More Animals than the Folsom Zoo!

As my favorite truth-teller, Gloria, was quick to point out, I somehow managed to exclude my old pal, Dudley, from the photo slideshow I added the other day. My bad.

In honor of Dudley, and all the other pets that came before and after, here's a little tribute:

The dog that started it all, as far as I knew, was Little Bit. We had a black lab/mix named Bob before her, but what was I, three? I have no recollection of that dog, other than photos, and only remember our cat, Goya, because of how upset my mom was when she had to be put down - feline leukemia. Oh, and there was Charlie, another cat. I'm told he used to get into my crib, bite the nipples off the bottles and steal my milk. Sounds terribly traumatic, doesn't it? To this day, there is controversy surrounding Charlie's "disappearance". Grandma & Grandpa come to visit from Sacramento, Grandpa HATES cats, Charlie never comes home again. Hmmmmm.

Anyway, Dad & Little Bit were inseperable until she died at 15 years old. The only one more upset about her passing than my dad was our cat, Cleo, who had considered Little Bit as her mother since Ralph gave her to me (for my 10th birthday). I must've been too young for a cat, because Cleo always preferred my mom over me and more or less just tolerated my attempts to dress her up, carry her in various purses, etc. Unlike Trixie & Sandy, Cleo never ventured out of the house unless forced to. Well, she did like the tree in the backyard in Pacifica, but that was about it. When we moved to Brisbane in 1980, she hid for almost a week. Ironically, I inherited a male version of Cleo in 1989. More about him later.

Dudley arrived quite accidentally after Little Bit and before Cleo died. Gloria's dog (I'm trying to remember the name - Cinder! It was Cinder!!!) and a handsome beagle gentleman got together and created Dudley, among others. Dudley went to live somewhere in the East Bay, until Gloria's family found out there was a chance he was being abused. He was 6 months old when I got him and definitely traumatized by any man in dark clothing (who could do a thing like that???). Sadly, the abuse apparently caused brain injury, because Dudley developed epilepsy before his 7th birthday and had to be put to sleep. That one hurt, bad. This was my first dog (Little Bit was Dad's, all the way) and we were buddies...that's why I made my dad, the family pet killer, handle the drive to the vet's office.

At least I still had "Piggy". I'd never had anything rodent-esque before my Peruvian Long-Hair came along. Formerly the pet of a musician friend, Piggy came to live with me when said musician was spending too much time on the road. And what a cool little beast she turned out to be. Up on the third floor of our house in Brisbane, Piggy somehow knew when it was me walking through the front door. She called me - a high pitched, "whoop-whoop" sound that pierced your ears if you got too close. Of all the hamsters/guinea pigs/mice we've had since, none was as easy going and laid back as Miss Piggy. Must've been that bohemian, musician lifestyle, I guess. Oddly enough, I can't remember the circumstances surrounding her death. Obviously, she's not around anymore but, what the heck happened to her?

Flash forward to the 1990's and the aforementioned Cleo-clone, Skeeter. Once again, I inherited a pet that would stay with me for almost 14 years. Skeeter was left by a roommate when he was just a baby (Skeeter, not the roommate) and I just couldn't give him up. As it turned out, Skeeter ended up being a pretty cool cat. In fact, I thought he was the only cat on the planet who played fetch, until Trixie came along and taught me that cats will even play soccer if they're in the mood. Mental note: no pictures of Skeeter on the computer. Scan some.

Skeeter was a patient cat, if nothing else. Not only did he put up with the arrival of Bob, my beloved Chow-Chow, but also a child (Erick), and Torii, the gigantic, comatose Akita. Torii belonged to my brother, Ralph, until he passed away in 1990. My parents adopted her and brought her (in a moving van, in the front seat) when they moved to our house in Sacramento. 900 square feet, four adults, one toddler, a big-ass dog and a cranky cat - I'm sure you're realizing that something had to go. With all that energy (yeah, right), Torii was well suited for her new life in the wilds of Placerville with my cousins, Joanne and John Wallerius. Bob, by the way, departed permanently when he took a chunk out of the arm of a family friend. Don't ever let anyone tell you that Chows aren't tempermental.

Skeeter ruled the roost once again until Chloe was adopted in 2000. A shelter puppy, she was just too cute to pass up (see slideshow image of brownish, wide-eyed pup). Haley, another accidental arrival, came in 2002. Here's how that one went down. Soccer coach Jack says he's got this great dog that is too big for his kids, would I like to have her. I say "Maybe, let me think about it". Jack arrives at the house two hours later, Haley's leash in one hand, her toys in the other. Guess I had thought about it long enough, huh? For a while there, it was a lot like having four legged versions of my sons: Chloe, the larger, more mellow sweetheart, vs. Haley - high strung, high energy, all legs and very little self-control. Sigh. She meant well...

Skeeter's realm was disturbed again with the arrival of Trixie, an abandoned baby I bottle-fed for several weeks, and Sandy, another abandoned kitten not quite as dependant as Trixie. Skeeter got sick not long after the kittens came to live with us. To my melodramatic mind, it almost seemed as if he was ready to relinquish cat-control to the next generation. Either way, it became pretty obvious that he wasn't going to get any better...rest in peace, Skeets.

Present day life includes, of course, Trixie and Sandy, Chloe, and Maggie, my new best friend. Haley? Well, she moved on shortly after we moved to our new house in 2005. Naturally, I enlisted Soccer Coach Jack to help me find a suitable placement. He set things up, we met the adoptees and considered them suitable, the exchange was made. I heard a couple of months later that Haley had tried to escape on several occasions. Finally, she was taken to "live on a farm in Wilton". That's grown-up talk for something unspeakable, I'm sure...

Confessions of a Cell Phone Junkie

I admit it, I'm hooked. What was once just a tool for keeping in touch with the office or checking up on the kids has become my new favorite toy.

It finally hit me when I got my new phone. This one is way cool - the Samsung Beat, an MP3 player, 1.3 megapixel camera, bluetooth compatible, etc - and you'd have thought it was Christmas when the UPS guy dropped the package on the front porch last week. I could hardly stand the anticipation, waiting for the battery to charge. It's so shiny...not necessarily a good thing, considering my obsession with finger prints and smudges. To my delight, the USB connector cable was an included accessory, so I set out to add every song I've ever downloaded to the memory card. Ooh, aah.

The camera is so much better than my old one. I've harbored a secret jealousy of Erick because I got him the best phone in the house, but no more! We spent close to an hour the other night, comparing features..."Yeah, but mine does this...". Again, ooh, aah.

My only source of frustration is that I can't seem to find enough reasons to use it. The other night, I took a picture of the cat and sent it to both the boys, just because I could. We have unlimited text messages now, thanks to Erick's inability to count, so why not, right?

Somebody text me. Please.

Odds & Ends

Is it possible for a box turtle to have a sweet tooth? Do box turtles have teeth?

Carolyn, as in Slowsky, as in the tv commercials for whatever - I think it's Comcast - was Kevin's birthday gift from Erick & Brittany. Mostly Brittany, since she kept the thing for weeks in an ice chest prior to Kevin's birthday. Anyway, Carolyn seems to prefer fresh fruit to anything else we've fed her. Lettuce, no. Cauliflower, steamed or raw, no. Shredded carrots, no. But, stick a strawberry in front of her icky, wrinkly, reptile face and she's a maniac. Grapes, too. Tomatoes. And she went ape over apricots. I guess this cancels out the "put her in the yard and let her fend for herself" idea I came up with...

The boys being as obsessed with bicycles as they are, I decided to do some internet searching to see if I could show them what we rode back in the old days.

This is not my bike, but you get the idea. Picture this bike in bright, lime green. There are white, 70's style daisies on the fenders and the chain guard, and the seat has a glittery green strip about 4" wide up the middle. No, it did not have streamers coming out of the handle grips (that was my first bike, the Schwinn Pixie I got when I was four). I loved this bike. The only thing better than having it was the fact that I won it. Yes, that's right, I colored the best Easter Bunny in the age 9-11 division! My expert use of mixed medias is what did it for me, I think - markers, crayons and a touch of glitter made my bunny stand out, ears above the rest.

I logged a lot of miles on this bike for several years. That all came to a crashing (literally) halt when I watched my friend, Melinda, do a header over the handlebars while she was riding on a rocky shoulder. The front rim was destroyed and so, since my sons weren't there to rebuild it, was my trophy bike!

I didn't ride again until high school and the Sophomore class bike-a-thon to Sausalito and back. A guy in school built me a ten-speed! Built it with his own two hands! I was impressed. We weren't even dating or anything! Anyway, it was a 40 mile ride. Lots of hills, and I confess, I walked probably 1/3 of the way. Quite a memory, though! To this day, I can remember crossing the Golden Gate Bridge with my transistor radio on my handle bars, listening to Kansas and "Carry On Wayward Son"...