Snow in Southern California?

Many years ago, when my sons were young (and I was as well), I thought it would be "fun" to hatch some chicks in my classroom.  I calculated how long it would take, counted backwards, determined when to begin, found a source for fertilized eggs, and plugged in the incubator. My students were so excited. Unfortunately, my calculations were wrong, and we began spring break with chicks still ensconced in their shells. Dismayed, but no less determined, I brought the incubator home. The chicks hatched here, and Keenan and Riley loved watching them peck their way out of their shells. Within a few days we had the sound of little fuzzy chickens emanating from our dining room.

The cuteness soon wore off as I realized how messy they were, and how much chick poop would accumulate in their box.  One day, after collecting the dirty newspapers in the box, carefully placing them in a paper bag to take out to the trash, I was momentarily distracted (or trying to multi-task) and left the bag in the middle of the kitchen floor. Returning to the kitchen, I was shocked to see that Riley, who was probably only about 2, had picked up the bag and spun around the room with it, scattering chicken shit everywhere! The emotions that ran through me ranged from surprise, disgust, despair, and anger. I didn't laugh, I didn't smile, I didn't think it was funny.

Flash forward about 19 years to this morning. Mornings lately are difficult. I'm not so young anymore, and a bit achier than I used to be upon rising. The puppies, now that they are almost exclusively eating puppy kibble, are prolific in their eliminations, and the clean up is wet, and smelly.  While they are unbelievably cute, it's hard to see that when you are literally mired in poop.

I did have help this morning from a very patient husband. The normal 45 minute clean up was reduced to about 20 and I was looking forward to a walk with Rudy and mama Lily. As I chopped up meat treats for the walk, I could hear the playful growling, barking, and rustle of paper from the puppy nursery. I sighed, thinking that I would have some cleaning to do upon my return since the pups have decided their favorite new toy is newspaper. I strolled in with my coffee in hand and was stopped in my tracks. The sight before me rendered me speechless: it had snowed in my guest room!

Before me I saw the results of what happens to a Nature's Miracle Puppy Pee Pad when attacked by 10 5-week old pups!  Shredded beyond recognition, the layer of absorbent material reduced to pea-sized particles of snow-like "fluff", it clung to their fur, the towels and blanket, floated in their water and was literally everywhere. Again, my emotions ranged from shock, anger, dismay, and frustration as I attempted to clean up. Each wipe of my towel resulted in a new snowstorm of white fluff. As I wiped each puppy, the fluff resettled on another. I almost cried. Holding back the tide of puppies, I continued to attempt to clean them, wipe up the "snow" and restore their pen to a semblance of clean.

A small section of the San Diego snow!

When I eventually walked the two adult dogs down the path, I reflected on the mess I had just rectified and recalled the earlier chicken mess of years past. It occurred to me that small incidents that, at the time, are overwhelming and seem larger than life are simply the spice and seasoning of our lives.  The chicken mess is now a funny story of a time when our boys were so much younger. As they have grown there have been other times of "spice" that have seemed to be immensely huge and earth shattering that in fact have only been an experience to either learn from, or to recall with a smile.


The puppies daily challenge me, and I am often overwhelmed. But even now, hours later, the snow story seems very funny and cute. The lesson for me is one I struggle with: many things happen in life over which I have no control. Worrying too much about these doesn't solve anything, and certainly doesn't make me feel any better. I work each day to attempt to learn this lesson, and I am more successful some days than others. Just as my sons have grown up too quickly, and I often yearn for the easier days of their youth, so too the puppies grow. The day will soon arrive when the house will be quieter and cleaner, and I will find my feelings of fatigue replaced with feelings of longing. The time is now to enjoy these 10 fuzzy, warm, cute bundles of love, and to accept the mishaps as "seasoning" to this unforgettable experience.

Where did the days go?

It's hard to believe that almost two weeks have gone by since the eleven new friends joined us. I had such high hopes for this blog, I was going to chronicle the puppies daily changes and happenings. I was going to write inspiring pieces that would move my readers. So much for that. These past 13 days have truly been a blur of laundry, trash, feeding, visits to the vet, and mad searches online for advice. Throw in a few visitors, a fun puppy shower, an occasional foray into my other job (teaching), a daily walk and you have a pretty good idea of what I've been doing.

Now, I don't say this to imply that I'm unhappy or regret this in any way. I'm not and I don't. I did sadly realize that I cannot go camping. I can't grab a towel and book and head to the beach for the whole day. But I can sit here and write, lounging on a patio chair in front of the pool. I can smile with pleasure with each new thing these adorable puppies are doing. I can read for pleasure. I can do lots of things that others who have jobs requiring them to work 50 weeks a year cannot do.

I've been reminded on a daily basis of the amazing love that a dog (or twelve dogs) can provide. Their ability to wag their tail, greet you upon arriving, or nuzzle your hand for more petting is something that rewards an owner (or foster) multiple times in a day. Even their misdeeds can eventually (after you scold and clean up the mess) bring a smile or a chuckle. Lily, the mama, has a strong food drive. Not sure if she was deprived of food previously, or is just constantly trying to replace the calories she is burning, but she is on the hunt constantly. This week she absconded with half a loaf of wheat bread left on the counter. She managed to get a bag of almonds one of the boys left too close to the edge, and her largest haul was a bag of red potatoes! Why a bag of red potatoes I will never know. But the remains of these have been found in and out of the house, although she did leave a pile of untouched potatoes on the back lawn! And the puppies, oh the puppies! They can hear really well now, and clamor to the side of the enclosure when they hear someone walk in. If I sit in with them, they rush to me and climb up on me, all ten of them! There is nothing like the smell of ten puppies either: it's almost intoxicating, like a drug of which I cannot get enough. So as each day rushes by, I try to take a moment each day and allow the joy of this experience to wash over me.

Puppies? Sure! How many did you say?

The damage is done. To my carpet for sure. To my summer vacation definitely. To my other dog.....he'll get over it. How could I say no? In my desire for a "buddy" for Rudy, one thing led to another, and before I knew it we were at Home Depot purchasing plywood and stick on tile!

You know how it goes: a friend sees the facebook post. She inquires if I'd like to foster a mother lab and her puppies. "Yes!" I emphatically replied. After that it went fast: contact with her friend Barb, who works with several lab rescue organizations. Phone calls all around. An appointment made to come see our home. LOTS of picking up and putting away and over-all needed cleaning.
So, we bought plywood, affixed stick on tiles, moved the bed in the guest room, and covered the carpet with a tarp. We borrowed a couple of enclosures, found one at a used baby store, purchased a plastic wading pool and searched the house for old towels.

Waiting was the hard part. As I said to a friend, sort of like being pregnant: you get everything ready and then wait for labor to start. On Monday I waited by the phone and the computer for the call to pick up the girl and her babies. When the call came, and the transfer was made, and I began my drive back to the sounds of crying puppies I started to wonder how all this would work out for my family. Again though, I felt it was the right thing to do.

So here we are. My "rattle dog" Rudy is wondering what in the world has happened. My youngest son, Riley, jumped in the pool fully clothed and with iphone in pocket to "save" Lily when she stepped onto the pool cover upon her arrival. Lily has had more than one "accident" in several rooms. Husband has cleaned it up, all with a strange smile on his face, sort of a "you asked for this" look. Oldest Keenan has been here to help when everyone else is at work, thank goodness. And friends have come out of the woodwork to help. They've brought baby gates, towels, blankets, and their help is so appreciated.

We are all adjusting. Rudy does not yet have a buddy, but in time he may have 10 or 11 buddies, even if only for a short time. The puppies are adorable. They roll and grunt and suckle and chew and make everyone who sees them smile and laugh. And for that, it is all worth it.

Can I do it?

I'm practically in a coma. My feet are up, somewhere between tingling and throbbing. I'm trying to move as little as possible. The shower, post-hike helped, but this one really took a big piece of me. I had heard this hike was a doozy, both from hiking buddies as well as posts on the internet. Now I can add my testimony that it is indeed a whopper of a hike!

It was barely light out when we hit the trail this morning. The gates to the El Cajon Open Space Preserve were locked, forcing some creative parking and a sprint across Wildcat Canyon Road. Apparently there aren't many who head out this early, but really it was a blessing to be in the cool foggy morning air (first time this week I've been happy about the fog!). We looked at our watches, or cell phones and noted the time: 5:40. How many hours was this hike supposed to take? 4, 5, more? Almost immediately it began to climb. Now I've done my share of uphills. Some are right in my neighborhood, while others require a short drive: Mt. Woodson, Iron Mountain, Cowles Mountain. Still others a bit farther: Tahquitz Peak and San Gorgonio (although I'm fibbing about the last one, not doing it until next week!). The deception of this hike is that it isn't just straight up. In fact, it's up then flat, up then down, and up, then up and up! I cannot recall at which mile the biggest hills could be found. I can recall that as I occasionally looked up through the dense fog, I saw the trail going straight up for a long distance. Some hills required slow, painstaking steps, feet carefully planted to prevent slipping. The common thread among all of them was steep and long! Small downhill sections were followed by even longer and steeper climbs. I thought, more than once, that these hills were going to be tough to come down as well. That thought and the fact that the occasional down hill going in meant uphill going out!

I knew that eventually I would make it to the top. That eventually I'd be back in my car. And eventually I'd be sitting with my feet up. The thought that floated to the top as I trudged on was if this little mountain in east county was kicking my booty, then what was the tallest mountain in the continental US going to do? Am I really ready for this? Have I trained enough? Am I nuts, crazy, looney, stupid? What am I thinking? Really? Mt. Whitney? On the other hand, can I dig deep, muster what it takes to do the climb? Perhaps the insignificance of El Cajon Mountain contributes to its difficulty, while the grandeur and significance of Whitney allows it to be obtainable. I don't have the answers to these questions. No amount of research, nor the endless browsing of the Whitney Portal Blog will tell me what I will or will not be able to do on July 27th.

I did make it to the top of El Cajon Mountain and back down again. And while I am spent, exhausted, and used up, I've already forgotten the agony of the hills, and am ready to believe that Whitney is something doable afterall.