Lock Down

Chain, check. Gate locked, check. Back door locked, check. Crate, check.

We thought we had Kipper secured now. We finally could go on vacation and not worry.

Renee came over to dog sit. She held his collar out the back and hooked him up to the chain as requested. Five minutes later she went out to let him in, but finds the chain with no Kipper on the end of it!

He had escaped again! She finally caught up with him, but wondered how he got off the chain. The problem was she had hooked the chain to the weaker loop on his collar that held his tags and he had used his brute strength to pull the loop free. Yes, my dog can bend and break metal!

So I added to the list of instructions to make sure you secure the chain to the heavy loop on his collar.

No worries to Kipper though. He next found out how to open the front door and get out. Or he would wait patiently for someone new to enter the house, see his chance to bolt through them before they closed the door, and out he went!

Keep screened door locked, check. Warn everyone who enters the house, "Don't let Kipper out!" Check.

Most of the time the above measures worked, but as they say, where there's a will, there's a way!

The Tigers in '84,
Who could ask for more?

Tram, Sweet Lou, Lance, Lopez, and Chet,
Gibby, Morris, Evans, Willie--how good could it get?

35 and 5 the best start ever,
Gibby's home run seemed to go on forever.

The warm summer nights, the radio tuned to Ernie,
We followed each game and watched the highlights with Bernie.

You see, not all games were on TV back then,
We did have cable, but no ESPN!

The excitement kept brewing throughout the season,
Something to care about, they gave us a reason.

Our heroes came through and captured the ring,
It's 25 years later and we wonder what our Tigers will bring.

Another World Championship for a struggling city?
Or another loss like 2006--it wasn't very pretty.

Let's cheer on the Tigers and enjoy the ride,
No matter what happens, we'll take it in stride.

We love our dear baseball team through thick and through thin,
If they win it all like in '84, we'll proclaim "They did it again!"

Catch Me If You Can

Alright, we've solved the problem of containing Kipper by buying a crate. Not so. One day, we let Kipper out back to do his business and the next thing we knew, he was gone! Further observation revealed that he jumped the neighbor's fence and escaped out their open gate.

Not wanting to install a privacy fence, we decided we would need to chain him when he goes out back. Ironically, this did not totally solve the problem. We soon discovered that he knew how to open the back screen door as well as the door on our sun room. Then he would use his long nose to lift the latch on the gate, and out he would gallop, like a thoroughbred in a race!

My husband, Steve, gave chase around the neighborhood. If he drove his car, Kipper would actually start running beside or behind the car, chasing Steve. Kipper could easily run 30 miles per hour in his youth! It was an amazing thing to watch as he ran across front yards up and down the neighborhood. Next he would head for the park for a dip in the dirty creek. Eventually he would get tired or Steve would trap him in a backyard and bring the naughty pooch back home. Kipper was never sorry for what he did--he would pant happily--proud of his latest adventure!

So we bought a lock for the gate and vowed to keep the sun room door locked. However, there is more than one way out of a house. Is there no end to Kipper's escaping abilities? So it seems...

Fall Evening

The golden sunshine comes through the bow window, casting leaf-shaped patterns on the front door. A cool September breeze causes the leaf-shadows to dance like ghosts across the sky.

My orange cat sits contentedly upon the laptop case on the ottoman, watching the shadows cascade across the living room and enjoying the breeze.

Outside the window, the sun-catcher reflects the light as it twirls lazily.

Keeping Kipper

A couple of days into ownership of Kipper the dog, it becomes obvious that we have made a major commitment and possibly a serious mistake.

A hole the size of a softball in the back cushion of a couch is hard to hide. Its only the third day of having Kipper in our lives, but I feel like he's walked in circles on my heart and settled in for good. Returning him to the shelter is out of the question.

I purchase some spray which is meant to keep animals off the furniture. We leave for a weekend trip. We are gone about 2 hours before my sister goes to my home to let Kipper out. She opens the door to piles of white fluff and a devoured recliner.

I talk about it, do some research, and decide to purchase a crate to keep Kipper in when no one is at home.

We set up the crate in the kitchen. When he pees in the crate, we decide to move it to the basement. When we come home to find him not in the crate, we purchase a lock for the crate. When we find Kipper has again escaped, I buy a chain lock normally used for bicycles and wrap it around the top of the crate to keep Houdini well-contained.

I seem to have solved the problem of chewed furniture. Our separation anxiety-ridden dog is now able to enter a Zen-like state in his crate while we are gone. Surely, life will go on peacefully now....if only I'd known...

A New Friend

We walked into the animal shelter with heavy hearts. Beloved Buffy had passed away a week earlier, and we longed to hear the scampering of a dog in our home again.

The dogs barked and jumped as they vied for our attention. All but one pooch who sat still and simply regarded me with his big brown sad eyes. He had long reddish-brown ears that looked like silk. He was white with spots the color of his ears and a stub tail. I found out he was a Brittany Spaniel.

I knew Springer Spaniels were nice, calm, and well-behaved dogs. I figured this dog would be similar in temperament and obedience. After a quick walk outside (he seemed a little rowdy), his eyes got the best of me and I decided I wanted to take him home. We signed the paperwork and took him out to the van.

My oldest son was about 5. He was not immediately enamored with this new dog. My husband came up with the idea to name him Kipper, after the cartoon dog my son adored. My son seemed to take to him more now that we named him.

It seemed we'd found the perfect dog.

When we got home, we discovered he'd peed in the van. We chalked it up to first day jitters. But more surprises were in store as we started our adventure as the owners of Kipper...Stay tuned for the next installment.

Joy of Everyday Life

The wind is howling. The door slams closed. Chimes sing outside my window. A train goes by in the distance. These are the things of my everyday life. A warm cup of tea. A partly sunny sky. The click of the keys as I type. The squeak of the space key. The joyful anticipation of the kids returning from school in an hour or so. A train whistle announces the train in the distance. It lasts long. Now the chimes repeat, intermixed with the tweet of the birds calling each other. The warmth of the sunroom. A comfortable chair. I look up and see my plants growing tall. The grass seems greener than yesterday. The screen around the gazebo billows in the breeze. Too windy to write out there today.

It is true that the little things in life can bring the greatest joy. A nutritious and delicious meal. A tulip opening. The dog sighing. The cat cleaning his paws contentedly. The bounce of the basketball as the neighbor kids play. The comfort of my bed. The sunshine, rain, snow, or mist. The chill that lets me know I’m alive. The laughter of a baby. The coo of a dove. The warm embrace of my husband--the smell of his shaving lotion or feel of his whiskers. The satisfaction of work completed. The freshness as I emerge from the shower. A clean countertop. A beautiful homemade pie. A colorful and crunchy yummy salad. Fresh baked bread. An afternoon nap or just a lie down. A phone call from a friend. A phone call to a friend. A shared giggle. Watching a kite or a child blow bubbles (or blowing them yourself!). A friendly wave or “hello.” An empathetic nod. A cooling breeze. A warm fire. Eating smores and getting sticky. The anticipation of date night with my husband. A beautiful sunset or sunrise. A lake, ocean, river, or stream. A robin searching for worms. Sparrows in flight. A hungry belly anticipating a good meal. A cool drink of water. An unexpected kiss on the cheek. The soft skin of a baby. The furriness of my dog. Sitting in a golf chair, watching my son play baseball. Sitting in the bleachers, watching my other son play hockey. Cheering. Snacking. Going to water aerobics and feeling great.

These are the simple, wonderful gifts God gives me. They may be small, but they fill my world with laughter and joy and sometimes sadness or frustration, but the point is that my life is full. Overflowing and poured out just as God promised.

Eat ’em up Tigers

“Eat ’em up Tigers, eat ’em up!” The African American man is an icon to the Detroit Tigers’ fans. He serenades my son and me as we hurry to Comerica Park to watch our beloved team play another game in their quest for the Pennant. He appears to be in his late fifties or early sixties with hair slightly graying and a wrinkled but always smiling face. He lacks the faraway gaze of a drug addict or the swagger of a drunk. He appears to be homeless, but his clothes do not draw your attention. You focus on his face and the big plastic blue fist he wears with the old English D. In the fist he holds a plastic disposable cup. He shakes the cup up and down and the coins inside provide the rhythm for his song, “Eat ’em up Tigers, eat ’em up.” As far as we know he has made up the ditty but it’s rather catchy. We are in a hurry on the way into the game, so I mention to my son that I will give the man some change on our way out. We know he will be there. He always is. My 10-year old son Matt calls him the “Eat ’em up Tigers guy.”

We get to the game just in time to watch the B-17 aircraft fly overhead. Then the game starts. Ernie Harwell is there to give his farewell speech. Just last week, Ernie was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He is 91. They say the cancer is inoperable and he has chosen not to receive treatment. Ernie is another icon in Tiger’s history. A broadcaster for the Tigers longer than I’ve been on this earth, he is known in Detroit as the Voice of the Tigers. He comes out, and in typical Ernie fashion quiets the crowd by holding his hands up. His humility is evident as he thanks the Tiger’s organization and the crowd over and over again. He makes no mention of his career or what he has accomplished, not even a hint. All he wants to do is thank us. Wait a minute; don’t we owe the thanks to you Ernie? For years of displaying integrity, honesty, loyalty, love, dedication, and good humor. Ernie taught us how to laugh even when times are tough. He showed us how to hang in there and how to always support our team. The fans in Detroit do not boo their own players. We respect our team and we owe Ernie for this attitude.

The Tigers are losing for most of the game, but make a come-back in the late innings to take the lead. It’s getting late and it’s a school night so Matt and I head out. Even though the game is not over, Eat ’em up Tigers guy is there, just as we knew he would be. I observe a fan conversing happily with him. Perhaps the fan is telling him how it pleases him to see him there every game and how he respects him for his quiet way of entertaining the crowd but never begging for applause. Kind of like Ernie. I get out some coins and my son does the same. Matt asks me to put his change in. I drop all the money in the cup.

Eat ’em up Tigers guy looks me in the eyes and says, “Thank you.”

I want to say, “No thank you,” but I don’t. Next time I will say it because you never know when the last time might be that you see someone.

As we say goodbye to Ernie, let us look around at the examples of humility and love right in our midst. I suggest we use that respect Ernie taught us and show it to all those we meet today. Let us not judge, scold, or criticize anyone. Instead, let’s appreciate all of our God-given talents and use them to spread a little joy, like Ernie did.