Terry and I celebrate 26 years together today. May Day! (it’s an old joke with us).
Happy Anniversary to my wonderful hubby. Love You!
Click here for last year’s ‘Way Back Machine’ post I wrote for our 25th anniversary.
Number Twenty-Six
Tag: family memories
Remembering Roxy: Snack Dispensers
In a not-so-subtle segue from last week’s post, I continue the story of Roxy‘s addiction to paper products (new or used – she wasn’t a discerning Rottweiler). She favored paper towels (usually snatching them from the trash as soon as you turned your back), but excelled at sneaking a tissue from a Kleenex box on an end table if she thought you weren’t looking. For the longest time, we couldn’t figure out why we kept running out of tissues so fast, especially when it wasn’t even cold or allergy season. We learned to keep the tissue boxes and rolls and cans up out of her reach, just like you would for a human toddler (but with more dangerous household items). Otherwise, Roxy considered every tissue box (and trash can) her own personal snack dispenser.
Remembering Roxy: Mutililated Mouse Trap
Training a Rottweiler can challenge your patience. Roxy’s downfall came with keeping her out of the trash can. We bought several different types of cans, none of which kept her from her goal. We mentioned our frustration to our family dog trainer. She suggested we put a mouse trap on top of the trash when we leave the house or go to bed. We eagerly tried this suggestion.
Terry placed the mouse trap gingerly on top of the trash in a nearly full trash can. We left the lid off. I happened to be in the kitchen, probably making some bread. I heard Roxy nudging at the trash, but didn’t look over my shoulder. I didn’t hear the snap of a mouse trap either. A few minutes later, I did hear loud crunching sounds from the great room. I went in to find Roxy gripping the mouse trap between her front paws and chewing it to pieces. I stood there in shock, just shaking my head. I made Roxy stop masticating the poor mouse trap and hollered for Terry to come up from the band room. He busted out laughing the minute he realized what she had done. He gathered up the remaining pieces of the mutilated mouse trap and placed them in a quart-sized Ziplock bag.
The next time we saw our dog trainer (at church the following Sunday), we delivered the pieces of the mouse trap to her and asked for a different idea for keeping Roxy out of the trash. She and her husband had a good laugh, even mentioning that perhaps the abused trap should be framed as she’d never before had a Rottweiler bypass this preventative measure.
A North Texas Easter
Terry and I left Lansing mid-morning on Thursday, April 5th, heading south via the Kansas Turnpike to spend the next four days with our 20-something kids in North Texas. Since I’m the early riser, I took Apollo to the kennel before the sun broke the horizon. Once back home, I finished packing the car, including a set of old metal (and heavy) car ramps and most of Rachelle’s 2-D art from her high school days (now a half-decade in the past). I took out the protective cover we place on the backseat to protect the leather from Apollo and wiped the seats down with leather cleaner and moisturizer.
Once Terry woke up and got dressed, we hit the road, entering the Turnpike at ten before ten o’clock. Since the speed limit rose to 75 mph, I prefer to pay the extra $10.75 to cross quickly across Kansas, instead of zig-zagging and slowing down for every little town on other routes (like US-69 or US-75). We reached the southern terminus of the Turnpike before one o’clock and stopped in Guthrie to top off the tank.
As we were passing through Oklahoma City, we followed a very low profile sports car (see photo at right) which we finally determined was a Ford, a GT 40. Very, very nice vehicle. Just wish I could have gotten a better photograph of it. Hard to accomplish while also driving.
Before leaving work on Wednesday, I had popped down to the lobby and checked out a couple of audiobooks from the Plaza Branch of the Kansas City Public Library. The selection available for science fiction and fantasy amounted to less than a dozen titles, some of which were duplicates. I sighed. I selected a couple of Terry Brooks novels set in the Shannara world, knowing that Terry had read Brooks and liked him. I have read (not listened to) nearly all of Brooks’ Shannara novels, so I am very familiar with the setting. I inserted the first disc of Armageddon’s Children into the Bonneville’s seldom used CD player. The novel, which reveals the post-apocalyptic origins to the famous Sword of Shannara, made for grim, but gripping, listening and made the miles fly by as we continued south across Oklahoma.
We crossed into Texas just shy of five o’clock and stopped at our favorite Texas tourist information spot for a brief biobreak. I sent Rachelle a text to let her know we were close (within forty miles). As we passed Sangar, traffic slowed to a crawl (usual for Denton at this time of day thanks to the splitting of I-35, which also narrows and becomes increasingly congested until you get past Lewisville). Worried that an accident was disrupting traffic, I called Rachelle and asked if I should take the first Denton exit. She and Nic conferred and confirmed we should exit at 380 and then asked for directions from that exit to their apartment. I found Hickory Street easily enough, but drove right by their apartment and had to turn around when I reached North North Texas (yes, that’s a street name plus a direction). Even with the traffic delays, we made it to their apartment in record time, arriving just past 5:30 p.m. We unpacked and then graced a local sandwich shop with our presence for a quick supper.
We returned to Rachelle’s apartment and I setup our portable airbed, while Nic and Terry found something to stream via Netflix. I didn’t stay up too late, being exhausted from the long drive. I crashed while the rest of the gang watched the Mystery Science Theater 3000 movie, which lampooned the 1955 movie This Island Earth. I don’t think I missed much. Sometimes I’m glad I was born in the 60s.
I woke up early on Friday, thanks to my cell phone’s alarm. I quietly left Terry to his dreams and took my Nook with me to the living room, where I read for a bit while waiting for Rachelle to wake up. I wanted to spend the morning addressing her graduation announcements. Once she woke up, I retrieved my laptop and got connected to her wifi so I could look up addresses. She and I sat at the kitchen table for the next couple of hours. I didn’t quite have enough stamps for all the envelopes though. Once Terry woke up, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few items and to buy stamps. We mailed the announcements after leaving the store.
The rest of the day, Rachelle worked on her thesis paper. Terry napped or watched Netflix and I read. I also attempted a new bread recipe I received in a promotional e-mail from King Arthur Flour. The Italian Easter Cheese bread stuck fast in the pan, despite generous oiling of the pan. We eventually got the bread out of the pan and wrapped it up to keep it fresh for Easter Sunday dinner.
Rachelle and I left for Good Friday worship in the early evening. We had a long drive to cross over from Denton to the east side of Plano. I opted to sit in the very back of the sanctuary, something I rarely do at worship, but because I decided to wear street clothes (jeans and walking shoes), I felt less conspicuous in the back. I listened as the orchestra ran through several of their musical offerings, including a beautiful and poignant arrangement of ‘Were You There?’ The Good Friday service included only two hymns sung by the congregation and many of the Lenten selections by the choir from the past few weeks of Lent. The worship service focused on the first nine stations of the cross, extinguishing a candle on the altar after each station, leaving all of the candles dark as the Good Friday service ended.
While waiting for Rachelle to derobe, I wandered the parking lot and snapped a photo of the quickly fading sunset (see photo to the left). Rachelle and I returned to Denton. For some reason I can’t recall what we did for dinner Friday night. I will have to ask Terry or call Rachelle and ask them to remind me. Once I know, I’ll update this paragraph with the appropriate culinary information.
Rachelle actually woke up before seven o’clock on Saturday and walked with me around her Denton neighborhood. The only photo I took while we were walking was of a yard filled with the Texas state flower, which I forgot to send to Flickr from my phone and subsequently deleted. Grrr.
Upon returning to the apartment, we whipped up a batch of real buttermilk pancakes. Then we took the car to a local farmer’s market so Rachelle could choose her weekly produce from a community-sponsored agriculture (CSA) she recently joined.
Once Terry woke up, we decided drive to Derek and Royna’s apartment for a visit. We learned during the visit that Derek’s truck had developed some alarming drive-train issues. Terry rode with Derek around the Colony and suggested that the truck be taken to a transmission shop for diagnosis. Nearly a week later, the shop still has the truck, but more on that in a separate post. We also decided that Easter dinner after worship would be simple fare of a Tex-Mex flavor. On the way back to Denton, we stopped and bought the fixings to make enchiladas and deviled eggs. After Nic got home from work, he and Rachelle worked like a well-oiled team to create the enchilada filling. Rachelle had less success with boiling eggs, rapidly going through nearly two dozen before Nic stepped in, with a new dozen he retrieved from a second trip to the grocery store.
Since Rachelle had to sing in all three Easter worship services, we had to leave Denton at exactly seven o’clock Sunday morning to drop her off at the First UMC in Plano by 7:45 a.m. As soon as we dropped off Rachelle, we back-tracked to Derek and Royna’s apartment to relax until the last worship service scheduled for eleven o’clock. We stowed the enchilada ingredients in the fridge and settled down to visit with everyone.
I twisted Derek’s arm, insisting that everyone, including him, must attend Easter worship. He grunched and groaned but eventually got ready. As we were about to leave to return to church I realized I had a problem. Since Derek’s truck was undriveable, my vehicle, the Bonneville, was our only transportation to and from church. It only seats five adults. Not a problem getting to church, but returning with one more (Rachelle) meant we had six total adults. I suggested drawing straws, but of course Derek just grinned impishly. Nic actually volunteered but I reluctantly left Derek behind.
We returned to the church just before 10:30 a.m. and find a scarce parking spot. The second service had not ended so we took advantage of coffee and donuts while we waited. Once the sanctuary emptied, I led everyone to the middle section, about five rows back from the altar. By eleven o’clock, there wasn’t an empty seat to be found in the spacious (almost cavernous) sanctuary.
When Rachelle joined the Chancel Choir at First UMC Plano, I immediately went to their website to learn a bit about their ministry and their pastor. Imagine my surprise when I learned that their senior pastor, Gary Mueller, grew up in Kansas and graduated from KU. What are the odds? He even managed to insert KU basketball into his sermon, spending at least ten minutes reminiscing about past national championship games (including the most recent one less than a week old). At one point he even started chanting ‘Rock Chalk …’ and waited for the audience to respond with ‘Jayhawk’ … but a thousand plus Texans just fidgeted in their seats. I almost shouted ‘Jayhawk’ in support of a fellow Kansan, but couldn’t get over my Wildcat leanings. Eventually, he delivered an Easter message somehow managing to connect all the dots in the end.
Worship wrapped up with an ambitious and joyous rendition of Handel’s Hallelujah chorus, including an orchestra, the choir and audience participation from the congregation. By far, the loudest experience I’ve ever participated in at a church.
We gathered up Rachelle and returned to the Colony. Before everyone could change clothes, I insisted we gather in the hallway for some posed group family photos. I had neglected to do a similar session at Thanksgiving, and didn’t want to miss the opportunity again.
After the photo shoot, we returned to the apartment to relax and bake enchiladas. Rachelle set out the deviled eggs, which lasted about five minutes. We ate lunch and visited for a few minutes while our stomachs digested the delicious repast.
As a thunderstorm rolled through the area, Rachelle grabbed the bag of plastic Easter eggs we’d bought and stuffed with goodies. Since the rain prevented us from hiding eggs in a more traditional setting, the kids split the eggs up between the guys and the gals. Rachelle and Royna languished in the bedroom while Nic and Derek started hiding thirty-five eggs around the rest of the apartment. The eggs could go anywhere except in something (like the trash or the tank of a toilet). Once the eggs were hidden, the gals were released to search for them. Rachelle found a few more than Royna, but not many. Next, the guys were sent to the bedroom while Rachelle and Royna hid the rest of the eggs. Once the guys were released to hunt, it quickly became clear who was driven to win the egg hunting championship. Derek took the lead and never let up.
After the egg hunt, we sat around the table, watching the kids tally up their candy and coins. Eventually, several of us took naps. By five o’clock, we decided it was time to return to Denton. We hugged and said goodbye to Derek and Royna. While we will see Derek again in mid-May when Rachelle graduates from UNT, Royna is returning to Nepal to visit her parents until early July.
Monday morning Terry and I woke up early, packing the Bonneville by seven o’clock and saying goodbye to Rachelle. We headed north on I-35 at 7:30 a.m. We made very few stops, opting to get breakfast via drive-through in Ardmore, Oklahoma and catching a quick ten minute lunch at a McDonalds on the Kansas Turnpike. We pulled into our driveway at 4:30 p.m. Monday afternoon. The first thing I noticed was how tall the grass in the side yard had grown.
We unpacked the Bonneville and I pulled out the mower. I spent thirty or forty minutes taming the yard and then relaxed until shortly after five, when Terry and I left the house to retrieve Apollo from the kennel. We had to wait a few minutes while they finished blow drying him after his bath and trimming his nails. He was still a bit damp, but still very excited to see us. I noticed immediately he’d put on weight. Having other dogs near him must have spurred on his competitive juices and inspired him to actually eat his food. Terry and I returned home and ordered a carryout dinner from our local Pizza Hut. Neither of us felt like making yet another trip to the grocery store. Pasta, wings and cinnamon sticks hit the spot perfectly.
Terry and I had a great time with our kids over Easter weekend. Lucky for us, we get to repeat this entire process in just three weeks, when we return to Denton to attend Rachelle’s graduation from the University of North Texas.
Happy Easter!
Remembering Roxy: Ditz-Weiler
I called Roxy a Ditz-Weiler almost from the moment I met her. Our previous Rottweiler had been a typical grouchy, large and aggressive male. More than ten years had elapsed since then and I worried about dealing with a temperamental canine and equally excitable adolescents. I shouldn’t have worried.
Roxy took to all of us as quickly as we took to her. She didn’t know what to think of our cuddles and hugging in the beginning, but eventually she craved the affection almost as much as she craved food. She learned quickly, especially if a treat appeared as a reward for a job well done. Roxy even learned how to speak on command (not easily taught to Rottweilers) and how to track (search and find or follow a path laid down by Rachelle in a field).
Roxy met me at the door each evening, usually with her toy clenched eagerly in her mouth, wiggling her nubbin of a cropped tail so much her back legs would dance and skitter around.
For Terry, Roxy preferred to jump up in his lap while he relaxed in his recliner, sometimes with a warning and sometimes not. Roxy never understood that ninety-five pounds does not a lap dog make.
I asked my husband and kids to suggest some of their fond memories of Ditzy Roxy and I’ll share them here:
There was the time Roxy got locked in the basement storage room. A dog that clearly knows how to bark, but yet she was quiet as a mouse the entire time we searched for her, inside and outside the house. For a couple of hours we roamed the neighborhood and drafted friends to drive and walk the streets. Rachelle finally found her in the basement about the time we’d given up hope.
One year we had several giant fifteen gallon plastic planter pots in the back yard, leftover from growing tomatoes. Roxy would play with the pots (this was before we rescued Apollo). She would throw them all over the yard, chase them, pick them up and shake them. Sometimes the pots would end up over her head and she would just keep running around the back yard, growling and shaking her head, until the pot fell off and she would start all over again.
The real icing on the cake (or rather the mud in this case) occurred in May of 2007. We received quite a bit of rain, which resulted in our sump pump running frequently. The pump is located in the basement, in the same storage room where Roxy had gotten lost in. The pipe exits the foundation in the northwest corner, still within the fenced in back yard. Whenever the pump would kick on, if Roxy happened to be outside, she would run to the pipe, and start barking at it. On the day we took the photo below, she had not only barked at the pipe, but dug down around it and even managed to disconnect the pipe in the ground from the pipe in the foundation. The result of her misadventure is clearly visible below.
So why did I nickname her a Ditz-Weiler? Simply because she really should have been a blonde. Roxy trusted us implicitly and enthusiastically. Being a family of practical jokers, we could not always resist the temptation to pull one over on our gullible Rottie (see my previous post on Derek taunting Roxy). And she rarely pouted, forgiving us instantly, showering us with her affection (and sometimes her slobber) unstintingly.
Click here for a page of memories and photos dedicated to Roxy.
Remembering Roxy: Dog Toy Extreme Destruction
Until we found the Tuffie Toys web site, the typical life expectancy of any dog toy we purchased at a regular retailer amounted to perhaps ten minutes. Roxy had a particular fascination for brown hedgehogs. She usually managed to rip open the stuffing and find the squeaker within a few minutes of receiving the new toy from us. The duck shown in the photo at right did not last much longer than the ravaged hedgehogs.
Since we were dog toys about as often as we bought dog treats (like rawhide chews, dog biscuits, Beggin’ Strips, etc.), Terry and I thought we should approach this problem from a different angle. Eventually, we found the Mega Ring via some Googling and we bought one to try.
But first, let me give you some information on the Mega Series from Tuffie Toys so you can understand why we thought these dog toys would be the best fit for Roxy:
The Mega series toys are by far our toughest and most durable dog toys. These interactive dog toys are tough high quality pet toys that are lots of fun and will provide hours of play for you & your pet.
MEGA CONSTRUCTION: Seven Rows of Stitching. Each toy’s seven layers of material are sewn together with two rows of linear stitching and two rows of cross stitching. The four rows of stitching are protected with an industrial grade luggage material that is sewn 3 more times. Seven Layers of Material. Three layers of 600 Denier industrial grade material, three layers of plastic coating and finally one layer of soft fleece. All seven layers are rolled together and then sewn with a one inch cross pattern to prevent layer separation. Protective Webbing. Additional industrial grade luggage material is sewn around the outside edge with three rows of stitching to cover and protect the first four rows of stitching. Squeaker Safety Pockets. Each Squeaker is safe and quiet because they are sewn into a nylon safety pocket beneath seven layers of material.
When Terry and I found this site, the home page displayed a tiger playing with one of the Mega Rings. Tuffie Toys proudly proclaimed their dog toys were tiger tested. Currently, they display the Mega Rings gripped firmly in a Rottweiler’s jaws. And I can confirm, these dog toys are nearly indestructible. We still have the last two we bought, and they are at least three or four years old. The only thing that has given out (eventually in all of the ones we bought) was the squeaker.
Apollo would tease Roxy to no end. He would pick up one of the rings, sneak around behind her through the kitchen, and taunt her with it until she tore off after him. They would play tug-of-war in the middle of the great room, loud enough that if Terry and I were watching television, we would mute and pause the show we were watching until they wore themselves out. Apollo could only get the ring out of Roxy’s deathgrip if he cheated. He would bit her ankles, hocks, neck, ears, anything he could to get her to release her jaws just long enough to snatch it up and run off with it. Roxy would then chase after Apollo, latch on to the ring again and give her shoulders a shake, easily twisting it from Apollo’s weaker jaws. If Apollo really tried to pull it from her grip, Roxy would drop down on all fours and become so much dead determined stubborn Rottweiler weight and there was nothing Apollo could do at that point. So he would let go and walk off (to a neutral corner). Roxy would spend the next few minutes, cleaning her toy.
At other times, Apollo would simply lay on the ring, hiding it from Roxy. The first few times he did this, we couldn’t figure out what had gotten into Roxy. She would start circling Apollo, who lay innocently with his head cradled on his front paws. Roxy would get more and more agitated, first whining then barking at Apollo. Terry and I laughed when we figured out what Apollo was doing, but scolded him for being so sneaky.
Click here for a page of memories and photos dedicated to Roxy.
Remembering Roxy: First Trip to the Dog Park
Another Friday arrives, and another installment in my ‘Remembering Roxy’ blog post series. Last week I reminisced about one of Roxy‘s nicknames – Bear-Pig, which followed the inaugural post on Roxy’s talent for Circling the Wagons. This week I decided to focus on Roxy’s first trip to a dog park. If I remember correctly, this trip occurred before we rescued Apollo.
A friend of ours had suggested taking Roxy to the off-leash dog park at Shawnee Mission Park. This never occurred to us, being residents of Leavenworth County, more than twenty miles north of the park. We made a family outing out of it. Even though the park allowed dogs to roam leash-free, we kept Roxy leashed until we were certain she would behave around other dogs. She roamed free and played with many other mostly smaller dogs for a few minutes. Then we put her back on the leash and headed to the beach.
Roxy, and all of our previous Rottweilers, did not care for water or being wet. Yet Terry thought it would be a good idea to take her down to the beach, where we saw retrievers and labs and Newfoundlands cavorting in the water just off shore. The shoreline included several large, flat sandstone boulders. Terry led Roxy up onto one of them, hoping to entice her into a quick dip with the other dogs. Another dog snuck up behind Roxy, eagerly sniffing her nub of a tail, and accidentally (or intentionally depending on your perspective) goosed her. Roxy leaped forward landing four-square in the shallow water, almost taking Terry with her for a tumble. Terry managed to salvage his balance while Roxy just stood there, standing completely still, looking aggrieved and resigned to the fact that she was, indeed, now soaking wet.
We took Roxy back to the field above the lake and let her roam free for a few minutes, mostly in an effort to dry her coat. As the sun began to set, we returned to our car and made the drive home to Lansing, convinced we would return in the near future for more fun in the sun with an unfettered Roxy.
Remebering Roxy: Bear-Pig
I can thank my son, Derek, for coming up with the nickname ‘Bear-Pig’ for Roxy. Back in 2005, Rachelle was a sophomore in high school and Derek attended a local community college but still lived at home. By then he had moved into the basement (don’t all young adult males thrive in those environs?) and only came up for air when he needed food or to leave for work or school. I often referred to him as ‘Derek the Destroyer who lurks in the Mossy Catacombs (or Dungeon).’ At that time, Roxy didn’t have a playmate or companion dog to annoy (we would rescue Apollo the following year).
Derek loved to tease and harass Roxy. She would wait for him at the top of the stairs when she heard him rising up from the basement. He would lean forward on the stairs from the lower landing so he was eye level with her and start making strange noises at her or woofing at her. Roxy replied with her own strange sounds, which reminded Derek of the sounds a bear makes. He would get her so worked up she would start to lunge at him. Then he would egg her on more by chasing her into the great room and wrestling with her. Roxy didn’t stand a chance by then, since Derek is an expert in nearly all forms of grappling – wrestling, judo and jujitsu.
That explains the first part of the nickname ‘Bear-Pig.’ The second half has more to do with Roxy’s typical Rottweiler appetite and the fact that when she sniffed around the house for anything remotely resembling a snack, she sort of looked like a wild pig. At least she didn’t ‘oink oink’ while she was rooting around for treats.
Click here for a page of memories and photos dedicated to Roxy.
Remembering Roxy: Circling the Wagons
I have many great memories of Roxy to share. I hope most of them make you smile. Some of them may even make you laugh out loud. All of them will be bittersweet for me, but still precious. So, I plan to share them with you on a weekly basis, probably on Fridays, as I will have the hardest time getting through a weekend without Roxy to cheer me up.
I dreaded walking up the fronts steps these last five days. Apollo met me at the door, but his tail didn’t thump-thump-thump against the dividing rail between the entryway and the dining area. He wagged his tail at the sight of me, but he wasn’t crowded out of the way by Roxy. She usually stood front and center, eagerly gripping her ring toy in her mouth, dancing back and forth in front of Apollo. I usually had to order them both to back up so I could squeeze through the screen door.
I would carefully thread the needle of swirling Rottweilers and unburden myself of my purse and laptop case in the great room. Once my hands were free, I could pet each of them, although Roxy would continually circle around me in an effort to head Apollo off from getting too much attention.
If I decided to sit down, Roxy would either approach me and plop herself down on my feet, facing away from me, or continue circling the great room with her ring toy. We affectionately called this parading around ‘circling the wagons.’ Sometimes Apollo would stealthily attempt to snatch the toy from her jaws and then the fun really began.
Roxy, being the nearly full blooded Rottweiler, could easily keep Apollo, the half-breed, from her toy. Her jaw strength and stubbornness exceeded his. But Apollo never played fair and used stealth and guile to trick Roxy into dropping it. Sometimes, he would even go so far as to lay on the ring toy, which drove Roxy into a fit of apoplexy. Eventually she would start circling him faster and faster and even go so far as to bark repeatedly at him. Unless Terry or I told Apollo to get up, he would ignore Roxy’s tantrum.
Roxy’s ring toys sit idle in the great room. I’ve tried a couple of times this week, as has Terry, to get Apollo to play catch and fetch, but Apollo only made half-hearted attempts. Apollo would much prefer to play tug-of-war with Roxy. He still doesn’t understand why she’s gone. If only I spoke better dog, then I might be able to tell him what happened. Perhaps it’s a blessing for him that I can’t.