GoD and DoG

Once in awhile you find something that weaves its way into your heart and you know it will never leave.

A friend sent it to me by email and I've watched it ten times. I'll watch it ten more. And I'll never look at Minky and JoJo, my two beloved dogs, the same way. She put to words and music what I knew as a dog lover. But I would never be able to say it like she does.

Click http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H17edn_RZoY to watch it. There's something wrong with the embedding code or I'd post it here. Run time is less than two minutes.

The creator of this beauty is Wendy Francisco at http://www.godanddog.org/

Please visit 30 Day Throw Down and join us as we eat. For REAL.

Whatcha Been Chewin'?

Minky and JoJo would like to bring you today's update. It's a good thing, too. I'm still just a little spittin' mad at Blogger. It's better this morning but not fully fixed yet. (The dogs had to create this photo post backwards because nothing can be rearranged.) So I'm leaving now to assume my position on the fainting couch and sending this post to the dogs.



Hello!! MInky here, with news from my beautiful self. Look how the sun highlights my eyes in this remarkable photo. And do you see how I have my two front socks pulled up just perfectly so they match? I amaze myself. I am 8-months-old now and looking for ways to "go greeen" by composting the trash, recycling, and down-sizing. If I find it, I chew it.

Here's a small sampling of some recent work:

That red thing in the middle is actually supposed to be for dogs to chew on. Every time I chewed it, it got smaller and smaller. It’s kinda freakin’ me out. Pieces of it are showing up when I go outside to do my business. That’s not right. It seems to be following me.

(Oh my good grief. Could I BE any more bored? JoJo here. If you’ve been puttin’ off a root canal, now’s your moment. It might be more entertaining. Minky's probably gonna drag on and on about this piddlin’ life of hers and makin’ a big deal outta nuthin’. She’s never faced a bear or caught a cat by the tail. You know, the stuff REAL dogs do. I’ll just keep sittin’ here prayin' an anvil falls on my head.)

Anyway, look at these! These gloves are made out of Kevlar. My dad got some for work and they worked out great so, he got some for me, too. He thought we could wrestle and they would save him from my shark-like teeth. He was wrong. I found where he left the gloves and finished ‘em off.

Underneath that red thing below is my chipmunk. You might wanna look away if you’re squeamish. I pulled all of his guts out and I think those plastic things on either side might be his bowels. Yeah, I think I disemboweled him. When I bit down on him they made squeaky noises. I have that problem once in awhile with my digestive system. So does JoJo. Hers are loud which I think is AWESOME. It happens when she flops down on the floor.

Here’s me in mid-flight catchin’ the chimpmunk carcass. If you look right in the middle of that gray SUV behind me, you’ll see if heading right for my open jaws.

(You did NOT TELL THEM about my personal issues…..what a rat fink. You must work for the Enquirer. I have no dignity left.)

Well, I could be a professional journalist, I'm sure. And every good reporter needs a few pencils, some gum to work off the energy of waiting for that breaking story, and a comb to maintain a good appearance. That's why I hunted these up:

So then, in the spirit of journalism, let me ask you Madam JoJo, what have you been up to?

Well, finally a subject of interest to your readers. I haven’t been chewin’ stuff up all over the house like someone whose initials are Minky. I bark when I need to, like when people we know come over. And I generally maintain my happy-go-lucky attitude when you’re not buggin’ me, which leaves me precious little time for happy attitudes, I can tell you. But here's a shot of me in one of those rare moments:

Okay, well that’s enough about you. Now let’s get back to me.

Here’s another GREAT action shot of me on the fly. Check out that hang time and the air I got!

I look kind of chubby, but I'm not. I'm really just fluffy. My mom says she looks kind of fluffy, but she's not. She's just chubby.

So that's the latest from the home front right now. Happy tails to you from me and Happy Jo!!

Copyright 2009

Never Eat Crow - A Critter Tale

I think I've had one of every animal pictured here. Maybe two of the polar bears.

I am a collector of all things furry, feathered, flying, creeping, purring, and barking. Taming my urges to acquire all of God's creatures has been hard-earned.

Grizzly used to bring home every stray anything, hand it to me to save, and then gripe endlessly about its existence in our home. Like the time at work he pulled four tiny kittens out of a pipe that was about to be flooded. The progenitor was nowhere to be seen. Naturally, I became the mama to the tottering, eyes barely opening, mewling felines.

"We'll find homes for them," he announced to me, two-year-old Wild Man, and six-year-old Bo. Yeah. That'll work.

Let's see.....we'll all be mamas since there isn't one. And that means we'll hover over them every minute, feed them nearly on the hour, feel them snuggle in the crooks of our necks for warmth while sucking on our ear lobes, and when they're hail and hearty a month from now, off they'll go.

That might have been feasible if he'd brought home hyenas. Not so much with four purring fluff balls.

Names had to be given of course. We were consumed with Beatrix Potter at the time so two of them became "Tom Kitten," and "Jemima Puddle Cat." The others just "Tucker" and "Bess" because we liked the names. Two tabby striped boys, two all white girls.

In our family almost all names get morphed. We can't help it. It might even be a syndrome they haven't named yet. The kids have vacillated between despising us for it and gleefully participating. Recently, they have begun to show signs of irreversible infection.

For instance, "Tom" became "Tommy." No big deal. Then "Tombo Combo" because one of our local hole-in-the-wall hamburger joints had a menu item by that name. (Former owner was named Tom. You don't need to know this so of course I'm telling you anyway.) Then Tommy developed an intestinal problem which rendered him sulphuric and socially unacceptable. Consequently, we dubbed him "Tombo Combo Dropped a Little Bomb-bo." And on and on it went.

"Jemima Puddle Cat" became "Jemima" which became "Mime-urs" but is spelled "Mimers." Which looks like it should be pronounced Mimm-ers. Nothing makes much sense. I just call her "Stewy." Yes, there's an explanation for that, too, but it can wait.

Bess and Tucker, strangely enough, managed to hang on to their original monikers most of the time. JoJo, however, who entered the fray at roughly the same time, developed approximately 35 names. I'm telling you, it's a strange condition and we probably need medication.

But this story wasn't about cats or dogs, believe it or not, or our odd naming affliction. This story was supposed to be about birds. I have no idea what happened.

I meant to tell you about the day Grizzly brought me a baby crow.

He was the biggest, most helpless looking baby. And such a dark gray he was nearly black.

I had always wanted a crow. You rarely see babies because the parents are so intensely protective, the fledglings don't leave the nest until they are nearly grown. And you can teach crows to talk. Technically, you're not supposed to keep them as pets. But if one flies right into your arms, what are you supposed to do? I know what I did, having rehabilitated more than my share of wild critters. I checked the Internet for what to feed him and how best to get him to eat. I even made a mock crow head out of plastic tweezers and a glove and poked food down his throat. He thrived. He grew. He made strange noises.

Every day I gave him flying lessons by holding onto his feet and making him flap. He loved it. He was the UGLIEST thing I have nearly ever seen. And he STANK. Our is it stunk? He smelled bad. But he was ours. I hoped to set him free and find that he wanted to live around our yard. I envisioned him calling out words to us much as a previous rescue, "Hope," the mocking bird, learned to imitate the toads and would croak from the tree tops. I envisioned him swooping in for visits. What I didn't envision was his transformation into a pigeon.

I looked at him one day and wondered why he wasn't black anymore. He was getting lighter and his beak was looking decidedly freakish for a crow. Stripes started forming down his wings. I don't know when it dawned on me but I do remember staring at him one day and saying, "That's no crow." It was Bo who piped up and said, "He looks like a pigeon."

"A PIGEON?" I exclaimed, protesting. Surely, in all of God's green earth I wasn't raising a pigeon and thinking it was a crow.

"Yeah, Mommy. That's a pigeon! Isn't he beautiful?"

"Well, maybe, for a pigeon," I replied, "but he's a pretty ugly crow."


It dawned on me I'd been feeding him the wrong diet. He couldn't have cared less. He was huge.

Since there was nothing to be done but finish his ground school pilot's work, I kept up the lessons. My goal was to teach him to fly......AWAY. One pigeon turns into a herd of pigeons, or a grove, or a quorum. Something.

Fully feathered out and completely ready to launch, he was actually beautiful. We had grown quite attached to him and dubbed him "Twig." He knew his name and began to make lovely sounds when he landed. He was making regular tours around the backyard now and we expected to find that he had gone for good nearly any day, off in search of a flock of his own. But instead, he seemed quite content to stay with us and perch on any surface where he could land. And the closer to the back door the better. If we left it open he would walk right in.

In case you were ever in doubt about this, pigeons poop. A LOT. Soon our ladder, patio table, garden fence, etc. were being christened in lovely white splashes reminiscent of grotesque modern art paintings and equally as welcome. We attempted to shoo him out past our yard. He was undeterred. He belonged to us even though we had at least 300 other pigeons he could have joined at anytime, living a mere 1/4 mile away in an old, abandoned winery tower. Life was good with us. And so we felt his relocation might need a boost. Perhaps he should live somewhere farther away where he could still have human contact.

The perfect place dawned on us. A huge park fifteen miles north with lakes and trees and, best of all, people who came regularly to feed ducks, geese, and pigeons. He would be in his element. He would find a wife. He would go on to create a family tree. With more twigs on it.

With sadness, but a sense of anticipation, we dropped Twig into a cardboard box and closed the lid lightly. We had to stop at the bank on the way and, not wanting to leave him in a hot car, took him into the bank with us. The Wild Man, being six-years-old and not yet known for his judgment, began to worry that Twig couldn't breathe well. So he opened the box. In the bank. Twig popped up his head to decide which teller should receive his deposit. He spread his wings for flight just at the moment we all noticed him. We forced him to make an emergency landing and returned him to the terminal. Disaster averted. On to the park.

As we approached a little lake surrounded by trees we decided this was our spot. We stroked his soft feathers one last time. We assured him birds were thriving all around him. We told him about his romantic possibilities. But the kids cried anyway. They worried he wouldn't know what to do. They were sure he'd starve.

We set him down on the ground. He made no attempt to fly away and merely walked around dejectedly. Bo burst into tears. And then, all at once, he flew to the top of the highest tree and simply sat there, looking lost. This wasn't the comforting parting I had planned. I wiped faces and noses and said the reassuring things mommies say. There was no happy way out of this but I tried to reassure them Twig would adjust.

I headed toward home with a heavy heart. Would he adjust? Had I condemned him to starvation, deprivation, annihilation? I tried to put it out of my mind, distract the kids, and get our errands done.

By the time we got home I sat said children at the schoolroom desk and set their work out before them. The day was beautiful and I threw open the windows and doors. It seemed a little quiet in the backyard not hearing Twig's fluttering coos as he flew about and my heart accused me with a tight pang. I hoped the kids weren't feeling the same way but I figured they were. We had grown so used to his sounds.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar whoosh and coo. I stopped in my tracks and snapped my head toward the back door. Of course, there could be no way it was Twig. I hoped the kids hadn't heard it. Girzzly had already threatened to relocate Twig to Pismo Beach, 150 miles away, and I had laughed him off quite sure 15 miles was enough. But maybe Twig had spread the word before he left and now another pigeon was discovering the gravy train. I rushed to the back door. So did the kids. Yep, they'd heard it.

"Is that Twig?!" they shouted.

I looked to the patio table. And sure enough, sitting there plump, pretty, and pleased with himself was Twig. "Made it!," he seemed to say. "Where's my ladder? I really gotta go."

The kids were elated, naturally. This meant Twig simply had to live with us because in his God-given bird brain, this was home, and he'd proven he could find it from anywhere. The place he knew and the place he loved. There had to be another answer. We would discover it. But in the meantime, what could we do but say, "Welcome home, Twig! You're amazing! How in the heck did you DO that?" and, oh yeah, "Dad's gonna kill us!"


To Be Continued....


Copyright 2009

Four Legged Followers - Are YOU one of us?

If one of your followers has four legs, can't you count that as TWO followers?

This is Molly. She is the exhuberant, goofy puppy owned by my dear friends, the McCrackens. More specificially, she is their daughter, Kaylee's, puppy. And she wants to do everything Kaylee does. And one thing Kaylee does regularly is read my posting and visit my blog. Kaylee says this:

"Molly loves your blog, too. :-)

She always jumps onto my lap if she's let inside and I'm on the computer.

This time, I was looking at your blog and when she saw what I was looking at she was enamored. :-) She.....couldn't take her eyes of it. :-p (so to speak)

I love you Auntie Robynn <3"

And in case you can't tell, Molly has her nose pressed up right against my profile picture. Now THAT's an adoring fan. Just how many of you press YOUR nose right up against my picture each time you log on? I'll bet thirty or LESS. So there you go.

Don't you think Molly deserves to have a little picture of her own and become a full follower with all rights? I'm voting yes. I'd like to have your picture up there too, Molly, so I can press MY nose against it.

And to the McCrackens (who are not only our dear long-term friends, but Tim is our pastor as well) may I say a public THANK YOU for having my orphan daughter and me into your home yesterday for Easter.

Our guys hit the mountains for camping and weren't back by birthday/Easter Sunday. So poor pitiful Bo and I felt appropriately sorry for ourselves and intended to go for full wallowing in said pity, but the McCrackens wouldn't let us. They invited us over, fed us a delicious dinner, and Kaylee even made the most BEAUTIFUL vintage cake with softly draped frosting and tiny baby tea roses. You couldn't have ordered a cake more whimsical and delightful from the best confectioner. We felt LOVED. And then we looked at photos - for twelve minutes - (an inside joke) and laughed at the most ludicrous stories until I thought I would collapse on the floor in a puddle of jello. What's the old saying? "We like those we talk with but we LOVE those we laugh with." Or something like that. But it is true.

What a fun, and loving, day. Another VERY happy memory for my happy memory Easter file!

And speaking of pressing your nose against the computer screen, are you following me by any chance and I'm the only one who doesn't know it? If so, would you consider clicking the little "Follow" button above the photos entitled "The Crazy People Who Like Me" and become an official part of the gang around here? I promise I won't make you comment but it will be far easier to do so, should you have something you want to say. You know I'm always pushing onward and upward and would love to hit 150. Can it be done? Let's see!

I have a contest coming up, too. Come join the reindeer games and don't allow yourself to be marginalized for another minute.

Copyright 2009

An Award, uh, Sort of........

So, uh, okay. I received this "award" from my recently fired press agent, Libby, over at Neas Nuttiness. You will see why I had to let her go when you read her latest press release on me. It is as follows:

"And last for today (and believe me I didn't really want to add her cause she's really smok'n me out with her followers - and she's often a BIG FAT LIAR - oh did I really say that? Uuuummmm - she stretches the truth now and then - yep, that's better.) is Robynn at Robynn's Ravings."

I want to thank you, Libby, from the bottom of my shoe for these warm words! lol! Now I do suggest you pop over and visit her because she is very nice to everyone else and will probably be nice to you, too.

Okay, the rules are as follows:

List 6 things that make you happy. Pass the award on to 6 bloggers for Kreativity. Link to the blogger who gave you the award. Link to the blogs receiving the award. Notify the recipients.Things that make me happy:

1. My family, friends, and pets on a daily basis. Such warmth, joy, blessings, and love.

2. My faith in an all powerful, redeeming God who has seen fit to love EVEN ME.

3. Joy, fun, laughing, humor.

4. Finding meaning - even if it takes years.

5. Kindness - it is always unexpected and I hope I never fail to appreciate it.

6. My new blogging world and the wonderful friends I have met here. I am touched and amazed.

Next: The Nominees are - (oh man, only six? you know how BAD I am at choosing......I don't follow anyone I don't think is fantastic.) But okay....based on creativity......

1. Sharon Linne Faulk is an incredible designer of handmade cards. They are available on Etsy. Sharon's life is filled with challenges and love as she raises two boys with autism, and does so on her own, after having lost her husband. Her story is compelling and I urge all of you to visit her and buy her cards. They really are lovely.

2. Andrea at Finding Sirius. I love her writing and her heart. Both are beautiful. And she has started a new blog called, The Charlie Project in which she features photos of dogs. But it's not just photos. Andrea offers captions that explalin the photos in meaningful and moving ways. She can see something in dogs you might miss as a casual observer. She doesn't miss a thing and you may see dogs differently after viewing her photos. If you are in any way a dog lover your life will be enriched.

3. Gizten Girl is a treasure. She has incredible health challenges that keep her housebound and in pain. But you won't leave her site feeling down. Quite the contrary. She's funny, encouraging, and very talented. Today she is starting to sell her inspirational, and lovely, canvases that she paints. I already ordered one this morning. I want it, dang it! If I wait ten seconds I'll be in line behind the rush. LOTS of us love her. You will, too.

4. Red Pine Mountain is a humanitarian. She focuses on people and the writings of others. She has contests encouraging people to visit other blogs and purchase handmade products. She advocates for and writes about random acts of kindness. Her heart is evident in all she does. Go and be blessed by her graciousness.

5. French with Music is unbelievable. Here's something even more unbelievable: I am her only follower. She is in France and has other blogs but this one, well, you have to have eclectic musical taste (and I DO) but I have found myself enraptured by some of her video posts. Three of my favorites over there are as follows: No Me Quitte Pas, is the real version of a song translated into English. And believe me, something was lost in translation. (This has subtitles.) Absolutely stunning in its emotional grip and poetry. Another is Liberta which will just make you smile. Trust me. You can't help it. (Put on the headphones for the best effect for all of these. You'll feel like you're there.) And finally, don't miss Chocolat Chaud. I have no idea what the words are but I love how she sings them and the tune is something I hummed constantly this last week. It's a live performance and I LOVE it! Please visit and tell me what you think.

6. Finally, Azure Island Designs is a woman who makes jewelry. Yeah, I know. Lots of people make jewelry. But not like this. She is not only richly creative, she infuses her pieces with feeling. I don't know how she does it except that she's an artist and that's what artists do. Check this out especially: Broken Heart Necklace. Scroll down when you go there and just look at that. I don't know why but that necklace makes me feel hopeful and sad, all at the same time. I want it. It says so much.

My deepest appreciation goes out to all of you ladies for enriching my life. I have found my way to you and I am grateful.

Proverbs 3:6 "In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your paths."

So grateful our paths have crossed. :-)

(Now go blame Libby that Part II of "The Winter Ow-lympics isn't up. She'll thank you for it.)

Copyright 2009

A Bear Market - Epilogue

To read all the previous chapters of "A Bear Market," click here: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 and Chapter 3
Hello there. Jojo here. Your canine correspondent. My motto: I will dig as deep as I have to for the truth or a moldy rotten bone - whichever comes first.

It has been on my heart, and weighin' heavy, that lately some things in the truth department have been twisted and bent, or left out altogether and frankly, I'm disgusted. Nice people like you outta be told when they're havin' their chains yanked. There are heroes livin' here who aren't appreciated or even recognized. I'm not namin' names but I think you'll recognize a hero when you see one. I'll let you in on what's REALLY goin' on behind the scenes and set the record straight.

You all probably know my mom's been laid up. What you probably DON'T know is I've been the one keepin' it all together for her. And I'm doin' it in spite of the fact that she has completely ignored the dog's-honest-truth about those bears and the role certain parties played. But abuse has never allowed me to shirk my duty. So first, here's what's goin' on around the house.

I think it's plain to see by this hopeless look on my face that I have my hands full. And let the record show that I am only layin' on the couch to keep that hooligan, Minky, off of it. Dogs aren't supposed to be on the couch around here and I will lay here as long as I need to, to keep her off.

Because not only is she gettin' her out-of-control self up ON the couch, she's stealin' my dad's coffee cup right out of his work bag. The fool dog likes coffee. No one can leave a cup of it sittin' around anywhere but that she's got her fat schnoz stuck right in there and drinkin' it. If I hadn't caught the culprit right in the action, my dad woulda grabbed this out in the mornin' never knowin' she had drug her lollin' tongue all over it. And she tries to pull off this real innocent look while she's in the middle of the crime!

She even tried to steal his cup and drag it away where she could have coffee all by herself. And you know once you start drinkin' alone it's really all over with. I believe she has all the makins of a bonafide juvenile delinquent. But nobody cares much for what I have to say. Even about bringin' her home. They even tried to tell me she was for me, a present of sorts, to keep me young. Wow. Some kinda present. Apparently, makin' a list is pointless. But movin' along.....

While all this was goin' on, I was tryin' to take care of my mom. She was just layin' around lookin' all dejected and miserable. And though she hasn't been fair with me about some things I'm gettin' ready to tell you, I can't help but treat her honorably 'cause that's just who I am. I went to her bed and took her this:


Now if that's not one fine specimen of a good, broken-in bone that anyone in her right mind would love, I don't know what is. But did she chew it? No, she just said, "Ew! Get that disgusting thing off of my blanket!" and threw it on the floor. I took this abuse and turned the other cheek. I just knew my next idea would do the trick.

The doc always tells you to have a lot of water when you're sick so, I led her to the toilet and told her to get a drink. She just looked at me and then sat down on my water bowl. Nice.

I racked my brain and came up with the suggestion we go to the park and told her she could roll around in that nice poop I found over there the other day. I did. It was great. But with her? No sale. She's even still mad at me for jumpin' in. The woman canNOT be comforted. And frankly, I'm outta ideas. So, I figured, I'd post for her and give her a break and, in so doing, I would tell you the truth about the bears and my sleepin' habits.

I read the bad press I got about not waking up when I'm called or when things are going on. This is ridiculous. You need to know that I slept through her calling me when I was in bed with The Wild Man that night, because it is good for her to practice not gettin' so hysterical. I knew she wanted me but she needs to relax and learn to handle her panic better. I wasn't gone. I hadn't run away or been dognapped. And when I heard all that caterwallin' I decided then and there: that is NOT healthy. So I just kept my eyes closed and played dumb. I'm sure you can see my good work and motivation here.

And as far as sleeping through the bear, that was exaggerated, too. I knew the bear was out there! If I had growled or barked, these people of mine would have gotten up and tangled with them. I was trying to keep it quiet. What's a little car damage when your family is at risk? No one gives me any credit for having good sense.

And not only did they not give me credit, they put me in the minivan and went back to bed! I was NOT afraid. I WAS afraid that pitiful excuse for Yogi and her bratty kids wouldn't come back and let me tear a souvenir out of their backsides. That's the look my family saw on my face. It had nothing to do with the smell of bear in there. In fact, I was able to stand on the door handle, open the door, and head out to hunt those mangy maulers the rest of the night. We had a few serious tangles and I left them bloody and horrified. When I was satisfied they wouldn't come back for the night, I got back in the van and conked out. These people will never know what I did for them because I'm not one to brag on myself.

The next night it was me leading the charge in the bear hunt. I tried to drag Grizzly the right way but you can't tell him anything. He's got a gun and a flashlight. Apparently, that trumps guts, a nose, and pure brawn. I don't need a gun. I hate guns. I bark and try to tell him they're dangerous. I've hated them ever since he and The Wild Man got Nerf guns for Christmas when I was only a couple of years old. How I got caught in the cross-fire I'll never know but I had to take a bullet for both of them. And they want me to be excited about this craziness.

I got drug in all the wrong directions the whole night. And all the while Yogi was stalking my mother. I know it was a vendetta for my activities the night before. That she-bear knew I was out looking for her in all the wrong places and she had plans to digest my mother figure. Thank goodness my mom heard that wicked thing behind her and I was able to bark and charge forward. It was my sheer ferocity that saved her but, you didn't hear it from me.

Anyway, I'll get back to figuring out how to help her out around here. I thought about saving her some of my dog food this morning but that seriously challenges all I know to be sacred. I had one piece left....I even took a picture of it and sat for a long time givin' it some serious thought......


And then I remembered how she spun this story against me. She'll just have to do without MY dog food. That'll show her. I'll keep you posted if I see any more flagrant lying.




And don't worry. You'll ALWAYS get the straight story from me.

From Jojo - The HONEST one.

A Bear Market - Part 1

If a bear is in the forest and eats everything in your car, do your dogs hear it?

I'm thinking about that this morning after reading a post at From Single to Married in which she talks about her good watch dog. No one loves their dogs more than I love mine but, the reality is, JoJo is only incensed about people breathing or moving when she's wide awake. When she's asleep, all bets are off.

I once called Jojo to give her a hug goodnight. The rest of the inmates here at the asylum had already bunked down. No Jojo. I called again. Nothing. I searched from room to room and called outside, up and down the street. MIA. I shook the over-sized bed bugs out of their sheets and mounted a posse. I didn't want to panic alone. Flip flops were employed. Car engines started. Frantic hollering commenced. No Jo. In one final moment before complete bedlam prevailed, my son, the Wild Man, threw his covers around looking for his coat. There was Jo, tucked in, eyes rolled back in her head, sound asleep, and oblivious. She lifted heavy lids and peered out just long enough to say, "HeLLO. I was warm. Could you knock it off and put the blanket back?!"

It was just this type of edge-of-your-seat, sound-the-alarm guarding that allowed a mother bear, and her two cubs, to grocery shop in our car one night while we were camping.

I don't know about you but I think most moms sleep with one ear open from the minute the doctor says, "It's a girl! Or a boy!" Dads, on the other hand, tend to only wake up in the middle of the night when you, sleep deprived and weary from nursing the baby, roll over and latch that baby on to HIS chest. If you haven't tried this, you should.

Thus, my now normal sleep state is to hear dust collecting on the furniture. And when you are camping in the black of night, in the middle of the forest, and you hear a "thunk" in your sleep, even though neither of your two watch-less dogs perk up an ear, and your husband snores on in near comatose disregard, you trust your gut.

"Grizzly.....did you hear that?"

Now, I have to tell you that Grizzly may sleep like the dead but the moment there is an opportunity to use flashlights, guns, knives, bazookas, or inter-gallactic missiles, he is awake. Immediately. And armed.

"What'd you hear?!" he instantly interrogated.

"Well, I don't know but I just thought I heard a "thunk" outside, by the car," I stated cautiously as he seared my retinas with his flashlight. Now he was ripping open the zipper on the tent.

"Robynn, stay where you are," he ordered, staring through the door flap. "There are bears in the car." It would seem relevant, at this point, for you to know the dogs still weren't barking and were, in fact, snoring right beside the kids.

Now the statement, "There are bears in the car" is not a sentence I had ever considered forming or hearing. So I had never presupposed my response. I did, however, immediately know it did not include staying where I was. I don't tend to run away from things that scare me anyway; I run toward them because being scared just makes me spitting mad. And I had children to protect. And Cheetos. And Hostess Ding Dongs.

What I wasn't prepared for was what I saw next.......

To Be Continued......

Copyright 2009

Life on the Farm Ain't Kinda Laid Back

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back,

Ain't much an ol' country boy like me can't hack,

It's early to rise, early in the sack,

Thank God I'm a country boy.

Well, a simple kinda life never did me no harm,

A raisin' me a family and working on the farm,

My days are all filled with an easy country charm,

Thank God I'm a country boy.

When John Denver penned these now famous words to his song "Country Boy" he had, apparently, never spent time out at my mother's place.

She and my step-father live in the country. They moved there when they married. I was nineteen and on my own for years. This was their exclusive hideaway. They intended it to be just the two of them and a variety of animals for food and companionship. And they achieved their goal. It just wasn't exactly from the pages of "Country Living" magazine.

I started thinking about it when I saw two dead opossums on the road this morning. 'Possums and city life don't mix well but two is a lot in one day. I wondered if they were escaping my mom's place.

Critters come and critters go and my mother has never been incredibly sentimental about separation. In the fifteen years I lived at home we moved fourteen times. Animals came and went as the wind blew. If they were a problem, they were gone. If we couldn't have them at the next place, they moved on and so did we. She was well suited for the life-and-death decision making that sometimes comes with country life.

It served her well.......I guess.

One country-charming, pastoral day, she awoke to find a coyote had broken in to the hen house. Feathers and squawking chickens were fluttering everywhere. One old girl had gotten the worst of it and the outlook was decidedly Colonel Sanders, if you know what I mean. Mom grabbed her up and, with the expertise of a washer woman, wrung her neck and dispatched her to that big frying pan in the sky. Round One.

Several hours later one of the ducks was looking decidedly dejected. She moped and laid and leaned. Mom was resolved that the suffering could not continue and the most likely issue was an impacted egg. With shovel in hand, her make-shift guillotine forever separated Ducky's mind from her problem, so to speak. My mother proceeded to perform an autopsy. Yep. Egg impaction. Round Two.

As the evening wore on, she and my step-dad turned in for the night. They were awoken by a beastly ruckus in the backyard. The dogs had cornered a 'possum and had gone completely hoodlum with it, bullying it and tossing it to and fro. By the time my mother showed up, well, the grim reaper even paid attention and started taking notes. She felt a .22 would make the quickest work of it but it was the middle of the night and that might alarm the neighbors. She surveyed the yard for options and landed on it: a barbeque skewer. I'll spare you the details but suffice it to say, chicken-neck-wringing and duck-head-detachment are practically children's bedtime stories in comparison. At least the poor thing was long gone when she went back to bed and left it for the dogs. Round three.

All I have to say is this: Whenever I'm not feeling well, I steer far clear of my mother's place. I'd advise you to do the same.

Copyright 2009

News of the Day and Tidying Up

Dognap Alert:

I have been beseeched by Libby, at Neas Nuttiness, to help bring home her pooch. It would seem his little plastic canine self has been dognapped! To frighten the criminals with fiercesome threats go to: http://www.cliffdevries.blogspot.com/

There, you will see photos of poor Percy and his perils. And you'll be able to leave a message on behalf of his release and Lib's request that they also recompense her with bagels and cheesecake. Really, it's the least they can do.

And this just in.........

I visited Humor Bloggers, a small little group, and decided to try and join. I have been rejected. Apparently, I am not funny when compared to their scintillating wit. I encourage you to go here http://www.humorbloggers.com/ to decide whether I should be dejected or delighted. Then please advise and I will emote accordingly.

Lastly........

Please check out the new button to your right - 5 Minutes for Giveaways - to give you an opportunity to enter great contests. I do not make anything for your clicks but I thought it was such a fun idea to have this quick link. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

Saying Goodbye

On Saturday we say a temporary goodbye to an incredible man: our friend Norm. He and his wife and daughters have walked through the journey of ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease, for the last two years with grace and patience. I sit on the sidelines and know, without doubt, I could never have had the strength Norman has exhibited. It is in that strength he has decided to let go of the machines that keep him alive and embrace the new, robust life waiting for him in heaven...in God's presence....whole and restored and rejoicing to see the Savior he has loved so dearly and served so well.

I won't even try to speak to the private moments and the long paths that led to this decision because I don't know them and I have no place there. I have merely been a spectator to an exquisite love story between Norman, Debra, and their girls, and my words could add absolutely nothing.

But what I would like to say is this:

Norm, the first time I saw you I didn't see you at all: I heard you - laughing. You always laughed, a big hearty light-up-your face laugh, and you made me, and everyone else, bust up right along with you. Even last night when we came to see you and try, somehow, to say good-bye, you made us belly laugh. How is that possible? Weren't we supposed to be somber and reflective? But, in typical form, you cracked a joke and we were off to the races. With only your eyes to affirm chosen letters and with your precious wife, Debra, to translate, you worked us.

When the girls called to say one of your dogs, Remi, was sick (and we all went through a laundry list of what he could have eaten), you spelled, "Maybe..Remi..ate..Nugget's..poop." (Nugget being another one of your dogs.) We laughed over that but Debra said she didn't think that was the problem. We could all tell she was worried, especially where your young daughters were concerned, about anything happening to their baby dog and causing them more sadness, so you lightened the mood even more. You indicated to Debra you had something else to add. "Maybe," you said, "Remi.....ate......Nugget." And then you lifted your eyebrows and rolled your eyes in that way that makes a person crack up even if you hadn't made a wisecrack. Debra repeated your words with a mock-scathing tone of incredulity and complete adoration, while Jamie and the kids and I burst out laughing. We couldn't help it and you didn't want us to.

It was plain to see, Norm, that you weren't filled with dread. You wanted to share joy with us, and hope, and even genuine merriment because that's how you lived and you eagerly anticipated where you were headed. You wanted us to see God's grace and, as always, to point us to Him. How could we see anything else when we considered who you were and how you lived your life?

It's not enough but I want to say thank you. I want to pay tribute in some small way to how you touched us. I'll miss you. We'll miss you. It's so very hard to say goodbye. However, we know without doubt, truly, we will all be together again. And knowing you and I, we'll be fighting for airspace on who can make 'em laugh the longest. You're gettin' a headstart and, with your delivery? I don't stand a chance.

See you there, Norm.

With Love,

Robynn

"I'd Like to Thank All The Big People"

I am the proud recipient of the "Honest Scrap Award." I was nominated by Libby, of Neas Nuttiness. She took me under her wing when I decided to merge onto the blogger freeway and has been pointing me in all the right directions. She bragged on me to her friends and sent several of them my way by raving about a posting and linking it from her site. They became followers and friends, too. How do you top that? And she only met me here. (Okay, that may explain a lot. She doesn't know me well enough yet to run the other way...)

The Rules:

The honorees are to:A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!) and B) pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.

Thank you, Libby, for this award and I'll try to come up with ten things people might not know but would want to, though they may change their minds. My life's been pretty bizarre and a whole bunch of it wouldn't be fit for a family page but, I'll take a shot.

1. I once sang for the funeral of a beloved older woman in our church. I was very saddened by her passing so I was appropriately somber and subdued as I performed. I was also impeccably clothed with my dress on backwards. It was a two-piece number, skirt and top, and I had no idea until the pastor's ten-year-old daughter asked me afterwards why the pockets of the shirt were on the back. Yes, I performed like this. No, the bonfire wasn't that big when I burned the dress.

2. When I met my husband I was camping in the high Sierras by myself. Well, sort of. I had my big ol' dog, Buck, and a 38. Jamie was camping alone too, sort of....he had his big ol' dog, Hooter (don't ask), a 357, a 22, and a shotgun. He watched me from afar as I pitched a tent big enough for six people (hey, I like comfort). He was straightening out the sheet he'd slung over a rope and nailed to the ground on four corners. (He hates it when I describe his pup tent this way but it's my blog so I get to take liberties!) Mind you, he didn't introduce himself until my tent construction was all done. This should have been a sign to me. It wasn't. Twenty-two years later we're still camping together, happily so most of the time, and we haven't shot each other yet. I'm not sure if that testifies to our markmanship or not having enough ammunition at the right time.

3. I have homeschooled my children from the very beginning and I'm getting ready to graduate my oldest. I think the Peace Corp had homeschoolers in mind when they coined the slogan, "It's the Hardest Job You'll Ever Love." The best and worst thing about homeschooling is being with your children 24 hours a day. You also don't get to blame those doggone teachers for your kids' bad habits and for everything they don't know. They imitate you. Oh dear Lord. I have created far more questions about how to do this right than I have ever formulated answers. There are lots of right ways (don't ever let some demi-goddess tell you differently) but there are a few real doozy ways to mess it up. Being so in love with your children that you don't see what needs fixing and having the guts to do it, would top the list. These are the shin kickers, the smart mouths, the disdainful, the sullen. If you have children like that and aren't heartily applying yourself to the fix, save yourself the trouble of knocking because I'm almost positive I'm not home.

4. When I was six-months-old I was given up for adoption by my father when my mother went into the hospital for five months. When she got out she wanted to know where in the heck I was and brought me back home. I'm still pondering whether or not that was a good decision but the next fifteen years would give me enough material to fill a couple of books.

5. I left home at fifteen - for good.

6. I have cleaned motel rooms and other people's toilets and eventually went to college and became a sales rep, and then manager, for a consumer products manufacturer for nine years. I saw places I had only dreamt of: New York City, Toronto, Niagra Falls, both coasts of Florida several times, the beautiful Arizona desert, among other places. I met one of my (still) very best friends on my first trip to New York. We were both dating James Reillys who were younger than us. Hers became part of ancient history. Mine is in the livingroom building a computer for our son. Most of the time he's glad it worked out this way.

7. I have snorkeled off the coast of Kaua'i in the pitch blackness of night with only a flashlight, my husband, and my children. We did have a six-inch knife to protect us from "Jaws" and the depths of the ocean's unseen horrors. We lived through the inky blackness, saw a beautiful bright orange octopus, tons of fish, of course, and snorkeled there several more times in the light of day. Two weeks later a fourteen-year-old little surfer girl had her right arm severed by a shark right where we'd been. We were also 1/2 mile out when they issued a Tsunami warning after an 8.0 earthquake hit Japan. We never knew until we got back in. The Tsunami never came but if it had we'd have been hanging a lot more than ten.

8. I sang before I could talk. I love music. I play rhythm guitar and sang in different country music bands for ten years when I was younger. I've been to Nashville and hung out at Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and Ernest Tubb's Record Shop. My big break there fell through due to an unscrupulous manager and I didn't have the heart to stick it out alone and keep pluggin'. Would I have made it? Hey, I did make it. Best gig I ever had was singing my babies lullabies and I ALWAYS wanted babies.

9. I once fell off my horse from not properly securing her bareback saddle. She cut a tight corner and I cut a fine picture sliding right underneath her belly for my graceful dismount. I don't know who got more scared but she put on quite a Wild West Show with hooves and teeth and tail and mane all flying in every direction. When it was over I'd seen a lot of horse but I never sustained so much as a broken fingernail. God determined it was not my day for facial reconstruction.

10. I love animals. I have had dogs, cats, birds (wild and domestic), horses, fish, snakes, spiders, rats, rabbits, chickens, sheep, and even insects (not counting fleas). I have been puked on, loved on, pooped on, and slept on. I have been elbow deep fishing a thermometer out of a horse's behind (who knew they just get sucked in?) and I have operated on a couple of critters in a pinch. My life must include them in order to keep me sane. Oh...and I MUST have mountains. I live at the base of the Sierras and I wish I lived 7000 ft. higher. I can never see them enough or smell them enough and, if I'm ever rich, that's where I'll live and write - in a comfy log cabin with a cheery fire, a cat on my keyboard, and a dog at my feet. When I die I want to be cremated and scattered there so I can become one with the trees, the duff, the rocks, the woods. As every mile of pavement or dirt road leads me deeper into the mountains, I feel as though I'm heading home. Everywhere else has just been a place to visit. When The Lord comes and sounds the last trump, He will know where to find what's left of me: dead or alive.

Ross Meadow

Dinkey Creek Road

Tamarck Meadow - Hunter and JoJo

Courtright Reservoir Area
Toward the West from Pine Ridge

Kings Canyon near John Muir Lodge
Northern California Redwood Forest

Oregon Caves Chateau - We were the only family there one night
Near Wawona in Yosemite

Some of the places I love the most......

Now I'm supposed to pass on this award to 7 bloggers that I think fit the spirit of the "Honest Scrap", so I am passing it on to a few who have already received it but I feel they deserve it again, if only for honorary purposes, and a few who haven't received it as far as I know:

Libby of Neas Nuttiness: This goes back to her because she cared enough to invest time in me and try to get others to do the same. She is real, honest, extremely caring, and we make each other laugh. She also writes about interesting things and takes risks. And she goes out walkin', after midnight (even if it's just in the house), like me 'n Patsy Cline, another insomniac apparently.

Tatersmama: She lets it all hang out and in the funniest ways. She's never afraid to tell it like it is while still finding the silver lining in everything, and she'll help you find it, too, and cheer you up with her beautiful colors. She also brings a tear to my eye when she tells me she spews her morning coffee while reading my blog. That's poetry, that's what that is.

A Cowboy's Wife: She is a kickin', stompin', scrap of a woman who'll make you laugh and cry with her upfront tell-it-like-it-is style. She's hard-scrabble and you'd want her on your side in a dark alley or while enduring a broken heart, 'cause she'd get it and she wouldn't run away and she might even clean your kitchen. She's organized. I wish she lived a LOT closer. I'd give her a heart attack and a lot to do. Boy, I bet she'd jump at a chance like that.

Gizzards & Calf Fries: I follow her around reading her posts to others because they make me bust up and split a seam. I started following her and she can't get rid of me. She takes the most beautiful pictures and she's a darlin' girl. You just gotta go look at her. But be careful: she photographs the south end of north bound cows.

Tetertot's: Reginia has been a friend for a long time and has the most generous spirit and humblest of hearts. She's devoted to whatever God calls her to. She could be really stuck up (but of course she's not) because she sings better than just about anybody. She's gotta be tired of the saying "The Voice of an Angel" because that's how we all describe her. And these are her bad points. Her blog is real and about her life and the wonderful children she has every right to be proud of: her beautiful (inside and out) daughters and her son who is proudly serving his country in the Marines.

Linda at Another Piece of the Pie: If you haven't seen the cup Linda's husband bought her while in Salt Lake City then I'm not saying anything else. She is so creative and funny and is always such an encouragement. She also takes great close-up pics and makes the everyday seem fascinating.

Lori She doesn't post as often but when she does it's like a storybook and, as we've been friends for years, I love her subject matter (kiddos, grandbaby, and friends) very much. Her and her husband should write volumes because they are gifted wordsmiths....and musicians.....and singers......I only hang out with the best. Follow them around very long and they'll lead you right to the heart of Christ.

So there you have it. I strongly encourage you to check these people out. And when you do, drop them a line in their comment sections. It means SO much to hear from people and it takes so little time to carve your initials in their blog. If you are a friend of mine and I didn't nominate you it's not because I didn't want to. I have another award I received and you are sure to show up there when I pass it on.

Copyright 2009

I'm In Love With Herding Dogs

Introducing baby "Minky"

Not ready to leave my mama yet

4 months old and livin' large at my new home

I look innocent when you want me to pose...

But I'm actually packin'.....think "Aliens" meets "Jaws"

Do you see the knowing, tired look on my older sister's face? Her name is "Jo Jo" and she's 11.

Witness Jo Jo's happy, carefree days a few months ago with her boy. Now I stay constantly attached to any available part of her body - preferably her jowls - just like a tick.

Jo Jo has the title "Best Dog in the Whole Wide World"......at least to her family. (I have a way to go to earn my stripes and get a title like that.) She has raised two kids, chased off bad cats, protected good cats, and even been bear bait. (My HM - human mama - will have to tell you that story....it's a good one, except to Jo.) Her daddy was a working McNab and her mama was a McNab/Border Collie. I am from a working class family. My mama is the most beautiful, gentle Australian Shepherd family pet, and my daddy is a rough and tumble, get-r-done, cattle-drivin' Border Collie. You know opposites attract. My Aussie mama didn't like my teeth either and was glad to see me go, for Pete's sake. Her last, snappy words to me were, "Get off a me!" Geez.

These are the beautiful kids Jo Jo is raising.

She just took them on a backpacking trip to Cliff Lake in the Sierra MountainsIt was a big trip for an old dog but Jo says, "If something was gonna kill me, I'd want it to be this."

My HM will be dropping in tomorrow to tell you why not even my teeth can deter her from falling madly in love with me. Apparently, what I lack in dental discretion I make up for in love and enthusiasm.