Here are some vintage photos from my mother's photo album, featuring my beloved childhood dachshunds!
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When Dreams End
2 years ago
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Sunday, April 26, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Cousin It, doggy-style
How is it possible that Sunny can shed so much and still possess a luxuriously full, shiny coat? I am currently sweeping the floor every day--and each time, I get a dog-hair tumbleweed the size of a bowling ball. It's a wonder she's not completely bald.
Between official sweeps, I scoop up small, bonus tumbleweeds that lurk in corners, at the base of chairs, behind the refrigerator. I'm convinced that there are small tufts of fur gathering stealthily throughout the house. They watch me, waiting for me to sit down, then they scurry out of hiding while my back is turned.
It's a conspiracy. Together, the hairballs plan to takeover the kitchen, the family room and then the world! Meanwhile, I'm plotting against them, determined to sweep them into oblivion--at least until I can figure out how to transform a giant hairball into a living, breathing dachshund puppy.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Nobunny wants to do this on Easter...
Our 17-year-old washing machine broke down dramatically last night, its belly full of wet blankets. The appliances must have been plotting this for weeks, conspiring to find the best possible time to act. Intent on wreaking maximum havoc, they waited patiently until our mountains of dirty clothing rivaled Mt. Everest. For the evil appliance collective, it was merely a bonus that this coincided with Easter weekend.
Now I'm hopping off to shop for a new washer on Easter Sunday! Just about every article of clothing I own is dirty. And I'm not talking about slightly dirty. I'm not talking about "brush it off and re-wear it" dirty. I'm talking "been lying in big fetid piles for weeks" dirty.
So, dear readers, here's the question of the day: Which is more appropriate attire for appliance shopping on Easter Sunday, a sequined black evening gown, or a Star Trek costume?
Monday, March 09, 2009
Cruising for (canine) companionship
(From my 2003 column in the Frederick area Gazette newspapers)
I come from a long line of people who forget about common sense when confronted with a wet nose and wagging tail. My grandmother shared breakfast daily with her fox terrier, Snooky. Every morning MeMa dunked her donut in coffee, offered Snooky a bite, and then took a bite herself. Dunk, bite, bite, until the donut was gone.
My husband, Jeff, who had the pleasure of meeting both MeMa and Snooky, should have realized that I couldn’t remain dogless for long after our cocker spaniel died. Instead, he was surprised and furious when I committed the ultimate crime: bringing home an unauthorized puppy.
I can’t really blame him for not understanding. The problem stems from a fundamental difference between Jeff’s relatives and mine. My side of the family believes animals belong seated at the dinner table. Jeff’s family believes animals should be presented on a plate, medium rare with gravy on the side.
Our conflict began when I secretly began cruising the Frederick Humane Society the way some people cruise singles bars.
Like most women, I didn¹t cruise alone. My friend, Mary, who was looking for Mr. Goodcat, accompanied me. After perusing the kitties, we rounded the corner to the doggy department and there she was, sixteen pounds of scrawny black and tan coonhound pup. Our eyes met, and I knew she could see deep into my soul.
"Look at those enormous paws -- this dog will be huge!" Mary exclaimed. "And your husband will freak," she reminded me. But it was too late.
For those unfamiliar with the breed, a black and tan coonhound is a large, energetic, floppy-eared dog used for hunting raccoons, deer and bear. Picture Mickey Mouse’s dog, Pluto, sporting a Doberman’s paint scheme. A sensible suburbanite would have left the building immediately, dog-free, but as I’ve mentioned, I am not a sensible person.
"Jeff will fall in love as soon as he sees her," I assured myself as I completed the adoption papers. If Jeff needed additional convincing, I theorized that a little bonus time in the marital bed would cure him.
The reality was somewhat different. Enraged, Jeff refused to even look at Sunny. He saw through my feminine ploys and stoically slept on the couch. Luckily, we love each other quite a bit, and four years later, he has almost reached the point of forgiving me for my transgression.
Despite her father’s antagonism, Sunny has grown into a good-natured 75-pound dog who loves everyone. At our house, burglars and escaped convicts would be greeted with the same joyous celebration as the president of MilkBone International.
I’ll admit I didn’t like Sunny much when she deposited a steamy, fragrant load in the back seat of my Honda Civic, or after she rolled in a rotting rabbit carcass. But overall, I’m looking forward to growing old with both Sunny and Jeff. And I’d share a donut with either one of them.
Desperately seeking solitude
(From my 2003 column in the Frederick area Gazette newspapers)
I am writing this column while locked in the powder room. Outside these four walls stands a perfectly nice house with several rooms better suited to writing, but if I open the door, they’ll find me. No, I’m not a dangerous fugitive on the FBI’s most wanted list. Even worse. I’m a Mom.
I have just one husband, one child and one dog, but together, they’ve conspired to rob me of every shred of privacy. If I were a criminal, I would have a shot at solitary confinement. Instead, I’m a law-abiding citizen who must resort to hiding in the loo to get a moment’s peace.
Under ordinary circumstances, even the bathroom isn’t off limits. Usually my economy-sized dog follows me, supervising every bodily function and pressing her cold, wet nose against my bare flesh.
Somehow I’ve also managed to slip in under the radar of my ten-year-old daughter, Caitlyn. If she finds me, she’ll commence firing a rapid volley of questions through the bathroom door -- without hesitation and seemingly without even breathing -- until she finally comes up with something that stumps me.
"When’s Daddy coming home what’s for dinner why do I have to go to church can I watch TV when my homeworks done what does gay mean why do you have hair in your nostrils?" she might inquire at top volume.
"Seven! Leftovers! Because I said so! Maybe! Ask your father! I don't know, and LEAVE ME ALONE!" I reply. Sometimes I’ll throw in an oddball response, like "rutabagas!" or "Outer Mongolia!" just to throw her off balance.
My husband could come home, slip into the LaZBoy and read War and Peace from cover to cover without hearing a peep.
I emerge from my hiding place, and the idyllic scene of domestic tranquility ends. My previously content family suddenly requires my full attention for dinner cooking, homework helping, clothes laundering, permission-slip signing, Scholastic book ordering, bill paying, doctor’s appointment making and dog walking.
Now, don’t get me wrong -- I love my family. I would slay a dragon for them. I would take a bullet for them. I would even go on Fear Factor for them. But I would give a case of Charmin for ten blissfully uninterrupted minutes alone.
I’m thinking of entering the Witness Protection Program, but that seems a little drastic. What I need is a better hiding place. With a lawn chair, some cheerful paint and a padlock, the walk-in closet might just do the trick!
I am writing this column while locked in the powder room. Outside these four walls stands a perfectly nice house with several rooms better suited to writing, but if I open the door, they’ll find me. No, I’m not a dangerous fugitive on the FBI’s most wanted list. Even worse. I’m a Mom.
I have just one husband, one child and one dog, but together, they’ve conspired to rob me of every shred of privacy. If I were a criminal, I would have a shot at solitary confinement. Instead, I’m a law-abiding citizen who must resort to hiding in the loo to get a moment’s peace.
Under ordinary circumstances, even the bathroom isn’t off limits. Usually my economy-sized dog follows me, supervising every bodily function and pressing her cold, wet nose against my bare flesh.
Somehow I’ve also managed to slip in under the radar of my ten-year-old daughter, Caitlyn. If she finds me, she’ll commence firing a rapid volley of questions through the bathroom door -- without hesitation and seemingly without even breathing -- until she finally comes up with something that stumps me.
"When’s Daddy coming home what’s for dinner why do I have to go to church can I watch TV when my homeworks done what does gay mean why do you have hair in your nostrils?" she might inquire at top volume.
"Seven! Leftovers! Because I said so! Maybe! Ask your father! I don't know, and LEAVE ME ALONE!" I reply. Sometimes I’ll throw in an oddball response, like "rutabagas!" or "Outer Mongolia!" just to throw her off balance.
My husband could come home, slip into the LaZBoy and read War and Peace from cover to cover without hearing a peep.
I emerge from my hiding place, and the idyllic scene of domestic tranquility ends. My previously content family suddenly requires my full attention for dinner cooking, homework helping, clothes laundering, permission-slip signing, Scholastic book ordering, bill paying, doctor’s appointment making and dog walking.
Now, don’t get me wrong -- I love my family. I would slay a dragon for them. I would take a bullet for them. I would even go on Fear Factor for them. But I would give a case of Charmin for ten blissfully uninterrupted minutes alone.
I’m thinking of entering the Witness Protection Program, but that seems a little drastic. What I need is a better hiding place. With a lawn chair, some cheerful paint and a padlock, the walk-in closet might just do the trick!
A Fond Farewell to the Mom-mobile
(From my 2003 column in the Frederick area Gazette newspapers)
Losing a friend is always difficult, even when that friend wears steel-belted radials. Yes, after ten years of faithful service, my original mom-mobile has gone to the big junkyard in the sky.
Contrary to popular belief, a mom-mobile doesn’t need to be a particular make or model. Since I have just one child, mine was a little red Honda Civic. Yet her mom-ness was as unmistakable as if she were a minivan.
In the early years, the mom-mobile was still looking pretty cute. As an infant, my daughter, Caitlyn, was too small and powerless to be considered a weapon of mass destruction. Oh, sure, Baby Cait made the obligatory juice and formula spills. Her animal crackers made their way into every nook and cranny. But the real devastation was yet to come.
As my daughter grew, so did her accessories. The full-sized car seat was so large and awkward that I knocked off the mom-mobile’s door trim while trying to squeeze it into the back seat.
And have you ever tried to navigate a full-sized bicycle into the trunk of a Honda Civic? Let’s not even go there. It’s an ugly scene that involves scratching the paint, breaking fingernails and using language unbecoming a lady.
Within a few seasons, any mom-mobile worth her salt also develops an aroma all her own, crafted from a subtle blend of fermented formula dribbles, potty-training accidents and McDonald’s french fries. My own coffee spills and a complete set of antique junk food bags enhance both the aroma and the décor.
Visits to the veterinarian’s office also add character to a mom-mobile. Each and every time we embark upon this journey, I carefully cover the back seat with an extra large towel purchased solely for this purpose. And each and every time, Sunny the Wonder Dog carefully uncovers the seat and yaks up her lunch directly onto the fine upholstery.
Lest you think life as a mom-mobile requires only interior destruction, I’ll also give you a virtual tour of the exterior highlights. To your right, you’ll observe the scraped fender that resulted when toddler Caitlyn let out a blood-curdling scream just as I was trying to parallel park next to a retaining wall.
To your left, you’ll see the mom-mobile’s unique rear door. Its charming “distressed” finish and one-of-a-kind shape occurred one frazzled morning when I backed out of the garage without realizing that the passenger door was ajar. Later, I shredded the door gasket while trying to open the door with a coat hanger when I locked my keys inside after a frantic trip to the pediatrician’s office.
Yes, despite the years of abuse I heaped upon her, the mom-mobile was a dedicated team player, a real trouper who served me well. If she had been a baseball player, she’d be a shoe-in for the Hall of Fame. But since she was but a humble econo-box, I’ll just invite you to raise your sippy cup of apple juice to toast in her honor. To the mom-mobile. She was a classic.
Losing a friend is always difficult, even when that friend wears steel-belted radials. Yes, after ten years of faithful service, my original mom-mobile has gone to the big junkyard in the sky.
Contrary to popular belief, a mom-mobile doesn’t need to be a particular make or model. Since I have just one child, mine was a little red Honda Civic. Yet her mom-ness was as unmistakable as if she were a minivan.
In the early years, the mom-mobile was still looking pretty cute. As an infant, my daughter, Caitlyn, was too small and powerless to be considered a weapon of mass destruction. Oh, sure, Baby Cait made the obligatory juice and formula spills. Her animal crackers made their way into every nook and cranny. But the real devastation was yet to come.
As my daughter grew, so did her accessories. The full-sized car seat was so large and awkward that I knocked off the mom-mobile’s door trim while trying to squeeze it into the back seat.
And have you ever tried to navigate a full-sized bicycle into the trunk of a Honda Civic? Let’s not even go there. It’s an ugly scene that involves scratching the paint, breaking fingernails and using language unbecoming a lady.
Within a few seasons, any mom-mobile worth her salt also develops an aroma all her own, crafted from a subtle blend of fermented formula dribbles, potty-training accidents and McDonald’s french fries. My own coffee spills and a complete set of antique junk food bags enhance both the aroma and the décor.
Visits to the veterinarian’s office also add character to a mom-mobile. Each and every time we embark upon this journey, I carefully cover the back seat with an extra large towel purchased solely for this purpose. And each and every time, Sunny the Wonder Dog carefully uncovers the seat and yaks up her lunch directly onto the fine upholstery.
Lest you think life as a mom-mobile requires only interior destruction, I’ll also give you a virtual tour of the exterior highlights. To your right, you’ll observe the scraped fender that resulted when toddler Caitlyn let out a blood-curdling scream just as I was trying to parallel park next to a retaining wall.
To your left, you’ll see the mom-mobile’s unique rear door. Its charming “distressed” finish and one-of-a-kind shape occurred one frazzled morning when I backed out of the garage without realizing that the passenger door was ajar. Later, I shredded the door gasket while trying to open the door with a coat hanger when I locked my keys inside after a frantic trip to the pediatrician’s office.
Yes, despite the years of abuse I heaped upon her, the mom-mobile was a dedicated team player, a real trouper who served me well. If she had been a baseball player, she’d be a shoe-in for the Hall of Fame. But since she was but a humble econo-box, I’ll just invite you to raise your sippy cup of apple juice to toast in her honor. To the mom-mobile. She was a classic.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Friday, January 09, 2009
Quote of the day
Feelings are like toes! They have to breathe free or they'll stink to high heaven!
Takayuki Ikkaku, Arisa Hosaka and Toshihiro Kawabata, Animal Crossing: Wild World, 2005
Takayuki Ikkaku, Arisa Hosaka and Toshihiro Kawabata, Animal Crossing: Wild World, 2005
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
What I want for Christmas, my birthday, my anniversary, Memorial Day, July 4th, etc.
Could this little doxie boy be any cuter? I think not! I'd sure love to swoop into that shelter and scoop him up for my very own!
Name: 2287 - Johnny
Rescue ID: 2287
Status: Available for Adoption
Species: Dog
Breed: Dachshund
Sex: Male
Description:
Johnny is a young male Dachschund. He was found running around outside, scared, looking for someone to rescue him. A Good Samaritan picked him up and brought him into the shelter, so he would not accidentally get hit by a car. He is a lucky little fellow. His owner have never come looking for him, so Johnny is looking for a new home. He is a sweet and playful little guy who would love to be the center of attention. He is a fun and energetic playmate.
Howard County Animal Control and Adoption Facility 8576 Davis Road (Off 108 E) Columbia, Maryland 21045 (see map at the bottom of the page )
See more picture of the facility below...
:: Adoption Hours Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday | 10:00 am - 4:30pm Tuesday Adoption Hours | 1:30 - 7:00 p.m. Saturdays | 10 a.m - 2:00pm
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
True Love
Here is a picture of Sunny with her girl. Talk about love...Sunny thinks the sun rises and sets on her human sister. Me, I'm just the one that rescued her from the shelter. I'm just the one who buys her food and takes her to the vet. But her heart belongs to Caitlyn.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Another vision of spring
I love my digital camera, compliments of my wonderful hubby last Christmas!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
More (hopefully) interesting things about me
NUMBER #3: Pictured is what I want most in life. I mean, now that I have a husband, a child, a house and a job. Yes, now that all the biggies are covered, I want a dachshund puppy. A wiener dog of my very own to snuggle and spoil. Because, as they say at cafepress.com and the hotdog blog www.hotdogblog.com
"You can never have too many wieners!"
NUMBER 4: When I am stressed out, how I get through the day, instead of anti-depressants....OK, I lie: in ADDITION to anti-depressants, I look at cute puppy pictures at THE DAILY PUPPY! www.dailypuppy.com It takes me to my happy place with rainbows and butterflies and puppies and magical unicorns. Try it! You'll like it!
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Heartbreaking teenaged angst
So the hubby and the daughter are in the throes of some angst-filled teenage weep-a-thon downstairs. I am hiding.
Whines, moans,and sobs are alternating with actual words. There, I think she just said "I want a ham sandwich!" Either that or "You don't understand me!" Now that I think about it, it's probably the latter.
I really should be keeping score. Ooooh, a triple combo of "nobody likes me" with a double "it's not fair!" Ten points at least for difficulty!
I think I'm going to run away from home.
Whines, moans,and sobs are alternating with actual words. There, I think she just said "I want a ham sandwich!" Either that or "You don't understand me!" Now that I think about it, it's probably the latter.
I really should be keeping score. Ooooh, a triple combo of "nobody likes me" with a double "it's not fair!" Ten points at least for difficulty!
I think I'm going to run away from home.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
I'm not as interesting as I used to be...
My best friend Betsy has tagged me to immortalize "five important details about myself that many of you may not know…or remember" as part of a meme. I simply am not that interesting any more. Maybe I never was, I just (mistakenly) thought I was interesting in my youth, which is of course, long gone. But I'll do my best to come up with some!
INTERESTING THING ONE:
ummmmm
OK, maybe I'll get back to this....
NUMBER ONE:
I think I'm smarter than most people. Of course, if you're reading this, THIS MEANS YOU! After all, I've already stated that I'm pretty boring, so how smart are YOU to keep reading after such a brilliant introduction? But, all kidding aside, I do think I'm smarter than many people, because I have both intelligence and common sense. Plus I have nearly insatiable curiosity, so I read a lot about all different sorts of things.
But I'd have to say that the common sense is what makes me smarter than most.
NUMBER TWO:
My favorite kind of joke is a joke on myself. For example, because I've declared myself to be smarter than everyone, I have pretty much doomed myself to doing something totally stupid, in public, in the not-too-distant future. Call it karma, call it God keeping me humble, or whatever you will. I can be absolutely certain that within the next few weeks I will lock my keys in the car at work, split my pants at Parent/Teacher night, or fall flat on my face next time I wear heels. And once I recover from the initial embarassment, I will laugh uproariously and tell everyone the story.
Hmmmm....I'll try to think of three more....
INTERESTING THING ONE:
ummmmm
OK, maybe I'll get back to this....
NUMBER ONE:
I think I'm smarter than most people. Of course, if you're reading this, THIS MEANS YOU! After all, I've already stated that I'm pretty boring, so how smart are YOU to keep reading after such a brilliant introduction? But, all kidding aside, I do think I'm smarter than many people, because I have both intelligence and common sense. Plus I have nearly insatiable curiosity, so I read a lot about all different sorts of things.
But I'd have to say that the common sense is what makes me smarter than most.
NUMBER TWO:
My favorite kind of joke is a joke on myself. For example, because I've declared myself to be smarter than everyone, I have pretty much doomed myself to doing something totally stupid, in public, in the not-too-distant future. Call it karma, call it God keeping me humble, or whatever you will. I can be absolutely certain that within the next few weeks I will lock my keys in the car at work, split my pants at Parent/Teacher night, or fall flat on my face next time I wear heels. And once I recover from the initial embarassment, I will laugh uproariously and tell everyone the story.
Hmmmm....I'll try to think of three more....
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Random acts...
tammy9903
I returned home yesterday and discovered that my mother and daughter had decorated my house with ornaments. Ornaments on the chandelier, ornaments hanging from doorknobs, ornaments hanging from the kitchen cabinets. The tree, however, was completely bare. Apparently they had been practicing random acts of ornamentation.
Wouldn't that be a great name for a book?
Happy holidays!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
if it weren't for fertile friends...
I'd never get any quilting done! Here's one I just made for a pregnant co-worker.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
The Messiah has come...
The Messiah of SOUTHERN ROCK, that is....and he came to the Charlottesville Pavillion last night! Here is a sampling of the excellent photos my daughter took of Bo Bice from row 8 and from our run up to the front by the speakers!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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