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Last Thursday, the children and I returned from our nearly month long holiday journey to Meloch Family Reunion 2011. Dale flew in and joined us for 10 days of it. After two days of recovery in Virginia, there is once again food in the fridge, clean clothes to wear, a mowed lawn, and pruned roses.

I’m tired.

I will now begin to catalog the many adventures we had over the last month starting with the one gift most unexpected.

A few months back, Zeke informed me that he wanted a kitten of his own. I replied, “There is no such thing as a free kitten.” Buying from a breeder is very costly, and even if you get a kitten from the humane society, you have to pay at least $150 for all the vaccinations and vet checks. I told him to start saving up his money. Whenever we went into the pet food store, he looked at the humane society kittens and asked, “Can I have that one, Mommy? That one is cute.” I replied, “How much does it cost? Do you have enough money saved up?” He answered, “You can give it to me and I can pay you back.” “No.” I said, “There’s no such thing as a free kitten.”

The day before we left Minnesota, I drove Gabe over to a local gravel pit in search of agates. As we turned on the road leading to the pit, a prominent sign staked on the side of the road proclaimed, “Free Kittens.” I tried to ignore it. No one was home at the house near the pit, so Gabe and I returned to Grandma’s house. Later that evening, Gabe and I drove back to the gravel pit. This time, Zeke asked to come too. When we arrived, there was someone home near the pit, but she told us that the pit was closed and we would not be allowed to enter it. Gabe was disappointed.

Not wanting the trip to be a complete failure, I pulled off on the next gravel road to look for agates with Gabe and Zeke. As soon as we got out of the car, up walked a Mommy Kitty (Evidence of recent nursing) who started meowing at us. Thinking it a wild cat, I told Gabe and Zeke not to go near it or they might get bitten or scratched. She was not wild and walked right up to us, meowing constantly and rubbing against us. She meowed and walked down the road, came back, meowed and walked down the road. Thinking that maybe her kittens were lost, we followed her down the road to the house at the end.

I knocked on the door of the house, and the woman who answered it said that the Mommy Kitty had been meowing at her as well. The best she could guess, having seen the Free Kitten sign a few weeks back, this must be the mother looking for her kittens who were given away. She then said, “Funny thing is, the sign is now across the street at the neighbor’s house. They must have had a litter as well.” I told her that I’d drive over to the “Free Kittens” house and ask if they had lost their Mommy Kitty. The Mommy Kitty walked back up the road with us and sat down by the car while we looked for agates. When it was time to leave, she had disappeared.

I drove to the “Free Kittens” house and knocked on the door. When the woman answered, I said, “I saw your Free Kittens sign.” “Yeah, just a minute,” she replied and went back into the house. When she came out a again, she was holding a 6 week old green eyed gray kitten. “This is the sweetest one. He sleeps with me every night. My step daughter really wants to keep him, but I already have four cats and I can’t have any more. I tried to find the others, but they must be hiding under the couch.” She handed the kitten to me and I handed it to Zeke. “I saw a Mommy Kitty on the road down the way, she was meowing and wanting me to follow her. Is it your cat?” I asked. “No, my cats are indoors,” she answered.

Shadow Sleeping

Zeke looked up at me. “Can I keep him?” he asked.

In the morning I had prayed for Gabe and I to find favor in our search. I was thinking of agates, but apparently God was thinking of kittens.

Shadow in Toybox

There’s no such thing as a “Free Kitten” except on the country roads near Grandma’s house.

We brought the kitten back to Grandma’s house, much to the shock of Abby and Josiah. We hid him in the basement for the night since Grandma (who is highly allergic) had gone back to her new place. I drove into town to buy food, litter and a toy. While driving into town, I called Dale. “Zeke got an early birthday present,” I said. “O.K.” he replied. “Do you remember what Zeke wanted for his birthday?” I asked. “A pillow pet,” he answered. I replied, “Remember when I said, “There is no such thing as a free kitten?” There was silence on the line for a minute. “Should I hang up now?” he asked.

After we left Grandma’s house for the drive back to Virginia, the kids realized the cat toy was forgotten under the bed in the basement. “I would have gotten away with it,” I thought, “If it wasn’t for these meddling kids.”

The annual spring cleaning of the pond occurred on Saturday. Amazingly, five fish had survived the winter and the dirty green water of the pond prior to the cleaning. Unfortunately, the lesson “fish need a gradual change of water temperature when transferring them out of the pond” learned last year by Dale was not learned by Gabe and Zeke. Out of five, one fish survived the day and we nicknamed him survivor. He has been swimming around his nice clean pond looking a bit lonely.

This morning, I looked out the window to see a giant blue heron standing in the pond looking for some breakfast. The sparkling clear water must have attracted him. I thought survivor was a goner. After the heron flew off, Gabe ran outside to look and found him still swimming along. I figure, either survivor hid under the filter or the heron decided he wasn’t big enough for a snack.

I feel he is aptly named.

My roses are blooming. Most days new buds open, so I stroll the grounds to view them.(It should be more accurately termed: walk the yard…but stroll the grounds sounds so much better suited when discussing rose viewing.)

My climbing Fourth of July roses have finally reached the porch rail (after 3 years in the ground), and are blooming their stripes for all to see. Sally Holmes sits between them getting larger every year and abundant with her single petal hybrid musk blooms. The Black Ice floribunda rose buds really did look black until they opened into a dark rich red color. The rainbow knockout bloomed first and most profusely. The Champlain Canadian Explorer rose is covered in red blooms which I admire from my kitchen window. I saw my first Veilchenbleu flower, a light purple rambler, and I am eagerly anticipating when the hundreds of tiny buds on it follow along.

Blaze travels with me as I walk the yard. He attempts to get my attention by periodically dropping a ball at my feet. If I clip a bloom, he reaches up and bites another bloom off to help me with my task. In a fury, I will throw the ball to get rid of him. This, of course, is exactly what he wants. Biting blooms off plants works like a charm every time. When I take too long to snap a rose photo, he determines that I must be waiting for him to get in the picture as well.

This year, the rose that has won my heart is Sydonie: a pretty pink Hybrid Perpetual with a lovely scent. I checked it each day as its buds formed and eagerly anticipated its opening. Finally, one morning, I saw that it had opened and eagerly walked over to enjoy its beautiful aroma. As I approached, an odor did arise, just not the one I had been waiting for. Having determined that no scent would compete with his own, Blaze had left a fresh pile within inches of the beautiful rose.

On Tuesday, I traded in my Golden Retriever for a Lab.

After 3 years of pitiful, sorry grooming attempts which ended in bleeding ears, bleeding nails, and snarled chunks of fur hacked out, I brought Blaze to a groomer. As usual, I had to drag Blaze into the car to go to the vet for his checkup and shots. (He hates to ride in the car.) At the vet, I sat there completely embarrassed by the poor state of his ungroomed coat and the clumps of snarled fur behind his ears. Another woman was sitting there with her beautifully groomed sheltie. It’s coat was groomed really short, but looked terrific. I asked her what dog groomer she went to. She told me, and then remarked, “They aren’t cheap, but they are good. They are always booked. You have to make an appointment.”

After the vet gave Blaze the yearly thumbs up, I drove to the groomer, sending up a prayer. The thought of dragging Blaze back into the car on a future date was not very appealing to me. When I arrived at the shop, the crazy dog lady groomer came out to talk to me. I asked if she ever took walk in appointments and told her about the sorry state of my dog. She replied, “Usually, I am solidly booked, but today, I don’t know what happened, bring him in.”(I know what happened: God answers prayers.) She asked me what I wanted her to do for him, and I said,”Shave it all off.”

She said she would give me back a Lab, but I didn’t believe her. I should have. She knew what she was doing and Blaze apparently realized that as well. Blaze had always been a monster when we attempted to groom him. The last grooming attempt, Josiah and I tried to hold Blaze in place while he fought us throughout as Dale was trying to cut out chunks of his matted fur.

Tuesday afternoon, when I returned, the groomer informed me that Blaze had gotten up on the table, stayed calm about the clippers, and genuinely behaved like a well adjusted dog.

As the Dog Whisperer claims, the problem is rarely the dog, it’s almost always the owner…

Oh, that would be me.

When the groomer brought Blaze out for the reveal, Gabe, Zeke, and I were completely shocked. I swear she switched dogs on me. He looks completely different. I gave her a hug and thanked her profusely. There are many things in life that I tell myself I will eventually take care of. The tasks seem simple enough that I should be able to do them. Then, life comes along, and I never make the task a priority. It gets neglected or poorly done and it wears me out with its guilt. Grooming the dog was one of those tasks.

Blaze was in the van when we picked up Abby and Josiah from the bus. Abby wanted to know whose dog we were watching. When Dale arrived home from work, the sight of Blaze gave him a shock and he laughed and laughed and laughed.

This past weekend, I journeyed with women from my church up to the mountains. We stayed in a borrowed cabin and went for a walk in the woods. Our theme for the get-a-way was boundaries in health and fitness.

After my arrival on Friday evening, a friend and I went for a walk about on the roads weaving through the cabins. She gave me a warning to keep an eye out for pit bulls. Recalling one infamous Virginia pit bull breeder and the puppy mills known to be in the mountains, I understood her caution.

I prayed against any pit bull attacks and enjoyed the walk through the woods. All was going fairly well and only got slightly dicey when we walked behind a cabin that may have been operating a still. We increased our rate of speed and quickly turned another direction.

After we had walked a fair amount and taken many turns, the barking started. We both looked up the hill at a white and black pit bull that looked very much like Petey on the Little Rascals. We stopped and backed up. He was barking loudly, but his tail was wagging. I felt sympathy for him because he was chained to a tree.

Earlier in my life, I had no love for pit bulls. My female husky, Sasha, was attacked by a bull terrier when she was a puppy. After that incident, I hated both bull terriers and pit bulls. Then I started watching the dog whisperer with his dog, Daddy, and the attempted rehabilitation of Vick’s dogs and saw the possibility that maybe all pit bulls were not evil.

That evening, while we were all sitting around the fire, a black and white female pit bull came up to the sliding glass door. It was obvious that she had recently had puppies. She sat down outside, tail wagging like crazy, and lifted one paw after another begging to come in. Amongst us, were several women afraid of dogs and other women afraid of fleas. I tried to look away, but the pit bull mommy knew who in the group was a push over and stared at me with these sad pleading eyes, tail wagging, paws lifting, begging to come in. Finally, I had to look away. I felt too bad. She eventually left.

Later, a friend and I went out to my van to get two cots. When I opened the back of the van, the pit bull mommy appeared and jumped in. I froze and then unhelpfully scolded her and told her to get out. She was quite happy in the back of the van, and wasn’t leaving. Finally, my friend (who quickly determined that I was hopeless in this situation) picked her up out of the van and held her on the ground while I shut the door. The entire time, the pit bull mommy was attempting to jump back in.

Also wandering around was the pit bull daddy. His tail was wagging as well, but my friend thought it best if we backed slowly into the house.

Another friend (who comes armed to mountain cabins) was out at the store when all this happened. I asked my friend to text her and plead with her not to shoot the pit bull on the front porch.

She made no promises.

Luckily for my guilty heart, by the time she returned from the store, the mommy pit bull had disappeared into the night.