Updates, late April

As I'm typing this, Burd, our Quaker Parrot, is bathing himself in the gallon-sized dog water dish on the floor. Our two (now two, count them) dogs are watching in half interest as he nearly drowns himself with every gargly dunk. Normally Burd gets a shallow Tupperware dish with lukewarm-to-toasty water only a couple of inches deep for his private shower time, but he's braving a good five inch swimming pool at the moment of icy-cool fresh doggie water. Now he's scuttling across the floor, wet wings spread, shucking all need for flight (even though he is fully feathered) and ignoring entirely the two dogs watching his duck walk. Lemon is flying over, checking on him. Her long, yellow top knot has been nibbled and yanked down to a few short, sad gold feathers sticking straight off her head— Burd seems jealous of her headwear and has been removing her plumage whenever he feels the urge to be vindictive. Despite that and the occasional velociraptor-style argument, they have become good friends.

A lot of stuff has changed since my last post.

Perhaps not most importantly, but must noticeably is the addition of Scoot, an 11-week-old bicolor Australian Shepherd puppy who is currently sprawled on the floor next to me, chewing on his third favorite playtoy, a roll of purple duct tape. The reason I think he likes it so much is that it can't move very far for him to sink his teeth into, even on the cool, glossy tile— Scoot lost much of the function in his hind end due to an attack from his sire as a 4 week old puppy. His movement is sadly a bit limited. He was bred by a place called Texas Aussies, interestingly enough located in the vicinity of Chicago, Illinois. His name was originally Arrow, which seemed fortuitous considering he would end up at YMCA Camp Flaming Arrow, but now goes by Scoot, for obvious reference to his choice of locomotion. Our friend Ellen brought him down last Tuesday via American Airlines. Since that time, he has progressed from only a few moments of looking like a half-normal quadruped and standing on all fours to being able to drunkenly stumble after Dick and I. He will likely not recover full use of his back legs, but thanks to a fairly proactive breeder and now some tough love and a lot of swimming lessons with us down here in Texas, I think he is going to continue to improve to a point where he can get around on his own, albeit not gracefully. Richard was in the market for a "truck dog" to tag along with him to work sites, and looks as though he's got his mate. Hop is resigned to the idea and seems to benefit in the long run— currently Scoot is dozing on the tile floor whilst Hop enjoys one of Scoot's many chew bones while nestled in the fuzzy faux shearling of Scoot's new bed. Our goals now are to get him more mobile (check) and get some weight on him— plain Greek yogurt and Taste of the Wild kibble, with a smattering of Hop's Wolf King huge-honkin' dog food bites to spice things up.

Scoot collapses a bit and makes some people gasp and sigh and claim they want to cry, but he is good-natured, happy, bright, and an excellent sport about the whole "being crippled" thing. We do our best to exhaust him every day, and he sleeps well through the night cuddled up in our bed. No accidents in the house to report yet, but I think you can thank the breeder more than us for that. I'm really excited to have another lifetime dog, and I think he can certainly become as good a dog as Hop, if not the same athlete. Dick is absolutely in love with him; he hasn't had a puppy in ages and I suppose this is the first one that belongs entirely to him. We have gotten a few questions regarding our sanity in adopting an animal with obvious and possibly devastating special needs (the prognosis is cautiously optimistic, but not entirely rosy.) I can't say those doubts are unfounded, but I've also found the joy of owning a puppy is a hundred percent greater when you get to see him strengthen and grow in many ways outside of the norm. If you can think of things as predestined, (and I don't always, despite a lot of either good luck or karma) he was absolutely meant to be here.



My dad died a week ago last Friday. He would have been 85 and a half today (not that you get around to celebrating halfsies when you're past twelve, but still somewhat momentous.) He was dealing with long-term congestive heart failure and acute arthritis in his back, and looked to his family and a lot of prayer and close talks with his God as he grew closer to death. My mom definitely misses him; he was in all ways her best friend. I miss him, at least in the way I most remember him. He was ready to move on and if anyone was excited to find out the whole dealio with Heaven, it was my dad. Still sucks sometimes. But it is amazing who actually comes out of the proverbial woodwork to support you during these sorts of things; I am definitely surrounded by people who care, and those who seem awkward about saying anything are easy enough to forgive. If my dad left me with any legacies, they would be threefold— 1. The urge to make pictures that make people happy, 2. The understanding of what a good spouse can and should be, and 3. Realizing that there is no excuse to be unfriendly or act unloving. I cannot and have not always acted upon those three things, but they are intrinsic and they are all part of my Poppa.

The horses are all good. Had a blast with Ellen playing cowgirl and charging up hills and fording the river on horseback for the first time this year. Ellen, from Illinois-ish area where it seems overly cold and damp, is a friend I originally connected with probably at age 12 or 13 through the AOL online message board community of eons past— we were both horse crazy and fell into the same clique of pony-fueled girls who still keep in touch more than a dozen years later thanks to the miracle of Facebook. Though she and a handful of the other girls made a ridiculous and wonderful pilgrimage to our wedding in 2009, this past week was the first time I'd gotten to spend a true chunk of time with her, and it was effortless and fun and full of laughter and chatter, despite the heft and weight of the week she arrived. (Arrangements to fly Scoot down were in the process as my father passed away; we went ahead with things and she pitched in to help my mom and grandma as well as play in the dirt and river with us back at camp.) I do, however, blame her for making me go back and look at my LiveJournal rantings and immediately plant my face in my hands. Alas. ;) Love her much. I rarely get to the end of an extended visit and feel like I already miss that person, and that thought struck me pretty hard as I left the San Antonio Airport last Friday.

Feeling very discouraged about NATRC. It pains me not to get to go to any rides, really, and I hate to feel like I'm half-assing anything. I don't want to go to one ride, alone, and leave my work to someone else— and then not be able to attend anything else for God knows how long. I suppose it just needs to sit on the back burner and wait for.. when? 2012? Probably not. 2013? It's perhaps awkward in that I feel like the only person close to my age (not technically a child still, and no actual children of my own, so sometimes I feel like the only competitor making excuses about my schedule) but the experience and the people and the sore butt at the end of a 40 mile weekend absolutely got me pumped to ride competitively for the first time in a lifetime of horsemanship of one color or another. But the catch twenty-two is that I can't leave my job, which is primarily on the fair-weather weekends of Texas falls and springs, to go do competitive rides.. and I can't afford the rides without the security of a job and a place to keep and train my horses. That said, I wouldn't trade my job for anything either at the minute (except perhaps somewhere with a real house and a little acreage of our own) and look forward to hopefully a lifetime in this field. I just can't help but envy the schedule of a private camp and feel a little hopeless at the thought of no more CTRs for a very long while. I am purposefully skipping the Wimberly Wayfarer for a great friend's birthday and have no regrets about that; honestly, though, it partially has to due to the fact that I looked at my schedule and saw there was no point in pushing my finances and our vehicle when it would be a strain on my job, my friendships, Richard couldn't come, and I wouldn't exactly be aiming for any more rides in the fall. I think that is the conclusion of my emo rant, and I will feel better after our next dressage lesson (which of course I haven't prepared for in a week) and having something else to aim for.

In other hobbies.. We have been swimming every day for nearly a week now. Feels wonderful. I have the urge to try and do the lifeguard swim test (sans the rescues and things— just the 500 m swim) by the beginning of summer, and between dog swim time and just general joy of being outside in the spring swelter, I am getting enough exposure to maybe bring myself to that point. My legs are also tan. This is exciting.

I'm tan, I'm fitter. I'm still missing my Daddy, but even more in love with my sweet spouse every day. Our house is full to the brim with animals. The horses and the kids who come with them consume most of my time. The stress of this time of the year can push camp people to the point of being nutty, but at the same time, they can show absolute love and selflessness when you least expect it.

Catching Up

The honeymoon was beyond survivable and more like epic, tumultuous, thrilling, tiring, spur-of-the-moment, and at certain times of sundown and sunup, at least partially magical.

Tonight I finally got around to writing a few thank-you cards —postcards created from friends' wedding photos which I'm more than a little proud of — and the good memories of the day return. Frankly, I didn't really enjoy the wedding day. It was perfect in execution (or at least as close as I had dared to hope) but I was too caught up in micromanagement and trying to make sure the gathered had a good time; what I hear was that it was quite a good little party, though so much of it I missed. All that aside it was the greatest thing that's happened in my life thus far, so I suppose I can't really complain.

Married life, as I am guessing most newlyweds write, is wonderful. There's plenty to fight about but an unfair amount of those moments where we look at each other, finally together in the same country on a reasonably permanent basis, and say "Wow. We are so lucky." We've been riding together (job status changed dramatically; I'm the equestrian director at a camp just a little way up the road from La Junta and so far it's a great reason to wake up every morning) and training for a beginners' adventure race at Camp Eagle in Rocksprings, Texas, along with the two other young directors working here at camp. The only thing I'm passably good at is trail running, but the swimming (we swam our first ever 500m last week: momentous), mountain biking, high ropes and rock climbing will at least give me a kick in the face and some good stories to tell.

Bandit loves his new job with all the prissy mares in the pasture, and Hopalong has two new buddies to go chase / wallow in stuff with. My parents are well (dad's birthday was yesterday and we absolutely nailed the task of baking The Birthday Cake) and our new house is slathered in simple Ikea furniture and every color that caught my eye. Richard indulges me by keeping it pretty darn tidy, volunteers his free time (pre-green card, which may come as early as January) for our new camp, and plays copious amounts of Call of Duty on the xBox. Did I mention he's started riding with me fairly often? I love it, and he's surprisingly really good. But then he tends to be one of those annoying people that's good at any physical thing he tries.

I'll do my best to keep tabs on this blog and update frequently, though it saddens me that I have no friends who write regularly anymore! (Hint, hint.)

A mixed weekend

So this was our first father-son weekend of the spring and if I do say so myself, all was a success. Of course there's some interesting, larger-than-life dads and beyond-amusing-into-the-realm-of-wow-you're-going-to-be-an-overly-exciting-camper-to-be-around sons, but overall, the families were wonderful. There were two boys especially that absolutely had my heart; they were precious— but little boys will do that to you! I belayed on the rock wall all morning without gloves, which was stupid as the ropes were filthy, but I enjoy belaying more and more every chance I get at it. The afternoon was riding, which is always frustrating but, in my opinion, rewarding. We were short on riding staff but it worked. Bandit was fairly good for the first half but his mind was elsewhere the latter part of the afternoon— he spazzed out and broke a four-horse-long string of dallied horses and I was annoyed. But alas, it's been a month since I've been on him. He's in good condition on that senior feed; I need to take pictures. He looks wonderful at fifteen! Ahh.. he turned fifteen this week.. Wow. I've had him since he was barely six.

Anyway, the rest of today was rock wall belay again, some clean-up, and lots of sitting around and talking. Pretty easy if I do say so myself, and I even got a little paycheck which should pay for Hop's vet checkup this month and the fact that my car needs crap done to it. Boo.

Kate, Drew, Matt (a younger guy from Alamo Heights), and eventually Kile all helped out for the weekend. It ended up being a really fun group despite seeming like an odd dynamic on the outset. Virgin strawberry margaritas will always make me laugh now.

Hopalong thought Father-Sons were amaaazing. Found out that he gets to stay through the summer definitely, which I'm vastly excited about. He almost went down the waterslide, ran through the dining hall during lunch, humped Kiley during the rock wall morning, stole a box of graham crackers and two Hershey's bars during campfire and ate them, and lifted his leg and marked a "tree" which actually turned out to be a kid army-crawling around in the grass in a camouflage coverall. Overall a success and he was very well-liked.

Sad, though, is Molly's condition. She spent a lot of the weekend asleep on my porch (I made her a bed out of some fake sheepskin material and two dry bags) and has trouble getting up or walking or anything else. One kid asked why we were letting a dog starve to death— she does look awful. I didn't expect my own reaction, though, when Scott and I cajoled her to get off my porch and drive home with his family— he told the quaking-legged Molly to "say goodbye" to me and I absolutely lost it. Can't even tell you exactly why, but I sobbed for a good half-hour. I wasn't as worked up about my grandad's death at the actual time. She was such a wonderful dog, so, goodbye, Molly. I'm glad Richard is out in the world to field my hysterical phone calls at 2 in the afternoon on a Sunday. Gosh, I do miss him.

Guess who just got buzzzzed?

P4110010
Originally uploaded by topochicovase

Rembrandt looking more like George Washington without his five inches of fluff. (All dogs hanging out in kitchen upon dinner preparation; tell me this doesn't just happen in our house?)

Holiday weekends are, how do you say? "Muy bueno."

I'm home for Easter in San Antonio. Definitely looking at the city in a different way; not necessarily more or less critical than before, but knowing I have signed myself up for a year of striving for improvement in this place certainly adds more interest to the landscape. I haven't felt real nervousness about living on "the other" side of town yet; it feels somewhat like an adventure, even if it takes a couple of months for Richard and I to be steady enough on our feet to rent instead of cohabitate with Mom, Dad, or Grandma.

Three thoughts on how I currently think life should be lived:
(May change tomorrow, yanno. No promises.)

Take care of your body with steadfast fidelity. The soul must see through these eyes alone, and if they are dim, the whole world is clouded.
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Adventure is worthwhile in itself.
— Amelia Earhart

Man's nature is not essentially evil. Brute nature has been know to yield to the influence of love. You must never despair of human nature.
— Mohandas Gandi

Probably one of my favorite things in the world now is The Moth podcast. Basically, various people get up and tell a story on mic. No notes. Arguably they're all true stories. Some hilarious, of course, and on the opposite end of the spectrum, some that leave you steely-armed at the wheel of your car with saucer-sized leaky eyeballs. Some are ten minutes, others are closer to thirty. My friend Ellen turned me on to it and it's yet another Super Free Thing brought to you by NPR.

My yellow dog is just likely cooler than you are. He's far cooler than I. I think he ate a worm today while I was down with my class fishing by the bravery tree. He definitely went turtle-diving in the middle of the kids, causing an satisfying shower. I'd love to be a dog sometimes.