Grandma got won over by a pit bull

I never in my wildest imagination thought I'd be someone to own a pit bull. Horror stories abound of the vicious canines terrorizing innocent people and there was no way I'd even consider having such a dangerous dog around my loved ones.

Until I met Mickey. And until I learned that the majority of horror stories about pit bulls are just that -- stories ... stories based on unfounded fears and an unfair bad rap.

In 2005, the animal quota in our house was met. We had our black lab/collie mix Moses, a tabby cat named Abigail (Abby) and a goofy sorta calico/sorta black Halloween cat with a crooked tail and a bizarre way of drinking water (by dipping her paw in the bowl and sucking the water off) named Isabel. We didn't need any more animals.

Then an e-mail went out at work about a dog who needed a home. A little brown and white puppy who, at 6 weeks old, had his back legs stepped on by his mentally challenged owner, breaking both back legs. That owner couldn't afford to repair the pup's legs and requested that he just be put down.

The vet couldn't do it. She kept the dog, placed pins (LONG pins!) in each of his back legs, and searched for a home for him.

After seeing the photo, I couldn't resist "just looking." And once we met him, Jim and I together couldn't resist just taking him home.

We were responsible for keeping the recuperating patient from walking for several weeks, carrying him out to go potty then returning him to his kennel. He was on a schedule to slowly return to activity, and because of his sad eyes and penchant for snuggling, we agreed to it -- despite the vet telling us that she "thinks" he might have some pit bull in him, along with something else, possibly pointer.

We took the little guy home, kept him kenneled, and kept him calmed with a CD of lullabies for dogs. We allowed Andie to choose his new name: Mickey, short for Macchiatto because his coloring was similar to carmel macchiattos, her favorite drink at the time. (No, I didn't let my little girl consume caffeine; she was a young adult, in college!)

Within months, Mickey was good as new. And in no time, we learned to question all the scary reports about the horrors of pit bulls. I can honestly say he's the sweetest animal we've ever had -- and the biggest baby. He runs around the yard like a maniac all day, chasing squirrels and making up for the time he lost in his first few months of life. But he regularly makes pit stops on the deck or patio for some treats and tummy rubs. His most feared enemy: Brianna's little Hunter, the Chihuahua/Pomeranian mix with a Napoleon complex. Oh, and the ear drops I have to put in his ears occasionally; he shakes and cowers and crawls between Jim's legs to hide from me when it's time. But he always gives in and sweetly turns his head for me to administer the medication.

Mickey is one of THE best animal addition we've ever made to our family. Everyone who takes the time to get to know him -- rather than succumbing to the sensationalized stories of dogs gone bad; stories that could be true of ANY animal trained to be vicious -- absolutely loves Mickey. He truly is the sweetest dog ever.

A few days ago, I received an e-mail from a friend about a dog who needed a home. The e-mail included a picture of "Carly," who was recently found by an animal control officer and placed with an animal adoption organization. One of her front legs was severely injured and required amputation (done by the same vet office that rescued Mickey, by the same vet that recently showed incredible compassion when Jim and I had to put our Moses to sleep). She's now recuperating with a foster family until a new owner can be found. Reports are that she's sweet as can be and she loves to snuggle.

 

She's also part pit bull.

Jim and I are meeting her on Saturday.

I'll let you know what happens.

Auntie B's day

Bubby and his Auntie BToday is Bubby's Auntie B's birthday. Yep, my Brianna is now 27 years old!

Although it's been a few years since all my girls have been living at or near home, I'm still not completely used to having birthday celebrations with one or more family members MIA. Birthdays have always been an important day in our family, and it just feels funny not having all five of us -- plus our newest members, Preston and Bubby -- around for the festivities.

The festivities aren't huge deals; in fact, they're usually relatively low key. But they're a special family time, and I've still not gotten a firm handle on "family" being fewer than five.

From the time the girls were itsy bitsy, we'd mark their special day with cake and gifts -- first thing in the morning! Jim worked two jobs for much of our first decade together, which meant he'd often leave before breakfast and return once the girls were in bed. Which meant birthdays had to be celebrated in the early hours of the day as there was no way we'd have cake and open gifts without Dad in attendance.

As the girls got older, birthdays were usually celebrated twice: once with their friends in some sort of home-based theme party and again with just our family of five gathered around the dining room table. When the teen years hit, birthdays were typically outings to a restaurant of their choice, with the family plus a friend in tow.

When Megan's first birthday away at college came (our only daughter with a birthday falling during the school year), I had her roommate write "Happy Birthday" in red lipstick on the bathroom mirror -- a tradition in our family, to greet the birthday gal first thing in the morning. Each college year after, I ordered birthday cakes from the Ladies Guild to be delivered to Megan to share with her college friends. Then, of course, we'd celebrate as a family when she came home for the holidays.

When Megan married Preston and they moved hundreds of miles from our home base, her sisters hopped on a plane and surprised her for her first birthday away from the family. And when Bubby had his first birthday, the rest of us flew in for the party, making sure we were there for the can't-miss event.

I understand that we won't always be able to do such things, that our shared birthdays (and holidays) are and will continue to be fewer and farther apart. That's okay. We're all coming to terms a little better with the newfangled way in which we celebrate special days. Megan's far away and Brianna and Andie work unconventional hours, so we do our best to fit in the festivities in whatever way we can. We make do, much like we did with birthday cake for breakfast when marking the girls' first few birthdays.

So although we wish Bubby, Megan and Preston could join us, the rest of us are looking forward to dinner (grilled shrimp and couscous) and a movie ("The Time Traveler's Wife") in recognition of Brianna's special day. Only it'll take place tomorrow because Brianna has to work tonight.

But that's okay ... we're all a little old now to get a kick out of eating birthday cake first thing in the morning!

Happy Birthday, Nonner!

Live, from the desert ...

It's BUBBY!

Not taken from our Skype conversation, but this is pretty darn close to how Bubby appeared on camera (sans the funky hairline).

Megan got the web camera hooked up on their new computer Friday afternoon and, after a few false starts, we got the Skype to work. I got to see and hear my Bubby in real time!

Bubby waved, he tried to share with me a Cheerio or two from his snack container, he handed me a hanger (a hanger??) and he got to see the "meow-meows" as my cats, Abby and Isabel, roamed in front of the webcam on my end. Bubby even got to see Grandpa as Jim arrived home from work while we were chatting.

We'll have to work on the camera locations and angles a bit, as I'm sure I don't appear to be looking directly at Bubby as often as I should since the camera is on top of my monitor. If I'm looking at the camera, I'm not looking at my Bubby ... and I should probably be looking directly at him, so to speak, so he doesn't get the image of a grandma who's dazed and confused (or shifty and refusing to look him in the eye).

A time or two Bubby did look directly at the camera on his end, which appeared to me as if he were looking directly at me. The rush of love and the grin on my face was, I'm sure, exactly the same reaction he has when his beloved Elmo looks out of the television screen directly at him.

Isn't technology grand? 

Thanks for hooking me up, Meggie! The cell phone situation no longer matters so much.

Bubby fever

Bubby singing and swinging, the day before Grandma last saw him.In just a few hours it'll be exactly 21 days since I've seen, held, squeezed, smelled Bubby. It's killing me.

I think I've been incredibly fortunate in my life up until this point because being the (semi) old fart I am, I've honestly never experienced a true physical longing for another human the way I am with Bubby.

I was never separated from my girls long enough to miss their hugs so much my body ached. As babies and little kids, they were never away from me due to extended visits with relatives or hospital stays. As they got older and did stay at Granny's for a few weeks or go on trips with their youth group (luckily no hospital stays!), I missed them, of course, but we were past the point of lots of hugging and snuggling so my body didn't ache for them while they were away. When they headed to college then moved out of the house, it was sad and I knew I'd miss them, but it seemed natural.

In the same vein, Jim and I have spent very few nights apart in our nearly 30 years together, so I don't know what it's like to be the lonely wife longing to reunite with her hubby.

But Bubby changed all that. When I first met him, just a few days after his birth, I got to spend hours and hours hugging and holding and rocking the precious burrito-wrapped bundle. We had only a few days together, but he'd become an integral part of who I am. He made me complete. He made me a grandma.

Being a long-distance grandma, though, I had to get on the plane without him -- and I immediately felt an emptiness I'd never felt before. It lasted for days and I kept marveling to Jim that I don't understand how other grandmas all over the world seem to be okay with this feeling. They must be okay, I figured, because I knew a few long-distance grandmas and they didn't have agonized looks on their faces that mirrored the way I was feeling inside.

Slowly I realized that long-distance grandmas have no choice, really, and that the searing pain eventually fades to just a low-level burn.

Each time I'm blessed with a few days with Bubby, I go through a similar withdrawal when it's time to part. It's never as painful (and shocking) as the first time, but it's there, assuaged only by the fact that Megan and I have planned the next visit before the current one is over. We agreed at Bubby's birth that visits would be about every other month, with either them coming to us in the mountains or us going to them in the desert, so Grandma and Grandpa would get to know Bubby and he would get to know them. We've been surprisingly good about sticking to that schedule; a few times we've had mere weeks between visits.

Not so this time. Bubby, Megan and Preston all got on the plane to head home this time with there being no plans, no purchased plane tickets, no formal agreement on when I'd next get to hug my Bubby. Finances are tight on both sides, and plane tickets seemed a luxury neither of us could afford.

Until today, I've decided. Forget the tight finances. Some things are oh-so much more important than having a security blanket of funds in the bank. Getting to hug Bubby isn't a luxury or a frivolous want -- it's a need. And as soon as I close this post, I'm filling that need by heading to USAirways.com.

So get ready for some loving, touching and squeezing, Bubby! Grandma and Grandpa are coming to visit!

Hearts grow on

Brianna, Megan, Andie - Dec. 2000After Megan read my post on GRAND magazine, the one featuring a fake cover-model Bubby, we had yet another discussion of how friggin' cute that boy is. Megan had been deeply concerned during her pregnancy that her newborn would be cursed with a freakishly oversized nose since she and Preston have, in her mind, fairly prominant schnozzes. (She's exaggerating; their noses look pretty normal to me.) The many ultrasounds Megan had during the pregnancy -- ultrasounds totally unrelated to the nose worries -- seemed to only confirm her fears. So when Bubby came out marvelously perfect, his perfection became a continual source of amazement for her.

In our most recent discussion, Megan commented on how Baby #2, planned for sometime in the next year or so, has a lot to live up to and better arrive pretty darn wonderful. It goes back to many of our previous discussions regarding her concerns that she just doesn't know how she'll love another child as much as she loves Bubby. How can she, she wonders, when her heart just explodes with the pure love and joy she feels for what has become the love of her life? (Sorry, Preston.)

I remember thinking the same thing when I learned I was pregnant with my second child -- the child who turned out to be Megan. I loved my little Brianna, my #1 baby,  with every fiber of my being and I worried I might be neglectful of Baby #2 because he/she could never live up to the incredible little bundle of joy named Brianna. Didn't happen, though. Megan was just as amazing as Brianna, but in, thankfully, very different ways. I loved them both beyond words.

When Baby #3 made her presence known, I was certain it couldn't possibly happen again. That there's no way in my dysfunctional heart, mind and soul, that I really could be the kind of person who would love and adore yet another little one -- especially a little one guaranteed to throw off the balance of the home and life Jim and I had created. We were a family of two babies and two parents, each parent having two hands so we could manage the girls on our own, when necessary. There were four chairs to our little table that perfectly seated all of us. Our trusty Ford Maverick had just enough room in the back for two car seats. How in the world would I equally love Baby #3 when she was discombobulating the domestic scene we'd thus created?

But three is a charm. Unbelievably, I loved Andrea (my little Andie) as much as I did Megan and Brianna. And I still do. All three of my precious babies continue to be lovely and amazing in ways that are so very different from one another, yet very much the same in my heart. I honestly love each one more than anything else in the world. Seems impossible, but it's true.

So, Megan, you won't love Bubby more than the next baby, or the next one ... or even the next one, if you and Preston happen to be that crazy blessed. Like your mom, you'll just get a bigger table and you'll buy a bigger car. All the while, your heart will become bigger and bigger, making it possible to love each one equally, each for very different reasons.

And you'll quickly learn that, despite all the bunk in romance novels and chick flicks, there's more than just one love of your life. Especially when you're a mom.