Bunny come, bunny go

Our first bunny was a beautiful white angora rabbit which was immediately christened Fluffy.  He was sweet as long as we kept him in the outside hutch but he defied all the evidence from the House Rabbit groups by becoming a mean, territorial, growling, charging, biting bunny, when kept in the house.  When he started shedding, I learned how to spin his fur, ultimately making a few tiny knit angora bunnies.

Then a neighbor's bunny hopped over and decided to stay.  I tried returning him to his family several times, luring him with bananas, but he always came back.  After the fifth time, the family suggested that we keep him.  

Then came the giant lop eared rabbit, another angora, and a little lop eared bunny that was labeled as a female at the fair where we bought him. I was pleased to have another female because I had a female already.  They could keep each other company.  The little lop agreed with this plan wholeheartedly.  Fortunately, he was so overeager that we knew, even before we set him down, that he was, absolutely, undoubtedly male.  Time for plan B, I had to find a second cage.

The little lop was named Snickers, because his coloring matched the candy bar.  Snickers soon decided he was not a bunny after all; he was a dog.  Our old Lab/Rottweiler mix, Montana, would suddenly come to life as soon as we walked out the door.  He would grab hold of a stick and run around in circles.  Looking over to the rabbit pen, we would see Snickers running around in circles with a stick in his mouth.  If that's what dog's do, he was going to do it, too.

For a long time, we had three rabbits.  When I say a long time, I mean a l-o-o-o-n-g time.  Velvet was the first.  He was a sweet, sweet bunny who was found crossing a major street in town.  The family had other rabbits and needed to find a home for this one.  Then came Bunnicula and Killer, dwarf rabbits.  Brothers from the same litter, they were the nastiest rabbits I've ever known, completely destroying any stereotypes of the "cute little bunny".  Killer proved to be an escape artist, too, and within a week or so, decided to make his way in the world.  Bunnicula stayed on to growl, charge, and bite us whenever we tried to feed him.  I started wearing leather gloves.  The last of the three (not counting Killer) was Carrot, a used classroom pet that came to us after spending 1 1/2 years in the 2nd grade classroom.  Carrot was another lovely, friendly variety and he was always waiting for someone to pet him.  

We lost Velvet last year at age ten.  Yesterday, we lost Carrot, also at age ten.  A week ago, I found that his hind legs were paralyzed and he wasn't able to get to his food and water.  I knew he wasn't going to recover, not at his age, for sure.  I called the vet's office only to find that they were closed for the holiday weekend.  We brought him inside and hand fed him twice a day. Then I would clean him up and change his bedding.  I was glad when he decided to depart even before the vet's office opened up again.  

Bunnicula is still with us.  At age 9, he is still just as feisty as ever.

We have our new rabbit now, too.  The rescue organization named him "Inky", which wouldn't work for us.  We have a niece by that name.  I thought we'd call her Binky, but my kids disagreed.  After trying out numerous possibilities, she was finally christened, "MJ", because she is black with one pure white paw.  Our daughter was adamant that MJ be a house bunny and it's working out well!  MJ is a friendly and social little critter who runs up to us whenever we enter the room, hopping in circles around our legs.  If we sit down on the floor, she will run around the room, checking in with us after every few laps.  She's not a sit-in-your-lap type of bunny but the way she stands and looks at us when she checks in, has me charmed. She's even housebroken!

We've had many animals come and go in our family.  It's always hard to lose a pet, but when we are lucky enough to have a sweet, friendly rabbit live a full, long life, it's not as hard to say goodbye.  Ten years is a long time for a rabbit to live.  Old Velvet even had wrinkles on his face!  I suspect there will always be one more bunny to rescue. 

'Tis the Season

It seems strange.  Other states are getting a pounding of snow and rain.  My cousin, Sue, wrote to tell me that Charlotte, North Carolina, is getting its second white Christmas in recorded history.  My friend, Harold, reported seeing Noah's Ark floating past his house in Palm Springs, California.  Currently, it is colder in Houston than it is here in Denver and it's only 33 degrees in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Here in Denver, we are having one of the mildest and driest seasons in years.  Despite our daughter's ritual snow dances and loud renditions of "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow", we've only had a couple of dustings so far this fall.  The weather has stayed obstinately warm.  There have been no school closings and my snow boots have remained in the closet, gathering spider webs.  

We've had an interesting challenge because of the weather.  Our ducks and geese think that it is spring and the males have become interested in fulfilling their role in procreation.  The problem is that our male duck, Louis, is madly in love with our female goose, Madeline.  Augustus, our male goose, has been casting his eyes on our female duck, Thelma.  If the weather doesn't cool them down soon, we'll have to take them aside for a lesson in basic biology.  Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

I love the whole Christmas season, so it's not hard to get into the spirit, even without the snow.  It took a little longer this year.  We were in the second week of Advent and lighting two candles each night before I had our wreath made.  Now, it's Christmas Day.  All is quiet, mostly because everyone's in bed, except for me.  Sometimes, I tell my family, I can be well rested or sane.  I can't be both.  I need some time to myself. 

The time between Christmas and Epiphany is a time to look back and look forward.  Where have I been and where do I go from here?  Most days, the answers to these questions are simple.  I've been in bed.  Now I'm up and going into the kitchen to make tea.  If, however, I have some time to myself over the next twelve days, I'll ponder this question a little more. 

'Tis the season!

Gifts for Animal Lovers

Since my blog is in the top 1.5 million blogs on the internet and is read religiously by at least 4 people, two of which aren't even members of my family, I thought I would use my influence to suggest Christmas gifts for the animal lovers on your list:

1.  Hamsters - Their names are Pip and Squeak and I promised to provide foster care for them till they find their permanent home. 

2.  A Dog's Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron.  The highest praise for this book comes from his daughter, who told me, "Sometimes my dad writes something good."  This wonderful book, about a dog who lives numerous lives, reincarnating until he can find his purpose in life, is filled with Bruce's gentle humor and his obvious love of animals.  No one was surprised when it made the New York Times and the LA Times best seller lists.  It was only natural to hear that Dreamworks Studios is turning this into a movie.  http://www.adogspurpose.com

3.  Hamsters - Did I mention that they're free?

4.  Enslaved by Ducks and Fowl Weather both by Bob Tarte.  The first book had us laughing and remembering similar adventures on our urban farm.  Bob and his wife, Linda, began accumulating animals shortly after they were married.  Before long, Bob found himself setting up pens for ducks and geese, hand-feeding parrots, rescuing baby robins, and nursing an injured turkey.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  As Bob says, "Try living with a parrot and you may end up on Zoloft, too."  The second book is on my wish list.  (hint, hint)  www.bobtarte.com

5.  Hamsters - Call soon and I'll throw in the hamster race car and race track.

6.  A St. Nicholas Story by Terri Reinhart and illustrated by Patrick Reinhart.  The classic story of the fiercest little animal in the forest who meets up with St. Nicholas.  The year I first told this story to my kindergarten children, I had a number of fierce, grumpy little pine martens in the class.  The usual St. Nicholas story wouldn't do.  I didn't write down the story for another year.  Within a couple of years, I learned that my little story had been shared around the world and had even been performed as a puppet show. 
I'm excited and pleased to announce that it is now available in Dutch and Swedish (soon) and available as an app for Android  Soon it will also be available for iPhone and iPad!

7.  Don't forget the hamsters. 

                    

Christmas Bunny

I think I overdosed my husband on animals early in our marriage.  It wasn't intentional; some things just happen.  It was really Chris who started the whole thing, anyway.  He once had a blue and white parakeet and he suggested that perhaps we could get another one.  Pitou joined our household early on and started off a long line of pets that would include:  another parakeet, dogs, rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, rats, cats, ducks, geese, goats, and a donkey.

It's not surprising that Chris eventually put his foot down and set some limits on our pets.  "No more dogs and no cats," he informs me on a regular basis, just in case I come across a puppy or kitten that is irresistible.  He hasn't mentioned other animals.  This leave room for some creative pet possibilities.

Georgia, the lovely young woman who works with a local rescue organization, knows she can't call us to foster dogs or cats.  I let her know we'd be willing to help out with other animals, if she ever, possibly, once in a great while, needed that.  To my dismay, we were immediately offered the opportunity to foster a couple of llamas.  We have a nice big yard, but it's not that big, so I put the word out to everyone I knew who had land and experience with animals, including the entire list of Alpaca breeders in the state. I trust someone gave them a home.

A couple of weeks later, I agreed to take the three roosters that the municipal animal shelter was anxious to have taken off their hands.  Before we could take them, however, a rooster rescue group had sprung them from their prison, offering them a life free from the possibility of ever ending up as rooster noodle soup.  I immediately pictured little old ladies taking their pet roosters for walks and hand feeding them bits of cookies.

It was quiet on the animal front for a long time.  Then, two days ago, Georgia contacted me again.  This time, there was a rabbit and a couple of hamsters that needed homes.  Fortunately, Chris and just finished reading the book, Enslaved by Ducks, by Bob Tarte.  Chris agreed that we could adopt the rabbit and I suspect that he was grateful I wasn't suggesting adding a parrot or a turkey to our family.

We already have two rabbits, Bunnicula and Carrot, and they are 9 and 10 years old.  Another one  wouldn't be much trouble.  We'll foster the hamsters until we find a home for them, which I'm sure , will be very, very soon; not more than a day or two.

The rabbit's name is Inky, which poses a problem as we have a niece, Ingrid, who goes by that nickname, and our son's cat is Enkidu, or Enky for short.  We're not up for the energy it takes to deal with all that confusion, so we'll change her name to Binky.  Binky is an honorable name.  We borrow it from the Terry Pratchett "Discworld" novels.  I always loved the character of Death in these books. Death is much less foreboding when pictured as the tall, skeletal being with a permanent grin, a love for cats, and a horse named Binky.

The hamsters' names are Pip and Squeak, by the way.  If anyone in interested, call right away.  Now.  If you call before Christmas, I'll throw in our old (but in perfect condition) hamster racetrack and race car.  What a deal!

The Boss

While we go through ups and downs with our kids and my parents, it's comforting to have the daily routine of taking care of the chickens, ducks, geese, and rabbits, and preparing the garden for winter.  There's always something happening and it's always interesting.  Sometimes it's entertaining, too.

Today I heard loud squawking and looked out the window just in time to see our miniature rooster, Napoleon, pick a fight with our giant goose, Augustus.  Napoleon loves to assert his authority.  Whenever we go outside, he insists on accompanying us, just to make sure we won't do anything to threaten his hens.  Maybe he wants to make sure we know who's boss.  He will perch on the fence right next to us then proceed to crow loudly, two or three times, just in case we didn't know he was there.  He's not the loudest rooster we've had, but when he is less than three feet away and on the fence, which is ear level to me, it's startling, to say the least.

If he's on the ground without a high perch close by, he will inevitably go into attack mode.  He goes for our shoes with a vengeance.  Most of the time, we experience this as "something just bumped into my leg", and instinct kicks in, literally.  I'm afraid that Napoleon has gone on several short trips flying backwards after my leg shot out, unintentionally, at his first attack.  Never one to give up after the first go, Napoleon comes right back for more.

He reminds me of the chicken hawk in the old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons.

He got more than he bargained for today when he picked a fight with Augustus.  With wings flapping, he jumped at the goose, over and over, with claws out.  Augustus simply bent down and picked up Napoleon by the feathers on his back and stood there, holding him, while our little rooster protested and kept on trying to get at the goose with his claws, wings, and beak.  Haven't I seen something like that in a cartoon?

I didn't let it go on.  Augustus is incredibly strong and might have hurt or even killed Napoleon, without meaning to.  I ran outside in my bedroom slippers.  This sight alone must have startled Augustus into dropping the rooster.  Whatever it was, the goose was content with letting go.

Napoleon, however... that was another story.  He puffed himself up, mortally offended that I had come to his rescue.  He looked at me as if to say, "I was doing fine.  I almost had him there.  Why'd'ya have to ruin it?"

I suggested to Napoleon that he might be a bit more grateful.  I had just saved his life, after all.

He pretended to ignore that comment and glared at me sideways...

until I turned to go back in.  That's when he attacked my slippers.

We know who's boss.

When is Dementia not Dementia?

Modern medicine is amazing.  I know that first hand.  As much as I respect and prefer natural and homeopathic remedies, and a holistic approach to medicine, I also know that modern medicine can be nothing short of miraculous.  I take a miracle drug called Sinemet.  When I take it regularly, I can walk, talk, breathe, and move, in a relatively normal manner.  If I am without it for a full day, all of those tasks are more difficult for me.  In fact, walking is not possible.

I also know that modern medications can cause as many complications as they cure.  That is why we look to the doctors to tell us what medicines to take.  They are the experts, or should be, anyway.  Sometimes they get it pretty mucked up.

For the last year, we have been helping my parents cope with my mom's diagnosis of vascular dementia.  She has had major ups and downs, times when she didn't realize what city she was in and thought my dad was her older brother, George.  Sometimes she packed her paper bags and purse and demanded to go home, even though she was already at home.  This sounds like typical dementia.

I wasn't totally convinced but I trusted the doctors' judgment.  They've had experience with many patients with dementia; they ought to know.  What confused me was that Mom could remember many details about conversations that she'd had over the previous week.  She could remember what was coming up in my schedule and remind me about it.  She might not know what town she was in or what year it was, but she knew that I was going to the eye doctor the next day.  This does not sound like typical dementia.

An attempt to convince our parents to go to geriatric specialists didn't go over well.  They had gone to their doctors for years and that was that.  At last, things progressed beyond what we could handle without support and we were able to sign both our parents up for Total Longterm Care, a managed Medicare/Medicaid program. 

This has truly been a blessing.  Their new doctor, Dr. Pham, is a geriatric specialist and the first thing she did was to meet with a pharmacist and go over all of the medications that my mom had been taking.  They made a number of changes.  I had the opportunity a couple of weeks later to talk with a psychiatric nurse practitioner, who confirmed the importance of the changes that were being made.  The previous combination of medicines were, according to this nurse, a "recipe for delirium". 

This means that we don't know whether Mom really has dementia or whether her confusion issues were solely due to the medications that had been prescribed to her over the last years.  Mom has been clear and not confused at all over the last couple of weeks. 

Our new challenge is the withdrawal symptoms she is experiencing after going off certain drugs.  She is extremely anxious, nervous, shaky, and at times, she goes through deep depression.  She is still on medication to treat these symptoms; however, until some of the old drugs clear out of her system, there will be some withdrawals.  She understands what is happening and, though she sometimes says it would be easier to be confused, she is determined to get through this challenge.  At least, she was more determined last night than she has been so far.  It continues to be a day to day battle.

We've all learned a lot.  Doctors are good but not infallible.  It's important to ask questions and to seek another opinion, especially when you are taking a lot of medications.  At 81, going through drug withdrawals is hell.  I keep telling her that this will be worth the effort.  She might just buy some time to actually enjoy life for awhile. 

That would be an incredible gift.

What's in a name?

Chris and I went for a walk today.  We enjoy walking through one small park that is planted all in native grasses, then meandering through the lovely area that is by the Wheat Ridge Senior Recreation Center.  We are lucky to have this place so close to us.  We don't make use of it much now, but we probably will as we get older.  They have lots of activities, classes, and trips for those of us who are over fifty years old.  I suspect, however, that most of their participants are somewhat older than fifty.
Something has changed since we last walked by.  They've changed their name from "Senior Center" to "Active Adult Center".  Huh?  Is "Senior" not an appropriate term anymore?  Maybe the city thinks they'll get more fifty-somethings coming to the center now that they've changed the name?  Or maybe they think the current participants will feel younger if they are now known as "Active Adults"?  It certainly doesn't make me feel younger, just tireder.  It brings back the memory of getting up early, getting children ready for school, working all day, driving kids to after school activities, coming home, cooking dinner, going to a school meeting, coming back to dirty dishes and that last load of dirty laundry, then going to bed to start it all again in a few hours.  That's an active adult.  Chris was hoping for an "Inactive Adult Center", with plenty of recliners, free beer, and a large screen TV.
I thought that "senior citizen" was already the politically correct term for "old person".  Just for the sake of research, I looked up the synonyms for "senior citizen" and found no mention of "active adult".  There are a few other synonyms that might work.  We could have the ""Antiquated Adults Center" or the "Venerable Time-worn Adults Center".  I'm not so sure about "Moth Eaten Old Fogey Center".  That might offend a few people.  Compared to these names, "Senior Center" doesn't sound so bad!

It was comforting to know that there was a senior recreation center around the corner where I'd be able to go and be social with other creaky old timers some day.  I hope the city remembers that the people who most make use of this center are the matriarchs, patriarchs, golden-agers, doyens and doyennes, elders, and old folks - not fifty-somethings.  I'm not sure I'd look forward to going to an "Active Adult Center"; an active SENIOR adult center, maybe.  At least that changes the picture for me a little.

I know!  Let's call it the "Center for Older People who have Time to Do Things They Want to Do".
The new "Invesco Field" is still known and called "Mile High Stadium" by nearly everyone in Denver.  I suspect that the new name of our center will not be used much.  Fortunately, whatever it's official name, it will undoubtedly remain our Wheat Ridge Senior Recreation Center.  At least it will to me.