Recently I heard a darling story about an Otterhound pup. This is a breed of dog I never knew was a breed. I understand it is a rare English breed and there are only 6-800 dogs in existence. They are lovely and bred for scent abilities.

The breeders of this pup live in Florida and had a very long check list for potential new owners. When a single mother with children arrived to consider this little girl, the breeders had decided they did not want to sell  the pup to them until they noticed her one son with the pup.

The boy sat right next to the pup and said, “I am soooo thirsty, you must be thirsty too.” He proceeded to retrieve a bowl of water and let the pup drink first – then -without any apparent adult intervention –  he drank the remaining water from the bowl. The breeders were slightly stunned, but the sight of the boy with the pup was so heartwarming they allowed the mother to purchase the pup.

The family and pup relocated to Maine – of all places- at least it wasn’t Washington State.  When the mother found housing, she and her children settled in and the housing development told her she was not permitted to keep the dog. Instead of calling the breeder in Florida, she took the pup to a local shelter. Luckily, the employees scanned the pet and found the microchip identifying the breeders. When they were contacted, the breeders let the shelter know they would come to get the pup.

The gentleman I met shared how he traveled 2 1/2 days to Maine – in the Spring- through inclement weather – and finally arrived in almost the most north eastern part of the State. He was greeted by a very happy dog- a dog giving kisses, hugs, and jumping and spinning. The shelter was convinced this dog knew him.

The two of them headed back home to Florida. It was another 2 1/2 days of travel and the owner stayed in rest areas to sleep because the pet became so distressed if he tried to leave her in the car alone. Such a sacrifice- everyone is reunited and the pet is happy, cared for, and home.

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When we were young, my friends and I always had great fun playing games like Monopoly. We invented rules that didn’t quite match the rules that came with the game- like  awarding $400.00 for landing on the GO square, getting all the money in the center (the kitty) when landing on free parking , building on personally owned properties when ALL the color was sold- despite not being the one that owned them all, and other home spun rules.

This is probably not a blog that persons committed to following all the rules to a tee will appreciate- fair warning! In my world, rules have been bent.

When I met my step daughter, she was young and her parents divorced when she was even younger – about 5 years old. This was a critical developmental age and she fell behind in her school work -such as learning to read and developing her math skills as well as other educational tasks.

So, to help her, I used the games and story books to catch her up on her schooling. We had fun and she was easily engaged in learning without being aware of my intentions. Since she was unable to read, and loved picture books, we went to library and checked out 35 picture books- the maximum allowed. I read the books  to her each night. She thought she was tricking me into letting her stay up later and I was really tricking her into learning to read. Eventually, she began reading words and pages herself and then advanced to young chapter books. Eventually she excelled at reading.

For spelling, we played Scrabble. I told her all she needed to do was make words. As long as she created a word, she could place it anywhere on the board. I never mentioned the need to attach her word to any other word or letter on the board. At first she had some unusual spellings for words – which I ignored, but as time went on, she became more and more accurate with her spelling.

Monopoly was a great game for learning to count and handle money, building on properties, winning, and more. She loved it and we played by the rules my friends and I played by when I was a little girl. She learned quickly. I must admit I made it easy as she won all the time and learned to count money in a non stressful way. She enjoyed calculating the money for houses and then a hotel on the properties she owned.

Then, a kind of funny thing happened -something I never anticipated. One day she stepped out of our little world and went to her cousin’s home where they decided to play monopoly. She called me hysterical that her cousin did not play the game correctly. She explained all the rules her cousin was trying to make her play by. I thought, ‘oh no, I am not there to protect her.’ I told her some people don’t know the rules and play some other way. I did not mention we were the ones who did not play by the correct rules. I told her not to worry, forgive her cousin, and suggested they play with their dolls. Crisis averted.

I’m not certain if she ever realized I tricked her for her own good and I never anticipated she would encounter someone who would shatter her innocent approach to game playing, but somehow we got through it all.

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As a younger girl, I pursued education – which meant I had a meager budget. I usually attended classes in T-shirts and blue jeans but, like most girls, I loved pretty clothes.

I rode the bus from my grandfather’s home to the Square in downtown Cleveland every day for school. When I arrived at the Square, there were department stores like ones in the movies – ones with many floors and counters lined with jewelry and perfumes and gloves and matching scarves that were soft and beautiful. I am convinced I was the best window shopper ever.

I walked around the cases admiring all the new accessories. Then, I rode the escalator to shopper’s heaven- to the floors with rack after rack of shorts and matching tops, skirts, and blouses, and all the pretty clothes one could imagine.

I picked several outfits and spent time in the dressing room trying on these beautiful clothes I knew I would never buy. I modeled them in the mirror and, for a moment, I was wearing something pretty. After a time daydreaming and admiring, I donned my T-shirt and blue jeans and returned the clothes to the rack. The salesladies smiled and nicely asked if I wanted to buy anything. I smiled back and said, “I am going to think about it some more, thanks.” I suspected they knew.

Then I walked 20 blocks, attended class, walked back to the bus, and rode back to my grandfather’s home- remembering my wonderful time window shopping- which I did frequently.

I still love pretty things, but have realized I want the inside of me to be more lovely than the outside and really have no extra money for extravagant things. That’s ok. I have a wonderful country to enjoy that allows me beautiful adventures every day and family and friends that mean everything to me. I have made the choice to make the people in my life my priority and have no regrets. I still see the pretty clothes and think of my days shopping, but more and more the clothes mean less and less and the people mean more and more.

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I recently accepted employment at a private practice where I met Singe. At first I thought he was some fancy purebred cat – with small ears and different coloring around his eyes. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Singe is a mutt- a plain old alley cat. But he has a story.

Singe was a man of the streets. He had to hunt his own food, find shelter in the very hot, humid temperatures of Florida as well as the torrential rains that occur daily in the summer time. He had to hide from others who could hurt him with no one there to help with his medical needs or care about him in any way. All that was about to change.

During a localized fire in the brush of Florida, the responding firemen found a black and white cat under a bush. His little ears were burned and his facial hair singed. The pads of his paws were injured from the fire and he was frightened. The only home he knew in the forest was on fire and he didn’t know what to do.

The firemen knew what to do. They scooped him up and took him to the veterinary clinic he now calls his home. He was nursed to health by the veterinarians and technicians working there. They treated his burns and cared for him until he healed. Now, he no longer has to go farther the next room for a meal, everyone there loves him and meets all his physical and medical needs, massages him with special made tools to do so, and allows him to think he owns the place.

Singe bears all the scars that serve as reminders that there are wonderful and caring people in the world who take time to rescue little animals from danger so they can have a story to tell everyone. Singe is a testament to the spirit of survival and healing and the will and desire to live – even after it looked like everything was lost. His tragedy turned to triumph for this little overweight pampered cat called Singe.

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A friend brought me a pair of black ducks he said were Muscovy ducks, but I am not certain if that was true. They were lovely and, when the sun shone on their black feathers, the blue, green and purple colors glistened through.

The black male and female ducks were an inseparable couple. One sad day, however, I lost the female. After losing his mate, he tagged along with my white ducks until, one by one, I lost all of them as well.

Occasionally, I spotted him lying next to the dogs and even the cats just to be near someone, something. They tolerated him well. His apparent loneliness broke my heart so, since he was desperate for a friend, I decided he needed a duck pal. A close friend had many ducks and was glad to give me another white duck. He rode in a large cage in the back of my truck and, when I arrived back at the farm, I introduced him to my black duck – who happened to be waiting by the truck. They were instant friends.

Black and White did everything together- including getting into trouble together. When I couldn’t find them, I headed down our 500 foot long driveway, crossed the busy street we lived on, and snuck through the neighbor’s yard to find my two ducks taking a dip in the neighbor’s pond. I herded them back where they belonged- out of the pond, through the neighbor’s yard, waddling across the road, down the driveway, back to the safety of our barn. Thankfully, the neighbors never seemed to mind my coming to their yard to fetch them.

Since we lived in coyote country, I never left the ducks out at night time. Each night I called the boys. They quacked and waddled themselves into the barn into a stall opened for them. I closed them in for safety each night and they knew the routine.

Sadly, the white duck passed. It was so heartbreaking for me to lose another pet I was unable to remove his body from the corner of the stall he was in when he passed. For days the black duck went into the stall, sat next to him, and stared at him. He seemed confused as to why his friend no longer came with him to eat bugs and walk around our farm. He made his soft ‘quacking’ sounds and seemed to say, “Are we going to play? Why aren’t you coming?”

Eventually I removed the white duck’s body and found him anther friend- this time a chicken. The two of them were best friends and each day they came into the apartment in the barn, ate the dogs’ food, and then went back out to roam the yard.

I have such sweet memories of friendship and love between some silly ducks and chickens I had the pleasure of having as pets.

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Millie was Angel’s baby. Angel was no angel, but, her terrific breeding made her a great race horse. Millie inherited her mom’s sour disposition, but she also inherited her racing talent. To help her be manageable, I spent time handling her and playing with her beginning after her birth.

Since mother horses can be protective and dangerous, I tied Angel when I entered her stall to play with Millie. Then, I chased Millie around the stall and under her mother until I caught her. Daily I rubbed her entire body, picked up her feet and tapped her hooves, and held her to train her to stop struggling. In preparation for placing a harness on her, I lifted her tail and placed my arm under it where the tail piece of the harness sits. I brushed her and played with her- always talking to her. After a while, she trusted me. Even the toughest girls can be won over by love and patience.

When Millie was a yearling, it was time to train her to the equipment so she could train and race. My partner made the first attempt at putting a harness on her. Millie exploded and kicked at him. I took the harness, walked up to her, and put it on her – the tail piece as well as the girth around her belly and the chest pieces. She never fussed for me. I think it was because I was her human mommy and the trust that developed between us was a great asset.

Millie did everything I asked her to. She broke to the equipment and cart with ease. She trained well and raced like the wind. One day she  became ill with a condition I never saw before and still don’t know what it was. She may have been poisoned by something she ate. I am not certain. She seemed to have pain in her abdomen like a horse with colic, but all the horses I treated for this improved in a day or so. It took five days for Millie to recover. She wanted to lay down and roll and I couldn’t let her because when horses roll, they are in danger of twisting their intestines. If she twisted her intestines, she would not survive and surgery to untwist them was not an option for us.

I watched her day and night for five long days. When she was quiet and resting peacefully in her stall, I wrapped her lead rope around my leg and slept for short periods on the floor of the barn outside her stall. I did this so when she began to thrash, she pulled the rope around my leg, waking me. When she was restless, I kept her on her feet -which can be challenging with a 1,100 pound animal, medicated her for pain, and walked her for hours. After those five tortuous days Millie and I weathered together, thankfully she recovered and raced for many years.

I once thought horses did not form bonds with their humans like dogs and cats, but one night, when I arrived home from work, I turned on the lights in the barn and discovered Millie and another horse opened their stall doors and were loose. This is a concern because horses can be injured or killed on roads if hit by cars or trucks. As I entered the barn, Millie and the other horse casually walked into the back door of the barn and came to me like little puppies as if to ask, “Where you been, mom?” I patted their necks and returned them to their stalls – safe and sound. My trainer once told me the horse knows the person who feeds them and the person who plays with them. I was both and they were my girls.

My horses were my pets first and my racing girls second.

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When we were children, we visited our father’s family in West Virginia each year. My two brothers and I looked forward to the vacation and have many memories of the fun we had  riding in a red wagon as it rolled down little hills that looked gigantic to us as youngsters, playing on a home made swing in the huge tree in the front yard, turning over rocks to find copperhead and rattle snakes, and hiking the mountains behind our grandparents’ home. In the evenings we joined Grandma and aunts and uncles on a yard swing and talked for hours. All great fun for young children.

Grandma cooked on a coal stove. I have one particular memory of sitting at the dinner table with relatives and my family as Grandma served scrumptious chicken and dumplings. I wanted more and more. She also made banana pudding with vanilla cookies.

When I was grown, my family relocated to West Virginia- to a farm very close to my grandparents’ farm. The scenery seemed different. The hills in grandma’s yard looked smaller and smaller each year and the swing ropes looked shorter and shorter. My parents became farmers as they planted a large garden and had horses, pigs, and chickens. Often my mother had injured animals in the house. One visit she had a chicken with an injured leg in the house which most of the time she kept in a cage. She let the hen  roam the house occasionally.

One day, my brother and I were sitting on the couch in the living room talking. We hardly noticed the chicken strutting casually around the house. He proudly shook the rattle of a dead rattlesnake he found a few days earlier and, as we listened to the ‘rattle, suddenly, the chicken (who was supposed to be injured) jumped up, grabbed the rattle from my brother’ s hand, and ran away with it. Running as fast as she could, darting back and forth, into the kitchen with her little eyes wide with excitement.

Immediately, my brother jumped off the couch and ran after that chicken. I laughed as I watched him chasing that little chicken until he caught her and recovered his rattle. After he had time to settle  down, we laughed and have been telling the story for years.

I have many precious memories of visits to family in West Virginia- we called it Almost Heaven.

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My first dog was a Doberman – German Shepherd mix. My family was offered this ‘male’ dog and my parents said yes. We excitedly decided to name ‘him’ Sam.

When Sam arrived, we discovered ‘he’ was a ‘she.’ We decided to keep her name, but call her Samantha- Sam for short.

She was instantly part of the family. I played in the yard with her – teaching her to fetch, sit, stay, run squirrels up trees and poles, and knew the joy of owning a dog. Mom used her to babysit the younger children. She accompanied my brothers to the woods near our home daily. One of her best talents was to hide quietly under the table at dinner time. This came in handy when mom made liver. We hated liver, Sam loved liver. When mom wasn’t looking, Sam took care of business and never told on us. Everyone was a winner.

One day Sam became mopey and would not eat. My parents took her to a veterinarian. I heard the word “distemper.” Distemper is a disease in dogs caused by a virus that attacks the intestines of affected animals and causes vomiting, diarrhea, not wanting to eat, and being very sick. The distemper virus can travel to the brain. When this happens, seizures may develop and there is very little chance the dog will survive.

I was worried and, when I am worried, I cry. We forced Sam to eat by using a turkey baster to give her baby cereal. After about a week, she began to recover and was herself again. Dogs may become ill after exposure to other dogs with this virus or other animals such as raccoons carrying the virus.

There is a vaccine available to dog owners to prevent distemper. Vaccinating is the best method of preventing the major diseases in dogs. In addition to distemper, vaccines are available for rabies, hepatitis, leptospirosis, kennel cough, and parvo. After seeing the devastating effects of disease in the dogs I loved, I am a believer in vaccines. I have vaccinated every dog, cat, horse, and goat since that time.

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Many of us have a favorite Superhero whose super powers we admire – Superman with his ability to fly, super strength, and the ability to leap from tall buildings,  Spiderman with his ability to scale tall buildings, swing from building to building, tie the bad guys up with his webs, or Batman in his bat-mobile fighting crime in Gotham city.  What they have in common is they use their super powers for good.

In real life, I see superheroes all around. I met some of them in the halls of long term care facilities and patient rooms. I witnessed their superpowers of love and kindness as I spotted them fixing the ladies hair, picking out favorite outfits, making sure the men were shaved, and doing every other little task to make these residents’ lives nice. I saw them singing to patients, playing games, reading to some, sitting beside windows and talking for hours, and feeding others.

Other superheroes I have come to know are moms and dads of special needs children struggling with various physical conditions- from muscular dystrophy to paralysis to cerebral palsy and more. Parents and grandparents who care for these children day after day have always made me appreciate how love drives those in life to do what others may consider difficult or impossible. These heroes care for their little ones – taking them to frequent doctor or hospital visits, going through all the ups and downs of medical issues that arise, and kiss them and love them all day long.

Some superheroes care for aging parents or mates or injured family members day after day. One superhero came to my life as a friend. His wife later told me how he felt I was alone and he wanted them to ‘take me under their wings.’  They frequently invited me to dinner and walks in the park, made wooden jumping poles for my horses, shared every achievement with me, bought equipment they knew me and my horses would cherish, drove me and my injured horse to the veterinary clinic in Columbus, Ohio, and were there for me in many, many ways. Over the years I realized I never recognized the love I was shown specially by my friends. They were superheroes sent to make my life better.

Many make sacrifices and consider their care routine and just part of each day. I have come to realize that sometimes we do not change situations. Disability is still present, worsening medical conditions, addictions, struggles, etc, may remain but we have the ability to use our superpowers of love and kindness and patience and hard work to ease the suffering and struggle of others.

One favorite story I remember goes like this  – a man was walking down the road and happened upon a robin lying on its back, with its feet in the air.  “Little Robin, why are you lying on your back in the middle of the road?” the man asked. “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!” the Robin replied. “But why are your feet sticking up in the air?” the man pressed. “Because,” said the little bird, “one must do what one can.”

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