Lost Dog Ranger Home After 7 Days on the Road!

Ranger found safe after 7 days!
Ranger was another dog (along with his buddy, Sammy) who was lost in last week's storms. His little buddy was recovered safely after 5 days when he gave himself up to a nice lady about 2 miles from home.

But no one had seen Ranger. Hoping the two dogs had stayed together, Murphy and I did "scent scans" all over the neighborhood where Sammy was found, but could not find Ranger's scent there.

So we started over at the owner's home. Since Ranger had a 7-day head start on us AND we'd had torrential rains, I was worried that Murphy might not be able to connect the dots. But after much circling of the owner's neighborhood, we finally found where Ranger exited the neighborhood. He had gone the exact opposite direction from where Sammy was found. Once I felt confident that we had established a direction of travel for Ranger, we broke off the scent search and started putting huge neon posters in the direction he went. We put up about 15 posters, but it was the 2nd or 3rd poster that did the trick. We had put up 2 posters at the intersection of Dennis & Royal in Dallas, and that's exactly where Ranger was picked up that evening. Click here to see a map of our search !

Eat Your Words

Eat Your Words

In my dream, I had purchased an expensive machine; it made snowcones out of paper. The easiest way to feed it enough paper was to tear the covers off an old book and shove the pages into the machine. Out would come the most delicious frozen treat.

In the dream, my friend arrive in town with her elderly, unhealthy father. They had no money and were living in their car. In my dream, I had another dream (love it when that happens!) where I gave my friend the wonderful paper recycling snowcone maker. I wasn't really using it that much.

But when I acted on my dream (in my dream) I decided to sell my friend the machine, instead of give it to her. After all, it was a valuable thing and she could make a lot of money with it. I tried and tried to convince her, grinding whole textbooks through the machine, turning them into fruity concoctions and selling them right and left, but my friend demurred. She's nuts! I thought. Or stupid!

I woke from my dream wondering why I didn't just use the damned thing myself?!

John's Painting!!

Trying Something New...

My good friend Sue sent me a book titled What It Is...the formless thing which gives things form by Lynda Barry. I read it several weeks ago, loved it, made a shopping list, failed to buy any of the stuff she recommended, dilly-dallied over the details of how to begin, forgot most of what I learned/loved/intended-to-do, got sick, got very sick, felt a little better, and then I made this.

The beautiful Juliette before...

In a business is like mine there is a lot of conversation with clients about "the coyote problem." In my experience, though, it's unusual to have much proof that coyotes took the pet.We were called last week on an unusual case in Dallas where the owner had awakened to see two coyotes had her cat cornered on her patio at 4 am. She tried to scare the coyotes away but ended up scaring the cat away, too, with the coyotes in hot pursuit.

She said she didn't hear any signs of struggle so had a slim hope that her cat might have gotten away from them. She was so surprised to find out that there were "coyotes right in the city." The area behind her condo was an extremely steep ravine with a creek at the bottom...huge trees, a lot of brambles and vines. To the left of her patio (the direction the three had run) were other condos and lots of good hiding places under decks, etc.

My dog Murphy was able to find one or more cats hiding under these decks, so our hopes swelled that this cat might be under there too. Alas, I felt compelled to search the ravine area before we left and within 1 minute Murphy found the remains of the beautiful cat. I wouldn't even have recognized her...I was looking for a white cat but needless to say she was hardly recognizable. Only the head and front paws remained and they were so caked with mud, I wouldn't have noticed them without the dog's help.

It was a grim find but I was glad to bring closure to a client who was the type to search for weeks and months if we hadn't gotten this evidence.When I saw the destroyed cat, I called to the client. She came down into the woods and identified the body by turning the head over so she could see the facial features. Then I took Murphy back to the car and gave him every treat I had in there, got a plastic bag and put all that was left of the cat in the bag. I took the bag up to the patio and sat there with the client for about an hour until she calmed down a bit.I think it went okay, all things considered, but I came away wondering if I'd handled it quite right...maybe I should have walked back up and explained what I found...I don't know...does anybody have a better idea?

Anyway, I was so proud of my dog...he really did his job on this one. It's hard to accept money from clients when things turn out as bad as this one did. My husband John, while I was debating about depositing the client's check, said "I'm sure the undertaker feels a little bit bad each time he digs a grave, but he collects the money just the same."

"As a human, and in these brief lives we are given, the job may be to donated blood, time and/or money to those in need.Beyond all of those, there are even more minute jobs: watching the sky, noticing someone's smile, observing a praying mantis, holding a sleeping baby, relishing in a sunrise...or being the keeper of dead baby birds.I am going to keep my job; even if that means I am weird."
This quote is from the blog of artist, writer, Jennifer Stevning, who also happens to be my neice. Her self-described job as keeper of dead baby birds inspired me to write about my weird job...well, one of them.
I sometimes walk with my dogs on some private property beyond the campground. You have to climb over two fences to get there, but I don't think the owner would mind. He or she keeps a wide path mowed sporadically that meanders throughout the property, going no place in particular.
At different times of year, I've gotten to see tons of wild flowers and a few unusual birds. It surprises me every time I go out there. I am also a little afraid of snakes--cotton mouths especially--but I think the wide path is some protection.
The coyotes though seem to like marking the path with their scat. It's so easy to distinguish it from regular dog poop because the ends are quite pointy and they contain a great deal of fur. Usually brown or grey fur...the rabbit they feasted on last night. In any event, I find it is my job to grab a stick and poke through the coyote poop. I'm not looking for rabbit fur but evidence that the coyote had a sweeter breakfast...perhaps someone's house cat or tiny little purse dog. I can picture the coyotes prancing about and bragging to their coyote friends, "Hey, Brutus, check it out, I could put this Yorkie in my purse. But nah, I think I'll just eat him." Hahaha, the coyotes chuckle.
So last week, I grabbed a stick and poked through a pile of scat I hadn't seen before. It lasts a long time because it is made of hair and bone, which is pure white and hard as...well, bone. I poked around a little more and found what I was looking for: a little red nylon collar. Couldn't tell if it belonged to a cat or dog, but it was definitely one or the other. I wished I had something to carry it in and realized I had the perfect vessel in my pocket: the poop bags I carry for my own dogs.
I showed it to everybody who would pay attention at the campground. It's my job. And I still have the sample. Maybe tomorrow I'll post a photo.

Summer Night

Tonight, after our staff meeting, I came home to our empty RV. Well, not empty of course...the dogs were inside wiggling with delight at my homecoming. John is gone: a business trip in Orlando followed by a family visit to his mom, dad, and Grandma Libby near Tampa.

Except for the dogs, I am home alone. We are having blissfully coolish temperatures. Sometimes, in Texas, it's still too hot at midnight to go for a walk. But tonight the dogs pour out of the coach and I let them have a rare leashless romp through the campground in the dark. They move like a pack of coyotes through the campsites, scavenging a hot dog bun and a stray marshmallow that missed its mark.

I let them run down by the lake, striking by moonlight, where the herons still wade in shallow water. I never knew they hunted this late.

We are celebrating one year as full-timers this week. That's what we call RVers who have given up their permanent moorings of house and home and driveway and mailbox for the looser tethers of a diesel powered house on wheels. We five, the dogs and John and I, have lived in less than 500 square feet for over 365 days. It's something to celebrate, I guess, if only for the fact that nobody has killed anyone else over a patch of carpet to lie on or 5 minutes of privacy in a bathroom that feels crowded even when you are alone in it. We even managed to grow tomatoes here, an accomplishment that eluded us when we had a real house and a real yard.

So here we are running through wet grass, panting from the exertion, scofflaws (of the leash law at least) until we whistle ourselves back home.