Caleigh O'Shea's Blog, page 19

Happy Fourth!

Now you’re talking — this is way better than all those scary booms!!

Crazy Bird Lady?

All around the cathedral, the saints and apostles
Look down as she sells her wares
Although you can’t see it, you know they are smiling
Each time someone shows that he cares — Mary Poppins

When I recently got a flat tire after hitting a chunk of wood the wrong way, I had my car towed to a repair shop for a replacement wheel.

But when I was notified the job was finished and they didn’t have anybody free to bring me my car, I had to scramble to find a ride.

I called a taxi, and that’s where the “fun” started.

The gal who arrived for me indicated I was to sit in front with her. Two burly guys were in the rear, silent as statues.

A small cardboard box with shredded papers was situated between me and the driver, and as I fastened my seatbelt, I heard chirping.

“What’s in the box?” I asked.

“Nothing. He’s in here,” she said and rolled up her shirt sleeve to reveal a BIRD!

Alive, squirming, and cheeping to beat the band!

“What is that thing?” I asked.

“This is C.J. He’s a starling. I found him and his sibling outside the Casey’s (a local convenience store). His brother wasn’t alive, but C.J. was. I waited about 30 minutes for his mama to show up, but when she didn’t come, I picked him up and have been taking care of him ever since.”

Okay, I thought. This is odd, but I don’t guess there’s any law against homing a wild baby bird and giving it a chance to live.

(Though having read about starlings, perhaps there should be?!)

The driver proceeded to tell me everything she’d learned from Google about starlings — their food of choice, their ability to mimic sounds, and so forth while C.J. (or Casey Junior) carried on a conversation of his own.

And he had a LOT to say, never stopping to take a breath the entire trip.

This, despite the driver’s assurances that “he loves to hear the sound of my voice and quiets right down.”

Sure, he does.

Now, I should probably admit that “loose” birds terrify me (thank you, Alfred Hitchcock). Birds belong outdoors, not tucked between some human’s arm and their clothing.

Even if C.J. had been happily chirping from the safety of his box, I’d have been uncomfortable.

After all, it’s one thing to toss food out for birds; it’s something else entirely to be cooped up in a moving vehicle mere inches from one!

Band is Back!

Take a music-bath once or twice a week for a few seasons, and you will find that it is to the soul what the water-bath is to the body. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes, American jurist, U.S. Supreme Court

The COVID Pandemic of 2020 played havoc with our Community Band, but now that vaccines are available and restrictions are easing, we’re back for our 44th season.

And how wonderful it is, both seeing everybody and creating music together!

I’m not sure how other community bands do things, but here’s our routine: we practice an hour and a half on one day and perform an outdoor concert two days later. Ten to 12 pieces of music, enough to last at least 60 full minutes with brief spoken intros by our director in between to give our chops a rest.

Now, one rehearsal isn’t exactly conducive to perfecting each song, nor is there much downtime for individual practice, but somehow it works. Probably because there are enough talented musicians in this group to carry the rest of us!

Most of the time, I feel like I’m merely sight-reading … though I’m getting better at it.

Our concerts include a mix of marches, patriotic tunes, rock songs, movie and television themes, and hymns. Some feature certain sections in the band; others, solo musicians.

And periodically, our Jazz Band gets everybody in the mood by playing a few tunes covering the old standbys as well as newer renditions.

Some listeners bring their dogs. Some sit in their cars with the windows down, but most bring lawn chairs. All bring an expectant attitude and appreciation for our efforts.

Our director told us she regularly has people stop her when she’s out and about, asking for a sneak preview of an upcoming concert or complimenting her on a previous performance.

And it’s rewarding to see the smiles on their faces while we’re playing, to see some toes tapping, to hear their applause when a piece ends.

In a time when people — even family members who didn’t live under the same roof — were forced to keep apart for fear of catching COVID, it’s a relief to once again join friends and spread musical cheer, not disease.

Because while not everybody can (or wants to) play an instrument, supporting a group like this should come easy. Just consider what the audience gets — fresh air, sunshine, camaraderie with other listeners, and a FREE concert!

Monkey’s First Post

Our fears are always more numerous than our dangers. ~Proverb

Monkey here.

I understand my predecessor — a beauty by the name of Dallas — regularly took over Mama’s blog, and she figured you might like to hear from me once in a while, too.

If I had something to say, of course.

Well, I do!

First off, you should know I’m terrified of doing this blogging-thing.

I’m still a baby — nearly six months now — and, according to Mama, I’ve spent much of my life battling something-or-other. And this is my “fear stage.”

But if I don’t make myself post, I might never. So here goes.

Over Memorial Day weekend, my human brother Domer came home.

Mama told me ahead of time that I’d love him, and she was right! I’d seen him once before, but I was just a wee pup and fighting diarrhea, so I don’t remember much about that visit.

This time, he was really surprised at how much I’ve grown … and at all the things I can do now that I couldn’t just two months ago.

Puppies grow FAST, you see.

This was just a short visit, but I managed to lose one of my canine teeth while we were playing so Domer would have something to remember me by!

Anyway, this Domer is lots of fun. We took walkies, played Fetch, learned some new commands (working on Sit/Stay), and kicked a playground ball around the back yard.

Me and Domer playing. Silly Mama is still protecting his online identity and she found a Blur tool to make his head all fuzzy. He’s really better-looking than Fuzz-Head Man!

One day, I rode in Domer’s car with him and Mama to pick up fast food and guess what?

The girl at the window saw me and made me something she called a Puppuccino. It was white and frothy, and she served it in a small cup. Mama was afraid it would start the diarrhea up again and refused to let me lick it all down, but the taste Domer gave me was divine!

And this time, Mama wasn’t right. My stools are just fine, thank you very much.

I swear, these Mamas think they know everything, but I’m here to tell you they don’t!

She did get me a name tag for my collar, something to bring me back home if I should ever get lost, but it’s noisy and clanks when I lay down. I’ve quit trying to bite it off — I can’t reach it easily, and I’m tired of her telling me to Stop.

The things we pups have to put up with!

Time to snoozle. Talk later.

Love, Monkey

Roses

Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers, where I can walk undisturbed… ~Walt Whitman, American poet and father of free verse

 

Caring for roses

Is not for the faint of heart

True beauty, the result

 

Another Monkey Update

Happiness is a form of courage. ~American proverb

When I lost my beloved Dallas, I told myself I didn’t want a replacement.

That no pup would ever take Dallas’s corner of my heart.

So I looked at breeds other than Sheltie. Considered Shelties that were anything but sable and white. Thought about switching to a female pup.

Then I found Monkey.

To say he isn’t Dallas would be an understatement.

Yet the longer he’s here, the more things I find to love about him.

Topping the list is his cheerfulness.

You’d think a pup that’s been poked with needles, filled with antibiotics, relegated to a bland diet, and held at arm’s length would be resentful.

Angry, even.

Not Monkey. He’s a survivor!

His tail is hardly ever still, and there’s a joy that radiates from his eyes.

I can only hope that, despite the challenges of his early months, he’s getting stronger and healthier by the day.

And he’s trusting me (and New Vet) to keep the progress going.

Sometimes he reminds me of a Golden Retriever, who just grins and seems happy to be along for the ride.

For a long time, I’ve been afraid to let myself love him.

Afraid I wasn’t up to the challenge of tending to a dog with a wacky immune system that made potty training next-to-impossible.

Afraid I was going to have to re-home him … or worse, have him put down because of some unidentified physical issue.

But Monkey kept bouncing back.

Demanding I pay attention to him.

Curling up in my lap, gazing soulfully into my eyes.

Acting like I’m the best thing next to an unstuffed squeaky toy or tennis ball.

Only a hard-hearted person could resist.

Am I still afraid?

You bet.

But I’m weakening.

I’ve ordered a personalized dog ID tag for his collar.

And officially registered him with the American Kennel Club.

So I guess he’s staying.

And why not? He’s obviously comfortable here.

Most days, I catch him sleeping on his back, legs spread to the ceiling, with a smile on his furry face.

Dog experts say that indicates an indoor dog who’s mighty comfy and secure in his surroundings.

Because it’s a vulnerable position, one that’s hard to get up from.

See for yourself:

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Happy Mother’s Day

A mom’s hug lasts long after she lets go. ~Author unknown

Azalea in bloom

Mom

just got

released from

the rehab place

in time for her to

celebrate Mother’s Day.

All moms are a blessing and

shouldn’t have to be apart from

loved ones on this special occasion.

Happy Mother’s Day from my house to yours!

Note: Poetic form is Etheree.

Puppy Woes, Part Three

Some people succeed because they are destined to, but most people succeed because they are determined to. ~Author unknown, 1960s

I’ve had dogs for most of my life. I’m no newbie.

But coping with puppy chewing, digging, and jumping is WAY different from dealing with constant diarrhea, vomiting, and digestive upsets.

I was exhausted. Running on a low battery.

Monkey was exhausted, too.

I figured we’d be better off apart. When you trust your vet yet can’t get the answers you need, you panic.

And make hasty decisions based on emotion, not reason.

I decided to return this pup to the breeder.

She’d instructed me on his Gotcha Day that, if things didn’t work out, she wanted him back.

And things sure weren’t working out.

Then I learned that, for a multitude of reasons, returning him wasn’t an option.

Sheltie Rescue was my Plan B. But I couldn’t make myself surrender him.

When Dallas’s breeder suggested another breeder friend, I figured she’d place Monkey in a better home than the one I was providing.

What puppy wants to be stuck with a stressed-out mama?

Still I hesitated.

The idea of being “rid” of Monkey was appealing — look how much time and money I’d save, how much wear-and-tear on mind and spirit! Then his eyes would meet mine and once again, I’d feel our heartstrings entangle, and I’d be ashamed of myself.

I prayed about it … over and over … and I knew I couldn’t give up. At least until he was well (if that could happen).

Off we went to a different vet — one who’d listen to us and not act like I was Nervous Nellie.

She ordered a fecal test to see if Monkey had intestinal bacteria or, gasp, worms.

He didn’t.

Additionally, she put him on a special diet designed to heal his intestines, added some probiotics, and suggested I continue feeding him boiled chicken and rice.

With only kibble for treats.

And she prescribed 21 days of Metronidazole to heal his colon while killing the bad bacteria in his gut and clearing the way for the good strains to grow.

The jury’s still deliberating, but I’m cautiously optimistic that it’s working.

Over the past 10 days, his diarrhea has ceased. His vet cut the Metronidazole prescription in half and instructed me to gradually add back in his regular puppy food.

He acts far happier now that his bottom isn’t sore. He’s getting the hang of potty training, and we’ve taken several walks around the neighborhood to meet new people and see/smell new things. And he’s gained some weight.

Maybe we’ve finally turned a corner.

Monkey is on the mend!

Puppy Woes, Part Two

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on! ~Author unknown

My previous post probably struck you as pretty depressing.

Well, read on.

Despite Monkey’s compromised system from the bladder infection and antibiotics, the vet said he was due for another round of puppy vaccinations, so I made an appointment.

Monkey was poked twice — one, a combo shot designed to prevent seven different diseases (including hepatitis, distemper, parvovirus, coronavirus, and leptospirosis), and the other, a vaccine to prevent rabies.

Mistake.

Not all dogs handle vaccinations well, and Monkey is clearly one of them.

The diarrhea worsened, and he was put on a five-day regimen of Metronidazole (another antibiotic).

It helped some but wasn’t a cure. Monkey started vomiting and acted sluggish, and my fears kicked into high gear.

One of his littermates had been diagnosed with Parvo, so back to the vet we went.

Yay, that test was negative!

Then I did some checking online and learned shots should be administered to healthy puppies only.

And an online forum of pet parents indicated Monkey was far from the only one suffering bad side effects after combo vaccines.

Hmm.

Then I consulted Dallas’s breeder, who was horrified.

“Shelties are too sensitive for that,” she told me. “You never give them multiple shots at once. All that did was fry his intestines!”

Uh-oh. No wonder he got diarrhea.

Sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to!

I was frantic. What if he became dehydrated, lost weight, “failed to thrive,” and ultimately had to be put down?

Bad enough that this pup had already cost me a small fortune between his purchase and the vet bills, but I didn’t think I could endure another heartbreak so soon on the heels of Dallas’s death.

I was overwhelmed. Tired from lack of solid sleep. Exhausted from making frequent trips to Mom’s rehab facility, retrieving her laundry, washing clothes, and returning them to her. Achy from being on my hands and knees, cleaning up Monkey’s “accidents.”

And bone-weary from worry … over both of them and how poorly I seemed to be handling things. Where had my usual sunny optimism gone??

Not even Monkey’s cuteness, love, and potential companionship could offset this much misery.

Come back Friday for the final installment in this story.

Puppy Woes, Part One

Don’t let a bad day make you feel like you have a bad life. ~Author unknown

Do you ever feel you’re living under a dark cloud? One that’s constantly spewing forth a cold, hard, driving rain?

That’s been my life for two months now, and those who know me will realize it’s about the same time a new puppy came into it.

I’ve heard the caveats, so don’t bother repeating them:

Debbie, you’re 15 years older than the last time you got a puppy, and you’ve forgotten how HARD it isYour previous dog was Mary Poppins (“practically perfect in every way”); no new puppy can live up to that standardInto every life a bit of misery must fall

But somehow, I never expected the experience to be this challenging.

The first hurdle? Changing the pup’s name.

As an English major, I should have realized “Sully” means to soil, stain, tarnish, mar, defile.

Not a glowing legacy for a poor pup, huh?

And honestly, I never could remember to call him “Sully.” It just didn’t stick — for me or my mom.

So, since I’d been calling him My Little Monkey practically since he arrived, “Monkey” he became.

It fits him.

My Little Monkey

Next hurdle? House training.

I shouldn’t have started with Puppy Pee Pads. Nor should anyone try to house train a pup who’s too young to be able to hold his waste. Or when it’s 20 degrees outside. Or the wind is howling. Or the rain is coming down sideways.

Then there have been health challenges.

My Mom went to the hospital twice in March and is now living in a rehab place for who-knows-how long. Every time I go visit — after enduring the COVID-prevention protocols — she has a new complaint.

Don’t people realize that being disagreeable makes everybody around disagreeable, too?

And poor Monkey was diagnosed with a bladder infection when I realized I couldn’t house train a dog who peed constantly … all over the floor. A 10-day round of antibiotics cleared it but gave him diarrhea.

Thank Heaven for little Shelties who don’t have skirts yet!

Still, I found myself getting up every two hours through the night to rush him outdoors, and I spent days on my hands and knees cleaning up his messes.

I didn’t have time or energy for anything, much less blogging.

Could things get any worse?

Join me on Wednesday and see.