If I Only Had It On Video

So I was out in the yard early this morning (about 7-ish) playing with Ella. Out of nowhere she came speeding at me like a bull at a bullfight. I mean all 40 lbs of her barreling straight toward me at what seemed like 50 mph.

Before I could move she rammed full-speed into my right leg with the entire weight of her body. She bounced back like a tennis ball hitting the pavement and I went straight down -- all hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of pounds of me. Straight down, flat on the ground, sprawled out across the wet grass & dirt within half a second.

For a couple of seconds, I thought my leg might be broken. She hit me that HARD. It is still sore and hurting hours later.

What the hell?

Reba McEntire: For My Broken Heart

1991

1. For My Broken Heart
2. Is There Life Out There
3. Bobby
4. He's in Dallas
5. All Dressed Up (with Nowhere to Go)
6. The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia
7. Buying Her Roses
8. The Greatest Man I Never Knew
9. I Wouldn't Go That Far
10. If I Had Only Known

I often & completely by accident head in the opposite direction of everyone around me. True to form, I go off to college a huge lover of music, open to any edgy, obscure, undiscovered music I can find, but end up latching on to what many would call the most treacly, middle-of-the-road, old-lady (no offense to old ladies) music out there.

Yes, the first album to really impact me during college was Reba McEntire's For My Broken Heart. Why did it so grab me? How did this happen? Simple. Let me just say straight out (I know this is no surprise to anyone): I love sad songs. And For My Broken Heart is sad. Virtually every song. Some are really, really sad.

For those who don't know, Reba McEntire lost her entire touring band in an airplane crash about 8 months before For My Broken Heart was released. She had already been working on the album, of course, but that tragedy permeated the rest of the production; she replaced some songs, changed the title track from a duet to a solo, and just sang with a different feeling. And I remember seeing her perform on the CMA Awards that year, singing For My Broken Heart backed by Dolly Parton's touring band. It was beyond compelling & I just had to buy it.

Turns out, For My Broken Heart the song was just the tip of the iceberg. The album hit every possible sad note it could, from loneliness (All Dressed Up) and death (If I Had Only Known) to lost loves (He's in Dallas) and distant fathers (The Greatest Man I Never Knew). And oh yeah, let's not forget that ditty about assisted suicide (Bobby). Sounds like what every college freshmen would be rushing to listen to, right?

For me, the artistic expression of emotion is always best accomplished by music. For My Broken Heart is a tad more literal and overflowing in that respect than many of the other albums I love, but it is nonetheless beautiful and pure.

Escape From Dogatraz

So guess who dug out from under the fence and escaped today? Yes, that's right.

I had to leave work early and retrieve the cute little thing.

Dogs are so worth it though. They are cute and sweet and adorable and a blessing.

Get one.

Ella

The Story of a Girl (Part II)

Well, I guess I needed a little break to gather my thoughts. Lizzie has been gone now for about 2 1/2 weeks. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday; other times it seems like forever since I've seen her. It is still a really strange feeling to not have her around, but I have mostly quit expecting to see or hear her & have mostly quit instinctively doing those things that I did for her or because of her.

And I do have a new puppy now. It was an easy decision as the new girl, Ella, is not at all a replacement for Liz. There is no such thing. But I needed some life around this house other than me.

Anyway ... on with Lizzie's story.

I learned very quickly that not only was Lizzie energetic and adorable and mischievous, but she was SMART. If she saw a toy or scrap of food or anything you tried to hide from her, she would and could remember exactly where it was hours later and go there as soon as you left the room. So eventually I was forced to put everything "up" -- either on a counter, in the closet, on the dining table, on the entertainment center. Nothing could be kept anywhere near Lizzie's level or she would remember it and find it at the first opportunity. A couple of years into our life together, when I had started working a full-time job with regular hours, I began to notice that instead of whining when I left in the mornings, Lizzie seemed almost excited. I don't know exactly how I could tell, but she seemed to be waiting for me to head out for work.

So one morning I went through the routine, locked the door, and pretended to walk away. I waited just a few minutes and ever so softly eased the key back into the door, unlocked it, and stormed back in the house. And where was Lizzie? Standing, on all fours, directly in the center of my dining table. How she got up there I have no idea. How she got up there so quickly I have no idea. But it was obviously planned in advance. I mean, she knew the second I left she was going to get up on that table and see what was up there. But what was even more hilarious, when she saw me, she completely and utterly froze. It was literally as if she was holding her breath. She didn't blink an eye, twitch a nose, wag a tail, nothing. I guess she thought if she just stood completely still I wouldn't be able to see her. I can still picture her in my mind though. So funny.

I believe I only tried to take Liz to Town Lake once. She was a weirdo and scared of so many things. My primary memory of that trip is that Lizzie WOULD NOT walk over the pedestrian bridge. I guess she felt under her feet that it was different and it scared her to death. I would pull and push and beg and plead, but no way was she walking across. So, every time we came to the bridge, I had to pick her up and carry her all the way across.

I'll end with her funniest, grossest, and most infamous story (I apologize in advance for the indelicate nature of this tale -- do not read if you are eating or have a weak stomach).

I came home from work one afternoon and as I walked across the balcony toward my apartment, I smelled the most awful scent. I was thinking, "Damn, someone let their dog shit right at my front door." But I didn't see anything. So I opened my door and went in and almost fell to the ground because of the smell. A huge congealed puddle of dog crap was right in the middle of my den floor. It was about the size of a large cast-iron skillet.

Now tell me, when was the last time your dog crapped so bad that the smell actually penetrated the walls and door and made its way outside? I bet it has never happened. Well, it happened to me. And why did I describe the crap as congealed you ask? Because Lizzie dragged a jar of Vaseline off my bathroom counter and ate it. So what I had, in essence, was shit-flavored Vaseline all over my den floor. Can you imagine anything harder to clean up? I had to stuff my nostrils with toilet paper just to get close enough to the mess to start cleaning. And by the end of the week I had new carpet -- there was no other alternative.

Lizzie was freaking the hell out. She didn't have a clue what was happening. She was going to the bathroom non-stop, but it would drizzle out & make little popping bubble noises which scared her to death. Never have I seen a dog scare herself by going to the bathroom. She would hunker down to go, but then the bubbly noises would start and she would start yelping and take off like a bullet as if something was chasing her. She did this for days until the last of the Vaseline was finally out of her system.

Yes, it is disgusting, but it was certainly among the defining moments of Lizzie's life, and it is a story I will remember as long as I am on this earth.

You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us. ~Robert Louis Stevenson

The Story of a Girl (Part I)

Lizzie came into this world as a Minnie. Or at least that's what she was called when I first saw her. And no offense to all the Minnies out there, but that just wasn't right. Lizzie was a Lizzie. It just fit. (Yes, I had just read a biography of infamous axe murderer Lizzie Borden, so she was kind of named after her, but mainly, she just seemed like a Lizzie.)

Lizzie, Liz, Little Liz, Sweet Liz, Lizgirl, Lizmeister, Sweet Pickle ... she was all those names.

I owned Lizzie before I owned furniture (except a bed). When I brought her home, I had a bed for me and a new purple bed for her that I bought at Petco. No couches or chairs or tables or anything else. The second or third night I had her, I brought home Wendy's for supper. As soon as I started to eat, my friend Allison called. Having no table or chairs or anything, I put the bag down on the floor to go get the phone. In the 45 seconds it took me to come back into the den, my entire cheeseburger had been devoured and pieces of french fry hung out of Lizzie's mouth. I was both furious and charmed. For years after that, when I went to Wendy's (which was very close to my apartment), I bought an extra order of Biggie Fries for Lizzie. And most of the time, Lizzie went with me and completely finished her order before we ever even got home.

Now, that purple bed. The first couple of nights I put Lizzie in bed with me just because I was so excited to have her. After a week or so I guess, I started trying to put her in her own bed. Every night I would pull her nice wonderful purple bed right beside my bed and put her in it. She could see me and I could see her. I could reach my hand down and pet her. That just wasn't quite good enough though. Every time I put her in, she jumped right out and onto the bed with me. It was a battle until one morning I awoke to find Lizzie in bed with me and pieces of purple dog bed scattered throughout the entire apartment, from the kitchen to the bathroom to the bedroom. From that day forward, Liz slept wherever she wanted, mostly in bed with me in the early years and under the bed in later years.

Lizzie was about 6 months old when I got her & still in the puppy chewing stage. She chewed everything -- computer cords, pillows, towels, and yes, even the wooden legs of the dining room chairs I would eventually get. Two chew episodes stand out the most though. One time she chewed up a pair of leather shoes and swallowed whole the leather sole. I wear a size 13 by the way. How she got that sole down her throat is beyond me. But eventually, and not pleasantly, it came back up. The first year I had her, she also chewed the corners of every single wrapped Christmas present I had under the tree that year. So everyone got these gifts with strange bite marks and ripped paper at the corner.

To be continued ...

My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet. ~Edith Wharton

The Park

(To my loyal blog readers: Please pardon all the grief posts. I'm really just wallowing in it right now, but I'm trying to work it out of my system & the blog helps. This may be the last post or there may be 100 more -- I'm not sure yet.)

I made it all the way to the park today!

I've never walked around this neighborhood without Lizzie, so I felt almost naked without her leash and her company. I'm so glad I started walking regularly three or four weeks ago because Liz loved it. She loved going out with me -- out in the back yard, out on a leash, out in the car.

We only got to walk once in the past week because Liz was too sick the other days. And we hadn't quite made it to the park yet, which she would have so enjoyed.

But I made it there today. For her.