P.P.P. & S!

It was that time again. The pinching, pulling, poking and stretching would begin anew. As a patient in long standing, our 10-year-old retriever would be given her 'oil change' at this 6 month mark. She is a lump factory of sorts and keeping on top of this problem keeps me on my toes.

Sally gets a mini checkup every 6 months. My idea, no one else's. She's had surgeries to remove a cancerous tumor. repair a torn ligament, remove a necrotic lymph node during 2017-18. Prior, numerous minor invasive procedures were done. Every turn in her road has resulted in changes in diet and exercise with a harness to address it all. Everything I do is now under scrutiny. And kennel care is out of the question. The trust is gone as the all mighty dollar is king!

I realized after these health events that my girl needed to be poked, pulled, pinched and stretched, in the most intimate gentle manner, daily and 'professionally', every six months. At home, my technique is different. I'm the advance guard, detecting the detectable! ( Diseases don't care!) Eyes are checked while legs are pulled any which way they must by the best in the business of animal health, her doctor, my human encyclopedia. I am so lucky to have found this gem among all others. Even the day our precious Tia, our 16 year old rescue cat, left us, the doctor gave me the look I never wanted to see or acknowledge.

Doctors of veterinary medicine are here to provide premium health care to our pets. If we do not read the charts, do not follow vaccine protocols- (some are law!) provide medications for ticks and flea protection, as required, while feeding them the best food we can afford, then who is to blame? 

 

Watch online videos of man's inhumanity to dogs and cats. The never-ending appalling evidence is there. Veterinarians are here to help us keep our canine family healthy, forever, if possible.

We visit the clinic for the poke, pull and stretch show, mid year. Lumps are Sally's specialty, it seems. Her outdoor antics, with Mr. Wiggles, are another dimension of her personality that can affect her health. Oh, my. Once upon a time her 'marathons' made others shudder. She grabbed a rock one day to tease me into submission. I simply ignored her, fearfully, hoping my indifference would 'sedate' her. It did. We traded for cookies. Her trophy is now mine to cherish.

She is a professional patient, I am reminded. She thinks otherwise, thank goodness. It is important for her to be who she is - a retriever who loves to run with a large ball in her mouth. A tennis ball is fine, too, however, but not for me. Jumping up to catch it is her game not mine. I worry about her ligaments - all of them. Nothing in life is 100% guaranteed. So I pretend she is normal in every way. She is, in so many wonderful ways.

Her personality is perfect; her blood profile, too. So what's the problem? Nothing that a whole lotta love and a visionary doctor can't fix.

Use It or Lose It, Perhaps

People in the business of retail are telling us to rid our lives of items under the guise of the “Use it or lose it” principle. Is there an ulterior motive here? With clothing, we are told to discard, if not used within a year or two, declare these self-proclaimed fashion trendsetters. It seems their clock is ticking. Ours might not be.

As a former girl, woman and now grandmother to a 17-month-old, twenty-eighth month-old and newly minted one-month old, this time worn declaration has had its day. Items are 'saved' because their use is not immediate and might be needed for a brand new generation. These past due items could very well be irreplaceable, unique and too valuable to be tossed. 

Disposal is forever. In the case of toys, their purpose will be revealed, in the future, when the next generation comes calling. But one thing is certain, products of the past are rarely available for sale in the future. Calling anything used or old devalues it making disposal a reasonable result. If we change the terminology and call these same items 'vintage' suddenly their value rises with a hefty price tag to match. There is nothing to compare when vintage clothing comes calling. Watch your language!

The other day, as I retrieved the 'saved' wooden blocks of an earlier generation, I was taken to a time, etched in my memory, of those days spent building 'cities', 'parks' 'bridges' and jungles'. (The word fulcrum might have been used in the 'balance' equation.) ... The occupants of these 'places' are now adults but those moments of the past will never be forgotten. (The young developing mind is an exciting thing to 'watch'.) 

Will my living room now become a research station for my grandchildren when these little minds come to visit? I must act. Cherished old pine blocks had been re-discovered. Their 36-year-old shapes and sizes were now waiting for this newest generation of children to imagine. Visions of real or imaginary futures would come alive. A three-tiered trolley, in pristine condition, had housed these building blocks of old. Out of sight but never out of mind.

I have beautiful dresses bought years before their 'premiere'. (Hollywood might beckon or Independent Film, too. One never knows!) Should these 'costumes' be thrown out? Never! I do not wear long dresses, evening wear or heels when caring for or caressing a sick cat, walking and exercising my large lovable dogs or their cousins. A different kind of 'uniform' is worn then. Fashion details of the '40's may return with a 'twist'. But having the 'originals', hanging in my closet, is my business, not theirs.

My building blocks were new, once upon a time, but now are termed vintage with modern stories to tell. Architecture and engineering technology are in play, relevant now, as they were then, with my future 'players', my grandchildren. Books, those time worn inventions of the past, are here, too, competing with digital tech in our modern world. 

Hands were always made to hold, mould, twist, turn, examine, create and caress - these tools for discovery learning. A hand-held gadget cannot compete in the 'physical' world of children. “Go to the couch. Read” says my toddler grandson.

Things in dismal shape, no longer wanted or needed, should always be subject to discretionary 'disposal'. Storage and closet space are premium commodities, after all. But once discarded, gone forever. So as I go about washing the wooden blocks and toys of yesteryear, I relive the magical moments when my own little boys told exciting stories, remodelled in their young minds, of events only they knew or understood. I was simply in awe.

The use it, lose it or keep it policy is ours to make. Let us not be fooled. We understand the implication. Ignore those invisible and unreliable trendsetters who think they know better than we do. 'Cause they don't!

The Duct Cleaning Narrative

We had never done it, nor did we think we had to. Most people hadn't thought of it so why bother now? The thought of strangers, mostly men, walking through my house while 'checking on' the heating vents being cleaned had me thinking, in a most unseemly way,”Could they be casing the joint for future access? Such silliness.

Duct cleaning service had arrived a few weeks after the installation of a smaller state-of-the-art electric furnace, a more efficient user of electricity and with it, an outside heat pump. (“Living better electrically” is a lie started in the 60's, when this form of energy was cheap and in plentiful supply). Other heating choices had been considered then dismissed. Too risky, in my opinion. It had been over 30 years since we moved in. The original heating system had been a few years old then so it was time. With electricity costs sky high, a new one would be more efficient, smaller and less costly to operate.We were satisfied.

I had began to move objects and furniture out of the way of the floor vents. With a large hose moving about, throughout the house, I wanted my efforts to make things easier for the technicians. I covered this and that in case dust and other flight bound objects might land creating for me a cleaning nightmare later. Dusting is so time consuming. I am very particular how I do it. No cleaning company would do. Then there was the seeming intrusion into our lives. Some items were personal, not for eyes of a stranger.

The day had arrived. I was uneasy. With two dogs afoot, the noise and annoyance factor shot up ten fold. But at least security was here. Two men alighted from their nearly new mega van. A conversation began with my husband. He remained till I felt comfortable. A son once remarked, many years ago, that I would be fine anywhere men congregated. I understood what he meant. Surrounded by males all my life, then being the mom to three sons, set the standard for me, a Green Beret code of parenting. But as these gentlemen entered the house, I knew we were in good hands. Mr. Wiggles and Sally, his energetic 10 year old canine sister greeted them with enthusiasm and calm - while ensconced within their respective leashes. With all ceremonial introductions completed, I could now relax knowing my canine concerns had been lifted. My 'team' had decided. These 'suspicious' characters had met their criteria. All was good.

The trail of wide flexible hoses, threaded throughout our house, gave clear evidence that a massive cleaning operation was underway. I asked questions as this newest twist on housecleaning began. How often should this be done? Why are you using these lengthy finger-like metal projectiles inside the vent? My learning curve had expanded. ... Every two-three years, to help loosen any dust or debris adhering to the inside of the duct work. Each vent had a magnetic cover to keep the dust of that particular room contained as the hose managed to pull the particulates from an adjacent space. It all made sense to me.

As these gentlemen moved about, they never forgot to take off their boots. I had wondered about that step. Walking throughout my house without removing shoes would sound the death knell for future visits. Who knew what horrible things lie in wait beneath these warrior boots? But my fears were groundless as each technician removed footwear with each re-entry. The appointment lasted under 4-5 hours, I think, made painless because of their professionalism, caring and respectful manner. The dogs had been acclimated to the company otherwise alot of noise would have resulted during this time. It was as though friends were visiting. Freshly made orange juice was offered. It was a hot day after all and they deserved it.

So here I am totally satisfied and comforted by the excellent job done, with pictures to show before and after, inside our floors. Our 'house' was not the dirtiest. Thinking that a long gravel driveway, the dust and dirt of country living, along side 'fireplace' heat might be the culprits in our internal dusty malaise, I was surprised to learn it was none of those. Our pets and the fur they wore were most at fault. Well, now I understood. The invoice would go to them. Made sense to me.

Mr. "MyPillow"

The idea came to me as I watched this latest tv intrusion for MyPillow. Funny how this innocuous sleeping thing can pivot us towards our healthy futures. And so I waited for it to be over, but with an interest and intensity never before felt as the newest twist on MyPillow, the Roll and Go Anywhere began to unfold. Was this history in the making?

The inventor of MyPillow appeared in his latest commercial extolling the virtues of a smaller pillow for children. He was the well known pillow man, the man responsible for better sleep but now encouraging children down this healthy path. In this latest clip, he was engaging with children, all playing with and throwing around smaller versions of 'his pillow', the new Roll-and-GoAnywhere version. A mountain of these smaller pillows were being used as giant lego-like blocks, the iconic toy of the past, to build walls or mountains outside, in a colourful landscape as the youngsters ran and jumped about. It was then he announced that the children could keep as many pillows as they could carry. They were aglow with excitement. Away they went! Later, in a scene reminiscent of so many taking place in the family van, the very young actors could be seen sleeping on their pillows while in vehicles being driven by their parents. Was a good habit, the foundation of future health, in the making? I began to wonder.

Up to this moment I was watching a new commercial, Best Day Ever for MyPillow. A few months ago, the inventor, Mr. Lindell, had been a guest on the hit show, Life, Levin and Liberty, telling the host, Mark Levin and his audience, his life of drug abuse as a young man. He had hit bottom. I was shocked. Here was a man who had pulled himself out of the deepest of despair to become the household name and face of MyPillow, the gold standard of all. (I was already tired of seeing his commercials, a seeming never ending reality show). But I was impressed with this man's rise to fame and health from a common abyss. He was now being featured on a well-known talk show. I could not believe my senses!

Last year, on Tucker Carlson Tonight, the host had met with a gaggle of high-tech industry giants to discuss the rise in depression and teen suicide. What were they talking about? These men of industry were concerned business men as well as fathers. Teens' hand held devices were holding court over them. Sleep was in serious jeopardy. Important calls or texts were too important to miss. Depression was on the rise. Society's wake-up call had arrived. Then I watched the Roll and GoAnywhere commercial and it all made sense.

A minimum of 7-8 hours of deep restorative sleep is required for healing the mind and body. Without sufficient sleep, brain's executive function, among other things, is greatly affected in a multitude of ways. Could this newest MyPillow phenomenon, the RollandGoAnywhere, be the antidote for sleep deprivation, beginning in childhood, where parental power has its greatest influence on children? Good habits begin somewhere! If children are shown the importance of sleep during critical phases of their development, then perhaps sleep's significance will be honoured and maintained throughout life. Yes, I thought!

If the overuse and dependency of modern media, places our teens at risk, then we, as their parents, must get to them first, in childhood. Could the simple pillow be a clinical first step? The animal kingdom needs sleep to survive. But try getting a small child to bed for his customary daily nap or nighttime ritual and see the resistance. Maybe the inventor of My Pillow, who's been in our peripheral line of vision, since the beginning, might be on to something. Introducing children to a 'device' that makes them happy, has play value, anywhere, while encouraging sleep, could be the turning point in a health crisis that has no end. 

Sleep is a critical element of the human condition. Perhaps we should be taking heed of pillow's curative value, this miracle medical 'device', in the lives of children. Maybe, the Roll and GoAnywhere could be the start of something monumental, a great beginning in the right direction.

Our Innocent Little Snuggler

The other day, as I got comfortable on the sofa, Emerson, our 2 year old rescue beagle hound, jumped next to me for a visit. He seemed lost in thought as he lay down for his customary snuggle.

Caring for this latest addition to our animal family was the beginning of another assignment from our 'living specialist' son. I've always been available for this misunderstood pup who'd been returned twice before we got him, forever. Too much energy on his part; too little patience, on theirs, I guess. Maybe some of us need more because we give more. Makes sense to me.

As time passed Emerson seemed to fit right in. He belonged here, he was telling me, even part time. He was less anxious around food, now, knowing he'd receive his share immediately, just as Mr. Wiggles and Sally would, too. When apple slices, certain in season berries and cucumber time arrives, Emerson is right there, down on all four paws, waiting to show me he knew the rules of puppy etiquette. I was the one to deliver the goods, he knew and trusted.

I'm sitting on the sofa when he jumps up to greet me. In no time, he's become an appendage, leaning against me then sliding down onto my lap, paws and snout in tandem. He's looking around calmly as he begins to fall asleep. Is it his size that makes him do this or had he simply fallen in love with me, finally? At other times, Emerson simply jumps next to me, then leans in as if to tell a secret he wants no one else to know. But I knew, he assumed.

He is a listener, a doer, a sweet boy, through and through. It was time-out, a period to relax and meditate. Exercise was done - for now. The Wiggler and his sister were napping. It was Emerson's turn to follow. And so he did. He moves about, from here to there, always testing this spot and that for that quiet place to sleep. 

 

Night time takes him to his cage, that 4-star hotel room with 'black out' curtains, for the deepest of sleep possible. His comfort is my concern. Gentleness is his right. The door is left open. In the meantime, he sleeps near those he trusts. He may snuggle with me. It's another safe place to be. He knows he's welcome, here next to me, anytime. We talk, up close and cuddle. He needs this emotional touch but so do I. We all do. Though some may deny its importance, its significance can never be underestimated or overlooked. The power of touch. Life depends upon it!

His high energy persona has tapped into an emotional well - his and mine - catapulting him onto my lap again, where he begins to explain, in great detail, why he ran and pulled on Mr. Wiggle's neck instead of the malleable silicone soccer ball, nearby. Reminders of suitable play are repeated, again and again, outside, with a wooden rake, nearby, to make ground noise for getting his attention. He stops.“Where's your ball', I ask? He runs to get one, knowing repeat offenders are still loved here. 

While running with Mr. Wiggles, things get out of hand. I clap again, call his name, as he rules his rousing kingdom. I do it again then move closer. He stops and looks upward, knowing he needs to listen. He sits. Discipline is just a clap and 'carry' away. We move indoors.

Emerson yearns for affection when in the arms of another. His recent ear infection told a painful story. He never complains. 'They' never do! His actions spoke volumes about his condition as he hit the ground, in racing car motion, rubbing his head to address the inescapable pain. He trusts us, knowing all would be fine, soon. The standard is very high in the house of puppies. Healing, running and jumping were immediately restored. I love him dearly.

He cherishes those moments on the sofa, on my lap, behind my back and everywhere on the floor. In his bed, in their beds or on grandpa's feet he naps.When playtime is done, cuddles and snuggles are arm's length away with this little canine gem with a heart of gold. Lucky for me his dad scrolled down one day and found him, a reminder of Mr. Wiggles,  waiting for us. 'Cause our world was waiting for him!

They Called You 'Jimmy'

I saw what he did to you, that cowardly 'lion'! I read your story. It was a sad and shocking tale like so many out there. There's no shortage of horrific animal abuse stories. They happen all the time when people lose control of their own lives then decide to inflict pain on others of the innocent and vulnerable kind. It's pay back time for these evil doers.

We're all affected when abuse comes calling. Some victims are not so lucky. You were, sweet boy. Seeing your body duct taped, innocent eyes peering out into space, made me shed tears. Duct tape is strong, meant to hold anything together. It's meant for DIY projects - not you, an innoccnt creature! How could he do this? But we know many do. It's so easy when no one is looking. The rest of us could never ever do it. It is beyond belief. Perhaps a lifetime of  personal abuse or few 'regulating' boundaries, then progressing to this, helped your particular chain of horror unfold. Your rescue was the highlight of my day. The police investigated your case. The felon was soon found, living nearby.

Your legs had been duct taped, preventing you from walking; your snout, too, to stop you from barking, drinking and breathing, perhaps. Sickening, horrific! At your advanced age, anything goes. It does for all of us. You are a senior statesman, after all. It was a cold blooded act of brutality! 

 

Time was not on your side. Then it happened. A vigilant police officer found you - 12 hours later - in the ditch where you had been thrown, tossed from the perpetrator's car - the other accomplice!

The animal hospital welcomed you. They all do. Saving lives is their business. The staff named you Jimmy. The police preserved any evidence to solve your heinous crime: the abduction and torture of an innocent! There were fingerprints on the duct tape used to incapacitate you, Jimmy. What a sweet name you were given. 

 

I know a man named Jimmy and he's as sweet as you are. The medical team worried about a possible concussion but it seemed you had none. Your body took a lot of abuse, I could see. Your facial profile reminded me of 'our' sweet boy, Emerson, our rescue pup, a gentle soul whose purpose in life is simply to run, eat, play and give kisses. Is that what you do, too? You looked so sweet, my boy.

"Finding your momma, was not easy. So she found you! The news spread until others heard of your story. She made the mistake of letting you out without a leash, she said. We've all done that. We're not perfect. But you are! You keep us in line while making us better versions of ourselves, daily. A nice man paid your vet bill. Your mom was unable. The costs of a criminal act should not be born by the innocent. Others should help pay. 

 

The doctors probably discounted your bill. That gesture happened to us, when I found our kitten,Tiggy, dying by the side of the road in -25 winter temp. For 16 years she told us us her story. She died in February this year. Oh how I miss her still! Deep holes in our hearts remain when you guys leave us. We never forget the mark you leave behind -ever!

The video of your recovery was a comfort to all who saw it. Your mom was holding you, wishing all of this had never happened. Now others know of you. Those in your neighborhood will be watching, now, just in case. The 'village' knows no bounds. We are a loving species. But there will always be those who do harm. The rest of us do not. We simply care, protect and love. That is all!

You were kidnapped - 5 minutes after being let out. Then 12 hours later, you were found with a suspected concussion, malnutrition, dehydration, wrapped in duct tape used to fix things. I hope you knew you would be found and had not suffered too much. 

 

It was cold that night when the officer found you in the ditch. You are a senior, a member of a very special  loving group. You know the rules. He did not! And that did not stop him from trying to harm you. You had wandered off when he grabbed you for nefarious reasons. He lived nearby and was charged.

I'm happy your story ended so well. The web has shown us all that tyranny exists everywhere.  Enjoy your life, sweet boy. You have certainly earned that right.

Imprinting Baby's Palate

Teaching our children to be discriminating people begins from the moment of birth. Under careful scrutiny we begin the painstaking task of introducing our newborn to 'first' foods, the determinants of his future health, a canvas upon which core strength, behaviour and intellect depend. I have seen the miracles unfold. My grandsons, aged one and two, are exhibits A.

Development of taste, texture and smell begins in the kitchen. Mom is the conductor. Introducing baby to pureed, sliced or diced carrots, peas, apples, bananas, beets, broccoli, and other 'interesting' foods, during this phase sensitive period, governs baby's dietary future. Health is the result. Processed foods and 'introductory' grains are not welcome. Their presence is suspect, certainly now. Feeding baby is a serious matter! Their palates are being imprinted, as love and wisdom guide their moms. 

Protecting our children from sugar's path of destruction begins with first foods. Breast milk begins the process with these focused modern moms, a president, a doctor and French immersion teacher. They are supported by the 'village', this vast network of family. A recent program on arsenic in organics mentioned the high percentage of this chemical in baby's first foods: rice cereal. Eating 'first' cereals can be problematic in other ways, too, I am learning. Fruits and vegetables are the royal pair.

Sugar masquerading under other names but disguised as ingredients is not new. We are ingesting it at an alarming rate. We know of sugar's almighty power to aid and abet illness. These modern moms know too. No sugar, dairy or gluten. Setting the health trajectory for their children has begun. Cereals are missing. When cereal are included, it seems, the nutrient density of 13 vitamins is less potent while cereal's 'anti-nutrients' begin their metabolic interference, too. Oh, my! Baby's digestive system is too delicate and new to play this dietary game. (But I love my buckwheat kasha and cornmeal, nonetheless. Let's wait and see. That combo helped my preemie thrive and survive)!

In my generation - generations ago - the internet did not exist and today's authors had not been born for 'those' books to be published. Back then, I bought every book I could find on the premature infant. “Born Too Soon” was #1, in my library. We learned from books and nurses, too. Nutrition was not a topic under discussion just the next vaccine on the schedule of doses to be given. How times have changed.

Advancements in the information highway, today, have given these modern moms the tools they need to evaluate this early food game, the most important game of all. My grandsons eat the foods we hear about, pureed or not, cooked or raw, depending. Teeth are important tools to be managed wisely. Oranges, kiwis, cooked beets, broccoli, sweet potatoes, strawberries and avocados, to name a few, are daily menu options. On the top of the list is the banana, a fruit high in magnesium. Both boys love this sweet, 'natural' food made by Mother Nature. It is not food like. It is food!

Core strength is present in my grandbabies. Skin elasticity, high level thinking (executive function) and attention skills, early language development and an understanding of 'be careful', 'hot- danger' and “Read me a book on the couch”mark the learning curve of these little humans. Real food and loving human interaction did this.

As I enter the kitchen, our youngest - at one- is feeding himself. Blueberries, strawberries, kiwis and thinly sliced peeled cucumber are today's favourites. Soon mom gives him portioned avocado, directly from the 'shell'. He devours it like candy. No fries with that. Just the delicious morsels of a food widely acclaimed for its nutrient and healthy fat value. Was that a filling afternoon snack or was it dinner. Hard to tell. Whatever it was, it will be repeated in a few hours with other super foods. And no fries with that either.