Cash the hero

Let me tell you about our black Labrador——Cash in Black. This is not an obituary. No, he is still with us. We got Cash from Howard's bird-hunting friend and his wife, Bruce and Phyllis Hawkins. Cash is almost 14, and that's really old for a Lab. He has bad skin. He sports little tumors all over his body. One of those nasty things is the size of a ripe canteloupe. His eyes are cloudy from cataracts, and he can barely walk. Most days he can be found on the back steps, sleeping in a coma-like slumber. I stand there sometimes to watch and see if he is going to take another breath. He always does. When people come to our house, they look at him and then look at us, as if to say, "Why don't you let him go?" I've asked that question myself. Howard just says, "He's not ready." Cash proved that recently.

In anticipation of being left dogless except for my aging Silky Terrier, Howard got a heeler mix wild puppy (Katie Barr the Door) which he loves more than he does me. They ride on the Mule every afternoon that weather permits. She sharpens sticks, has dug up all my flower beds, has chewed through a leash, pulled the weather stripping off the back door and anything else she can get her needle-sharp teeth into. That includes Cash——his ears, his tail, his feet. He puts up with it. That's why he is still here. To raise that wild thing and Sassy the kitten. When Cash has enough torture, he puffs out a semi-growl, and she quits for two seconds. He doesn't have enough teeth left to bite anything. When she is tired he lets her snuggle up beside or on top of him. When she was still tiny she slept on his head. Katie is not the only animal in the dog pile. He (Howard) also brought home a kitten, Sassy cat, while I was on a trail ride. She has funny markings but is mainly white. When it rains (I think it has rained twice since we have had them),they line up single file and truge at Cash's pace down to the horse barn to sleep in the hay. Katie chews on the kitten too. She is young and fiesty enough not to let it go too far and gets out her boxing gloves and works poor Katie over good.

I think Cash must remember what a bad baby Lab he was, and that's why he is hanging around and putting up with all this nonsense. He ate the pool cover, chewed the gas lines on the grill, ate every kind of bed I got him, and destroyed beach towels just for the thrill.Even this past summer he swam laps in the pool. Well this year, maybe just a dip. I tried to make him behave. He went to obedience school when he was about four months old. He would do what he was told——sit, stay, heel, etc and then fall out at my feet and sleep like he was drugged. We went to another obedience class and by this time, he was awake. He was fine until a little poodle passed by and he wanted to get in her personal space. I had to take him out of the class. Then my friend Mary, who raises and trains dogs, took him for two weeks. She is stronger and meaner than I am, so he did great for her. When I got him home, he could tell I was a wimp by just looking at me. For Howard, he was Mr. Perfect.

So I miss him already—the handsome, confident boy that he was. If we hadn't had him, how in the world would we have raised the wild puppy and silly cat? He knows it's not time. Not quite. Hope you enjoy the pics.

Help me celebrate my Jilly

I never intended my blog to be a wailing wall where I bemoaned life's tragedies. With this in mind, I ask you to celebrate and appreciate my magnificent mixed breed dog, Jilly. She was a big part of our lives and we will miss her. But, Oh, what a dog.

Two weeks ago Hayley brought her beautiful chocolate lab Daisy, home to our place. We planted daisies on her grave. Today I laid my sweet Jilly Possum next to her. We have dreaded this moment for several weeks.

 

So tonight I ask you to indulge me as I tell you more about her. I got her at our local shelter during spring break of 2010. The story was that two sister dogs, that they called collies, came to a woman’s house and both had puppies—21 in all. First, I think they were Border Collies, not Rough Collies. The puppies were incredibly cute. They looked like fluffy little Border Collies. Many, as did Jilly, had an eye patch marking.

 

I went to the shelter to ask about the one I’d seen in our local paper. They quickly said that she had been adopted, but they had 20 more just like her. I was in puppy overload. I picked Jilly because of her sweet disposition and beautiful markings. Her only flaw was that she was a little timid.

 

So we brought her home. Howard said she looked like a little white possum with her little pointy nose. From that point on, he called her Possum. The rest of us called her Jilly, so named by my grandson Garrett. He must have seen a cartoon starring a possum. Babies are called Joeys, males are Jacks, and females are Jills. How did he know that?

 

She had a rough go at first after being spayed a little early and being a little wormy. (gross) We propped her up on the bed next to some of Bella’s toys. That is Jilly next to baby Shrek. She overcame her timidness and remained sweet and extremely loyal to me. Howard taught her to shake, sit, stay, and down when she was too young to be doing those things.

A few months later we were given a registered black lab puppy who we named Cash in Black for Johnny Cash. I enrolled him in basic obedience school at Northwest. He would do a few commands, and being a big goofy puppy, he would fall out beside me and sleep. I think they passed him to get him out of there.

 

Then we went to Sandra Selph Gooch in DeSoto County for the next training step.  Cash was easily distracted and was pulling on my shoulder that had not quite healed from surgery. Sandra let me swap Jilly for Cash and even though she had missed half the lessons, she caught up and graduated with flying colors. Here she is at her graduation, mortar board and all. 

I registered her through AKC (American Kennel Club) as an American Dog. This is a registry that allows mixed dogs to compete in trial competition without being registered. I had good intentions, but we never did show, but she could have.

My friend Terry who has collie show dogs, was determined to get Jilly as white as she could. She found a bottle of blue toned shampoo for horses and thought she would give it a try.  As you can see in this pic, it turned her blue and she stayed that way for six weeks. I got lots of comments 

As she grew, I was more sure than ever that she had herding dog bloodlines. When my granddaughter, who were about five at the time, would run and squeal, as little girls do, she would circle them and try to herd them onto the back patio 

We took her camping with us a few times. She liked going places and walking around the campground, on a leash of course. 

At home, Jilly would go from window to window to watch what we were doing and hoping if she sat there smiling long enough she could come inside.

A few years ago the shelter did a calendar of dogs that they had placed in homes. Jilly made the cut and was Miss March, if I remember correctly.

 

This winter she began to show her age. It happened so fast. It was our routine to me to call her and we played a game where she assumed the “play” stance—rear end up in the air, paws splayed out. I would bark and she would bark back.  This winter she barked but was not playful.

 

And suddenly, I knew. She was so smart, beautiful, playful.  She was not a fur baby (I dislike this term). She was part of our lives. I don’t know if our dogs will be in heaven, but I do know that God put them on earth to enrich our lives, comfort us when we need it, make us laugh, and teach us many life lessons.

So tonight we are sad but at peace. No crying in the night as I have heard many nights before, No giving meds in the dark. And because Cash is lonesome, he got a ham bone all to himself.

Here are a few of the scenes that made us love Jilly.

Western lore for Bryer's Easter bucket

  

In this week of Easter, there is bunny, chicken, duckling, and lamb cuteness decorating store windows and lining the shelves of gift shops. However, my baby grandson has a new Easter basket, or should I say, bucket with a different kind of decoration.

His mama, my daughter, had her friend Lisa Cobb to adorn the bucket with the image of a jackalope. If you aren’t a Westerner or a fan of the western plains culture, you may not be familiar with this mystical creature, the jackalope. Mystical, is he?

 

My daddy lived his childhood and teenaged years in west Texas and New Mexico. He brought his love of all things Western back to Mississippi, and my children and I have included the lore and customs into much of our lives.

 

I can remember sitting in his lap and looking at his photos of “Out West.” In that collection was a vintage postcard of a cowboy riding a GIANT hare, the jackalope. The creature is a cross between a giant hare (jack rabbit) and an antelope, or more specifically, a pronghorn.  It is much like the one on the card I have included, except our cowboy is riding a wild, bucking, rearing rabbit with horns. Olivia has had me on a hunt for the postcard for a while now, and we can’t find it.

It seems that jackalopes have shown up in art as early as 1280. Some say they are small and more rabbit-like with a single horn. Those probably did exist, but scientist says they are ordinary wild rabbits which have a fungal growth protruding for their head. Well, that’s no good mystical tale.

 

Others are described as weighing 150 pounds and having a nasty disposition. Cowboys sitting around the campfire told of hearing a creature making noises that mimicked the human voice  and made sounds like they were throwing their voices to different locations. The legend, also told by old-time storytellers, is that the jackalope could only breed during a lightning storm. 

 

Two young brothers had a small set of horns on the ground and when he threw a wild hare down on them, he was struck with the idea that he could take them to a taxidermist and have it mounted as a jackalope.  The fad spread. President Reagan even had and jackalope doe and buck mounted above a door at his Rancho Del Cielo in Galeta, New Mexico, according to a photo courtesy of the Ronald Reagan Library.  

 

“Are they real?” I used to look up and ask daddy. 

“Sure, they are. You just don’t see any in Mississippi,” he would say, winking his eye and smiling.

 

Real or legend, see for yourself. Here is a link to a great article from High County News. It’s a great read. https://www.hcn.org/articles/books-the-legend-of-the-horned-rabbit-of-the-west

 

But we at my house know that bunnies, chicks, ducks, and lambs are not the reason we celebrate Easter. It’s for our living Jesus.

 

Resources

Legends of America.com

High Country News

            The Legend of the Horned Rabbit of the West

                        Michael Branch