The Endangered Clif

Photo courtesy of http://www.clifbar.com/food/products_clif_bar/1201

For all of you dog bloggers out there in the blogosphere who haven't yet experienced a Clif Bar... DON'T. You won't like it. Believe me. I tried one. (Ripped the package into itty bitty bitskys, too) It's not something I want added to my diet (even as a treat). The best way to let your humans know this is to eat one and leave one over. I left the other one tucked neatly in my mom's beach bag. I think she got the message.

On to lighter things ... For the last couple of days I've had my very own house guest. Macy. That's right folks, he's my brother from another mother. A Welsh Corgi to be exact. A little aggressive on the food front, but we're working that out (my mom and Diane are teaching him to sit/stay) and I'm so very glad that he's staying at my house. He plays nice and he plays chase. What more can you ask from a house guest (other than that they vote Democratic)?

Life is good.

My mom is off Procrit now (her doctor said that she was getting like an athlete who was juicing) and she's still doing fine. She even has a new roof on her car. Personally, it's a little too much wind for me when she drives with the top down, but she seems to love it. I wonder if it's like hanging your head, tongue flying in the air, out an open window.

Life is very good here in "...da' muck")

Namaste,
sds

Cactus Cuties

(photo credit: random internet search)

This YouTube video was sent to me by a dear friend who has the uncanny ability of helping me to become "unstuck" whenever stuck I become. (I don't even think she knows it, either!) On top of that, don't they just remind you of real life "Whos" from "Whoville"? (go see Horton Hears a Who!)

Lexapro

(logo courtesy of www.lexapro.com)

Sounds like a dog's name, doesn't it? It's not.

I think that my mom has changed her mind about giving it serious consideration considering that the side effects from the Interferon/Ribovirin are starting to interfere with her view of the the world. She's even been yelling at me and she doesn't usually do that. So rather than invest in tissues and solitude, maybe she'll give me a ride in the car over to the pharmacy and a lot more napping instead. (I love R.I.T.C. (Rides-In-The-Car) and napping!

The thought of moving in this direction is actually helping my mom. Good thing. Here's something to help celebrate the occassion:



tentatively wagging tail,
sds

Little Lamb Who Made Thee?

(picture credit: google images)

In some of the words of William Blake,

"Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, wooly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?...."

accompanied by the music of WB Caldwell, I ask you, who made thee? I know that my mom loves me just the same now with her battery as she did before she had one (even though she's a bit slower during our games of chase). It really doesn't seem to matter whether her heart is totally dependent upon a battery or upon chemical reactions. Seems to me in all my dog wisdom, that if the "who" didn't want her to feel in her heart, then the "who" would've given her a dead battery. (Did you know that you can start a fire with steel wool and a dead 8 volt battery? (My mom saw it on MacGyver once).) Anyway ... Makes you definitely wonder, huh? So we use the word "heart" to describe deep emotions. What's wrong with that? Should we use the word "soul"? Should we not use words? On Valentine's Day, people give each other plastic hearts with Skittles in them, or truffles, or M&Ms. Does it mean any less because of the plastic? Guess we'll find out in about 8 years when the battery is scheduled to run out.

running with a little less abandon today,
sds (Someone quick! Throw me a cookie!)

Over Hill and Right on Dale

Today, here in Jersey, it's bright, sunny, almost warm, and mom is working from home as she usually does now on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Thursdays are not as much fun as Tuesdays are because of, well, you know (that jab thing), but Tuesdays ... well they're almost like puppy playtime all day long. She talks to me, she takes me out at lunchtime. What could be better? OK. Don't answer that. There's not too much new except that the postman came by early so my mom didn't have to walk all the way to the mailbox to send out a letter, and the gutter stayed put on the roof all night - so she wasn't cursing this morning. All good things ....

On another timely topic, like Roger Clemens, Michael Vick, Robert Blake, Leona Helmsley (wait, she's dead), Paris Hilton, there is Eliot Spitzer. Rather than go into detail about any of them, my mom said that I might want to put this bit of reading material here instead. There you go - and as a very very wise person once said, "wherever you go, there you are".

Being.
sds

drip and deluge

My mom recounted for me some dinner conversation she had the other night and, though boring as it might seem to the rest of the canine world, it was, according to my mom, pretty enlightening for her. It had to do with truth, each individual's personal truth, mostly religious/metaphysical. There was one woman who told a story of her mother who decided that it was okay for her daughter to skip confession the night before her communion because of a long line - yet it was still okay to take communion the next day. This same woman's mother, while in her 80's, dying of kidney failure, asked for a priest to help her determine whether or not stopping dialysis would be considered suicide in the eyes of the church. Then there was another woman at the table in her 50's who was born Jewish, raised communist, Workmen's Circle, etc... yet taken to task for calling her sister a Yid. Then my mom's sweetheart, who was born of Jewish parents who themselves were born in Germany, but who got out before The Holocaust, yet who was raised Unitarian who is slowly investigating the Judaism that her parents rejected. Then there is my mom who checked into Saint Peter's Hospital with really vicious back/leg pain, and who woke up in Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital running on a battery (like a scene change from Brian De Palma's Dressed to Kill with Angie Dickinson ) It almost looks like individual truth is an intensely personal fluid thing - for some, a lengthy annoying drip, and for others, a deluge.

So in honor of drips and deluges, here is a little entertaining video to bring joy to anniversary month:



HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO:
my mom's mom & dad (nana and pop-pop)
her sister and her brother-in-law (my aunt and uncle)
her brother and her sister-in-law (my uncle and aunt)
Roxie's two moms

(My mom's and her sweetheart's anniversary is not until Israeli Independence Day. More on that later.)

Running back and forth across the room with reckless abandon,
sds

Inspiration

Some folks find inspiration during the observation of the accomplishments of others, some in the enthusiastic way in which those accomplishments are maintained and for some, in the general contagion of enthusiasm itself. Much credit for the existence of this blog is due Roxies World. It inspired me to enter the blog world via admiration and subsequent mimicry. In summation, it engendered creation of this blog and inspired me to write a few things down. Thank you Roxie. Thank you(s) also go to Roxie's typist, Moose, and Moose's partner Goose for imparting their enthusiasm and knowledge such that I have incorporated pieces of the same here too. (Specifically, The posts about Puppy Superbowl / Michael Vick, and the link to SNL's Tina Fey) Big thank yous :) I'd send them a royalty check, but I don't even know how to price such things. As it is, I have no pockets in my fur so I'd have to ask my Mom to take care of it for me. I'd offer up a play date if they're ever in N.J. if that's acceptable to them.

Credit too must also be given to Sharkbutt for his blog. His humor and cat perspective always gives me pause.


Grateful to be a dog and just plain ol' grateful ...
sds