Yo, Chihuahua Mama!

If we'd had any idea of what we were getting into, would we have been so enthusiastic about being foster surrogate chihuahua mamas?

There were 4 puppies abandoned and then rescued by Life is Better Animal Rescue. They were newborns without a mama. Everyone who hears this says, "How could anyone abandon newborn puppies?" Giving whoever it was the benefit of the doubt, I wonder if the mama chihuahua died giving birth to these pups. Chihuahua mamas are more at risk than other dogs. Look up any info about caring for orphan pups and chihuahuas are sure to be mentioned somewhere. Maybe the owner panicked because they didn't know how to keep the pups alive.

Georgia Cameron, who started Life is Better, put the word out on Facebook. They needed someone to bottle feed the pups. Georgia does such amazing work, it's a privilege to be a small part of her endeavors.

As is my usual way, I jumped in feet first with my eyes closed. I didn't really know anything about bottle feeding puppies, not beyond the common sense rules of: keep them warm, feed them often, stimulate them to pee and poop. Emma immediately offered to help, so I figured, why not? It wouldn't be a big deal. Feed them every 3 hours. How long would it take, maybe 20 minutes? We could handle it. 

The good news is, the first two weeks are the hardest.  Here's the reality check:

The first week, it took 1 1/2 hours to feed, burp, and encourage them to poop - at each feeding. Yes, you do have to burp them. No, Mama dogs don't hold them on their shoulders and pat their backs. Mama dogs lick and lick and tumble them over and over. I'll pat their backs. Getting them to pee is easy. Pooping is not. Once they were all settled and asleep, I had 1 1/2 hrs before starting the process again. If you agree to nurse orphaned pups, be prepared to not sleep much and not get anything else done for the first two weeks.

It's easy for bottle fed puppies to aspirate the formula into their lungs. This can cause pneumonia and they can die quickly. It's also easy for them to snort it up their noses. This can make them so congested it's hard for them to suck and eat. Formula can be constipating. I never thought I'd be cheering and celebrating when puppies finally pooped. We also have to be careful to make sure they are not overfed or over heated. We check to make sure they don't get dehydrated. 

When the puppies wake up, they nose around trying to find a nipple to suck on. Without a Mama dog, the closest thing they find is their brother's penis. Left unchecked, this could cause permanent damage. Slurpy noises coming from their bed will wake me out of a deep sleep. All 4 pups are boys.

They had to have names. After some discussion, we settled on Hamilton, Benedick, Franklin, and Bertram. Chihuahuas might be small, but they have large personalities.

After trial and error (plenty of errors, though none fatal, thankfully), we have found what works well for these little ones. Sifting through all the internet info, here is what works:

Keeping warm:  Filled a large crockpot with water. Set it next to the bed with pups (our pups are in a portacrib) with the lid off. Turned it on high and placed a sheet over the bed and crockpot. This provides warmth and humidity. For inside the bed, I filled a tube sock with rice, tied it shut, and put another tube sock on top. Put in the microwave for 3 minutes on high, then placed UNDER the blankets in the bed (make sure it's not TOO hot), it creates a nice cozy place for the pups to cuddle up. Hot water bottle also works, but I find the rice socks easier.

Feeding: Using the syringe with the tiny nipple has worked well, but Hamilton managed to snort enough formula up his nose that he is having trouble eating now. On the suggestion of a local vet, we started feeding Hammie a different way. I picked up some cosmetic sponge wedges and cut them in half lengthwise. Soaked in the formula, Hamilton can suck on the sponge and get what he needs. It's much slower than the syringe feeding, but it seems closer to how they nurse naturally. He can take it as his own pace and fall asleep while nursing. 

We tried getting the others to eat this way, but they were already used to the quick stop at the filling station. I made the mistake of using a syringe to "load" the sponge with more formula. HA! The puppies can see now. They know where they get their fast food. They ditched the sponge and made for the syringe.

Food: We tried several things - commercial formula alternating with goat's milk, homemade formula, then back to commercial formula. The commercial formula caused constipation. They loved the homemade formula with goat's milk and yogurt, but Benedick couldn't handle it. It was wreaking havoc in his gut. A trip to the vet and we were back to commercial formula. Bennie responded by gaining two ounces in one day. We weigh them on a small postage scale.

We found we needed to add more water to the commercial formula than the instructions say. We also added a few drops of olive oil to get things moving. This worked, but it also had the wonderful effect of making everything slippery and the nipples would often shoot off the top of the syringe like a rocket. This was frustrating at any time, but at 3:00 am, it was too much. Puppy mama meltdown time. Adding corn syrup helps with constipation, but works by drawing fluid from their body to the gut. So, we had to watch for signs of dehydration. Also the corn syrup is sticky and can clog up the nipple. This results in a frustrated, hungry puppy who is sucking so hard the nipple falls off the syringe over and over. Again, at 3:00 am, it isn't funny.

In the last 2 1/2 weeks, we have learned how to burp a puppy, sat up nearly all night with a puppy with a tummy ache, and given subcutaneous fluid injections to rehydrate pups. I've watched my elderly parents holding the pups in their hands and seen how gentle and caring our young grandchildren can be with them. I've basically ignored our house and my husband has been fixing dinners simply because he knows it's probably the only way he'll get to eat.

They are 3 weeks old now. They've gone from between 4 and 5 ounces to between 11 ounces and 1 lb. The plugged puppy issue is finally resolving itself and we're looking to start some mashed solid food next week, just a little to see how they like it. If I feed them at 11:00 pm, they'll only wake me up once during the night. 

It's going to be quite lively around here when they start to wake up and play with each other. It'll be fun to see their personalities develop. The weeks are going to fly by, I know, and it won't be long before it's time for our little charges to find their forever homes. 

Confessions of an Agnostic Catholic Feminist

There's an old joke about an elderly Italian woman who was praying in church when a workman saw her and decided to play a trick on her. He hid behind the statue of Jesus and called out in a deep voice, "I am Jesus and I hear your prayers." Nothing. The woman didn't react at all. He said it again, a little louder, "I am Jesus and I hear your prayers!" Nothing. The old woman shifted a little on the kneeler, but didn't take any notice of him. So he tried once more, even louder, "I AM JESUS AND I HEAR YOUR PRAYERS!" Finally, the woman looked up crossly and said, "Shutta your mouth, I'm talking to your mother!"

It's an old joke, but the spirit of this story is pretty close to some of the Italian and Hispanic women I worked with at a Catholic nursing home 30+ years ago. I wonder if this generation has died out by now. I was young when I worked there and still involved with the church. With my more reserved German Catholic heritage, I was somewhat shocked, listening to the women. There seemed to be so much superstition mixed in with their beliefs. Was this okay? I mean, they prayed to the saints, but if the saint didn't provide results quickly, their statue was turned to the wall, presumably in time out until they decided to behave.

The two stories have something in common. There is an intimacy in their connection with God, the saints, and especially, Mary. I often got the feeling that their talks to Mary were more like their conversations with each other. Granted, Mary didn't answer back - at least not out loud, so it may have been more of a monologue, but from what I had experienced of older women in groups, they tended to prefer simultaneous monologues and didn't seem to need anyone to provide answers.

At this point in my life, I do not go to church. I am not a religious Catholic. However, growing up in a very Catholic home, I can relate as a cultural Catholic. We still say a Catholic blessing before meals and I automatically make the sign of the cross after prayers or whenever I hear a siren.

When we left the church, we were tired of the hierarchy in Rome, tired of ambitious priests who became bishops and cardinals and went to Rome where they never had to associate with mere parishioners. We were tired of rules made by these men and appalled by the hurt caused by the priests who had molested young boys and how the church had protected the priests instead of the children.

Back to Mary - even though the church would vehemently deny this, it seems, according to their beliefs, she is right up there on the same level as God. Mary was born without original sin. The father of her son was the Holy Spirit, not an earthly man. And instead of dying, she was taken up into heaven in the Assumption. (I enjoy the choice of words: assumption. Did Mary just disappear one day and everyone just assumed she was in heaven?) These three events are things we would normally associate with gods. Mary is the closest there is to a female diety, a goddess, in a Christian church.

It's the one feminist part of the Catholic church and, like all things female, the male church seems to ignore this. The hierarchy reveres Mary while keeping her firmly in her place. The old women knew better. Mary was the Mother of God. Why go to God when you can talk to his Mother? Mary was much more approachable. She's one of them. Jesus was most important at Christmas because new babies were always exciting, especially baby God. Even as an adult, Jesus was still Mary's kid. After all, he was still single.

On Christmas we celebrate the birth of Jesus. It's all about the baby who was Christ who was God who performed miracles and who was killed and then rose from the dead. I think this year I'll think about Mary who gave birth in a stable filled with straw and farm animals and who nudged her son into turning water into wine (go Mom) and then had to watch her son pay the price of choosing an alternative career and rebelling against authority. 

Of course, we should also think of Joseph. Poor old Joseph doesn't get too much press, but he was rather important, too. 

Fatherhood

Adam crunched contentedly, "Boys will be boys," he said.

Abraham sighed, beard in his soup, "Parenting is key."

And Joseph, Joseph shrugged over his ale. "Perhaps he'll be an engineer."

by John Reinhart, published in Black Heart Magazine.

For Every Action

Stubborn:  

1. having or showing dogged determination not to change one's attitude or position on something, especially in spite of good reasons to do so.

2. difficult to move, remove, or cure

~from the Oxford English dictionary

Is it something about the American pioneering spirit, pullmeupbymyownbootstraps, rugged individualist that makes us so blasted stubborn? All these descriptions, stubborn included, are so often worn with pride in this country as though it's our straight A report card - but then, that's not right, either, because rugged pioneers aren't wimpy intellectuals so let's make that a straight B+ report card.

I'm stubborn, too. Why are we so proud of this? It usually doesn't serve me well. When I was co-teaching, the two of us teachers often disagreed. We couldn't work it out so we stubbornly disagreed. Digging in our heels was the least effective way to solve any issues because it meant we both became more extreme in our own opinions.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

~Newton's Third Law of Motion

And we've become a nation of extremists. We're either radically left or radically right, fundamentalists or atheists, pro-gun or anti-constitution, pro-life or baby killers, pro-marriage equality or homophobic, the ones who are right and the ones who are idiots, good guys and the enemy. Black, white, there's no middle ground on any issue. Many of our presidential candidates are exploiting this. I'm sure they think it'll win them more votes. 

At least this is what all our media, social media, and clever photos and quotes seem to say. I suspect that, when it comes to many important things, we're a lot closer than we think. There's just one little problem. WE DON'T TALK ABOUT ANYTHING, unless, of course, we're fairly certain we agree. If we don't agree, we don't talk. We unfriend them or hide their Facebook posts. We move out to the country and live near others who believe as we do or we move to the city where there are people from so many different backgrounds and we can blend in.

We've substituted cleverness for thoughtfulness. We can blast our opinions out as loud as we want as long as we're blasting to those who believe the way we do. Or we blast at others without listening. What we don't do is talk...together...and listen and learn.

The problem with this is there are no simple solutions to our issues. Nothing we are facing right now has a simple black/white - right/wrong answer.

Extremist rhetoric, whether it's coming from social media or political candidates or a religious radicals, does nothing to solve problems and instead, fosters fear, anger, suspicion, and can encourage violence. It tells us it's a good idea to dig in our heels, stubbornly disagree, and become even more divided. And there are too many people out there who will jump at the chance to act out against a perceived enemy.

"How many hearts will be broken! How many lives shattered! How much blood will spill until everybody does what they're always going to have to do from the very beginning -- sit down and talk! Listen to me, listen. I just -- I just want you to think. Do you know what thinking is? 

It's just a fancy word for changing your mind.

The only way anyone can live in peace is if they're prepared to forgive. 

Why don't you break the cycle?"

~taken from the script written by Peter Harness and Steven Moffet for Dr. Who

I suspect most people who read this will automatically apply it to those who do not agree with them. If so, I have wasted my time and energy. And why do I quote science fiction writers? Those who write science fiction have the task to imagine worlds, complex worlds. Good science fiction helps us to reflect on our own world. 

                                                   "Why don't you break the cycle?" 

Moving away from our stubbornness will be hard work, but our lives may depend on it.

Gratitude for a Diverse and Beautiful World

Last night I danced with my square dance club at the First Unitarian Society of Denver. There was a banner hanging in the hall that read, "Black Lives Matter". It had been hanging outside, but last week, the church was vandalized. Red paint was thrown on the banner and a window in the church door was broken. I'm glad the banner was still hanging in the church. The message was very powerful.

What's going on in our country? I wish I could say all this hate and bigotry was just some random crazy individuals, but then I read how some of the presidential candidates are responding to the Syrian refugees. Of course we know what happened in Paris was horrible. The refugees are running from this same horror - and there is no place to run to in their country.

Donald Trump suggests registering all American Muslims in a database. Jeb Bush says we should take in refugees, but only if they're Christian. Ted Cruz is even more emphatic, saying that accepting Muslim refugees would be "lunacy", but if Christians are being persecuted, we should be providing safe havens for them. Ben Carson compared Syrian refugees to rabid dogs. Mosques are being vandalized, human beings are being attacked and beaten because of the color of their skin, their religious beliefs, their sexual orientation.

Despite all this, I know the world is a beautiful place and there are so many good people everywhere. I was reminded the other night of how thankful I am that we are living in a large and diverse city. The more we get to know people, the less easy it is to hate. I love being able to know a lot of people from different backgrounds.

I'm encouraged, especially when I see people dealing with the issues of hate and bigotry in a positive way. My big shout out of THANKS for this Thanksgiving season go to:

The American Muslim comedians who work consciously to help bridge cultures with stories and laughter: Maz Jobrani, Maysoon Zayid, Ahmed Ahmed, Dean Obeidallah, Wonho Chung, Aron Kader and others. We had the privilege of seeing Maz Jobrani's show in Denver last week, reminding us that laughter is the universal language. It was amazing and I am already saving to go to his next show.

Governor Hickenlooper, here in Colorado, who has supported having Syrian refugees in Colorado. Please, Gov! Keep standing up for the refugees.

President Obama - I am so proud of our president.  He is standing up for what is right.

Thirty-three years ago, during the Ethiopian civil war, my husband and I sponsored a young Muslim refugee to come to the US. Elias stayed with us until he had a job and could afford to move into an apartment with some friends. It was fun! Elias was in his early 20's. He enjoyed TV, especially Wonder Woman. He tried to teach me how to cook Ethiopian food and I tried to teach him how to make pancakes. He taught us some of his language. Our lives are richer for having him with us for those brief few months.

There will always be people who will promote hate and violence. We have plenty of those in our country right now. The scariest violent people are religious extremists - it doesn't matter what religion - because how do you counter the "God says" argument? The violence which has happened in France, in Beirut, in Baghdad was horrible. The possibility this could happen elsewhere is real. It doesn't let us off the hook. The only way to defeat terrorism is to show the terrorists we are bigger than they are, there are more of us who believe in compassion than fear.

I'm grateful our president knows this.

Climbing around in the Family Tree

Several of my friends have become addicted to genealogy. They talk of days spent following clues on ancestry.com and suddenly looking up to find it's dark outside and they have forgotten to eat. I figured I'd better stay away from this work because sometimes I forget to eat anyway and if I would sit that long, Chris would have to come with an appliance dolly to bring me to bed. I decided to leave the tedious ancestor work to those who can't seem to get enough of it.

Then I started trying to identify people in old family photos. I don't have ancestry.com, but I looked up a few things on familysearch.org - the free site. It took a bit of digging, but I found some of the information I was looking for and, one thing led to another.

When I looked at the clock, I was surprised to see I had been working for nearly 4 hours. Damn.

On the other hand, I was fascinated. Other people have obviously done a lot of work connecting branches to my family tree, which is as tall as Jack's beanstalk and even wider than it is tall. I couldn't stop clicking on those little arrows to make the previous generations of ancestors show up. When the Welsh names started to appear, I was hooked. It's cool to find names like Gryffydd or Dafydd or Angharad, especially when I actually know how to pronounce them. I knew my Welsh language study would be useful.

Then King Henry I, sitting on a royal branch, made his presence known.

Whoa. Am I really a direct descendant of King Henry I? Well... if everything is correct, I'm related through one of his bastard sons. I've heard he had approximately 200 illegitimate children so it's entirely plausible. I went further and further back, mindlessly clicking on those little arrows that showed up with each new branch. I saw various kings and queens and princes and the names went from Welsh to English to Scottish to French to Roman. I passed by Constantine with another click. By this time, I was getting used to the fact I was of royal blood, and yawned.

Then the Norse line came with names like Agnar Sigtrygsson and Solveig Halfdansdatter. Amazing! I had no idea there was any Norse blood in my veins. But..when Odin of Asgaarde appeared, I began to wonder if this was totally accurate. So what did I do? I asked Google. Okay. The records kept by the Church of Latter Day Saints are accurate - or as accurate as they can be considering the spelling errors on some of the hand written census records. The family trees are only as accurate as the supporting documents or lack thereof which are attached to them - or not.

There are small red boxes containing exclamation points that alert you to "data problems" in your family tree. This might mean that, according to the dates (which you or someone has obviously researched), the mother was born after her husband died or she was 4 years old when her first child was born. I still haven't figured out how to correct mistakes on the family tree, at least the one I just made. Sawing off the branch doesn't seem to be an option.

On the other hand, considering the number of descendants many of those famous folks have, being related to kings, queens, and other celebrities of the ancient past, is not at all unlikely. From the time I was young, I was taught to be proud that we are direct descendants of William Bradford from the Mayflower. We have the proof for this one. And good old Will has at least two million living descendants.

As for the questionable ancestors, we just have to go through and find all the birth records, death records, immigration records, marriage records, photos of gravestones, and on and on and on. Find enough records, attach them to the people in your family tree, and pretty soon, there you go. Climb around in the branches and chat with Marcus Aurelius or trade stories with Attila the Hun.

Enough going back in time for one night. I think I'll veg out for awhile and watch TV. Dr. Who, anyone?

By Candlelight

My lover speaks and says to me, 

"Arise, my friend, my beautiful one, and come!"    Song of Songs

We don't have to use candles. Even if the power goes off, there are flashlights and other battery operated options for us. Candles, you'd think, would be obsolete. So why do we use them?

I had been invited to attend the ordination of my friend, Mary Ann. I was looking forward to meeting her in person for the first time and seeing her mentor, whom I had known for many years. I knew this would be a small gathering. In all, we were six - me, Mary Ann, the two priests who ordained her, and two other priests. I felt incredibly honored to be invited to witness this special moment in my friend's life.

The chapel was in a tiny room in the basement of a house. I was instructed to take off my shoes before I entered this dim, candle lit space, and shown to my chair next to my friend. I sat down and she reached over and took my hand. In the quiet, we touched for the first time.

Candles are for special times and sacred spaces. They soften the edges and allow us to see each other gently. We become quiet. Candlelight encourages us to listen and to speak only what needs to be spoken.

Prayers, readings, and vows.

I listened. In a tradition that is ancient yet, somehow felt fresh like a walk just after sunrise, my friend spoke her promise to serve others. There were more words, of course, but what I remember most was all about love and freedom and being there to serve, not to judge or tell anyone what to do or what to believe.

In the quiet of a sacred space, in the dim light of the candles, it is somehow easier to see myself and understand my own sharp edges. This space, perhaps because of the people inhabiting it, did not hold judgement or criticism, only support, generosity, and love, even (or maybe especially) towards our own failings. It is hard to express what I felt during this time, the closest would be that I felt utterly and completely and beautifully human.

May we be granted peace.

A Stitch in Time

"Knitting is very conducive to thought. It is nice to knit awhile, put down the needles,     write awhile, then take up the sock again."   Dorothy Day

There are 96 stitches on 4 needles, size 3. The entire project will only be 8 inches long. This is something I generally can knock off in a couple of evenings, especially if we have a good movie to watch. Not this time. I've been at it for nearly a week and have just over 3 inches done. I've spent most of my time slowly taking out mistakes.

Last month, I lost a friend. Kathy was not someone I hung around with all the time, but she was a friend, a colleague, a mentor, a confidante. She was also a knitter. A number of her beautiful projects were on display at her memorial celebration. They reminded me of her - large, soft, warm, classy, beautiful.

I decided I was going to try lace knitting this time. I've done it before and I enjoy it, but it's not something I can work on without concentrating on every stitch. Even so, I often get to the end of the needle and have too many or too few stitches to complete the pattern. Then I have to go back, slowly, stitch by stitch, until I find out where I made my mistake.

As I've worked on this project, I've thought of Kathy a lot. One day, soon after we celebrated her life, I went back and read some of the emails and messages we wrote to each other. I was saddened when I realized one of the last things she had written to me was a request that we get together for lunch. It was a trying time for me - in some ways it still is - as I was navigating the practical and emotional issues of moving my parents to assisted living. I told her I'd love to have lunch with her, but I couldn't right then. I was swamped.

No, I don't feel guilty, just a little sad. I was swamped and there wasn't much I could do about it. Kathy understood complicated family life and medical issues. She always understood. This is what made her the incredible teacher, principal, advocate, and friend she was to so many people.

No, I didn't feel guilty, but it was one more reminder to take care of the people I love and to keep mending my mistakes.

My knitting pattern is a little like my life right now: too complicated, demands attention, and easy to make mistakes. It's taking a lot of patience to get through each round, knit a little, count, take out stitches, re do them, go on. It's taking a lot of patience to get through each week, too, and I often spend a great deal of time going back and fixing mistakes, and then taking a breath and going back to one more doctor's appointment, one more afternoon with young grandchildren, one more day of figuring out insurance companies, school schedules, and cleaning house.

I'll take up the knitting needles again, too. With each round completed, the pattern can be seen more clearly. As I begin to understand the pattern, the mistakes are easier to fix. The patterns in my life are a bit more complex than this lace knitting - or are they? As I begin to understand my life patterns, I alternately groan and laugh at how often I make things more difficult than they need be.

Oh well. For now, I'm ready to take a deep breath, go to bed, and rest up. Tomorrow I'll start another round.