Where Dollar Bills Come From

Tate has very little understanding about time. He picks random times out of the air when he wants to give us a time frame. He might say, “At 11:00 I want to go get ice cream” yet he has no idea when 11:00 is. He might tell us that he has been in his room for ten hours when it was only thirty minutes or that he was at school for seventeen hours. Some mornings when I drop him off he will tell me, “You’ll be back in 23 minutes.”

Money and the value of a dollar has been very hard for him to grasp as well. He does not understand that the price tag on a DVD and a cart full of groceries would not be the same. In order to teach him something about money, Tate’s wonderful behavior consultant thought it might help if he had a chore and the ability to earn some money, along with shopping trips so he can buy some of the things he wants using the money He EARNED. It is actually going very well. I decided that unloading the dishwasher would be a good chore for Tate because he has excellent matching skills and he would just have to match each dish or utensil to its correct cabinet or drawer. It took a while but he has become an expert dishwasher un-loader. If I remember correctly he has only broken a couple of glasses so far. Tate gets one dollar every time he does his chore and he is usually able to earn one dollar a day. Occasionally if he asks for a break and wants to forfeit his dollar, I agree and unload the dishwasher myself. Tate has been keeping track of how many times he has unloaded the dishwasher and I believe it is a fairly accurate count. He almost always gives at least a little bit of a protest about the "hard" work. I usually call, “Tate, the dishwasher is ready for you to unload.” He will say, “But mom! I have done it 67 times now!” Then I will say, “That is a lot of times but it has to be done everyday.” He will end with something like, “This will be 68. Maybe this will be the last time. I will really miss it.” (I think he is really catching on to the sarcasm thing I blogged about a while back. Blog post: What brought you here?)

Tate keeps his money in a “safe” with a plastic combination lock. He is learning to count it. He still needs a lot of help with the coins but the paper money he is managing fairly well. So far the timing has been working out for us. Usually a DVD Tate wants will come out about the time he has around $20.00 saved. A couple of times when I saw he was going to be a couple of dollars short we’ve come up with another job or two he could do. Picking up sticks in the yard before we mow is something he HATES to do and can think of so many excuses when I suggest it. It can be 3:00 in the afternoon without a cloud in the sky and he will tell me it is about to rain or that it is too close to bedtime. The kid with almost no imagination can get pretty creative if he is trying to avoid manual labor. Two or three times we’ve even picked up sticks next door in Grandma and Grandpa’s yard for $1.00. Several times lately as we were getting in the car to go somewhere Tate has said, “If this is a trick to get me to pick up sticks in Grandpa’s yard, count me out!” That really cracks us up. He thinks we are all slave drivers.

A couple of days ago when I handed Tate his daily dollar he paused and asked, “Where do you get these dollars anyway?” Because Tate does not often ask the whys, or the where or how questions, I was thrown for a second. I had to think fast but talk slowly or I'd lose his attention. I reminded him about the kind of work his dad does and explained that people pay his dad for doing the work (Well, most of them do…. But that is another blog post for another day. HA) Tate did not walk away before I was done talking as he sometimes does. He listened. I had to keep the explanation short. I wanted to get more detailed and explain banks and checks and deposits but I knew better. It is a fine line I walk when teaching Tate. He asked a question and cared enough about the answer to stay and listen. I think he even understood. I have to celebrate the small things. Small things are really big things in our world.

In Search of The Perfect Dog

This is the third installment in a series about the loss of our dog and our search for a new one. 

Our dog Pepper was killed a few weeks ago and word has gotten out that she is gone. The wildlife have been peering in our windows at night, taunting us. If you have not yet read the story of the evening we lost Pepper, here is the link: Saying Goodbye to Pepper. In our search for another dog we’ve had some real adventures. I’ve talked to a lot of folks, visited a lot of websites, driven a lot of miles, sent a lot of emails and texts, and learned a lot about dogs and people. Many of the shelters and animal rescue organizations have adoption fees that are as high or higher than the puppy breeders they seem to have such a low opinion of. The people who work at the shelters where I have made inquiries have been intimidating. They have interviewed me, almost suspiciously, like I am there to steal a dog and mistreat it, instead of rescue it and give it a home. The whole experience has been nothing like I thought it would be. These dogs need homes but the screening process to get one is ridiculous. Keep in mind I have been through the international adoption process for a HUMAN baby.

Last Saturday, shortly after returning the two dogs that murdered our cat, caused our rabbit a nervous breakdown, and got sprayed by a skunk, I visited a shelter in Kansas City. The reason that I went to this particular shelter was because they were advertising a no fee day. I saw the ad on Craig’s List and heard it advertised on the radio as well. They claimed they had over a hundred dogs to choose from. Upon arrival, I explained that I was there because I had seen their ad for the free adoptions. The employee I was with had not heard of this “no fee day.” She said they took donations and I would be expected to give a donation. She explained that their suggested donation was $350 but they never expected less than $100. I nicely asked her to make sure that the ad got taken off Craig’s List and I moved to leave. She asked me to wait while she went to talk to the manager. She came back and said that if I did not want to leave a donation then I would still be able to adopt. So…. I was “interviewed.” I told her we wanted a mid to large sized dog, NOT a puppy, good with kids and cats. The first two dogs she showed me were one-year-old pups with way too much energy. The third dog was a shepherd-mix that I really liked. He was eight-years-old and so calm. Calm is right up my ally. I had just spent two nights with those two hyper dogs I had “borrowed.” (link to "Stinkin' Dogs and A Traumatized Rabbit") The third dog was the kind of dog who would lie on the porch all day. Did I mention he was calm? I was pretty sure this dog was the one I wanted but the family at home had been watching on Facetime. They were not so sure. I was open to look a little longer. After all, the shelter advertised that they had at least 100 dogs up for adoption. The girl left the room and came back saying I had seen them all. All three. They had three dogs that met my criteria. Three. I asked her to check again. She brought in a two year old female Golden Retriever mix. The family on the phone said THIS dog was the one. You know what I saw? I saw Trooper, the Yellow Lab that I described to you in a previous post, the dog that shredded the kids’ trampoline and anything else he was able to sink his teeth into, the dog that made my life miserable for over two years. I let those kids and my husband talk me into saying, “yes” to that Golden Retriever. So… Did I bring home a dog? No. Let me explain…

AFTER I looked at those 100, I mean four dogs, and picked out the dog we wanted, I had to fill out a lengthy application that would need to be approved. I was honest. We wanted an outside dog. This caused the girl who was helping us to raise her eyebrows. Apparently, people who do not allow their dogs into their living rooms are not worthy of owning a pet. We could not adopt a pet from this shelter unless we were going to have it inside our house as “part of our family.” What I wanted to scream as I left? “IT’S A DOG!!!!  GIVE ME A BREAK!!!!” What I quietly said instead? “Thanks for your time.”

Back to square one I went. I saw an ad from a very large shelter in Kansas City, Missouri that claimed they had 900 dogs. The ad said they had “farm dogs” and had no requirements about inside/outside pets. Adoptions were only $25 for the time being due to their over crowding. They claimed all pets were already spayed or neutered and if they were in need of any vet care in the first 30 days it was covered. THIS sounded like the perfect place to find a new dog! So… two of my girls and I made the trip over to see these 900 dogs. I am starting to wonder if these people can count. They had eighty or ninety dogs in pens, almost all of them were Pitbulls. Some had been there for months, even years. Some were lying in their own urine and feces. The place reeked and as I wandered through the aisles I marveled at the cruelty that was being called “humane treatment” here. Sure all these dogs were spared at this no-kill shelter, but is it really better to keep all these Pitbulls and Pitbull mixes for long periods of time in these small cages? I believe the humane thing to do would be to put them down. THAT, however, is NOT the politically correct way of thinking in this day and age. Unborn humans are aborted and it is a mother’s “right” while our society protests loudly at the idea of euthanizing an animal.

This particular organization had two other locations and we were told there were some great dogs there suitable for farm life. At the second location all of the dogs had kennel cough. They sounded horrible. We really liked three of the dogs at the second location and expressed interest in bringing one, or even two, home. Our favorite was a very calm Australian Cattle Dog. He was so calm he was almost lethargic and I questioned them about his demeanor and his health. I even joked that he seemed “depressed.” I do not know much about dogs but I knew something was not right. They claimed he was just new to them and scared. He did not appear scared to me, but ill. We asked for permission to adopt more than one dog. We were denied the other two dogs we liked because, despite the claim that they had no “indoor” requirements, they did not like the idea of these two dogs being outside animals. They claimed their hair was too long for the heat. They had both been strays and both were old. One was a Lab and one was a shepherd mix and neither had very long hair. I wanted to say, “You have got to be kidding me! My grandparents had many longhaired dogs when I was growing up and no air conditioning for them OR their dogs. None of them died of heatstroke!” What I quietly said instead? “OK. You know more about dogs than I do.”

As I was signing the final paper on the shorthaired cattle dog they WOULD allow us to have, it was revealed to me that the dog had a bad case of heartworms and I would have to return to Kansas City, Missouri for the free treatments. I had asked them more than once if there was something wrong with that dog and they said there was not. We left without a dog. Again.

We did not give up though! We drove to the third location. These folks were from the same organization as the other two locations but seemed much more motivated to send us home with a dog. There were only eight dogs to choose from but we found one that the girls and I really liked. They cat tested him for us and he seemed a little “iffy” but it looked do-able. I filled out form after form and we walked out of there with our new friend. I had dog-shopped for seven and a half hours. We got home and played out in the yard for the rest of the evening. We carefully introduced the dog to our kittens. It looked like he was going to be fine…. And then SNAP. Shawn had to dig another hole and Sydney cried another bucketful of tears. The next morning, it was back to the shelter for our new friend and I was out a $25 adoption fee and one more nights sleep. At least there was no incident with a skunk at 2:00 AM. Returning the dog to the shelter was very humbling and I hated to do it. I thought he was a perfect fit before he killed the cat. My oldest son has teased that I should stop consider any animals from very far away because I always have to make the trip twice, once to pick the dog up and once to return it. Sad, but true

After I returned that dog I went to yet another shelter. Compared to the other places I’d been this shelter was like a doggie spa and the prices reflected it. I left there with empty arms, discouraged, and determined that I was finished with shelters. From there I visited a veterinary office where I had been told there was a free five-year-old English Setter. She was beautiful but was said to have the tendency to wander and I sure do not want a dog that I have to keep on a chain. THAT is what I consider inhumane. I have spent the last three days making phone inquiries, answering ads, and even considering some puppies in need of a new home. Puppies? I must be getting desperate! There are quite a few people seeking homes for their dogs right now. I was offered a black Lab with high energy through a Facebook message. I talked to a woman about a large Boxer mix that is used to being inside most of his day. I got excited about a lead on an Australian Shepherd but he hates cats. I talked to another lady through Facebook who has three dogs she’d like to stay together but three is probably one too many. I made arrangements to meet a woman in Kansas City with a mixed breed dog and she stood me up. I was offered an Australian Shepherd who has a bad case of heartworms and has a history of running away. I was offered an elderly dog with arthritis, a one-year-old hound that is covered in ticks and afraid of people, a three-legged dog, and a dog that has to be rehomed because he barks all night and day and his neighbors are complaining. I suppose if you think about it people do not try to find a new home for many “perfect” dogs like our dogs Red or Pepper so I will have to be patient I suppose. It is hard to be patient and I have been thinking that maybe I should give up, put a collar on one of the raccoons that like to dump over my trashcan and name him Rex. This whole dog hunt has been frustrating but I am determined to keep my sense of humor. I have walked away from animal shelters shaking my head because I was approved to adopt a child but I cannot be approved for a dog at many of these places. I guess the difference is that I did not say my daughter would be an “outside” child. HA. I never knew how “mistreated” out past dogs have been because they slept outside. And our dogs certainly had no clue. The last two were miserable when we insisted they come inside the heated garage in extreme cold weather or snowstorms. Pepper shredded the sheet rock around two of our garage doors trying to get back out when we brought her in. Tomorrow I hear back from a family who has puppies that are Australian Shepherd mixes and the next day another family is bringing their Doberman over for us to meet. Someday, eventually, I will post a picture below I hope!

Sydney and Murphy
July, 2014

And here it is.... Our puppy Murphy. She is an Australian Shepherd mix, only eight weeks old and even I am head over heals in love with her. After having her one night Sydney asked me, "Are you gonna take her back?"  Poor Sydney. She thinks we only have dogs here for one or two nights now and they have to be returned. I told her that this one is here to stay. 

Stinkin' Dogs and A Traumatized Rabbit

I’ve said it before. I am so glad we live out in the country. It has its benefits. It does have some drawbacks occasionally too though. The last ten days have been somewhat wild for us. And the word is used literally out here in the country. We’ve been without our Pepper for ten days now and the raccoons, possums, and skunks are becoming braver and braver. Soon they’ll be pulling up chairs when we sit down to dinner. When you live out in the “wild” without a dog, all kinds of critters wander into your yard. We are almost surrounded by trees and my youngsters often call the wooded area “the jungle.” Even with a dog, we often saw a lot of critters. One day we saw a turkey walk through the yard, a deer on the driveway, and a coyote in the pasture in front of the house. Sydney watched all three from the front window and I heard her mumble, “What’s next? A dinosaur?”

So, I have been visiting pet rescue Facebook walls and internet sites and watching Craig’s List, looking for the perfect dog. The perfect dog: a mid to large sized dog, past the puppy stage, well mannered, who will bark at people who drive up but not attack them. My expectations are reasonable, right? I know it has only been a short time but it seems like I have spent eons calling and questioning people who are trying to find a home for their four-legged friends. And always in the background I have Sydney bouncing around and begging me to work some magic and find her a furry companion.

A couple of days ago I answered an ad on Craig’s List about TWO dogs. Two for the price of one… because free times two is still free!! They both sounded good. They are four and five year old Australian Shepherd mixes, used to staying outside, both female, already spayed, with no history of roaming, and they are good with kids! The perfect dogs! And I’d found two! The owner was moving from a rural setting to town and needed to rehome them right away. We went to meet the dogs that same evening and really liked them. We brought them home. The dogs were model passengers and Sydney giggled the whole way home. We were so happy! (for about an hour.) Then the escapade began. We got out of the car and immediately the dogs grabbed a kitten. I will just say Shawn is getting really good at digging holes. We comforted Sydney, buried the kitten and began to doubt our decision. We played out in the yard until it was really late. As we came in to go to bed, the dogs began to bark. I looked outside and saw both dogs jumping against Sydney’s rabbit hutch in a frenzied fit. I went out and calmed them, led them away from the rabbit, and came back inside. Fast forward 15 minutes and the scene repeated. All. Night. Long. I tried tying them up but they got right off the cable! Around 2:00 in the morning when I went out, I was almost knocked over by a horrible stench. Those dogs had been sprayed by a skunk! I had already been calling them “stinkin’ dogs by that time so I was feeling a little prophetic. This time, when I led those dogs away from the rabbit hutch and scolded them I started looking around for the hidden camera. Surely, this was not happening to me! When it was nearly morning, I wised up. I raised our window so I could hear when the dogs got crazed again and I could holler the dogs’ names without going all the way outside to calm them. The raised window had its pros and cons though. That skunk smell? You get used to it after a while. Each time I hollered at those dogs, they obeyed and left that poor rabbit alone…for about 15 minutes at a time. So basically, they are dogs with a short attention span and no impulse control. No wonder I was drawn to them. I was contemplating sharing some of Sydney’s medication with those dogs before the sun came up.

Oh, I almost forgot one of the “best parts” of this story. One of the dogs is named Julie. Julie is my little sister’s name. So, every time I yelled at that dog I thought of my little sister. Yelling at that dog was like stepping back in time about forty years. 

Sydney was up at first light and took over where I had left off, tying to distract the dogs from throwing themselves at the rabbit hutch. Even when they were not barking and trying to eat that rabbit through the wire cage, they were sitting beside the cage, staring and drooling. Finally, late in the afternoon, the two dogs went and sprawled out under my van and took a nap. I used their nap time to call the dogs’ original owner and arrange to take them back. For some reason, that guy was a little hard to get ahold of and pin down to a time to meet. He'd been so eager to meet up the day before. I wonder why? We got 'er done though. We unloaded those dogs in a hurry and sped away.

When we returned home without those stinky dogs, we were able to coax all the cats down out of the trees and Febreeze the car. Does anyone out there know of an animal therapist that can help our poor rabbit? She used to be black but now she’s white and she seems to have developed a nervous tic. And now, once again, we are looking for the perfect dog. Added to our new list of requirements is that the dog must be rabbit tolerant, cat friendly, and not share a name with one of my sisters. We've got a lead on a Golden Retriever but that fell through. Then I was sure we were going to adopt a Doberman but that was not in the cards either. We are still looking. 

If you have not yet read about our recent tragedy and the loss of Pepper, who truly was "the perfect dog," then you might want to click on the link below.

 http://quirks-and-chaos.blogspot.com/2014/06/saying-goodbye-to-pepper.html

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Sometimes There is Nothing I Can Do

How do you handle it when someone you have loved and looked up to your whole life disappoints you in such a way that it ruins your relationship? A relationship that meant so much to you that you have a hole in your heart that will never heal? The thing they did is terrible and it cannot be undone, fixed, or smoothed over by anyone but them? The relationship cannot be repaired... UNLESS you could go against your conscience and what you’ve always been taught is right, overlooking the transgression? What if people around you seem to be accepting the terrible thing they have done… are still doing? What if people around you are now living with this horrible thing that is openly displayed, ignoring it, and you cannot? What if you (an innocent party) are now the one who is looked at as “the bad guy” because you cannot accept the wickedness? The real “bad guy”, the one who made the awful choices, is now the “victim” in his mind, while you who have stood firm in your convictions, are seen as unforgiving and mean-spirited by the offender? How do you handle it?

Do you go to the scriptures, already knowing what’s there, to reaffirm your position? Do you go to the scriptures hoping that you have missed something, trying to prove to yourself that you have been wrong in holding your position? Do you pray for hours at a time, asking God to intervene? Do you become angry or depressed? Do you have nightmares so that you to lay awake at night, hoping you won’t dream them again? Do you turn to people you love and trust with your pain? Do you ask others to intervene and try to help fix what is wrong? Do you suffer in silence? Do you make yourself sick with worry? Do you smile and pretend it does not hurt every time you hear their name? Do you wait and wait and wait for time to heal the wound? Do you ask yourself if you should go ahead and throw in the towel, giving up your position and compromising your conscience to keep the peace? Do you lose your respect for those who already have? How do you handle it?

Sometimes, when my heart feels broken there is nothing I can do to remedy the event that caused the pain. I have felt the pain of delivering a baby that would never take a breath. There was nothing I could do.

Sometimes, when my heart feels broken I can roll up my sleeves and get busy. I have heard the words, “your child has autism. There is no cure. Now, here is what you do to help him…” I cannot cure autism but I can help my son to be the best that he can be. 

Sometimes, when my heart feels broken I know what needs to be done but I am not the one who can do it. I can ask the one(s) who do have the power to help but I cannot force them to do the right thing. I have seen a few calloused people with power close down a small rural school, which resulted in killing a whole community that I love. There was nothing I could do.

Sometimes, when my heart feels broken there is nothing I can do. I am powerless. I have felt the pain of being cut off by someone I love because I argued for the truth. Sometimes there is nothing I can do. 

I cannot always fix everything. Sometimes there is nothing I can do. Prayer is all I have left. God knows. God cares. That has to be enough.

The knots that I felt were tied so tightly in this life have slipped. I am not the one moving my position though. I am standing firm, though my heart is breaking. There is nothing worth losing my soul over. Eternity is too long. Sometimes there is nothing I can do.

Saying Goodbye to Pepper

Our Australian Shepherd, Pepper, was hit and killed on the road last evening just as the light was fading from the sky. Pepper was not often on the road. She had followed Shawn and the kids when they went for a bike ride. She stopped to rest on the road while Shawn and the kids made their way down the driveway to the house. A pickup truck barreled down the gravel road, going way too fast, hit Pepper hard and kept right on going. Our neighbor was mowing close to the road and saw it happen. He said Pepper died instantly.

Sydney and Pepper, never far apart

How do you tell your little girl that her playmate, her constant companion, her faithful friend, will never follow her down the lane again? I wanted to wait until the next day, after summer school even, so Sydney’s sleep would not be disrupted and her school day would go well. Her daddy, always the wise one, knew Sydney would need to say goodbye. He gently broke the news to her, and let her choose what she wanted to do. She had to see for herself and she had to pet Pepper again. He took Sydney out to love on that dog one more time and to watch him bury her. Sydney held a flashlight while Shawn dug the hole. She asked questions and she cried, but letting her be a part of the goodbye instead of trying to cushion the cruel truth, was the right thing to do. It might not have been for every child, but for Sydney it was. Sydney always has the need to know and she will not rest until her questions are answered. I wanted to take the easy way out but the easy way is not always the best way.

 

Sydney with Dusty and Pumpkin

I’m not a dog person normally. I’ve always been a cat person. I do not hate dogs. I like them just fine as long as they are not really smelly, or licking me in the face, or barking at me, or jumping all over me, or shedding their hair everywhere, or shaking water on me, or chasing my cats or my car. I’ve had some really special cats over the years. We’ve lived here 21 years now and I have vivid memories of the first two cats we had: Jack and Shadow. We had a cat for many years named Socks. Socks’ mission was to produce as many kittens as physically possible in her lifetime. She kept me busy finding homes for kittens! Then there was Dusty. Sydney got a kitten when she was about four that was with us for 3 or 4 years. Dusty had the best personality and was so special to us. She loved to bring us dead things and once made it into the house with a dead rat, which she gave to Tate, of all people. He was about eight years old. It was very early in the morning and Dusty delivered that rat to Tate while he was still in bed. I guess she felt he needed breakfast in bed. Ha! A cat around here rarely makes it to an old age. It is not because we are not feeding them and providing them with shelter. We are. They just sometimes wander out and become prey for all the wildlife we have around. We have lots of coyotes around our place, as well as other animals that eat cats. Once, we were out in the yard and watched an owl pick up one of our adult cats. Luckily, it only got a few feet off the ground and dropped him. He was too heavy.

There have been dozens of felines come and go over the past 21 years, but we’ve had our fair share of dogs too. Our first, Sparky, was a Blue Healer mix we got when he was a puppy. We got him past the chewing stage and he was a really good with our kids. He was just not good with anyone else. People were afraid to get out of their cars when they came over. Sparky got more threatening and vicious as time went on and we had to keep him on a chain. One day he was lunging against his chain trying hard to get to a little girl that was visiting us. Sparky was just too dangerous and had to be put down. A friend raised Boarder Collies and offered us one we named Bandit. Bandit was a one-man dog and adored Shawn and only Shawn. She was a herder and tried to herd the kids in the yard. It was often hard for them to play. The kids couldn’t ride their bikes without her biting at their tires either. Bandit harassed our horse and cattle every day for hours. She chased the car every time we left home. As she got older she started biting people and breaking the skin. She bit a visitor one night on the back of the leg. A short time later she bit two of our kids and she drew blood. Both times it seemed to be because Shawn was interacting with the kids instead of giving his attention to her. Bandit had to go. 

Red in 2010

Just when I was beginning to think that all dogs were evil, we found a hound mix advertised in the classified ads. His name was Red and his owners had moved to town and left him on the farm to fend for himself. He was well past the puppy stage. We went to check him out and brought him home. He was the perfect dog for us, except he peed on anything that was left on the ground, including small children in car seats, diaper bags, purses, and Shawn’s tool belt. HA. As soon as we had him neutered, that stopped though and we had a lot of really good years with that dog. We especially loved his deep bark. His bark at night meant he was keeping away all the raccoons and possums and coyotes. Red was very old when he died two years ago. He was almost deaf and his eyesight was dim. We still miss him.

Sydney and Trooper

During the time we had Red, I let the kids talk me into a puppy. We got a Lab and named him Trooper. Trooper and I were like oil and water. Think Marley from the movie. Trooper shredded things, including the kids trampoline, and countless jackets and shirts. Trooper jumped on us, including tiny three-year-old Sydney and five-year-old Tate who shuddered in fear and stopped going outside to play. I, myself, even hated to go outside and have him jump all over me. Trooper got sick and died unexpectedly when he was only two years old. No, I did not do it; but no, I did not shed a tear. I will never own another Lab and I do not believe anyone will ever be able to talk me into a puppy again. Ever. I know they are cute and sweet and fun. They are also more work than a newborn baby.

We are not the kind of family who would pay hundreds of dollars for a special breed of dog. We would not run up a vet bill hoping to save an injured animal. We would not treat a pet for a serious disease like diabetes or cancer. We don’t take them to a groomer. We don’t take them to a kennel when we are going on a trip. We do not let them sleep with us in our beds. We choose not to. That does not mean we think badly of people who do choose to spend large amounts of money on their pets though. I’m sure we spend our money on things that other people would not and have hobbies that some would not appreciate.

We get our pets spayed or neutered and all the basic shots. We worm them and provide them with tick and flea prevention. We comb them. We feed them. We love them. But we remember that they are not people. God gave us animals to enjoy and to use. If you read the creation story you know that God put man OVER the animals. Since we live in the country and have a lot of animals, we sometimes become almost calloused to them dying or disappearing. Almost. It is very hard for a few days and then we move on. I was thinking last night while I was choking back the tears, about how much Pepper has meant to us. She has meant a lot. But was she family? She was a dog. I still get an ache in my heart when I think about the day Dusty died as well but I could never compare it to the day Chaney, my baby girl died. It pains me sometimes to hear people say that their animals are as important to them as their children are. My kids and husband were on the road last night, only minutes before that truck came barreling down the road and killed Pepper. I am so thankful that we aren’t planning a funeral today. I’m so thankful I am mourning the loss of a dog, not a child.

Bailey and Pepper 

My girls found Pepper on Craig’s list just a few days after Red died. She was a three-year-old Australian Shepherd, living in a small backyard in Kansas City. She had become an escape artist and needed a place out in the country. Within a few days of owning Pepper we could tell she was the perfect fit. She barked at cars that came down our lane just as Red had, but she was not threatening though. She was really smart, by far the smartest dog we have owned. Bailey taught Pepper several tricks easily. Pepper was friendly, but not overly so and she adored Sydney. Sydney went nowhere that Pepper did not follow. When Sydney came into the house, Pepper sat at the door and waited for her to come back out. The rest of us could be in the yard and Pepper would be interacting with us but if Sydney came out, the rest of us were forgotten. Pepper did not wander the neighborhood. She did not chase the cattle, unless we asked her to. She will be very hard to replace. We need another dog. A dog who can keep all the wildlife out of the yard at night and entertain Sydney during the day; A dog like Pepper who can help me forget I am not a dog person. So the hunt is on. Can we do it again? Yes. Yes we can!

Read about our search for a new dog here: Stinkin' Dogs This one will make you laugh I think. 

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