Roswell, WA

When I returned from Jordan, I found my garden an overgrown mass of weeds and an assault to my obsessive-compulsive senses. Normally I would happily work in my yard but since I can't bend, kneel or squat, weeding is not an option these days. As a result, my gardeners came yesterday and cleaned it all up, leaving everything in pristine, perfect condition. Which thrilled me. It did not thrill the Polar Bear.


PB only gets really excited about three things in life. Me, digging in the dirt and bacon. He doesn't play with toys and while he enjoys his bully sticks and bones, he is still rather quiet and reserved in his expressions of happiness over them in his remote LGD way. He has dutifully spent the last year and a half digging himself shallow depressions all over the yard. The dirt border around my lawn is perfect for his digging which he throws himself into with great abandon.

Helloooo China? I know you're in there...

He does not dig without purpose - PB does nothing without a purpose. He digs not to get out of the yard but to keep himself cool in the summer and to make a comfy spot to lay under the trees out of the rain in the winter. Consequently, my yard looks like UFO's have landed in it all over the place. I call it Roswell out there.

Beam me up, Scotty.

Poor PB was horrified to emerge into the yard after the gardeners left yesterday (which he undoubtedly believes is because he barked at them for 3 hours straight) to find his holes all neatly filled in and raked over.

I am so depressed. I think I need more Prozac.

Why yes you do PB! And you shall get it. PB went to the behaviorist on Sunday and we decided to up his Prozac to 30 mg a day. He is on 20 right now and was on 40 at his highest dose. We decided 40 wasn't necessary but he is stressed enough at 20 that bumping it up a little would lessen that. Otherwise, he got a fantastic report card. He lay down and slept while we talked which was in itself, a small miracle as he has never "settled" for her before. She was very impressed with how far he has come since we last saw her. She encouraged us to get an older, large, happy, mellow dog for him which of course was all the validation I need!

For my birthday, my parents agreed to pay for a photo session with a great photographer in BC who does fabulous dog photos. Her photos can be viewed at her blog www.wootube.net which is a site worth visiting, not only for the amazing dog photos but for her hilarious commentary that goes with them. So hopefully we will get a supply of great photos for this blog since I am hopeless with the camera.

PB has been earning his keep tracking down the escapee kitties who have mastered the doggie door. As soon as he sees them poke their fat little heads out, he flies off the sofa and they either run their waddling butts down the hall and up their kitty condo or else they fly out into the backyard where he rounds them up and they are forced to launch themselves back inside the house and race to safety under the bed. It's an amusing event to watch and he only had to "herd" Stabby in once because apparently the sheer terror of the giant white polar bear gaining ground on her stomped out all curiosity about the outdoors.

Despicable dog. Only *I* get to torture Stabby.

Dexter somehow, in a feat I only wish I had seen, managed to hoist his tubby self through the door and outside for the first time a couple days ago. PB dutifully flew off the sofa and went to track him down which caused Dexter to dive under the deck. I missed all this as I was in a pain medication induced coma. Other than hearing PB race outside and figuring whoever escaped would be back shortly, I was oblivious.

When I awoke and Dexter did not come at the sound of the food bowl, I knew trouble was afoot. Like some demented cat lady, I walked up and down the street, calling for him, stood in my yard yodeling for him, searched high and low, deathly afraid that while a tree is Stabitha's biggest problem, Dexter with all his disease induced drunkeness is a car/mean cat/cat hating dog's dream. I was convinced I would find him dead somewhere. Or he would be too dumb to figure out how to get back home. Both very likely events.

After rattling his food dish outside for an ear splitting moment, I heard a sound under the deck and found him squished into about 3 inches of space which took him a good 10 minutes to pull himself back out of. I hauled him back inside and he has shown no interest in the outdoors since then. Thus we have postponed another expensive investment in the electronic doggie door. Sigh. I could have retired by now if I didn't have these creatures.

To end on a completely unrelated note, my caring squad mates sent me a card and a $75 gift certificate to Barnes and Noble. Knowing me as they do, they figured books are much more up my alley than netflix etc. I went a little crazy and spent well over double that but I am in book heaven right now. I would highly recommend this book which I finished last night and which took me one day to read:





This is the fascinating true story of two black men who share the same name and lived in the same neighborhood of Baltimore. They never knew each other growing up but their lives took eerily similar paths that are tragically familiar in America. Single mothers struggling to make ends meet raised them; their fathers were both gone for different reasons; early on they began skipping school which led to minor run-ins with the law which led to much more major run ins. An all too usual inner city story.

Except the author went on to become a Rhodes Scholar, a decorated combat veteran, an assistant to Condoleeza Rice and now one of New York's top businessman. The other Wes Moore is in prison for the rest of his life with no possibility for parole for the murder of a police officer in a jewelry heist gone bad. This book is an incredibly thought provoking study as to what made the difference in the trajectories of their lives. The answer is subtle and in no way formulaic if there is an answer at all. I'll let you read it and decide...