If anyone tells you that they enjoy push-mowing their lawn, you should immediately demand some of the crack they are smoking. Or ask for the name of their landscaper.
Y'all, let me tell you something. I would rather do just about anything than push-mow a lawn EVER again. I mowed our front and back lawns this morning as a gift to my sweet husband, but I think I will still to baking cookies and making sweet tea for him to enjoy after HE mows from now on.
Long story short, I am off school today and the lawns need to be mowed. House needs to be cleaned too, but my thought process was--mow in the morning while it's relatively cool, clean in the afternoon in the air conditioning. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Heard that one before?
I dutifully cleaned up all the dog business in the yard, a pre-mowing ritual at our house. Then I dragged the little red mower out of the shed and put it in position. I pulled back the little handle, and pulled the cord with all my might, but nothing happened. Ok.
I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok. I checked the gas. Plenty. I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok, little red mower. I have two degrees and wrangle 7th graders for a living. You will not outsmart me.
Well, the mowing was supposed to be a surprise for Brian, but do I want to surprise him more than I want to accomplish the task? Not today, my friends, so I called him to ask how to start the darn thing.
"Well, did you choke it?" he asked after he picked himself up off the floor from the shock of my intention to mow the grass. "Uh, choke, you say? What is the choking you speak of?" I replied.
Apparently there is a little red button on the front of the mower that "primes" the machine after it's been sitting. Ah hah. Push one, two, three. Repeat the starting ritual, and voila! A live lawn mower!
I proceeded to mow the top tier of our lawn with little trouble, but there are places that will benefit from the attention of the weed eater. The May flies were taking off the grass by the thousands as I rolled along, and I discovered one shouldn't have their mouth hanging open while mowing the grass, struggling for breath the hard way. Oh well, a little extra protein never hurt anyone.
My next challenge was the bottom tier of the yard. Narrow and down about 5 steps. I wrestled the mower down there and chopped down the enormous, gnarly weeds. But the grass was a little too dewy still and it bunched up under the mower and trapped the blade. I did discover this after turning off the mower. I still have all my digits, but they are a bit stained from the kelly green wet mess I had to extract from under the mower. Grrr.
Next was the front yard. In the hot morning March sun. Neighbors I have never seen before are waving as they drive by as if to say, "Howdy! Bout dang time you did something about this lawn, lady! Making the neighborhood look bad!"
I'm also not real good with the grass boundary with the neighbors, so those lines look a little like I was drinking a Stella while walking along. Unfortunately, I am not that coordinated or I might have tried. (I miss the riding mower. There was a cup holder on it. Sigh.)
But, the grass is mowed. You can't say it isn't. I haven't attempted the weed eater yet, but something tells me that Brian will have to do that. I have some cookies to bake.
My grass is kicked.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Happy O'Remission Day to Ya!
I took Brian to San Antonio on Friday. He knew that part through a slip o' my big mouth, but he didn't know the other details.
He didn't know he was staying at The Menger Hotel, across from the Alamo, until we pullled up in front. He was delighted, but his first question was, "Hey, uh, isn't this place haunted?" Uh, heck yeah it is, but I didn't want to tell the big scardy cat that. He has his gun and handcuffs, right? He'll be fine....I hope.
I had been antsy the whole trip down, and you would think it was the traffic--at least that is what Brian thought, thank goodness. Actually it was the concern we might see one of his surprises on the way down there.
You see, back in December, I asked his two best friends and their wives to meet us in San Antonio as a surprise. I had no idea I would be able to keep a secret that long, but I did. Chris and Cathy live in Burleson and had left about the same time we did.
Turns out that even with a stop at Jason's Deli in San Marcos, another luxury we usually do not afford ourselves on road trips, we still beat them down to SA.
After checking into The Menger, we ambled on in to The Menger Bar to enjoy the ambience. Teddy Roosevelt recruited some of his Rough Riders in the cozy little bar. It is quite dark in there, especially when you first walk in from outside, but the bartender poured generous vodka tonics. We sat down to enjoy each other's company and unbeknownst to Brian, to wait for his surprise to come walking in.
Matt and Wendy, our other friends, could not join us until the next day, but fortunately they don't live very far from San Antonio.
As we sat there and talked about how great it was to be there and celebrating one year of remission, Brian looked up to see one of his best friends amble through the bar. He looked happily confused for a minute as Chris walked right past him. Cathy was a few steps behind.
Surprise!! Whew! Now I could tell him everything! I had been about to bust for weeks!!
That night we went to Waxy O'Conner's on the Riverwalk for dinner and drinks. Chris tried the 30 year old Glenfidditch for a measly $50. Yikes! I'm not a whiskey girl, but it was all right. Apparently you can really taste the oak. I will stick to vodka tonics...or Smithwick's or even Guinness...but never all in the same evening.
Next morning Matt and Wendy arrived and the party was complete. We went to The Alamo at noon for a wreath laying ceremony for the Irish Americans lost at The Battle of the Alamo. After lunch there was a little parade on the river. Then it was time to fight our way back into Waxy's for the evening. The boys didn't have to wait long for a table.
Pipers came and went throughout the afternoon up and down the river. It made Brian think of Scotland and how we will soon be there. Another side effect from his illness--carpe diem. He does not believe in wasting a moment.
We drank and talked and ate, thoroughly enjoying the party atmosphere and ever cognizant of the gift it all was. Brian gave us all a good scare, and I think it's affected each of our little group a little differently. One thing I can say for sure is that we don't take each other or our lives for granted.
It was a wonderful weekend. Great friends, beautiful city, no ghosts. We are thinking of upping the ante next year and heading to Chicago for St. Pat's.
No matter where we go, we will not forget the preciousness of life and great friends.
He didn't know he was staying at The Menger Hotel, across from the Alamo, until we pullled up in front. He was delighted, but his first question was, "Hey, uh, isn't this place haunted?" Uh, heck yeah it is, but I didn't want to tell the big scardy cat that. He has his gun and handcuffs, right? He'll be fine....I hope.
I had been antsy the whole trip down, and you would think it was the traffic--at least that is what Brian thought, thank goodness. Actually it was the concern we might see one of his surprises on the way down there.
You see, back in December, I asked his two best friends and their wives to meet us in San Antonio as a surprise. I had no idea I would be able to keep a secret that long, but I did. Chris and Cathy live in Burleson and had left about the same time we did.
Turns out that even with a stop at Jason's Deli in San Marcos, another luxury we usually do not afford ourselves on road trips, we still beat them down to SA.
After checking into The Menger, we ambled on in to The Menger Bar to enjoy the ambience. Teddy Roosevelt recruited some of his Rough Riders in the cozy little bar. It is quite dark in there, especially when you first walk in from outside, but the bartender poured generous vodka tonics. We sat down to enjoy each other's company and unbeknownst to Brian, to wait for his surprise to come walking in.
Matt and Wendy, our other friends, could not join us until the next day, but fortunately they don't live very far from San Antonio.
As we sat there and talked about how great it was to be there and celebrating one year of remission, Brian looked up to see one of his best friends amble through the bar. He looked happily confused for a minute as Chris walked right past him. Cathy was a few steps behind.
Surprise!! Whew! Now I could tell him everything! I had been about to bust for weeks!!
That night we went to Waxy O'Conner's on the Riverwalk for dinner and drinks. Chris tried the 30 year old Glenfidditch for a measly $50. Yikes! I'm not a whiskey girl, but it was all right. Apparently you can really taste the oak. I will stick to vodka tonics...or Smithwick's or even Guinness...but never all in the same evening.
Next morning Matt and Wendy arrived and the party was complete. We went to The Alamo at noon for a wreath laying ceremony for the Irish Americans lost at The Battle of the Alamo. After lunch there was a little parade on the river. Then it was time to fight our way back into Waxy's for the evening. The boys didn't have to wait long for a table.
Pipers came and went throughout the afternoon up and down the river. It made Brian think of Scotland and how we will soon be there. Another side effect from his illness--carpe diem. He does not believe in wasting a moment.
We drank and talked and ate, thoroughly enjoying the party atmosphere and ever cognizant of the gift it all was. Brian gave us all a good scare, and I think it's affected each of our little group a little differently. One thing I can say for sure is that we don't take each other or our lives for granted.
It was a wonderful weekend. Great friends, beautiful city, no ghosts. We are thinking of upping the ante next year and heading to Chicago for St. Pat's.
No matter where we go, we will not forget the preciousness of life and great friends.
Monday, March 12, 2012
One Year On...
This weekend is St. Patrick's Day. March 17th. My nephew's 6th birthday. A day to be with friends and drink too much kelly green beer. A day to wear green and pinch those who are not.
And Brian's one year remission anniversary.
I have been planning a trip to celebrate since January. He's pretty impressed that I have kept a secret this long. So am I, to be honest. I would tell you all about it, but he reads this blog and there are lots of details he doesn't know yet. So--you will have to wait until we get home Sunday to hear the details and how much he loved it!
One year cancer-free. And even as he makes the one year mark, one of my students is diagnosed with leukemia. Fortunately, she will be cured as well. I was devastated by my husband's illness. I cannot imagine going through it with a child. She is a brave little girl and her mom is upbeat and supportive. We plan to get Fight Like A Girl orange bracelets to remind her that though she cannot be at school with us for now, we have not forgotten her.
Speaking of going through cancer with a child, my mother in law went with Brian to his latest maintenance treatment. It stresses Brian out if anyone but me goes with him; he feels the need to entertain them when he should be resting. When I go, I have to entertain myself and I know the routine.
He likes to sleep through a lot of it, and I cannot blame him. But his mother needed to see what happens to him in a treatment, needed to see what he went through, and I cannot blame her either. He didn't get to sleep much because she had so many questions, but it was important for her to be there. You can try to describe the experience, but it's hard to really understand unless you have been there.
I think Wilma feels a little better seeing exactly what Brian endured...and will still 5 more times before it's all over. We have a PET scan in May. I am not afraid of this one like I was the one he had last March. Last March was the all clear scan, the one that told us the nightmare was over. This one will just confirm that we still are living the dream.
Tune in Sunday to hear how he liked his surprise! It's going to be so great!! Slainte (Cheers) to remission for all!!
And Brian's one year remission anniversary.
I have been planning a trip to celebrate since January. He's pretty impressed that I have kept a secret this long. So am I, to be honest. I would tell you all about it, but he reads this blog and there are lots of details he doesn't know yet. So--you will have to wait until we get home Sunday to hear the details and how much he loved it!
One year cancer-free. And even as he makes the one year mark, one of my students is diagnosed with leukemia. Fortunately, she will be cured as well. I was devastated by my husband's illness. I cannot imagine going through it with a child. She is a brave little girl and her mom is upbeat and supportive. We plan to get Fight Like A Girl orange bracelets to remind her that though she cannot be at school with us for now, we have not forgotten her.
Speaking of going through cancer with a child, my mother in law went with Brian to his latest maintenance treatment. It stresses Brian out if anyone but me goes with him; he feels the need to entertain them when he should be resting. When I go, I have to entertain myself and I know the routine.
He likes to sleep through a lot of it, and I cannot blame him. But his mother needed to see what happens to him in a treatment, needed to see what he went through, and I cannot blame her either. He didn't get to sleep much because she had so many questions, but it was important for her to be there. You can try to describe the experience, but it's hard to really understand unless you have been there.
I think Wilma feels a little better seeing exactly what Brian endured...and will still 5 more times before it's all over. We have a PET scan in May. I am not afraid of this one like I was the one he had last March. Last March was the all clear scan, the one that told us the nightmare was over. This one will just confirm that we still are living the dream.
Tune in Sunday to hear how he liked his surprise! It's going to be so great!! Slainte (Cheers) to remission for all!!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Back to Normal...but Better
Today Brian ran the Cowtown 5k in 36 minutes.
That's a great time for anyone. But Brian ran his first 5k today since his remission from Lymphoma. He didn't make me get up to go watch, but I wish I had...and I knew I would feel that way.
The week before Brian was diagnosed with stage 3 Lymphoma, he climbed Mt. Tallac at Lake Tahoe. He did it all by himself. He dreams of going back and climbing it again now that he is in remission. Today was a big step in getting back to the top of the mountain.
Running has become such an important element in our lives. It symbolizes health to us. If we can run so fast and so far, illness cannot catch us. And in my opinion, the farther and faster we run, the better.
Brian knew he would finish the race today, but he worried that he would not do better than 45 minutes. Hah. I pray to finish in 45 minutes. I knew that he would come in faster than that. And while I was slightly hurt he didn't ask me to run with him, I knew he would have to leave me behind. I would have never made him run with me. So as I ran without him in my races, he ran alone today.
And it is better this way. Today was about Brian getting back to normal, but better. He needed do this alone and he didn't have to tell me that. Someday I hope to be able to keep up with him...hey, maybe even pass him. But for now, I will go buy a frame for his bib and hang it where we can see it every day.
Every day we will be reminded that it is one year of remission now, and that will steadily grow into many years.
I love you, Brian for your courage and determination and I am so honored to be your wife.
That's a great time for anyone. But Brian ran his first 5k today since his remission from Lymphoma. He didn't make me get up to go watch, but I wish I had...and I knew I would feel that way.
The week before Brian was diagnosed with stage 3 Lymphoma, he climbed Mt. Tallac at Lake Tahoe. He did it all by himself. He dreams of going back and climbing it again now that he is in remission. Today was a big step in getting back to the top of the mountain.
Running has become such an important element in our lives. It symbolizes health to us. If we can run so fast and so far, illness cannot catch us. And in my opinion, the farther and faster we run, the better.
Brian knew he would finish the race today, but he worried that he would not do better than 45 minutes. Hah. I pray to finish in 45 minutes. I knew that he would come in faster than that. And while I was slightly hurt he didn't ask me to run with him, I knew he would have to leave me behind. I would have never made him run with me. So as I ran without him in my races, he ran alone today.
And it is better this way. Today was about Brian getting back to normal, but better. He needed do this alone and he didn't have to tell me that. Someday I hope to be able to keep up with him...hey, maybe even pass him. But for now, I will go buy a frame for his bib and hang it where we can see it every day.
Every day we will be reminded that it is one year of remission now, and that will steadily grow into many years.
I love you, Brian for your courage and determination and I am so honored to be your wife.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Tilting At Windmills....Again
It's that time again. The last day of the grading period. Once again, I have several students failing my classes or other classes. And once again, the only reason they are is the failure to complete and turn in assignments. Once again, it is contest time in Band and Choir and Track season. Once again, the students failing are the ones needed most desperately by their teammates.
I have started tutorials at 7:30 am and given up my conference period the last two days to tutor athletes, singers and band members. And they owe so much work, it's not enough. I can give up Monday as well; grades won't be pulled until Monday at midnight.
I can do tutorials at 7:30 am and give up my conference period, but should I? The parental instinct I have tells me, "No!"...quite sharply, too, I might add. But the middle school kid in me who depended on these students to be eligible for contest and athletics is frantic to get the work in. I remember the thrill of the winning and I want these students to have it.
I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, if they could experience that winning feeling that would inspire them to try harder in the classroom next time. Pretty in my world, isn't it?
I liken this effort to spitting in a bucket with a hole in it, trying to fill it.
And yet, I find myself here every Friday of the end of the grading period, trying harder and caring more than the students I am trying to help. So, am I helping them? I honestly don't know.
I know that 99 % of these kids will go on to be productive citizens in society. I have taught long enough to see the proof. And that 1%, well, I have taught long enough to see what happens to them, too. And as my husband goes to a middle school today to arrest a 12 year old for robbery, maybe I feel the need to try just a little harder to have more of the 99% and less of the 1%.
I have to believe, as tired and frustrated that I am, that I will have more students like Kerry, a sophomore in college now on a track scholarship. He had troubles in middle school, and he is becoming a great man. I have to believe that I will more students like the Vaitai brothers who recently signed their football scholarships to college. One to TCU.
I have to believe that caring FOR them will eventually become the kids caring on their own. I rationalize my actions by pointing out that they are ultimately not escaping the work, even if they have left it to the last minute. We are teaching them responsibility by getting the work from them...even if it takes a little longer for some.
So I will go to Happy Hour today with other frustrated teacher friends and tell myself that I am keeping the kdis in their extracurricular activites and out of trouble with the police. I will tell myself that one day they will visit my class all grown up and lecturing my current students on the importance of doing work on time.
And I will have at least one very large margarita.
I have started tutorials at 7:30 am and given up my conference period the last two days to tutor athletes, singers and band members. And they owe so much work, it's not enough. I can give up Monday as well; grades won't be pulled until Monday at midnight.
I can do tutorials at 7:30 am and give up my conference period, but should I? The parental instinct I have tells me, "No!"...quite sharply, too, I might add. But the middle school kid in me who depended on these students to be eligible for contest and athletics is frantic to get the work in. I remember the thrill of the winning and I want these students to have it.
I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, if they could experience that winning feeling that would inspire them to try harder in the classroom next time. Pretty in my world, isn't it?
I liken this effort to spitting in a bucket with a hole in it, trying to fill it.
And yet, I find myself here every Friday of the end of the grading period, trying harder and caring more than the students I am trying to help. So, am I helping them? I honestly don't know.
I know that 99 % of these kids will go on to be productive citizens in society. I have taught long enough to see the proof. And that 1%, well, I have taught long enough to see what happens to them, too. And as my husband goes to a middle school today to arrest a 12 year old for robbery, maybe I feel the need to try just a little harder to have more of the 99% and less of the 1%.
I have to believe, as tired and frustrated that I am, that I will have more students like Kerry, a sophomore in college now on a track scholarship. He had troubles in middle school, and he is becoming a great man. I have to believe that I will more students like the Vaitai brothers who recently signed their football scholarships to college. One to TCU.
I have to believe that caring FOR them will eventually become the kids caring on their own. I rationalize my actions by pointing out that they are ultimately not escaping the work, even if they have left it to the last minute. We are teaching them responsibility by getting the work from them...even if it takes a little longer for some.
So I will go to Happy Hour today with other frustrated teacher friends and tell myself that I am keeping the kdis in their extracurricular activites and out of trouble with the police. I will tell myself that one day they will visit my class all grown up and lecturing my current students on the importance of doing work on time.
And I will have at least one very large margarita.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
We Meet Again, Jillian Michaels
Running has gone pretty well recently. I'm not anemic anymore. Ulcer went bye bye. And though I have run (and walked some) every day lately, I don't really look any different. I feel better, but don't really look better.
Something more has to be done.
Re-enter Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred to my life. When Julie and I tried it a year or so ago, it damn near killed me the first few times I did it. We started running with Luke's about the same time and our trainers sagely advised we not try both at the same time.
Julie and I worked at Level One and just as Jillian promised, I felt like I wanted to die. I couldn't make it through the workouts without gasping, panting and cursing the lovely and fit Ms. Michaels.
So when Julie and I decided to just concentrate on running, I was totally cool with that. I put the DVD away and didn't think much more about it. I fell in love with my treadmill.
Recently however, between frustation with my lack of progress in the dress size department and getting a little bored with the treadmill every single day, I began to reconsider. A friend of mine posted every day in January as she worked through the Shreds. Now Rene is incredibly fit anyway, but she had high praise for the workouts.
Today I had an "early dismissal" from school after the district spelling bee, so I had plenty of time for the workout. I dusted off the dvd, shut the bedroom door so my nosy dogs would leave me alone, and got down to business. I've got 20 minutes to spare.
I decided to be brave and try out the Level 2 workout; after all, I have been running nearly every day. Turns out I did pretty well. Well enough to try it again tomorrow. I had to stop less during this workout than my first few of Level 1 last year. That must be progress.
Jillian informed me that she wanted me to feel like I was gonna die. Mission accomplished. But she doesn't scare me anymore. Hah!
My arms will be killing me tomorrow; I can already feel it, but they need a lot of work. I walked a mile and a quarter on the treadmill afterward. Just a little extra calorie burn. Pizza is on the menu tonight. Whew!
Something more has to be done.
Re-enter Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred to my life. When Julie and I tried it a year or so ago, it damn near killed me the first few times I did it. We started running with Luke's about the same time and our trainers sagely advised we not try both at the same time.
Julie and I worked at Level One and just as Jillian promised, I felt like I wanted to die. I couldn't make it through the workouts without gasping, panting and cursing the lovely and fit Ms. Michaels.
So when Julie and I decided to just concentrate on running, I was totally cool with that. I put the DVD away and didn't think much more about it. I fell in love with my treadmill.
Recently however, between frustation with my lack of progress in the dress size department and getting a little bored with the treadmill every single day, I began to reconsider. A friend of mine posted every day in January as she worked through the Shreds. Now Rene is incredibly fit anyway, but she had high praise for the workouts.
Today I had an "early dismissal" from school after the district spelling bee, so I had plenty of time for the workout. I dusted off the dvd, shut the bedroom door so my nosy dogs would leave me alone, and got down to business. I've got 20 minutes to spare.
I decided to be brave and try out the Level 2 workout; after all, I have been running nearly every day. Turns out I did pretty well. Well enough to try it again tomorrow. I had to stop less during this workout than my first few of Level 1 last year. That must be progress.
Jillian informed me that she wanted me to feel like I was gonna die. Mission accomplished. But she doesn't scare me anymore. Hah!
My arms will be killing me tomorrow; I can already feel it, but they need a lot of work. I walked a mile and a quarter on the treadmill afterward. Just a little extra calorie burn. Pizza is on the menu tonight. Whew!
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Puppy Rescue
It was an exhausting day at school. I don't know what got into the children, but I was so exhausted I didn't even want to work out...and lately, that's saying a lot. I was drinking a Stella with a Tylenol chaser after walking Bear, dinner simmering, when my daddy called.
Usually a call from Daddy means an invitation to dinner out. Not this time.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Uh, nothing really."
"Can you go help your mother? I'm on my way home, but she's there with Beau and his head is stuck in the fence."
Yikes! "Yeah, I'm out the door right now."
I ran out the door and into the car. My parents only live about 5 minutes away.
After tailgating an elderly gentleman in a blue pick up who clearly didn't know I had an emergency, I screeched to a stop in my parents' driveway.
My dad said the dog was caught in the fence, so on my drive over I have been imagining the scenarios where I extract the little fella from the wooden privacy fence that surrounds the yard. I wasn't quite prepared for what awaited me.
My mom sat on the couch holding the dog and the decorative, fleur de lis iron fence that they have around a flowerbed. Beau was squirming and squealing a little...partly in distress, partly in joy to see a new person in the house.
I flopped on the floor in front of the problem and immediately saw why my mom was so worried. The fence is quite sturdy iron and in curls, several of which are now curling into Beau's neck.
I looked up at my mom. "I know it's cliche, but let's grease him down and see if we can slip him out." She agreed on that plan and away I flew to get the cooking oil from the kitchen.
FYI, it IS as cliche as it sounds. It will deliciously cook your food, but it will not extract a curious puppy from an iron prison.
Ok, what to do? What to do? It didn't help that every time I looked at his pitiful little face, I started giggling. It was serious, but very funny, in a way.
I asked myself, "What would my friend Tim do?" Tim is a man of action and has two mischievous dogs. I decided that the only way to get him out was to bend one of the bars back. Now I needed a tool to assist me in that endeavor.
I flew out the back door and into the pool house where my parents have their plants for the winter, and Daddy keeps his tools. The palm goosed me a little as I squeezed past and grabbed some pliers.
I landed back in front of the puppy predicament and then had to decide what part of the fence to try to move. I decided on the top piece and began pulling. Beau wiggled and whimpered as I worked.
It didn't take too long before I had pulled enough on the piece for him to just roll his giant puppy head right out. He shook his floppy ears several times and Mom picked him up and hugged him.
I took him to the kitchen sink and gave him a quick bath to get the oil off of his head. He was a little indignant, but no longer oily.
He seems no worse for the wear, and seems to actually enjoy the attention he received. Mom and Dad are quite relieved. Their little bundle of joy is safe to play another day.
So, I may not have made any great strides in education today, but I saved a puppy. So there.
Usually a call from Daddy means an invitation to dinner out. Not this time.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Uh, nothing really."
"Can you go help your mother? I'm on my way home, but she's there with Beau and his head is stuck in the fence."
Yikes! "Yeah, I'm out the door right now."
I ran out the door and into the car. My parents only live about 5 minutes away.
After tailgating an elderly gentleman in a blue pick up who clearly didn't know I had an emergency, I screeched to a stop in my parents' driveway.
My dad said the dog was caught in the fence, so on my drive over I have been imagining the scenarios where I extract the little fella from the wooden privacy fence that surrounds the yard. I wasn't quite prepared for what awaited me.
My mom sat on the couch holding the dog and the decorative, fleur de lis iron fence that they have around a flowerbed. Beau was squirming and squealing a little...partly in distress, partly in joy to see a new person in the house.
I flopped on the floor in front of the problem and immediately saw why my mom was so worried. The fence is quite sturdy iron and in curls, several of which are now curling into Beau's neck.
I looked up at my mom. "I know it's cliche, but let's grease him down and see if we can slip him out." She agreed on that plan and away I flew to get the cooking oil from the kitchen.
FYI, it IS as cliche as it sounds. It will deliciously cook your food, but it will not extract a curious puppy from an iron prison.
Ok, what to do? What to do? It didn't help that every time I looked at his pitiful little face, I started giggling. It was serious, but very funny, in a way.
I asked myself, "What would my friend Tim do?" Tim is a man of action and has two mischievous dogs. I decided that the only way to get him out was to bend one of the bars back. Now I needed a tool to assist me in that endeavor.
I flew out the back door and into the pool house where my parents have their plants for the winter, and Daddy keeps his tools. The palm goosed me a little as I squeezed past and grabbed some pliers.
I landed back in front of the puppy predicament and then had to decide what part of the fence to try to move. I decided on the top piece and began pulling. Beau wiggled and whimpered as I worked.
It didn't take too long before I had pulled enough on the piece for him to just roll his giant puppy head right out. He shook his floppy ears several times and Mom picked him up and hugged him.
I took him to the kitchen sink and gave him a quick bath to get the oil off of his head. He was a little indignant, but no longer oily.
He seems no worse for the wear, and seems to actually enjoy the attention he received. Mom and Dad are quite relieved. Their little bundle of joy is safe to play another day.
So, I may not have made any great strides in education today, but I saved a puppy. So there.
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