I went to bed after midnight last night and woke up at two hearing the sound of Prissy trying to dig a hole in the carpet in our bedroom.  So I had time to get a cup of coffee, bundle her up and head for the kennel and she had her first puppy at 2:30.  From that point on, she pretty much took her time and the third and last puppy was born at 5:30 this morning.  I thought there might be a fourth, so I hung around til eight and finally gave up.  So we have three new beautiful puppies, two white and one salt & pepper - A carbon copy of her last litter. 

Since we already had two sold and we're going to keep one of the white females, this litter is considered "Sold".  I've had about three and a half hours of sleep and I feel like I've been run over by a truck, so I think I'll head back to bed for a few more zzzz's. 

Pup

Update:  Okay, I have added the picture of the pups.  Top right is the little girl that we are keeping.  SO DO ANY OF YOU GUYS HAVE IDEAS FOR A NAME?

Hopefully, by tomorrow night, I'll be posting pictures of a wonderful new litter of puppies..........Buster and Prissy's puppies.  The proud "Mama and Daddy" got their hair cuts today, so we snapped a few pictures this evening:

Ice, Buster & Prissy

Buster (The Man!) running to the fence to snarl at the neighbor's pit bull.

Lil Miss Pregnant Pris

"Mr B." (King of the storm cellar) with Ice

Pet me first!  No, pet ME FIRST!!!

Peanut went for his checkup again today and got the rest of his stitches out.  Doc says he's still doing GREAT and that even his "elbows" look like they will heal without any surgery or stitching.  Doc still calls him the Miracle Dog and said everything is going good and to bring him back next Friday.  He's still taking anti-biotics twice a day, but looks like when this bottle of pills is gone, that will be the end finally.  He's been on them twice a day since February 11th.  Wow, has it been that long?  Next project is to get him a much needed hair cut.  I just want to thank everybody once again for all the prayers and positive energy you've sent Peanut's way.  It has made a definite difference and I love you all for it.  So does little Peanut!!!!

Pup

I just came from Belle’s blog and read her latest post about being adopted, her family, and the loss of her mother at a young age.  I mourned with her when she wrote of her mother’s death and her daddy’s second marriage.  I was very moved by her post.

 

My own mother has been on my mind a lot lately and when I read about Belle’s mother, I realize once more that I never had the kind of relationship that mothers and daughters should have.  And I can’t mourn something I never had.  Mama was present……but never really “there”.

 

She never once physically abused me.  Never.  She was more into neglect and emotional abuse.  I have spoken very seldom about the things I remember and have never really included all the things I remember from an early age that just weren’t “right” for a child’s life, but I was thinking maybe it would help to just put it all (or at least part of what I remember) in one place.

 

I remember at the age of two looking for something to eat in the kitchen and standing on top of the cabinet to reach the food in the upper cabinets.  I remember sneaking sticks of butter out of the fridge and hiding outside behind the car in the driveway to eat it.  I remember at the age of four and playing outside, seeing my mother in the doorway and realizing she was out of bed and it must have been almost noon and standing in a chair ironing my own clothes at the same age.  Later, when I must have been in grade school, I remember that periodically, she would sit my sister and I down and show us pamphlets from several homes and orphanages and tell us she was going to send us there.  Around the same time,  I remember her getting us out of bed in the middle of the night, making us sit on each end of the couch and tell her who we loved the most; her or our dad. 

 

I remember my sister and I walking to town before Mother’s Day and shopping for a card for her.  We looked at and read all the cards til we found and agreed on the perfect one.  She was so pleased with her card on Mother’s Day.  Then we did the same routine for Father’s Day and gave the card to Daddy.  But, God help us, we bought a slightly bigger card than hers for Daddy.  So, we were subjected to hours of ranting and raving about the fact that we loved Daddy more than we did her and that we didn’t really care about her at all. 

 

When she and Daddy divorced, she moved to a bigger town and we stayed with Daddy til school was out.  I remember going to stay with her for a weekend and she took me to the movie theatre as soon as it opened and gave me money for one movie.  I was to stay and watch that movie over and over til the theatre closed.  I was alone, I was scared, and I didn’t even know how to get home.  This happened every time I went to visit and one particular day, there was a strange man that hung around and stared at me the entire day.  I just kept moving to different seats to stay away from him til it was finally time for her to pick me up.  I have no idea what she was doing during those times.  Of course, I was told to strictly NOT tell Daddy about it and I didn’t. 

 

She later married and I lived with her in New Mexico.  I was a freshman in high school and had a steady boyfriend that I dated occasionally.  She and step dad would drink like a couple of fish and he would threaten her and beat her.  One particular night, after the sh__ hit the fan once again, she and I had locked ourselves in my bedroom to get away from the raging maniac.  She was as drunk as he was and while in my bedroom proceeded to accuse me of sleeping with him.  I’ll never know where she got that idea unless he was saying things to make her think so.  She apparently believed it, tho.  I was fourteen and dealing with enemies on both sides of the door.

 

A few months later, I had a date with the boyfriend and she was showing a lot of interest in what time he was coming to pick me up.  She rarely showed that much interest, but I just dismissed the weirdness of it and went upstairs to get ready for my date.  When the time came and he rang the doorbell, I went down the stairs to let him in and stopped in my tracks!  There she was, all decked out in the flimsiest lingerie I’d ever seen and doing her best to beat me to the door.  And she did.  Boyfriend was so embarrassed that he blushed to his toenails and I was in total shock.  She was obviously trying to prove some kind of point to me and was quite proud of herself, but I never knew what the point was.

 

Once, she and step dad came in from their usual night of drinking and things turned violent very quickly after they came in the door.  He picked her up and threw her across the kitchen where she landed in the floor next to the cabinets.  He then proceeded to start kicking her with his pointed toe cowboy boots when I came around the corner and said something to him.  “Something” actually consisted of me calling him what had never before passed my lips……a son of a bitch.  It just came out before I knew I said it and the next thing I knew, I had been hit in the face three times.  I had a fat lip and a black eye and all she could do was scream at me for calling him a name.

 

These are some of the instances out of many that really stick in my memory.  The day-to-day stuff went on all the time and became our “normal”.  I don’t know why I felt like writing about this because I was always able to view what she did as something not to do in my life.  So I learned from her whether she knows it or not. 

 

Now her health is failing and I don’t feel she will walk this earth more than another year.  I’ve been weak a few times in the past to think that maybe…..just maybe, we might form some kind of relationship before it’s too late.  But I always come away wondering what in the world I was thinking.  I have to come to the realization that it will never change and she will die lonely and alone.  And maybe having all this in one place will give me something to read when I start to feel guilty that she’s lonely and alone.  Her anger and rage have only multiplied with the years and one thing I have learned despite all her efforts, is that I don’t have to take that abuse anymore.  And I won’t.

 

I know I sound bitter and it’s hard to write about such things without sounding that way.  Probably why I’ve never talked or written much about it.  The truth is, I’m not really bitter.  I’ve had plenty of love and positive role models in my life to make up for it.  And it just is what it is.  I have a great life and have learned to see it all for what it is, instead of being my fault. 

 

I have overcome.

 

But when I think of my mother these days, I can’t help but think how she has totally wasted her life.  That’s the true shame of it.

The title is pretty depressing, isn't it?  Actually, my attitude isn't that bad, I'm just tired.  I couldn't sleep last night til about three in the morning, so when Ice brought me my coffee and to wake me up, I took a coupla sips and asked him to wake me in a couple of hours.  It still wasn't enough sleep, so I've been kind of a zombie all day.  We had a board meeting this afternoon and I was actually afraid I'd drop off to sleep in the middle of it, lol.

We've gotten in the habit since the new fence was finished of letting the dogs run in the outer area and they love it.  It's like kids getting the gate to Disney Land, so we're glad to give them a treat twice a day while we're home to watch over them.  Peanut stays right on my heels out in the yard and I'm considering changing his name to "Shadow".  He stays right with me most of the time and wants to be petted, lol.  What a difference from that little pooch that didn't want to be touched, huh?  However, it's just me.  If Ice is around, he skitters off to do something else.  He hobbles around and does just fine in the yard with the rest of the dogs now.  I'll be taking him back to see Doc on Friday to get more stitches taken out.  He's also spoiled to the soft dog food that he gets twice a day.  It's my fault, too.  I'd rather give him his medicine in dog food than to cram it down his throat, so he gets a half a can with every pill, lol.  I may be creating a monster, ya think?  Naw!  He deserves to be spoiled, I think.  I'm hoping that he's doing enough better in the next week or two that I can get him groomed.  I can't see his eyes anymore unless I push the hair back and I'm just thankful that his hair doesn't mat.  If it did, he would be one solid mat by now.

I've been watching Prissy pretty close for any signs of labor and so far, her breathing is just a little faster than normal.  I cancelled my trip to the city tomorrow and Friday, so I feel much better.  I just couldn't bring myself to leave when she's so close. 

We received a deposit yesterday for one of her pups and they aren't even born yet.  Then I got a call today from a lady that wanted to do the same.  Prissy's pups just seem to sell themselves, but I've never sold one before it was born before.  So far, we have buyers for a salt and pepper male and a white or salt and pepper male.  Can't beat that with a stick, huh?  Only problem is that I told Buster that we wanted five females this time and I'm sure (tongue in cheek) that he tried to do as asked.  What's really unusual is that our first requests have been for males.  We usually sell the females first, since most people seem to think the females are easier to house train.  And all this after our worst experience ever at trying to sell a litter of puppies.  Ya just never know.

I'm having a strong urge lately to plant flowers and want to develop a flower bed out between the driveway and the sidewalk.  I have a picture in my head of bright red flowers blooming all summer along the entrance to the house.  Only problem is I gotta sweet talk my hunk into helping me dig it out and break away the excess concrete from the carport foundation.  Then I want to fill the space with new topsoil and plant luscious flowers.  Sounds simple, but I know it will be some hard work to dig out the rock infested ground.  But I like to look at the bright side.  I get to watch those wonderful muscles flexing in the sunshine behind a shovel or a sledge hammer.  What a treat that will be!

Yeah, I know.  My devilish side is showing again. lol.  You see, I have this perfect halo over my head, but what's a little harder to see are the little horns that keep it propped up in just the right position.  lol

I got a call from a first cousin on my mother's side of the family last night who was staying in town for the night, so Ice and I met him and his family at the restaurant for a while to visit and for Ice to get acquainted.  He had never met my cousin and I hadn't actually "visited" with Rick in many years.  I had seen him and spoke to him briefly at his mother's funeral a few years back, but that was about all.  So.....we met them last night and had a nice visit.  Rick's Dad (Willie) and Ernest have always been my favorite uncles, but I was around Willie much more in my life than Ernest.  I seem to identify most to my mother's side of the family, probably because I inherited all the characteristics and mannerisms from that side, as well as the light complexion.

And it's the family I almost never met.

See, my mother was born in a boxcar to a mother that died four years later of colon cancer.  So, with eight kids to tend to, her father decided it was best to give her and her younger sister (Peggy) up for adoption.  They were adopted by separate families in the same area.  My mother's adoptive parents thought it best not to let her continue contact with her real family and at age four, she quickly forgot them for the most part.  Apparently the agreement was that her real family not be allowed to contact her by any means also.  Peggy's adoptive family, on the other hand, chose to keep her in close contact with her real family, so she grew up knowing both. 

Peggy actually went to the same school as my mother one particular year and she knew Mom was her sister but was strictly forbidden to approach her or reveal who she was.

So, Mom grew up only knowing her adoptive family and from what I understand, didn't have that keen of a childhood.  She was well fed and clothed and didn't want for creature comforts at all, but I think her adoptive parents were just not very affectionate. 

She married my Dad at the tender age of 15 and a few months after they married, she attended a skating party with one of her girlfriends.  There was a guy there that kept asking her to skate with him and she kept refusing, since she was married and that was not a proper thing to do.  He was obviously pretty persistant and she finally just told him no....that she was married.  But he didn't go away.  Instead, he very gently told her that he was her brother.  Only after she married did he feel he could approach and tell her of her true family.  This was my Uncle Ernest, the youngest of her three brothers.  I always thought that was a neat story.

Ernest then introduced her to the rest of her family a little at a time and they all welcomed her back with open arms.  I wonder sometimes if she really appreciated that gesture, but whether she did or not, I feel so blessed that I am considered part of the family and have known most of them since I was born.  I think my mother has always had a problem with being given up for adoption in the first place and knowing the type of atmosphere she was raised in, I think she would have been better off staying with her biological family.  I think she harbors resentment toward them, although I think it is unfounded.  But my childhood was much different than hers, so who am I to judge?  Sometimes I think my mother is so consumed with anger and hate that maybe it wouldn't have mattered what kind of childhood she had, she wouldn't have appreciated either one. 

Personally, I feel blessed to know them.  Especially when I think how easily that link might not have ever happened.  I would have always felt something was missing, I think.  There is such a strong connection and bond with one's family, that I would imagine the lack of that connection would be a very hard thing.  It's no wonder to me that adopted children seek to find their birth parents and their families.  It's something to anchor their lives to.  It's their roots. 

This rambling is just a sample of what I have thought about since our visit with Rick and his family.  It struck me that even after so many years, the bond was still very strong.  He's my family, simple as that.  And I'm so proud to have the opportunity to know him.

Ernest passed away a year ago and the oldest brother (Chester) passed away a month later.  I sometimes wonder if my mother feels the same sense of loss that I do.  My mother and Peggy are the only remaining sisters out of five and Uncle Willie the last brother.  Willie and my mother are both in very bad health, so my family seems to be dwindling away.  Peggy is such a joy to be with and even tho I don't get to see her very often, I feel more loved by her than I do by my own mother.  Strange but true. 

Mom has always tried to keep my sister and I at a distance from her family and will manipulate and lie and even threaten to keep us from enjoying each other.  Thankfully, she hasn't succeeded, especially since we became adults and pretty much do what we please, which makes her even angrier.

I wonder if my mother's lifetime of anger and unhappiness is a result of the fact that she was not allowed to know her biological family as a child.  I wonder if her own inner demons would have made her the way she is regardless of her childhood.  I wonder a lot of things and always will. 

I wish she had cherished her family the way they want to cherish her and do, despite her actions toward them.  She is one of those people that pushes people away with her anger, then preaches the (fact) that no one loves her or cares about her.  I've never understood it and never will.  I cringe to think of all she has missed out on in her life, mostly by her own actions.  I can't imagine life without being embraced by your family and the freedom to embrace them back.