Last week I wrote about our pets we adopted on Thanksgiving in years past. This year, we visited friends and met Buddy. I would have taken him home — if our friends allowed it. Buddy was a rescue dog who is seven years old. According to our friends, he was being abused by his owner. The owner’s daughter already had several dogs and cats and couldn’t keep him. I’m not sure how our friends found him, but they are fortunate they did.
He was the most delightful, happiest little creature I’ve ever met. He was so happy to greet us. Happy to sit by us. Thrilled to go for a walk. His entire little body vibrated with his happiness that he shared with us.
We’ve spent many Christmas and Thanksgivings with our friends of 30 plus years. They moved to Arizona before us and have a new home two hours south of us. It’s the first time we’ve visited them in their new home by Tucson and we laughed and shared stories the entire weekend — with Buddy enjoying every moment.
Here’s a view of the dramatic mountains near Tucson while out walking with Buddy.
Did you enjoy your Thanksgiving weekend with family and friends? Who was “Buddy” during your weekend?
A photo of my daughter’s pug who was used in social media marketing for her college swim team. The swimmers on the sports marketing team posed Waffles around the pool wearing goggles, on the blocks and lifeguard stand.
As I think about Thanksgiving, it dawned on me that our last two pets, Olive and Waffles, were adopted Thanksgiving weekend. What a joy they’ve brought to our family.
My son left for college in 2011 and my daughter and I visited the animal shelter in Palm Springs looking at kittens. It was right before Thanksgiving that Olive came home with us. Because my son is allergic to cats we waited until he moved away to college to adopt Olive. We kept Olive hidden in our daughter’s bedroom for the four-day weekend and didn’t think my son would have any reaction from his room down the hall.
Olive’s baby picture taken around Thanksgiving.
Everything went smoothly. I cooked dinner for my kids, husband and dad. I remember a wonderful weekend spending time with family walking downtown and playing in the park.
Then my son called to let me know he was back at school safely. While we talked on the phone, the kitty snuck out the door into the backyard.
“Quick, get the kitty!” I yelled to my daughter.
“WHAT?!” my son said. “I knew it! I knew there was a cat in the house. I had allergies all weekend.”
Today, he can visit our home in Arizona with Olive inside, and doesn’t seem to suffer. I’ve installed an air filter in the casita and the new house doesn’t have the same issues as our 1930s Palm Springs house did for allergies like mold and a grassy back yard.
Then came Waffles. It was my husband’s idea to adopt Waffles as a companion dog for our daughter. She came home from college for Thanksgiving weekend, along with our son, and met Waffles for the first time.
My kids and Waffles
I cooked for our family, my college roommate, who was visiting from Seattle with her mom and brother. Plus a former coworker of mine — and dad of course. Waffles was a hit with everyone — except Olive. I remember my college roommate’s brother thanking me over and over for a home-cooked Thanksgiving. They had planned to eat in their hotel restaurant.
Waffles was beyond cute and so tiny!
Pretty kitty Olive as a grown up.
Waffles as a middle-aged man, snaggle teeth and gray hairs.
Have a happy Thanksgiving with family, friends and your furry friends.
What is it about Thanksgiving and adopting our pets? I’m thinking our prior two, Sherman and Angus joined us in the fall as well.
My kids at the beach with Angus, our best dog ever.
Angus was the best dog ever. That’s hard to say, because I’ve loved every dog in my family since I was a young child, through married life and kids. But Angus was special.
We got Angus from Guide Dogs of the Desert after being on a waiting list for several years for one of their “rejects.” I’ll never forget driving to pick him up with my husband, first-grade son and toddler daughter.
Angus appeared, wagging his tail with a stuffed sheep in his mouth.
My husband immediately fell in love. After Angus was in the car with the family, I ran back into Guide Dogs’ office.
“If he doesn’t work out after a few days, can we bring him back?” I asked.
The woman at the counter looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. She said, “Here’s his shot and birth records.”
“Oh!” I said stunned. Angus shared my son’s birthday.
When we brought Angus home, he was seven-months old, had some guide dog training, but failed because he was pretty wild. He did make it on the cover of Guide Dog’s brochure, though, because he was so handsome.
Our daughter spent the next few months living on countertops, the coffee table and sofa so she didn’t get tumbled by the wagging tail.
We soon learned that Angus was trained to open the fridge to help a blind person find their OJ or other items.
Angus thought our fridge was a self-service appliance for butter. Counter shopping got him treats like a loaf of bread and once while cooking dinner, I turned around to find a steak missing.
I’d walk by the kitchen to see Angus on his hind legs counter shopping and he’d quickly drop to the floor. “Who me?!”
One day, I couldn’t find the large kitchen trash can. I eventually found it behind a tree in the backyard.
Often, I came home to find the bathroom trash which was wicker with a wrought iron leaf pattern around the top — connected to Angus’s collar. Again, the look of “Who me?”
Angus on the wide chaise lounge. We spent many nights sitting together watching stars.
Angus was a working dog. It was his joy to pick up our newspapers in the morning. He’d go out the kitchen door, through the garage, to the street to pick up our two papers. Sometimes, when he was feeling extra, we’d get the neighbors’ papers, too. The newspaper job evolved to Angus leaving payment for papers.
Driving the kids to school, I’d see my husband’s tighty whities out on the street — in exchange for the newspapers.
We lived one block from downtown Palm Springs. Across the street was a hotel. I can’t tell you how many times we’d get a call from a hotel employee telling us Angus was working the pool guests for snacks.
You have to understand that Angus wasn’t allowed to roam wild. We had a walled-in yard with a gate. But Angus knew how to get out.
Once we were downtown walking with friends from Seattle. We returned after dark to see cops and strangers outside our house. The strangers said Angus was downtown barking like Lassie, trying to get someone to follow him. They did and ended up at our house, afraid because the lights were all on, with the gate and French doors open wide.
They called the police, because they were afraid maybe something deadly had happened. Everyone including the cops were relieved we were okay. An officer threatened to write up Angus for a ticket, but that didn’t happen.
For my son’s second grade birthday party, we held it at the city pool and he asked for donations for Guide Dogs of the Desert. He raised more than $1,000. I wrote a story about it that was published in the Los Angeles Times. You can read my story HERE.
Angus was with us until after he was 15 years old. We knew it was time when he’d get lost in the garage trying to pick up newspapers. He also fell into the pool several times. He had trouble standing up.
Why were we keeping Angus alive? It wasn’t for him, that’s for sure.
My husband said he’d take Angus to the vet. Then my daughter, who was a senior in high school, said she’d go. That left me feeling like a coward. I had to go, too.
Once in the examining room, we all petted and loved on Angus. The vet took a needle and injected it into his front leg. The syringe broke in half and the medicine sprayed all over the room.
We finally said good-bye to Angus. A nurse came in with a baggie of his hair and asked if we wanted it.
It was Waffles the Pug’s seventh birthday over the weekend. Since I’m in a low mood due to health issues in my family and I can’t focus, I decided photos of Waffles were in order to make me smile — and you, too. Who doesn’t like cute puppy pictures?
Seven years ago we got Waffles as a Christmas present for our daughter. Waffles became an unofficial mascot for her Utah swim team and they allowed him to come to swim practice. The sports marketing team posed him for social media posts. He’s been a joy to everyone, especially my daughter.
Waffles is a love bug, but does have one annoying habit. He puts whatever he can into his mouth. He’s uncontrollable like a two-year-old. Consequently, he’s given us plenty of scares. Once he found an adderall on the floor at a friend of my daughter’s. That was a night in the ER. Then he ate poisonous berries in our backyard. Trip to ER. The worst though was when he swallowed a piece of wood that got lodged in his small intestine. Surgery. Good thing my daughter has dog insurance!
Through all the fun and the drama, I can’t figure out where seven years disappeared.
Waffles in the sweater I bought him for cold Utah winters.
Waffles in one of his Ute posts.
Waffles in Carpinteria celebrating his first birthday at the beach.
Waffles in his puppy glory.
Waffles with his momma when we met him.
Waffles hanging out with our daughter in our backyard.
My daughter and Waffles. Graduation from college.
What do you think is more adorable — puppies or kittens and why?
I read that naming pets after food is a trend in 2023. I guess my daughter was ahead of her time?
Waffles, my daughter’s pug, made it on “We Rate Dogs” a popular “pupper” site on Twitter and Instagram. Waffles got 13 out of perfect 10 rating — and more than 75k likes for this photo taken by someone on my daughter’s college team.
The photo above is Waffles the pug. No he doesn’t bite. His snaggle teeth weren’t built to do that. This is a story about another dog from a morning walk last week.
We headed out the door around 5ish a.m. The sun rises after 5:30, but the sky glows pink and gray, waiting for the intense sun to peak over the horizon.
At this early time, we see a few dog walkers in the neighborhood. One is a petite blond lady with a pit bull named Star. We’ve known Star since she was a puppy about a year and a half ago. She’d lay down submissively so we’d come over to her for a pat. Often, she’d roll on her back so she’d get a belly rub from my husband.
I’m not a pit bull fan. As Star grew older, the owner kept to her side of the street. Often Star would lunge, growl and snarl at us. The owner apologized and didn’t know what to make of the new attitude.
I said, “Maybe Star is getting older and more protective?”
Sometimes, she’d say, “Star wants to come say hi.” She’d walk Star over to us with different results. Sometimes Star was good. Other times she’d start sweet and then snap.
From then on (several months ago) we gave up on communicating with Star.
Last week, we spotted the woman across the street. Star laid down. The owner said something to us from across the street. My husband couldn’t hear what she said. I kept walking away from Star at a brisk pace.
My husband walked towards Star and the woman, but stopped six to eight feet away to not invade Star’s space. Star was on a thick leather leash, held by the woman.
The woman was chit chatting about how hot it was and how we have to get out early to walk.
Then Star, without warning or provocation, lunged, snarling from the ground at my husband and bit his hand. The woman didn’t have the strength to pull Star back.
Fortunately, my husband jumped away with only a puncture wound. When he caught up to me his hand was dripping blood. “If I didn’t move away, I would have lost my hand,” he said. “What was really strange is she didn’t say anything to the dog. Not bad dog! or anything!”
I reported the dog bite to the HOA board but didn’t hear back immediately. I wanted to let other families in our neighborhood be aware.
We looked up dog bites on our County website and my husband decided to file a complaint. He had a picture of his hand, the dog bite broke through skin, which were requirements. We don’t want to get the neighbor upset, but we worry about what could happen. Especially because most the people in our neighborhood are older. They might not get away as quickly — or even worse get knocked down.
The dog will be under house arrest for 10 days and tested for rabies. Other than that, I don’t think anything will happen to Star. We may have made an enemy in Star’s owner, but hopefully saved other people. Since reporting, we have heard that someone two houses away from the pit bull was bitten, too.
What would you have done in our place? Would you report the dog and/or ask the HOA board for restriction of some kind? How do you think the owner should corrected Star?
Today is my son’s birthday. It was also our big yellow lab Angus’s birthday.
The following story was first published in the Los Angeles Times Sunday paper in the Kids’ Reading Room section. It’s the true story of my son’s second grade birthday party. I repost this story each year in honor or my son and Angus.
My son with the Easter bunny.
A Birthday for the Dogs
“MOM, I’m inviting 50 kids to my party.”
“What, Robert?” Mom said. “That’s too many. Do you know 50 kids?”
I sat in the back seat while Mom drove home after school. My eighth birthday was in two weeks.
“There’s my class, plus Cub Scouts, and playgroup.”
“I can’t afford to take 50 kids skating or bowling. And I don’t want 50 kids in my house. What about the city pool? It’s heated, open year-round, and it’s only 50¢ a kid,” Mom said.
“A swim party, that’s cool!” I said.
“I’ll say yes to the party, but no to presents. Fifty presents are too much for one eight-year-old. It’s decadent.”
“What’s decadent?” I asked. Mom used words I didn’t know.
“Self-indulgent, corrupt.”
I sat silently and thought I’d be sad with no presents. Then I remembered Angus. Mom got him for me as an early birthday present. We were on a waiting list for two years with Guide Dogs of the Desert. He was being trained as a companion dog for people who couldn’t see. We got him because he had poor hips and couldn’t be a working dog. Angus was big, yellow, and I loved him. We shared the same birthday.
“I have a great idea!”
“What?” Mom asked, glancing at me in her rearview mirror.
“I’ll ask for money for Guide Dogs of the Desert.”
“Ah?” Mom made a weird swallowing noise.
“It’s Angus’s birthday, too.”
Angus
In the rearview mirror I watched Mom dab at the corner of her eyes with a tissue, and nod her head in agreement.
Two weeks later, I had a great birthday. Fifty kids came with bathing suits, towels and money. Instead of opening presents after cake, we counted dollars they had stuffed into a large licorice jar decorated with photos of Angus.
Together, we raised more than $1,600 for Guide Dogs. Mom called me a “philanthropist” – whatever that is.
We boarded Olive the cat for our vacation in Palm Springs. I got a call from the boarding place three days into our trip. Olive wasn’t drinking, eating, peeing or pooping.
It’s the first time she’s been at this boarding place, because the one we went to before closed. I was impressed with this new outfit. It was spanking brand new, had huge two and three level kitty suites complete with climbing towers and TVs! Cats can climb up and down through the suite through large holes cut in the platform levels.
I had left Olive with her Rx laxative, kitty soup and dry Friskies. She even had an old smelly t-shirt of my husband’s to make her comfortable. After a few phone calls, the boarding place said they’d take Olive to the vet if she didn’t settle down. They also put her in an empty bathroom, where she’d be all alone.
Our Olive isn’t exactly neurotic, but she’s a loner and trembles and gets frightened of new people and places. You’d think having a friend take care of her in our house would be the ideal situation rather than boarding her. But no, you’d be wrong. As long as my friend’s daughter took care of Olive she was fine when we lived in Palm Springs. The friend’s daughter got scared of Marco — our homeless guy who believed our house was his — so her dad took over Olive duty.
Olive doesn’t like strangers, but really doesn’t like men. The end result of the father taking care of Olive was a urinary tract infection — plus me purchasing two new comforters, sheets and mattress toppers.
I got a call five days into our trip that Olive was doing fine.
Now for the embarrassing part.
On our way home we stopped at the boarding place to pick up Olive.
They gave me her meds, foods and handed me her soft carrier. I insisted it was not the right one. Hers was black, I swore — and the one they tried to pawn off on my was gray with blue piping.
I had four frantic employees opening up every cupboard shelf searching for the black-sided carrier.
Finally, 25 minutes later, we came to the agreement that I’d take Olive home in their hard cased carrier and they’d deliver Olive’s carrier to our house once they figured out what happened to it. Maybe it went home with the wrong cat? Maybe the manager who was trying out new spaces to make Olive comfortable had placed it in a safe place?
Once home I decided to check on Amazon for my purchase of the carrier. This is what I discovered:
I had bought a gray carrier with light blue piping. Not black. I bit the bullet and called and apologized for being totally insane and a pain in the behind. Then I had to drive over there and exchange carriers and apologize profusely.
I realized my error. Waffles the pug and his carrier I bought six years ago. This is what I thought Olive the cat had too. She doesn’t get out much and Waffles get in his carrier daily.
Waffles the pug in 2016 with his black carrier.
Here’s to a New Year and sanity! What are your hopes for 2023?
