There's a Light....

Over at the Frankenstein place...and her name is Smudge!

My first little light went out. Our beautiful Blondie, the sweetest dog we ever owned was gone. We really *really* missed having our little bulldog around. They are great dogs, full of life and personality. With Blondie gone, there was an enormous hole in our lives. Our Monkenstein was depressed and sad because he could not find his Grumpy Nanny. Everyone was moping around.

My DH told me that I should find a puppy, and it would be my anniversary present. He is such a great hubby. He actually had to give the ok to the vet to euthanize Blondie. I was pretty much hysterical, and we were actually pouring concrete when the vet called with the bad news. He took the phone and talked to them. He is a better man than I deserve sometimes.

So, I searched...and searched. Frenchie puppies are fairly rare, and awfully expensive when you do find one. I knew what I wanted in a pup. Not creme or fawn. This puppy was not going to be a replacement for Blondie, nor should she be compared to her. I did want a female, only because The Monkenmonster is a boy. It was very possible that he would really resent another male coming into what had become *his* home. So that left me with a black, piebald, or brindle female pup. That narrowed down the search, but also the pool of pups available. We also had a price limit, which further narrowed the pool of possible pupsters. After several days of fruitless searching - apparently they sell as soon as they are born, I saw an ad for a rescue puppy.

I can't tell you how many times I have filled out what is euphemistically referred to as an "adoption application" for a dog. I have, over the years, tried to adopt quite a few dogs, and nothing. Not even the courtesy of a reply to the application. I didn't have any expectation that this time would be different, but I thought what the hell, and filled it out. Then I forgot about it. The next day, we were up finishing up the lake house we were working on and my phone rang. I answered it and was shocked when the woman told me she was with the rescue. What? Then she told me that she had checked my references! Hello? Are you sure you have the right person?? Then she said... you are approved... **THUD** I wake up and the DH is patting my hand and calling my name! (not really, but it sounds good eh?) Huh? Me? Us? You are going to let us adopt a puppy? Who paid you to be so mean?

She said we had excellent references, and not only that, but we could pick from five puppies! WOOHOO!! We made arrangements to meet that evening. We arrived right on time, and the woman was very nice. She showed us all the puppies. Talk about treacle. Dear Lord, not one, but five! The only thing cuter than a baby frenchie is two...five is almost unberable! Thank doG we had already decided we wanted a female. There were four brindles and one piebald brindle. Only two of them were females. Thank goodness! Smudge was the biggest girl. The other girl was adorable, but she was so tiny. One thing we loved about Blondie was her size. There are two different sizes of frenchie - the smaller ones are around 20 pounds tops, and the larger ones closer to 30. We decided that we wanted the larger one. We signed all the papers, promised to have her spayed, plunked down a sizeable "rescue fee", and were happily on our way home with our new little light.

The rescue lady had given them all names for the vet check, and had named our little girl Chanda. Ugh! We promptly renamed her Smudge, because the DH said she looked like she had fallen down a chimney. Smudge is quite charming. If she had little fingers, everyone she meets would be wrapped around one of them. She knows just when to lay back her big ears and wiggle her little bottom. She is cuteness in a brindle jacket.

When we first brought her home, Monkleman thought she looked absolutely delicious! At a mere six pounds, she was just the right size for a delicious midnight snack, he thought. He was quite territorial, snarling and lunging at her any time he saw her! Oh NO! I was afraid that he might never come around, but one day I took her out in the back yard and put her down, staying close enough to snatch her up (or snatch him bald) should he decide to attack her. He came over and smelled her, and it seemed as if he decided to give up and accept her. Since that night, they have been pretty much glued together. We still watch them, because she has oodles and gobs of extra energy, and while he has become what I would call a saint, even a Monk has his limits. He is patience personified when she wants to play. He looks so resigned sometimes. She pulls his hair, and his ears, and bites his feet, and steals prized pig on a rope toy.

She is a micro terrorist. I have never seen anything move so fast, or for so long. In typical puppy fashion, she plays until she can't stand up, then falls down and sleeps wherever she is. She is pretty grumpy when you make her wake up to go outside and potty before bed, but she almost has the potty outside thing down! She will also mostly, come when you call her name. She already sits on command. She is a good puppy, even though she has developed an unnatural liking for feet, especially when they are wearing socks. Damn, her teeth are sharp!

One light burns out, and a new light burns brightly. Long Live the Smudge!!

RIP Blondie - Queen of the World March 2010

A bright light went out for us on Friday, March 19th. Our precious baby girl bulldog was humanely euthanized due to some very bad circumstances.

No one could ever have asked for a more loyal, funny, sweet companion. She was always good natured and happy.

All my dogs have touched my life in some way that made them special, but this little dog was my baby from the day she came running up to us in the park, skinny, covered with ticks, and an eye so crusty we were afraid we would have to have it removed. She never complained about any of the uncomfortable things she had to endure. She always came running with her ears flattened, a smile on her big wide face.

What happened to her was a sin. I have always believed that we owe our animal friends a dignified end. It is up to us to make that hard decision to end their suffering. It is the hardest thing we have to do for them, but we owe it to them. They cannot tell us with words when they are too tired, in too much pain, and need to rest. It is selfish to make them suffer simply because we lack the courage to make the tough decision. I have always erred on the side of dignity for my friends. I would rather let them go a day too soon than a day too late.

This time, I depended on a veterinarian who was ego driven, and apparently believed that she could cure the world. My poor little girl. She had to suffer because the vet I trusted either didn't care, or was too busy, or just made a poor decision. In the end, she was released from suffering, but not soon enough. It hurts my heart to know her end was not dignified, but painful.

We gave her the best life we could. She was a good dog. She deserved better from the professionals whose job it is to heal and ease suffering.

Rest in Peace my pretty girl. I shall miss you greatly.

You know...

I have been thinking (you smell smoke, right?), and I just wanted to add (re: the post about the hypocrite and the amber) that perhaps if they knew as much as they think they do, they would be grateful for all the years I spent defending them against all the folks who told me that said person was an arrogant, pompous ass. They might also like to know all the effort we went to regarding getting them recognized for all their service to the hobby.There are volumes more that they don't know, but it would be a supreme waste of a sunny day to post it all today.

I suppose I should have listened to all those folks who told me time and again that I was wasting my time, and would eventually get a knife in the back. I do sometimes exhibit a woeful lack of judgement when choosing friends. Ah well, live and learn. There. I feel better.

Water...water *everywhere*

I will be the first to admit that I am nosey. When we are working on a project, I look around. I want to see what the house looks like inside. Sometimes we are lucky and the project manager will actually give us a tour. Those are the best. Other times, we only get to look in the window, or sneak a peek when other trades are working.

We are currently working on a lake house for a guy who is very particular. He wants things done the way he wants them done, and is kind of hard to deal with unless you just stand toe to toe with him and bash away. Once you have done that, he is your friend and things go pretty smoothly. If you don't join in the bash fest, you are lost, and nothing is easy. All this is leading up to what being nosy led me to find...

We drove to the job to cut the concrete we had poured the day before. I do not like to be around when he saws a slab because it is noisy and dusty and icky. I had seen a bald eagle the day before and went to the back of the house, number one to escape the ick, and number two to see if the eagle was there again. No dice. So...here is where the nosy part comes in. I wanted to check and see if anything had been done with the pool. Nope, still the same. Then I noticed that the strand board they had placed to protect the pool deck was wet *under* the covered patio. Hmmm I thought. I looked along the board, and the water led right to the back door. So, I went to the door and looked in. Holy Mother! It was a miracle! It was raining *inside* this almost finished million + dollar home!!! Water, water EVERYWHERE! I thought, shit, that really sucks. Then I thought, thank goodness this wasn't our work, 'cause someone was in really BIG trouble.

I got on the phone and called the builder and delivered the bad news. He sounded so resigned. I felt sorry for him. He asked if we could turn off the water, and I told him that we had our personal truck, so we didn't have any tools. He said he would call security and thanked me for letting him know. A few minutes later, he called me back and asked if any of the doors were unlocked. Now, I will look through a window, or step in if someone else is working, but I am not *that* nosy. I don't go inside someone elses' house! I told him I would check and found one door out of about 11 that was unlocked. He walked me though turning off the water from inside the house. We checked, and water was still pouring out of the ceiling. Then he asked if we would use the shop vac's there to suck up what water we could. We did what we could, but it was still raining, and we had to drive back to Tulsa - over an hour away. We ended up putting the shop vac's under the worst leaks and leaving.

There is no telling how much damage was done. The visible stuff was bad enough. The walls had big oozing tracts of water behind the knock down treatment, all the woodwork kept oozing as we were vacuuming, water in the electrical boxes in the floors, and the ceiling...well.... scary that was. We heard later that over 400 gallons of water had been pumped out of a humidifier system that was damaged by some heat tapes. Fortunately, it was limited to about 1/3 of the house from what we could tell. The owners were planning on moving furniture in this week. Not happening now unfortunately. They must be *very* upset. I know I would be, and have actually experienced the same thing with our office. We were almost ready to move in and I drove up one morning to find water pouring out from under the walls! Ugh. Fortunately our office is a tilt up concrete building, so no real harm done other than not being able to move in as fast.

The thing I find most interesting is that nobody can understand why we won't give them a bill for turning off the water and vacuuming up what we could. I happen to believe in Karma. I know how I would feel if it were my house. We did it because it was the right thing to do, not in hopes of a reward. There is absolutely no way that I could have just walked away after seeing what was happening. That would be so wrong. It is actually pure luck that I went along for the ride that day, because if I hadn't, that water would most likely have run all weekend. When Bill goes to a job to cut a slab, he doesn't mess around at all. He cuts it and leaves. He would not have gone searching for the eagle, or looking in the pool, nor would he have noticed the wet strand board, because, he just isn't nosy like me :)

Sadly, it won't end there. Now there will be legal stuff, and firings and lawsuits. I can only imagine how disappointed the owners are. It is a beautiful house with, I am sure, years of thoughtful planning and happy anticipation. I can feel their pain. Fortunately (I'd think) it happened before they moved all their belongings in, and the damage can be repaired. I am exceedingly glad that I am just a stupid concrete finisher, and not involved in the finer points of interiors! I do not envy anyone involved in what went wrong. I am sure that the owner is not going to go easy on any of them.