He...oh wait, I mean SHE....did it!!

Laid an egg, that is!!!  

A "he" is incapable of that feat, correct?
So the debate has ended. 

 Clarkson the chicken,

Clarkson the suspected rooster,

 is indeed a hen.

We'd kind of wondered, you see, since Clarkson's comb was bigger than the other chickens and because he (I mean she) walked with a bit of a manly swagger.  In our inexperience, this chicken looked rather rooster-ish.

Our chicks were supposed to reach egg-laying age at the end of October, but every day when we eagerly checked the nesting boxes, we came back empty-handed.  Apparently if chickens reach maturity during the dark winter months, sometimes they won't lay eggs until the Spring.  Dang it.  I wanted a Halloween egg but would have to wait until Easter.

Lyle built this handy-dandy egg collection door into the side of the hen house.  It opens right into the nesting boxes, the nesting boxes which the chickens showed no interest in.  So, I basically stopped checking.  Then, two days after Thanksgiving, I was out with the dog when I heard a mighty ruckus coming from the hen house.  I figured that Clarkson the rooster was finding his voice.

I opened the side door to the nesting boxes and there sat Clarkson, squawking to beat the band!  It felt like I'd walked in on someone using the bathroom, and quickly apologized and closed the door.  I ran up to the house to tell the kids an egg was on the way.  Much to our surprise, there wasn't just one egg, but THREE!  Clarkson had laid the first egg on Thanksgiving!  In all of the excitement, with kids carrying the eggs, only one of the three made it into the refrigerator intact.

No matter.  Clarkson is now consistent as Old Faithful, delivering one egg a day.

We all find it pretty amazing.

Miraculous, really....

........especially coming from a rooster.  

Way to go Clarkson.

He Dreamed a Dream

No, Lyle is not Lehi, or Pharaoh, or (thank goodness) even Fantine from Les Miserables.  He did, however, dream a dream.

He woke up with a start at about 3:00 in the morning.   In the dream that roused him, he saw that our basement was flooding, our sump pump was broken, and water was lapping up near our raised, newly purchased, oh-so-pricey heater.  He was so troubled by the clarity of the dream that he knew he'd never get back to sleep if he didn't go investigate.

Our "basement" is really a glorified crawl space about 7 feet tall that you can access only by removing a heavy hatch which is set into the floorboards of our back porch.   In his robe, braving the cold, wet morning, he took off the hatch, shined his flashlight down the stairs, and saw the exact image of his dream......a completely flooded crawl space, a broken sump pump, and water rising dangerously close to our heating system.  It was a long, wet morning, but all is well and we are deeply grateful.

All of the children were impressed by Lyle's dream, but it was Cholita who shared the experience with her class, saying that she was thankful for Heavenly Father's help in saving our heater.  She also now looks at her father with a sense of awe and feels comforted that he will be warned in the event of family danger.   "Mom," she said very seriously while we were driving in the car, "If Dad ever dreams that a tiger is in our house, eating the kids, make sure he wakes up!"

 Will do.  But if he has a Lehi moment and dreams that our family should leave our house, travel in the wilderness and live in a tent?

 I'll tell him to go back to sleep.

If Franklin Could Talk

Do you want me to sit?  I'll do it!


Do you want me to lie down? No problem!


Do you want me to stay?   Got it!


Just tell me I'm a good dog.  Please, oh please, oh please tell me I'm a good dog.  


Because I love you!

You're beautiful!  Have I told you lately?  I only have eyes for you.  

Well, you and everyone else who wants to pet me.  Or feed me!

Your wish is my command.

Please, oh please, oh please let me do something for you.  Anything!

And then scratch my belly.  

Because I love you!

In case you can't tell, he's a pleaser.

At nearly 15 weeks, he knows sit, down, stay, leave it, and go potty.

He knows that he needs to sit and wait when we walk through doors.

He knows to sit quietly while we put on his leash or give him his food.

He knows not to jump up on people......mostly.

Little people are still too great a temptation.

At 15 weeks he does not know:

that everything in our home is not a chew toy and

that all manner of animal manure is not food.

Not bad for 15 weeks.

But seriously?

The ick factor of the manure eating nearly cancels out all of his great qualities.

Nearly.

We know he's a keeper.

Frankly Speaking: Life with a 12 week old puppy

As I type, Franklin is sitting on the floor next to me.  It's not the calm bonding moment that you might imagine, however.  The leash he's wearing is pinned to the floor by my foot because if given free reign,  I can't even image the scope of destruction. The word "catastrophic" comes to mind.

These past three weeks with Franklin have reminded me of the personal oath I'd made after raising each of our canine babies, an oath that obviously I'd forgotten.  "I will never get another puppy."  I picture Scarlett O'Hara with the sun setting behind her, a fist raised to the sky.  It's that type of oath.  And yet, here I am, yet again, raising a puppy.

Those people who raise guide dog puppies, only to send them off to formal training school once they've gotten through all the hard stuff?  There's a special place reserved for them in heaven, I'm sure.

And speaking of Heaven, it was the loss of Charlie's dear doggie brother, Olaf, that prompted the addition of Franklin.  Charlie just wasn't himself and he looked lonely and we just knew that he'd love a little puppy brother.  We were wrong.  Very wrong.  At his advanced age, he's like the grumpy 80 year-old man who yells at the neighbor kids to get off his lawn.   Right now, Charlie wants Franklin off his lawn.

I read somewhere that by 12 weeks a puppy should meet at least 100 people.  Since I'm a bit of a homebody, I've had to make a conscious effort to take Franklin somewhere every single day.  In our quest to find people of all ages and sizes, we've explored parks, visited schools, window shopped downtown, and blasted through many a scene of Autumn peace and tranquility.  And as tiring as it's been, I honestly can't remember a Fall that I've appreciated so fully.  Nothing says joy quite like a fat puppy rolling and romping through leaves.  I have no doubt that lurking within this bundle of fur are the makings of a great dog.

I just...

need the energy....

to get him there.

A Birthday, An Explanation, and An Introduction

A Birthday

My oldest girl turned 15 this week!  What a gift our sweet Lucy has been to our family.  Even as a baby, she had this calm maturity about her.  When we moved from Iowa to Washington, eighteen-month-old Lucy carried her  backpack through the airport, leading the way, making sure we were always right behind her, checking to see that I had our tickets, and just keeping us on track for the big move.  She's always been like that.....organized, responsible, and dependable.   And now she's 15 and eligible to start driver's ed.  Surprisingly, she's not itching to get behind the wheel, unlike her older brother, but we can wait...for a while.  Driving Lucy to her many activities takes a large part of my day and on her 16th birthday I want her in line at the DMV.

An Explanation

It's been a long, long time since I've had a month-long lapse in blogging.  It's been busy around here, as usual, but it's gotten busier.  First, we've joined the YMCA and I've been trying to exercise every morning, and second.........

An Introduction

This guy.   Our 11 week-old golden retriever bundle of energy.   It's been nearly 7 years since we've had a puppy at home and holy cow.  Puppies are EXHAUSTING.   Even sweet, mellow, obedient puppies like this little guy are a whole ton of work.   His name, as I've mentioned, had to come from the Peanuts comic strip.   This left us with names like Snoopy, Woodstock, Linus, Rerun, etc.  None of those seemed right.  We all agreed that with his blond hair he kind of looked like Schroeder...

...but Schroeder didn't exactly roll off the tongue for me and you have to say a dog's name about a hundred times a day.   Finally, one seemed right.

Do you remember the name of this character?  Think about it while I indulge in puppy pictures.....

.......Because he gets bigger every day.

 And won't always have the same puppy energy.  (Dang it and thank goodness.)

And he'll loose the puppy fluff.  Don't you want to touch him?

And his first "sit" will always be special.

And puppy tummies are adorable while adult male dogs in this pose are a little obscene.

And Rose won't be able to carry him forever.   

We're thankful to welcome.....

Franklin 

to the family.

He's admirably following in some mighty big paw prints.

Half a Year Ago Today

We met one sad, scared little man.  

This passport photo was taken maybe thirty minutes after that traumatic first meeting.  I sat him on the stool in front of the white curtain, my arm on his back to make sure he didn't fall.  "Smile!" I said in a cheery sing-song voice.  Although an appropriate thing to say at a photo session, it was quite ridiculous under the circumstances, spoken to a child who didn't understand English and had just left everything he'd ever known.  "Smile!"  The poor boy.

What an amazing 6 months we've had together and what a truly amazing child.  Not only has he adjusted, he's thrived.  His teachers at church and at school give us nothing but glowing comments; they all adore him.  His English is incredible.  He certainly doesn't have the depth of vocabulary that some 4 year-olds have, but he's not very far off.   Not far off at all.  He speaks in full sentences--sentences filled with adjectives and adverbs, pronouns and possessives.   He still has a touch of an accent, but it's quickly fading and we'll miss it when it's gone. 

He is sweet and helpful, smart and funny.  Oh my, is he funny.  He makes us laugh every single day.  What a blessing to have that contagious smile in our home.  He lights up a room with his whole-face grin.   It's humbling to think how easy it would have been to miss out on XiXi, to have let that gift pass us by without ever knowing what we'd missed.  Over a year ago, when we saw his photo on a website, we were in no way ready for an adoption.   At least that's what we thought.  Heavenly Father obviously knew better.

Happy six months together, precious XiXi!  SMILE!

Do Dogs Shed in Heaven?

If they don't, our Olaf has now officially achieved perfection.

It's just his family that's a mess....an absolute mess.

Olaf was, without a doubt, the world's cutest puppy.

I carried him home from the breeder's on my lap, a warm, wiggly, bear cub of a dog.

Would you check out the size of that paw?  Even as a baby, it was clear he would soon be shopping at the big and tall store.

His doggie brother Charlie, our labrador retriever, five years his senior, was named after Charlie Brown.   We wanted to stay in keeping with the Peanuts theme, but this dog was certainly no Snoopy.  Or Pigpen.  Or Linus.  Bruder piped up that Snoopy had a fat brother in a fur hat and that his name was Olaf.  Lightbulbs dinged over the heads of all family members and it was decided instantly.  He was Olaf.

When he was still a baby, we took a trip to the Oregon coast, but since we couldn't imagine leaving him in a kennel, we rented an RV and he came along for the ride.

He's always been so gentle that even toddler Rose could hold his leash.

We learned on that trip that Olaf detested water, wouldn't even step paw in it, but would happily run along the beach.  Basically anything with his people, he was game.

He grew at an alarming rate.  By 10 months he was pushing 100 pounds.

Here he is during his gangly teenage stage in the Olympic Mountains with the kids.  I've always loved mountain photos of Olaf.  Being a Bernese Mountain Dog, it just seemed fitting.  If we could put the kids in lederhosen and get them yodeling, the scene would be perfect.

I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Holy cow!  What a cool dog!"  Or, "Is that some type of Saint Bernard?"  Or my favorite, "Oh, I know what he is!  He's one of those Burmese Mountain Dogs, right?"  I always commended the proud individual on their canine knowledge, but inwardly laughed at the image of Olaf in his thick black coat, lounging on the tropical shores of Burma.

For almost seven years, Olaf has been such a huge part of our home and family.

Whether it's been welcoming trick or treaters on Halloween,

laughing with the kids on crazy dress day,

or sending off his boy on his first drive in his new car.

He's been there for landscaping and dirt moving projects,

bike rides and lawn games,

kid's birthday parties,

and of course, the Christmas Eve pyramid.  Oh, how he hated the Christmas Eve pyramid.  If he could wring his hands, assuming he had hands, this annual event would make him do it.  He was a bit of a worrier at heart.  More than once, he tried to hide behind me when some toy breed barked at him.   He also worried about our laminate floor.  Not the whole floor, just one particular section.  He'd stand there, hemming and hawing over what he should do, then he'd always turn around and throw it into reverse to slowly back into the carpeted family room.  Lyle added the BEEP, BEEP, BEEP sound of a truck in reverse.  People thought it was some trick we taught him, but no, it was just his own little brand of weirdness shining through.

   Olaf was always gentle and kindhearted.  Never once in his life did he show the slightest hint of aggression.  Our lab will growl, as most dogs would, if say, a raccoon saunters onto our porch, but never Olaf.  Not a single growl ever escaped his lips. 

He went on countless walks around our two mile loop.....not just with our family, with anyone.  He was positive that everyone adored him, and as far as I can tell, he was right.  He was beloved by the whole neighborhood and many walkers would get to our property and cup their hands around their mouths and yell, "OLAF!" and he'd join them for a jaunt.  When our neighbors heard he was sick, one brought him a cheeseburger, another a bone.  They shared Olaf stories and fought back tears.

Olaf loved the recent arrival of our goats.  In this photo, he was staring with rapt attention, along with the kids, as the goats were let into the pasture.  

He chased them with tail wagging glee and then sat outside their fence and stared at them.  He found them endlessly entertaining.

When visitors came to our home, Olaf gave them a little sniff, then promptly turned around, sat on their feet, and threw his head back at them in a big Berner grin.  I believe he had a 100% success rate in getting a pat.

He went on many scout campouts and was the ultimate tent warmer.  On a cold night, everyone wanted to sleep with Olaf.  He accompanied the boys on numerous hikes, 

almost all successful.

There was one notable exception when he laid down mid-trail and refused to take another step. 

 I've had hikes like that myself.

But when I picture Olaf, I won't see him on a trail or in the mountains or at the beach.  When I think of  him, I'll always see him on the hill above our house.

Without fail, when our car turned the final dusty, bumpy corner for home, he was there, waiting for us.  

Tonight, with the help of our neighbors, we buried our gentle giant on his hill.  Everyone agreed that that's where he should be.

As much as our hearts are breaking right now, I would bring home that furry bear cub bundle again in a  heartbeat.   I can see our children, years from now, with their children, sitting snuggled on their laps, and they're telling them,

"When I was a kid, we had the coolest dog....."  And then they'll smile.  

"His name was Olaf."

Three Miles

In under seventeen minutes!

That's fast.

Like really fast.

Today he took two whole minutes off his time from last year.

We're so proud of this kid.

Kindergarten Confusion

Cholita loves kindergarten.  She lays out her uniform every night before going to bed, she writes little notes to her teacher, and she impatiently waits for that wonderful day when she'll get her first piece of homework.   Another perk of school is that she's made several friends who she's pretty sure are her soul mates.  The friend I heard about the most was a little girl who for the purposes of this blog we'll call Jordan.  She gushed on a daily basis how Jordan was not only nice, but funny, great on the monkey bars, and had beautiful long blonde hair.

One day Cholita came out of class with a skip in her step and an envelope in her hand.  Jordan was having a party.  Could life get any better?  At home, I read the invitation:  Jordan is turning 6!  Come help celebrate his birthday on......"  I didn't even read the rest.

"Um, Cholita....." I wasn't quite sure how to say this.  "Um, are you sure that Jordan is a girl?"

Cholita laughed.  "Yes.  She's a girl."  Then she nervously added,  "That's a weird thing to ask."

"Well, the invitation has the word "his" on it, which means boy."

She shrugged.  "I guess her mom messed up when she was typing."  She bit her fingernail, a habit she recently broke.

"Moms don't generally mess that up."  I tried to say it as gently as I could.  "Cholita, I'm pretty sure Jordan's a boy."

Angry tears welled up in her eyes.  "Mom, SHE'S A GIRL!"

We talked about why she was so sure she was girl and it all came down to the long hair, which she said she always wore in a pony tail.  I pointed out that sometimes boys wear ponytails,  but she wouldn't hear of it.   Then suddenly she gasped.

"Oh no!  Mom, I just thought of something!  She has....."  she gulped like the words were too hard to spit out.  "She has.......a baseball backpack!"  That was the ultimate piece of evidence and she sobbed long and loud.

It's been a week now since her social world was rocked by this news, but only about 2 days since she's been able to use the masculine pronoun when referring to her friend.  I am happy to say though, that they are still friends.   Cholita has always had lots of friends who are boys and enjoys playing with boys, but I wasn't sure how a mental switcheroo would affect the relationship.

I finally got to see Jordan the other day when he was getting on the bus.   The school dress code makes the clothing pretty gender neutral, so that's not a clear giveaway; unless of course, you're opting for the skirt or jumper.  But the tan pants and a navy blue polo he was wearing could totally go either way.

Looking at her dear friend, even as an adult, the hairstyle would have completely thrown me off.  It's not that it's just a ponytail.  It's a double pony tail, with half of the hair pulled up on the top of his head, and the rest all gathered into a bouncy ponytail in the back.   No wonder Cholita was confused.

After the initial shock, I'm proud that she's taken it in stride.  "Well," she said, "I was going to get her......I mean him......a doll, but he said that he wants Star Wars legos."  Then she laughed.   "Yep, that means he's definitely a boy!"  

P.S. No new news on the Olaf front.  It's been hard.  Like really hard.  Like one of the top 10 hardest things I've dealt with in my mercifully easy life.   It's not hard because he looks like he's in pain.  As awful as that would be, it would make the decision easy.  Or at least easier.  It's hard because he's wagging his tail and giving us happy smiles and reveling in the most attention he's had in years, all while looking like a chemo patient.  I hate this.  


P.P.S. He's from a litter of 6 males and I know the status of 5 of those dogs.   Literally within weeks of each other, THREE have been diagnosed with cancer, one put down only the day before we had Olaf at the vet.   The mom dog died recently of old age at 11 long Berner years old.  The dad died of cancer at 7.  Unfortunately, the boys evidently take after Papa.

Keeping Him Happy

That's the name of the game right now.  With lots of kid love and an eat-whatever-the-heck-you-want diet, Olaf has gained some weight and given us lots of tail thumping, happy Berner grins.

I took photos of Olaf with the kids yesterday.  It's hard to see him so skinny, but the spark is back in his eyes.

These past six years Olaf's watched our oldest

grow from boy to man.

He's seen two little girls 

become beautiful young ladies.

And he's welcomed two dear children home from China.

We couldn't ask for any more of him.  

The "keeping him happy" plan has been stepped up since we received the hard news today that Olaf does in fact have cancer.   The specialists who reviewed his radiographs found a mass in his retroperitoneal cavity, with the liver and spleen "looking suspicious".   They think it's either histiocystosis or lymphoma, both with the same prognosis.  Right now he's comfortable and happy.  We'll keep him that way as long as we can, but hopefully not a moment too long.  That's the least we can do for a member of the family.