There's a New Kid in Town

I know, I know...I said we wouldn't get another dog just to keep Troy company while he's out on the road.

I lied.

Only it's not really a lie if it happens to be the truth at that moment. My intention was to not get another dog (at that moment). We did not need another dog (at that moment). We were NOT getting another dog (at that moment).

The moment passed.

Meet Pippen! He's 5 years old, a Scottish Terrier/Miniature Schnauzer mix. At least that's what they tell us.

He's had a busy past few weeks. A little over a month ago, he was probably with a family and was well taken care of. We think this because he is well mannered, house-trained, knows commands, he's been neutered, etc. He's also had his voice box removed, and while we don't particularly like that it happened, it's evidence that he had people in his life.

But then he got lost. Or "let go" when his people couldn't afford him. We'll never know.

He was found wandering around and taken to a shelter where he hung out for about five days. He was adopted by a young couple and stayed with them for three weeks before they realized that they just weren't able to spend any time with him. They both worked, the man was going back to school at nights, and the woman really wasn't a dog person. Pippen was practically living in a laundry closet. And they were feeding him really cheap dog food.

Thank goodness we came along!

It's been a love at first sight kind of a thing.

Pippen's been a bit of a fixer-upper in his first two weeks with us. He had some itchy skin because of the poor quality dog food he'd been eating, but that's cleared up nicely. His initial vet check showed a few problem teeth that needed to be removed. Eating and chewing on rawhide is much nicer without the pain!


And since he was knocked out for the dentistry, I had them remove a mole from his back!. He's been sporting a little Frankenstein look.


Moles can go bad, the vet told me, become cancerous and such. Truth is, I had that mole removed because it freaked people out. It was right on his back and when people petted him they would hit that mole and pull their hand back and go "Eewwwwww! Is that a tick?"

After having that happen half a dozen times, and yes, I was a little freaked out myself, that mole was coming OFF!

He's a mellow little guy, content to just sit...

...or lie on the floor. This particular way of relaxing is a Scottie trait. And we laugh every time he does it.

All in all, Pippen's transition into our family has been perfect.

Pippen is home.

The Growing Puppy

We've had him almost 4 weeks and as you can see, he's growing fast. He's almost too big to tote around like this but we still do.

The sweater that he's wearing in the top picture no longer fits. That was money well spent.

He's a cuddler and if we hold him up high, close to our necks, he puts his paws on our shoulders and it looks like he's hugging us. We hug him back.

He still loves his puffy little bed...

Only now he has to throw out an arm to fit.

Or his whole head.

He enjoys his food and waits patiently (sometimes),

and he's a trooper to go out in all this snow. Housebroken--hooray!!!

I don't care how big he gets. I will still cover him up

and take pictures while he's sleeping.

And occasionally sing to him.

It's a full-blown case of puppy love.

And They Called It...Puppy Love

I'd like you to meet somebody...

Say hello to Oliver.

He's a little shy and very cuddly.

He's sleepy. I mean really, really sleepy.

He's pretty much perfect.

All 3 1/2 pounds of him.

And he is ours.

The Spiritual Side to the Dead Gerbil Story. Really.

When Cameron found the dead gerbil, he cried and accepted my hugs and condolences, and then he sort of shook off his emotions and went to help Troy with the cleaning of the cage and disposing of the chewed up little corpse. He caught the other two gerbs, put them in a little container, and started moving things out of the cage. He was all business. He wondered aloud if we ought to just buy a new cage. If anything was going to ease his pain, it would be spending money.


I wasn't sure if we should even tell Aaron. As I've written before, he has a lot of worries, and some of them are definitely related to the death of our dog, Jeffrey, last April. None of us are "over"it, and Aaron in particular has had a hard time dealing with his loss. Having the gerbil die would be nothing compared to losing Jeffrey - I was just wary of having all those old feelings freshened up.



Troy called Aaron up from the basement and told him the sad news. Aaron came running to me, his face contorted with tears and worry. I hugged him tight. He broke away from me and started pacing, wringing his hands and crying, and then coming back for another hug. This is the anxiety at work. Poor Aaron!


And then, he knew what he needed to do. Aaron has an amazing testimony of prayer, and this time was as good as any.


"We've gotta pray, Mom!" He was practically frantic.


I followed him into the front room.

"What do you want to pray for?"

"Just... like, comfort and stuff. So I can stop worrying."


We knelt down at the couch. Aaron looked over at Troy in front of the cage, spatula in hand, ready to start scraping. Cameron was watching in horrified fascination, trying to calculate if we had enough time to go shopping for a new cage before the party started.


"Guys! Come on! We're praying!" Aaron wanted the whole family in on this.


Troy looked at me like "Now?" and I shot back the look that said "Duh!"


If Aaron says we pray...by golly, we are praying!


We all knelt down and Aaron asked that I say it. Afterwards, he hugged me and said,

"That was a really good prayer. Thanks."



And then he was fine. Completely. He got his "comfort and stuff".

This kid is so close to the Spirit, I can hardly find the words to describe it. His testimony of the Holy Ghost and comfort and our Heavenly Father's love is so pure and profound. I am humbled by him. Whenever there is a feeling or a thought that isn't right, his first thought is to pray. His faith is enormous. I can sure learn from him.


What a blessing he is!

One Down,Two To Go

For Cam's 9th birthday (he'll be 11 in January), he got gerbils. A friend had recently gotten some for their kids and Cameron and Aaron had latched on to the idea that gerbils would be fantastic pets to have. My friend's supplier of the gerbils had some babies that were ready to leave their Mom, right in time for Cam's birthday, so we agreed that the gerbils and all the stuff that goes with them would be his present.

When your kid's birthday is 10 days past Christmas, it's easy to imagine that yes, gerbils would make an excellent present. Cam got Petsmart gift cards as other presents, which he promptly redeemed for a cage, wheel, food dish, water bottle, food, and stuff for the bottom of the cage. We went to go see the lady with the procreating gerbils.

With a lot of advice and a guarantee that she could tell the males from the females, we ended up taking home three (!) males. I did not want to be having any gerbil babies! The kids were thrilled. We got home, set things up in Cameron's room, and prepared to enjoy gerbil ownership. The boys named them Cookie, Lollipop, and Licorice.

For me though, it never happened - the enjoying part. I decided fairly quickly that the gerbils, or gerbs as we started calling them, were just one step up from the mice that we occasionally get in the house in the summer. They also turned out to be noisy - endless chewers - and we had to move them out of Cam's room so he could sleep. Now I had a big ol' cage of gerbils in the hallway.

After the initial few weeks of having the gerbils, even the kids pretty much ignored them. They were hard to hold, always wiggling and sometimes biting. Twice, a gerbil wiggled out of one of the boys' hands and the frantic chasing and cornering and finally catching that ensued was enough for me to declare that the gerbs stayed INSIDE the cage at all times.

Cameron would feed and water the gerbils, but only when I would remind him. He'd clean the cage every month or so, taking them out and putting them in a holding bin, while he dumped out the old and put in fresh newspaper. Then the chewing would really start. He took care of their basic needs, but there was no real enjoyment on his part either.

True to the gerbil lady's word, all three were males - we never had any babies, thank goodness. However, one of the gerbs was either confused as to the gender of the other two, or he decided that being straight just wasn't for him. Life inside that cage was like a bad prison movie. We could hear him attacking the other gerbils, their tiny little screams announcing the latest violation. The boys called this gerbil "the mean one", the "one that always climbs on the other's backs".

I kept reminding myself that gerbils usually only live about a year. I've been on the countdown since last January, waiting for them to expire. Last Saturday, one of them did.

We were cleaning up the house for a get-together with some of Troy's family, and I reminded Cameron that (a) he owned gerbils, and (b) he might want to clean out the cage before his cousins came over. He went to work.

Thirty seconds later, he came back into the kitchen, looking a little queasy.

"Mom, one of the gerbils is dead." He pressed his lips together to stop the quivering.

"Oh no, Baby. I'm sorry." I pulled him in for a hug and squeezed him tight. Just because you don't love something, doesn't mean you aren't sad when it dies.

"Better tell Dad." I said, soooooooo glad that it was a weekend and that Troy was home to deal with this. I went to find a box for the funeral.

Troy looked inside the cage and came over to talk to me quietly.

"There's not much to bury. It's pretty far gone. I think the others have been eating on it."

We asked Cameron when he'd last seen all three gerbils alive. Just a day or two. Which gerbil was the dead one? The "mean one".

Okay, that explains a lot. I think the other two finally stood up to him and took him down. Hard. Eating him was the final revenge.

Troy took care of disposing of the corpse. I was all ready to hold an elaborate send-off, but since he was stuck to the bottom of the cage and needed to be scraped off with a spatula, we decided to skip the formalities. Spatula went in the garbage too.

After the boys' tears were dried and Troy had scrubbed the cage, Cameron put some fresh newspapers, food and water inside for the remaining two gerbils. Total time of grief...maybe 5 minutes. We haven't even talked about it again. The "mean one" is not missed.

The two remaining gerbils continue to live peacefully, chewing and running about their cage, no worries to weigh them down. They took care of business. Don't mess with these gerbils.

I walk by their cage dozens of times a day. If I ever glance down and see them, all I can think is...cannibals.

You Can Keep Reading, Just Promise You Won't Judge Me

Last night I was tired. Really tired. I'd spent the evening catching up on my Tivo, and as usually happens when I lie down on the couch, I get really sleepy. Sure, I'd watched Marie Osmond fall down (over and over and over again!), and while that was enough to keep me alert for a while, by 10:30 I'd had it. Time for Mama to go to bed!

Unfortunately, the boys were still up, reveling in their off-track from school status. This is where you can't judge me. When they are not in school, I become very lax in putting them to bed at a decent hour. They also get to sleep in, since I leave for the school long before they get up. Yeah, we don't have a whole lot of structure. You're not judging, remember?

But now I want to go to bed. I start whining to the boys.

"Guys, I've gotta get up early. Come on. Go brush your teeth and let's say prayers so I can lay down with Aaron."

I lie in Aaron's bed every night for 5 minutes, plus I stay in the basement until he falls asleep. Add that to the teeth and prayers, and I'm looking at 11:30 before my head can hit my pillow. I whine louder.

Cameron stands in front of me and with complete seriousness, says,

"You go ahead and go to bed. I'll put him down."

Huh? Oh, I must really be tired, did he actually say that?

"What?"

"I'll get him to bed before midnight, I promise."

I thought of my alarm clock going off at 5:30, and all of a sudden, this didn't sound so bad. You betcha. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Okay...thanks Cameron. Give me a kiss and tell Aaron to come tell me goodnight."

And then I went to bed.

When I got up this morning, I went into Cameron's room to check on him. I found that he had indeed put his brother to bed - right next to him. They had brought Aaron's bedding up from the basement and made up a little corner of the bed for Aaron.

These are my boys, sleeping side by side,

ages 10 3/4 and 8 1/2.

Could they be any cuter? They've done this before.

I guess co-sleeping has always been going on at our house.

They napped together as a baby and a toddler

And as they grew older.

Jeffrey was always helpful, making sure that the baby wouldn't fall off the bed.

He was a furry, patient, body pillow.

Heck, even Troy enjoyed the occasional group nap.

I don't know, there's just something about seeing the people you love the most, curled up together, sleeping peacefully. Makes me want to cuddle up with them.

Or take their picture.

Who do you like to cuddle up with?



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