OLD CARD

I am my own garbage person.  There is trash pick up out here but since I have lived in the country, I have  always been my own trash disposer.  For $7 a week I could have it picked up.

But if I store it in my shed in contractor bags--I call them body bags for they are so large--I can go to the dump station once a month or so for $5.00. So that is what I have done for 15 years.  The bags are so thick that there is neither smell nor varmints.

Yes it is getting harder to lift these 50 pound bags into a wheel barrow, then into the back of my little pick up but so far I am making it. Might be breathing a bit heavier these days but we get'er done.

The dump station is about 15 miles away but I make the trip to town count for more than one thing.

I always turn in my recyclables first, then go to the scales to weigh my vehicle. While I was waiting for the hand signal from the office to indicate they had my weight, I noticed a small truck that was oddly pulled sideways in the dump area and an older fellow was unloading it. 

Usually we back up to the drop off and there is a semi trailer pulled below for us to throw our trash into.  The only person around was the elderly fellow who was just finishing putting his trash at the edge of the drop off.  I noticed he moved as if he were in pain. Either back or hips were killing him. I know that walk from when my sciatica flairs up.

Phooey I thought. I usually get help unloading my trash from the workers but it looked like I was on my own today. No one in sight and that poor old fellow looked like he needed my help.

When I started to back up to the edge, a nice young man appeared out of nowhere and  gave me hand signals to get me close but not too close to the edge.  I was grateful for the guidance and wondered why the old fellow's vehicle was so catawampus. Did no one guided him in??

The old gentleman was getting into his vehicle as I got out of mine.  Again that darling young man leaped to my rescue.  He explained that the trucks had not arrived yet and he quickly emptied my little truck putting my bags on the edge.  The young man handled the bags like loaves of bread.  Ah, the little old lady card worked again.

I thanked him mightily and drove to the ramp to wait for the older gentleman to clear the scales and pay his due.  I hurt seeing him struggle down the stairs to the office and then struggle even more to climb back up. He was in pain.

Then I wondered, why hadn't he been helped like I had been? Not complaining mind you but I sure felt badly for that elderly man.  Does the "old card" only work for women?

UNEXPECTED GIFTS

I wasn't looking for a gift but I got a whole day of them anyway.  It started when I saw my wheelbarrow tire was flat.  Aww, phooey. So I took it into town to see if I could get it repaired or at least replaced.  I went to the service station that kind of specializes in patching flat tires.

A  young fellow came out to get the tire out of the back of my pickup. While he was working on it we started talking.  He was asking about my ancient little truck. I told him it was a 2003 with 190,000 miles on it.  He asked if I wanted to sell it and I immediately said I was happy with it. It hasn't given me a bit of trouble in all these years.  He then shocked me saying he could get $9000 for it.  Yikes. Blue Book Value is only $2500.  That kind of gave me lift though knowing what I value  still has value.

He fixed my tire, put it in the back of my truck and I asked what I owed him. He looked quizzical for a moment then just smiled and said. "Nothing, this is on me." I was very pleased and am pretty sure I unintentionally played the "old lady card" again.

I was smiling as I drove to pick up my Lotto ticket on the way home.  Now it was a really windy day and my worst hair cut ever was doing its best to dance off my head.  Oddly when I got to the store and checked the door glass for the damages, I had to laugh. This was the best my hair had looked in months. Wind is evidently a great hairdresser.  So Mom Nature took pity on me and styled my hair for me. Now if I could only repeat the effect she got.

Then as I placed my order for my ticket, the young girl behind the counter gave me a nice compliment. Trust me, 83 year old women don't get many.  She said she really liked my hair and wanted to know  who did it.  I smiled as I told her that Mom Nature did. Then she surprised me further.  

"I have been meaning to tell you each time you come in," she said. I love that shade of lipstick you wear. Sure wish I could wear that color." It is coral.

Golly---free flat fixed, and compliments from a 20 year old girl. Pretty good day. 

But there was one more gift waiting.  I was having propane delivered that afternoon. It is a big truck and I have to open both of my 12 foot gates so he can get in. We had a nice chat and when he got ready to drive out, I said as I usually do, "I'll get the gate."

He then said, "No problem, I will get them," and he did. Doesn't sound like a big deal but it was really inconvenient for him to do it and I really appreciated it for as I mentioned, they are heavy. Could have been that "old lady card" again. Hey when we are young, we flirt --when we are old we use what works. 

Three lovely people in one day--yep things do come in threes--even good things. 

Ever lean on your age for a little special treatment?

AUSTRALIAN BLUE HEELER

Not my pictures but accurate representations.

When I moved to Okeechobee Florida I had never heard of a Queensland Heeler aka Blue Heeler, Australian Cattle Dog, or Red Heeler. Okeechobee being cattle country, used the dogs quite a bit as cattle herders. The around 30 pound dogs are called Heelers as they nip the heels of cattle to direct them. They are small but tireless workers. Day worker cowboys get paid extra if they have a dog for it is said the dog is worth two cowboys.

My introduction to a Heeler came in the back yard of a high bill complaint customer. On first look, I thought I was seeing some exotic zoo animal. Their coloring is very unusual. The main coat is gray, flecked with black giving a blue appearance. The markings around face, legs and chest vary from black to red. There are some that have their coat flecked with red, thus the name of the Red Heelers.

To a novice as I was, this is an exotic looking dog and a puppy will just melt your heart. That is what I saw in their back yard, a pack of puppies. I was a little put off by their $125.00 price tag which was huge about 25 years ago but I was smitten and had to have one. Though I have rescued over 250 dogs, I have only bought two. That puppy was my first purchase.

She was a little female and I named her Jip which I stole from David Copperfield. Jip matured into a lovely little Heeler and as she entered her second heat, I thought I would breed her. I had a friend who owned a marvelous working Heeler named Jack and a breeding was arranged in exchange for pick of the litter.

The breeding took and Jip produced a lovely litter of 6 pups. Of course the pick of the litter went as stud fee and I was left with 5 really cute puppies. When I took them to the vet for their shots and worming, I met a lady outside the vets office who just fell in love with the runt. Of course they were too young to sell so I gave her my card and told her when they would be ready, how much they would cost --- hoping she would never call.

I am very ashamed to say, I prejudged this woman totally on her appearance. As she had cornered me on the way into the vets office with my basket of puppies, I saw her vehicle. It was an old, barely running car. She had 3 very young children who were very well behaved but dressed in thread worn clothes. She was carrying a very sickly kitten that she had found and was having vet checked. That last fact was the only reason I gave her my card but I was hoping that was the last I would hear from her.

When the puppies grew, I found what I hoped would be wonderful homes for them. Two,I gave away to co-workers, one to my blacksmith and one I sold for a small amount to my boss to help cover vet expenses. Only the runt was left and then, "that lady" called. I quoted her full price of $125.00 and she never wavered. This was a lot of money for me in those days and I had a really good job. I have no idea where she got the money but she did. Later, when I saw her drive away with the pup, I was certain I had not done the right thing for that little dog and felt quite guilty.

Before a year was up, all the puppies that I had meticulously placed in loving homes were dead. Three had been run over and one had been shot by an irate neighbor. That left only the runt and her iffy home.

I ran into the woman at the grocery store almost two years later and she insisted I stop by her home and see the runt, now named Emma Lou. Interested to see how my only surviving puppy had turned out,I followed her home.

I was quite surprised by her home. It was not elaborate by any means but was very neat with a fenced in, well cared for yard sporting flowers and a vegetable garden. Emma Lou bounced out of the house and joyfully leaped up into the arms of the woman with a happy grin on her speckled face. She had certainly not turned out to be the prettiest of the pups. Her legs were too long, her body too short and her nose too thin, but she was obviously happy, healthy and alive, something her siblings had not managed.

I left that day feeling quite stupid about my previous prejudgment of this woman. Her family didn't have a lot of material things but they had enough for comfort and I am pretty sure she would have done what ever was necessary to provide for her children and her pets. I totally admired her and felt Emma Lou was one lucky pup.

Right before I moved to Arkansas about 5 years ago, I got a phone call out of the blue.

"You don't remember me," the strange female voice started, " but I bought a Blue Heeler from you 19 years ago."

"Yes I do remember you," I said honestly for she had so impressed me. " How are you?"

"Ok now, I guess," she said with a catch in her voice,"This is the first I have been able to call you and not break up. I just wanted you to know that Emma Lou passed away last month. She was 19 years old and I thought you would want to know, she had a long and happy life."

I was almost speechless. Emma Lou had lived 19 years!!! That was just beyond amazing. We talked a while and finally she ended our conversation with,"I just wanted you to know and to thank you."

I thanked her for calling but in my heart, I thanked her for firmly embedding in me years ago that appearances mean little, character means all. The kindest hearts are rarely clothed in the finest silks. It was a lesson never lost on me.

PLAYING THE OLD LADY CARD

I have done it before and I will do it again with no shame. And that is to play the old lady card. Since my eyelash batting days are long over, I now rely on my white hair, ton of wrinkles and slight limp.  No one ever wants to see my ID for senior discount anymore.

I had allowed my property to become over grown thanks to a bad shoulder for about 3 years. The shoulder is cured now but the over growth remained and was over whelming.

Last year, I had a phone line problem and the poor service man had to push through the jungle to the pole to change a fuse in a small box on the pole.  I was really embarrassed and really felt like I should have at least offered to be his gun bearer as he braved the tangle of foliage.

Below is a picture of what the poor fellow battled through.  What a guy.

 Before. 

This is the same pole that my security light hangs from.  The trees had grown up so much that the security light no longer did its job but was more or less an ornament in the trees.

So I called the power company who are responsible for the light.  They sent a bucket truck out to make the light usable once more by trimming the brush around the light.  They succeeded in exposing the light once more and piled up the cut off branches.  They were ready to drive off leaving the pile for me to dispose of so I took off my sun hat, bared my white hair and limped over to the main guy.

Ok, I do have a slight limp from the sciatica but I kind of hammed it up a bit for affect.

"Last time you guys sent over a chipper truck to clean up the limbs. Do you suppose you could do it for me this time also?" I pleaded in my squeaky old lady voice.

He looked at me with a sweet smile and said, "I'll see if we have one in the area and maybe they can clean up the brush around the base of the pole also."

I gave him my best grin and thanked him profusely.

Yep, the regular tree trimmers came, cleaned up the mess and then attacked the jungle. It was amazing what a couple of chain saws can do.

After

Not terribly pretty right now but I am delighted. It has inspired me to tackle the rest of the property that has gotten a bit out of hand.

Am I ashamed for using my old lady white hair and slightly exaggerated limp for extras?  Absolutely not.

Have you ever resorted to wiles to get above and beyond normal service or in some cases just normal service?  If you haven't, give it a try.  It works and you get to make some one really feel good about themselves at the same time.

SHAMELESS

Yes I am shameless and quite frankly, I am a bit proud of it.

Lately my trees and vines have climbed my power pole till they completely surrounded my outdoor security light that I pay for on my light bill.  Outside of a nice glow among the trees, I got no benefit at all from the light. This is the second time this has happened.

I called the power company and they promised to send someone out that day to trim the branches so I thought I'd get in some lawn mowing while I waited.
I just finished mowing and was walking to the house when a power company bucket truck with two nice young men  pulled up to the gate.

The head guy sadly said that they could only cut the branches down and pile them up.  I would have to dispose of them.  I said,"OK," thinking this would not be too difficult.  Then they went to work.

The pile kept getting higher.

The branches kept getting bigger. 

That is when I shamelessly played the age card. I said nothing but took quick action.

When I mow on the rider, I wear a huge brimmed sombrero, two cooling neck scarves, and am lathered in white zinc oxide for sun block that looks a lot like clown make up. I am pretty sure my disguise made my age a mystery.

Recently I have been nursing a bum shoulder that makes shifting gears in my car and even pulling up my underwear an uncomfortable, painful experience. Realizing I probably could not handle this huge pile, I was getting worried.   Pretty sure those limbs weighed more than my underwear. Steps had to be taken.

I eased into the house, removed the hat and scarves, quickly washed off the grease paint exposing my wrinkles and fluffed up my white hair. Did I limp a bit when I went back out?? Well I do have a bad back and hip. It is hard to show that a shoulder is hurting so I MAY have exaggerated my normal limp a wee bit to make the point that I was a beat up old lady.

I limped up to the head guy for a casual chat.  He looked at me closely for the first time. We chatted a bit, then he went to his truck and talked quietly on the radio.

He came back with a big smile and said he had arranged for the wood chipper truck to stop by in the next few days to remove the debris.  Ah, what a sweet man.

I thanked him profusely saying that I really didn't know how I would have managed that pile---and that was the truth.  I was enormously relieved and he got to spend the rest of the day rightfully feeling good about himself.  Win/win.

When I was younger, I would have gone in, fixed my hair, made sure my deodorant was still working, added makeup, put on some short shorts with a flattering blouse and hope for the same results. Now days, white hair, wrinkles and a bit of a limp works just fine. This isn't new shameless behavior, just different.

Have you ever deliberately played the age card or exaggerated an ache or pain to get extra service?

NOW THAT WAS FUNNY

I wrote a while back how much I enjoyed playing the "old lady card" to get help with heavy projects.  When I had taken my garbage to the dump station last month I was eagerly helped by a young man while I had watched an older, lame gentleman tackle his garbage bags by himself.   I wrote about it here that it seemed the "old" card only applied to women which shocked me.  Most of my commenters felt that the old gent may have refused help out of male pride.

Well I was taught a further lesson about playing cards this week.  Again I was taking my months worth of garbage to the dump station.  There was a really big,  dual wheel, crew cab pick up truck ahead of me and the driver took their spot as I maneuvered next to them.

I got out and opened the back of my little truck, expecting help at any moment. Help never came. Seems "help" was busy unloading the bags from the truck next to me.

Leaning on  the neighboring truck was a young woman in her late 20's with long, curly blond hair, who was tanning bed brown and sporting a few modest tattoos. She also wore a crop top and some right fancy Daisy Dukes. Hers had lace at the edges.

Daisy Dukes are really short, tight, denim shorts made famous by the female lead in the Dukes of Hazzard TV show from the 80's.

Model for YMI Jeanswear

I was Googling for a picture of Daisy Duke from the Dukes of Hazzard to post when this picture popped up.  I swear that is almost the image of the girl I saw. Kind of obvious why I wasn't helped:))

Then I got tickled.  I may have out trumped an old man but didn't have a chance against Daisy Dukes.  I had to cough a little to hide my giggles.

There was no problem with me unloading my bags but must admit  I was a bit disappointed. It had been kind of fun being pampered.

Sometimes with cards as Kenny Rogers would say, "You've got to know when to hold em', know when to fold 'em and know when to walk away." I walked.

Maybe next month?

UH, YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT ????

I had my vehicle in the shop for repairs and the only loaner available was a humongous van with several rows of bench seats and side opening doors. I was not use to such a large vehicle and was a bit nervous about driving it. However, I did need to pick up my dry cleaning so I illegally parked in the fire lane to protect the loaner from crashing grocery carts and quickly ran into the Cleaners.

I had the side doors open looking for a place to hang my cleaner bags, when someone gently pushed me aside. Startled, I watched a little old lady climb into the van and sit down wearily. Need to state here that at my age then, anyone around 60 was OLD. Today I look on 60 is a still a youngster. Back to the story. My mouth was still hanging open when the next wave hit. One by one, five other seniors climbed into the van, using my shoulder as a hand rail.

"We missed the bus." an elderly gentleman informed me as he squeezed beside two ladies and looked for a place to put his cane.

"You will take us home?" he partially questioned, but mostly stated.

I looked at my little group of passengers and tried to push thoughts of law suit out of my mind as I asked,"Uh, where do you live?"

They were from Century Village which is a huge retirement village in Palm Beach County. Today over 6000 people live there. The Village supplied bus service to grocery stores and shopping complexes. This group had stayed too long and had been left on the curb. The last bus of the day was history.

Against my better judgment but not knowing how I could possibly throw 6 seniors back on the curb and still sleep at night, I made sure there were no more stragglers. I then told them to buckle up and headed for the Village which was several miles away.

I was curious why they had no shopping bags. Man-with-cane explained that they went a couple of times a week to the book store/coffee shop that was part of the strip mall, to read and sip while the rest of the bus load grocery shopped.

I asked where their books were and he explained that they never bought a book except as a gift. They just read inside the store while sipping coffee. They would then write down the stopping page on a piece of paper so they could pick up where they left off next time.

Being a book and coffee person myself, I could see where that might be the perfect day out for seniors. The price for their entertainment certainly fit into a retirement income.

Now Century Village has over 2000 condos. It would have been nice if they all lived in the same unit but each one lived in a separate building. Kind of wondered how they all got together. Perhaps they met at Bingo.

Google earth view. Each tiny rectangle is a building such as this one below. Century Village was twice the size of the town I live in now.



At each stop, I got out to open the doors for the departing senior and was rewarded with a quarter and a sweet smile or nod for my efforts. I tried to refuse the change but they almost got ugly insisting. I quickly learned that little old ladies will not hesitate to slap your arm with their bony hands if you don't agree with them. So I just took the money and shut up.

I was really getting tickled at the absurdity of the situation. However with each successful unload, I breathed a new sigh of relief. I was beginning to think that this might work out after all.

Man-with-cane was the last to depart. He demanded my name and address. He did NOT offer a quarter. I was tempted to give a false name but I wrote my real name and address on the piece of paper he offered.

Ah, I thought, here comes the law suit. Perhaps I had taken a turn to quickly and caused a whiplash. I was living by the creed at that time that no good deed goes unpunished.

I was delighted though in a few days for I got a lovely card from Man-with-cane. He thanked me very nicely and there were TWO quarters scotch taped to the card. No lawyers ever called.

Still today, thirty years later, that ranks as the strangest, scariest, yet coolest buck seventy five I ever earned.

UH--YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT??

Rerun from 2012. Only a few of you were with me then. Hope the rest of you enjoy this post as I  relive a strange, fun and rewarding day. 

It was in the early 1980's. I had my vehicle in the shop for repairs and the only loaner available was a humongous van with several rows of bench seats and side opening doors. I was not use to such a large vehicle and was a bit nervous about driving it. 

I needed to pick up my dry cleaning on the way home so I illegally parked in the fire lane of a strip mall to protect the loaner from crashing grocery carts and quickly ran into the cleaners.

I had the side doors open looking for a place to hang my cleaner bags, when someone gently pushed me aside. Startled, I watched a little old lady climb into the van and sit down wearily. Need to state here that at my age then, anyone over 60 was OLD. Today I look on 60 is a still a youngster. 

Back to the story. My mouth was still hanging open when the next wave hit. One by one, five more seniors climbed into the van, using my shoulder as a hand rail.

"We missed the bus." an elderly gentleman informed me as he squeezed beside two ladies and looked for a place to put his cane.

"You will take us home." he partially questioned, but mostly stated.

I looked at my little group of passengers and tried to push thoughts of law suit out of my mind as I asked,"Uh, where do you live?"

They were from Century Village which is a huge retirement village in Palm Beach County. Today over 6000 people live there. The Village supplied bus service to grocery stores and shopping complexes. This group had stayed too long and had been left on the curb. The last bus of the day was history.

Against my better judgment but not knowing how I could possibly throw 6 seniors back on the curb and still sleep at night, I made sure there were no more stragglers. I then told them to buckle up and headed for the Village which was several miles away.

I was curious why they had no shopping bags. Man-with-cane explained that they went a couple of times a week to the book store/coffee shop that was part of the strip mall to read and sip while the rest of the bus load grocery shopped.

I asked where their books were and he explained that they never bought a book except as a gift. They just read inside the store while sipping coffee. They would then write down the stopping page on a piece of paper so they could pick up where they left off next time.

Being a book and coffee person myself, I could see where that might be the perfect day out for seniors. The price for their entertainment certainly fit into a retirement income.

Now Century Village had over 2000 condos. It would have been nice if they all lived in the same unit but each one lived in a separate building. Kind of wondered how they all got together. Perhaps they met at Bingo.

At each stop, I got out to open the sliding door for the departing senior and was rewarded with a quarter and a sweet smile or nod for my efforts. Even in those days, twenty five cents was a pittance.

I tried to smile and refuse the change but they almost got ugly insisting. I quickly learned that little old ladies will not hesitate to slap your arm with their bony hands if you don't agree with them. So I just took the money and shut up.

I was really getting tickled at the absurdity of the situation. However with each successful unload, I breathed a new sigh of relief. I was beginning to think that this might work out after all.

Man-with-cane was the last to depart. He demanded my name and address. He did NOT offer a quarter. I was tempted to give a false name but I wrote my real name and address on the piece of paper he offered.

Ah, I thought, here comes the law suit. Perhaps I had taken a turn too quickly and caused a whiplash. I was living by the creed at that time that no good deed goes unpunished.

I was delighted though in a few days for I got a lovely card from Man-with-cane. He thanked me very nicely and there were TWO quarters scotch taped to the card. No lawyers ever called.

Still today,  thirty five years later, that ranks as the strangest, scariest, yet coolest buck seventy five I ever earned.

GINGER

In the years that I ran the animal rescue, I placed over 250 dogs. I would love to say they all went to wonderful homes, but that wasn't always the case. You try the best you can and while I always followed up on the adoptions, a few fell through the cracks, much like our child services organizations. One such case was Ginger.





Ginger was a street dog when I found her. She was making a living raiding garbage cans and annoying the town residents. I often worked with the Humane Society and was told about this stray dog. Every time they went to pick her up, she vanished. She evidently knew their trucks. The director, who was a good friend, asked me to try to catch her as the neighbors were threatening to cause her harm with vague threats of poisoning. Illegal but unprovable. It is hard to trace hamburger.



She was a small Sheltie mix with a very dirty and matted coat. There was nothing pretty about Ginger. I saw her cruising McDonald's parking lot, bought a cheese burger and caught her with no problem. My vehicle fooled her. I dropped her off at the vets for exam, bath and hair cut.


When I picked her up in the evening, I didn't recognize her. They had to shave her almost to the skin due to the mats. God had given her a lot of hair for a reason, she had an ugly body.






Ginger fit right in at the shelter and she adopted Sooner, a large greyhound male, as her best buddy. He would do his sprints around the pasture at roughly 40 miles per hour. Pumping her little legs as best she could, she would trail him till he would soon lap her. Both running with tongues out and wide grins. They were a joy to watch.

I apologize for quality of picture.

As her hair grew, she became quite pretty and I sought to adopt her out. Ginger. was very affectionate if a bit needy so when a friend suggested a woman he knew who was in an assisted living home that allowed pets, I was thrilled. Ginger would get 24/7 attention.

When the lonely woman saw Ginger, it was instant love. I felt I had really found a perfect match and had made two beings very happy. It was a really good day and I was quite comfortable in the adoption. I left my card with the director and told her that if, God forbid, anything happened to the lady, I would take Ginger back.




It was months later when the director called me. She explained that Ginger's owner had Alzheimer's that was progressing and it was getting where she could no longer care for a pet. I asked if I could help out with walks and such but she said that the little dog was being unintentionally abused. The lady would tie the dog to her and not let her move. She would swat Ginger when she tried to move away. I was heart sick that the little dog was being so badly treated but I also felt deeply for the woman and the cruelties of that disease.




The director wanted me to take the dog but said we had to do it while the woman was at a doctors appointment as she would not understand and might get aggressive. This did not sit well with me for I was basically being asked to steal this womans dog. I had no knowledge of Alzheimer's behavior but trusted the director and agreed to steal Ginger.




I went to pick up Ginger when the woman had gone to her appointment. Ginger acted Ok to see me but there was a dull look in her eyes. Under her thick coat, I felt her bones. She had obviously suffered in this home. When we got home, her reunion with Sooner lifted her spirits and I saw some of the old Ginger reappear. I was pretty sure there was no permanent emotional damage but it would just take time.




I had plans that evening and when I got home there was a message on my answering machine. As I played it, my heart split in two.




A thin reedy voice softly spoke. "My doggie, my doggie, what have you done with my doggie? Please, please, I want my doggie," then the phone went dead.





I didn't know you could cry and throw up at the same time. It hurt-so-damn-bad. She had evidently kept my business card from when I first took Ginger to her. Perhaps whoever placed the call, hung up for her. Regardless, she knew I had stolen her companion. Her pain strangled her voice. I couldn't feel any lower or dirtier and I threw up again.




I called the director when I could finally speak. She assured me that in a very short time, the woman would forget all about Ginger. I doubted that but was then told she would soon be going into full custodial care, so having a dog was out. The cruelty of what I had done was impossible to bear.



There was no right thing to do here. I had to protect the dog but did I have the right to make this poor woman suffer any more? Thank God she never called back but I can hear her voice clearly today. I still cringe when I hear the word "doggie."




Ginger later went into a wonderful home where she spent the rest of her years ruling her household as a benevolent dictator. That helps some.

GINGER

This is a rerun from 2009 since I just don't have anything for today. I only had 3 followers at that time so it should be new for most of you. 

In the years that I ran the animal rescue, I placed over 250 dogs. I would love to say they all went to wonderful homes, but that wasn't always the case. You try the best you can and while I always followed up on the adoptions, a few fell through the cracks, much like our child services organizations. One such case was Ginger.

Ginger was a street dog when I found her. She was making a living raiding garbage cans and annoying the town residents. I often worked with the Humane Society and was told about this stray. Every time they went to pick her up, she vanished. She evidently knew their trucks. The director, who was a good friend, asked me to try to catch her as the neighbors were threatening to cause her harm with vague threats of poisoning.  

She was a small Sheltie mix with a very dirty and matted coat. There was nothing pretty about Ginger. I saw her cruising McDonald's parking lot, bought a cheese burger and caught her with no problem. My vehicle fooled her. I dropped her off at the vets for exam, bath and hair cut.

When I picked her up in the evening, I didn't recognize her. They had to shave her almost to the skin due to the mats. God had given her a lot of hair for a reason, she had an ugly body.

Ginger fit right in at the shelter and she adopted Sooner, a large greyhound male, as her best buddy. They were inseparable.  He would do his sprints around the pasture at roughly 40 miles per hour. Pumping her little legs as best she could, she would trail him and he would soon lap her many times but both ran with tongues out and wide grins. They were a joy to watch.



I apologize for quality and stains on the old picture.

As her hair grew, she became quite pretty and I sought to adopt her out. Ginger was very affectionate if a bit needy so when a friend suggested a woman he knew who was in an assisted living home that allowed pets, I was thrilled. Ginger would get 24/7 attention.

When the lonely woman saw Ginger, it was instant love. I felt I had really found a perfect match and had made two beings very happy. It was a really good day and I was quite comfortable in the adoption. I left my card with the director and told her that if, God forbid, anything happened to the lady, I would take Ginger back.

It was almost a year later when the director called me. She explained that Ginger's owner had dementia that was progressing rapidly and it was getting where she could no longer care for a pet. 

I asked if I could help out with walks and such but she said that the little dog was being unintentionally abused. The lady would tie the dog to her chair and not let her move. She would swat Ginger when she tried to move away. I was heart sick that the little dog was being so badly treated but I also felt deeply for the woman and the cruelties of that disease.

The director wanted me to take the dog but said we had to do it while the woman was at a doctors appointment as she would not understand and might get aggressive. This did not sit well with me for I was basically being asked to steal this woman's dog. I had no knowledge of dementia behavior but trusted the director and agreed to steal Ginger.

I went to pick up Ginger when the woman had gone to her appointment in the morning. Ginger acted almost fearful to see me and there was a dull look in her eyes. Under her thick coat, I felt her bones. She had obviously suffered in this home. 

When we got home, her reunion with Sooner lifted her spirits and I saw some of the old Ginger reappear. I was hopeful there was no permanent emotional damage and that it would just take time, care and love.

I had plans that day and when I got home there was a message on my answering machine. As I played it, my heart split in two.

A thin reedy voice softly spoke thru tears. "My doggie, my doggie, what have you done with my doggie? Please, please, I want my doggie. Bring her back-- please." Then the phone went dead.


I didn't know I could cry and throw up at the same time. It hurt-so-damn-bad. She had evidently kept my business card from when I first took Ginger to her. Perhaps whoever placed the call, hung up for her. Regardless, she knew I had stolen her friend. Pain strangled her voice. I couldn't feel any lower or dirtier so I threw up again.

I called the director when I could finally speak. She assured me that in a very short time, the woman would forget all about Ginger. I doubted that but was then told she was going into full custodial care, so having a dog was out. The cruelty of what I had done was impossible to bear.

There was no right thing to do here. I had to protect the dog but did I have the right to make this poor woman suffer any more? Thank God she never called back but I can hear her voice clearly today.  


Ginger later went into a wonderful home where she spent the rest of her years ruling the household as a benevolent dictator. That helped my conscience quite a bit. However, I still cringe today when I hear the word "doggie."

Have you ever had to do something that was the right thing to do but it broke your heart?

UH, YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?????

It is summer rerun time and since my friend is still here, I really don't have time for posting.  Some of you were with me when I wrote this in Sept of 09 so you are excused with a huge "thank you" for hanging in so long.  You are the best and have a  remarkable tolerance for claptrap.


The rest of you who are new since that time, I hope you enjoy. My friend read this and snickered all the way through. It was so strange but fun getting a live response to my efforts.  Hope you enjoy my recall of a strange, rewarding,  fun day from my younger years.  Stay cool.

 It was in the early 1980's. I had my vehicle in the shop for repairs and the only loaner available was a humongous van with several rows of bench seats and side opening doors. I was not use to such a large vehicle and was a bit nervous about driving it. However, I did need to pick up my dry cleaning so I illegally parked in the fire lane to protect the loaner from crashing grocery carts and quickly ran into the Cleaners.


I had the side doors open looking for a place to hang my cleaner bags, when someone gently pushed me aside. Startled, I watched a little old lady climb into the van and sit down wearily. Need to state here that at my age then, anyone over 60 was OLD. Today I look on 60 is a still a youngster. Back to the story. My mouth was still hanging open when the next wave hit. One by one, five other seniors climbed into the van, using my shoulder as a hand rail.


"We missed the bus." an elderly gentleman informed me as he squeezed beside two ladies and looked for a place to put his cane.


"You will take us home." he partially questioned, but mostly stated.


I looked at my little group of passengers and tried to push thoughts of law suit out of my mind as I asked,"Uh, where do you live?"


They were from Century Village which is a huge retirement village in Palm Beach County. Today over 6000 people live there. The Village supplied bus service to grocery stores and shopping complexes. This group had stayed too long and had been left on the curb. The last bus of the day was history.


Against my better judgment but not knowing how I could possibly throw 6 seniors back on the curb and still sleep at night, I made sure there were no more stragglers. I then told them to buckle up and headed for the Village which was several miles away.


I was curious why they had no shopping bags. Man-with-cane explained that they went a couple of times a week to the book store/coffee shop that was part of the strip mall to read and sip while the rest of the bus load grocery shopped.


I asked where their books were and he explained that they never bought a book except as a gift. They just read inside the store while sipping coffee. They would then write down the stopping page on a piece of paper so they could pick up where they left off next time.


Being a book and coffee person myself, I could see where that might be the perfect day out for seniors. The price for their entertainment certainly fit into a retirement income.


Now Century Village has over 2000 condos. It would have been nice if they all lived in the same unit but each one lived in a separate building. Kind of wondered how they all got together. Perhaps they met at Bingo.


At each stop, I got out to open the doors for the departing senior and was rewarded with a quarter and a sweet smile or nod for my efforts. I tried to refuse the change but they almost got ugly insisting. I quickly learned that little old ladies will not hesitate to slap your arm with their bony hands if you don't agree with them. So I just took the money and shut up.


I was really getting tickled at the absurdity of the situation. However with each successful unload, I breathed a new sigh of relief. I was beginning to think that this might work out after all.


Man-with-cane was the last to depart. He demanded my name and address. He did NOT offer a quarter. I was tempted to give a false name but I wrote my real name and address on the piece of paper he offered.


Ah, I thought, here comes the law suit. Perhaps I had taken a turn too quickly and caused a whiplash. I was living by the creed at that time that no good deed goes unpunished.


I was delighted though in a few days for I got a lovely card from Man-with-cane. He thanked me very nicely and there were TWO quarters scotch taped to the card. No lawyers ever called.

Still today, over thirty years later, that ranks as the strangest, scariest, yet coolest buck seventy five I ever earned.

Thank you for putting up with a rerun. I'll be back next week.

PUNKED

It was a normal grocery shopping day.  I usually shop a couple of times a week so I don't get loaded down with bags.  If I divide the bill up by 2 or 3 trips, it doesn't seem so painful.  It is also a way to add steps to my fitness band in the comfort of air conditioning. I always take the long way around the store.

I do like to check myself out if I don't have a loaded cart. I pack my groceries better than the clerks do and I am gentler with the bread, bananas and eggs. 

As I finished ringing up my purchases, I tucked the prescriptions I had just picked up in with the bread and turned back to the machine to finish the transaction with my debit card.  I was square with the machine and my cart was behind me. 

The receipt slowly rolled out the slot.  I grabbed it and turned around to put it in the bread bag also.

Holy Crap!!!  My cart was gone.  Not moved but gone.  There were only a few people besides me self checking out and they were on the other side of the area. None of their bags looked like mine. A bit of panic set in.

Knowing my running days are over, I still cranked up mentally to run out the store and chase the thief into the parking lot to tackle that creep. I was livid and knew I had to hurry.

Then I saw her.  A friend of mine, that I had no idea was in the store also, peeked out from behind a partition.  She was leaning on my cart with a huge smile on her face.

It took a minute for me to go from the angry desire to tackle the creep, to huge relief, then finally letting the sheepish grin take over my face. I had thoroughly been punked. She said my expression when I saw her was worth it.

While we got some giggles over her sneakiness, it made me realize that this could have been a real theft. It would have been easy enough to pull off.  They could have wheeled my cart back through the store and out the garden center while I'd be running around the parking lot.  I'd have never found them.

My friend made me realize how easily that prank theft could have been a reality. Guess who will always keep an eye on her cart from now on??

Did you ever have a prank pulled on you that turned out to be a good lesson?

MIGHTY BEING MIGHTY

Got my little fellow, Mighty dog, back from the vets yesterday not too much worse for wear. He was properly drunk but seemed to enjoy the sensation till he navigated into a door frame that he miss judged. But like human drunks, he didn't seem to feel a thing.




His teeth cleaning bill effected me more than his surgery effected him. Now I get my teeth cleaned 3 times a year and my dentist bill is half what the vet charged. Guess it is fair though. Unlike Mighty, I am not anesthetized, don't get my nails done, and I would never stand for have my anal glands expressed.





For non pet owners, the anal glands are two small glands located on either side of your dog's butt. Each gland holds a small amount of a noxious smelling, liquid brown substance that your pet uses as something of a doggie calling card. When your dog "scoots" across the carpet, he is trying to express the glands himself. The vet should charge extra for that chore alone. I understand the anals can really pack a "smell" wallop and "cling" if not aimed properly. Ok, I am no longer complaining about the bill.




Did find out that Mighty had gained 2 pounds. Not much on me but on a formerly 10.5 pound dog, that is an almost 20% increase in body weight. So, the little?? fellow will now have to go on a diet. Of course the saying goes that if your dog is over weight, YOU aren't getting enough exercise. Hum. Hopefully when we both can get outside more.....?





The Mighty One is on antibiotics for a week. Once again I am glad for a small, if pudgy, dog. He is easy to handle, bathe and lift into a car, but also his pills are small. A little cheese wrap and down they go. That never worked on my larger dogs and it was down the throat with pill in hand with the big guys. Always slobbery and sometimes painful. Love the grand sized dogs but when it comes to maintenance and health care, little is the way to go.




This was my first Dane--- Loki


I used to own Great Danes (this is for you Joan), never a herd of Danes like that statement implies, but one at a time. Their honkin size,regal bearing, gentle ways and remarkable way they sit on a couch like a person, make them very dear. These are marvelous animals that can't be beaten for protection. A Dane need not even bark to make you safe. Often, all they will do is get between you and the supposed threat (it could be a friend by mistake) and no one ever crosses the line.




Mighty on the other hand could never intimidate a threat to my safety, but he sure could "annoy" them away with his incessant barking. We do what we can, with what we have.





Soooo, we are back to normal. Next week Mighty goes to the beauty parlor and then he can relax and enjoy life. No more poking and prodding , honest Mighty.

DO YOU HAVE PND ??

Gross out warning.


I have PND. Perhaps you do too. I just love acronym's for they often hide something not so pretty and give it a touch of class , making it sound medically important, business like, or at the very least, mysterious.


These are some of the things described by the acronym PND.

Penalty Notice for Disorder. An on-the-spot fine issued by British police for low-level anti-social offenses

Perilously Near Death, Been there a couple of times

Personal Navigation Device---a portable positioning and navigation device

Parti National Démocratique), a political party in Djibouti (Ok that is a stretch)

Postnasal Drip---excessive mucus produced by the sinuses Ugh, that's it.


Now doesn't the acronym PND sound better than what it really means? It almost sounds like there may actually be a national fund drive connected to it. I know I would donate for a cure.


The yellow mist of pollen that coats my car is an agitator of PND. Actually for me, allergy to pollen is a new enemy. I lived 66 years in close proximity to the yellow mist with nary a sniffle or a drip. Then suddenly, when I moved to Arkansas, the old dog learned a new trick. Spring time now makes the eyes itch and water. I sneeze till I am perilously close to wishing I wore Depends. The nose runs freely and my voice sounds like someone really old is perched on my larynx. All thanks to the accompanying PND. Everyone grossed out yet???



This year the yellow mist is really virulent and plentiful. A friend told me that she and her husband were washing their truck the other day. They started at the front and by the time they got to the back, the mist had all ready reclaimed the hood. It has all the charm and stealth of Kudzu. We are helpless to the onslaught and are all thoroughly pollinated.


One consolation is that I am not alone by a long shot. The variety and large number of OTC medicine will convince you that you are not unique at all. You can decongest, dry your sinuses and calm your sneezing with a plethora of products. What we really need is an antihistamine to turn off the sensitive cells. To get one that will work as well as Benadryl, you have to live with a raging case of the sleepies. The powerful Benadryl works well but I hate the lost awake time plus the drug hang over. The non-drowsy versions do not work for me.


I have mentioned before that I love to learn new things and have a pretty healthy bucket list going. Experiencing allergies were not on the bucket list. I draw the line at PND. I have found that Quercetin from a health food store gives me decent relief with no discernible side effects. In 10 years we will probably find that Quercetin causes something incurable, but for now, I am just enjoying the relief. At my age, I do not look 10 years into the future. Tell me something will happen in a week and you have my attention. Can't worry much about 10 years from now.


I know some of my readers are also suffering. I am soooo sorry. I hope the rest of you are free from the yellow mist or at least in control of it. May you be sneeze, sniffle, and drip free this season.


Wonder if Hallmark makes a card for PND?

JUST WAIT TILL I'M A GROWNUP

Do you remember when you were a kid and were being forbidden to do something you thought was fun but your parents had other ideas?

I saw a child's arm out a car window the other day as he surfed the wind with his
hand. Suddenly the child's arm jerked back inside. I could easily imagine the conversation in that car.

When I was young, we moved a lot so we did spend many hours a year on the road. Without the distractions kids have today, we had to amuse ourselves as best as possible.

We played games. They boys would guess the make of car approaching us and I would look for farm animals and wildlife.  But the game I loved was to stick my hand out the window while holding a piece of paper and listen to it as it rattled in the wind.   A sound similar to when you put a playing card in the spokes of your bicycle. A cool racket.

Well that never lasted long  for the noise would drive the driver nuts and we would soon be forbidden to do it any longer.

In my mind only--for I was not a smart mouthed child--I would think--"Boy, just wait till I'm a grownup. I will do this all I want."

Yes, I became a grownup and no, I have never driven down the road holding paper in the wind.

No, I have never eaten ice cream only for every meal. No, I have never gone unwashed for days on end voluntarily.  No I don't leave a messy bed in the morning.

Ok, I did bring home every stray animal I saw. That might be the only thing I wished for that I actually did.

Hum, maybe I will try the paper thing one time just for kicks on my way to town tomorrow. It was kind of fun.  If you hear about an old lady getting her arm torn off by a passing car, you will know that didn't go well and my Mom was right.

Do you remember thinking you couldn't wait do all the things your parents forbid you to do once you became a grownup?  And did you?

I'M SO EXCITED

Yes, I am so excited, I just can't hide it. In fact I postponed my scheduled post and jumped to this one.

If you are not a reader, this will bore you and you are excused. See ya next week.

Some of you are purists and think the only real book is one you can hold in your hand, smell the pages as you flip them and enjoy the heft. Me too until a few years ago when I got my Kindle.  Thanks Jan- that was the best-gift-ever. Then I became enamored with being able to easily hold 300 books in one hand.

As a Kindle devotee  with a small budget, I was pretty much confined to reading first time authors that have their work offered by Amazon at the lovely price of FREE. I have been very lucky and have found some jewels which I have reviewed here.

Hey, Grisham was once a first time author. Besides, sometimes established authors will throw out an early book free for a while to hook you. Thus out of the over 400 books I have read on Kindle, there have been few clunkers and only a few books have I actually paid for.

This was working for me but for years now I have craved a service that seemed to be offered everywhere but in my tiny town. That was the ability to borrow a book electronically from Kindle via the local library. That really opens up the opportunities.

Then I read that the neighboring county's library just started this service and for $10 a year, I could join even though I didn't live in the proper county.

So I made the trip, paid my ten bucks and now have almost too many choices.  Ordered my first book and in seconds it was snuggled into my Kindle where it will stay for 2 weeks if it would take me that long to read. I usually read a book every 3 or 4 days.

My first choice, well that was tough, so I chose a James Patterson "The Twelfth of Never".  Would you believe I have never read that author. Most of  the current best sellers I could put on hold. Finished James and also a Tess Gerritsen and am starting on a J D Robb in the week since I got the library card.

I am almost overwhelmed by all the choice for I still have Amazon's daily 100 free to choose from and yes I still check it every day.

Any suggestions of your favorite book of all time to help me with these decisions?? I like entertaining, humorous, medical, sports, animal or legal themes but will try most anything. I don't know if my library will have it or if it will be available in Kindle format but it will give me a direction.

My most favorite book of all time was The Last Whales by Lloyd Abbey. It is the story of two blue whales trying to survive as the world dies. No people, no dialogue, yet I was and still am haunted by it.

Thank you for any suggestions.

WHO GETS CUSTODY

The man had the very small ratty poodle/something dog by the scruff of the neck and was spraying her liberally with Raid Ant and Roach Killer. I was wearing Power Company ID so I chose my words carefully.

"Ah, do you think that is safe to do?"

"I don't know," he answered, " but she is absolutely covered in fleas and I didn't have the heart to just let her be."

"She is not your dog?" I asked knowing the answer.

"Naw," he replied releasing her to roll in the sand, sneezing. "Someone dropped her off and she has become a neighborhood dog. We all put food out for her."

I gave him my card and offered to take her, get her vet checked and find a permanent home for her. That is how I met Bailey.




These pictures are not mine nor of Bailey but accurate representations.

She was matted, wormy and anemic from so many fleas and hook worms, but for all her woes, was a sweet natured dog if quite unattractive. I had only had her a few days when two of my sponsors dropped in for a visit. I had known Bill and Mary since I had come to Okeechobee. They lived on and operated a really nice RV park on about 15 acres so they basically worked at home.

Bailey, in all her rattiness, was all over Bill and Mary as I told them her story. Mary really wanted Bailey the instant she saw her but Bill was adamant that they did not need another dog. They had a darling little aging terrier all ready. They drove off arguing but came back the next day. Mary was beaming and chatty while Bill glared in stony silence. Mary announced they wanted to adopt Bailey. I looked at Bill and though he nodded, he said nothing. He had lost this battle and was not amused. They again drove off, this time with Bailey on the seat between them.







First thing they did was get her groomed and my what a difference. It is often said that a good groomer can carve a show dog out of a pile of hair. Bailey was carved into a really cute apricot poodle. She remained toy size and totally won over Bill. M & B's children were grown so Bailey and the terrier Scamp, filled the empty nest. Several years passed and Scamp passed of old age. That left Bailey in total rule.

They started taking separate vacations just so that one of them would always be at home to care for the dog. Their whole lives revolved around that little dog. One day, Mary and I were having coffee at a local coffee house when she dropped a bomb. She told me that she and Bill were getting a divorce. I knew they squabbled but had no idea they were considering a split for they had been married 25 years. Then Mary teared up and said, " I don't know what we will do about Bailey." It seems neither would relinquish custody.

This was a job for King Solomon and I don't mean cutting the dog in half. I wish I could say that I came up with a brilliant solution but I was stumped. Eventually, they decided to live in separate homes on the property, eat together and work together but go to the separate homes at night, alternating Bailey every other night. They told me they were very careful not to argue in front of the dog. I have heard of parents staying together for the children but this was a first for me regarding a dog.

The odd thing is that when Bailey died at 14 , Bill and Mary were so used to the living arrangements that they continued exactly as they had when Bailey was alive. A peaceful coexistence. As far as I know, they are still kind of together, which has made their two legged kids very happy.

Bailey was a powerful source for peace. She taught them that if they wanted something bad enough, it would take compromise to keep it. Now if only our politicians and all those rival nations around the world could relax into such a simple solution. Dream on Patti.

HAVE YOU TRIED TO RUN LATELY ??

Of course this post does not apply to most of you as you are probably still gazelle like, but any one even near my age can possibly relate. I haven't run in years, mainly because there has been no need. I never was a distance runner in my youth but a heck of a sprinter, really fast but with limited endurance.

I have always admired people who jog daily. Those who can run apparently effortlessly and joyfully, have always made me green with envy. So, for a good portion of my life, I have been a contented walker but always thinking in the back of my mind, I could run if I had to.

I was watching a football game the other day and was focusing on the young players who would often skip back to the sidelines after a good play. I flashed back to my youth and remembered how much fun it was to skip. It is such a joyful way to move.

Could I still skip? I had to try. Planning my skip attempt route to end at the couch for safety reasons, I tried to convince my muscles that they remembered what to do. It may be like bike riding and is lodged somewhere in my memory banks but evidently my filing system is suspect.

It was not pretty folks. My legs turned spastic and incredibly heavy. My feet barely left the ground and thudded in heavy, uncontrolled semicircles as my arms flailed above my head looking for help. I felt like an out of control windmill and my ceiling fan was in serious danger. I was so grateful for having chosen the couch as my final destination. That part worked out quite well.

I am so grateful I did not take that spectacle outside for the neighbor's entertainment. Phew, scratch that off my bucket list. Who needs to skip anyway?

But back to running. Right before Christmas, I was walking my young neighbor boy back to the gate after a lovely visit and gift exchange. Mr. C, whom I wrote about here, drove by, saw us at the gate and came to a screeching halt.

Mr. C had left me a card and some homemade brownies in my mailbox the previous day and wanted to know if I had gotten them all right. I told him they were so good that I had devoured seven eights of the brownies the same day. I asked him to wait while I got his present.

Now Mr C is one of those givers that is hard to give to. He won't take anything from me, I have tried. Fortunately a friend of mine in Florida, Joan, periodically sends me large packages of pricey brand new cosmetics. Thanks to her, I have found a way to gift him.

Joan always includes something for Mr. C and his wife for all the kindness they have shown me. He accepts gifts from her with no protest. She usually packs an expensive cologne for him along with perfume and a nice lipstick for his wife. I so appreciate Joan for making it possible for me to give back to this man who does so much for me.

Their package was in the house and knowing he was in a hurry to deliver more of his calorie loaded presents, I asked him to wait and proceeded to run back to the house to get his gift. It was a nightmare folks. Instead of nice long, smooth strides taking me quickly to the house as I envisioned, my legs turned into pistons on me.

Instead of stretching forward, they went up and down in choppy, teeth jarring stomps. I was moving all right but it was mostly in a vertical fashion. I was making very little forward progress. My house just didn't seem to get much closer as I diligently labored. Then I started to laugh.

Life does travel in circles, karma does exists. Many years ago, I had witnessed an elderly fellow jogging in Florida. He was making the exact same motions I was currently exhibiting. It had tickled me so much at the time that I had actually mimicked his run for my co-workers amusement. I remembered saying, “ He was running, but up and down, not forward,” as I giggled.

Ah, the arrogance of youth. Arrogance my friends will bite you in the butt. I gave up my ungainly attempt to run and walked swiftly to the house only a little bit embarrassed but very amused.

So should I have tried to skip and run at 71 ? Good grief no, not without conditioning and balance work first. But try telling that to the 30 year old mind that lives in this 71 year old carcass. Don't worry, lesson learned. That thirty year old mind has been properly chastised.

So I say, run with caution my friends, skip in the privacy of your own home close to something soft and listen to that 30 year old mind with a healthy dose of skepticism.

I feel a New Years resolution for me to get in better shape coming on.

FIRST BRA

This will probably send the guys running while the gals will be searching their own memory banks about a long ago event. Have faith fellows, a lot of you have daughters so this post should be a little familiar.

Brief back ground. My Mother was a sickly person as long as I could remember. She had severe asthma at a time when there was little help to treat it. Part of my very first memories were hospital runs with Mom gasping “I can't breathe !”

Complications from that disease eventually took her at a fairly young age. Because of her illness, a lot of my life lessons came from this woman who often held class from the couch while wrapped in a blanket.

Mother was a very late bloomer herself so she never thought I might be ready for the “facts of life and the joys of womanhood lecture”. Thus, all my information came from school yard chatter, most of which wasn't close to the truth. I was a teen and woefully ignorant of biological matters that happen to a young girls body. I just knew that until then, nothing was happening.

My body finally started to develop when I was around 14. Camisoles were no longer doing the job. My best friend took me aside at school and said I really needed to do “something.” If my parents noticed, they never mentioned anything but according to my peers, I needed a bra. Good grief, now what.

Mother wasn't physically able to take me bra shopping had I even felt able to discuss the matter. Also I knew she would tell my Dad and that wasn't acceptable. So I went back to my school yard source. My bosomy best friend who originally brought the matter up, showed me a catalog that offered training bras for $1.50, including shipping.

Boy was I excited. I was becoming a woman. This was pre credit card days so I sent off my order with a dollar and two quarters taped to it. I made getting the mail my responsibility for the next 10 days. Finally it came and I locked my bedroom door to try on my new equipment.

Ouch--- I felt what I'm sure the ancient Japanese women must have experienced trying to bind their breasts. My trainer was too small. A super tight ace bandage would have worked as well. I dug into my baby sitting money and sent off for a bra that actually had a size attached to it—AA. Evidently, I was out of training.

It took a total of three tries and $4.50 of my hard earned money to get it right. My learning curve was huge. Who knew you had to measure the chest area but success was finally mine. I was both proud and self conscious about my new look. It was hard to strut proudly and hunch over at the same time but I managed.

One day, I forgot and left the bra on a chair in my room and my Mom found it. Her eyes were dancing with sad amusement as I explained myself. Sad that I was growing up and not needing her but amused that it had taken so many tries and maybe I did need her.

She bit her lip half in two trying not to but my tale of trial and error made her struggle with laughter till she was out of breath. She tried to be soothing with a few “Aw Sweeties” between struggles. Pretty sure I wasn't fooled. It was only much later that I appreciated the humor.

When she settled down and quit choking on her giggles she got serious and decided I was over due for “the talk”. I tried to convince her that I all ready knew all “that” but she insisted and we both began that sometimes uncomfortable journey into knowledge of what a woman can expect and the facts of life.

Learning I could NOT get pregnant from sitting on a strange toilet seat was a real shocker. That was only one of the gazillion misconceptions I harbored. I kept saying “Are you sure about that?” She kept insisting she was sure.

This was gold and I couldn't wait to get to school the next day with my new found knowledge and fist full of myth busters. Funny thing is that I wasn't totally believed. Seems school yard lore had more credibility than clinical facts did. Their loss I felt. At least I no longer feared strange toilet seats.

Back to the bra. The really sad thing there was that I basically wore that same size bra all through high school, only moving up to an single A size when I graduated. I ended up throwing my mortarboard, tassel and my AA's into the air on the same day.

Ok, now all you double D's can brag about your first bra.

NOT PART OF HIS RESUME

Those of you who have owned horses and dogs at the same time  all ready know that a horse hoof fragment as a byproduct of hoof trimming is a to-die-for dog treat. It is such a treasured chew that it brings out impeccable dog manners in hopes for one of the delicious morsels. 

In truth, the blacksmith's visit ranks right up there in a dog's life equal to a child's delight in Santa. As much as the meter reader or mail carrier is loathed by most dogs, the blacksmith is adored.

My blacksmith Chris and I were good friends. While I was a bunch older, I had been one of his first customers and we had the easy, fond relationship of long time friends.  

Often when he was through with the horse and pony, we would share an iced tea  and solved all the world's problems while the kinks worked out of his back. We were "big issue" in sync and had lovely head nodding discussions. 

But, he was also a self depreciating story teller and you know how I love stories. Chris had a grin on his face as he started to tell me about one of  his customers the previous week.

Seems a new customer expanded his job description that day. When he was through trimming their horse's hooves, the woman kind of dug her feet in the sand and colored up a bit in the cheeks.  

"Mr. B, there is one more thing I'd like you to do today if you wouldn't mind."

Chris was use to being asked to do  extra jobs that usually required strength so he good naturedly  agreed.  She led him to the porch where her husband sat in his rocker.   

Quickly he spotted his extra job. The man's cowboy boots had the toe cut off and the most gnarly looking toenails poked out. The big toenail was easily three inches longer than it should be. They not only were long, they actually curled.

"Can you do anything?" she asked hopefully. 

Chris got his giant hoof nippers out and hesitantly went to work. He tried just nipping off the ends and when that proved successful, he slowly nipped piece by piece till he got as close as he could to the toe.   Chris was sweating as much from the labor as he was in fear that he would hurt the man. While he would not have gotten a tip in a pedi-parlor with the results,  the man was almost normal once again. 

The fellow rose unsteadily from the rocker and weaved a bit.  "Dang mama," he said. " I must have used those things for balance." 

Chris said after they paid him with money and hugs, they beat him out of the drive way heading for town on a mission to get a new pair of boots, not open toed ones this time.   As Chris left the property,their family hound was enjoying the fruits of his labor, both horse and human.
   
While that operation was a success, Chris did not add that service to his business card.  He truly hoped never again. 

I loved Chris's story and could relate a bit. My dad had those same toenails from hell though he never let them get that out of control. When Dad would cut them with tin snips, we would all run and hide for they were dangerous weapons as they flew in all directions. All of us hid but the dog Susie. It was treat time for her. 

I tend to believe killer toenails are a"man thing" for I have never heard of a woman with this problem. 

Do you have someone in your life with nails of steel?