Every day in my cozy little world begins basically the same: coffee and the newspaper. At times there are variances to this routine but, for the most part, this simple "get my coffee, go out and get the paper/ pick up the cat who has to be carried into the laundry room to his food plate, and settle quietly on the end of the sofa with the hope no one sees me or tries to speak with me until 20 minutes after the last drip of coffee has been licked from the cup" works pretty darn well for me. I'm careful about what I read in the paper. The atrocities we as human beings inflict on one another wound my soul. What's worse, with the economic situation being what it is, an entire segment of society is being abused and neglected in record numbers: the animals (as if the wives, kids, and old people weren't enough). Talk with the real estate agents who are sent out by the banks to look at foreclosed homes and they'll tell you about the animals that have been left behind, slowly starving to death, because their people, their Families, were no longer able to care for them. As our frustrations rise, abuse of animals climbs in equal measure. It is a sad reality of our society that the most vulnerable are its first victims. As a young girl, I fell in love with the guy on the other side of the fence. I was four or five, he was about the same. He was tall, blond and liked to eat carrots. In the afternoons, I would climb over the fence and sit in the Weeping Willow tree in his yard and watch him roll in the dirt. His name? His name was Star. It was 1972, fresh out of the '60's, and those hippie names hung around like white cat hair on your favorite black coat. This particular love child, though, happened to be a horse and they don't really care what you call them. Aside from the ponies at the County Fair, Star was the first horse I ever rode, and the first I ever fell off of. I and one of the other neighbor girls who was trying to vie for Star's affection, were given a ride (bareback, no less) around the pasture. She did a terrible job holding her front position and we wound up bouncing right off the back of my beloved. Ahh, it's true--you always remember your first. Star turned out to be one in a long line of equine love affairs. There was Sugarfoot, Jimbo, Sun, Bo, Dusty, Mr. Magoo, and many in between. A love of horses runs deeper and different then with any other animal. People are either horse people or they are not; the gray area that exists with cats and dogs does not apply here. It's the smell when you place your cheek on the neck of a horse. The feel of running full speed across a field; just you and the horse beneath you. The touch of a horse's mouth as s/he nibbles the treat you've offered. It touches your soul and connects you to God, or it doesn't.As humans, we've taken these animals from the wild, domesticated them, made them our beasts of burden. In return, we have obligations to these animals. Pick up the paper, go on the Internet, you'll find people from all walks of life not living up to their obligations. They love their horses, but don't feed them or have the money for veterinary care. They're hoarders and horses, rather than cats or dogs, are their animal of choice. Horses, when locked in stalls or left for days and weeks at a time in their paddock without care, slowly and painfully starve to death. For those of us who see these animals as the noble creatures they are, this sadistic and inhumane treatment is beyond comprehension. But wait, this isn't going to be a total downer post. It was just necessary to have some background before moving on to the real topic: The Grace Foundation. In short, the Grace Foundation is an equine rescue and rehabilitation facility here in northern California (El Dorado Hills outside of Sacramento). The Grace Foundation currently has over 125 horses in their care. These animals come to them starved, abused, neglected. The owners did not willingly, in most cases, give these animals up. Instead they were seized by the local humane society after legal action was taken against the owners for abuse and neglect. Some horses have come to the Grace Foundation in such bad shape that humane euthanizing was the only option. Fortunately, the numbers of animals that have been saved far outweigh those that have been lost. At the Grace Foundation, these horses are given a second chance at life. Horses are not put down because they are old or blind or no longer "serve a purpose". They are, instead, allowed to live out the rest of the days of their life in peace and cared for in a manner they should have known all along. The Grace Foundation also takes in, when necessary, other animals. At any given time, you can look up on the hills and see a flock of sheep grazing. Or go over to the cow pen to see Milkshake, the cow; or Gavin and Garrett, the two calves rescued this past summer. There are the requisite chickens and goats who wander the barnyard looking for grain dropped by the horses, and dogs & cats constantly underfoot. Everywhere you look at Grace Foundation you are reminded of the atrocities that humans inflict on those they deem lesser than themselves. But as Peter Parker's uncle told him in Spiderman, "Remember Peter, with great power comes great responsibility". The Grace Foundation takes that responsibility seriously. Now the money plug. The Grace Foundation needs money for food, supplies, medication, everything. Hay prices are astronomical and with more and more horses needing care, resources are stretched thin. Please, visit the Grace Foundation. Read about who they are and what they do. Here's their web link: http://www.thegracefoundationofnorcal.org/index.htmlPlease read their story, watch the video of how and why Beth DeCaprio started the Grace Foundation. If you can donate any monetary amount, go to the "donations" link on the site. PayPal makes it easy and all donations are 100% tax deductible. If horses just "aren't your bag" or want to make a difference a little closer to home, please remember the SPCA and other animal rescue organizations all need your help. Thanks!
This is Mulligan Stew. Actually, his AKC name is "Mulligan 29". Apparently giving your dog-of-Scottish-origin a golfing name was not as original as we thought. My husband insisted that if we were going to get another dog that his name would be Mulligan. In golf, a mulligan is a do-over, a second chance to get it right. We had had dogs before, Moet and Chandon (One of my rules in life is never let alcoholics or children name pets. In this case it was a combination of the two). The dogs, sweet to the core and completely untrained, came with my husband when I got him, along with a toddler of 20 months. We still have the toddler, although he's now 17 years old. The dogs, though, passed on several years ago. It's interesting, getting a dog when they're adults and not puppies. You love them, care for them, walk them, feed them, and take them to the vet when they're sick. And yet, it's different. Although I did not choose them to be in my life, I was the one who saw them through this life, right up to their very last breath. Putting an animal down is one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. If you have done so, you know what I'm talking about; being "pack leader" takes on a whole new dimension.
Fast forward to a Christmas night a year and a half after putting the last dog down. We'd been a two cat, two kid household for awhile and, although it was odd to not have dogs, we were doing ok. We'd just bought a second home in the Lake Tahoe area and were celebrating our first White Christmas. My husband, enjoying the fruits of his labor and indulging in his favorite white wine, decided to bring up the idea of a dog. "It would be kind of nice to have a dog again" and "A house just feels like a home when there's a dog in it". To two boys, 13 and 8, nothing could have sounded better at Christmas. Finally, they were going to get a Beagle. Or a Bloodhound. Or a Husky. "No", their dad told them. It would be a Golden Retriever and his name would be Mulligan. That was the deal. Unfortunately for Dear Dad, the wine did, as wine will do, played tricks on his memory the next morning and he just could not figure out why those boys were insisting on looking for a dog, now, today.
Mulligan wasn't chosen that day, that week, or even that month. He was found the following month, as many dogs are, in a listing in our local paper. Two puppies were left. The husband and I, not telling the boys where we were going or what we were doing, drove over to have a look. If there is anything cuter then a puppy, I don't know what it is. We picked Mulligan, handed over our check and headed for home. I knew prior to getting this dog that he would be my dog, my responsibility. I was not foolish enough to think that any of the three men/boys I lived with would take seriously the raising & training of this dog. And so it came to be: Mulligan and me.
The first two nights I slept downstairs with the puppy; he in his pen with his bed and toys and "potty papers", me on the sofa listening intently. The first night in our home he woke up, walked to the center of his pen, sat down and howled the most mournful sound I have ever heard. The next day I did an Internet search of "why dogs howl". Supposedly it's to call the pack back to the den because of some impending danger. That, or they're lonely and want the company of their pack. Either way, I did with Mulligan what I used to do with my son when he was an infant: put him back in his bed, made no eye contact, and rubbed his tummy until he fell back to sleep. If you can bond with your dog, I did so that night.
It will be four years in January since Mulligan joined our family. In that time we've had food allergy issues (don't feed the dog anything he wouldn't be able to kill on his own; cows and buffalo are off the list but chicken is good); 2 major surgeries (yes, I made a nest on the family room floor for he and I and slept there for two nights until he could get upstairs to our room on his own); car sickness (did you know that you can feed a dog at 7am and if he has evem the slightest inkling that a car ride is in order for the day he will not digest his food and, instead, half way through the trip, vomit all of it up on the seat of the car?); a fox tail stuck in his "tonsil crypt" (from running with his tongue on the grass); an upper respiratory infection from drinking out of the doggy drinking fountain after some stupid kid put sand in the drain and clogged it up. But through it all, has there ever been a more loyal and steadfast companion? I think not.
Each morning, rain or shine, we walk. For Mulligan, every day is a new day and a new adventure--no matter how much the same it is to me. He reminds me by his actions to "live in the now". It's ok to remember that 5 months ago you chased a squirrel that ran along that fence line, and you may want to check it out each and every time you walk by, but don't forget to look up that tree, or roll on that pinecone, or pull that one rock up from out of the creek. The world is all around us, don't forgot to look. I'm with this dog every single day, 24/7 some weeks, and in that time I see him enjoy the simple, most basic things in life: a nap in a warm sunny spot, sleeping with a stuffed animal, playing, a walk in the rain. Happiness is everywhere if you believe it to be and a good back scratch can change your whole day. Sure, there's some anthropomorphism going on here, but how else do you describe an animal who picks up his favorite "baby" and heads up to bed when you tell him it's time for "night-night"?
Hello~Welcome to my blog. My name is Misti and, as my profile to the side reads, I'm a married mom of 2 boys. Despite enjoying the blogs of others, initially I was hesitant about starting a blog of my own. Blogging seemed to be an incredibly narcissistic thing. I mean, really, the entire world needs to know your thoughts? But then it happened: I began composing my own blog in my head. Content, layout, pictures or no pictures? Did I want a theme or just my thoughts of the moment? As I am prone to do, I obsessed over these matters for some time. To still my mind and take a baby step into the Blog World, I joined Cafemom.com, a website for moms of "all kinds". Take a look, you'll understand. I realized, after responding to a few posts, that the opinions and thoughts I had really did matter to some. Not only did I want to have an exchange of thoughts with the rest of the world, I needed to do so! (Working from home, with your husband no less, drastically minimizes your time with the outside world.) So, what do I hope to achieve with this blog? Contact with a world I don't interact with nearly enough. I realize this makes me sound like some freaky recluse, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Our lifestyles dictate our social circles and sounding boards; I'm looking to expand mine. Thoughts and feedback on anything I write about will always be appreciated. Please, no "anonymous" posts; if I'm brave enough to put it out there, be brave enough to sign your own name. And now, since the dog just barfed on the carpet, I suppose it's time to start the day. Thanks for joining me on this adventure.
