Feathers Were Flying: A Tale of Almost Tragedy

Oil and Vinegar. Shake them together and they combine to make a fab salad dressing. I can say, with surety, that you don't get the same results when shaking together a kitty and a hummingbird.

Yesterday dawned bright, albeit, very chilly. About mid-morning, while I was about my weekend chores, I bopped down the hall into the kitchen. Finch, my striped kitty, was hovering over something on the throw-rug (sometimes throwed-up on rug). This is usually where he and his sissie, Enoki, come to spit out their awesome buggy prey so that I might 'ooh and aah' repeatedly. I also murmur silly statements to them, alluding to the greatness of their hunting abilities.

I started to say- "Oh, Finchers, what a good kittles. Such a mighty hunter". Huh?! It's newly Spring. Nothing in the Bugworld has had a chance to grow that large...NOOOOOOOOO. Finch has a hummingbird. I begin to scream hysterically, as I am seeing one of my favorite things in the process of eating another one of my favorite things.

Of course, wrong. Wrong to scream. Finch streaks down the hall, with bird in mouth, and disappears under the bed like a rabbit down a hole. I hit the floor next to the bed, still doing my best impression of Linda Blair. He spits out, what I think is, the poor little carcass. I gather it gently in my hands, all the while weeping and wailing- "I'm sorry birdie, Oh, poor little girl"- over and over again. I'm, now, sobbing in meltdown mode.(don't ya love being pre-menopausal?)

I start to inspect the catspit soaked little body. Astonishingly, she flies out of my hand and begins to orbit, wildly, about the room. I get all the Furkids out of the bedroom, closed the door and shut off all light sources. She finally landed on the wall vent. I gingerly plucked her- oh, such a rapid tiny heartbeat. But it was beating. I held her for a few seconds, hoping to see if she was leaving any blood trailing on my fingers. Amazingly, there was none! I went outside and opened my hand. The little girl whirred, strongly, off into the sky. I thought I would never see her again, as she would probably go off and die. A casualty of 'kitties doing what kitties are wired to do'.

Well, I am happy- ecstatic- to show you a picture taken just three hours later. Daniella, named after the Biblical Daniel, was sitting fluffing in 'her' tree. I know it's her because of the white markings on her wings. Apparently, she had landed on the patio string-lights, near where Finch was napping. She didn't see him until it was too late. I found feathers and scratch marks where Finch got at her after knocking her off the wire. I also know that she doesn't come near the patio anymore, and Finch can't get to the tree. She's there, right now, trying to plump up against the 40º (Spring!!) temperature. But about the temperature- that's another story, entirely.

Daniella: "The Survivor"

Finch: "The Lion"

The 3 Stages of Puppy Love

Stage 1. Brand-spanking new baby, tag still attached.
Stage 2. Baby shows a wee bit of wear- I mean love.
Stage 3. Oh baby. Loved to pieces- literally. And next:

Barucha, the culprit *lover* with her sweet baby-face. Pure contentment.

A Grand New Year To All

It's a five furkid pile-up. Wishing you a blessed New Year. And a quote I found last January, in a calendar (where else), that I really liked:

"We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives... not looking for flaws, but for potential."- Ellen Goodman

Everyone Loves Fresh Sheets

Gosh, do ya think it's a hit with the locals? The fresh sheep sheet set (say that 3X's real fast) lies beneath a cover. It's so hard to wash a king-sized bedspread, every week, in a normal washer, that I keep an old sheet over the whole bed. With 12 puppy paws that come in slightly damp and sometimes leave prints, the sheet helps keep my washing down.

I switched to flannel sheets today. I do so love to put on a set of sheets that have been residing in the linen closet for a time. The scent is so comforting. I just feel well looked after for some reason- all snuggled safe. Somewhere from childhood, I suppose. (And I smile.)

The green spread is Gunther's nest, which is occupied by Hannah at present. I keep the winter nighttime temperature at 63º and short-haired puppers doth protest. It's too confining to put their coats on at night for sleeping. So I cover Gunther and Hannah with the spread before getting into bed. And during the night, as I'm a very light sleeper, I re-cover them should they need it. Ahem...just who trained who?

Say It With Pics- Worth 1000 Words Each

I have had domestic chores and haven't had a chance to post a wordy entry. I thought I could substitute a few pics that would show a glimpse into my furry world. I have come to love my digital camera. So easy to use. It's been cool here in Texas and short-haired puppers become 'chilidogs'. Instead of mustard or onions, I just add a second coat. Gunther is an 8 year old red Doberman (his ears are natural). Doing his best impression of 'Sherlock Bones'. He has had his forever home with me since he was 7 months old. His brother, Zackary, was rescued at the same time and lives in Austin with Karol, my friend of 35 years.
Hannah Ruth is stylin'. She is a 4 year old Rotti-cross rescued off the streets at 7 months old. Since it was a crazy Irish lady that adopted her, she has a very Irish birthday-March 17.
Dueling tummies, with Barucha and Hannah trying to 'out cute' each other. All my puppers know the phrase, "Show me the tummy!" or "Where's your tummy?". Yes, I'm the Mommie, but they still do have a high C.Q. (Cute Quotient).
Enoki and Finch enjoy Kitty TV. One day it was a riveting drama: a true claw-biter. It starred a free-spirited plastic grocery bag pirouetting about in the yard. Four stars and four-paws-up rating.
Fresh. Fresh. Fresh. I must have it fresh. Enoki mews and purrs in her personal attendant's face while they sleep. Upon stumbling from bed, said attendant turns on the faucet. Voila! Liquid purrfection.

Last Of The Summer Reds

Autumn trys to convince me with her sensuous siren song that she is here to stay. But when these beauties provide plump, tangy explosions of delight- Summer's song wins out. I also have rosemary in aromatic, bushy profusion. I am looking forward to Thanksgiving, when I will slip several sprigs between the breast skin and into the turkey cavity before its baking. Yummy. All the rest of my small garden has stopped producing. No peppers, basil or sage. My Sweet Williams, though, have started to flourish since the grasshoppers stopped producing themselves.

Enoki (named after the mushroom because of two white toes) came "maa-ing" down the hall at me today. It did actually sound like a tiny lamb. She couldn't meow because she had her mouth full of grasshopper. She deposited it at my feet and looked most proud of herself. She and her brother, Finch, are very good wranglers of insects. Enoki catches and Finch feasts. E-eew. No kitty kisses, please.

Did You Say "Puppy Biscuit"?

Yes, the pupper girl is feeling much better, thank you very much. At about 10:00 pm last night, she decided food was needed. She had gone all day without anything except a horrid look about her. Today she's back to her more than normal self. Chasing brothers, sisters and barking buzzards from her airspace. All in a day's woof.

Waiting On Daylight

You know, alarm clock makers ought to make one with the sound of a dog- puking. 'Cause it'll get you moving and wide awake- instantly. And I was, at 4:00 this morning. My furkids have bed privileges. Or actually, with 3 dogs, 2 cats and me in a king-sized bed, I'm allowed the bed privilege.

Anyway, back to the story. Barucha (Aussie, almost 2 yrs old) was majoring in Puke 101 on the floor. Mommie scrambles out of bed, "come-on puppers, let's go outside" in an excited voice, but trying not to scare her. She's still young enough to think that emissions from the front end must be as wrong as those from the hind end. It's not- I know she can't help it. I just wanted to get the next puddle, should there be one, to happen on dirt, not carpet. After coming back inside, spot cleaning the carpet and poking a Pepto tab down a sick dog throat- we went back to bed. Hmmm. I don't remember hitting the snooze button on the Puke alarm. Yep. Repeat the steps from an hour ago.

We have a call into Dr. Paul, because the second Pepto tab didn't stay down and Barucha has "stinky butt". That's the term of endearment I have for diarrhea. I am, as I type, dressed for mowing the lawn, and I was just waiting on daylight. Oh look. There's a light now. Hey, there aren't any train tracks...