The Hard Goodbye

I remember the moment like it was yesterday. I’m crossing our bedroom at the old house. Dom is sitting up in the bed when he firmly announces to me, “I’ve made a decision.”

I stop in my tracks. “You have, eh?”

“It’s time for us to get another puppy.”

I almost drop whatever it is that I’m holding. “Seriously? You’re serious?? You want two dogs at once? When? What kind? How is this going to work?”

He shrugs and shoots me a crooked smile.  “Start looking.  Didn’t you say you wanted a black Lab next?”

Yeah, I had said that alright. We already had our beautiful yellow Lab, Mason, and I had determined that my next dog would be a black Lab named Mabel – so named for the express purpose of allowing me to hang out the back door and yell, “Hey, Mabel! Black Label!!”  I don’t know why that image enticed me so, but there it is.  I also knew that I would call her Mabelline and sing the catchy question, “Why cantcha be true?”

The search was on.  Phone calls, classifieds (those were the days!), breeders and litters and small towns so remote I thought we might not make it back from them.  But there in the heart of Castor, Louisiana, were three 10-week old lab pups. One was a black female.  Stacey went with me and Dom to pick her up.  Mabel wrapped her little paws around Stacey’s arm as she held her, and we all fell in love.  The breeder said we needed to name her right then and there so she could tidy up her AKC records, and that she would appreciate it if we included Rose in the name, on account of the numerous Roses in the bloodline. Fine.  Whatev.  I had no intention of ever calling this pup Rose, much less registering her myself, so what could it hurt? Mabel Lena Rose Mainiero, it was.  A few signatures and $300 later (the first and last time I paid for a dog!) and we were headed back to Shreveport with an adorable surprise for the kiddos. 

Mabel on the day we brought her home, November 2008.

Mabel was sweet and docile that first night, as one could only be with Mason slobbering his welcome all over her. Mabel enjoyed being kenneled when we weren’t home, and thankfully so, given the amount of damage she did when we were present. I’ve written numerous posts about the things Mabel has eaten, the embarrassment she has caused, and the times she has worn my patience to its last tiny thread. I have said countless times that she was our wild-child dog. In her early and middle years Mabel cared only for her own entertainment, and let me tell you… if life was a car, then Mabel drove it like she stole it!

Mabel, all up in the camera! 2010

Mabel was known for eating and/or destroying absolutely everything that caught her attention. Her favorite things to “love on” until they were obliterated were Webkinz stuffed animals. She started with only the birds, which always cracked me up. Once the kids were out of bird Webkinz, she moved on to the other Webkinz toys and finally to any stuffed animal she could find until the entire line was extinct. With all of her antics throughout puppyhood and beyond, Aaron disowned her at least twice. Once, for chewing up one of his Lego Bionicle masks. I still remember the renouncement. “Vic!!!!” he yelled to his sister as he balled his fists up at his sides, “You can HAVE her!” I looked from my red-faced little boy to Mabel. Despite having just been declared dead to him, Mabel showed not even an ounce of remorse for having destroyed Aaron’s toy. In fact, I was pretty sure she was sitting on go to do it again. Remorse, regret, repentance…these three R’s were forever absent from Mabel’s vocabulary.

Who, me?? 2014.

Mabel was the quintessential pesky little sister to Mason.  She used to bite and tug on his neck to the point that I would feel sores under his fur when I’d snuggle with him.  Her favorite thing to do was be the first to run outside when the door opened, and immediately spin around to attack Mason as he stepped over the threshold.  I honestly don’t know how he tolerated her.  At one point when Mason was getting on in years, Mabel decided she would hide behind the wall at the top of the stairs and attack him each night as he came up for bed.  What a brat she was!

Ready to pounce, 2012

I spent many years of Mabel’s life calling her “Dom’s Decision,” as in, “Hey, honey, your Decision ran off down the street again,” or “your Decision brought a locust into the house tonight,” and my favorite, “your Decision stole a pound of candy corn from the kitchen and puked it up in the living room.”

The public shaming, 2013.

Life with Mabel was never dull. Fiercely independent and rocking her need for no one, Mabel tried to live on her own terms. Several years ago we nicknamed a large field near our home “Mabel Acres” in memory of the day during Sunday lunch when she took off out the side door and down the street to cut circles in the grassy field while the entire family tried to catch her. But Mabel had her sweet side, and though she preferred to act like she didn’t need our attention, she never seemed to mind when we lavished love on her.

Vic and Mabel, my brown-eyed girls, 2010.

Like me, Mabel loves sunshine.  She would often lay in the yard as her black fur soaked in the warmth.  She enjoyed the porch swing with me on many Saturday mornings. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure the time she spent with me wasn’t all about the coffee.

Stealing my joe, 2009.

Mabel changed when she became an only-dog in 2014.  She mourned Mason for a couple of weeks, not wanting to be alone outside, needing to know where Dom, the kids and I were at every moment.  She became gentler and more loving, and sweetly earned the famous phrase on her dog tag, “Mischief Managed.”  Her nickname morphed from “Dom’s Decision” to “Daddy’s Baby Girl.” She knew who was responsible for her sweet and easy life. 

In Daddy’s arms, 2014.

Mabel was none-too-thrilled with the introduction of Maximus to our home.  But she did eventually adjust to him as he grew and she realized that annoying little thing with the big ears was, in fact, the same species as her. 

“Someone get this dude off my back!” 2016.

Max took on the role of pesky little brother, paying Mabel back in spades for all the torture she showered on Mason.  Despite my best efforts to keep it sized properly, Mabel’s collar got stretched so that it ended up looking more like a red necklace draped around her shoulders.  I can’t think of a time they played together that Max wasn’t gnawing on her collar. 

Always with the collar! 2019

Mabel earned herself many nicknames over the course of her life. Mabelline, Mabellini, the Vixen, the Vixenator, Mablet, Mabel-Label, the Leine, Leinie-poo, the Bottomless Pit, the Unfillable Belly, Dumpster Diver, Teeny Weeny Mabellini, Baby Girl, and finally Grandma. I especially loved calling to her in an Italian accent: “Ciao, Mabellini! Andiamo, Mabellini! Why-a do you-a bark-a so much in the house, eh?!”

Helping me study, 2014.

Mabel became a diabetic in 2018. Diabetes for dogs is much like Type 1 childhood diabetes in people, meaning that you can’t “diet-and-exercise” it into submission. Even with the prescription dog food and the twice-a-day insulin injections, Mabel’s blood sugar levels would not normalize. We did the best we could for three years. We spent many weekends running blood glucose curves on her and charting her progress. I spent approximately two months right after her diagnosis chopping, measuring and packaging precise proportions of meats and vegetables to feed her a completely raw diet, and then cooking it for her, and then realizing I was cooking more for the dogs than for the humans before throwing in the towel and signing up for prescription dog food.

Mabel with Walter, 2015.

Mabel went completely blind this year, but she could still hear me come home in the afternoons and would know it’s Wine-Time – that’s when she and Max get to run in the front yard while Dom and I sit on the porch and chat. Sure, it took a little extra effort to get her in and out of the house, leading her through the forest of lilies in the flower beds because she couldn’t go up steps anymore.  But who could resist how happy it made her?  

Wine Time in the jungle, 2021.

I have said for the past few months that as long as she still enjoys Wine-Time, she still has life to live.  There is nothing we won’t do for our fur-babies.  But eventually we realized there’s nothing more we can do.  And that’s where the heart breaks. 

Mabel with another fuzzy, September 2016.

I remember seeing a poster on the wall at the vet’s office when Mason was just a puppy. It was a life expectancy poster and it showed the various breeds of dogs with their approximate life span in years. Labs were marked at 11 years. We were fortunate that both of our pups lived longer than that – Mason at 14 and Mabel, just a month shy of 13. As we realized Mabel’s age and illness were wearing her down, it was devastating to make that final decision. Ironic, that the first decision was so easy, and the last one so hard.

Loving on Aunt Stacey, Thanksgiving 2012.

I hate goodbyes. I hate this part of being a pet owner. There is never a “good” time to say goodbye. We always want one more day, one more chase, one more trip around the water bowl. We took Mabel to the vet for the last time today. The goodbye was just as hard as I thought it would be.

Christmas pup with her stogie, 2016.

The Book of Proverbs tells us that “a righteous man has regard for the life of his animal,” and this is the only thing getting me through this. Caring for them, even to that last day’s decision, is loving them. Mabel has so much more than our regard. She has our undying love and gratitude for the marvelous and mischievous ways in which she brightened our days and enhanced our lives.

Mabel claims all the decorations, 2009.

Take now to that “far green country under a swift sunrise,” sweet Mabellini, and run like somebody left the gate open. We will miss you terribly and love you forever.

Sunning in the backyard, August 2021

Mabel “Mabellini” Mainiero
September 17, 2008 – August 20, 2021

The Velveteen Rabbits

Tags

Graham Cracker, Marsha Mallow, Pet Zone, pets and children, rabbits

This past weekend we gave our fluffy little bunny rabbits, Marsha Mallow and Graham Cracker, away.  It was harder than I thought it would be.

 

For the past two years we have played with, nurtured, fed and humored these two bunnies.  We have given them baths (which we weren’t supposed to do, I later found out), clipped their nails, and fluffed their fur with talc-free baby powder.  We kept their food and toys natural and chemical-free, treating them no different than any other members of our family.  We cuddled them when they would tolerate it, and gave them space when their fuses were short.  We spent ridiculous amounts of money on their cages, dishes, playthings and health.  In short, we loved them.

 

In the course of planning our move to the new home, we neglected to determine appropriate housing and play areas for the rabbits.  Owning two Labrador Retrievers (one of which LOVES to chase vermin) restricts our ability to let the rabbits have run of the new back yard.  And even though I love them, I am not about to let them inside my new home to chew my new baseboards and pee on the new hardwood floors.  (Crosses arms, taps toe, and scowls…)

 

 

As moving day grows closer, we have come to realize two things: 1) our rabbits don’t have room to run and jump and twist and play the way they are meant to, and 2) we do not have the time to devote to monitoring their exercise and giving them the attention they deserve.  We have spent the entire summer sloooooooowwwwwly coming to this conclusion.  Dom would have gladly vamoosed the rabbits a year and a half ago; I foolishly held out hope that he would grow to love them.  However, even I began to find their maintenance tedious about nine months ago when we had to take Marsha to the vet for a $132 bladder infection.  I know, right??

 

Marsha munching a carrot

 

We have been conversing with the kids throughout the summer about the possibility of finding new homes for Marsha and Graham.  Amazingly, both children finally conceded that the bunnies needed to be cared for by people who can give them more attention than we can.  And then the search was on to find out who in the world would be willing to take two 8-pound rabbits.  I fully intended to call all the pet stores and vets’ offices and even the wildlife zoo who took Isaac the Squirrel off of our hands.  But after only one phone call, I was spent and my attention went elsewhere.  I realize now that there was a reason I kept “forgetting” to make more phone calls.

 

My mom called our favorite pet store on my behalf and found out that they would gladly take the bunnies and find them new homes.  She called me right away to share the good news.  “Pet Zone will take Marsha and Graham, with cages or without, and find them new homes!  They open at 9am tomorrow, so I figured you and the kids can take care of that first thing in the morning.”

 

I thanked her and then surprised us both by bursting into tears.

 

The kids were excited that our beloved pet store was willing to take Marsha and Graham, though the thought of giving them away saddened everyone except Dom.  Victoria naturally compared the transaction to the giving back of the hermit crabs, which did nothing to lighten my mood.  She understands the difference, in that giving up the bunnies is entirely in their best interest, even if it’s not what we want to do.  We all know it’s best for Marsha and Graham.  It just sucks for us.

 

The Pet Zone employees were wonderful as they assisted me in getting the cages out of my van and wheeling them into the store.  We handed them all of the rabbits’ food, toys, and other accoutrements.  Victoria and I shed tears as we said our goodbyes, and the employees comforted us with sweet words and understanding nods.  The shopkeepers took immediately to Graham and Marsha because of their inherent “cuteness” and said surely they would find homes by the coming week.  I dried my tears long enough to buy a bag of dog food for Mabel, and we were on our way.

 

As we drove away and Victoria sobbed over leaving Marsha, I explained to my children that when you know you are not enough for a situation, especially as it regards another living being, the kind and gentle thing to do is make the situation better for the creature, be it pet or human.  Emotional relationships must be built on a selfless love if they are to prosper.  Vic nodded her little tear-stained cheeks, and Aaron chimed in that it was hard, but he knew it was better for Graham too.  We will always remember the bunnies, and we will always love them.

 

So the chapter closes for us and our two little Velveteen Rabbits.  I will miss their twitchy little ears and their nightly grooming rituals.  But I am grateful for the lessons my kids learned from owning them.  True love made us keep the bunnies.  And true love made us give them up.

The tail end

Going to the Dogs!

Back when Mason, our adorable first-born fluffy Yellow Lab, was about 5-6 years old he developed a food allergy.  His poor little nose would itch terribly and he would rub it on any furniture he could find – scratching it until he made it bleed.  The poor fella had sores on his nose for months on end.  We tried all kinds of dog foods…from Venison and Potato prescription canned dog food sold by our vet (which nearly broke the bank) to finally a wheat-, grain-, and by-product-free dry food sold by PetSmart, called Nature’s Recipe.  Mason really liked Nature’s Recipe, and it came in a Senior formula for when we aged (he’s 11 now, and symptom-free).

When I began to track positive healthy changes in our home I noticed Mabel, our much-younger, mischievous Black Lab, was a little, um, round.  Mabel had plumped up not only from the extra calories I was feeding her, but also from eating whatever she saw.  (I seriously considered linking some examples here, but as you likely are aware of her latest antics involving my tube of all-natural sunscreen, there are far too many examples of the stuff Mabel eats!!)  I cut back on Mabel’s calories, and later switched her to a more natural food.  Mabel doesn’t have the allergy issues Mason has, but her dog food is about the same price.  Combine this with the fact that we are still going to traffic-jammed Youree Drive (aptly called “Little Dallas” by some of my co-workers) for Mason’s food, and my desire to provide organic meals for my family, and suddenly I find myself looking up recipes for dog food on the Internet.

You heard me.

I am considering making meals for my dogs – actually cooking, storing and serving home-cooked meals for the pooches I love.

In my next life I want to come back as one of MY dogs!!!

I have to learn about nutritional needs of my particular furry children before I can settle on any recipes.  It is a matter I will  investigate thoroughly, and if I find any high-quality recipes that satisfy puppy palettes, I will certainly post them…you know, just in case any of you are neurotic pet owners too.

(p.s. I refuse to cook for the bunnies.  They are vegetarians, and they already get my organic carrots!! Plus, as payment for such pampered treatment I require serious fur-snuggle time, and our bunnies just aren’t snugglers.  Their loss.)

Day 306: While I Am Out…

I am presently on my way to a family reunion with my parents, leaving behind Dom and the kids to manage our household and care for each other. Before I left this morning, I assigned each person a chore to keep them busy while I’m away.

I told my son that he is responsible for watering my garden each day when the sun is not shining directly on it. “Water it real good so it’s not thirsty,” I told him, knowing that he would appreciate any chore that involves water.

Vic began to get offended that Aaron scored the watering chore, and that’s when I told her that she is responsible for making sure Mason (the older dog) gets his medicine each morning and night and gets his ears cleaned. I know Dom will take care of Mason in my absence, but its easy to forget that he needs the meds when he no longer appears sickly, and I know Vic will supply the proper amount of nagging. 😉

And then I asked Dom to please not let me come home to a houseful of dirty laundry on a Sunday night.

Everyone agreed to their assigned chores and bid me a safe trip before they left for school and work. Please send some positive-energy, you-can-make-it-without-mama vibes their way to get them through the weekend.

I’ll be back on Monday, friends. 🙂

Day 278: All Those Expensive Lessons!

I have spent the past two weeks being a more attentive student of Life.  And I realize, in hindsight of course, that I have learned some rather expensive lessons. 

Shall I?

Lesson #1:  Knee pain can actually be cured with flexing and clenching exercises. 

Yep.  Go figure.  Moderate stretching of the leg muscles wasn’t doing it, and my knee was aching to the point that standing for 15 minutes straight was almost debilitating.  But a very kind and wise orthopedic doctor advised me of a particular exercise to do which involves tensing of the muscle rather than trying to stretch it out.  And whaddaya know…it actually works!  Cost of that lesson: a $40 copay.  Moral of the story:  Use it or lose it.  The bright side: meds and surgery are most often NOT the answer.  Score one for good old exercise.

Lesson #2: Don’t haul a problematic yet necessary appliance to the dump without first formulating a GENUINE AND DO-ABLE PLAN for its replacement.

True, I was ecstatic when The Hubster suggested that we hoist the four-decade-old oven onto a dolly and roll it out the door and down the yellow brick road, but after the oven was gone we had some pretty harrowing conversations, one of which went like this:

Him: “It sure will feel good to get this kitchen re-done!”
Me: “Oh, I’m so ready for that!  We’re gonna have to replace cabinets, so I have been planning and picking some out.”
Him: “How much do cabinets cost? … (Looking at my notes) Holy {expletive deleted}!!!  THAT much?  We can’t do that now!”
Me: “Any new oven is going to have to have a different cabinet configuration to fit.  Ya think maybe we should have thought this through before tossing out the oven we had????”

That particular conversation offered much more in terms of emotion than I am conveying here.  Just trust me…It wasn’t pretty.

Confession:  Though I’m trying to improve this, at my core I am a stubborn, selfish, FLAMING perfectionist who is afraid of making a mistake and having to (heaven forbid) reverse a decision.  These characteristics do not often lend me to proper collaboration with The Hubster, who lives life charmingly led by his own whimsy.  So the fact that I had planned a SEVEN-PHASE REMODEL of our kitchen (complete with color-coded prerequisites) did not score me any points when Dom’s whimsy smartly reminded him that we might have to add a car payment to our budget before this “new kitchen” is paid for, and he put the brakes on my planning.  I argued for what it was worth, but I too realized he was right, and in dramatic and ceremonious fashion TRASHED the seven-phase flowchart. 

Now, with the idea of the kitchen remodel stalled on the runway, we still had the arduous task of selecting a new oven that will likely not fit into the future plan of our “new kitchen.”  Oven selected and gas line to be extended next week, the cost of this lesson is well into the 4-digits.  Moral of the story: A bird in the hand isn’t worth a damn if you have to blow your nose.  The bright side:  New cabinets or not, I am sooooo excited about cooking on a brand new stovetop with Dom by my side. 

Lesson #3: Not all omegas are created equal.

Victoria’s enthusiasm for any new Omega 3 supplement lasts merely a day or two, and then we find ourselves back at Square One wondering how in the heck to get her the omegas her mind and body need.  After I found Mabel absconded with an unconsumed packet of Coromega, Victoria confessed that she could not stand the taste of the orange gel.  (Aaron, however, thinks the gel is great.)  I did some research and found that the same company that makes her organic multi-vitamin also makes an omega supplement in chewable tablet form.  She likes the multis, so this had to be the perfect solution, right? 

Yesterday morning, Day Two of the chewable omegas, Victoria announced after downing the required three tablets that she felt like she had just eaten a whole fish.  She whined about the taste of the tablets for a few seconds before ending with, “I sure hope I don’t burp again today.  I’ll taste fish all over again.” 

I was instantly curious. “Wait, I thought they were cherry flavored.”

“Yeah.  Cherry fish!  It’s disgusting, Mommy.”

Ever-determined to not have my children go through anything I am not personally willing to experience myself, I tried one.

EEEE-GAD!!!!!!!  That has to be the most awful thing I have ever put in my mouth!!!  It was literally ALL I COULD DO to get that thing down my throat.  And Vic was right…it was cherry flavored fish.  Blech!!

Vic now wholeheartedly agrees that the Coromega packets aren’t so bad.  Cost of this lesson: $15.98+tax for the cherry fish tabs.  Moral of the story: Shut up and grill some salmon.  The bright side: At least now she is willing to take the $18 Coromega.

Lesson #4: Thank the good Lord for veterinarians, Bissell, and my parents’ generosity.

Mason, our eleven-year old Lab, has an upset tummy.  A really bad…wretched…awful upset tummy.  The kind of upset tummy that has caused us to clean the carpet twice and the tile twice more in just 24 hours.  The kind of upset tummy that makes my husband yell and curse at 5:00 in the morning, and again at 1:00 in the afternoon.  The kind that eventually sent us to the vet to find out if there might be any END to this terror, no pun intended.

Historical side note: Oddly, about every full moon, Mason pukes.  No rhyme or reason to it, he just starts gagging in the middle of the night and urps on the carpet by the bed.  (Which elicits more cursing from The Hubster.)  Three times I borrowed my mom’s brand new Bissell Green Machine for stain removal, and it worked B-E-A-utifully.  I think the frequency of Mason’s episodes elicited sympathy from my parents, though, because shortly after that third time they presented me with a Green Machine of my very own!

For the current episode, I became acutely aware of how very grateful I was for my own Green Machine.  There is no way on earth I would have borrowed my mom’s cleaner for the project at hand over the last two days.  It was some-kinda-nasty, and I wasn’t sure if my own machine could handle it!  I called mom to tell her once more how much I appreciated the fact that they bought me one.  It made my afternoon of carpet cleaning much easier, and allowed me to worry about more important things…like why my dog is sick. 

Cost of this lesson: 2 hours vacation time and a $116 vet visit.  Moral of the story: Poop sucks, parents rock! The bright side: My two hours of carpet cleaning earned me a heartfelt apology from the cursing hubby, an apology which was heartily accepted!

So now that I’ve learned these costly lessons, does it all mean that life will be perfect from this point forward?  Oh, surely not!  It does mean, however, that I am learning to recognize blessings in the midst of chaos, and hopefully that will translate into my being a little less pig-headed somewhere down the road.

Day 178: Santa’s Elf Needs a Break!

Yesterday was a coveted day off from work…a day I usually spend with my mom doing our last minute Christmas shopping, which this year in my case was everything I was unable to buy on-line.  We spent ALL DAY rummaging through department stores until we were both ready to drop.  Then the concert, then home late to bed, then up again to go back to work…

And I haven’t stopped since.  The last little chore I thought I would tackle tonight was the wrapping of some of the gifts purchased yesterday.  Boxes, tissue paper and bows littered the entire den while I whittled my presents into picturesque displays.  Crumpled price tags were on the floor beneath the coffee table, as were bits of wrapping paper – sort of like the paper scraps that result from cutting out snowflakes.   Oh, and Mason was laying there too.

As I picked up my mess and put all my supplies away, I saw what I thought were cardboard scraps laying on the carpet just beside where I had been kneeling.  I scooped it up and instantly realized it was not of my making.  Mason had thrown up.  And there I was, holding it in my bare hand. 

At this point, it’s just too bad I’ve sworn off medication.

Day 135: Taking Time to Laugh

You may notice that I just updated the site with a new page called “Our Story.”  This details my actual purpose and shares a good bit of history behind the changes.  It also took most of my evening to write, which left limited time for today’s post.  

So I thought we could all use a good laugh.  While I was at the computer, with Mason the Big Yella Dog asleep by my chair, I was aware that Mabel the Little Black Vixen Dog was M.I.A.   If you know any of my Mabel stories from my other blog, you know that her being out of sight is a bad, bad thing.

I stepped away from the computer to answer the telephone and chat with Dom as he drove home with the kids, and during this time I saw Mabel dart in and out of the pantry, skittering off in her customary you-don’t-see-me-running-with-stuff-I’m-not-supposed-to-have fashion.  I followed her – no, I chased her – into the den as I noticed a lollipop stick poking out of her mouth.

An organic lollipop, mind you.

Mabel darted under the coffee table, and I met her in the middle underneath, reaching with my one free hand (the phone was still to my ear in the other hand) to wrestle the sucker from her mouth. I pulled it free, and that’s when I noticed the rest…literally eight lollipop sticks and wrappers littered the carpet under the coffee table.  I told Dom if those sticks had been beer cans, our den would have looked like a fraternity house.  I wish I had taken a photo of it, but my first instinct was to clean it all up.  I laughed at the fact that she unwrapped each sucker first, then ate the candy off of the stick, and left the sticks and wrappers behind.  And I know she only steals one sucker at a time, so imagine her going back and forth from the “supply cabinet” to the “work area” with her snacks. 

What’s today’s new habit, you ask???  We’re going to make sure the pantry door – as well as the lid on lollipop canister – is securely closed from now on!

Day 100: Celebration and Fish

We finally reached Day 100!! I feel like I should have made cupcakes to celebrate such a momentous occasion. Thanks for reading along and offering thoughts for the journey. You’ve helped make it easier.

Now, on to a matter that has been bugging me for a while and I have yet to address it. This will complete the process of bringing all living creatures within the realm of change. At least, here at our house.

We have a fish tank. Correction. I have a fish tank. I fell in love with it at Petsmart (on sale, of course!) and without any knowledge of fish or the care required, I told Dom that I had to have that tank. The kids were still pre-K-ish in age, and Nemo was all the rage. I envisioned a colorful tank full of vivid characters and hours of relaxing entertainment.

More like a pain-in-the-butt tank with egotistical characters and hours of internet research, not to mention wads – I mean WADS – of money.

I’ll drill this down to the short version of all this experience has taught me. Snails need no partner to reproduce with a vengeance. Clown loaches eat snails, but freak-out sensitive little boys in the process. Plecos can grow to over 10 inches in length and scare the heck out of all their tank mates when they swim fast. Plecos are also nocturnal, so you don’t see the torture going on during the day. There is only one brand of algae killer that works fast, but it has an alternate effect on fish (our Molly swam bent in half for three months after I used the product). Cory catfish can survive just about anything. It is possible to suddenly have 19 baby fish born overnight in your tank. Fish mothers sometimes eat their young. A female fish can hold sperm for up to 6 months before releasing it to impregnate herself. That’s how you come home from the pet store with one female fish and four months later you have babies swimming around. And finally, if you cover yourself in OFF earlier in the day and then have to stick your entire arm into the tank later in the evening, you can effectively kill over half of your fish population. It will take you two days to realize what caused the epidemic.

Now, you’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with positive, healthy change. Well, the fish need some positive, healthy changes too…mostly to their water. See, in the last few years I have not been so regular about cleaning their tank. So much so that when I do clean the tank, we lose many fish to their inability to process clean water through their poor polluted gills.

I have a schedule of tank maintenance all set up in my email system so that I get reminders of when to do this or that. Problem is that I ignore them. And the fish. So, the fish tank is going on the chore chart now as a permanent reminder that FISH DESERVE LOVE TOO. I imagine if my fish had cars, their bumper stickers would say as much.

Day 95: Laundry List

Last night when I returned home from a meeting I fiddled around on the computer for a while, trying to design a cartoon Me and Kim for the masthead of another blog. So, I didn’t get around to making sure that whatever I was going to wear this morning was clean.

Naturally, the only jeans that fit were stuffed into a laundry basket under dirty towels. Grrreat. I huffed as I gathered all the jeans and some stray towels and rushed back downstairs to toss them in the washer. And then it hit me.

Mama’s got a brand new detergent!

Suddenly, this late night laundry idea had some potential. I tried out a new eco-friendly and skin-safe liquid detergent called Ecos. Bought it yesterday on one of the many grocery runs. Kroger on Youree sells it, as does Sunshine Health Foods. I bought the Magnolia and Lily scent. I will keep you posted on the family reaction.

In other news, today Miss Mabelline celebrates her second Barkday (that’s Birthday in dog-speak). So, without further adieu:

Haaaaaapy Birthday to Youuuuuuu
Haaaaaapy Birthday to Youuuuuuu
Haaaaaapy Birthday deeeeeeeear mischievous-evil-doer-yet-totally-adorable-when-she’s-sleepy-and-repentantly-puppy-faced Maaaaaaabel.
Haaaaaaaaaaaappy Birthdaaaaaaaaay to youuuuuuuuuuu

And many more!

Woof-Woof!! (That’s from Mason.)  😉

Day 94: Wish In One Hand…

I’m sitting at the computer monitor this morning wishing I could remember my drifting-off-to-sleep-thoughts last night where I brainstormed a great blog post. I can’t even remember which blog it was supposed to be for, but I do recall being quite pleased with my mental draft and then rolling over to sleep soundly.

I can’t help that my brain was more active than my body and the resulting decision NOT to go downstairs and type this life-altering thought has now cost the world some seriously good advice. Or laughs. Or whatever I had planned.

And while I’m sitting here wishing I could remember my own thoughts, Mabel is barking at the door. 6:15 in the morning is not the time for her to be barking, so I hoist myself up from the desk and walk through the kitchen and into the garden room to let her in.

I open the door and she looks up at me. Within half a second, she has turned on all four paws, and is sprinting across the yard to attack Mason, who insists on walking the full perimeter of our yard before coming inside.

I close the door and walk away. Back through the garden room, through the kitchen and into the office. I plop down in the chair.

Woof! Woof! Woof-woof-woof!!!!!

I want to call her names. I want to smack her cute little nose and explain to her that asking for something repeatedly and then putting the giver on hold is rude and socially unacceptable.

She does not care.

So today, with last night’s wit and wisdom merely a faint memory, I offer not really a change, but a wish that Mabel would change. Or at least that she would have the decency to come inside when I open the door at her request.