Fish Fry

Today, I miss Wisconsin. It's Friday and I think every true Wisconsinite knows, that can mean only one thing: Friday Night Fish Fry.

When I was a kid, we'd pile into the cars - my grandma's huge Buick, Grampa's station wagon (seats in the way back facing each other), one lucky kid got to ride with my dad on his motorcycle but it was never a girl because we had to wear dresses to make my Grammie happy - and head to the restaurant. The Colonial Inn was a favorite. Google tells me it either doesn't exist, or hasn't changed enough to have a website!

Anyway, there was always a huge table full of family. The cousins from California were always visiting. Or maybe it was the other side of the family, in which case Michigan was represented. Either way, it was a magical time; in exchange for best-behavior, we kids got in on the adult conversations. I kept my ears open and my mouth shut, because while I didn't know what it all meant, I knew it was important.

Until I remembered the fountain. It was set into the wall, chock full of trinkets. I was sure those things had been placed there with intention, not just something someone picked up at the Fair, but something with meaning, some kind of message from the world beyond small-town Wisconsin and all of its claustrophobia.

The bread course arrived with the Brandy Old Fashioneds. My sister, the oldest kid in the tribe, got a Shirley Temple; as usual, I tried to blend into the woodwork; all that attention interfered with my daydreams.

The women fussed over the kids, tucking napkins into laps, trying to get the young ones to stay seated; all in an attempt to impress, maybe appease, the matriarch. Grammie expected us all to be on our best behavior. She'd insisted that we bring cardigans. The air conditioned restaurant might be too cold, we'd get sick and ruin the rest of our summer vacation.

But she didn't realize that nothing could ruin those long lazy days on the water. We woke up every morning, put on our swim suits and... swam, played tennis, swam, sailed, water skied, swam, sunburned every inch of our bikini-clad bodies, ran barefoot through pine needles, swam some more, hunted for turtles, tipped the canoe on purpose... when we finally stopped for lunch, there was tuna salad and blueberry muffins. To this day, I can't eat tuna salad without cut-in-half grapes and those little, perfectly baked muffins. The afternoons were slower, and as we grew up, nap-time turned into playing cards turned into waiting for the boys to drive by in the ski boat.

The Fish Frys held steady. But the restaurant changed. My grandparents joined the country club and it got serious - ties and sport coats for the men, nylons (in that heat?) for the women. As teens, my sister and I got really good at checking our watches without anyone noticing. Friday night. Where was the party? Who was driving? Come on, hurry up and finish those potato pancakes.

And then we moved away, my grandparents passed, the California cousins didn't go back and Friday nights are just Friday nights.

Today, I miss Wisconsin.

Try It!

Trying something new. It's supposed to be good for our brains.

Gordon is learning how to kayak. The class is officially called 'Introduction to Sprint Kayak Racing'. He's loving it. Now he wants to do Stand-up Paddleboarding, or something like that.

I watched him for awhile on Saturday and after I got over how beautiful and quiet it is on the Petaluma River, I marveled at his ability to start from scratch. When I asked him about it later, he admitted that he was worried that he'd be terrible at it and that he'd get frustrated and want to quit. But he had some immediate success, so that kept him going through the 3 times (of course he counted) he tipped.

Dylan is taking his first class at the Junior College. I was more nervous for him than he was. When he was a toddler, we'd have to be the first to arrive at the park for playgroups so that he could get the lay of the land before his friends showed up. Then in grade school, he'd only try something new if his best friend was right there with him. Later, he really surprised me when he decided to play rugby. Not only did he not know a single person on the team, but he had to travel to a different high school to even join in.

I know this 'try new things' attitude is something they've learned. Because I'm a shy person, I didn't want my kids to by shy. I wanted them to have confidence and be leaders and say 'yes' more often than 'no'.

I'd always made the safe choices. Until I was 22 and went to Europe by myself. I got off the plane without hotel reservations and no real plan for the whole summer. I liked the adventure so much that the next year, I left for Tunisia - didn't return for a year. Those experiences shaped me.

Today, as I watch my boys adventure and experience, I realize that it's time for me to jump in again. And what will it be?

A Regular Dog

Rolling in the grass!

Tristan was wandering the streets with major injuries. At first, everyone thought he had a broken leg, but it turned out to be a severely infected wound to his elbow, caused by a bite. He was covered in lacerations, from bite wounds. His ears were closed because of scarring from old, poorly healed infections, and a new infection, caused by dog bites. There was no doubt that this dog had been used as a bait dog, to train other dogs to fight.

Tristan is estimated to be 10 years old. Imagine 10 years of that life.

Smiling

I've deliberately closed my eyes to the dog fighting world. While I've fostered a few puppies who could maybe, perhaps have been involved as bait dogs, I didn't dwell on it and I didn't seek more information. I just couldn't process that this could happen to a dog. That there are people in this world so cruel. I know, naive and cowardly of me.

So, when I was asked, very kindly and gently if I had it in my heart to help Tristan, I hesitated. What could this mean? What was I getting myself into? What was I exposing my family to? But rather than research what dog fighting was all about, I reviewed the science behind dog behavior and training.

Dogs live in the moment and give you what you expect. Those two basic pieces allowed me to say 'yes'. I didn't know if I could provide the right environment, or devise and implement a rehab plan, but I did know that I could let Tristan rest and heal, while expecting him to be a regular dog.

A dog and his boy

By the time I met Tristan, he'd been at the vet for 2 weeks. They did a great job of taking care of his immediate needs with drains and tubes and bandages and surgeries. He was still fragile and looking ragged, but had improved from his original condition.

The first thing he did when he saw me, a complete stranger, was smile and give me a tentative half-body wag. I returned the language and I got the full-body version! With that, I knew I could make it work. I didn't have to fake treating him like a regular dog, because he WAS a regular dog.

I'm not going to show you photos of his original condition. He will never be that again. Today, he is healthy and happy and loved and ready for anything that comes his way. It's my job to make sure all that is positive and good.

Process vs Product

I am making this lace scarf. The yarn is very thin, the needles are tiny, the pattern is picky. I've had the kit for 3 years and just ignored it. Bigger, faster, easier projects always won out.

But when I needed a new project, this one jumped at me. It was all there, ready to go, I didn't have to find a pattern, match it up with yarn from my stash, find the right sized needles.

And now, I'm committed to this scarf which will be lovely when it's finished and will feel like a real accomplishment...when it's finished and will contribute to my deteriorating eyesight...when it's finished!

Finishing projects has never been my forte. I knit to the end, but then the pieces lie around, waiting to be sewn together into whatever garment the pattern promised. I've unraveled entire projects just to reuse the yarn and avoid sewing up.

So, it's not the end that interests me, it's the process. I love the technical, repetitive, meditative, mechanical process of creating the individual stitches that together become something so different from the ball of yarn it started out as.

When my kids attended Montessori preschool, I was introduced to this idea that the process was as important as the product. In this society, we tend to focus on the end result, moving quickly through the steps because the thing at the end is the prize.

When I foster, I know the end goal is to adopt this pet into a home. But that's bittersweet since I have to say good-bye. I've learned to enjoy my piece of it, which is the pet's process of healing from injury, or raising a litter, or learning to be a family member again.

Through time and with gentle guidance, they emerge and blossom. I can only hope for the same outcome with this scarf.

Tristan is Hot

It's sooooooo.....hot. I waited all day for the fog to roll in and cool off this heatbox that I call a house. I've been sitting at the computer all day, working, fan blowing directly on me and I can still feel the trickle of sweat roll down my back.

The dogs lounge and slug around, moving from one bed to the couch to the cool hardwood floor. Why the black cat curls up in a tight ball on the fuzzy dog bed is beyond me, but most of what he does is a mystery. Par for the course.

And then there's Tristan. He greets me with a huge smile and a full body wag. He pounces on the ball and flings it in the air, hops around while it bounces and pretends that he can't catch it, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I can't help but grin as big as him.

Then he bounds back to my side and leans in for a scratch and a pat and a smooch. He's just happy to be alive. Not a care in the world about the mercury level. He's got a toy and his human and he's all good.

Nat'l Donut Day

How can National Donut Day coincide with the anniversary of D-Day?
Another shooting? During graduation 'season'.
Save one dog, 10 others are killed.

I can't reconcile these things. Sometimes, there's just too much coming at me for me to make sense of any one piece.

So I try to focus on what I CAN do.

But am I doing enough? Is there a way to partition off another part of the house/yard to accommodate another foster?

Are my boys eating enough vegetables? Getting the exercise they need? Resting and enjoying their summer break before they start the grind of school in a few very short months?

And so it goes.

Today, I will... I'm just not sure what I'll do. Or what I'll focus on. I have a feeling it's going to one of those days full of contradictions that won't make sense in the moment, but will be clear after the fact. One of these days.

Welcome!

It’s time to introduce my latest foster dog. I’m not going to share his story just yet. I want you to know him as he is today, as he was on his very first day with us. I want you to experience the same joy we do, every time we’re with this awesome guy.
 









He appreciates the smells that waft his way. I can smell some flowering tree and livestock across the way. But I know he’s smelling the stories of our backyard, our immediate neighborhood and beyond. When we go for walks, he’s much more interested in smelling the bushes and fence posts than he is in the skateboarders zipping by.

 






He’s a very very good dog. He’s about 10 years old, probably never slept on a couch before. But I’ll save that part of his story for another day. Today, he’s happy and warm and comfortable and very well loved.

Friends

A bunch of years ago, I was at the grocery store with my toddler and my big pregnant body. Dylan, the toddler, wanted to get out of the cart and walk all by himself - so grown up. In my sleep-deprived state, I thought that was a great idea. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he took off at a run for the other end of the aisle? The meat department? Probably going to look for the veggies that he loved so much (I wished)!

Fortunately for me, a total stranger and her daughter intercepted him. I marveled at how that little girl, same age as Dylan was sitting so perfectly in the cart. And that mom was so calm and reassuring. She got Dylan interested in something, long enough for me to catch up. I thanked them and I'm sure out of pity, Karen introduced herself and we exchanged phone numbers for a future play date.

The beginning of an amazing friendship. We hung out once a week, probably more often, I can't remember - you moms understand. Karen educated me about Montessori and our kids went to the same preschool. Karen helped me through all kinds of stuff and I hope I helped her too!

So, when we drifted apart as different grade schools got us involved in different things, and then a move to a different town made it harder to stay connected, I wondered if we'd ever find a reason to reconnect. I wondered if Dylan and Jenny would go to prom together and get married! Ooops, did I say that out loud...

I ran into Karen last year at a coffee shop, we had a 2 minute catch-up conversation. She was working 2 jobs, trying to hold it all together; I was over committed in a million ways; we promised to get together soon. Never happened, but we kept running into each other, or waving from our respective cars as we drove in opposite directions coming and going.

Then Jenny decided to switch schools and she needed a ride home once a week, at exactly the same time I was driving in that direction to pick up my kids!

So, for a year, I've had the opportunity to spend a weekly half hour with an incredible high school girl. Jenny has grown into one amazing young woman. Sometimes, our drive was quiet, but usually, we talked. About everything. I learned a lot.

On our last scheduled drive, Jenny gave me this beautiful drawing - a Jenny Payne original - soon to be framed for my desk.

Thank you Dylan, for knowing when to get out of the grocery cart. And thanks Karen, for catching him. And of course, thank you Jenny for our Wednesday car rides.

One of these dogs

...is not like the others. One of these dogs just doesn't belong.

But that's the problem, she DOES belong. Lola is a great dog. She fits into our household so well.

She's really easy and gets my dogs to play in a way that they don't play with each other.

And she's going home tomorrow.

I feel like I'm sending a kid off to college. It's the best thing for her; she's ready to start her new life.

I'm starting a new job, so won't have the time needed to give her (and the other 3) what they need.

I guess my next foster will have to be a lazy, lie-on-the-couch kind of dude in order to fit into this scenario.

Decisions

We make a million decisions every day. Some seem so small and inconsequential, we probably feel like we could make them in our sleep.

A few days ago, I made the right ones and now my husband is alive.

We were at the dog park in the evening. I almost never go on these adventures (I'm not a huge dog park fan and it just stresses me out which stresses the dogs which negates the whole purpose of the outing). But I went because I had stuff to talk to Kevin about - just regular old family business stuff that we never have time for: Should we get Dylan a car? Who's driving Gordon to the early game on Friday? What's for dinner?

He couldn't focus because he felt weird. He said his chest felt funny and his arms were tingly. I told him we were going to the hospital because this is exactly the thing that people ignore and then they have a major incident... I felt like the nagging wife. He told me to just take him home. I told him to drive himself and I'd walk with the dogs. As he left the park, he turned and said, 'it's worse.' Something in his face decided for me. I shoved the dogs in the car and started to race across town with Kevin in the passenger seat, writhing in pain.

At that moment, I wasn't thinking about anything, I was just reacting. Every experience I've ever had, every crazy article I've ever read that I thought would never come in handy, informed my next decision. Even though the hospital wasn't far, I called 911.

We met the ambulance, they transferred Kevin to a gurney and got him hooked up to an EKG. The 2 paramedics attached stuff and asked questions and injected something while I paced, peeking through the open door. Suddenly, Kevin was out and his arms were shaking violently. One paramedic said, 'we're leaving now' and jumped in the driver's seat. As the other closed the door, he said, 'Ma'am, meet us at the hospital, drive slowly and carefully.'

I drove across town, hitting all the red lights, not knowing if Kevin was alive. I made all kinds of promises to every god there is to let him watch his boys grow up.

It didn't take long in the ER before they let me see him - awake, still in pain. They stabilized him, made arrangements to get him to the nearest cardiac trauma center: Santa Rosa or Marin. We've had to make that decision before. Do we drive south through traffic, or north through traffic to get to the fill-in-the-blank.

While the ambulance took him north, I dropped the dogs at home and explained to the boys what was happening. I felt like I asked them to grow up fast, "Hey, I have this really scarey news to tell you and I don't have any answers and you're going to have questions, but I won't be here to answer them and you'll be kept in the dark. Gotta go. Feed the dogs and do the dishes." Actually, I didn't say it quite like that, but I'm sure that's what it felt like.

What do you think I did on that 30 minute drive? Yes, I cried. I even screamed and emphasized my earlier promises with some threats. But mostly, I turned the music up loud and tried to experience the limbo.

More forms to fill out, more waiting, so many questions forming. Everyone wanted to distract me by turning on a tv here, another there. I was polite and calm, but wanted to reassure them all that I'm ok to be alone. I can deal with silence.

Finally, a doctor came to tell me that they'd inserted a stent into a major artery, opened the blockage and taken care of the event. There were more coronary issues, but he didn't want to clutter my brain with that just yet. I've come to realize that this phrase is the medical equivalent of 'don't worry your pretty little head about that.' The hospital decor may scream Mad Men, but this is not 1960 and I can use that broom and dustpan I got as a wedding present to sweep away any 'clutter' in my brain to make way for vital information about what happened, what is happening now and what will happen in the future, thank you very much. I didn't say that out loud; instead, I plastered a smile on my face and thanked him. Over the next few days, he would come to realize that this is the Sue Davy equivalent of saying 'F--- off and get out of my way.'

They settled Kevin into a private room (perhaps that smile and thank you worked!) and started with the monitoring. He was feeling good, no pain, a little tired, but wanted to rehash all of the details. As we talked about the timeline and what each of us remembered, we realized that some of this was luck, some of it was intuition, and some of it was just making a decision - in this case, the right ones.

Kevin's going to be fine. He'll go to Gordon's hockey game on Sunday, and Dylan's rugby games next weekend. He'll go back to work and maybe even take the dogs to the dog park again. But he'll do all of these things in a different way. We both know that by making one of those million decisions just a little differently, he wouldn't be here.

Every moment is a gift. We can be grateful for that and savor the beauty in all the things that come our way, or we can take it for granted and rush through the moments as if they don't matter on their own or even add up to anything together. I'm deciding to 'drive slowly and carefully' from now on so that I can see the details and find the beauty.

And I have a few promises to keep.

Send those puppies home

I sent the puppies home today. And while I expected to spend their last day here immersed in puppy kisses and fun, my grown-up life got in the way and I barely saw them.

So, now I'm home after dealing with some slap-in-the-face reality only to be thinking about Home.

"Home, it's were I want to be, pick me up and turn me round."

Home for me is a big old house on a lake in Wisconsin. It's long summer days melting into hot summer nights. It's fingers dangling over the edge of the canoe, skimming the surface, drifting through the afternoon. It's the first jump of the season off the high dive. It's sunburned skin scraping crisp cool sheets. It's 4-handed solitaire while the storm beats against the windows. It's the whole family filling up the long table, Grampa at the head, the youngest cousin at the foot, laughter. It's soft, cool moss that only grows along one side of the driveway, squishing between my toes. It's ice in a glass, waiting for the splash of gin, a little tonic, the lime. It's the gazebo, the boathouse, the bridge across the pond. Bratwurst on the grill, watermelon in the cooler. It's a damp pillow after a late-night skinny dip.

Home. It's more of a time than a place for me. I left it more often than I returned, certain that I could recreate it wherever I went. The timelessness of childhood slowly makes way for the busy-ness of being grown up.

I'd like to think I gave that kind of Home to these puppies. They got to be wild and rowdy before they go off and learn the rules.

Home. "Guess that this must be the place." [thank you Talking Heads c.1983]

Happy Sad

This is the hardest part and the best part - saying good-bye to the puppies. I'm ready for them to start their lives, they're ready to leave their litter and venture off into the great big world. They all have stellar homes to go to and I know they'll have good lives.

Actually, the truly hard part will be saying good-bye to Lola. I'd keep every mom if I could, but then I'd have too many dogs to give anyone enough attention and love. There's just something incredibly bonding about living with these dogs and helping them raise their babies.

Lola and I have shared something special. And foster care was her only chance at life. Pregnant dogs or moms with puppies often don't make it out of our shelter system alive.

So. Now Lola needs a home of her own.

 Her official bio:

Lola came from the central valley, pregnant, abandoned. But she quickly left that story behind when she gave birth to 7 healthy, happy puppies. She raised her babies in foster care and was such a great mom. The puppies all have homes, now it’s Lola’s turn. Lola has been living with 3 other dogs and a cat, 2 teens and a busy household. She bonds quickly and with one person, but she will take direction from everyone.

Lola loves to learn new things and now that she’s no longer focused on her puppies, she’s ready for adventures. We think Lola is a retriever mix. She weighs about 40 pounds and is a medium-energy dog. She’ll enjoy 2 walks a day, then want to lie in the sun by your side. She hasn’t had much leadership in her life, so is used to making her own decisions. But she is extremely responsive to her care-giver and can be called away from chasing a bird or playing with other dogs – that’s a great sign for future training!

But we all know there is so much more to the story...I can't wait to read the next chapter.

Happy Birthday Puppies

Seven pups turned 7 weeks old, just about 7 days ago. Here are their official birthday portraits. Thank you Mimi Reid for these great photos.

Bowie

Donna

Foxy (Kendra)

Helena

Selena

Mitch

Diana on the far right

Puppy magnet, Mimi

Top to bottom: Diana, Donna, Helena, Kendra, Bowie, Mitch

Happiness

Question: What do these two things have in common?

Answer: They both make me smile.

Lola - What a good mom

Lola wasn't so sure about her new situation on Day 1. But once she understood that we were here to help her raise her babies, she settled right in! And then she bought me presents!!!

Let the knitting begin.

Growing Like Weeds

They grow up so fast.

18 days old - experimenting with solid food, wobbling around, noticing each other and starting to play.

4 weeks old - reliably eating solid food, running, scampering and playing hard with each other.

Mom doesn't want to nurse anymore - sharp teeth and claws. But when she does, she stands up and makes them work for it. The sessions are very short.

Diana was the first pup born. She's been a bit of a loner. If you've watched the puppy cam, you'll notice that she often sleeps by herself. She's also been the first to try new things - first to open her eyes, first to eat solid food.

But at this point, she's right in there with the rest of them.

They grow up fast!

Moms and Babies

When a mom and her babies get on my radar, it's hard to sweep them aside.

 

Lola was brought to a central CA shelter as a stray, pregnant, a few weeks away from giving birth. Big Dog Rescue gave her a place to land; she gave birth at Cheryl's house and now she's with me! There so much more to the story, but it has to wait. You deserve photos and the comfort and purpose I feel when a mom dog trusts me to help her raise her babies. 

And 7 beautiful puppies, sleeping and eating and sleeping some more.  

Lola is a Golden Retriever, or maybe a lab. Looks like the dad was a husky. 

Watch them on the puppy cam!  
http://www.ustream.tv/channel/sue-s-puppy-cam
 

A Home for Layla - Feb 9, 2014

Layla is so tired tonight! She went on a meet and greet today with a potential adoptive family. And she got a bandage change. She’s healing well. Next time, in 3 weeks, they’ll xray her leg. She’s on her way!

The family loved her. They’re going to take this week to get everything in order – dog walkers, crate, food, toys. Because....they want to adopt her!

So, I have a few more days with this girl and then she’s on her way. 

And she’s on her way.

Amazing Slip Stitch Afghan - Feb 6, 2014

Relax

Knit

Slip

Purl Purl Purl

Relax

Repeat

Haircut and Community Cats - Feb 4, 2014

I got my hair cut yesterday. While I was waiting, I noticed a bowl of cat food outside on the window ledge. I asked my stylist what that was all about. And what I heard back from her was the concept of Community Cats, not from the animal welfare perspective, but from the human this-is-the-right-thing-to-do perspective. Anise has been working out of an old building in downtown Petaluma for 8 years. During that time, she’s TNR’d 10 cats with the help of Forgotten Felines. She traps; a FF volunteer holds on to the cat until the next clinic; spay/neuter, vaccines, ear tip; RETURN! Then Anise feeds the cats and lets them live. She’s named them all and even converted the other tenants in her building – they all take turns feeding and paying for the low cost services through FF.

Recently, an office space opened up in the building. The leasing agent contacted Anise to tell her that the cats were a problem for a potential tenant. Anise took a deep breath and said, ‘I’ve been here longer than anyone, yet not as long as these cats. This is their home. Please find another tenant for that space, or you will have to find 2 because those cats belong here. If they go, I go.' The leasing agent wasn’t happy. An hour later, Anise received a call from the building owner. He thanked her for sticking up for the cats and giving them a chance at life. He told her about his own ‘unofficial’ colony and his own commitment to cats. They found another cat-friendly tenant!

Then we talked about what would have happened without Forgotten Felines. I told her that in another county, their ‘low-cost’ spay/neuter options were $200. She said that there was no way they could have helped all of those cats for that fee.

After the haircut, I was making my payment on her ipad. Guess whose photo was the background? Precious – the most beautiful community cat in downtown Petaluma.

Layla : Jan 19, 2014

 I keep my distance. Which means, she’s alone for more hours than she should be. I know that her timeline is shorter than mine. I know that she needs me, that she needs exposure to all of that stuff. And I know that she will forgive me these 48 hours of uncertainty.

The wag of her tail, the intensity in her eyes, the way she sits patiently, waiting for my reaction, for my approval.

She sat in the shelter for days with a broken leg. Broken through, all the way through. Yet, she wags and she connects. Then she hung out at the vet’s office until surgery to insert pins and staples. Of course, she won their hearts.

Is that why I hesitate? Because she’s the color of honey and carmel? Just like my first dog, my forever girl. Or is it that I’ll have her for 4 weeks, longer than most of my fosters.

 

I know that tomorrow at 5am when I hear her stir, that I will hold her close and succumb. There is no way I can resist the innocence of a puppy.