of years ahead of him, and in a couple months he’ll no longer have plenty of heart worms.