sweet and salty Sunday

The sunshine this morning wipes clean the slate of worries and grumbles that are so easy to stumble into when you read the headlines, or, more locally -- when you walk your dog on a sidewalk covered with salt.

Let's stay local for now: why do we dump so much of these nuggets on walkways that are already clear of snow and ice? Anticipating a future weather event that may or may not turn slippery? Because the contract requires snow removal people to do this, whether it's needed or not? I just don't get it.

At the farmette, I grumbled that we didn't clear the pathways enough. That ice patches remained until spring, rendering the entire place slippery -- a hazard for older people, delivery services and my fast-moving grandkids. I purchased environmentally "friendly" pellets and sprinkled them by the back door maybe twice during the winter, when things got so bad that I was afraid anyone would crack their head stepping outside. But otherwise, we stuck with shoveling and scraping. 

I can understand why an apartment building or corporate offices would feel an obligation to do better. But this excessive salting is just plain nuts. No matter how much I wipe my shoes, I bring in salt every single time I walk Henry. What must he feel on his paws walking on this stuff? 

And yet, what we both do also feel is that sunshine. Not initially -- Henry's up before the sun is even contemplating making an appearance. 

Yes, it's cold outside. But dry and brisk and therefore pleasant for someone (me!) who does not mind a winter frost.

And when the sun comes out, it's all brilliant and very satisfying. For us, for the finches (and sparrows and chickadees, but mainly finches) that come to eat seeds on my balcony.

Henry watches. I eat breakfast. All is good once again.

Without question Henry needs a good saunter today. Without it, by noon he starts getting frisky. Too frisky. Prairie Morraine it shall be!

Ed meets us there for our walk. It's nice to have his company, even if Ed and I tend to be quiet walkers. I can't really explain it -- it just feels good to have him by my side as we walk and watch my sprinting pup.

 

An hour of dog chasing and prairie sniffing (which results once again in him bringing us a dead mouse -- my gloves are in for a good washing), I return to the Edge and do a really edgy thing for me: I leave Henry at home for all of thirty minutes, for a quick run to the nearby grocery store. I need to bake a cake. I have to have whole milk for it.

He is obviously tired. I leave him with some extra food. I put on Chopin. I exit and close the door. And turn on my security camera.

Initially, he wont leave the door. Indeed, he jumps up (thank goodness for the door protector) and tries hard to get it open. I turn off the camera. There are some things that I prefer not seeing. 

I'm nervous and hurried enough that I pick up the wrong milk! Never mind, I'm not going back! I check the security camera again. Ha! My pooch is resting on the couch. 

 (coming to greet me as I enter)

 

 

A really important lesson for him -- I will come back. Really I will. 

I have competing interests tonight -- a great book that I am reading and a great (in my view) series that I am watching (Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy, and Bad Sisters season 2 on Apple TV, free because of my phone). What's a person to do... 

Back and forth between the two. 

When I first moved to the Edge, I didn't exactly rave about the view. Corporate buildings in the distance. An empty field, a parking lot. Over time, I've come to appreciate that I do not look into anyone's windows, nor do they look into mine. And then, too, I get plenty of sky. A southern exposure gives you a glimpse of a sunrise to the left, and then at sunset, you might see the colors of a winter sunset to your right. 

The farmette of course offered nature. A seasonally changing crab apple. My flower fields. But with all the tall trees, we could never catch that setting sun. I would not say that this is better (view wise) than the farmette. But I do recognize its own brand of loveliness. Now, if they would only use less salt on the cleared sidewalks...

with so much love... 

 

quiet Saturday

After the chaos that comes with Christmas, January offers a pleasant pause. At least in its first week. Well, for me, the pause comes only until we hit Snowdrop's birthday (early next week). Of course, a birthday is just one day and our fuss over it is not nearly of the caliber that other holidays may demand. So, pause it is. Henry and I are chilling on a very chilly day. Inside, idly. 

How is it that my active dog is taking things slowly? It wasn't my doing. My pooch got an upset stomach yesterday evening, and all he wanted to do then was rest. Today he appears to be better, but still, I'm keeping things calm around here. It remains to be seen if we stick with it.

Yes, it's still cold.

For the first time, I see Henry picking up his paws quickly off the frozen, icy (or salty -- take your pick)  ground. I did want to take him on a slightly longer walk this morning, to make sure his digestive issues have cleared up, but I see that his paws are hurting, so I limit it to just around the block.

It's an oatmeal for breakfast kind of day.

Henry takes his usual morning nap...

... and honestly, I could go for one as well, but unlike Ed and Henry, I cannot fall asleep on demand. 

 

Our second walk, still in the morning, is also on leash, and in the neighborhood.  Unfortunately, I did forget that this type of walk really calls for a harness.  There was a squirrel. Then there was a mouse. Or was it a vole? One of those critters that burrows in the snow, but not so deep that Henry can't sniff it out. I pull, I tug, I yank. I hate that I'm being so tough on his throat, but this dog will not give up until the squirrel/mouse/vole is in his mouth. The farmette cats eat those darn critters (yes, even the squirrels). Tufts of hair and maybe a stomach would remain. But what would a dog do once he lands his prey? Bring it home? When Henry takes apart a toy, he typically leaves the shreds for me to find. 

 (this beloved reindeer doesn't stand a chance)

 

 

But I'm sure some parts are swallowed. I don't think his currently sensitive tummy could take a parasite and bacteria ridden vermin. I continue to pull at the leash until he gives up. A real battle of wills! And muscle. I may have won this time, but I'd say it was pretty close! 

I deem him to be well enough for an afternoon trip to the dog park. Just the local one. Penni Klein. Oh, does he need it! At home, his desire to engage me in doggie play had been turned up to high volume. Yes, it's my job to teach him that I am not one of the pups he rocks with at doggie daycare. Some days those lessons seem lost on him. He needs active play.

I let him loose in the dog park. 

I had to smile at this next photo: my command "four on floor," which I issue not nearly often enough, is the opposite of this moment, where all "four" are "off the floor."

 

 

Yes, slow Saturday for me. Perhaps not so much for him. And I'm glad I brought the ball he is jumping after in the picture. It was a good distraction for when he located a dead mouse in the brush. Commands such as Leave It or Drop It just caused him to snort and run harder. But a tossed ball posed a dilemma and I seized the disgusting mangled mouse by the tail the minute he let it go. But it still leaves the question of what was to come next for him, had I not grabbed the mouse? Was he thinking he'd pack it up and take it home? Or crunch those gross bones (and get sick after)?

 

Back at the Edge, my pooch is ready for a nap, and then more play. I take out his Christmas gift from his "cousins" in Chicago -- a Hide and Slide game, where he has to figure out how to get at the treats hidden in various compartments. 

 

 

 

It's hard to say if he is just damn brilliant, or if he is so food driven that he'll force a solution to anything that hides a nibble. In any case, food hiding games are always going to be a hit with him. It's like burrowing after a mouse -- he wont give up until he gets it. (Or I use brute force to pull him away.)

I realize that there isn't a photo in today's post that doesn't include Henry Bean. But of course! Quiet days are days when I can pay attention to my pooch. No distractions, no big happenings. Lovely winter days of total quiet, with my dog.

and so much love... 

22 on the 2nd

Ocean is 22 years old today. To me, what's remarkable is not that I have posted a story from my life every day for the past 22 years (with only a couple of exceptions early on, when WiFi access was simply not to be had), but that I was just 50 years old when I started. 50! That's so... young. Middle-aged. I was married then. One of my girls had just started college. Yeah, the one who now has two kids, the older of which is almost eight. I did not know anything about my future. None of us do, of course, but I was especially riddled with uncertainty. I knew what I had then was about to change. But how? And here's a big one: I could not imagine what it would be like to be past the age of 70. That's for old people. I was, after all, freshly out of the 40s.

If I were to be really into reflection, I might think about how my writing and story telling have changed. I might notice that I talk about age a lot more now. That I've narrowed my circle of close people, and write more about grandkids and Henry than dinner parties and wine makers in France.

Yesterday, I asked Ed if I'm likely to recognize it if I develop dementia and start writing nonsensical posts describing people whose names escape me and events that happened years ago, if they happened at all. Or, maybe in ten years if I'm still kicking around, I'll talk about my day thus: "Today, I picked up the phone when Henry came to my bedside and started to pull off my quilt. I called the dog walker and she came right away. Once they were back and she fed my old boy, he went back to sleep -- after all, he is ten years old already! I went back to sleep as well. We both woke up at noon. I took a shower. That was a long process because just getting myself to the seat in the shower stall took a whole bunch of energy that I didn't really have. I called one of those food services that sends a drone with your food. It bumped into another drone that was delivering my mail. Can you believe they still deliver mail once a week?!..." and so on. I mean, who knows, right?

 

It is a cold morning. 

But sunny! Stunning, brilliant sunshine.  

 

  

Breakfast -- very cozy and hygge!

 

 

 

 (my sleepy boy... if he can't have my lap, he'll take a pillow...)

 

 

And then? Henry goes to his doggie world of daycare. And me? It is fair to say that I wasted most of the day trying to convince my flying team of AirFrance/KLM that their website has not been working properly for three days now. Yes, I've cleared cookies. Yes, I restarted my computer. Many times. All other airlines are functioning just fine. But you, you my trusted partners in flying -- you're just spinning in circles, getting me nowhere at all.

Why do I stay with them? Why this loyalty when in fact oftentimes their prices are slightly higher than the cheapest fare? Well, it made sense until this year. I'd been gunning for their "for life" level in their frequent flyer program, which does help you a lot when your connections are falling apart for whatever reason. Ten years of of loyalty finally got me to become a "for lifer." Starting this January 1st. The funny thing is that now, at 72, I'm cutting back on travel. So I worked hard for all these years, and will probably rarely use this benefit. But now I do not need to stay loyal. I can choose other airlines. So why do I come back to them anyway? 

Ah, capitalism! You dont even realize when you have been sucked into their hungry corporate jaws until it's too late. I've grown accustomed to their transfer airports. Detroit, my favorite. Minneapolis, a close second. On the other side of the ocean -- Paris Charles de Gaul. You may groan at that airport, sure, it's not easy to navigate its French jungle of gates, terminals, horrid passport lines, but I know now how to do it and besides, it's all in French, so I feel my efforts at speaking their language are being rewarded at every turn. The thought of switching to, say, British Airways (fly through London! Yikes!) or worse, Lufthansa (German at every turn! Eek!), or Icelandic (you stop in Reykjavik and still have hours of travel left! Ugh!) is revolting. 

So I kept struggling today even though I know that ultimately I will abandon my loyalties and go with whatever is the cheapest elsewhere. Oh, the irony of doing that, just at the point where I am a "for lifer!"

  

I pick up my sweet Henry Bean. My mellow fellow. My dog with the eyes that once were filled with fear and pain and now are on me with far greater loyalty than I could possibly deserve. 

I love you, Henry.

You too, my Ocean friends of long and short duration.

New Year's Day

Good morning! Good day to you! And with wishes for a good year ahead!

I say these words with utter earnestness, even though many would regard 2025 as one of the most difficult years of our lives if not our nation's history, and my morning session of doom scrolling revealed that there is much unnecessary suffering in this world. Too, news trickled in about ailing friends facing daunting challenges, so one may well ask -- where is there room for a good year ahead?

Well, we start with the fact that you and I are alive and still thinking straight. I say this with utmost certainty because I am writing and you are reading, and that takes brain power and some tactile and visual dexterity. So, here we are, made it to 2026, brain still functional. That's a good beginning, isn't it?

 

My Henry woke me at 6:15, but I put him off for a half hour. When I finally decided that staying in bed was just plain mean, given my pup's urgent needs, I got up ever so quietly. Ed, predictably, was still sleeping.

Henry, would you like to say Happy New Year to Ocean readers?

He is a living example of how bad luck isn't necessarily the end of the story for you. Things can change. Drastically. For the better. My happy boy is loved so much! He suffers now from too much attention (I am told by my very wise daughters), certainly not too little. His home is warm, food is plentiful. Luck, revisited.

 

New Year's Day. It's bitter cold outside. 6F/-14C. Sweater time again for Henry (and warmest jacket for me).

I hesitate with breakfast. I like eating with Ed, but I have gotten used to a far earlier morning meal here at the Edge and frankly, putting off coffee for a couple more hours seems... off-putting. So Henry and I stick with our routines. I keep the door to the bedroom closed, but that really puzzles Henry, so I open it and we keep the noise down to joyful classical music in the background. Ed sleeps through it all. 

 

 

 

When he is finally up, I get him to help me set up a security camera and a door protector for when I attempt to leave Henry alone. I could do both myself, but when I do these things with Ed, they become projects, whereas when I try to figure them out on my own, they are chores. 

He returns to the farmette then, to feed his group of animals. Henry rests, with me by his side.

 

The three of us meet up again in the afternoon. Henry needs his dog park run and going to Ed's park means we get to have Ed with us for the walk. Both Henry and I love that!

There aren't many dogs in the park, which surprises me. Doesn't everyone need to get their pup out on the first of a new year? 

Still, Henry manages to get his zoomies out. 

 

 

 

We do two loops and for him, that's just pure heaven.

It's a cold day today, but the wind is light and I have to say, I don't mind the deep freeze at all. A couple of inches of snow gifts a January freshness to the landscape. If I were to grumble, it would be over the absence of sunshine lately. But I'm not in a grumbly mood. Perhaps it's because I really do not have resolutions, broken or unbroken. As a humor piece in the New Yorker stated, New Year's resolutions are those special little promises you make to be less like yourself and more like other, better people. We have such trouble accepting our own imperfections! 

 

Henry and I take it easy tonight. Leftovers for me, plain old dog food for him. And a snuggle on the couch. We're having a happy New Year so far and we really do hope that yours is shaping up to be great as well. 

with so much love... 

 

New Year's Eve

Is there anyone who doesn't have mixed feelings about this day? Well okay, Ed shows no such ambivalence. He can't understand why anyone would go out of their way to do something unusual on a day that marks nothing more than another number on a calendar page. I've stopped trying to explain to him that conventions, traditions, social constructs help to move us along on the path of life. He will respond with a "yes, gorgeous" that means nothing at all.

Me, I like the coming of the new, I don't much like looking at what's behind. Sorry, 2025. We're done with you. You had real stellar moments, and no tragedies for me and I am so very grateful! Now, how can we help make things better in 2026? 

I read somewhere recently that the whole concept of resolutions for the New Year is an insane idea that only brings misery and stirs up feelings of inadequacy. We'd be way better off striving to change nothing, concentrating instead on improving our mental health. Perhaps by planning for some more time off from work, or maybe saving up for a massage, or joining an online class on meditation. Forget the learning of a new language or filling your 10 000 step goal. Put your feet up  and stream a favorite show on day one of the New Year, if that's what makes you happy. Well, considering that most of us will be streaming stuff on this Eve, perhaps we might want to move ourselves off the couch come New Year's Day. Vary it up a little: maybe sit at the table and do a jigsaw puzzle. Sounds good to me, except I bought too many Christmas puzzles and now they seem awfully out of line with the times.

 

This morning it was warm enough (just below freezing) for Henry to skip his sweater. 

My pooch wasn't into a longer walk and I didn't push it, since he has doggie day care, and that promises a full day of movement for him. 

At home, I gave my big guy lots of hugs to let him know that I am thrilled to have found him and that he will never be left to manage on his own again. I think he understood.

Breakfast, still with a poinsettia, because what are you supposed to do with a plant in full bloom? Keep it until it withers. Even as I know these plants never die, they just drag on and on. Mine looks as good as it did on day 1. And like Ed, it doesn't acknowledge the passage of time and my diminishing interest in anything related to the holidays.

Afterwards, Henry and I do snuggle a bit, but he is also in his "hide the treat" mood. I am not sure why he does this. I haven't seen it for a while, but today, here he is again, hiding his dental stick and his chicken jerky. Carefully. Pushing the pillow over to cover it. Is it a game? Is he serious about hording? Am I feeding him too much? Is there an instinct at play? I do not know.

 

 

 

With Henry in doggie daycare, I set about doing the obvious end of December stuff, which includes zooming with my wonderful friend in Poland whose birthday it happens to be today. Indeed, you could say I was almost there for their midnight, it being a seven hour difference in time.

I was to cook dinner for my daughter's family tonight, but they had a sudden arrival of extra family (on my son-in-law's side) and so I bowed out. Still, Ed came to my place, we drove over to get both dogs from daycare -- Henry and his buddy Goose -- and we stopped at Goose's home to linger over a drink and some yummy cheeses. Well, before we lingered, I tried to walk both dogs at the same time -- never a good idea. One pulls one way, the other -- completely in the opposite direction. Snow fell, I fell, my watch alarm went off and I could not silence it, because the dogs were still determined to tear my limbs out, even as I sat on their leashes in the snow and contemplated my unfortunate plight.

Eventually we make our way inside. For the cheeses. And a New Year's Eve toast.

... while the kids (three from here, one visiting cousin from Milwaukee) build tents and structures everywhere, which I'm sure they will clean up after, to my daughter's satisfaction, don't you think? Given that it's New Year's Eve?

 

And then it's just the three of us -- Henry, Ed and me, at the Edge. I fix a shrimp scampi platter, with some veggies and a salad. Henry, of course, loves the smell of food in the oven and convinces me that it is absolutely necessary for me to give him two of the (rather small) shrimp. And I do. Because it's New Year's Eve.

 Happy New Year, with so much love!

December 30th

This is that transition day for me. Holidays behind, new year looming up ahead. Time to gear up for what's before me.

I took down the Christmas tree decorations yesterday afternoon, but I left the lights on the tree, because it would have been too gloomy to remove their cheerful and bright glow in the darker hours of dusk. Since I have an artificial tree, I could keep it up forever. I could become one of those old people who fashions her own holiday schedule. Tree with lights in February? Why not!

I'll tell you why not: the aesthetics of it are all wrong. It's like keeping your carved pumpkin on the doorstep into December, or your happy birthday banner and balloons up weeks past your special day. What doesn't belong? My Christmas tree in my living room when I'm planning for the new year.

 

It's a bitter cold morning. Another Arctic blast. I don't mind. Henry doesn't mind. His sherpa jacket may not keep him toasty warm, but I have noticed that his natural coat has grown thicker over the past weeks. I think he'll be just fine!
 

Breakfast. I have a change of heart about reindeer plates and mugs staying with me all winter long. Again, I feel the push to move on.

Henry, do you agree? Look, my beloved pooch -- I'm wearing the sweatshirt with you on it!

I drop him at doggie daycare and go see my doc. I need to stop coughing. This has been a ridiculously long and bothersome leftover from some fall virus. Henry must think humans sound weird, hacking away like that.

After the visit, I run through the usual: USPS, UPS, Rx at Walgreens and finally home, to finish cleaning up after Christmas.

As I run through the day's activities (fun as they are), I ask people I encounter what they're doing for New Year's Eve. I hear about family gatherings (my doc), I hear about a blizzard in Warsaw, keeping everyone home, I hear about "going to bed" from people at the Edge. No one wants to party anymore. Personally, I never liked New Year's Eve parties except when I was very young, and even then I was skeptical. Is being around people you dont necessarily love or even like at the start of the New Year really all that great? Sigh... We've become a nation of introverts. Or, you could say that the introverts have finally had their say in how to move into the New Year. (Yes, I lean that way. Always have. Don't tell anyone.)

I pick up Henry, cook up a red lentil soup and stream the second season of Bad Sisters. A great way to spend the next to last evening in 2025, don't you think?

with so much love... 

le fin de Noel

Don't you think there should be a song for this? There is that one from Christmas Eve on Sesame Street -- about keeping Christmas with you all through the year, but it doesn't quite convey the sentiment of a very real ending. For me le fin de Noel came today and it was a bit of a jolt.

There was a sudden shift in weather overnight. Already when leaving my daughter's house last night I had to use the ice scraper on the windshield. By this morning, there's snow on the ground. Not a lot mind you, but the wind gusts are blowing it into mounds that suddenly grow to be higher than your snow shoes. 

Henry is ecstatic!

My beautiful, spirited pup. In a sweater once again.

 

I am so glad doggie daycare opens up again today. He'll love the romp in their fenced play area. 

But first -- breakfast. A wee one for me, as I'll be piling it in during brunch. Somehow when I prepare meals for the ten or eleven of us, I either eat too little or too much. Brunch leans toward the too much end of the continuum. So many great things to munch on with a milky coffee! So, just a light snack in the early morning.

 

 

 

I linger for just a few minutes with Henry...

And then I ask him -- Henry, do you want to go to doggie daycare?

Does he ever! He's by the door in a flash, jumping up at me to express his joy, scratching my face in the process. I don't care -- I love my pup's exuberance!

After dropping him off, I pop into Clasen's bakery to pick up some bread product for the brunch at the Edge. As some may know, this is a tradition that I have loved with all my heart for a long time now: the two young families coming over to my place (wherever that may be!) for brunch before everyone returns to their home and their everyday.  In the past, I've been ambitious, baking and cooking up dishes that required time and thought. Shakshukas, frittatas, snack cakes, muffins. These days, I simply pile on a variety of known favorites. Breads, croissants, and soft pretzels, bacon and eggs, salmon and lots and lots of fruits. And the sweet stuff -- my stollen, the panettone yeast cake with cherries from Eataly, gingerbread hearts from Poland (thank you, Bee!), Hearts moons and stars and sugared cookies from Clasens, and yes, I still had the fruit pâtes that I had purchased back in France for Thanksgiving, except there had been no brunch that weekend, because the snow had cancelled out half the family for me.

 

 

The younger family comes over first, because we have saved the gift exchange for this morning.

 

Can you believe my sweatshirt? Henry, embroidered from a photo!

When all five kids are here, they sequester themselves in the play/guest room. They have formed a cousins club and they are forever planning its future activities.

 

 

 

For brunch I decided to create a kids table, and to have the rest of us eat on our laps or side tables. More room, more movement, more fun to watch the younger set engage in games, sneaking more treats as if we weren't there to remind them that those come after the savory foods.

It is a glorious day! Absolutely wonderful, all the more so since at the Edge, the kitchen is part of the living room space, so I never have to let go of their conversation, their stories, their teasing when I prepare the foods.

 

They leave. I dont rush to tidy up. I need an hour to sit and think about it all. The love. The beauty of every moment. The worries that were ill founded, the joys that were often unexpected. 

Typically I don't suffer a post Christmas letdown. So often I've been relieved that "we pulled it off!" There would be the contentment of having the added memories in my storehouse of the best of the best. But this year it seems Christmas preparation lasted longer, was more intense, and then, too, there was Henry -- a new presence to bring into the holiday fold. And so as dusk set in, I kept coming back to this -- I can't believe that tomorrow, the holidays, the days with my pack of kids and grandkids would be... well, done. I see the Madison family often, and I see the Chicago family on a regular basis, year round. But the times when I have them in the same place, at the same time, are more rare. I'm fine with that. I'm lucky enough that we live as close as we do to each other. Though when a gathering of the whole lot of them comes to an end, I let go of a wistful sigh.

 

I pick up a tired but loud Henry. Every stranger gets to hear his woof. It's okay -- you were quiet when you needed to be quiet. We'll rest together, my boy. Hop up and put your head on my lap. There we go...

with so much love... 

 

just a little more...

 ... just a little more celebrating, gathering, eating, watching the grands laugh at their own antics. Today, tomorrow, then we return to normal until the next time they're all here, together, with me.

To those of you who have kids, young enough still to be under your wing, let me assure you, there will come a time when you will be excited to see them. When you think that having them all together at a table is nothing short of sublime. Hard to imagine? I promise you, that day is just a breath away. And when they disperse to get back to their daily lives, you will be sad, but in a good way, knowing that they have their own worlds of friends and of routines and habits that they have cultivated on their own, without your insights, advice, guidance, or "wisdom."

Celebrations bring all that out into the open: them, you in their lives, their lives apart and away from you. I love it all.

That's the good stuff. Now let me turn my attention to the weather. Today promises to be awful. Dense fog, rain, maybe thunder, ominous changes coming tonight. We all have very short distances to navigate so I needn't worry too much about travel. But I am fretting a lot this morning about Henry.

Will my beautiful pooch magically leave his shyness behind when he meets the younger family? They have so little time together! Might he get over the hurdle of that first greeting quickly? 

 

Henry wakes me promptly at 6:30. We set out in this ridiculously thick and damp weather.

Our morning routines are lovely. 

My lap dog and me...

 

Henry, I cannot write this way!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Outside, the mourning dove is hogging the bird feeder for now, so the whole extended finch family has moved to the table, along with a newcomer -- a cardinal -- all of them creating a mess of all messes.

I cannot leave that for a better day. My family will be here tomorrow for a traditional pre-departure brunch and the sight of the seed debris and bird droppings cant make a good impression. Despite the wetness of it all, I take the vacuum cleaner outside and much to Henry's dismay, turn the thing on and inch by inch I pick the stuff up. Then of course I have to take apart the vacuum cleaner and wash all the components because it's just too disgusting otherwise. Dog hair (I thought his genetic mix gave him 0% chance of shedding!), seeds, shells of seeds (they said it was a "clean mix of seeds -- ha ha ha), bird messes, dust balls from the inside, one big soggy horrible mess. And I have to wonder, why do my projects always lead me down these dreadful paths of added work that somehow were not under consideration when I first embarked on them? [To be fair, it's not the bird feeder that created the problem, it's my impatience with attracting birds, which lead me to purchase the additional brick of seeds, which is responsible for 90% of the litter. I could remove it, but the birds have come to depend on it. I wont do that to them. I'll just keep mopping up what they leave behind.]

 

But then comes the real worry: how do I get Henry to properly exercise on a day of cold rain? Of all our time together thus far, this has to be the poorest day for a lengthy dog run. And without it, Henry is likely to go nuts, like one of those toys released after the tightest wind. There's no two ways about it. I have to take him to a dog park, rain or no rain.

I had sent all the kids and some parents off to the movies. Having looked at the weather forecast, I'd decided this was a good way to get them out of the house for a few hours while I walked Henry. 

So, about that walk...

We go to Prairie Morraine. I may as well be in a park I like -- nothing else about the outing will be fun.

 

 

There is almost no one else here. Would you drive out on a rainy cold day? Without other dogs to chase, I'm a little concerned about the calmness of our walk. And I have another, bigger worry: the two dog families we do pass trigger in him that barking-at-strangers reaction that I wish so much I could manage better. These are dog people in the park, and yet, I see them backing away. Henry can be very loud. And I see him tense up: his hair goes up a little when he is anxious.  I think that he is especially reactive to humans with hoodies. Could it be that these are people who mistreated him in the past? Pure speculation on my part. Of course, since it's raining, most people today do have head covers. Is that why he is barking so much?

During the walk I decide that this afternoon will be the big test for me: if Henry is going to be this anxious around the younger family (whom he will meet for the first time today), then I will have to seek professional help in teaching him to trust strangers. Because surely it would show me that what I am doing on my own is not enough.

Toward the end of the walk Henry finally gets his chase minutes. I'm grateful for that.

 

 

 

 

 

Immediately after, I go to my daughter's house. For the third year in a row, my son-in-law is cooking a traditional Estonian Christmas meal, celebrating the traditions of at least one half of his heritage. 

Initially, only my younger girl and her older daughter, Primrose come over (Juniper is napping under her dad's care). Henry appears to me to be very... normal! Not at all reactive. No barks, no great shyness. He lets my daughter and Primrose reach out to pet him. No problem at all! Is it that he is with Goose and so he is not concerned? Or, do these two humans have a little of my scent? Or, could it be the collar I purchased for him? Camp K9 (where I boarded Henry while I was in Chicago) sent all its clients an email recommending the Zenidog dog calming pheromone collar for stress relief during chaotic holiday festivities. Apparently nursing mother dogs release pheromones to calm their puppies. This collar seems to do the same, letting them know that there's nothing to fear. So, was it that? Well, later, at the Edge, he was still wearing the collar and he barked his usual loud bark at an older gentleman leaving the elevator. So no, not just the collar.

My honest opinion is that it was the whole combination of things: he's trusting my decisions more. If I'm okay with who is here, he will be okay as well. And he was well exercised. And I gave him a hemp dental stick that may have additional calming benefits. And that collar. But let's not discount my words to him. Before we set out for my daughter's place, I asked him really with all my heart to turn on his most friendly behavior toward these guys. I think he listened and understood how important this was to me.

 

The afternoon and evening were fabulous! I could not get enough of it all! And without a meal to prepare, I could sit back and just savor every moment.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

When Juniper showed up with her dad, I had another surprise -- the girl really loves dogs and has no fear of them. Even ones that are... so big!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Henry stayed awake for the entire time which, considering his run at the park, was telling.  But this is exactly what he needs: to pay attention and notice that everyone is getting on just fine. No one's hitting, screaming, beating up anyone.

 

 

And the dinner? Well, my son-in-law had another triumph. Perfectly seasoned and prepared roast of pork, potato fritters in addition to the roasted potatoes, and a simply awesome dessert that I especially loved -- a sponge with cream and red currants and meringue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An evening like this always ends with me wanting to do a group photo. The kids were superbly cooperative. As were the grownups. As were the dogs! Of course, Henry is very used to timed self-release photos...

 

(my arms can still embrace them all!) 

 

 

(kids and dogs, getting ready for the big photo)

 

I'll end with this one -- of us all. Ten kids, spouses and grandkids, two dogs. If they only knew how much I love them all!

 

 

 

I came home with Henry: he waited only for me to sit down on the couch. His head rested on my lap and he fell asleep instantly. Henry, thank you.

with so much love!