Saying goodbye to a 16 yr old Chihuahua should have been a little easier than it was, after all, she wasn't the best of dogs. In fact, she was a hellion, whatever that is and everyone that ever met her, never forgot her. She had a way of sticking in your mind, sneaking in your heart, and getting on your nerves. She was like no other dog and there would never be one that could even come close to taking her place. Not ever.
She became a family member in Sept 1990, the same time that my Dad had a life threatening stroke, and the very week we brought her home. I had to go to Salisbury to see Dad, but what was I to do with the docile puppy. So I got a huge box that could comfortably hold a full grown Great Dane, threw some food in it with a bowl of water, and put the little dog in. I fully expected to return home with her in the box, which was 12 hrs later.
I walked into the kitchen where I had placed the box, all was quiet as I peered in, but there was no dog. I was puzzled how she managed to leap over a five foot box, not noticing the small hole she had chewed in the back part of the box. Then I heard her running around in the living room, where she had deposited 20 turds and 20 tablespoons of pee. She was so happy to see me and came running up to me, just like a little angel. How could anyone get mad at a 2 lb puppy?
This was the beginning of many adventures with the most high strung dog that could ever be. She was hyper, easily agitated, and hated pretty much everyone, except us. We had to buy a Beware of Dog sign, which made people laugh when they saw the little, white,fluff of a dog. She pretended to be friendly until someone would cross the line and attempt to pet her. She knew they would try, so she waited for them to put out their hand in good snapping distance and she would immediately try to sink her sharp teeth into the intruder, regardless of who it was. We could even say that she knew the difference between the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Let's start with the good. Often times she would warn the good, by a continuous, growling noise, but no one ever took the hint. One day she was sitting on Pop Pop's lap while he was rubbing her and saying, "nice kitty." My brother Tim, a saint of sorts, the good, crossed the line by walking up to Pop Pop while Pepe lay all cozy in his lap. Tim reached out his hand to pet her and he felt the breeze of her clamping jaws and was just barely out of her striking range.
She had a huge dislike for the ugly. Our oldest son had a friend who really wasn't ugly, but Pepe must have thought so. This friend lived next door. When he would go home, we would hold Pepe back from chasing him. As the boy attempted to climb over the fence, we turned Pepe loose. She knew the game well. She ran after him like a bat out of H___! It was a game to her.
We couldn't take her out of a lease, like a normal dog. Sadly I found this out the hard way. One day as I was walking her, she saw another dog being walked. He was a huge, lovable dog. So in getting acquainted, dogs sniff one anothers butts. The huge dog let Pepe sniff first. When it came Pepe's turn to be sniffed, she attacked the huge dog after she jumped 4 feet into the air. The lady owner of the huge dog was appalled and said,"What an evil little dog you have!" I thought to myself, well she just crossed the line so I hurriedly took Pepe home while she was almost choking herself to death trying to get at the huge dog.
She hated all repair men. She barked their whole visit and we had to put her in a cage until the stranger left. Then when he was safely in his truck we turned her loose and she ran all the house sniffing and barking for hours.
If someone knocked on the door, perhaps one of my oldest son's friends, maybe the bad, I would hold her up to the door while her back hair stood up with all her teeth showing, with her long claws exposed. She looked like a cat. She looked mean and dangerous. Any idiot knew better than to try to come in the house.
The kids played tricks on their friends by trying to get them to pet her. When the friend reached down to pet Pepe, she would snap at them like a turtle and growl like a huge bear.
One day, we planned a vacation and had to board her at the kennel for a whole week. When we came back, I went to get her, I was told that she interrupted the whole kennel and they had to isolate her. They were glad to see me. The next year when I called to board her, they preferred that I didn't. So we took her with us to Ocean City to stay in my Aunt and Uncle's camper in Fenwick. She loved it and was as good as could be, as if she was on vacation too. We would chain her to the picnic table and she sniffed the air and looked around. It was so cute!
She was a hunter, one of the best. She captured birds, rabbits, and moles. It was a game to her and the whole back yard was her territory, even though she chose to poop right by the deck steps.
She especially adored my husband. When he came home from work, he would sing,"Baby, Baby" over and over. She planted herself by the door and would howl to the tune. One day she got so excited, she fell over and peed herself.
She was also an athlete. If we wanted her to come in from the yard, we would yell,"milk bone!" She would turn and come flying out of no where, leap 4 feet in the air onto the deck entrance as if she had been shot out of a cannon. Her front paws barely hit the deck. It was all a game to her.
But sadly the day came when everything changed. She allowed an electrician to come and stay all day and she never barked, this was a sign. She allowed a painter to come and she never barked. She let the squirrels play on the deck. She was slowing down and getting older. I pretended not to notice.
She started to lose weight, and walked around the house moaning at times. Her ribs were showing, I knew she had to be put down. I brought her in our home, I would be the one to take her away.
The night before the scheduled execution, she followed me everywhere. She knew. The next day she cried all the way to the vets.
She was so anxious at the vets that they had to gas her with air anesthetic before giving her the lethal injection. They allowed me to be in the room with her. I touched her and talked to her while the injection did its job. She was just sleeping. It was no longer a game. I leaned close to her as the vet checked for a heart beat that was no longer there. "Go find Pop Pop girl. He is waiting for you." Then I kissed her.
I wrapped her in a blanket and took her home. I rocked her and cried hysterically for 40 minutes until her body warmth was gone, just like I did with my Dad five years earlier. I closed her eyes. Her ears were up straight as if she was already on a journey and she had to be alert.
I whispered to her again,"Keep looking girl, keep looking. He is there. I love you girl !"
Nothing will ever be the same again. We will miss her forever!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Only A Game
With the tension mounting in the smoldering heat, we were tied as we started the eleventh inning of the championship game. My 15 yr old son was on the mound. I felt a wave of nausea come over me as I squirmed on the bleacher.
I took a fleeting moment to search my son's face for some kind of expression, some indication of what he was thinking or feeling, but there was none. Perhaps he had ice flowing in his veins, but he knew he had a job to do and that keeping his cool was crucial in getting the team closer to winning the regional play-offs.
My thoughts were constantly interrupted by the parents of the opposing, heckling, up-state team. Perhaps they were feeling the stress of 3 days of baseball, but for sure, they were not having any fun. Neither were we. No one was telling their kid to "go out and have some fun." This was about winning or losing, not fun. T-ball days were fun, this was stressful nausea.
I continued to glance around, rather amused as several of the parents on the opposing team, had perched themselves behind the home plate fence, looking like toddlers in a play pen. I believe they must have founded the organization called "Let's Hassle the Ump." They were pacing and yelling strange words to their kids and ours as well. They appeared to be angry at someone and their pot was boiling over as we reached the last few minutes of the game.
I made every attempt to tune out their loud applause when my son threw a "ball" near the strike zone or when they noisily shouted their objection to a "strike" call. I felt sorry for the ump, who seemed oblivious to their jeers. Maybe he was used to it.
Finally the inning was over when we scored one run to win. Even though I was still feeling the urge to vomit, I turned my focus upon my son's face as he walked off the field. Still the same expressionless face, but he glanced over where I was sitting, only I was no longer sitting, I was standing up cheering for a well-played game.
Yes winning was fun, but it was short-lived, since the final game that could possibly send us to the Nationals in Ohio had to be played. We would either go to Ohio or home to shower away a long season of 65 games.
And so the final game began, intense heat and playing hard to win, but at least my son was not pitching. The nausea still hovered around though. We lost by one run, just one run away from sweet victory. I had already packed in my mind for Ohio. I felt like crying. Two of the players on our team were crying in the dug out. Perhaps this was a typical response of children in men's bodies, maybe the stress was under the surface just waited to be released. I saw a few parents crying too.
No this was not fun. This was travel baseball.
We all looked like we were in shock. I tried to speak, but a huge lump caught in my throat. What was there to say? I knew I had to get myself together so I could say some upbeat words to my son to life his spirts. I was rehearsing a few lines as I was engulfed in my private pity party. Then I saw him walk over to me.
I looked deep into his eyes wondering how he was coping with the loss. I spoke first.
"Tough game!" I said as I looked away so he didn't see me cry. I collected myself and looked back at him. He was smiling,"Mom,it's only a game!"
And so it was. How I wished I had that attitude during all the years my boys played sports, especially when they were younger. I have seen parents, grandparents, and coaches ordered out of the park by an ump. I have seen pitchers crying on the mound as their Dad called them a "cry baby." I have heard all kinds of negative comments. No it was never fun.
I'd like to say that I had always behaved maturely, but this would be a terrible lie. I could best be described as a recovering "Parent-fan-idiot-holic!" I invented this phrase hoping there was a pill I could take to cure me.
I came to terms with my conditon one rainy day when I made an utter fool of myself in the middle of a 6 yr old soccer game. There was a ridiculous confrontation over a hat that I insisted my son wear in the rainy game. I learned some hard rules. First, hats are against the rules. Secondly real men play in the rain, get their hair wet, and go to the pediatrician in a few days.
I do not recall how I ended up on the middle of that field that day. I was seeing red and my feet were out of control. The other coach had the game stopped to have my son remove his hat. I didn't even hear the chants from the parents of the other team yelling,"Get that idiot off the field?"
My son still recalls that day that keeps resurfacing like esophageal reflux. To add to the chaos, my husband was the coach. He fondly spoke of the D word when we got home if I ever did that again.
My son just finished college baseball and that was not fun either. But he kept the same attitude, even after his pitching arm needed surgery that sent his hopes of pitching in the majors to a screaming halt. He had been pitching for 17 years, perhaps too long for one arm to endure.
We have gotten over the loss of the pitching arm. As I have come to terms with the loss, I hear those same words," Mom, it's only a game!" And so it was.
I took a fleeting moment to search my son's face for some kind of expression, some indication of what he was thinking or feeling, but there was none. Perhaps he had ice flowing in his veins, but he knew he had a job to do and that keeping his cool was crucial in getting the team closer to winning the regional play-offs.
My thoughts were constantly interrupted by the parents of the opposing, heckling, up-state team. Perhaps they were feeling the stress of 3 days of baseball, but for sure, they were not having any fun. Neither were we. No one was telling their kid to "go out and have some fun." This was about winning or losing, not fun. T-ball days were fun, this was stressful nausea.
I continued to glance around, rather amused as several of the parents on the opposing team, had perched themselves behind the home plate fence, looking like toddlers in a play pen. I believe they must have founded the organization called "Let's Hassle the Ump." They were pacing and yelling strange words to their kids and ours as well. They appeared to be angry at someone and their pot was boiling over as we reached the last few minutes of the game.
I made every attempt to tune out their loud applause when my son threw a "ball" near the strike zone or when they noisily shouted their objection to a "strike" call. I felt sorry for the ump, who seemed oblivious to their jeers. Maybe he was used to it.
Finally the inning was over when we scored one run to win. Even though I was still feeling the urge to vomit, I turned my focus upon my son's face as he walked off the field. Still the same expressionless face, but he glanced over where I was sitting, only I was no longer sitting, I was standing up cheering for a well-played game.
Yes winning was fun, but it was short-lived, since the final game that could possibly send us to the Nationals in Ohio had to be played. We would either go to Ohio or home to shower away a long season of 65 games.
And so the final game began, intense heat and playing hard to win, but at least my son was not pitching. The nausea still hovered around though. We lost by one run, just one run away from sweet victory. I had already packed in my mind for Ohio. I felt like crying. Two of the players on our team were crying in the dug out. Perhaps this was a typical response of children in men's bodies, maybe the stress was under the surface just waited to be released. I saw a few parents crying too.
No this was not fun. This was travel baseball.
We all looked like we were in shock. I tried to speak, but a huge lump caught in my throat. What was there to say? I knew I had to get myself together so I could say some upbeat words to my son to life his spirts. I was rehearsing a few lines as I was engulfed in my private pity party. Then I saw him walk over to me.
I looked deep into his eyes wondering how he was coping with the loss. I spoke first.
"Tough game!" I said as I looked away so he didn't see me cry. I collected myself and looked back at him. He was smiling,"Mom,it's only a game!"
And so it was. How I wished I had that attitude during all the years my boys played sports, especially when they were younger. I have seen parents, grandparents, and coaches ordered out of the park by an ump. I have seen pitchers crying on the mound as their Dad called them a "cry baby." I have heard all kinds of negative comments. No it was never fun.
I'd like to say that I had always behaved maturely, but this would be a terrible lie. I could best be described as a recovering "Parent-fan-idiot-holic!" I invented this phrase hoping there was a pill I could take to cure me.
I came to terms with my conditon one rainy day when I made an utter fool of myself in the middle of a 6 yr old soccer game. There was a ridiculous confrontation over a hat that I insisted my son wear in the rainy game. I learned some hard rules. First, hats are against the rules. Secondly real men play in the rain, get their hair wet, and go to the pediatrician in a few days.
I do not recall how I ended up on the middle of that field that day. I was seeing red and my feet were out of control. The other coach had the game stopped to have my son remove his hat. I didn't even hear the chants from the parents of the other team yelling,"Get that idiot off the field?"
My son still recalls that day that keeps resurfacing like esophageal reflux. To add to the chaos, my husband was the coach. He fondly spoke of the D word when we got home if I ever did that again.
My son just finished college baseball and that was not fun either. But he kept the same attitude, even after his pitching arm needed surgery that sent his hopes of pitching in the majors to a screaming halt. He had been pitching for 17 years, perhaps too long for one arm to endure.
We have gotten over the loss of the pitching arm. As I have come to terms with the loss, I hear those same words," Mom, it's only a game!" And so it was.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The Evans' Go Upstate
Planning for a trip one year in advance is not always a good thing. How do you know if you will be alive then? Or if you still want to go? So a trip of this nature can cause some undo stress, especially for us, since we are already at our peak of anxiety on a normal day!
We purchased our tickets for a 4-day bus trip to Cooperstown, New York to see our Ironman, Cal Ripken be inducted into the Hall of Fame. This was in fact a man vacation,which I will explain.
One week prior to our little vacation, all H---- broke loose. Our son Stephen needed to have shoulder surgery after the UMBC trainers wasted the whole summer trying to decide on a course of action. It worked out for them to do the surgery the day before we were to leave for NY.
After a zillion phone calls, we postponed the surgery so we could take the trip which meant we packed that huge worry right in our suitcases.
And after years of my back misery, the pain returned with a vengeance to the point where I could not clean my own bathrooms. As the date for the trip got closer, I was starting to doubt if I could even stand the trip. But when you pay a year in advance and don't get that blasted insurance, you just go.
Our family had many discussions that week. Our son Stephen wanted to stay home and have his surgery. Our son Rusty didn't want to stay in the same hotel room with us with just two beds. I wanted to go to Ocean City or visit my Aunt Gert and camp out in her sunroom. My husband doesn't like to leave his habitat. And no one wanted to put the dog in the kennel since he had become as high strung as the rest of us.
So Friday arrived. I announced that everyone had to pack for themselves. The chaos of the last minute Evan's crazy actions started to unfold.
In the mid afternoon, my husband, who had been off work a whole week, remembered he had a mother that he had to visit, which was a 2-hr trip that annoyed me. Then you may recall, we were in the worst drought and everyone's lawn was brown like dirt. Keep this in mind as you read. We hadn't had a thunderstorm in months.
I left to take the hyper dog to the kennel as my husband had some downtime on his laptop. He did tell me he was going to mow the lawn and I asked him, "whose lawn?" since we didn't even have any grass. This annoyed me as well and I knew it would suck up 2 more hours and no one had packed yet.
On the way to the kennel, the sky got dark and we had a pretend storm where the wind blows and it thunders with sporadic rain fall that barely wets the grass and was capable of electrocuting a man on a lawnmower. When I got home the lawn mowers had taken cover in the garage and I couldn't even park my car. I finally got in and saw my husband reclining and playing his Game Boy as he waited out the lightning storm, which annoyed me once again.
I think I was getting nuts because it was nearing 7pm and no one had packed yet. What's with that? I wanted to load the car the night before since we had to meet the bus as 0630 the next day to begin our trip.
Stephen still wasn't home from college and Rusty didn't think he should pack "if Stephen hadn't packed yet." What are they, toddlers? Rusty was busy trying to find some Cal Ripken stuff and I finally found a number 8 shirt that I had been using as a wedge between my air mattress and the bureau for 4 years. I am a true fan, don't you think?
At 10pm, I was exhausted, the car was empty, and I left them and went to bed. The mountain was just too big to fight. I thought that vacationers were supposed to relax and forget their troubles, so why was I thinking of selling my ticket on E-Bay?
We got up early and everyone was scrambling around doing things that should have been done the night before. I was annoyed with all 3 of them.
We made it in time to meet the bus without killing each other, parked the car, and got in to take our seats. I settled back in my seat and took a deep breathe. But we were not moving, it seemed one couple was missing. We waited for them for 10 minutes and they finally arrived and walked on the bus without any apology like we owed them this special time. How can people be so annoying? I instantly disliked both of them and not because they were huge or late, but because they were huge AND late, a deadly combo. They were so big, they shared 2 seats each, which was a good thing for them so their fat didn't rub together and cause huge bedsores from the bumpy bus ride. The man had sleep apnea and snored the whole time we were on the bus. How could anyone be that tired?
We stopped for breakfast after 2 hrs and we were told that we had one hour to eat. The little country place was small and the food was great when we finally got it. Everyone on the entire bus had been served but us. Were we that easy to over-look? I had to tell the hostess of the bus that we would be late. This little adventure became our trademark through out the trip. No matter where we went to eat, out table was either forgotten or last and we were the tallest people on the bus trip. Isn't that weird? I was starting to doubt if we were really going to Cooperstown or if I was in the middle of a bad dream.
We stayed in Utica, in a large hotel, one hour from Cooperstown. Our room was large and we piled in as we bickered over sleeping arrangements. We ordered a cot for Rusty, Stephen claimed one bed and my husband the other bed. How nice! Where was I going to sleep? I finally put two bench things and a chair together and used a spread for a mattress. And why not? This was a man vacation with man shopping and man talk. I was the invisible, needy woman in constant back pain. But it was only for a few nights and surely I would survive.
The next day, we got up at 0500 to eat breakfast and ride our bus into Cooperstown so we could get a spot for the induction ceremony. Can you imagine 70,000 people huddled in chairs on acres of green grass with humidity that would kill a cactus? No wonder we never went to Disney World.!
Even the zillion people did not amaze me as my own family did. My husband who can not stay on the beach for more than an hour under a 100 SPF umbrella managed to sit for 4 hours in 100 degree sun blazing heat with sweat running down his face without a word of complaint. My boys who dislike sitting in an air conditioned church with a 20 minute message from their Uncle, managed to listen to 2 speeches, one 35 minutes long and one fifteen, with their shirts drenched in sweat and not one complaint from either of them.
This same trio, who wouldn't be caught dead shopping in a mall for Christmas gifts (thank God for Santa) shopped for 2 days in the Hall of Fame while I sat on a bench wishing I had some pain pills for my back. They were in some kind of male euphoria, a true man vacation. They stayed up late, they took naps, they ate tons of food and since I hate all 3 of those things, it was tough for me, but in the name of quality family time, I survived.
The sole purpose of any family vacation is to see who survives without any blood shed and to see what is left of the family by the end of the trip.
It seems that my dear husband who enjoyed the trip so much is planning our next vacation and he thinks a cruise would be great. HUH? Yeah right buddy, only if we have 2 bedrooms and a bucket load of Xanax !
We purchased our tickets for a 4-day bus trip to Cooperstown, New York to see our Ironman, Cal Ripken be inducted into the Hall of Fame. This was in fact a man vacation,which I will explain.
One week prior to our little vacation, all H---- broke loose. Our son Stephen needed to have shoulder surgery after the UMBC trainers wasted the whole summer trying to decide on a course of action. It worked out for them to do the surgery the day before we were to leave for NY.
After a zillion phone calls, we postponed the surgery so we could take the trip which meant we packed that huge worry right in our suitcases.
And after years of my back misery, the pain returned with a vengeance to the point where I could not clean my own bathrooms. As the date for the trip got closer, I was starting to doubt if I could even stand the trip. But when you pay a year in advance and don't get that blasted insurance, you just go.
Our family had many discussions that week. Our son Stephen wanted to stay home and have his surgery. Our son Rusty didn't want to stay in the same hotel room with us with just two beds. I wanted to go to Ocean City or visit my Aunt Gert and camp out in her sunroom. My husband doesn't like to leave his habitat. And no one wanted to put the dog in the kennel since he had become as high strung as the rest of us.
So Friday arrived. I announced that everyone had to pack for themselves. The chaos of the last minute Evan's crazy actions started to unfold.
In the mid afternoon, my husband, who had been off work a whole week, remembered he had a mother that he had to visit, which was a 2-hr trip that annoyed me. Then you may recall, we were in the worst drought and everyone's lawn was brown like dirt. Keep this in mind as you read. We hadn't had a thunderstorm in months.
I left to take the hyper dog to the kennel as my husband had some downtime on his laptop. He did tell me he was going to mow the lawn and I asked him, "whose lawn?" since we didn't even have any grass. This annoyed me as well and I knew it would suck up 2 more hours and no one had packed yet.
On the way to the kennel, the sky got dark and we had a pretend storm where the wind blows and it thunders with sporadic rain fall that barely wets the grass and was capable of electrocuting a man on a lawnmower. When I got home the lawn mowers had taken cover in the garage and I couldn't even park my car. I finally got in and saw my husband reclining and playing his Game Boy as he waited out the lightning storm, which annoyed me once again.
I think I was getting nuts because it was nearing 7pm and no one had packed yet. What's with that? I wanted to load the car the night before since we had to meet the bus as 0630 the next day to begin our trip.
Stephen still wasn't home from college and Rusty didn't think he should pack "if Stephen hadn't packed yet." What are they, toddlers? Rusty was busy trying to find some Cal Ripken stuff and I finally found a number 8 shirt that I had been using as a wedge between my air mattress and the bureau for 4 years. I am a true fan, don't you think?
At 10pm, I was exhausted, the car was empty, and I left them and went to bed. The mountain was just too big to fight. I thought that vacationers were supposed to relax and forget their troubles, so why was I thinking of selling my ticket on E-Bay?
We got up early and everyone was scrambling around doing things that should have been done the night before. I was annoyed with all 3 of them.
We made it in time to meet the bus without killing each other, parked the car, and got in to take our seats. I settled back in my seat and took a deep breathe. But we were not moving, it seemed one couple was missing. We waited for them for 10 minutes and they finally arrived and walked on the bus without any apology like we owed them this special time. How can people be so annoying? I instantly disliked both of them and not because they were huge or late, but because they were huge AND late, a deadly combo. They were so big, they shared 2 seats each, which was a good thing for them so their fat didn't rub together and cause huge bedsores from the bumpy bus ride. The man had sleep apnea and snored the whole time we were on the bus. How could anyone be that tired?
We stopped for breakfast after 2 hrs and we were told that we had one hour to eat. The little country place was small and the food was great when we finally got it. Everyone on the entire bus had been served but us. Were we that easy to over-look? I had to tell the hostess of the bus that we would be late. This little adventure became our trademark through out the trip. No matter where we went to eat, out table was either forgotten or last and we were the tallest people on the bus trip. Isn't that weird? I was starting to doubt if we were really going to Cooperstown or if I was in the middle of a bad dream.
We stayed in Utica, in a large hotel, one hour from Cooperstown. Our room was large and we piled in as we bickered over sleeping arrangements. We ordered a cot for Rusty, Stephen claimed one bed and my husband the other bed. How nice! Where was I going to sleep? I finally put two bench things and a chair together and used a spread for a mattress. And why not? This was a man vacation with man shopping and man talk. I was the invisible, needy woman in constant back pain. But it was only for a few nights and surely I would survive.
The next day, we got up at 0500 to eat breakfast and ride our bus into Cooperstown so we could get a spot for the induction ceremony. Can you imagine 70,000 people huddled in chairs on acres of green grass with humidity that would kill a cactus? No wonder we never went to Disney World.!
Even the zillion people did not amaze me as my own family did. My husband who can not stay on the beach for more than an hour under a 100 SPF umbrella managed to sit for 4 hours in 100 degree sun blazing heat with sweat running down his face without a word of complaint. My boys who dislike sitting in an air conditioned church with a 20 minute message from their Uncle, managed to listen to 2 speeches, one 35 minutes long and one fifteen, with their shirts drenched in sweat and not one complaint from either of them.
This same trio, who wouldn't be caught dead shopping in a mall for Christmas gifts (thank God for Santa) shopped for 2 days in the Hall of Fame while I sat on a bench wishing I had some pain pills for my back. They were in some kind of male euphoria, a true man vacation. They stayed up late, they took naps, they ate tons of food and since I hate all 3 of those things, it was tough for me, but in the name of quality family time, I survived.
The sole purpose of any family vacation is to see who survives without any blood shed and to see what is left of the family by the end of the trip.
It seems that my dear husband who enjoyed the trip so much is planning our next vacation and he thinks a cruise would be great. HUH? Yeah right buddy, only if we have 2 bedrooms and a bucket load of Xanax !
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A Lawn Man
Some wives who may read this, have no idea what a lawn man is, so they should stop reading now. But there are some wives who personally know a lawn man and this article is for them. I must warn you that the story you are about to read is sad.
My lawn man just had 10 days off for a spring break. He worked diligently everyday on our lawn, the same lawn that HAD 3 gorgeous evergreen trees.
I find it difficult to even talk about those trees. They were gigantic Christmas trees, fat and happy. I will admit that they owned our front yard. They were incredibly beautiful in the winter when it snowed, as the brances just glistened with icicles and white flakes. They were a breath-taking scene and I loved them. They were shade in the hot summer and totally hid the front of our house, which gave us ultimate privacy. But for some reason, my husband took a disliking to them and all but murdered each one.
It all began with one cedar tree spreading its branches over our driveway. Our cars went right under the branches with room to spare, but my lawn man considered them a hazard of some kind. The trees were rabbit and squirrel homes.
Anyway, my lawn man decided to trim the tree in the driveway and did some insane hacking on it. This proved to be a vast job and he called in the Calvary, the professional lawn men.
I saw my lawn man standing knee deep in branches while he performed his tree killing project. Why?? So he could ride his lawn mower under the tree where there was no grass. Not even weeds grew under those trees.
I came to understand a little of his intimidation of trees in general when last summer while he was mowing the back yard, a huge limb fell down from a 40 foot tree and almost hit him. I believed he called it 'a narrow escape', but I like to think of it as an omen.
But it was much more than that ! I think that trees can talk and the 3 trees in the front yard sent an SOS to the back yard trees. It was a distress call in self defense and the message went like this-he is a tree murderer. Get him before he gets us! This has to be the explanation for the near miss. What are the odds of a huge branch falling from a healthy tree.
Sadly the tree message came too late. I awakened one morning to the sound of a Chain Saw Massacre, not that I ever watched such trash ! I ask you, is there a more annoying noise than a gas-powered chain saw, even more annoying than a paper shredder? I swear he only shreds paper when I walk into the room to have a conversation.
I looked outside and there were 2 mulch trucks and chain saws all over the front lawn. There were at least 4 lawn men standing around watching the limbs fall, like construction men. Do you ever see them work? These lawn men were in a conspiracy to either commit a crime or watch one. And they did-both.
For some reason, I thought my husband had hired them to trim the long branches, not even close. They sawed off every limb on all 3 trees up to 10 feet. I looked out the window in horror at what looked like 3 dark, green mint ice cream cones. My magnificent trees were naked and I cried, after I said things that I will have to repent of.
A zillion limbs had been amputated and in their places were bare wooden holes like fresh wounds and the trees were crying white tears right down to the ground. The gorgeous trees had been mutilated, dismembered, and disfigured. I thought to myself that this is a bad dream and when I wake up, I won't be able to see my neighbor's dog poop on our lawn.
I was devastated, but the deed was done. To further annoy me, my lawn man got all kinds of comliments from our neighbor lawn men. You know how they are, sticking together, thicker than thieves.
Lawn men love nakes trees or should I say NO trees. What was there to love? Maybe my lawn man was happy that the neighbors could watch us eat in our kitchen while they are hopeful to see some table sex.
So this week was spring break and my lawn man went to work preparing the barren ground under the 3 trees for grass growth. For 6 days in a row, he raked, plowed, mashed, and arranged the dirt under the trees so he could plant grass seed in the shade that never sees the sun.
There have been spring breaks where it rained everyday, a cold rain, but not this one.The weather was so nice he even got sunburnt one day. Whats with that?
So instead of doing our income tax, he prioritized his to do list and the naked trees got all his attention. I was shocked by how he worked and was delighted that his back hurt and I was fuming that he was so happy to soon run his lawnmower under the trees. HUH??
It should be against the law to change the natural growth of any tree, unless the roots have encircled the earth and pushed their way up through your bedroom floor and are protruding arrogantly through your mattress.
One of our neighbors was so impressed that he hired the same tree people to butcher his trees. How lucky for me, now I can see his family watching TV in their living room and if I am lucky , I might see some living room sex.
My every move is observable now. That's right, the whole world can see in my house and I hate it.It's not like I have anything to hide, I just want to be able to hide something if I want to, that's all. Is that too much to ask?
But the good news is this, tree murderers will not go unpunished. They deserve whatever is coming to them and it won't be good. I just pray that I live to see it happen.
My lawn man just had 10 days off for a spring break. He worked diligently everyday on our lawn, the same lawn that HAD 3 gorgeous evergreen trees.
I find it difficult to even talk about those trees. They were gigantic Christmas trees, fat and happy. I will admit that they owned our front yard. They were incredibly beautiful in the winter when it snowed, as the brances just glistened with icicles and white flakes. They were a breath-taking scene and I loved them. They were shade in the hot summer and totally hid the front of our house, which gave us ultimate privacy. But for some reason, my husband took a disliking to them and all but murdered each one.
It all began with one cedar tree spreading its branches over our driveway. Our cars went right under the branches with room to spare, but my lawn man considered them a hazard of some kind. The trees were rabbit and squirrel homes.
Anyway, my lawn man decided to trim the tree in the driveway and did some insane hacking on it. This proved to be a vast job and he called in the Calvary, the professional lawn men.
I saw my lawn man standing knee deep in branches while he performed his tree killing project. Why?? So he could ride his lawn mower under the tree where there was no grass. Not even weeds grew under those trees.
I came to understand a little of his intimidation of trees in general when last summer while he was mowing the back yard, a huge limb fell down from a 40 foot tree and almost hit him. I believed he called it 'a narrow escape', but I like to think of it as an omen.
But it was much more than that ! I think that trees can talk and the 3 trees in the front yard sent an SOS to the back yard trees. It was a distress call in self defense and the message went like this-he is a tree murderer. Get him before he gets us! This has to be the explanation for the near miss. What are the odds of a huge branch falling from a healthy tree.
Sadly the tree message came too late. I awakened one morning to the sound of a Chain Saw Massacre, not that I ever watched such trash ! I ask you, is there a more annoying noise than a gas-powered chain saw, even more annoying than a paper shredder? I swear he only shreds paper when I walk into the room to have a conversation.
I looked outside and there were 2 mulch trucks and chain saws all over the front lawn. There were at least 4 lawn men standing around watching the limbs fall, like construction men. Do you ever see them work? These lawn men were in a conspiracy to either commit a crime or watch one. And they did-both.
For some reason, I thought my husband had hired them to trim the long branches, not even close. They sawed off every limb on all 3 trees up to 10 feet. I looked out the window in horror at what looked like 3 dark, green mint ice cream cones. My magnificent trees were naked and I cried, after I said things that I will have to repent of.
A zillion limbs had been amputated and in their places were bare wooden holes like fresh wounds and the trees were crying white tears right down to the ground. The gorgeous trees had been mutilated, dismembered, and disfigured. I thought to myself that this is a bad dream and when I wake up, I won't be able to see my neighbor's dog poop on our lawn.
I was devastated, but the deed was done. To further annoy me, my lawn man got all kinds of comliments from our neighbor lawn men. You know how they are, sticking together, thicker than thieves.
Lawn men love nakes trees or should I say NO trees. What was there to love? Maybe my lawn man was happy that the neighbors could watch us eat in our kitchen while they are hopeful to see some table sex.
So this week was spring break and my lawn man went to work preparing the barren ground under the 3 trees for grass growth. For 6 days in a row, he raked, plowed, mashed, and arranged the dirt under the trees so he could plant grass seed in the shade that never sees the sun.
There have been spring breaks where it rained everyday, a cold rain, but not this one.The weather was so nice he even got sunburnt one day. Whats with that?
So instead of doing our income tax, he prioritized his to do list and the naked trees got all his attention. I was shocked by how he worked and was delighted that his back hurt and I was fuming that he was so happy to soon run his lawnmower under the trees. HUH??
It should be against the law to change the natural growth of any tree, unless the roots have encircled the earth and pushed their way up through your bedroom floor and are protruding arrogantly through your mattress.
One of our neighbors was so impressed that he hired the same tree people to butcher his trees. How lucky for me, now I can see his family watching TV in their living room and if I am lucky , I might see some living room sex.
My every move is observable now. That's right, the whole world can see in my house and I hate it.It's not like I have anything to hide, I just want to be able to hide something if I want to, that's all. Is that too much to ask?
But the good news is this, tree murderers will not go unpunished. They deserve whatever is coming to them and it won't be good. I just pray that I live to see it happen.
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