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Mrs. Green

2/27/2022

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Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash
Dear Friends,

I recollect I have more dog stories to tell. When you say recollect you have to draw out the r, almost like a grrrr sound but stop short of sounding like a junk yard dog who's reached the end of his chain. I love to say recollect like that because it makes me feel like a wise old woman sitting in a rocking chair spewing wisdom from the golden age.

Of course we all have a golden age. It doesn't matter what year you were born. It's the past as you wish it was, but not how it completely was. They call it nostalgia. I read somewhere it's considered a sickness. If it's true, I'm infected.

After my dog walk down memory lane yesterday I thought about other dogs I had a connection with. When I was a little girl I was shipped off to Tifton, Georgia for the bulk of summer vacation. It's where my grandparents lived. Looking back I wonder why? I'm pretty sure the thought was so I wouldn't be alone during the day. Both of my parents worked. But let's be honest, I wandered the streets at home and nothing changed when I arrived. I'm sure it made everyone feel better. 


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Photo by Rebecca Campbell on Unsplash
Mrs. Green lived next door to my grandparents. She was the stereotypical grand dame of the south. She was of small stature, tight curls done every week at the beauty parlor and  she wore her signature color lipstick. Peach. She was graceful and mannered. 

I drove her nuts. I showed up on her doorstep and she invited me in. Every time. That's what polite folks do. I'm pretty sure she wasn't aware of how long I would be in town or she would have broken the manner code of a true lady and hide behind closed drapes. 

When you feed a stray they keep coming back. I kept coming back. Everyday. Not on Sundays. After a few visits I went to the backdoor. I knew that was the more friendly entrance. 

Once inside I made myself at home. I ran around her house looking at everything. I don't think I went into bedrooms. Even I knew better than that. Mostly, I gravitated to the formal living room. It was large with plenty of room for twirling. There was a piano and fancy velvet furniture. Frilly lamps lit the room when the hoity toity curtains were drawn. No, not curtains, but fine drapery or window treatments as they are called now.

​Eventually, even the most pretentious of ladies reached their limits. She called my grandmother. I was told not to bother her anymore.
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Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
The first visit she was a dignified hostess. I was introduced to her dogs. They were her loves. Hey, we had that in common.

She had a white German 
Shepherd named Bonnie and a small grey poodle. I wish I could remember the poodle's name but I was kind of put off by her. You see her little  nails were painted red as can be. And...she even had matching ribbons  adorning her ears. They looked like pretty pigtails on a proper child.

Never, ever had I seen such a thing. Heck, I know I was never that put together much to my mother's and grandmother's chagrin. (Another fabulous word).  Her pampered pup went to the groomers on a regular basis. Her tight grey curls matched her mistress. 

There was something off about the dogs eyes. I asked Mrs. Green about it and she told me the poodle had cataracts. What is that? I'd never heard of such a malady. She explained it to me and I thought that dog was as old as her master. While I didn't really hang out with the poodle, I was always interested to see the color of nail polish she wore when  she came home from the spa. 
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Photo by FLOUFFY on Unsplash
Bonnie and I became fast friends. She was a dog-dog. She liked to wander too. After I got the notice not to bother Mrs. Green I didn't knock on her door, but I still went to her house. Bonnie followed me around the yard.

The yards on this block were humongous. A house and yard took up the whole block. This was on 8th avenue, but it should have been a boulevard. That word seems to fit these grand old houses. 

Her yard didn't have the majestic pecan trees or the mighty oaks like the rest of the neighborhood. Her house had more shrubs, flowers and fern type of plants. It was landscaped. But, on the side of her house ran a tiny stream. I spent hours pretending to be Huckleberry Finn there. I tried to skip rocks and looked for tadpoles. I never saw any and I never could skip a rock. Mostly, I would just sit and daydream.  Bonnie would drink the cool water. I'll tell you what the summers in south Georgia are 
oppressive. There were no trade winds and gentle breezes like south Florida. I followed Bonnie's lead and drank from the stream too. It was refreshing. 

Along her walkway towards the forbidden back door I was shunned grew a crazy bush. I'll never forget that plant. It was a shrimp bush. The buds hanging from it looked like shrimp. I hope that's what it's true name is. I don't want to look it up in fear that it has a different name. Shrimp bush is perfect.

Bonnie the faithful dog and I would discuss how we'd eat those shrimp. One time I picked a bud and shoved it in my pocket for a snack later on. It wasn't delicious. Perhaps if it was prepared in garlic, oil, lemon and parsley served over a bed of linguini I would've loved it. Bonnie my trusted friend kept my secret. 
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Photo by Przemyslaw Smit on Unsplash
The next summer a long fence with a dog house inside took up a portion of her humongous yard. A German Shepherd named Sarge arrived. He belonged to her grandson who was in the military. He was deployed and Mrs. Green was caring for him. I was warned not to bother this dog because he was a guard dog. Well, I think you know how that went.

Everyday I showed up, walked around with my old pal Bonnie, avoided the poodle and tried to make friends with Sarge. He growled and barked and rushed the fence. It never deterred me. Listen, I had already been mauled by a hound dog a few years before and that didn't scare me off. That's another story for a different time. 

Over time I could sit right next to the fence in peace. He would smell my hand and sit quietly. Eventually, I could touch him through the holes in the fence. I don't recollect, still love that word, if I ever petted him over the fence. We became friends, luckily for Mrs. Green.

The day came when he escaped his cage. He ran around the wide tree lined streets and Mrs. Green was scared.  She handled him, but not in a run away situation. 
Plus, she was at least 120 years old. How could she run with her compression stockings? She feared he would get run over or worse, hurt someone. So, the raggedy pain in the ass kid came to the rescue. I was able to find him and walk him home by his collar. He didn't eat me. Mrs. Green was thankful, but I still annoyed her. 

Is there a moral to this story? Nope, not really. I just love walking down memory lane, no make that memory boulevard in Tifton, Georgia. My summers were pretty remarkable for being unremarkable. 

​Well, I reckon I've taken up enough of your time. The one thing I learned as an adult is when to leave. I'm still a stray at heart though. I'll keep coming back.

Love,

Kelly
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Dogs, dogs and beautiful dogs

2/25/2022

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Dear Friends,

I came across some postcards of dogs and had to have them. They're in the style of pictures I remember seeing in the World Book encyclopedias. The "D" one. Yes, my parents bought a set. It was on of the most precious gifts I can remember. They weren't just for me, but for the whole family. I devoured them. 

It was one of the items in my childhood where I felt like a normal girl in school. When the teacher spoke about writing reports, she would tell us to use the encyclopedias we had at home.  Then came the sad voice dripping with pity, "If you don't have them you can use the ones in the library." Usually, I was on the team receiving the sad voice, but not this time.

My parents really loved learning and I remember on good nights we had trivia conversations at the house. Only it wasn't just 
trivia, like in the past. It was who did this? State Capitols. Did you know type things. These nights my mom's smile lit the room, no lighting needed. I think she lived for these "normal" nights.  I did. 
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I poured through these books and subjects, and mystical places, exotic things and boring items too. But the "D" book, I gorged on. Dogs. I loved dogs, horses and pretty much any animal in existence. It's no secret my passion for horses, but in my childhood it was a fantasy pet.

As a matter of fact I had a picture of a black horse next to a tree in a lush valley hanging on my bedroom wall. It was a gift. In my imagination it was a mighty stallion looking for me. I told my friends it was my horse, but it lived in Georgia with my grandparents.

​The crazy thing is I told my best friend Bonnie this and she knew it wasn't true. I was lying. I didn't feel like I was lying because I really, really wanted it to be true. I needed it to be true Perhaps it was my first foray into manifesting my dreams. P.S. I now own a black horse. She's not a stallion but I dare you to tell her that.

While horses may as well been the elusive unicorn, the impossible dream, dogs were not. We had them as pets and I saw them every where. 
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The first dog I remember was a black and white dog with a black mask. Her name was Bandit. She was a stray we took in. I think. She was pregnant and at a very young age I saw puppies come into the world. It was glorious. 

Here's a list of dogs who owned me.
  • ​Bandit
  • Duffy, he was our dog when we moved to the trailer park. Some asshole's dog had a litter of pups and he threw them out the window. A bunch of kids including me grabbed one. My friend Bonnie, who I told the fantasy (lie) to got one as well. His name was puddles.
  • Shady and Shadow. Two pitbulls. One was black and one was black and white.
  • Snickers, a sweetheart who looked like a Bernese mountain dog as a pup, but he was some kind of spaniel. He just had the Bernese colors. 
  • Moose. A Newfoundland. I was desperate for a pug. One day my husband and I decided to pull the trigger and go get one. We went to this pet store which always had pugs. ALWAYS. Except that day. In the middle of the puppy area were this litter of Newfoundlands. They looked like black bear cubs. Oh my stars, we had to have one. 
  • ​Present day. Mojo and Goldberg. My husband and I went to the pound to pick a dog. We wanted one of the black lab pups but they weren't available yet. Right next to them was another litter. Of course they were pit mixed dogs. All of them looked like brown pitbulls, except for one creme one. He looked like a Labrador. Well, that reminds me of the dog, Jackson. we owned  for a hot minute. He was a yellow lab from the pound. He was a runner. You could not open the door and he was out fast as you please. We were afraid he was going to get hit by a car. We found him a home on a farm. Back to the two babies. My husband picked the cream colored lab looking one and I picked a brown pitbull looking one. We let them play together in the room you visit with the dogs. I don't know why we were pretending to pick which one was coming home with us when we both knew full well they are both ours.  Moose, the Newfoundland was a senior by then and he hated the idea. They are now 12 years old.
  • Mama: Well, technically her name is Mya but it turned into mama. She's never had a baby. We stopped at a feed store in Kettle falls to by some chicks for a neighbor. His chickens were at the point of not laying eggs. So, we decided what a wonderful Father's Day gift to bring. In the middle of the store sat a cardboard box with two pups. One awake and one sleeping. A lady stood there deciding which one she wanted. We tried talking her into taking both to no avail. She chose the one who was awake. Then went off to buy puppy supplies. On her way out she grabbed her pup. The minute that puppy left the other woke up and cried. Oh shit. We asked the clerk how much for the puppy, and of course she was free. We all know the story of free dogs and cats.  And...after all of this our neighbor didn't want the chicks and we had to take them back.​ 
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Dogs have always, thankfully, been in my life. They're everything good, and if you are a dog person you know what I mean.

Back to the encyclopedias. This is where I ingested everything I could about each breed. I made my dream list of the dogs I would have in different types of homes. I wish I still had the encyclopedia "D",  so I could see how many I have had the honor of meeting throughout my life. While I had my favorites, I would have happily taken anyone. 

Newsflash! I bought the "D" World Book off of E-Bay. It's everything I 
remembered it to be. Now I have to find the ones I've met and go in search of the ones I haven't met.
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Photo by Julio Bernal on Unsplash
My dream dog was the glamorous, exquisite, bewitching Afghan hound. The long hair and tall stature captivated me. I dreamt of meeting one. I finally did, not one, but three.

In one of my wanders through the trailer park I heard barking and of course I looked to see who it was. Three supermodels looked at me through a chainlink fence. I sat down on the lawn and stared. I didn't know the people who lived there so I didn't dare go closer.

​They were everything I thought they would be and more. Everyday I visited them. I don't believe I ever met their humans. It was enough to see them, talk with them and just be in their presence.

Recently I was toying with the idea of getting one. I mean I am an adult and can have another dog if I want. Well, I researched the breed and could live with their habits and personality traits both good and bad. Except.... evidently housebreaking can be a nightmare. Sorry future Fabio or Loreal but I can't live with that. Perhaps the real reason I wanted one was to feel pretty and hope the presence of their splendor would seep into my skin. But poop in the house, well that aint pretty doll. So, I will admire you from afar.
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Photo by Stéphane Juban on Unsplash
Another breed I was fascinated by is the Irish Wolfhound. C'mon how can you not be enamored by the tallest dog in  the world? I never laid eyes on one until I moved to Washington state. 

There's a lady who lives not far from me who has two. I always see them in her front yard. Many times I would reroute my drive just to get a glimpse at them.  The lady who owns them is in a wheelchair and many times I see her walking her dog. Or is he pulling her like a sled? 

​Awhile ago her and her husband were having troubles. He has severe health problems too. I don't know the whole story, or the true story, but people were provoking her dogs and actually injured one of the dog's face. The house is on a main road with lots of foot traffic. They 
jump up on the average size chain link fence to greet people. Not all people deserve to be greeted it seems.

The couple had other problems with their house and yard due to their physical limitations. A new neighbor moved in and complained about things in her yard. While the things he did were a weird kind of bullying it actually turned out well.

​A call for help on the Next-door app and people showed up to help clean the yard and make house repairs. The most important fix was changing the fence to a taller one so the dogs weren't accessible to the people walking by. 
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I have so much more to say about dogs. We'll chat about it another day. But I will close this letter for now and wish you a dog-gone good day.

Love,
​Kelly
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    ​Letters from me to you. Sometimes, my alter ego, Kia Louise has something to say.

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