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Reality Mom - Reality Mom: My New Found Reality
It's after the fact but I waited until after Valentine's Day for a reason. I didn't want to spoil the surprise. Valentine's Day is so over rated really, a boon for florists and candy makers but for the most part just an excuse for those industries to pump up profits. I was looking at roses to send to THE Grandma and noticed that you could give your love a dozen perfect lavender roses for a mere $279.00.
Frick had the right idea. He made his mother a lovely handmade valentine. Once it was finished, he decided that it needed to be preserved for the duration and took it to THE Grandma's house. He remembered that in a hall closet she had several old picture frames. The appropriate frame was selected and, with a little help, the valentine was soon nicely matted and encased in a frame. Then he decided that this work of art should be gift wrapped. No appropriate wrapping paper was immediately available but a gift bag was found and with the addition of some tissue paper, his mother was the recipient of a gift fit for a queen.
Every mother has a least one. That precious gift crafted by small sweaty hands. A true labor of love, complete with eraser marks and misspelled words. I personally own a ceramic cat that looks only slightly like a cat. On the bottom, someone etched their initials. I keep this work of art locked away with my passport and other valuable items. Because it has value beyond monetary worth, like the valentine handmade and carefully wrapped and presented to a little boy’s mother, it came from the heart of a child.
Rarely are we loved as completely as we are loved by our children when they are small. Before they learn that we are only human beings with faults and subject to failure. For the short time that is childhood, parents get to be perfect in the eyes of their children. That complete love is the sweetest gift they give us.
As I explained yesterday, my old Basset hound Keesha and I get along quite well together. She follows me around while the children are at school. We're both overweight, we both snore and we are both fond of an afternoon nap in the sun. I thought that the two of us would waddle into our declining years together.
Then something happened. Keesha was lured away from the yard one warm autumn night by a ne'er do well who no doubt promised her the world but who left her with six squirmy white puppies. When I realized that she had fallen for some smooth talking stray I was of course quite upset. When I saw the puppies I was beyond upset. Prior to this, Keesha has produced three lovely Basset puppies per litter. Adorable little bundles with long ears and soulful eyes. This bunch of miscreants look like exactly what they are: white mongrels with no inherent cute factor that I can tell.
Gertrude, of course fell in love with the little beggars. "Perhaps they are like Dalmations, mom" she offered. "Maybe they will grow spots in a few days and BECOME CUTE." It was a cheerful thought but I knew there was no way these puppies were going to be anything more than average looking dogs.
I was however, very firm with both girls. Cute or not, all six puppies had to find homes somewhere else. There are quite enough dogs at our house. Keesha should have been spayed the second I decided not to breed her anymore. It was irresponsible of me but, having made the mistake, I needed to pull myself together and do the right thing. Find new homes for the pups and have the mother fixed as soon as possible. That being the case, no one was allowed to name the new puppies, or hold them or do anything more than ensure that they were healthy and ready to leave the premises when they were old enough to be weaned.
I've stood firm on the subject. Little Inky (named for his ink black nose) understands that he is going to have to move on in a few weeks. As do his brothers and sisters.
Last night the puppies celebrated their third week on Earth. Tallulah held one of the puppies up for me to inspect. "Look at this one mom. Do you see how scruffy his coat looks?" He
is the runt and he is not as cute as all the others. I feel sorry for him. No one is going to want a dog who looks like this." She held the little dog up to her cheek and smiled sadly at me while the puppy looked at me with big innocent eyes. I knew then what was coming. The question I dreaded...what I was trying to avoid by keeping human and canine children apart.
"Mom, since no one is going to want this one can I keep him?"
Children and puppies (or kittens!) just seem to go together. At our house we are animal lovers. From the time Tallulah was a old enough to express her desire for a pet, she has tried to bring one type of animal or another into our house. Some stayed for a while, others didn't work out as well.
For a time our town was plagued with stray dogs. Gertrude, Tallulah's younger sister has a soft heart for any stray. The instant one steps foot (paw) on our block, the child grasps it to her chest and vows that she will "love" it "forever". Each is given their own unique name and when they move on, they go with a full belly, leaving me with a sad child.
I mention this as a way to explain why there are currently five dogs and three cats residing with us. In fairness, all but the very oldest dog and the very youngest dogs live outdoors. Still, there are a great many dogs and cats depending on the occupants of our house for their daily bowl of kibble.
At the beginning it was not my intention to operate a shelter for stray pets. It just evolved. Each pet came to us with some sad tale.
Take the cats. Chowder came to us because my daughter heard that his previous owner was going to euthanize several kittens unless homes could be found. Tallulah went to work and found homes for as many of the kittens as she could. When only Chowder was left, she brought him to me and announced that the cat was on death row UNLESS I could find it in my heart to open my heart to him and allow her to take him in.
A week later, Duchess arrived. At only 11 ounces, she was tiny and fluffly and purred like a finely tuned motor when she snuggled into my arms. Once again I heard a sad story that involved certain feline death. UNLESS I was willing to stand up and be the defender of cats I was born to become.
I mention this as a way to explain why there are currently five dogs and three cats residing with us. In fairness, all but the very oldest dog and the very youngest dogs live outdoors. Still, there are a great many dogs and cats depending on the occupants of our house for their daily bowl of kibble.
At the beginning it was not my intention to operate a shelter for stray pets. It just evolved. Each pet came to us with some sad tale.
Take the cats. Chowder came to us because my daughter heard that his previous owner was going to euthanize several kittens unless homes could be found. Tallulah went to work and found homes for as many of the kittens as she could. When only Chowder was left, she brought him to me and announced that the cat was on death row UNLESS I could find it in my heart to open my heart to him and allow her to take him in. A week later, Duchess arrived. At only 11 ounces, she was tiny and fluffy and purred like a motor when she snuggled into my arms. Once again I heard a sad story that involved certain feline death. UNLESS I was willing to stand up and be the defender of cats I was born to become.
Eventually Duchess and Chowder became the proud parents of three tiny adorable kittens. Fortunately, two of them found homes with nice older ladies who love cats.
Each of my dogs has come to me with an equally said tale to share with me. Either the cruelty of other humans or the look of pleading in my daughter’s eyes has brought four dogs into my life. Keesha, the basset hound, is my old girl. Over weight and asthmatic, she plods along beside me in the garden and around the house. When I sit to drink my cup of tea, she curls at my feet and snores loudly until I move again. Her idea of exercise is to wag her tail a wee bit more quickly when I mention her name and the word “cookie” in the same sentence. In short, she is my canine doppelganger. I was happy having my “old girl” hang around with me when the children were at school.
I've been gone for a while. And though I've been trying to get myself together to come back, it's been difficult. The story of where I have been is long and tiresome and I won't bore my readers with all the minute details.
Let it be enough to say that I lost someone very dear to me. Not my The Grandmama, my dear mother is still with us, thankfully. The person I lost was a dear aunt who left us after a lingering illness. Her passing though has changed things somewhat. I suddenly realized that after countless years of feeling like a child, I am indeed not a child. My cousins and I are the adults, we have children of our own. And the adults, the people I look to for guidance and support are old people. And they are fragile. And one day soon, they will be gone
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