The New Addition

A terrified little dog, Princess.

Shortly after moving Jack's mother into an assisted living home, we became the adoptive parents of her little dog, Princess.  But a Princess she was not for us, so began the weeks of renaming.  Dancer was the first tag we gave her, because when Jack asked her to do anything she danced at his feet, for me she hid under the desk.  I secretly named her Heidi!

She was not totally socialized, so she spent many hours under Jack's desk.  In Alleen's home she hid under the bed at night or when company arrived, especially bouncy great-grands.  When I attempted to take her out with Lucy, she hunkered down and made herself a cinder-block.  Hence, I named her Cinder-block or Hunka Munka, neither of which did Jack appreciate.  

Haystack. 

On her behalf and Lucy's, they have managed to get along. Little dog knows to follow, not lead. Little dog also knows to go to Jack when there are problems, just like the kids did?  Hum, is there a pattern here?  The days turned into weeks, and we began to feel ashamed that our little dog had no name.   Then one day after a romp and roll in the dried Oklahoma bermuda, we burst into laughter. There she was, a smiling Haystack.  We stuck with Haystack for several days until we both decided that it was hard to call "Here Haystack."  It had no rhyme or rhythm to it.  


This little dog is also about two sizes larger than good health would dictate, so we've had her on a walking diet.  We only feed her two small meals a day, which she has to eat quickly before Lucy comes in to finish off her meal.  We do our best to walk the dogs daily in the field on North Base, however, the ride over for little dog is stressful, and she screams, cries, and whines every minute of the drive.  I growl,  Lucy paces back and forth, all to no avail.   Hence, we changed her name to Whiny.

Heads or Tails?

Then one day when the sun brought us summer temperatures, she followed me out the door when I called her; she began to run through the yard like she owned it; she took off in the fields with glee and played around Lucy. We both watched her run and simultaneously we said, "Scooter."   She's a Scooter when she runs. We erupted in enough laughter that Lucy ran to our sides, jumping and asking if we needed help and Scooter barked. At last our new addition has a name, a home, and now sleeps on the rug by our bedroom door, not under the desk.   

Scooter

Our children certainly kept us active for decades, and now we consider ourselves lucky to have pets that keep us laughing and exercising.  Our next adventure will be to teach Scooter how to walk with a lease and not cry, and whine in the car.  Any suggestions?  

Loosey Goosey

How would I have ever become a writer without my faithful dog,

Lucy, creating havoc wherever we walk. In the nearly four years she has lived with us her nicknames have changed regularly. For the most part we call her Loosey Goosey just because she plows headlong into bushes, deep grasses, furniture, beds, chairs with people sitting in them, and then bangs her head on tables as she attempts to sniff for food. 

In the beginning she was a frail pitiful lost soul of a dog. Sadly, my youngest cousin, Gary, had died quite unexpectedly and my sister and I drove to Altus, OK for his funeral. During the funeral services family and friends had an opportunity to share a memory or story about him. Gary worked in the plant department at Wal-mart where he was deeply and sincerely loved by his co-workers. The store manager spoke in near tears as he recalled my cousin. The manager, standing near the back of the funeral home, with his eyes glancing at us and then upwards as if searching for a bird spoke, "Whenever I was having a rough day, I could always go out and talk to Gary. His genuine smile greeted me. As I began to lament my problems, he'd listen then cheer me up by asking me to listen to the birds chirping. I'd just stand and listen and before long my frustrations floated away. Gary loved working outside with nature and his birds that came to rest in the garden area...We will all miss Gary and his smile." With those words the pews of friends and family were wiping tears from their eyes. 

As our family gathered later for a meal we began telling our own

Snow Fall 

Gary stories. In the end the one serious note was left. He had owned four dogs, three of which would go to rescue homes because of their breed and personality, but one lonely scared dog would be put down unless one of us could find a home. It seems as though this dog was terrified of people and no one would take her. My cousin Patty had already picked the dog up from the shelter but had no place for her. Our dog, Woofer, had died that fall and our home seemed empty. I had taken one of Gary's dogs years ago, little Poco, who lived only a few short years with us, but they were good years. So here I was saying, "Let me just see her. Surely no dog can be that sad and scared."

With a slight lease on her neck we attempted to get her to walk to my car, but she shook so badly we carried her! And so began the drive back OKC with my sister and an unnamed terrified dog. By Lawton, we thought to call her Birdie after the story about Gary. I stayed in OKC for several days with family and during that time I changed her name back and forth between Birdie and Trembles. Her tail began to wag ever so slightly on the day I drove home to Kansas. From the rear view mirror I thought I saw her grin when I told her we were going home. At home she cowered and hide from my husband, but she was my constant "Shadow" another nickname. Little by little she began to seek us out. She just acted so strangely we started calling her "Goosey" then just like that it was "Lucy." To honor Gary I wanted to keep the "Birdie" but it just didn't rhyme. Finally, I remember how much I admired Lady Bird Johnson and her daughters Linda, and Lucy. By the end of May our "Lucy Bird" was official.

That summer when we'd go for walks Lucy didn't know she was a dog. In one attempt to chase a squirrel she literally leaped and crawled up a tree, sliding back down, she took a flying leap into the ditch. We were stunned, sorry we didn't have a video of it, but also laughing out loud at our "Flying Goose." After several attempts at climbing after squirrels and cats she decided that whatever she was it might be best to stay on the ground. She hadn't, yet, learned to bark.

On a warm fall day, I was outside under a shade tree reading The Loved Dog by Tamar Geller when our neighbor stepped outside to work in the yard. Apparently, Lucy decided he was too close to me. Barking erupted from her belly like a volcano spewing ashes scaring her almost as much as it scared me. She looked at me for moment asking what had happened, then she turned back to Roger, our neighbor, and barked some more. So Lucy, the cowdog, blue healer-mix, was born. Jack and I became her only two cows. We've trained her to carry a "chew" in her mouth when she gets excited, so she doesn't accidentally nip us. She must think she has a tremendous burden in keeping her cows corralled. One of us leaves, another leaves, one returns, another returns, or sometimes we both leave. When we leave she is the drama queen, lowering her head nearly to the floor, crossing her legs in front like a broken ballerina. Oh, how far our dancing, barking, flying "Lucy Goosey Bird" has come since those shaky trembly beginnings.