In Winnebago County, Ill., Bob and Cheryl Moeller were startled Tuesday to get a call from animal shelter authorities.
Five years after he disappeared from their backyard at a Memorial Day picnic, their son Brent’s beloved purebred collie, Bo, had been found – and the chip in his neck had their family numbers.
When Bo went missing in 2003, the Moellers put up photo posters, canvassed door to door and went to 12 area police departments to spread the news of their missing pup. Strangely, last Sunday morning, the Moeller’s daughter, Melissa, had awakened after a vivid dream that Bo had come home. “She told us all about it, that we were all happy and playing,” Moeller said.
Tuesday, the family got the good news: the prodigal pup was back. At the county shelter, the dog immediately walked up to Brent, and remembered the old training commands as if dog and master had never been parted. Word spread quickly of the Moeller’s reunion with Bo; the animal rescue staff had never seen owner and pet reunited after so many years. Local newspapers and TV stations hovered to document the feel-good story that centered around a boy, his dog – and the chip that reunited them.
At the time they got Bo, then a puppy, the chip wasn’t optional.“It came with the initial shots,” Cheryl Moeller recalled.
Bedraggled and neglected upon his mysterious return, he was in ill health and showed evidence of having been caged. Although his city dog tags had been removed, he still wore the collar that had his name on it. “It’s so awful to think who in the world would do this?” Moeller said.
The Moellers, who are both in Christian ministry as family conference speakers and authors, see the hand of the Almighty in Bo’s account of reconciliation.“It sure makes you believe in miracles,” she said. “We give the credit to God – we believe this didn’t happen by accident.”
In Ellis County, Texas, Jennifer Kingsley saw the chip at work. She noticed an adorable Jack Russell terrier sitting on the running board of an antique truck in her neighborhood. “We were going to take a picture of him with our phone, and he jumped into the car,” Jennifer recalled. After determining that the truck owner was not the dog’s owner, Kingsley and her son Ryan walked the entire neighborhood, knocking on doors to see if anyone had lost a pet. Unable to find his home, they brought him to theirs. Kingsley chuckles when she recalls the dog’s brisk energy and the tendency to leap tall couches with a single bound. “He had so much energy,” she said.
Clearly, the pooch was the apple of someone’s eye. The question was, whose? The Kingsleys took the bundle of energy to the Ennis Veterinary Clinic, where a scan revealed the dog had a microchip that in turn led them to the breeder, who went through records to get in touch with the owner who bought the dog.
Chip to the rescue.
While a chip on your shoulder isn’t a good thing, the right kind of chip on your pet’s shoulder could save its life.
Thanks to new technology, with the simple insertion of a tiny microchip, lost pets can be reunited with their owners. But it takes forethought.At the Waxahachie Animal Shelter, senior officer Cindi Walters has made scanning strays for microchips part of the intake routine.
With every dog that is brought in, a chip reader is used to scan the shoulder area. When the scanner detects a number, she relays that number to the chip company, who then helps locate the owner.
“In the past year, out of 100 or more dogs [taken in as strays], we’ve only had one animal that had a microchip in it,” she said.Walters estimates that out of those same 50 dogs, perhaps half of them appeared not to be strays – they appeared to have belonged to someone.And that’s a heartbreaking statistic she said.
“I’ve got two in right now that no owners have called about, but both have brand-new collars on them, so I know somebody’s owned them somewhere,” Walters said.
Her advice to pet owners? Get your vet to put a chip in your animal. “A collar can always be lost, tags can always be lost, but the microchip is always there,” she said.
At Ennis Veterinary Clinic, Dr. Mac Boyd said the chip is an emerging technology many pet owners haven’t taken advantage of. “It’s a good program – amazing technology,” he said.“We put quite a few in – but the vast majority of pets don’t have them yet, because there’s some expense involved in it. We charge $41 to put on in – it’s not a tremendously high price, but it’s an extra expense some people don’t want to have.” Another benefit is if there’s ever a dispute about dog ownership, the chip can carry the truth about the owner. “It’s like a fingerprint,” he said.
The chip itself is the size of a grain of rice and undetectable, Boyd said.“ The dog doesn’t feel it – it doesn’t cause discomfort. It doesn’t give off signals, it just reacts when the scanner passes over it,” he said, echoing Cindi Walters’ advice to just get the chip put in. “Nobody thinks their pet’s going to get lost, but nationwide, lots of pets find their way back home because of those chips,” Boyd said.
The life you save could be your own dog’s.
E-mail J. Louise at jlouise.larson@wninews.com.
This article originally appeared in the Waxahachie Daily Light.
http://www.thedailylight.com/articles/2008/07/21/news/doc4884d630bf097302352268.txt
For more on the true story of Bo's return to his family, see:
http://www.dailyherald.com/story/?id=221232
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-lost-dogjul16,0,430110.story
http://www.dailyherald.com/multimedia/?category=9&type=video&item=181
http://cbs2chicago.com/watercooler/lost.dog.reunion.2.772114.html
http://www.chicagotribune.com/topic/us/illinois/cook-county/arlington-heights-PLGEO100100501040000.topic
http://www.chicagotribune.com/topic/us/illinois/cook-county/arlington-heights-PLGEO100100501040000.topic
Showing posts with label J. Louise Larson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label J. Louise Larson. Show all posts
Monday, July 21, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
The Class Menagerie: Delinda Ruffino's just a country girl, at heart
BRISTOL — When Delinda Ruffino moved to Bristol, she realized a life-long dream: Some 29 acres for her horses to play on – and a little miniature horse to remind her of the importance of life’s little things.
“My dream has always been to live on acreage with animals and to have horses on the property ... I’ve always wanted miniature horses, and I even threatened to get them in Lancaster and hide them behind my tall fence,” she said with a chuckle.
Delinda and Carlos Ruffino and their children, Michaella, now 19, and Robert, 17, relocated to Bristol three years ago from Lancaster, where Delinda owned the shop, Delinda Doolittle’s On the Square.
Once she found her Sugar Ridge paradise, Ruffino began to populate it – a miniature horse here, a miniature Zebu cow there.
Little goats, pale-eyed with velvety noses, curious and infinitely nibbly, that will munch on a pant leg or a lock of hair. They are miniature Nigerian goats, technically milk goats.
She has a rooster, and seven hens to lay a steady stream of fresh, fresh eggs. Then there’s Max the Cat. A long-haired tabby, he’s big-boned, even by Maine Coon cat standards, tipping the scale at 23 pounds and as long in the torso as his mistress.
The Ruffino dogs include two dachshunds, a chocolate lab, a Great Pyrenees watchdog and a cowdog cross.
“I had my own little private petting zoo,” she said.
Without unlimited room to branch out, she had no interest in breeding the animals – and they seemed to get along with each other in a sort of peaceable kingdom.
But something was missing.“I didn’t buy them to procreate, like in the Bible - that was God’s idea,” she said with a smile. “But I realized that the animals liked to be with their own kind. I noticed they were kind of lonely.”
She got another miniature cow to hang out with Charlie, the diminutive Zebu. “They were like instant buddies, and they’d go together everywhere,” she recalled. “I got another donkey, and sure enough, the donkeys hung out together. I had the one miniature horse, then I got him a friend. They really like to be with each other. I guess it’s kind of a no-brainer. They had seemed fine without them, but it’s sweet to see them roaming the pastures together,” Ruffino said.
If the resulting configuration of animals tends to resemble something of a land-based ark, Delinda Ruffino has done her job by finding her animals running buddies.
“They all really do like to be with their own kind,” she said.
The Ruffino’s 29 acres overlook the rolling hills of Bristol, where they have become part of the local constellation of neighbors.
“Sugar Ridge is the prettiest road I’ve seen in North Texas – for sure in Ellis and Dallas Counties,” she said. “And the neighbors are just amazing. I have a handful of friends on this remote road, but there’s a real strong community feeling. And think of it, there are people who live in suburbs, 10 feet from each other, and they don’t know their neighbors. They never get together with them,” she said.
Together with three of her fellow Sugar Ridge equestriennes, Delinda Ruffino’s a member of the Polka Cowgirls, an equestrian group that decorates their horses as living floats for area parades.
It’s all far from the bustling world she once knew. Raised in Houston, Delinda had an international modeling career that began in New York, taking her to the West Coast and then Europe and points east – including Germany, Italy, Paris and Tokyo – before landing her in Dallas in 1984.“ Traveling was amazing, it was like an education, and it was my school,” she recalled.
She stayed in Dallas, working as a model’s agent for an agency and then working at an agency representing makeup artists and stylists for print and TV gigs.
In 1988, she got married, she got pregnant – she got retired.
An aspiring artist, she’s turning the pool house into an art studio. She favors a break from the traditional, preferring impressionistic and expressionistic design. Her whimsical works are frequently vividly hued, done in a variety of media, pastels, pen, watercolor and her favorite, multi-media collage.
She’s active with the Ennis Garden Club, and with her church in DeSoto. And the drama training she got years ago? Finally, it’s found a home as well. She has appeared in three Neil Simon plays at the Ennis Public Theatre, and she’s an avid supporter of the theater as well.“I’ve done three plays with Bill Rhoten – I really love that theater,” she said. “I’d love to do at least one a year.”
“My dream has always been to live on acreage with animals and to have horses on the property ... I’ve always wanted miniature horses, and I even threatened to get them in Lancaster and hide them behind my tall fence,” she said with a chuckle.
Delinda and Carlos Ruffino and their children, Michaella, now 19, and Robert, 17, relocated to Bristol three years ago from Lancaster, where Delinda owned the shop, Delinda Doolittle’s On the Square.
Once she found her Sugar Ridge paradise, Ruffino began to populate it – a miniature horse here, a miniature Zebu cow there.
Little goats, pale-eyed with velvety noses, curious and infinitely nibbly, that will munch on a pant leg or a lock of hair. They are miniature Nigerian goats, technically milk goats.
She has a rooster, and seven hens to lay a steady stream of fresh, fresh eggs. Then there’s Max the Cat. A long-haired tabby, he’s big-boned, even by Maine Coon cat standards, tipping the scale at 23 pounds and as long in the torso as his mistress.
The Ruffino dogs include two dachshunds, a chocolate lab, a Great Pyrenees watchdog and a cowdog cross.
“I had my own little private petting zoo,” she said.
Without unlimited room to branch out, she had no interest in breeding the animals – and they seemed to get along with each other in a sort of peaceable kingdom.
But something was missing.“I didn’t buy them to procreate, like in the Bible - that was God’s idea,” she said with a smile. “But I realized that the animals liked to be with their own kind. I noticed they were kind of lonely.”
She got another miniature cow to hang out with Charlie, the diminutive Zebu. “They were like instant buddies, and they’d go together everywhere,” she recalled. “I got another donkey, and sure enough, the donkeys hung out together. I had the one miniature horse, then I got him a friend. They really like to be with each other. I guess it’s kind of a no-brainer. They had seemed fine without them, but it’s sweet to see them roaming the pastures together,” Ruffino said.
If the resulting configuration of animals tends to resemble something of a land-based ark, Delinda Ruffino has done her job by finding her animals running buddies.
“They all really do like to be with their own kind,” she said.
The Ruffino’s 29 acres overlook the rolling hills of Bristol, where they have become part of the local constellation of neighbors.
“Sugar Ridge is the prettiest road I’ve seen in North Texas – for sure in Ellis and Dallas Counties,” she said. “And the neighbors are just amazing. I have a handful of friends on this remote road, but there’s a real strong community feeling. And think of it, there are people who live in suburbs, 10 feet from each other, and they don’t know their neighbors. They never get together with them,” she said.
Together with three of her fellow Sugar Ridge equestriennes, Delinda Ruffino’s a member of the Polka Cowgirls, an equestrian group that decorates their horses as living floats for area parades.
It’s all far from the bustling world she once knew. Raised in Houston, Delinda had an international modeling career that began in New York, taking her to the West Coast and then Europe and points east – including Germany, Italy, Paris and Tokyo – before landing her in Dallas in 1984.“ Traveling was amazing, it was like an education, and it was my school,” she recalled.
She stayed in Dallas, working as a model’s agent for an agency and then working at an agency representing makeup artists and stylists for print and TV gigs.
In 1988, she got married, she got pregnant – she got retired.
An aspiring artist, she’s turning the pool house into an art studio. She favors a break from the traditional, preferring impressionistic and expressionistic design. Her whimsical works are frequently vividly hued, done in a variety of media, pastels, pen, watercolor and her favorite, multi-media collage.
She’s active with the Ennis Garden Club, and with her church in DeSoto. And the drama training she got years ago? Finally, it’s found a home as well. She has appeared in three Neil Simon plays at the Ennis Public Theatre, and she’s an avid supporter of the theater as well.“I’ve done three plays with Bill Rhoten – I really love that theater,” she said. “I’d love to do at least one a year.”
Monday, June 30, 2008
Waxahachie Daily Light article on Jack Kelley
Dr. Jackson Clay Kelley will be remembered for his irrepressible good humor – and an abiding affection for his Rotary Club, his adopted hometown of Waxahachie, Texas, and his family.
Honored for logging 49 years perfect attendance at the Waxahachie Rotary Club and as Most Outstanding Member of the Year by the Waxahachie Chamber of Commerce, Kelley, 92, died Thursday morning at home.
Memorial services will be held at 2 p.m. Sunday at First United Methodist Church in Waxahachie, with reception immediately following in the Family Life Center.
Jack Kelley had just retired from his veterinary business on Brookside Road when David McSpadden came to town to construct the Econo-Lodge there a quarter-century ago. Seeing the construction under way, “Jack just walked across the highway and came down to meet me,” he said, recalling the information Kelley shared of the history of the area and the road itself. “He was just being neighborly – that’s just Jack,” McSpadden remembered. “He was a true Texas gentleman in the finest tradition.”
He remembers Kelley a walking library of significant information, “a steel-trap mind” – and untiringly upbeat. “It didn’t matter what the circumstances were, he had good things to say about anybody and everybody. With that as the foundation of his world, Jack got up happy every day,” he said.
A card-carrying member of the Choctaw tribe, Jackson Clay Kelley was born in Soper, Okla. He went to school in Antlers, Okla., before graduating from Beaumont’s French High School in 1933. He put himself through Texas A&M University, graduating in 1937 as a vocational ag teacher. He returned to A&M to get doctor of veterinary medicine degree, finishing in 1945 and moving to Waxahachie with wife Geneva in 1946. He was the first veterinarian in Waxahachie, his son Bill said.
The younger Kelley recalled the love for fishing, hunting and the outdoors Jack Kelley learned from his loving father, Ike Kelley, in rural Oklahoma – and then passed on to his sons.He also remembered his dad’s deep Aggie roots. “He was 100 percent maroon-and-white. In his large animal practice, the stall where the sick cows were unloaded was painted orange. When the cows got well, he would put them in a maroon stall,” Bill said with a chuckle.
Jack Kelley was honored for almost a half-century of perfect attendance at Rotary meetings. He and Geneva traveled all over the world – and when they got where they were going, the Kelleys attended Rotary Club meetings there.Two years ago, at 90, Kelley was the oldest Rotarian on the district conference cruise – his first cruise ever. He invited David McSpadden to go on the cruise with him for company.“That old guy wore me out,” McSpadden recalled with a chuckle. “We walked all over and saw every level, including the captain’s helm. He didn’t miss a thing.”
Former City Manager Bob Sokoll recalled the Paul Harris Fellow as “the Rotarian’s Rotarian – the most dedicated Rotarian I ever met.” McSpadden agreed.“He was dedicated to the prospect that attendance and participation were the key to fellowship – that if you don’t show up, you can’t get to know anybody,” he said.
At Rotary Club last week, the 92-year-old was still showing up. He had to be helped into a rolling swivel desk chair to get to the meeting room because it was too far for his walker.
“That was the kind of indomitable spirit he had,” McSpadden said. “I sat next to him at Rotary last week and we had a great conversation. One of my regrets is that Jack wasn’t looking very good and, when I got back from L.A., I wanted to get together and turn on a tape recorder and let him talk.”Hearing that Kelley had donated his body to science at UT Southwestern Medical School, his Rotary buddy wasn’t surprised. “That’s Jack – giving even beyond the end. That’s him. I’m not surprised whatsoever – he was one of the most generous men I ever met – he just had a generous heart,” he said.
Jack Kelley’s last living son, Bill Kelley, said the avid Rotarian would be remembered for his sense of humor and his devotion to Waxahachie and to his family. As a public service, the Rotary Club put stickers on cars to remind area residents when their license plates had expired. A gentle nod to his humor and his role as the program’s biggest booster, the family plans to put one of the stickers on the display table at Jack Kelley’s memorial service.
Jack and Geneva Kelley were married for 67 years before her passing three years ago. They were members of the East Texas Lakes unit of the Airstream Club and Jack was also an enthusiastic “84” player.
Jack Kelley’s life wasn’t without its griefs. In addition to surviving Geneva, he outlived three of his sons – Pat, Mike and Steve.“About a month after we buried my third brother, we were out riding around and Dad said, ‘God has blessed me so much – He gave me my sons, and I enjoyed them to the fullest,’” Bill Kelley recalled. “That was a tremendous testimony – he was always thankful instead of having pity for himself.”
Waxahachie City Manager Paul Stevens attended First United Methodist Church with Kelley and recalled his friendliness from the first day Stevens’ family started attending the church.“It’s a tremendous loss for Waxahachie. Dr. Kelley was such a nice man and such a strong Christian,” said Stevens.
Bill Kelley agreed. “His faith was very important to him. He had a strong faith, and a lot of it was because of his heritage,” he said. “If there’s a Rotary Club in Heaven, and a fishing and hunting club, and a Wild Bunch – I think my dad’ll be a card-carrying member.”
Honored for logging 49 years perfect attendance at the Waxahachie Rotary Club and as Most Outstanding Member of the Year by the Waxahachie Chamber of Commerce, Kelley, 92, died Thursday morning at home.
Memorial services will be held at 2 p.m. Sunday at First United Methodist Church in Waxahachie, with reception immediately following in the Family Life Center.
Jack Kelley had just retired from his veterinary business on Brookside Road when David McSpadden came to town to construct the Econo-Lodge there a quarter-century ago. Seeing the construction under way, “Jack just walked across the highway and came down to meet me,” he said, recalling the information Kelley shared of the history of the area and the road itself. “He was just being neighborly – that’s just Jack,” McSpadden remembered. “He was a true Texas gentleman in the finest tradition.”
He remembers Kelley a walking library of significant information, “a steel-trap mind” – and untiringly upbeat. “It didn’t matter what the circumstances were, he had good things to say about anybody and everybody. With that as the foundation of his world, Jack got up happy every day,” he said.
A card-carrying member of the Choctaw tribe, Jackson Clay Kelley was born in Soper, Okla. He went to school in Antlers, Okla., before graduating from Beaumont’s French High School in 1933. He put himself through Texas A&M University, graduating in 1937 as a vocational ag teacher. He returned to A&M to get doctor of veterinary medicine degree, finishing in 1945 and moving to Waxahachie with wife Geneva in 1946. He was the first veterinarian in Waxahachie, his son Bill said.
The younger Kelley recalled the love for fishing, hunting and the outdoors Jack Kelley learned from his loving father, Ike Kelley, in rural Oklahoma – and then passed on to his sons.He also remembered his dad’s deep Aggie roots. “He was 100 percent maroon-and-white. In his large animal practice, the stall where the sick cows were unloaded was painted orange. When the cows got well, he would put them in a maroon stall,” Bill said with a chuckle.
Jack Kelley was honored for almost a half-century of perfect attendance at Rotary meetings. He and Geneva traveled all over the world – and when they got where they were going, the Kelleys attended Rotary Club meetings there.Two years ago, at 90, Kelley was the oldest Rotarian on the district conference cruise – his first cruise ever. He invited David McSpadden to go on the cruise with him for company.“That old guy wore me out,” McSpadden recalled with a chuckle. “We walked all over and saw every level, including the captain’s helm. He didn’t miss a thing.”
Former City Manager Bob Sokoll recalled the Paul Harris Fellow as “the Rotarian’s Rotarian – the most dedicated Rotarian I ever met.” McSpadden agreed.“He was dedicated to the prospect that attendance and participation were the key to fellowship – that if you don’t show up, you can’t get to know anybody,” he said.
At Rotary Club last week, the 92-year-old was still showing up. He had to be helped into a rolling swivel desk chair to get to the meeting room because it was too far for his walker.
“That was the kind of indomitable spirit he had,” McSpadden said. “I sat next to him at Rotary last week and we had a great conversation. One of my regrets is that Jack wasn’t looking very good and, when I got back from L.A., I wanted to get together and turn on a tape recorder and let him talk.”Hearing that Kelley had donated his body to science at UT Southwestern Medical School, his Rotary buddy wasn’t surprised. “That’s Jack – giving even beyond the end. That’s him. I’m not surprised whatsoever – he was one of the most generous men I ever met – he just had a generous heart,” he said.
Jack Kelley’s last living son, Bill Kelley, said the avid Rotarian would be remembered for his sense of humor and his devotion to Waxahachie and to his family. As a public service, the Rotary Club put stickers on cars to remind area residents when their license plates had expired. A gentle nod to his humor and his role as the program’s biggest booster, the family plans to put one of the stickers on the display table at Jack Kelley’s memorial service.
Jack and Geneva Kelley were married for 67 years before her passing three years ago. They were members of the East Texas Lakes unit of the Airstream Club and Jack was also an enthusiastic “84” player.
Jack Kelley’s life wasn’t without its griefs. In addition to surviving Geneva, he outlived three of his sons – Pat, Mike and Steve.“About a month after we buried my third brother, we were out riding around and Dad said, ‘God has blessed me so much – He gave me my sons, and I enjoyed them to the fullest,’” Bill Kelley recalled. “That was a tremendous testimony – he was always thankful instead of having pity for himself.”
Waxahachie City Manager Paul Stevens attended First United Methodist Church with Kelley and recalled his friendliness from the first day Stevens’ family started attending the church.“It’s a tremendous loss for Waxahachie. Dr. Kelley was such a nice man and such a strong Christian,” said Stevens.
Bill Kelley agreed. “His faith was very important to him. He had a strong faith, and a lot of it was because of his heritage,” he said. “If there’s a Rotary Club in Heaven, and a fishing and hunting club, and a Wild Bunch – I think my dad’ll be a card-carrying member.”
Gone Squirrelly
So was Sex in the City's Carrie Bradshaw about right when she said squirrels are rats with cuter outfits?
One fellow journalist walking in Union Square (New York City), saw a squirrel drag an entire copy of the NY Times up into his nest. He lost a few sections on the way up but got most of it in there. I'm thinking maybe he was a literate squirrel, a member of the squirrel intelligencia - or maybe he was in it for the crossword.
One day I heard chattering outside my front room window. Poised on the back of the willow rocker on my porch, probably staring at his reflection just two feet away, a fat squirrel. I stared him down, and he fell off clumsily -- ha!That's what peeping Toms get.
My dog chased him into our drained swimming pool that had about a foot of water and a bucket we'd used to finish draining it. He sat on the bucket, dripping, miserable, cursing in squirrel at the top of his tiny lungs, black eyes huge and accusing. We tried to extend every kindness, a ladder, a pool skimmer. Finally, we dangled a stretchy hose and after about a dozen exhausing (but amusing to watch) attempts, he finally scrambled out and ran off screaming about the poor service he'd received at our resort and how he wasn't going to come back.
Problems with squirrels? Might want to check this out:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRR4bOquEKQ&feature=related
According to National Public Radio, squirrel cuisine is gaining in popularity in (squirrel-ridden) England.No word on if it tastes like chicken, but you might want to check out this fine menu of squirrel recipes that includes Cajun Squirrel, Chicken-Fried Squirrel, Crockpot Squirrel, Easy Squirrel BBQ, Fried Squirrel With Mushroom Gravy, Squirrel Cacciatore, Squirrel Casserole, Squirrels in Cream Sauce, Squirrel Creole, Squirrel Croquettes, Squirrel Kabobs, Squirrel and Noodles and Squirrel Nuggets.http://www.backwoodsbound.com/zsquir.html
And there's always the old-fashioned fix, a nice, soft squirrel coat:http://cgi.ebay.com/Vintage-Russian-Squirrel-Fur-Cape-Wrap-Stole-Coat_W0QQitemZ250245236440QQihZ015QQcategoryZ63862QQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem
One fellow journalist walking in Union Square (New York City), saw a squirrel drag an entire copy of the NY Times up into his nest. He lost a few sections on the way up but got most of it in there. I'm thinking maybe he was a literate squirrel, a member of the squirrel intelligencia - or maybe he was in it for the crossword.
One day I heard chattering outside my front room window. Poised on the back of the willow rocker on my porch, probably staring at his reflection just two feet away, a fat squirrel. I stared him down, and he fell off clumsily -- ha!That's what peeping Toms get.
My dog chased him into our drained swimming pool that had about a foot of water and a bucket we'd used to finish draining it. He sat on the bucket, dripping, miserable, cursing in squirrel at the top of his tiny lungs, black eyes huge and accusing. We tried to extend every kindness, a ladder, a pool skimmer. Finally, we dangled a stretchy hose and after about a dozen exhausing (but amusing to watch) attempts, he finally scrambled out and ran off screaming about the poor service he'd received at our resort and how he wasn't going to come back.
Problems with squirrels? Might want to check this out:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRR4bOquEKQ&feature=related
According to National Public Radio, squirrel cuisine is gaining in popularity in (squirrel-ridden) England.No word on if it tastes like chicken, but you might want to check out this fine menu of squirrel recipes that includes Cajun Squirrel, Chicken-Fried Squirrel, Crockpot Squirrel, Easy Squirrel BBQ, Fried Squirrel With Mushroom Gravy, Squirrel Cacciatore, Squirrel Casserole, Squirrels in Cream Sauce, Squirrel Creole, Squirrel Croquettes, Squirrel Kabobs, Squirrel and Noodles and Squirrel Nuggets.http://www.backwoodsbound.com/zsquir.html
And there's always the old-fashioned fix, a nice, soft squirrel coat:http://cgi.ebay.com/Vintage-Russian-Squirrel-Fur-Cape-Wrap-Stole-Coat_W0QQitemZ250245236440QQihZ015QQcategoryZ63862QQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem
Saturday, May 24, 2008
When a child is lost
My heart goes out to Keltoi and his wife on the loss of their wonderful 2-year-old grandson who drowned two weeks ago, and to Christian singer/songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman and his wife on the loss of their 5-year-old daughter who was accidentally run over in their own driveway, by a car driven by their teen son.
I think I may know why they say "survived by" in obituaries.
To me it feels like a terrible travesty when parents and grandparents outlive their children and grandchildren.
Losing a parent is painful enough, but something that can perhaps be looked at philosophically when someone in their 80s or 90s dies. "He lived a full life," perhaps we can say.
In the play (and later movie) Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling (see the IMDB link here http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098384/http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098384/http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098384/) M'Lynn wails that she was always ready to go first. I'm with M'Lynn.
While I was researching an article on Meals on Wheels of Ellis County, I was struck by the differences observed in two elderly women I interviewed. They were about the same age -- late 80s, and I recall.
One woman had 7 children, and she had outlived them all. The other had 10 children, and they were all still living. It's hard to describe (and harder to document as absolute proof) the difference in these two women's attitudes. Asked about their families, one said, "I had seven children and they're all gone." The other said, "I had 10 children and they're all still alive." The one whose children had all predeceased her was actually more fit and mobile, but I would have to say from just that brief meeting that the other one seemed much happier, like she had a purpose as the matriarch of that clan.
Someone on an online forum asked the question "What do you want to do before you die?" Sort of a "Bucket List" http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0825232/. I said I wanted to enjoy grandchildren. Even though I feel my articles, books, work will be a sort of legacy, I hope to live to see my children build their own nests, raise their own fledglings.
When that doesn't happen -- when a child dies, the pain is so acute it's hard to imagine that you could "get over it." It's more likely that the best we can do, at least in the short term, is to survive it.
Long live our children, and our children's children.
I think I may know why they say "survived by" in obituaries.
To me it feels like a terrible travesty when parents and grandparents outlive their children and grandchildren.
Losing a parent is painful enough, but something that can perhaps be looked at philosophically when someone in their 80s or 90s dies. "He lived a full life," perhaps we can say.
In the play (and later movie) Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling (see the IMDB link here http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098384/http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098384/http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098384/) M'Lynn wails that she was always ready to go first. I'm with M'Lynn.
While I was researching an article on Meals on Wheels of Ellis County, I was struck by the differences observed in two elderly women I interviewed. They were about the same age -- late 80s, and I recall.
One woman had 7 children, and she had outlived them all. The other had 10 children, and they were all still living. It's hard to describe (and harder to document as absolute proof) the difference in these two women's attitudes. Asked about their families, one said, "I had seven children and they're all gone." The other said, "I had 10 children and they're all still alive." The one whose children had all predeceased her was actually more fit and mobile, but I would have to say from just that brief meeting that the other one seemed much happier, like she had a purpose as the matriarch of that clan.
Someone on an online forum asked the question "What do you want to do before you die?" Sort of a "Bucket List" http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0825232/. I said I wanted to enjoy grandchildren. Even though I feel my articles, books, work will be a sort of legacy, I hope to live to see my children build their own nests, raise their own fledglings.
When that doesn't happen -- when a child dies, the pain is so acute it's hard to imagine that you could "get over it." It's more likely that the best we can do, at least in the short term, is to survive it.
Long live our children, and our children's children.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Missteps in the American education system?
Okay, so I got a little ticked off when I heard posters on mediabistro.com berating the American education system.
As the wife of an educator and a sometime education writer for Texas School Business and The Dallas Morning News among others, I'd have to say most American schools and educators are doing a great job of educating a very socioeconomically diverse generation. In the U.S., everyone gets an education. Granted it's better in some places -- your tax dollars at work, higher concentrations of literate parents raising kids in print-rich environments, parents whose incomes enable their kids to go to school on a full belly in the morning and in decent clothes. Those are huge advantages, right there.
Someone protested on the same board about school efforts to teach morals. I say they're a sign of the times, perhaps, and maybe a response to some of the terrible news about bullies and kids without scruples. And if parents are falling down on the job or too busy to do it, the schools do need to step in.
Complaints about renewed emphasis on phys ed? Surely, reviving PE curriculum is a response, and not a kneejerk one, to American homes turning out chunky latchkey kids who sit in front of the TV/computer/video game in lieu of family involvement or good babysitter. And afterschool programs that keep kids active and supervised would be a big step in the right direction.
With all this, a protest that in some schools economics is being phased out or made an elective? While I'd definitely say economics is an essential, I'd also like to see SAT/standardized test prep courses essential for kids who are passing, and tutoring courses essential for those who are not.
For people with as much education as they have, teachers are not lavishly paid, as some retorted. And with an increased emphasis on accountability, administrators are under a lot of pressure and their salaries are modest for their doctoral-level educations, compared the huge amounts lavished upon their counterparts in industry.
That said, there are some real dud educators out there, and if school systems weren't so desperate for educators, those bad apples wouldn't find a place at the chalkboard, living proof that good teachers couldn't possibly be overpaid because they're in short supply.
Education aside, it is certainly the parents' role to teach checkbook management, morals, ethics, reproductive essentials, faith, love of reading, early literacy, and to help their child develop their gifts.
I had someone tell me recently that it wasn't normal for parents to do all those things, that is the school's responsibility.
I don't think so.
Here's the thread on mediabistro I'm ranting about: http://mediabistro.com/bbs/cache/t38970_1.asp
As the wife of an educator and a sometime education writer for Texas School Business and The Dallas Morning News among others, I'd have to say most American schools and educators are doing a great job of educating a very socioeconomically diverse generation. In the U.S., everyone gets an education. Granted it's better in some places -- your tax dollars at work, higher concentrations of literate parents raising kids in print-rich environments, parents whose incomes enable their kids to go to school on a full belly in the morning and in decent clothes. Those are huge advantages, right there.
Someone protested on the same board about school efforts to teach morals. I say they're a sign of the times, perhaps, and maybe a response to some of the terrible news about bullies and kids without scruples. And if parents are falling down on the job or too busy to do it, the schools do need to step in.
Complaints about renewed emphasis on phys ed? Surely, reviving PE curriculum is a response, and not a kneejerk one, to American homes turning out chunky latchkey kids who sit in front of the TV/computer/video game in lieu of family involvement or good babysitter. And afterschool programs that keep kids active and supervised would be a big step in the right direction.
With all this, a protest that in some schools economics is being phased out or made an elective? While I'd definitely say economics is an essential, I'd also like to see SAT/standardized test prep courses essential for kids who are passing, and tutoring courses essential for those who are not.
For people with as much education as they have, teachers are not lavishly paid, as some retorted. And with an increased emphasis on accountability, administrators are under a lot of pressure and their salaries are modest for their doctoral-level educations, compared the huge amounts lavished upon their counterparts in industry.
That said, there are some real dud educators out there, and if school systems weren't so desperate for educators, those bad apples wouldn't find a place at the chalkboard, living proof that good teachers couldn't possibly be overpaid because they're in short supply.
Education aside, it is certainly the parents' role to teach checkbook management, morals, ethics, reproductive essentials, faith, love of reading, early literacy, and to help their child develop their gifts.
I had someone tell me recently that it wasn't normal for parents to do all those things, that is the school's responsibility.
I don't think so.
Here's the thread on mediabistro I'm ranting about: http://mediabistro.com/bbs/cache/t38970_1.asp
The Very Mean Big Sister, or How I Learned to Read
I still believe it was sheer bossiness that prompted my sister to play school with me. It was the only thing she’d let me play with her.
Laurel wouldn’t let me in the tree house; instead, she sat up in that massive cedar tree with my cousin Debbie, making up an imaginary language they could make fun of me. "Ishnakishnahaky Jackie," would be followed by gales of laughter. To this day, Laurel asserts that it was a genuine language. I'd say the test of a language is its usefulness, and ridicule isn't enough to recommend it.
She wouldn’t let me be in the Dog Club. I watched with longing from a distance. as she and her school friends pointed to the life-size chart of a dog and learned all its parts. She was that mean, I told my dad tearfully.
Laurel always pointed out in return, without much tact whatsoever, that I was a whiny brat. Okay, so I did give her doll Jane a haircut, exposing the secret place Laurel had written the doll's name in case she got lost. Jane, right there in neat printing, on her forehead. Touche. How was I to know it wouldn’t grow back?
But she let me play school – no, she MADE me play school, sitting me down in a chair and relentlessly learning me my alphabets until I could read. "I'm the teacher, you're the pupil," she ordered.
Secretly, the game pleased me, but I couldn't let her know that, or for sure she'd have suspended me from "school." I was displeased when my mother, for some reason, decided not to send me to kindergarten;I drew a large schoolhouse mural on the yellow wall of my bedroom.
The first two books I ever owned I got at about the same time. I’d had hand-me-downs, of course – my siblings’ vintage Winnie The Pooh books among them.
But my first two books, brought home by my mother from an out of town trip, were Easy Reader’s Barney Beagle and The Cat in the Hat Comes Back. I read them over and over and dreamed of going off to school where there would be many, many more books to read.
When I had clearly mastered that material, my mother moved on to more challenging books. There was Robert Louis Stephenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses, and an odd satirical cartoon book she brought back from Expo 67.
By the time I did get to go to school in grade 1, I was eagerly snapping up every book I could find, and the teacher would have me read to the other children.
Books, I was to learn, were not just my best friends; they were my transit papers to other worlds.
Laurel wouldn’t let me in the tree house; instead, she sat up in that massive cedar tree with my cousin Debbie, making up an imaginary language they could make fun of me. "Ishnakishnahaky Jackie," would be followed by gales of laughter. To this day, Laurel asserts that it was a genuine language. I'd say the test of a language is its usefulness, and ridicule isn't enough to recommend it.
She wouldn’t let me be in the Dog Club. I watched with longing from a distance. as she and her school friends pointed to the life-size chart of a dog and learned all its parts. She was that mean, I told my dad tearfully.
Laurel always pointed out in return, without much tact whatsoever, that I was a whiny brat. Okay, so I did give her doll Jane a haircut, exposing the secret place Laurel had written the doll's name in case she got lost. Jane, right there in neat printing, on her forehead. Touche. How was I to know it wouldn’t grow back?
But she let me play school – no, she MADE me play school, sitting me down in a chair and relentlessly learning me my alphabets until I could read. "I'm the teacher, you're the pupil," she ordered.
Secretly, the game pleased me, but I couldn't let her know that, or for sure she'd have suspended me from "school." I was displeased when my mother, for some reason, decided not to send me to kindergarten;I drew a large schoolhouse mural on the yellow wall of my bedroom.
The first two books I ever owned I got at about the same time. I’d had hand-me-downs, of course – my siblings’ vintage Winnie The Pooh books among them.
But my first two books, brought home by my mother from an out of town trip, were Easy Reader’s Barney Beagle and The Cat in the Hat Comes Back. I read them over and over and dreamed of going off to school where there would be many, many more books to read.
When I had clearly mastered that material, my mother moved on to more challenging books. There was Robert Louis Stephenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses, and an odd satirical cartoon book she brought back from Expo 67.
By the time I did get to go to school in grade 1, I was eagerly snapping up every book I could find, and the teacher would have me read to the other children.
Books, I was to learn, were not just my best friends; they were my transit papers to other worlds.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Tell Your Teen: This Too Shall Pass
On the last day of vacation, we stayed with my sister and her family in Washington state. We'd had a splendid time with family and friends, showing our kids the beauty of Vancouver Island, reintroducing my family to my kids -- and showing off the new baby, Patrick.
Invited by their cousin, the strong silent type, for a ride on a go-cart, Ryan took the challenge. He'd never ridden a go-cart. Didn't know how to start or stop it. But after a vague permission from me as I yakked with my sister, he got on, fired her up, and pretty much took off screaming. Everything he did seemed to make it go faster, and in a matter of moments he had careened into the neighbor's garage at full tilt. He knocked over their motorbike, and sent a stationary loaded boat trailer skidding 4 feet.
But not before the go-cart -- and his femur -- buckled.
As we rode in the ambulance to the hospital in Port Angeles, he moaned, "Why did this have to happen to me?" Tactfully, I refrained from mentioning his decision to get behind the wheel of a vehicle he knew not how to steer or even stop.
By the time he got out of the hospital, he looked like a human Y. He was bound in a horrendous fluourescent green, orange and white striped body cast -- the surgeon joked that it was a tribute to Mexico, since Ryan lived on the border. His broken elbow was healing -- as was the scrape on his cheek that revealed the truth: he might have been totally toast if he hadn't at least had the forethought to wear a helmet.
I made do as best I could. I bought a used gurney from an ambulance service for $50. On that gurney, we went to a tractor pull, a county fair, movies, the library, fishing, a Randy Travis concert.
And we had to get home somehow, which ended up being a handicapped berth on Amtrak, Seattle to Chicago to San Antone. We were late getting into Chicago after the train hit a cow in Montana, which slowed us down. Didn't do much for the cow, either. Ryan's Grandma U.C. and cousin Jen came aboard in Minneapolis and rode with us to Chicago.
It is a beautiful train trip -- but hot tip? don't do it on a gurney, you won't see a thing.
The upshot? Six home-bound months of total dependence. And a heckuva time just getting a South Texas doc to cut a growing boy out of his cast -- all were too worried about lawsuits. After learning to walk again, he walked funny for a year or so, much to his chagrin.
When Ryan asked me, in the ambulance, why this had to happen to him, I told him all I knew: everyone had one worst day, and maybe he was getting his over with now. Like Annie sang: The sun will come out tomorrow, so you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may. This too shall pass.
I will tell you this much: for all that kid went through growing up, to see his success and happiness today, I can truly say it couldn't happen to a nicer kid.
Some 15 years later, he's in the catbird seat. Cushy job, masters degree from an Ivy League school, cool car, wonderful fiancee.
More important, I know the empathy and the character his trials gave him -- how he is a great alpha dog in the family pack, a wonderful big brother, and how he will be a better husband and father for all he has been through.
What Ryan couldn't imagine in adolescence -- recovering from pain and disaster -- because of his limited experience, I had to envision for him.
And when anyone asks what one message today's youth need to hear, tell them: everyone has one worst day, or worst year, and maybe you're getting yours over with now.
Disappointed in love? Boyfriends/girlfriends are like buses, another one will be along soon.
and like Annie sang: The sun will come out tomorrow, so you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may. This too shall pass.
Invited by their cousin, the strong silent type, for a ride on a go-cart, Ryan took the challenge. He'd never ridden a go-cart. Didn't know how to start or stop it. But after a vague permission from me as I yakked with my sister, he got on, fired her up, and pretty much took off screaming. Everything he did seemed to make it go faster, and in a matter of moments he had careened into the neighbor's garage at full tilt. He knocked over their motorbike, and sent a stationary loaded boat trailer skidding 4 feet.
But not before the go-cart -- and his femur -- buckled.
As we rode in the ambulance to the hospital in Port Angeles, he moaned, "Why did this have to happen to me?" Tactfully, I refrained from mentioning his decision to get behind the wheel of a vehicle he knew not how to steer or even stop.
By the time he got out of the hospital, he looked like a human Y. He was bound in a horrendous fluourescent green, orange and white striped body cast -- the surgeon joked that it was a tribute to Mexico, since Ryan lived on the border. His broken elbow was healing -- as was the scrape on his cheek that revealed the truth: he might have been totally toast if he hadn't at least had the forethought to wear a helmet.
I made do as best I could. I bought a used gurney from an ambulance service for $50. On that gurney, we went to a tractor pull, a county fair, movies, the library, fishing, a Randy Travis concert.
And we had to get home somehow, which ended up being a handicapped berth on Amtrak, Seattle to Chicago to San Antone. We were late getting into Chicago after the train hit a cow in Montana, which slowed us down. Didn't do much for the cow, either. Ryan's Grandma U.C. and cousin Jen came aboard in Minneapolis and rode with us to Chicago.
It is a beautiful train trip -- but hot tip? don't do it on a gurney, you won't see a thing.
The upshot? Six home-bound months of total dependence. And a heckuva time just getting a South Texas doc to cut a growing boy out of his cast -- all were too worried about lawsuits. After learning to walk again, he walked funny for a year or so, much to his chagrin.
When Ryan asked me, in the ambulance, why this had to happen to him, I told him all I knew: everyone had one worst day, and maybe he was getting his over with now. Like Annie sang: The sun will come out tomorrow, so you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may. This too shall pass.
I will tell you this much: for all that kid went through growing up, to see his success and happiness today, I can truly say it couldn't happen to a nicer kid.
Some 15 years later, he's in the catbird seat. Cushy job, masters degree from an Ivy League school, cool car, wonderful fiancee.
More important, I know the empathy and the character his trials gave him -- how he is a great alpha dog in the family pack, a wonderful big brother, and how he will be a better husband and father for all he has been through.
What Ryan couldn't imagine in adolescence -- recovering from pain and disaster -- because of his limited experience, I had to envision for him.
And when anyone asks what one message today's youth need to hear, tell them: everyone has one worst day, or worst year, and maybe you're getting yours over with now.
Disappointed in love? Boyfriends/girlfriends are like buses, another one will be along soon.
and like Annie sang: The sun will come out tomorrow, so you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may. This too shall pass.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The oldest Big Sister in the world
How old is too old to do some good?
Well, there's a nine-decade gap between Iva Broadus and DeAngela Williams. Other than making Ms. Broadus – who will turn 99 in two weeks – the oldest Big Sister in the nation, according to the organization's records, that little fact doesn't seem to matter much.
At Cockrell Hill Elementary School in DeSoto, 10-year-old DeAngela enjoys social studies and science. But the highlight of her week is the school bus ride to Grace Presbyterian Village, where she visits her Big Sister.
In the gentle give-and-take over cards or lunch, there are other kinds of teaching and learning between Ms. Broadus and DeAngela. Social protocols, manners that are best passed from older to younger – the same things Ms. Broadus learned, in turn, as a little girl from her Aunt Edna.
"People are going to like people who like them," Ms. Broadus told her young charge in a recent discussion. "That's why I'm here, to tell you little things you don't know."
Read more in the Dallas Morning News story that also ran in the Denton Record Chronicle: http://www.dentonrc.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/011308dnmetbigsister.23183b6.html
Well, there's a nine-decade gap between Iva Broadus and DeAngela Williams. Other than making Ms. Broadus – who will turn 99 in two weeks – the oldest Big Sister in the nation, according to the organization's records, that little fact doesn't seem to matter much.
At Cockrell Hill Elementary School in DeSoto, 10-year-old DeAngela enjoys social studies and science. But the highlight of her week is the school bus ride to Grace Presbyterian Village, where she visits her Big Sister.
In the gentle give-and-take over cards or lunch, there are other kinds of teaching and learning between Ms. Broadus and DeAngela. Social protocols, manners that are best passed from older to younger – the same things Ms. Broadus learned, in turn, as a little girl from her Aunt Edna.
"People are going to like people who like them," Ms. Broadus told her young charge in a recent discussion. "That's why I'm here, to tell you little things you don't know."
Read more in the Dallas Morning News story that also ran in the Denton Record Chronicle: http://www.dentonrc.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/011308dnmetbigsister.23183b6.html
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