DOG SMILES

Have you ever seen a dog smile? All you have to do is look into the eyes and there is a certain something that says, “I am as happy as can be and I am showing it the best way I know how!” Well, that’s one way, but there is very definitely another!
A friend once gave me a little hanging plaque on which it is stated, “Dogs smile with their tails.” It made me smile. That was before we got Missy. In order to tell you about Missy I need to go back to the beginning and start with a little bit of Tanner’s Tale though.
Tanner was the dog of my heart. He came to me after a thorough search of much of West Texas and parts of the US that I would have traveled through…well, let’s just say, through thick and thin, to find the just-right Yorkshire Terrier puppy. He came to me after the horrific deed of having had to put down our almost 17-year-old faithful pal, my Little Doggie Tray, a dream-come-true from childhood doggie, also a Yorkie. Tanner was such a delight to watch as he saw everything from the perspective of a baby. When we’d go for a walk, he was skittish over an empty, noisy, plastic bottle, blowing in the street. It was new and different. By the same account, a leaf was something to peruse carefully, from every possible angle. I saw the world through new eyes as I walked with my boy, but everything came to a squealing halt one day when a cat entered our back yard, and Tanner did his duty of chasing it full speed ahead to make it leave. As he made a sudden turn, he also made a terrible sound that ended with a lame little doggie. He was two years old, too young to turn up lame from a mere fast run in his own back yard. A myriad of tests later we learned he had coccidiomycosis (a.k.a. Valley Fever), a fungal infection that entered his system through his breathing fresh dug dirt. A lot of construction was going on in our area, but Valley Fever was in Arizona, not this part of Texas! Wrong! We gave him medication and for a while he improved miraculously, but because the medication could damage his liver, we opted to cut the excessively strong dosage. That was the wrong thing to do. Tanner lost his courageous battle five years ago tomorrow after he and I spent the night in my recliner, knowing it was our last night together.

…but this is supposed to be about dog smiles…

Tanner was a handsome lad of twelve pounds when in good health. I wasn’t trying to replace him, but my arms wanted another Yorkie to hold, so I started searching the rescue sites, narrowing in on Yorkie and Small Dog Rescue (a.k.a. YSDR) in Houston, Texas. Almost immediately I saw a photo on their site that could have been a litter mate of Tanner’s, except she had a very curly tail like that of an American Eskimo dog! Not only did she look like Tanner but she was in Houston, which meant it was feasible that we could travel to pick her up if we could adopt her. We made application, were approved, and before we went to get her, my husband, John, said, “If we get her, I’m naming her Missy!” If he was agreeing I could have my heart’s desire I wasn’t going to argue about the name! We drove the six-hours-one-way trip to Houston and spent the first night in a motel with Missy. Having spent a few nights in motels with her since, we realize she thinks motel living should be for her. She likes the pampered life! Ha! But Missy came home with us and we got down to the routine of day-to-day living. We took her to our vet for a well-dog check-up and as he examined her, he started at her head, worked his way down to her feet, stopped at her left hind foot, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Did you see this?” I hadn’t, so said, “What?” She had basically the same missing toe structure back there that Tanner had had! Was Missy meant to be my girl or not?
Missy has settled in very well and now three years later, we cannot imagine what our life would be without her. Whenever she sees us putting our shoes on, she heads for her exercise pen, knowing she stays in there while we are out of the house. It amazes us how she reads our activities and almost reads our minds.

…but…about those smiles…

Often in the mornings while we are getting dressed for the day, Missy hops up on our high king-sized bed. She is no little Yorkie. It was long ago decided she is likely part Silky/part Yorkie so she is a good-sized, long-legged, strong girl of fourteen pounds. Once she is on the bed, she rolls around on the loose blankets and sheets. If they aren’t loose already, they will be by the time she finishes with them. She hides her face under the covers and we play, “Where’s Missy?” until she decides it’s time to poke her face out from under. That’s when she laughs at me trying to find her! Of course there is usually most of her body sticking out elsewhere while she’s playing her game, but on occasion she manages to hide her whole self under there. Then, when she emerges with a few bull-style, particularly unladylike snorts, she laughs at me some more, all the while showing me that dogs do, indeed, laugh with their tails! She plops down flat on her tummy, front legs ahead and her back legs stretched straight out behind. She stares straight at me. Her eyes contain a certain glow, but she holds her very curly tail at a high angle while slowly waving it back and forth, back and forth, over her now still back, all the while wearing a great big grin that says, “I am laughing! I am laughing! Can you hear me now?”

Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 8-22-2010

CONFLICT

JEEP. My name is Jeep. I got that name because I could go anywhere, just like the original advertisement for the vehicle said. At least that’s what they told me about how I got such an unusual name.

Somewhere in my wanderings I met Miss Tippy Toes. Let’s just say her name fit her real well, too, because she was so slight built she had to stand on the tips of those pretty little toes just to kiss the tip of my not so pretty nose. After a while, even though my nose showed the effects of a few fights from before I’d met her, Miss Tippy Toes and I tied the knot.

Looking back, I remember one early morning occasion when Miss Tippy Toes was home taking care of our newborn quintuplets. Yes, you read that right – five beautiful babies. Thankfully most looked more like their mother than me. By that time the honeymoon period had long passed by and Miss Tippy Toes and I’d each faced the realities of everyday real life necessities. She’d complain, “I don’t see why you have to work so much, and especially all night! 11-7 is a terrible shift! Can’t you find a job with better hours?”

I’d explain, “It’s the only time I can do the kind of work I know how to do. I want to be a good provider for you and the little ones. I’ve worked long and hard to perfect my skills and I am good in this field.”

On that particular memorable morning, as I returned, I laid my night’s work at the feet of Miss Tippy Toes. She speedily snatched the warm body of the recently deceased mouse between her teeth while simultaneously hissing, and swatting me on the nose with one of her pretty little white-tipped paws, just prior to heading back to where our kittens lay sleeping.

“Ungrateful wretch!” I heard the woman of the house exclaim with a slight chuckle. At the same time I realized she was calling my name while opening the bag of special kitty treats she shared with us on occasion.

“Jeep, you good kitty, come here!” never sounded more welcoming!

Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 8-14-2010

I GUESS THIS IS SPECIAL

Why does the issue of one’s health have to be so complicated that you are forced seek the advice of a specialist for every medical situation? It is becoming such that you require a specialist to determine which specialist you must see!
I recently had reason to discuss health concerns with the only nurse in the office of one of my many doctors. I was already frustrated by the fact that with so many physicians, I wasn’t sure which one to choose to seek answers and her less than compassionate repetitive responses of, “That would be guessing,” following her own several “suggestions” left me ready to seek another specialist. I am not suggesting I would be looking for one to deal with the issues of my mind although if this keeps up, that may become necessary, because “they” are driving me to distraction!
Following this “That would be guessing” episode, my circumstances have worsened, the issue I called about has shown no improvement, the added tension is no help, sleep is interrupted as I think of having to keep the already-scheduled appointment and face this less-than compassionate nurse and how I will deal with her. Likely she will have forgotten all about me but my short-term memory has not yet expired! Because I am God’s child, I definitely plan to make a considerable effort to bite my tongue but oh, think of the consequences of that! I’ll have to find yet another new doctor…a specialist, no doubt!
© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 7-24-2010

A WOMAN’S PEROGATIVE

People who know me, really know me, know I don’t like change… BUT…thinking it over, I’m changing my mind!
For me, change has generally carried with it a connection to something unpleasant. I am not sure when it started but I suppose twenty-some moves in less than thirty years had something to do with it. The older I have grown the more my desire seems to be to stay-the-course, don’t rock the boat, and whatever else you may think you have planned for me, don’t even think of forcing me to leave the harbor until God Himself plans that final heavenly cruise!
However, more recently I have discovered winds of change blowing through my thinking. Often these days happy memories come to me of how Vietnam refugees would smile and say, “Same! Same!” when they understood a concept but I wear no happy smile when I think, “Same! Same!” as I perform some repetitive task. Pervasive thoughts include, “This is the same old routine day in and day out! Where is the challenge in this? How am I going to keep my brain alive doing this same old thing all the time?” As quickly as these same old thoughts invade, others pile in reminding me I should heed the admonition to be thankful I am able to do these tasks knowing at any moment things could…uh-oh, there’s that dreaded word again! … change.
Now I must re-think things: all along I have known that change is not all one way or the other: there is a matter of perception or circumstance here…some change is good, some not so good. Even in all the moving around I mentioned earlier I found both good and bad. Though searching for a new place to live, a different store in which to shop for groceries, and worship with a new church family in each new city was unsettling, it presented something of value at the same time. While new grocery store chains presented challenges for finding familiar items, we found fresh taste treats to try. Somehow our old furnishings took on a new shine in different settings. Maybe that was because they’d just been dusted prior to the move or perhaps freshly painted walls behind faded upholstery set it off in a better light! And going from one congregation of the church to a different one was like finding a part of the family we knew about but had not previously met, thus providing an opportunity to develop new, lifelong fellowships that even a future move never takes away.
Okay, with all of my wishy-washy talk of change, are you seasick yet? I think I’ll just sit here and row-row-row my boat a while and then as my grandfather used to say about the mailboat in his charge, ‘Sometimes we just let the current take ‘er!”
© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 6-19-2010

THE SHARING OF THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP

A couple of mornings back I was given a gift sample packet of raw wool. This morning as I stood holding it in my hands in our home in West Texas I was transported back to Northern Maine to Crafts Elan, a shop where I worked for several years ordering, stocking, counting, rearranging, and pricing many varieties of yarns, among which there was some called raw wool that had a similar look to what I was now holding in my hand.

As I stood there, fingers smoothing the sample amount over the palm of my hand, reminiscing with wonder about how yarn is made from what was so recently on the backs of these marvelous sheep, admiring the beauty in the natural color combinations, I spoke to my husband, “I wonder if I could make a sweater out of this.” My reverie was promptly broken when he said, “You don’t have enough!”
Laughter emerged inside and out as I had to agree and the musing for the moment was broken, but it was enough for the brief period of time to have revisited places held dear in memory and then to return to the present, all thanks to the sharing of the shearing of the sheep.
© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 6-1-2010

DAYDREAMS

Red-orange and bright the proud flowers bloom above ground calling my camera and me,
But more than just for today I’m called all the way back to a place in a far memory;
Back when I lived by a beautiful brook where the water flowed by crystal clear
On its path to the sea with a musical song each child should be privileged to hear.
A close look within showed a tadpole or two, tiny tails in developing stages;
A swift scoop of the hand and some were saved to observe; an interest…no matter the ages.
Mamma stood on our porch far away from the brook, calling our ducks who’d gone out of sight,
She feared the foxes in woods and the dangers inherent with the coming on of the night.
Her oft-heard call, “Quacker, where are you?”…the answer immediate, came back…
The ducks were downstream but from far, far away, the response, a loud, “Quack! Quack! Quack!”
As with the ducks, I was called in for the night, away from my wandering ways;
I, too, like the ducks, enjoyed freedoms galore in those long ago childhood days.
Intermittent reminders come to renew the thoughts and memories to me from the past
Re-creating the land of my youth once again helping long ago visions to last.
I see the green of the fields where our daylilies grew alongside the banks adding pleasure;
Although only in memory I go back today, I am thankful for each childhood treasure.
© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 5-11-10

TURN AROUND AND YOU’RE GROWN

On my desk is a beautiful black, red, and silver 2010 high school graduation invitation, not so unusual at this time of year, but this one is very special. There is a silver tiger embossed against the black background along with decorative red writing and a shield in which there are four emblems that hold meaning to the graduates, but none of that is why it is so special to my husband and me. This invitation represents the culmination of years of study of our grandson, John E. Moore III.
When his dad, John E. Moore II was born, we nicknamed him “Chip” assuming he would be a “chip off the old block.” Little did we know how prophetic that would be! When John E. Moore III joined the family, my husband John declared, “My dynasty!” The new addition’s parents said, “We will call him, “Chi.” For those with difficulty working the pronunciation and seeing it only in written form, his nickname rhymes with “eye” but is part of the name of a sorority to which his mom belonged in college as well as the first three letters of his dad’s nickname. His parents were thinkers and his nickname has served him well.
This morning as I added Chi’s wallet-sized graduation pictures to a bulletin board above my computer, my thoughts wandered back as grandmother’s thoughts are allowed to do. As I recalled an opportunity I had to spend a few days babysitting Chi and his older sister when he was in kindergarten, I found it a little difficult to think how fast the years between my making cheese roll-ups for him before he went to afternoon classes that year and now, his senior year have passed. I suppose it doesn't seem all that speedy to him, but to me it seems almost as fast as the length of time writing that sentence took!
As I thought of all that has occurred in what seems so short a period of time, a slideshow of childhood pictures flashed through my memory, and I was thankful I was able to take the opportunity to tell him we are proud of him...the child he was and the young man he has become. And just as the thoughts of how he has grown, so too tumble in worlds of wonder of just who it is that waits inside to continue to grow, as he becomes an older version of John E. Moore III, a.k.a. Chi.
Go with God.
Love, Grandma
© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 5-7-2010