Heike (left) with Carsten
and Amanda in Anegada

Peter’s girlfriend (and our girlfriend-in-law), Heike, is finally back from her final 3 month stint as a traveling nurse. She did two tours in a row in Farmington, NM, where she fell in love with the desert and the Navajo people. She actually had to end her first 3 months a bit early because she fell while hiking and broke her wrist. She rehabbed a bit here and also when she and Peter were traveling in Europe. Then she left again in June. But now she’s back for good.
Until Wednesday. Then she will travel to Russia for a vacation with our friend, Donna, stopping in Germany on her way back to STX. In Germany, she will visit her son and daughter-in-law and grandson, Benjamin. She’ll then be back for good in October. We hope.

In any case, it’s nice to see our dear Heike again, if only for a few days.

Just got back from Public Safety. It always cracks me up to refer to any division of our local police department with those words.

Yesterday, while I was waiting with my daughter at the auto body shop, she mentioned something about her new drivers license. So I took mine out to compare and realized with a gasp that it had expired! I figured I’d go in today to have it renewed.

While I was dressing, I had a feeling I should wear something totally different from my usual because sometimes the local people are offended by skimpy tank tops and such. My wardrobe consists of comfortable, not high-fashion items that fit me well and do not make me look like a frumpy middle-aged woman. I don’t consider my clothes to be offensive. They cover all the parts they should cover. No bare-midriff things (they would look awful on me anyway). My mood, however overrode my intuition. I could not POSSIBLY wear one of those collared, sleeved blouses today. I’d feel like I was from another planet. Besides, it’s HOT today. I went with the “I just came out of the gym” look.

This is not appropriate
attire for operating
a motor vehicle.
DO NOT
give this woman
a driver’s license!

So, I put on some make-up knowing that I’d get my picture taken, brought a book to read while I waited, and went on my way. I always smile at folks I see and say “Good morning” or “Good (whatever time of day it is)”. I walked into the building with the usual greeting and informed the receptionist that I needed to renew my license. She pointed to a form that I would need to fill out adding, “And Ma’am, you need to be wearing a full shirt. The rules are posted there.” Furious, I took a form from the pile looked quickly at the 8.5″ X 11″ sheet with a list of “rules” including the highlighted words “No sleeveless shirts” and left the building. There went the smile, down the tubes.

Discrimination is the word that immediately comes to mind. If I wore one of those collared, sleeved blouses today, I should be arrested for trying to harm myself in this heat. Or at least be taken to an asylum. Besides, I sure as hell do NOT look like myself in something like that because I very rarely wear those things. And, isn’t that what the photo on your driver’s license is all about? It’s an ID!! To IDENTIFY you!! Besides doesn’t the police department have more important issues to address?

And, how offensive is it, for FAT local women to dance around in thongs shakin’ their immense cellulite-laden butts (bahnas) during the adult parades every festival!?! The hypocrisy of this place never ceases to amaze me. I guess I should have gone with my intuition and worn the frumpy clothes, but the picture would have not been of me.

With some pictures coming soon, as well (when Michael gets around to it, since I still can’t retrieve them from the myriad places he has them scattered in his odd files)…..I hope to get my beloved computer back today.

Goliath does not believe he is a dog. He doesn’t really like dogs. He doesn’t hang around with them, he certainly does not play with them. He merely tolerates their inferior presence in the lives of the people around him. When he goes to work with Michael (there are sometimes 5 dogs working in the office at once), the others all know he’s the boss. Even the owner’s very expensive, professionally trained German Shepard (imported from Germany). At home, Goliath will jump at the faces of the other, much larger male dogs, growling and snarling at them. They just look up at us as if to say, “What’s his problem?”, or “The mosquitoes are big this year!” I’m amazed that he has not become some other dog’s snack. One of Michael’s coworkers calls him “appetizer”.

Goliath likes the cats. He REALLY likes the cats. We have 4 male cats left and Goliath would hump each of them, every time he saw them if he could. One or two of them tolerate his advances on occasion. The others ignore him, run away, or smack him in the nose depending on their mood.

Goliath sleeps with us and usually inserts himself between us like a fuzzy little worm. Sometimes he’ll get perpendicular to the two of us, taking up about half of the bed by himself. If one of us gets up during the night to go to the bathroom or something, we frequently come back to find him on our pillow. Trying to move him off is a challenge, since he will often growl and snap at us. Sometimes, I just move the whole pillow with him on it and use another one.

Many times when we go out, people will remember him and greet him first. We are merely secondary accessories and are frequently referred to as “Goliath’s Parents”. For example, we’re walking along the street and people will notice us thus, “Oh look! Here comes Goliath! Hi Goliath! Aren’t you just the cutest thing! (smooch, smooch, smooch, carry on, carry on, blah, blah, blah) Oh, hi Goliath’s Parents.”

A lot of times, people want to pick him up and hug and squeeze him because he’s so cunnin’. He hates that. He will allow folks to pick him up sometimes.He would just prefer that Mom or Dad hold him and he be allowed to lick someone else’s nose if he feels like it.

When he wants something and we are busy doing something else, he’ll growl at us. After all, don’t we realize that HE’s the center of the universe? He should just be able to snap his fingers and have what he wants when he wants it. What a guy.

Oh, I’ve just come up with the answer to the question “What service does he perform?”
“Goliath sees things that most people don’t and alerts us to dangerous things we can’t sense.”

Four years ago I found Goliath, or he found me, or we found each other. I was on my way home from work on a Sunday afternoon (I was working at the Buccaneer for a brief stint in their spa ~ extra money in the off-season).

There was a lot of traffic on the winding main road and I saw this little dog weaving in and out of traffic, just making it between cars. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and I couldn’t believe that no one was stopping to pick him up. People love little dogs, but I wasn’t one of them. I’d never had a little dog and I thought they were yippy little horrors that rich people carried around to the poodle parlors and salons. But no one was stopping, so I did.

I was able to stop on the shoulder of the road and to call him over when no one was coming. He ran right over and jumped into my arms! I said, “What are you doing?”, in my gasping, incredulous voice. And he said, “I’m looking for a girl!”, in his little dog voice. I said, “Well, you found one!” and after about thirty seconds of mental deliberation, I took him home. He was wearing a collar and he was not neutered. I thought, “if someone REALLY cared, why would they allow him to be running in traffic with his huge testicles swaying in the breeze?”

On the way home I decided that I would have him neutered the next day and then watch for “Lost Pet ” ads in the paper and posters on bulletin boards. If someone loved him enough, they would go through that trouble to get him back, and at least he’s be less likely to run away again once neutered.

He was so small. He was and still is, smaller than our cats. I’d never had a dog that small. It was strange. But he acted all big and always tried to hump the legs of our other dogs. Because we still had cat doors all over the house, I was afraid he’d run away and get lost and/or hurt, so I tied him up most of the time and took him with me other times. His “surgery” was difficult, since he had an undescended testicle and the vet had to go digging for it. I think she eventually found and removed it, but he was a hurtin’ unit (eunuch?) for a few days afterward.

After a short time, we became inseparable. He didn’t need to be tied up anymore because he was happy with the girl he’d found. And, I had the doors replaced so he and the cats couldn’t just come and go as they pleased anymore.

After Michael and I got together, and Goliath approved of the match, we decided that he’d be the ring-bearer at our wedding. We attached some velcro to a little harness and to the ring box so he could carry it to us at the proper time. My daughter would hold him until the right moment and then she’d put him on the ground and he’d come running over to us with the rings……riiight. Our wedding was outside by the water and very informal. One of Michael’s friends brought his two dogs to the ceremony. When Nikki put Goliath down on the ground, he made a beeline for those other dogs because he needed to check them out and assert his superiority. Fortunately, he didn’t lose the rings, another friend was able to pick him up and bring him back over, and Goliath got to complete his task.

We would bring Goliath everywhere. Michael would bring him to work, we’d bring him to massage appointments. Everybody loved him. But once, when we tried to bring him to an open-air restaurant, someone stopped us because the health department was cracking down on people bringing dogs into “dining establishments”. We were appalled. He was and still is much better behaved than most humans we know. So we got him registered as a service animal through the Service Animal Registry of America or SARA. We filled out a couple of forms, sent in an application fee and a picture of him, and we got laminated cards proving his status. Now he can go ANYWHERE with us and it is a violation of federal law for anyone to attempt to prevent him from doing so. People always ask us what service he performs and we do not have a pat answer every time, but we’re working on it. He certainly alerts us to the presence of small annoying people. He usually growls, snaps at and chases little kids away from us. And he growls and sometimes snaps at adults who are overly pushy. Very valuable services indeed!

My baby girl, my little Pookie one was in a car accident last week. It happened Friday. She didn’t tell me about it until Monday (and only because she needed to ask about a place I’d gotten body work done on my beloved 1987 Ford Bronco II a while back)! She said it was because she wasn’t hurt. Everything was okay. Obviously, she’s NOT high maintenance. But now I’m a wreck.

She described the accident and it sounded bad enough, and the damage to the car isn’t as bad as it could be. But from her description, I thought the car had slipped down into a ditch and landed on it’s side. After seeing it, that could not be the case.

It rained a lot last week. She lives on a dirt road. There is a construction site just down her driveway. It was dark. She had gotten out of her car, left it running with the emergency brake on to help her boyfriend, Ian, get his pick-up up their muddy, curvy, awful driveway. Ian got up the driveway and she got back into her car. She put it in gear, and, next thing she knew, she was standing on the driver’s side window and the car was on it’s side. She had a bump on her shin and her shoulder was sore.

Ian didn’t see it happen, but got down there in time to open the passenger door to help her climb out. They called friends and eventually a tow truck to get it out of the ditch. From seeing the damage and knowing the direction the car was facing, it’s apparent that the car actually rolled completely over before coming to rest on the driver’s side.

She does not remember details, but felt as though she was a hamster in a wheel, remaining upright while the thing spun around. There was no thought involved, only instinct. My heart is still beating erratically just thinking about it.

Sonja’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago. She and her husband, Christian were supposed to be vacationing in the states for her birthday. But that was when “Dean”, the storm was approaching. They quickly canceled the rest of their holiday plans and flew home to batten down for the potential onslaught. In the whirlwind that followed, her birthday was forgotten.

A few days ago I said to Michael, “Shit fire and mango butter, I forgot to call Sonja on her birthday!” and hoped to quickly remedy that situation. But my computer was giving me fits as were other things and I didn’t get around to it. Fortunately, our friends Ray and Diana had a “Waltz with the Stars” party on Saturday evening and Sonja and Christian were the dance instructors. I got to talk with her a bit and wish her a belated happy birthday. We also try to keep a tradition of going out to lunch to celebrate our birthdays, so we made a date for today. I would give a birthday massage and take her to lunch.

She chose Elizabeth’s at the Palms for our midday fiesta. It’s a great spot, right on the water at one of the most picturesque beaches on island, and the food is usually good. We each had a glass of wine and Sonja ordered the penne pasta with vodka tomato cream sauce, and shrimp. I had the “Ragin’ Cajun” sandwich which had jalapenos and a spicy sauce on roast beef. Sonja ate all of hers and I chewed as much as I could get of the meaty part of my sandwich. I should really know better than to order beef. It was gristly and fatty and just okay. The curly fries, however, were wonderful although I wouldn’t let myself eat all of them, so had them boxed up to bring home for a doggy treat.

The Palms Hotel has sold and will soon lose the Elizabeth’s restaurant crew. It’ll be interesting to see what happens. I guess the new owners have big renovation plans. We have heard that Jason and Elizabeth will be moving their operation to the Christiansted waterfront, where the Chart House used to be before Hurricane Marilyn destroyed it. Another superb location. Should be fabulous!

It was a nice afternoon of catching up and enjoying a little slice of our island paradise. One thing I learned though, was that Sonja, who has lived here longer than I, has only been to Buck Island 4 times. Christian, who has been here for 7 years, has only been there once. I thought that was one of the saddest things I’d heard in a long time and I vowed to call her after my surgery and take them out there on “Origami” before the busy season hits.

Yesterday Peter asked what our plans were for the evening, “You’re driving me up to the rainforest, right?”. Kurt Schindler was playing his regular Last Sunday of the Month gig at the Montpellier Domino Club, or “The Pig Drinking Jungle Bar”, as he lists it on his site. Terry’s a little burned out on Kurt and I had stuff I had to get done.

So today Peter calls to tell me a little story that “Reggie has to put on his blog”, but its too good, so I’m keeping it for myself. Reggie will have to track-back to it.

On his way out west with a full car, Peter stops to pick up some visitors, staying at Chenay Bay Beach Resort, who are also heading to the show. When he gets to Bassin Triangle Kurt’s song “Banna” starts playing on the CD. So Peter immediately pulls over into the parking lot of a deserted gas station, across the street from the police station, and all seven of them pile out of his Cherokee and start dancin’ in the parking lot. There’s a police car parked in the lot, but Peter thought no one was in it.

When the song ends, they all climb back into the jeep to go on their merry way. Immediately Peter hears a “Whuuoop whuuoop” from the cop car. The policeman gets out, walks over to him and says, “Sir… you left your drinks on top of the car”. Peter turns back to the others and says, “Kids, you forgot your beers!” They all pile out again, retrieve their beverages, climb back in, and drive away.

Only on St. Croix. That’s why we call it Paradise!

Michael with little Percy
at Jack’s Bay

I met Percy when Michael and I got together. What a cute dog (to go along with this cute guy….)! Actually, many people have mentioned to me that Percy looks a lot like Michael. They could definitely win one of those “dog-owner” look-alike contests. After Percy and Michael moved in, they both put on quite a bit of weight. Now, Percy’s a little pudgy and Michael looks like a normal person.

I didn’t know Percy as a puppy (I didn’t know Michael as a puppy either), but can imagine that he was fun and happy just like he is now, only smaller. Percy was found and named, I think, by Michael’s roommate’s grandchildren, when Anne lived with Michael in his Tide Village house.

Percy is a great tennis ball chaser when he feels like it. And he even sometimes brings the ball back! Good Boy, Percy! He loves to be the center of attention (like Michael) but rarely gets the chance with Wiley and the others harrassing him as soon as he gets close to us.

When we walk out into the back yard, Percy comes bounding out to greet us. Except when he thinks it might be time for the dogs’ monthly Revolution treatments. Then we do not see him. He and Mini hide under the pool deck until they think it’s safe to come out (generally the next day).

When Michael and I first got together, we brought Percy and Bubba for obedience lessons. They both can still “heel, sit, stay, come”, etc. when they feel like it. Okay, so we’re not real strict or consistent with the obedience thing. Percy can be very annoying, like when he barks much of the night at nothing we can see. My opinion is, if only ONE dog is barking at something, it can’t be that important. But Percy’s usually a great dog and fits in with the others quite well.

Since we didn’t have a chance to go to Buck Island, or even do anything fun last week-end (the “storm” preparations), we decided to go on Saturday. Michael asked if I had a preference as far as water transport was concerned and I said, no, I didn’t, knowing that he’d prefer the motor yacht “Origami”.

That was not actually the truth, I’d always rather take the kayak, and we’ve only ever swum with dolphins when we have the kayak. But it’s easier to take the dinghy, and we both weren’t feeling that great, so motoring was it. And we did get to see a bunch of stuff including that nurse shark two weeks ago when we took “Origami”.

It’s just always great to be out on the water with the wind on our faces and the waves rolling us along. We went to the diving area again where we saw the shark last time, but she wasn’t there. I told Michael that if he wanted me to go outside the reef, he’d have to hold my hand. So he did. We didn’t really go outside, but the coral formations are huge and amazing to swim around. His mask was leaking, so he spent some time with his face out of the water. I waited for him, but started getting cold, just hovering there, so I said I’d need to start moving to warm up. So we swam toward the snorkeling trail where a couple of boats were moored.

We saw a couple of large groups of squid. One group consisted of about 8-10 small, calamari-sized ones. I’d never seen such little ones in the water. Then, right in front of my face, there appeared a large pink jellyfish. It was about 6 inches in diameter. My first thought was “Portugese Man-of-War”, but it didn’t have the long tentacles, so it appeared to be harmless and just drifted off. There were a couple of teeny fish swimming right inside the dome part of it. It was neat to see.

We saw the usual large and small schools of blue tang and various parrot fish, damsel fish and wrasse. A large barracuda flew by at one point startling me, but he wasn’t there to bother with us. There was also, in one of the schools of tang, a large, black, grouper sort of fish. It was feeding along with the sleek, graceful tang, when suddenly the contents of its mouth came spewing out. That was pretty gross and funny at the same time. Especially, since I had felt like barfing for most of the swim. When we got back to the boat, I mentioned it to Michael and he said he was nauseous the whole time, too. Strange….he was hung over, I had no excuse. We left the mooring and motored around to the beach side and felt better.

Rather than dragging the boat up on the beach this time, we decided to pull up to the dock and tie off thinking it would be easier. But the dock is not that close to the beach, we had to walk over sedimentary rock formations to get to it. Our shoes were back at the yacht club, so it was not the easiest of tasks. We finally got to the beach and walk all the way around to the north side where we saw a couple of lemon sharks in the shallows. There were less than a dozen boats out there even though it was a crystal clear day. We sat in the shade of a maho tree and looked toward Christiansted. The reflection of the sun on the water looked like a million sparkling diamonds.

After our brief rest, we walked back around to the boat and headed home. Michael wanted some of Lori’s fried chicken and we needed to get some for a party that night anyway. It was “finger lickin’ good”!

A couple of weeks after I found Goliath and Bubba, I was driving on Lowry HIll Road. It’s a steep, windy road, very dark at night with tall grass on both sides. People speed up and down this road because it is one of the rare well-paved roads with no speed bumps or humps.

So, I’m driving along and spot this little dog running into the tall grass on one side. He looks like a little coyote. So I stopped. I had a can of cat food with me (in those days I’d carry cans in the car in case I found a dog or cat and wanted to lure it into the car and rescue it) and put out a bowl of food and one of water. I called him and he came over to check it out. Meanwhile traffic is screaming by the dangerous curves just inches from us. The little guy came within a couple of feet of me and when I tried to touch him, he ran away. He did come back, though, and when I was leaving I saw him start eating the food I left.

Wiley

I was hopeful that I’d be able to catch him since I’d gotten so close this time. I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep him because we had just gotten the other two. But he was cute and looked pretty healthy and therefore adoptable. So I went back, twice each day to feed and water this little guy. He continued to come within a foot or two and then would dash off into the tall grass.

After about a week, I wasn’t really getting anywhere, so I borrowed a dog trap from a fellow animal rescuer, and one Sunday morning, finally caught him. I called my friend and she arranged to have him bathed and neutered and put into the adoption program. Overnight, however, he became the only dog who’d play with Bubba. So, after he was neutered, we decided to keep him so Bubba would have someone to play with.

Wiley is still very cute. He has certain allergies and occasionally needs medication for his skin, and he’s almost as annoying as Bubba, too. When we go into the back yard without him, he cries and whines until we go get him. When he’s in the back yard with us and the other dogs, if one of the others comes to get attention from us, Wiley will bark at him/her and try to bite the other dog’s feet and legs. Just taunting incessantly. A real pain in the butt. But, like Bubba, we made a commitment to him and will take care of him until he breathes his last breath.

Terry writing from Michael’s computer again…..

He has this weird, hi-tech mouse that is impossible to use. Besides that, there’s something about his keyboard that makes my typing even worse than when I’m using my own comfy computer…..AAAAAGGGHHHHHH!!!

If there truly is a God, I need HELP!!!

I’ve been a good little blogger. Trying to get something interesting posted every day. I’m strting to lose ot……AAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!

This is actually Terry’s post, but I had to use Michael’s computer and I’m not about to ask him to help me with something else right now ;).

About 4 years ago, I was still working extra jobs when my massage business was slow. One of them was delivering St. Croix This Week magazines. I would drive my beloved 1987 Ford Bronco II to the container port, get my paperwork stamped from customs and head to the warehouse to pick up a hundred or so heavy boxes of magazines which I would then carry around the island delivering to scores of restaurants, hotels and inns, rental car agencies, the airport, etc. One of my stops was the Cruzan Rum factory. I was always in a hurry to get to my next stop, so never stayed to sample the wares. Anyway, this one time in late July, I saw a puppy walking away from the driveway. I asked the lady in the guard gate booth if he belonged to anyone (dumb question - he was in pathetic condition - no fur from mange, distended belly from worms, etc.) and she said he didn’t. I asked if I could take him and she said, yes, but he needed medical attention. I said I could tell and would take him to where he would be cared for right away.

He yelped when I tried to pick him up, but one of the guys he was used to helped me get him into my truck. I put him in an empty magazine box and he looked up at me with those eyes that make me melt. In tears, I told him, “It’s okay, Bubba, I’m taking you to where people will love you and take care of you.” And drove him to the shelter because I had just found Goliath the day before and we had 8 dogs. (Yes, you’ll have to wait longer for the Goliath story). When I got to the shelter, I asked Kris if they could just take care of him until I got my act together at home (hoping that someone might adopt him in the meantime). She told me that that was impossible and if I left him there he’d only have 20 minutes or so to live. In tears again, I called my vet. She had just neutered Goliath that morning and wondered if something bad had happened. I said, no, it was that I had found another one. With a sigh, she said, “okay, bring him in”. So I did. We got meds and special shampoos and I took Bubba home to meet the others.

None of the other dogs was a puppy anymore and no one wanted anything to do with Bubba. So he was “my puppy”. I’d bathe him every day and sing to him. He slept in the house with pillows and blankies like Yoda had years before so his skin wouldn’t get more irritated. And he grew. He kept growing. He grew some more. He also grew annoying. One night, after I got this house in the divorce settlement, Michael was staying over and he left his expensive leather shoes on the floor. Bubba became instrumental in helping Michael begin to purge his excessive shoe collection. (Thanks, Bubba!), but Bubba was a big dog now and needed to live outside with the other big dogs. So we moved him out. He cried, he whined. It was like moving a child to a bed from his crib. But he needed to be weaned from his dependence on me, so we lost sleep at night while he whined and cried. Eventually he stopped. He now sleeps in the old truck in the back yard at night and harrasses the crap out of all the other dogs.

Bubba has been the instigator in many fights that have resulted in large vet bills for Bebe. Bebe and Ruby have been vying for the slot as Alpha female for years, so they must be separated at all times. Once, when Bubba saw Bebe in the back yard, he started at her and others joined in until there were at least three of them biting at her ears and legs and whatever else they could latch on to. It is so scary when that happens. They all get covered with blood and you can’t really tell who’s hurt worse. Somehow, we have thus far been able to get them apart when they fight and no one has died as a result of a fight since Tillie in 2001 when Bebe attacked her and won the Alpha female position.

Bubba (and I still sing to him every day), is the worst dog I have ever known. He barks incessantly when anyone comes around and causes more trouble with the others than anything. He has attacked Yoda on occasion as well. Bubba is the reason I will not adopt any more dogs. It’s someone else’s turn now. I’m cured! I’m free!!!

Still to come - Wiley, Percy, and……Goliath! (and pictures of Bubba). I’m extra bad at this today since I’m using Michael’s Mac.

Ruby and Emmy came to us from the shelter in 2001. “Why on Earth would we go looking for a dog when we had so many already?”, you might ask. Let me tell you….

Ruby- foreground
Emmy- behind

At that point we had Ajax, Chiquita, Fudge and Bebe and Yoda. We’d just lost “Tillie”, the first dog we got here when a friend decided it was time for us to get a next after “Tabitha”, our 13-old died. Tillie died of tick fever even though I got her into the vets immediately when I detected something amiss and she got a blood transfusion. When I found out they would use a healthy female from the shelter to donate blood for her transfusion, I decided that if Tillie didn’t make it, we’d adopt the shelter dog. So, that’s Ruby’s story. Emmy was her cell-mate at the shelter and Jill, the manager knew we were suckers and told us Emmy’s story. Emmy was found in the bottom of a dumpster barely clinging to life. The woman who found her couldn’t keep her. She was very friendly and got along with all the other dogs at the shelter, so she’d probably fit in very well with our crew.

Ruby is a real sweetheart, but she’s still afraid of some men after being abused by the guy who brought her to the shelter. She will often chase tennis balls but when she gets them, she’ll lie down and destroy them in about ten seconds. Sometimes she’ll continue chewing, but she’ll usually come back to one of us for some lovin’. She sits beautifully and looks up at us with those soulful eyes that kill me every time.

Emmy chases balls sometimes, but she loves to have something for us when we arrive home from wherever we’ve been. Sometimes it’s a plastic hamburger or hot dog, sometimes it’s a stick or a yucky mango pit. She doesn’t give it to us, it’s just to show us. She has inadvertently destroyed a couple of our stuffed animals and some of our flip flops have tooth marks in them. Oh well, they’re only things. Emmy is also a climber. Since she had to survive for a while around dumpsters, she learned to jump and climb. She was still pretty skinny when we first got her, but we figured, once she fattened up, she wouldn’t be able to climb. WRONG! She’s a pudgy girl now and still jumps the fence between yards a few times a day.

Mini under the pool deck

Mini looks like a little fawn. Okay, a fat little fawn. She was found running along the roadside in June of 2002 with a couple of other dogs. She was the only one that came close enough for me to pick her up. So she joined our gang, too.

Mini is the most unobtrusive of all our dogs. Sometimes we don’t see her because she’s happily chewing on a stick or something under the pool deck. But if one of the others gets close to her stick, she becomes “Cujo”. We can hear her growling and snarling like a big mean thing. She’s very smart and when we take her for a walks is great at heeling and sitting. When it’s time to give her the monthly dose of Revolution, she totally disappears…

More “fun with the kids” to come….