Wood tick, paranoia.

I feel like to only time I'm inspired to write short narratives is when something has gone terribly wrong.  Of course this isn't always the case...but it has been for the past month or so.

If you are a contemporary of mine and were asked to write a short list of things that disgust me it would go something like this

1. The sound that hands make when they rub across carpet (the sound of snow pants swooshing together is equally nauseating)


2. Asian carp (look it up on youtube, I'm horribly afraid and disgusted by these animals and I'm sure there will be a long blog post about how much I hate them in the near future)

3.  TICKS!

I hate ticks.  Hate them.  There are no reasons for their existence.  Wood ticks are horrible parasites that will crawl up your leg unannounced, attach to a warm part of your body, and then begin stealthily leeching the blood from your unaware veins.  They are disgusting, blood filled, disease carriers and everyone should duct tape their pants to their legs to prevent an encounter.

With that being said.  There was an encounter last night.

This spring has been a ticky bastard and I've had several encounters.  For some reason I let my guard down last night and played fetch with Mudd in tall grass.  I threw a stick, he joyfully leaped like a deer into the weeds, and fetched the stick.  This went on for some time. 

Eventually, the dog grew tired of the game and trotted inside for a Jane-cuddle-session.  As I calmly pat the dog and watched tv I noticed a bump on his neck.  A TICK!  Of course I couldn't touch it so I screamed for Kyle to come and yank the tick off Mudd's neck and cut it's head off with an exact-o blade.  I thought the ordeal was over after the beheading.  I pet the dog some more.  Another tick and the same reaction from Jane.

So, we sit down and tick check the dog.  My heart is pounding.  Kyle found a tick on his ear and tried to grab it but the tick literally disappeared into thin air.  Of course, I'm freaking out because the bastard was somewhere loose in the carpet.  I was asked to "chill out" because a loose tick is going to find blood.  Ten minutes late I heard Kyle chuckling as he watched a tick crawl up his hand.  THE TICK FOUND KYLE!!!  I was horrified.

All in all we found 7 horrible ticks on a 15 pound rat terrier.  It was terrible.  Booooo.

Mudd. Doggy age progression.

This is the day we brought Mudd home.  Approximately one year ago, today. 2011

Mudd when his ears were still floppy but were about to stand up.  2011

Mudd as a confidant, young man.  2012.

Isn't it amazing?  Look how big ol' Mudd has gotten in one year. 

This story has a happy ending.

This is my Ryder-Dog. He's been my best friend since I was 13. Last night I called my mother to have a chat and when she answered her "hello" sounded shaky and panicked. I asked her if everything was OK and she gave me the run down of the day.

"Ryder has disappeared. We've searched the house three times over and he isn't anywhere. I left for work and he was on the couch. George called me at 3 and told me the dog was MIA. We have no idea where he is. We think that someone may have opened the door at some point during the day and Ryder escaped."

My first reaction was to freak out. I tried to remain calm and told my mom that people love cocker spaniels. Anyone would stop their car and try to save the lil' guy. Don't freak out until day three...then you're allowed to freak out. We spoke for ten minutes and figured out a game plan. Then I hung up the phone and proceeded to freak out.

Ryder is 16 years old. Although he's pretty darn healthy he is deaf. I began to worry about the cars, weather, bad people...all sorts of stuff. Terrible thoughts ran through my head and I worried that I would never see my best friend again. I was worried that we would never know what happened to him, that we'd all have to live with a horrible mystery.

I cried myself to sleep.

Then morning came. I called my mother and we voiced our insecurities about the situation. We spoke about how amazing Ryder is and how we knew we'd find him. My mother said goodbye and started her day of flyering and shelter visiting.

Two hours later I called my mother to find out how the search was going.

" WE FOUND HIM!"

Ryder did escape from the house. That 16 year old cocker spaniel wandered across several busy intersections and ended up on the other side of town....THREE MILES AWAY! I couldn't believe my ears. Apparently, people called the local shelter and told them about the Ryder sightings. An officer was sent out to pick up my wayward pooch and he was taken to the Oak Park Animal Care League Shelter. I am going to send them a 50 dollar donation today as a huge thank you for saving my best friend.

I couldn't have asked for a better ending. I'm so thankful for all the people who worked together to find Ryder. I wish I could hug all of them. So, people...don't take your dog for granted. Get your dog micro-chipped. Take your dog for its annual vet visit. Hug your dog daily and try to be the person your dog thinks you are.

Thank you universe for bringing Ryder home.

dirty toes

It rained yesterday. Cold, wet drops landed everywhere all day long. Slowly but surely, it saturated the ground.

I've become accustomed to walking the dog in the back field. The dog also enjoys this ritual and I knew we were in for a muddy ordeal when we walked to our regular stomping grounds. Even with all the rain, the ground was a solid wet...not a sloppy wet. I didn't think we'd get too dirty.

Mudd and I ventured into the back field and he blasted off into the distance like a dog-rocket. He loved the dirt and had a good time running. By 5:30 we both looked like we had hoofs. There was no definition of "foot" on either of us. Just mud caked clodhoppers.

So, here's a picture of Mudd (post mud walk) I took with my new camera in low light. Mudd is showing off his dirty feet for you. He got a good bath shortly after this photo was taken.

a gift from the dog.

We own a puppy now. I am constantly yanking objects out of his curious mouth. Bottle caps, paper goods, rotten food, underpants, pennies. All sorts of fun things.

While camping, Mudd pranced up to me like he'd found something good, something super good. his tail was wagging.

"drop it, Mudd!" yells jane.

Mudd droped his treasure. A flattened and dehydrated leopard frog. Good eye, dog!

meet mudd.

This is why I've taken a blog hiatus. Meet Mudd. A little rat terrier that has stolen my heart and my time. Dang, he's cute.

My dog says "Hi"

"hello!"

i miss these.

My Ryder-Dog and Bonnie Bray.

bald eagle. Dead Dog. a poem.

I never knew nothing bout' neither of you
one trotting
and sniffing
just looking for food.


Then headlights and screeching.
A loud Ka-Pow.
Then you, old black dog,
you became the dog chow.


I don't know too much bout' our proud nation's symbol
that flies through the skies and rests by the river.
I imagined them diving and catching their prey
then flapping
and flapping
before flying away.


I drove many miles before I seen what is real
Nature is cruel and a dog is a meal.


A sharp yellow beak on a big ol' white head
He stood on top of that dog, with his feathers gone red.
Just chomping
and munching
and picking away
I learned something new about eagles that day.


But I haven't gone soft, eagles still have appeal.
Roadkill for some, for others a meal.