Davis and I got home, a couple of days ago, from getting away for a long weekend. We went to Bardstown, Kentucky to attend the funeral of the father of our friend, David. Picturesque town and such hospitable people. They invited all of the Mississippi travelers to join the family, after the service, for the noon meal provided by the ladies of the church. I'd just like to insert here that, no matter where you go, you're in good, loving hands when you're being cared for by church ladies. They're just a special lot. Thank heavens for the ministry of fried chicken and banana pudding and the sweet hands that prepare it. Amen.

Louisville was the only city I'd ever been to in Kentucky, so it was nice to visit the place named "America's Most Beautiful Small Town", a few years ago. I was so happy to meet some sweet Muffintoppers there in the bluegrass state, too. Hey to y'all.

From there, we went back down to Nashville for a couple of days. Davis and I feel like we're two Mississippi anomalies in that we don't really like country music. Even though the city, where we live, boasts as being the hometown of the Father of Country Music, I can only list about 8 country songs ever recorded, since the genre's Mississippi conception, that I've liked. Because of this, most of our time was spent at historical sights....except for Lincoln's birthplace, which was closed due to the government shutdown. It was our Clark Griswold moment to drive up to locked gates adorned with the unfortunate signage.

We did stay at the Opryland Hotel for the first time. I'd been there to look around, but had never stayed there, so that was nice. If you've never been, you should go if you get the chance. From the moment we arrived at the hotel, we heard much ado about the impending snowstorm that was coming and would almost certainly leave the South looking like Quebec. We kept hearing people mention the coming precipitation and, first, Davis' dad called and then my mother to warn us of the winter apocalypse that was imminent. I mean, like Davis, who is weather obsessed, wasn't already well aware of the forecast and the hour by hour probabilities. But, that's just what southern parents do when the weatherman mentions any form of frozen precipitation....call all the young'uns, no matter how old they are, to warn them of how slick the roads will be. We assured everyone that we'd be home well before the blizzard of '19.
We got home, Monday night, and Davis ran to the store for a few essentials since we'd been gone. He ran into the milk and bread stampede.....fellow southerners gearing up to be snowed in for, perhaps, months. School had already been cancelled for the next day and that was their cue to rush out and get their obligatory ham, cheese, peanut butter, bread, milk, Little Debbie's, and maybe a can or two of Hormel chili. I mean, we don't even flirt with the possibility of starving during a winter weather event down here. It just ain't gonna happen.


Anyway, when we got home, we both had some catching up to do with our work. Davis, since retiring from his job with the Department of Agriculture, started doing insurance inspections for several different companies. It's a nice change of pace from his former office job. He gets to be out and about inspecting homes and businesses and it really suits his gift of attention to detail.

Well, he was in the shower, last night, after a long day of working out in the treacherous snow, and I'd sat down in my new chair to relax....which I am loving, by the way. I got my iPad and leaned back and put my feet up. I checked my emails, texts, and then started scrolling down my Facebook feed.

I follow a local Community Watch page, which alerts people in the area about crimes and suspicious cars or behaviors. Somebody is always posting pictures of something that's going on in our town, so imagine my surprise when I saw someone had posted a still picture taken from their home security camera of a man walking across their backyard, who I thought looked a tad familiar. I zoomed in on the picture and my suspicions were confirmed.

It. Was. Davis. With a caption something like..."Does anyone know this man? He was caught on my property by my surveillance cameras." There Inspector Davis was on our local crime watcher page. With his clipboard and camera around his neck. It was such a proud moment. My husband's picture had garnered the heading, Do you know this man?

"Um, Davis," I yelled out toward the bathroom, where he was getting out of the shower, "you might want to come see this," I continued. As I'm calling him, my phone starts vibrating and ringing and dinging and all the things that one's phone does when one's family is suddenly at the center of a small town scandal. Davis emerges from the steamy bathroom to discover he's one of America's most wanted, while I'm explaining the situation to one of the concerned friends on the phone. Ding, ding, ding. Ring, ring, ring goes my phone. Friends reaching out to inform us of Davis' appearance on the page, which features only the most lawless among us. I assured everyone that we were aware and were working to diffuse the matter....even though I kind of liked this new bad boy image Davis had suddenly acquired. I reached out to the man, who'd posted the picture, and the situation was quickly resolved. Bad Davis was then restored to Good Davis, once again, and the world was right again.

Davis might be the most straight-laced, law abiding, responsible citizen that I know. He adheres to all laws and rules and regulations....even the dumb ones......and the ones that almost everyone else ignores.....and the ones that cause a trip to Kentucky to take much longer than it would if, say, I were driving......so the fact that he was the one in our family to end up on Community Watch has given us all a healthy dose of belly laughter.
    

Last Friday, Davis loaded Ruby in his truck and they headed to the vet clinic. The shelter had her all checked out and vaccinated, but they don't include a heartworm screening in their standard checkup and we wanted to get her tested as soon as we could.

Through the almost 14 years of having our Sugar, we'd grown accustomed to loving a dog with a surplus of phobias with a trip to the vet being at the very tip top of that lengthy list. Checkups were always just a miserable experience for everyone involved, so we were prepared and very experienced to deal with Ruby if it became apparent that she suffered from the same affliction.

They left and I was anxious to hear a report on her disposition at the doctor's office. I felt like a nervous, new mother, I guess. It wasn't long before Davis called and he was chuckling. He reported that Ruby went in and spoke to everyone with her wagging tail banging against everything in its way. It's important to become acquainted with your healthcare providers, I suppose. When they put her on the table to trim her nails, she rolled over on her back to give them easier access to her belly in the event that they should want to rub it. She was certain that they would want to. Davis said she didn't care what they did to her. She just licked them and stayed on her back, looking all around the room from her upside down vantage point with her hanging lips exposing her teeth as if she was smiling.

Bless it. There wasn't much that Sugar wasn't scared of and yet we've not found anything that scares Ruby. So far, we've experienced fireworks, heavy rain, the vet, gunshots (we live in rural Mississippi, so not to worry), vacuum cleaners, small children, strangers, UPS drivers, and nothing bothers her. All of those things would send our poor Sugar into orbit. Shaking. Panting. She was just a nervous sort from the very beginning, but, from what we've seen, Ruby couldn't be more unconcerned.

Behavior and personality are other areas where they differ. Sugar stayed in our yard for the most part. Even in her younger years, she never bothered anything. Her desire for her world to remain calm and predictable kept her from getting into any trouble or doing anything unwise. She was a rule follower. And kind of a wallflower. She liked to keep to herself and her family. She was quite content to lead a quiet life.        

In contrast, the neighbors have seen me struggling to get our current pet back home.....breathless and toting Ruby, who's gone limp in protest, while clutching a turtle's shell between her teeth. (We can only pray it wasn't someone's pet.) I'm in my pajama pants, mumbling something under my breath about how she better be glad she's so cute. My hands under her armpits and her long body dangling between my knees as I walk; trying to get her hardheaded self home from introducing herself to the neighborhood. As we await our underground fence installation, she's brought home the neighbor's flip flops, chewed through the shoe strings of my new tennis shoes, faked tee-teeing in order to acquire a treat, continues to be vigilant in moss retrieval, and ate part of a Brillo pad, which resurfaced, the next morning, if you know what I mean. I find myself texting SOS messages to Davis. Pleas like the ones I used to ask of him when the kids were little and I stayed home with them....."Please, tell me you'll be home soon?!"

I was sitting on the floor with Ruby and stroking her head, the other night, and I told Davis that I didn't think I was going to love Ruby the same way I loved Sugar. I didn't mean that I wouldn't grow to love her as deeply, but I think it will just be a different kind of love. Sugar had needs and fears and dependence issues and so I loved her in an assuring, nurturing way. She really needed a lot. She relied on me a lot for peace of mind and encouragement.

Ruby. Well, she needs none of that. Since the minute her sedatives wore off from her girly surgery, we don't see where she needs anybody for much of anything except to fill her food bowl and throw her ball. She's pretty sure of herself. Confident. Under the impression that everyone should have the privilege of meeting her. She hasn't run to me for any kind of comfort or reassurance. She does love to cuddle, when she doesn't have more pressing matters to tend to like, say, moss displacement or turtle butchery. She's just an independent girl, which I suppose that comes from her former life. To love her the same way I loved Sugar would probably just get on her very last nerve and not meet any of her needs.  

During this completely different experience, I've been thinking how, like the two dogs, I guess we don't really love all people in the same way either. Our kids. Parents. Friends. Co-workers. Everybody has their own story and their own set of quirks, strengths, fears, needs, and experiences. Everyone we meet needs something different from us. And while we love all of our children the same amount, we may not love them in the same ways. We certainly don't parent them the same, because they each respond to things differently. We quickly learn what each person in our lives needs and we try to meet them there in those places. To love everyone the same would be to patch some spots that don't really need care and attention in some people and to leave other holes that they do have gaping and empty.

I don't imagine God loves us all the same either. I don't mean He has favorites or loves some more than others. I just think He knows all of us so intimately....down to the very center of who we are and where we've been. He made us and calls us His children, so if anyone would know what we need from Him, He would be the one. He knows where we're hardheaded and go limp in protest if we're reined in. He knows what makes us anxious and what we need to help us stop shaking. He knows what we're really good at and the places where we're most confident. He knows where we're weakest and the things that make us feel unworthy and self-conscious. He knows the kind of encouragement we need to carry out His plan for our lives. He knows the people to send to love and help us along the way. He knows that the kind of love one of us needs might be wasted on the next person. He knows us all by heart and I think He fashions His love toward us accordingly.  

So, as Davis and I wind down our child rearing and are shifting gears (bigtime) in our dog rearing, I'm reminded to be glad that we have a God, who tailors His love and care to fit each one of His children. We are all uniquely made. All uniquely loved by Him.
 

Y'all have a wonderful day!

  

After Sunday lunch, Carson and I went to the new Mississippi Arts and Entertainment Experience, which is located in the city, where we live. Davis felt like Ruby needed a long hike at the lake since she'd been confined to her kennel, while we were at church, so Carson and I went by ourselves to check out the Jim Henson exhibit. I still have my Muppet Show lunchbox, so, needless to say, I'm a big fan. Mr. Henson was Mississippi born and spent his childhood here, so we like to think his creative genius took root on our sweet soil. You'd probably be surprised to learn of all the famous people, who are from this great state. I'll have to be sure to do a follow up post on just that.
Anyway, it was probably for the best that Davis wasn't coming along, because I was going there with one purpose and only one. To go and meet this certain man. I've known about him for many, many years and have worshipped him from afar, but never had I been given the opportunity to meet him in person. I'd heard he was in town for a little while, so this was my chance.

Carson paid our admission to the museum and we headed into the exhibit area. I felt my heart rate  starting to quicken. My palms sweaty. I scanned the room. Looking through the crowd of people. The interactive areas. The plexiglass display cases. The old sketches and photographs of puppets. Well, he wasn't in the first area I checked. I grew desperate and impatient to find him. I rounded another corner and, off in the far distance, I caught a glimpse of him. I would've recognized him anywhere. That head full of black hair. That manly face with its finely chiseled features. Such a strong chin. My heart jumped as I ran to him. Alas, I was face to face with the man I'd come to see. The Count.

Oh, you other ladies can have your Ernie, your Bert. Take the Cookie Monster and Kermit. Don't get me wrong. I love them all, but The Count is where it's at for me. I'm a sucker for a man in a cape, I suppose. He's always been first in my heart. Since 1970, when I was old enough to first tune in. And here I was meeting him for the first time.

For years, I'd imagined what this moment would be like. I'd rehearsed what I would say, a thousand times, but when I went to speak, I fumbled with my words. I couldn't even think of anything we could count together. Feeling like such a star struck fool, I blushed and could only ask to have my picture made with him. He was gracious and agreed even though the plexiglass kept us from getting too close. I suppose the barrier was in place to protect him from crazed fans such as myself, but it was good to finally be in the same room with him....even if he was shorter than I'd always imagined.
I imagine I'm just one of millions and millions of 70's kid, who spent a big chunk of childhood with those puppets. My kids watched them some, but they had so many other options. Cartoon Network. Nickelodeon. Disney Channel. They had their VHS tapes and then their DVDs. But, back in our day, there were no other options. You watched Sesame Street or One Life to Live...those were your choices....and what self-respecting Southern Baptist mother would allow the young'uns to watch the latter? Sandwiched between Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and The Electric Company, I'd tune in, every weekday. I'd plop myself in front of the television set.....not so close, though, as to cause blindness.....and I'd learn, laugh, and visit my funny friends for about an hour.

As a 50 year old woman, I can still sing the opening song, word for word. Who wasn't fascinated with that red ball rolling around on the metal track? Grover, the waiter, who couldn't grasp the concept of the in and out doors. The longing for someone to spot Mr. Snuffleupagus, so Big Bird could finally be vindicated. The "Alligator King" song helped us master counting to seven and the "Pinball Song" took us on up to twelve. The Martians and the rotary telephone.....yep, yep, yep, yep, yep. Kermit's News Flash reporting the grave news of Humpty's great fall....Hi-ho, here. And America's favorite game show host, Guy Smiley, and his recurring difficulty emerging from behind the curtain. Good times.

So, thank you for all the great memories, Mr. Henson and Sesame Street. Thanks for keeping us company in the 70's, while our mothers drank Sanka and started supper. Under the guise of educational programming, we were able to come in from the sweltering heat of your native land and have Kool-Aid, while you expanded our minds for an hour. Even on sick days, moms would put pillows and quilts on the couch, so we could watch you in our weakened state. You made us happy. You made us feel important. You taught us a lot of things. You helped stretch and develop our sense of humor by placing some of your punch lines just over our heads. And we're all better for it.

You were a faithful childhood friend.

Thanks for all the good times.

And my darling, Count, I'll never wash my left hand again.


I'll see you all again before week's end! Happy Monday!


        

We weren't looking for a dog yet. It had only been a couple of months since we'd lost our sweet Sugar, but I saw a dog posted on Facebook by our local animal shelter, a few days after Christmas. We'd already decided when we did get another dog, we'd adopt one, who needed a home. I see all kinds of dogs on social media since I follow all the nearby shelters and rescues, but something about this one caught my eye. She was listed as a dachshund mix and you know how we love those, so I just called to ask about her size and age. It wasn't really a serious inquiry. Just a little curious. I told the guy I was just going to come down and see how big she was, but no commitment.

He told me she'd been picked up with a chihuahua after the two had reportedly been roaming the streets together for some time. I suppose they'd been living a lawless life of trespassing, loitering, and vagrancy until, one day, it caught up with the pair. Someone had called the doggie Po-Po on them. Maybe it was an overturned garbage can or a dug up flower bed that finally got them apprehended, I'm not sure, but, now, they were in the lockup. Doing hard time.

  
I got to the shelter and the nice man took me back to the gate that led to where the dogs were. He told me the dog in question and her little accomplice had just gotten back from being spayed at the vet and he told me to wait there. He came back out with the groggy canine and the phone started ringing, so he handed me her leash and told me to get acquainted with her.

Well, she was just precious. I've always been a sucker for a hound dog. And her feet reminded me of the Basset hounds Davis and I had when we were newlyweds. I'd recognize those feet anywhere. Dachshund and Bassett.You can't get much more hound dog than that. "We have a big front porch that she'd look perfect lying on, while we rock in our rocking chairs and sip lemonade," I thought.

I sat down on the floor and spoke to her and she crawled right up in my lap and put her head in the crook of my arm."Oh, no.....this is not good. I'm just here to see how big you are. We shouldn't be getting this friendly just yet," I thought. I talked to her sweetly and she looked up at me with her big brown eyes and then laid her head on my chest and stared in my eyes.

"Oh, my word. Don't look into her eyes. Look away. You're not ready. She's too big. Look at those feet. And Davis wants to take some trips before we get another dog. It's rainy and cold and not a good time to have to housetrain anything." There were so many reasons to leave her there.

But, those eyes. They told me she needed us. Something about them had drawn me down there.

I knew I couldn't leave her....especially when a lady came in to adopt her chihuahua friend, while I was still on the floor playing lounge chair to my new sedated friend. The duo rubbed heads and licked each other as if they knew that their longtime companionship had come to a fork in the road, but neither the lady or myself was looking for two dogs. One of us wasn't even sure she was looking for one dog, but I filled out the paperwork, wrote the check, and brought her home. We named her Ruby and she started reeling us in.
They think Ruby is a little over a year old and, needless to say, it's been a long time since we had a puppy around here. It's been a good while since Sugar wanted to chew on anything or run in circles around the sofa or chase after a ball. The other day, I was standing out in the blowing rain, chatting with two of my neighbors as we were all in our front yards waiting on our young dogs to do their business. Two of us in our pajama pants and all of us looking a bit frazzled, we were all senior dog parents discussing our recent shifts to puppy parenthood. We'd forgotten about this stage. We were used to Zoey, Sugar, and Princess and their sedate nursing home pace to which we'd become accustomed and now Izzy, Ruby, and Olive were giving us a run for our money. I mean, it's been years since I've had to reward anybody for urinating in the correct location, but here I am. Of all of her strong points, though, perhaps Ruby's most impressive skill is her ability to repeatedly bring me the moss out of the bottom of all of our houseplants. It makes me suspect that, somewhere along the way, she's received highly specialized training specifically for this task as she seems to have a real passion for moss removal. I mean, dogs with that kind of superior intelligence and dedication to their work don't just come along every day.
There's just been that something that was missing in our house since Sugar died and Ruby has brought it back to us. I can't explain it. Davis and I found ourselves stopping to love on other people's dogs and using our best baby talk to speak to them.....I suppose in an effort to fill the void that losing a pet leaves inside a dog lover. It doesn't take long for the bond to form between a family and a dog, but I'm not going to lie. The first three days were rough. I cried and cried some more, feeling guilty and just wanting Sugar back. I felt kind of like one of those men, who loses his beloved wife of many years and goes out and gets himself a new wife, two months later. It was just a weird few days of conflicted feelings, but I think I'm finally working through them.
Carson gave me a beautiful charcoal portrait of Sugar for Christmas. Such a wonderful gift with a lot of love and sweetness behind it. I hung it where I could see her from my chair. It was drawn from a picture taken the night before she died. She was looking up at me with her tired eyes. A precious picture of my dear, old friend, who knew she was so very loved. We did all we could to give Sugar a good life up to her very last day. And we grieved for her and are still grieving for her, but I think she would say it's ok for us to love another dog. It would be a shame for a home that loves dogs as much as ours to sit empty and void of squeaky toys when so many dogs need a family to care for them. Ruby has captured our hearts in just one short week. But, there will never be another Sugar. Just like, one day, we'll be saying there will never be another Ruby. We're hooked and in love and have signed up to face another heartache, one day. But, oh, the love and joy we'll have until
then.                         
I was gone from here longer than I'd planned, but I've been having trouble getting out of vacation mode. We had a most wonderful Christmas and I hope you did, too. We ate too much and got too much, but it was such a sweet time with our family. It's just all over too fast.

On New Year's Eve, we ate with friends and came home before midnight, because that's just where we are in life, I suppose. That night, I dreamed that I was called to Washington to stand in for Melania in the official White House Christmas card picture. Apparently, she was sick and, after scouring the country for a look alike, I was the one chosen to be photographed as her double with the President and their son. I mean, clearly, I was the obvious choice. So, I'm not sure what all 2019 has in store for me, but I guess you could say that I must be feeling awfully confident as I head into this new year.

Y'all have a good day trying to adjust to back to normal life. It's going to be rough for a little while.