Reaching the World

This year saw readers of this blog from several new countries, such as Angola, Argentina, Bangladesh, Iraq and Uzbekistan.

Welcome to readers who have visited this blog for the first time, regardless of where you reside. I hope you enjoyed the blog and that you will visit again and again.

These are the 50 countries my readers called home in 2024, in addition to the United States: 

Algeria, Angola, Argentina, Australia, Azerbaijan, Bahrain, Bangladesh, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Brazil, Brunei, China, Colombia, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Finland, France, Germany, Honduras. Hong Kong, India, Indonesia, Iraq, Ireland, Israel, Kazakhstan, Kuwait, Jordan, Mexico, Morocco, Nepal, Nigeria, Oman, Palestine, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Poland, Russia, Singapore, Slovakia, South Africa, South Korea, Sweden, Tunisia, Turkiye, Ukraine, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Uzbekistan, Venezuela

As always, I thank you for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed your visit.

If You Can't Be Positive, At Least Be Quiet

 If you can't be positive, at least be quiet.

I love this quote. I think it is a great philosophy by which we should strive to live our lives.

There is so much nastiness and negativity in this world, particularly in the anonymity of online groups. Just yesterday someone I know only online viciously attacked me because I won't let my dog sleep on my bed. It made no difference to her that I have severe sleep apnea and chronic insomnia that mean I am lucky to sleep four or five hours each night. And those hours of sleep are frequently interrupted by wakefulness. Some nights it takes anywhere from 1 to 4 hours before I fall asleep, and I am usually awake by 3:30 a.m. 

She clearly believes that her way of raising dogs is the only correct way. I immediately unfriended her, because who needs 'friends' like that. My dogs have good lives. Each gets a walk of between 1 and 2 miles every day.  They get multiple trips into my back yard every day, to play or just to sniff around or lie in the sun. Hers? They spend their days on the couch while she watches football or NASCAR on television.

Where someone's dogs sleep is a personal decision to be made by the person who cares for the dogs. Based on the responses of the people who replied, I would guess that more than half the people do not let their dogs sleep on the human's bed. I don't care either way. As long as the dogs are loved and well cared for, who am I to say where the dogs should sleep?

My dogs have multiple beds in my house. Some dogs prefer to sleep on the tile floor in the bathroom despite the presence of a dog bed. My golden retriever Jett always preferred the tile to his bed or the carpeted floor. He liked to the coolness of the tile floors.

My mother used to tell us not to say anything if we didn't have anything nice to say. Sometimes it's best just to keep the mouth shut rather than expose our ignorance or nastiness. 

So if you can't be positive, please be quiet. The world, and those around you, don't need your nastiness.

You Will Never Get Over It

You will never get over it. 

You will learn to live with it.

These wise words these were offered in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jett's problem.

The reception staff should never tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid fool, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with clients calling about their pets. Show some compassion. If you can't answer a client's question, find someone who can.

I no longer take my dog to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adoptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know I could find another wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

Six months after Jett's death, I am definitely not over it. I doubt if I ever will be. Everything about the death of this beautiful dog haunts me. I still cry whenever I think about it, and I'm not one who cries easily. 

In until Jett sends me another dog to start to fill the hole in my heart, I am enjoying my other dog, Jenny, as we deepen our relationship and enjoys my undivided attention.

You will never get over it. You will learn to live with it.

What wise words these are in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs 

 for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jetr's problem.

You don't tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid cow, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with incoming clients. Show some compassion.

I no longer take my dogs to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adaptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know

You will never get over it. You will learn to live with it.

What wise words these are in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs 

 for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jetr's problem.

You don't tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid cow, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with incoming clients. Show some compassion.

I no longer take my dogs to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adaptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know I could find another wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

A few days ago I decided to check the website of a local animal rescue group that I hadn't checked recently. To my immense surprise, there was a 5-year-old male Golden retriever listed. It was noted that he has a medical waiver because he needs some dental work done. 

This dog, named Marley, was admitted to the shelter on December 12. I found him online on December 17. I got to the shelter shortly after it opened the following morning at 10:00 a.m. after filling out some preliminary paperwork, I got to meet Marley and a small room. He wasn't terribly interested in meeting me, but I learned that he had been brought from the shelter or animal control facility in the small New Mexico town of Artesia. So he had been through a lot of changes. He was a happy boy, and he enjoyed playing with a large squeaky rubber hamburger. 

I decided I would like to bring him home with me, but first I needed to bring Jenny, my current dog to the shelter so the pups could meet. We did that the following day. The dogs didn't have a great deal of interest in each other, but there was no growling or snarling between them either. 

Unfortunately, one of the attendants discovered what she called a significant amount of blood in Marley's poop. So that put everything on hold until he could be checked out by the veterinarian. 

He has been seen by the veterinarian, but now we're awaiting results of a stool sample that was sent to a laboratory for analysis. I'm told I will be called as soon as Marley is cleared for adoption, pending Jenny's second visit to meet him.

 I could find 

You will never get over it. You will learn to live with it.

What wise words these are in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs 

 for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jetr's problem.

You don't tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid cow, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with incoming clients. Show some compassion.

I no longer take my dogs to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adaptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know I could find another wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

A few days ago I decided to check the website of a local animal rescue group that I hadn't checked recently. To my immense surprise, there was a 5-year-old male Golden retriever listed. It was noted that he has a medical waiver because he needs some dental work done. 

This dog, named Marley, was admitted to the shelter on December 12. I found him online on December 17. I got to the shelter shortly after it opened the following morning at 10:00 a.m. after filling out some preliminary paperwork, I got to meet Marley and a small room. He wasn't terribly interested in meeting me, but I learned that he had been brought from the shelter or animal control facility in the small New Mexico town of Artesia. So he had been through a lot of changes. He was a happy boy, and he enjoyed playing with a large squeaky rubber hamburger. 

I decided I would like to bring him home with me, but first I needed to bring Jenny, my current dog to the shelter so the pups could meet. We did that the following day. The dogs didn't have a great deal of interest in each other, but there was no growling or snarling between them either. 

Unfortunately, one of the attendants discovered what she called a significant amount of blood in Marley's poop. So that put everything on hold until he could be checked out by the veterinarian. 

He has been seen by the veterinarian, but now we're awaiting results of a stool sample that was sent to a laboratory for analysis. I'm told I will be called as soon as Marley is cleared for adoption, pending Jenny's second visit to meet him.

 wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

A few days ago I decided to check the website of a local animal rescue group that I hadn't checked recently. To my immense surprise, there was a 5-year-old male Golden retriever listed. It was noted that he has a medical waiver because he needs some dental work done. 

This dog, named Marley, was admitted to the shelter on December 12. I found him online on December 17. I got to the shelter shortly after it opened the following morning at 10:00 a.m. after filling out some preliminary paperwork, I got to meet Marley and a small room. He wasn't terribly interested in meeting me, but I learned that he had been brought from the shelter or animal control facility in the small New Mexico town of Artesia. So he had been through a lot of changes. He was a happy boy, and he enjoyed playing with a large squeaky rubber hamburger. 

I decided I would like to bring him home with me, but first I needed to bring Jenny, my current dog to the shelter so the pups could meet. We did that the following day. The dogs didn't have a great deal of interest in each other, but there was no growling or snarling between them either. 

Unfortunately, one of the attendants discovered what she called a significant amount of blood in Marley's poop. So that put everything on hold until he could be checked out by the veterinarian. 

He has been seen by the veterinarian, but now we're awaiting results of a stool sample that was sent to a laboratory for analysis. I'm told I will be called as soon as Marley is cleared for adoption, pending Jenny's second visit to meet him.

Memories of Christmas Past

It's the morning of Christmas Eve 2024.

My only nod to this holiday season listening to a few of my 45+ Christmas CDs. But as I opened a new box of Rice Chex cereal to fix breakfast, I spotted the recipe on the box for Chex Mix.

I haven't made this tasty, crunchy treat for many years, but do I ever love it! It was for many years a holiday staple. Some years I would make two batches. I don't like Wheat Chex, so I would substitute extra corn and rice cereal in its place. 

The other thing I recently recalled from Christmases past was an annual trip to deliver plates of homemade fudge, cookies and fruitcake (I hate the stuff, but my husband at the time loved it) to the young enlisted men (I think all the personnel guarding the gate to the naval air station where I worked were male at that time in history). We, dogs included, would pull up Christmas Eve evening, roll down the window, and pass a couple of plates to the startled guard. I imagined that these young sailors were probably spending their first Christmas away from home. We would wish them a Merry Christmas, and then turn around to head home. I loved surprising them with some homemade goodies.

My final Christmas memory was walking through the kennels at the humane society where I worked for 8 years, handing each dog a dog biscuit or treat. I felt sorry for the dogs spending the holiday in a kennel, surrounded by other unwanted or discarded dogs. Of course, the dogs had no idea it was Christmas time. But I like to think the treat and a kind word made their day just a little bit brighter.

Those days are long gone. Terror attacks made it impossible to deliver food to unknown members of the military. I don't make Chex mix any more because it's so good I gobble it down. And I left the humane society in 1988 and lost the opportunity to hand out treats to the dogs.

But these memories bring a smile to my face every time.

The Business of Christmas

I am old enough to remember when Christmas was primarily a religious holiday. 

I don't remember when it turned into a day of little more than an opportunity to spend and spend and spend in an endless search for "the perfect gift." But a major commercial holiday is what this former religious holiday has become. 

And do you know what? It disgusts me. I'm not a religious fanatic by any means. I haven't set foot inside a church for decades other than as a tourist visiting a landmark church in another country. 

But the mad dash to get our hands on that season's must-have gift, the spending of hundreds and thousands of dollars many of us can't afford to purchase gifts that the recipients may well not want or like, the madhouse at the mall and at the grocery store - - all of these things have combined with my increasing age to turn me against anything Christmas. 

Once my daughter grew up and moved out on her own, I didn't bother to set up a Christmas tree. I stopped mailing out Christmas cards at least 10 years ago. I no longer do holiday baking, something I used to enjoy a great deal. 

I don't put decorations inside the house, or hang up Christmas lights in the living room. And for the past 2 years at least, I have not even listened to my large collection of Christmas CDs. When stores started setting out their Christmas stuff in August, I turned against the holiday.

My siblings and I agreed long ago not to exchange Christmas gifts. All of us have everything we need or want. 

I do buy something for my daughter every year, and if she can't put her finger on anything she wants or needs, I send her money. This year she had an idea of something she wanted - - a Kindle - - so that's what I sent her, along with a case and a charging cord. My grandson will get a large fire truck, as that's what my daughter said he would like. 

I didn't even have to go to the store to get their gifts. I simply went online, ordered the items, and had them shipped to their home in Kansas. My daughter made a batch of one of my favorite kinds of cookies and shipped those to me. And that is fine. I don't bake for myself anymore with rare exceptions, so the homemade cookies were perfect. 

As for the business of Christmas, I just read that Americans spent roughly $102 billion dollars on Black Friday this year. And on Cyber Monday, just 3 days later, Americans set a record and spent some $13.3 billion that day. I also read somewhere that a fair number of Americans is still paying off last year's Christmas bills. 

Somehow I don't think those who originated in the mid fourth century the whole idea of celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus intended for people to bankrupt themselves to buy unnecessary gifts for each other. This is especially true when so many families around the world, not just in the US, are struggling to pay for housing, medical care and food.

Buy something for the kids. But don't be like a woman who used to work for me. She never had extra money, but every Christmas she spent a small fortune on her kids' Christmas. And her daughter, at least, was rather critical of my daughter who didn't get a ton of things for Christmas. Don't get me wrong. My daughter got a lot of Christmas gifts, but not to excess. I never believed that I could buy my daughter's love with an excess of gifts. And my daughter didn't act like a spoiled brat. 

The business of Christmas has, for me, spoiled a nice holiday once rooted in a religious celebration, a time for family and a time to give to those less fortunate. It should not be a time of excess, greed and debt.

My Grown-up Christmas Wish

Every Christmas I hear people saying what they want for Christmas. And every year, the advertisers bombard us with ads for things they think we should want.

This was a big deal when I was a kid. All the kids in my family, all three of us, had a list of things we hoped Santa would bring us. And on Christmas Day and the day after, we would excitedly tell our friends and cousins what we got for Christmas. And although we attended church services, Christmas was all about the presents we got.

I left childhood behind decades ago, and I no longer wish for material things. I have everything I want and everything I need. So here is my new, grown up Christmas wish list. 

l want people who are sick with no cure to be able to be cured. I want children with no families to be adopted. I want people to never have to worry about food and shelter and heat. I want an end to war and to discrimination and to murder. I want people to live in peace. I want people to wake up and realize that planet Earth is our only home, and we need to start taking care of it. I want it into child abuse, and to animal abuse and to elder abuse. I want a homeless to have a safe place to live. I want all the homeless and unwanted animals to become part of families that will cherish, love and care for them.

This, friends, is my grown-up Christmas wish.

Simple Joys

I saw a video recently of a dog realizing that the man in the distance was his 'dad,' who had been away on a long military deployment.

The dog was nervous at first, but once he realized who the man was, he was beside himself with joy.

That made me think about how most dogs live their lives ... full of simple joys. Rolling in the grass. Sniffing a new odor. Going for a walk. Greeting a new person, or an old friend. Chasing a ball. Waking up and giving a big stretch. Drooling at the scent of something tasty. Enjoying, however briefly, their meal.

Maybe we humans don't have the same level of enjoyment when smelling a new odor, but we can find our own simple pleasures. Who among us can resist the smell of bread fresh from the oven? I love the smell of the outdoors, especially the smell of a pine forest. Unfortunately, I lost most of my ability to smell (and taste) several years ago due to an upper respiratory infection (before covid). But every so often I am able to smell something cooking or to weakly taste a special food. So I understand the joys of having these two senses. So I can only imagine what it must be like to have a sense of smell 10,000 times greater than we mere humans have.

Volumes have been written about domestic dogs. On some level, they seem rather simple. Their joy is simple and uncomplicated, But really, dogs are remarkable creatures, with abilities we can't begin to imagine. 

I recently heard that a drug-detecting dog can detect one drop of an illegal drug in the equivalent of 25 Olympic-size swimming pools. Other dogs can detect hidden currency or people. Some can alert a person to an upcoming seizure or low blood sugar. Some even are reported to detect the presence of the virus that causes covid.

These dogs are rewarded for their detection with lots of excited praise and a chance to grab their favorite toy for a few minutes of play. The special toy is brought out only after a successful detection.

Sometimes we humans have to schedule our joys, an outing to a favorite outdoor spot, for example. But it's important to do things, even if we have to schedule them, that bring us joy.

As a lowly human, I've been thinking about things that bring me joy. I love spending time outdoors, traveling, taking photographs, reading, writing, and taking a nap on a cold day.

What are your simple joys?