Boomer

We left this morning for our annual Easter vacation cabin trip. The day was fantastic. We spent most of the morning driving slowly up the canyon while intermittently playing at the river with the dogs (my mom's dog, Boomer, and our baby, Lucy).

Two interesting things happened during this time.

1. Boomer kept frantically eating grass and throwing up in the car. We assumed he'd gotten car sick on the windy canyon road.

2. Lucy intentionally rolled in a huge pile of human feces. First of all, who takes a giant dump next to the river when there's a bathroom 100 yards away? And what kind of idiot dog rolls in it so furiously that her entire body is streaked head-to-tail with what I can only assume was a fully digested 7-layer burrito from Taco Bell.

When we finally reached the cabin, we settled in for an afternoon of sleeping, reading, and eating. The dogs rested. Lucy rested OUTSIDE. Boomer was still feeling under-the-weather.

Evening rolled around. Poor Boomer seemed to be feeling even worse. He was gagging, acting strangely, and twitching, so we started considering our options. The local vet wouldn't be open until 8am the next morning, and the closest animal ER was in Bakersfield, an hour and a half away. It was my mother's call.

In truth, Boomer is my mother's dog. She brought him home from work one afternoon, a starved, sad, little mutt of a puppy who had wandered through the school yard. My father was livid. "I don't want a dog!", he insisted over and over. "I do not want a dog."

Not soon after Boomer arrived at my parent's house, the company my father worked for was sold, and he was laid off. Nobody seemed to understand what my dad was going through better than Boomer. He laid at my father's feet while he searched the Internet for job openings, and sat patiently in his lap while he waited for phone calls. His soulful brown eyes and concerned wrinkled brow seemed to say, "I know what its like to feel unwanted and alone." Everyday during the searching an waiting, Boomer was there, and before too long, tiny cracks started to appear in my father's firm anti-dog resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and soon both Boomer and my dad began to grow restless. My mother was going crazy. "Go somewhere! Do something!" she pleaded, "Just get out of the house for a little while." So my father took Boomer to the dog park. The next day, he took him again. Pretty soon, they were regular fixtures there. They knew each dog and its owner by name. Boomer had regular playmates, and my Dad developed his own circle of dog-loving friends who looked forward to seeing him every day.

My father eventually did find a job, and by that time, Boomer was an official member of the Fowler family. Even after the most tiring of workdays, Dad always had time for Boomer, and Boomer was always waiting expectantly for my dad.

So when my mom looked at Boomer, twitching and gagging at her feet earlier tonight, she thought of my father. How could she risk the life of the dog who had so greatly enriched the life of the man she loved? She couldn't. We packed our bags and began the long journey down the canyon to Bakersfield to take Boomer to the 24 hour animal ER.

When we arrived a 10:45, the place was empty, except for a couple who'd brought in a large dog with a severe case of bloat. After a half-hour wait, a vet tech checked Boomer out and confirmed that he needed to be looked at by the doctor. Unfortunately the doctor would be in emergency surgery with the other dog for at least 3 hours. She recommended that we bring Boomer back later. Its a little after 1am, and I'm sitting here on my couch writing and waiting (and seriously considering giving Lucy ANOTHER bath) while my mom sleeps in the guest room.

More to come...

4/2
Update!
Boomer is still a little sick to his stomach, but feeling better. The ER vet didn't find anything in his trachia, which was good. Scary though. I don't have kids. All my love is spent on pets.

Ain't No Gangsta Gonna Put My Dog on Blast

I was working in my garden this afternoon, and some kids walked through the alley by my yard. (Here in the ghetto, we have chain link fences, so we have a lovely view of the alley. nice, huh?) One of the boys had on no shirt and pants that sagged a good 18 inches below his waist. He was wearing yellow boxers, and had a matching yellow bandanna tied around his head. I stifled my laughter (for fear of getting shanked), but what I really wanted was to tell the kid to wait while I got my camera.

My dog, Lucy, was barking at him hysterically through the fence. I know it's ironic, but I think my black lab is racist. She always goes nuts around black people. Anyways, this kid with his booty hanging out is like "Hey lady, call off your dog!", and I'm thinking "You look like exactly the kind of hooligan I would want her to bark at. Pull up your pants and buy a shirt, Coolio."

I just called a kid a hooligan. Am I old?

Why Ours is Cuter...

Um, because there's nothing the cats can do that Lucy can't do better. For the record, she walks across the back of the couch too.

Welcome to Our Blog

Our very formal and well-rehearsed welcome video.

Here it goes...

Today is a great day to start a blog.

I'm sitting on my couch drinking coffee with my black lab, Lucy, curled up at my feet snoring and two cats curled up in my lap. Its been an interesting journey for Jeff and me over the past 3+ years. We got married in May of 2006, and I'm proud to say that he has been the most wonderful husband a girl could wish for. We love our little house, our four cats and one dog, our garden, our church, our jobs, all the things that make up life.

Jeff is currently substitute teaching at the jr. high and high school levels. He finished the credential program at Point Loma last summer and now has both history and special ed credentials. Once he passes the CSET test, he'll do six weeks of student teaching and then hopefully score a teaching job.

This is my second year working in the Special Education Department at Ridgeview High School, and I love my job. I help kids with mild-moderate learning disabilities understand math. I can distinctly remember thinking as a kid, "Who would ever want to grow up and teach math?" Turns out it not so bad.

Its drumline season, and this year we're working with Shafter High School on a pirate show. There are 23 kids in the ensemble this year and they are completely pumped up about getting to sword fight and wear eye patches. The first competition was last weekend at Frontier. The kids looked great in their costumes, and were the only group in their division to have their show finished. Go Shafter!

Jeff and I are still actively involved in the worship ministry at Cornerstone Church. We love our music pastor, Paul Cierley. The man is God's gift to music and has breathed some serious life into our church with his mad arranging skills. I can't imagine Heaven being any more fun than Sunday mornings at Cornerstone.

We're still living downtown in the Oleander area, and we love our little house. I finally feel like I've finished it. The walls are various shades of red, gold, and orange. We got new flooring last summer. Between yard sales, hand-me-downs, and craigslist, we're well furnished. We had so many morning glories growing the garden this year that they found their way through the wall at one point, and we had vines in the guest room. Good times.

This coming week, Jeff and I have both forsaken work for a Disneyland vacation with Jeff's family. I can't wait to see my niece and nephew. Josie is six and Jason is ten, and they live four hours north in Santa Clara. We haven't seen them since December when we spent an amazing week skiing and sledding in Sonora with them and their parents. I have been blessed with such great family!

Well, thanks for reading. I'll try and post Disneyland pics when we return!