Learing to Drive

Learning to drive is a rite of passage for most American teens.  My mother was nervous about me driving.  I think in those days, in Louisiana, you could get your learners permit at about age 14 and your license at about age 15.  I had to wait an extra year and I don’t think I got mine until I was 16 or so.  I think these ages have now been upped. 

Now as all good kids do, your Dad sits you on his lap, and lets you steer while he does the pedals, but other than that, I had not had much experience behind the wheel until I was a teenager.  I learned to drive on my family’s 88 Oldsmobile.  It was white with this gold metallic vinyl top, that we had to have re-toped at some point.  Daddy took me down the Bogle Road, out close to where my Great-Grandmother’s old place was, where we used to go fishing, and taught me to drive.  Oh I was the worst at getting the pedals mixed up.  The Bogle Road, for those of you who don’t know it, is this long stretch of black top, undivided, that goes for many miles back in the woods, on the outskirts of Logansport.  Few houses and lots of oil well sites, and lots of trees.  I think most of that land out there now is owned by Dow Chemical. 

Daddy pulled over to this well site and had me get behind the driver’s seat and then we eased off.  Driving that car, was like driving a tank, that back end was just huge, it was also kind of like driving a truck.  You have to remember your butt is extra long and trailing behind you, and you need to remember that you have to calculate for a bigger turn radius and parking.  Kind of like wearing a wedding dress or anything else that trails behind you.  We pull out of the site and on to the road, and Daddy is screaming at me to break.  I finally remember which one it is and apply it, about a foot from hitting the embankment in front of us.  Daddy, ever so calmly takes out his snuff and makes himself a dip.  I think he was shaking over the fact I had nearly killed us.  It took us a few more tries, before I was going down the road smoothly.  I did a lot of over correcting, but there were no cars coming so we were okay.

We had a few more of these sessions, with a lot more yelling, before Daddy finally handed me off to Mom to teach me to drive.  She taught me the finer points like driving on the highway and how to pass another car.  Scary stuff for me back then.  I still drive on the shoulder too much, when there is one to drive on around here.

So it was a while before they would let me out on the highway by myself, in my Comet.  I was told to practice in the front yard.  Now we had a big place about 5 acres total, but only about 2 or so of that I could drive on, and only when it was dry.  I remember driving between these great big pine trees.  Still don’t know how I didn’t end up in the ditch. 

One day I am practicing backing up and PAWYAH!  I hooked this little Pecan tree with my driver’s side fender.  It kind of stuck out a few inches from the car anyways.  The car was hanging, oh a good 6” to a foot off the ground, and Daddy had to come and pull me off with a chain on his truck.  None of them was too pleased with me.  Grandpa was mad I had hurt his tree, Mom was mad I had hurt her car, and I was embarrassed about the whole thing.  Now the body was solid metal, and I had bent in a section of car, so we just took a hammer and beat it back out.  You hook a tree today with one of these plastic cars and you will have to buy a whole new side of your car, if you don’t total it.  Yep metal cars were great, sucked on gas millage, but you could put them threw just about anything. 

Not long after I started driving I got my first job, outside of the family, babysitting Dobermans, for Phil and Ardella Browning.  I think I met them through my local library.  Either they knew me from my volunteer work there, from the community in general, or from a genealogy workshop I had taken from them.  I don’t remember and both of them are long gone now, so I can’t ask. 

They had been raising championship Doberman Pinschers for many years, but now only had two females left from their years of breeding.  Ardella and Phil wanted to travel, but needed someone to watch their dogs and their house for them.  They knew of my passion for animals and asked if they could hire me to watch over their dogs while they were gone.  I said sure!

Ardella thought it was best that I should meet the dogs first, and have her go over everything with me.  I will never forget driving up to her place.  There was a long drive way of the road to their house and at the end was a big gate.  Inside was a 2 story house, a rare thing in my neck of the woods, a greenhouse, and a pond out back.  Running lose in the front yard, with a florescent green color, was what I thought at first was a deer.  I got out of the car and said, “Ardella you have a deer running in your front yard with a collar on.”

She said, “Actually that is Bambi.  She is a fawn colored Doberman.”

I was dumb struck.  I didn’t know Dobie’s came in that color.  I had on only seen black and tan.  I was a bit frightened by these dogs.  All I knew was they were aggressive and used for dog fighting, but Ardella and Phil were not like that.  Suddenly this monster started to charge me, but I held my ground.  This massive black and tan Doberman, with cropped ears and tail, is coming at me full speed.  I’m terrified but when she gets to me, she doesn’t bit me, she swings her butt to me.  Confused I looked up at Ardella, who calmed me by saying, “This is Ursa, and she wants you to scratch her butt.”  She explained to me that Ursa had been taken from her mother too early, at 5 weeks, and she constantly wanted to be petted.  You could not stop petting that dog.  I’d be sitting in the swing, petting her, and my arm would get tired from so much petting.  I would quit and she would bump me with her nose to make me pet her more.  She was such a silly girl.  I loved her so.

I was paid $5 a day to come out, get the mail, check the answering machine for any important messages, feed, water and play with the dogs.  I was given the numbers to where Phil and Ardella would be and I was to call if anything happened, and they would come home instantly.  I am happy to say that I worked for Phil and Ardella for many years, and became good friends with them.  Only once did I have to call them home from a trip, when Phil’s sister became very ill and soon thereafter, I believe, passed away.

To keep myself straight on what day was what, and when they were coming home I kept a log of my time at their house.  On an old yellow legal note pad, I would write the date, and what happened that day.  If I had given medicine to one of the dogs, what the weather was like, any animals I saw, or what new dead thing had been drug up in the yard.  I always started it with something like, “Today was a great day.”  I always tried to use a new descriptive adjective every day, and never repeat myself.  It got quite tricky there when they were gone for two or three weeks at a time.  I’d pull out words like groovy and keen.  Ardella told me one time, “I look forward to coming back, just so I can read your little notes.  I didn’t know you kids even knew what keen meant.”  I just laughed. 

Phil and Ardella were married for more than 50 years.  They had met at a dance at a town Phil and his buddies had randomly chosen to go to.  Phil worked in the oil business, for Shell Oil Company, most often off shore.  He still wore the jumpsuit uniforms that lots of oil field works do.  He was the nicest guy, big and tall and with very broad shoulders.  Ardella was bright in her own right.  She was strong and independent.  She had obtained a HAM radio operators license, so that every night her children could say ‘Goodnight’ to their father.  This was in the 70’s.  Long before cell phones kidos.  She still had all her equipment and tower when I knew her 20 years later.  They had traveled all over the world and Ardella talked about learning to speak Portuguese when they lived in Brazil.  I’m tearing up now just thinking about her.  I miss her a lot. 

By the time I knew both of them, their children were all grown, and moved away.  Being in their house was like a refuge to me.  It was full of books, that I was welcome to read.  They helped me with my genealogy. There was this huge wind chime that was hanging between the dining room and the living room.  I loved to ring it, and hear it’s sound.  Ardella had her own art room with her sewing machine, and an organized yarn stash like you would not believe.  I think she was a knitter. 

My favorite part of the house was this little sunny area, on the other side of the kitchen sink.  It had two comfy chairs facing each other and two book cases, a his’ and her’s if you will, beside these very large windows.  This little cozy space looked out on the pond and Ardella’s bird feeder on the deck.  She used to sit in that chair, watching the birds and try to identify them.  While Phil sat and read his paper or did his crossword.  Happy to be together, and each still doing their own thing.  I loved this idea, that a woman did not have to give up being who she was in, order to be married.  That she could have interests outside church, cooking, cleaning, sacrificing for her children, and gardening.  I think that was new for me back then. 

I kept that job until I went to college.  I even worked for them the summer between graduating high school and starting college when I worked for McDonald’s in Center, Tx.  I handed the job off to a friend of mine, who worked for them for several years as well. 

Ardella battled cancer in the end.  She died when I was working at Fort Jesup.  My mom called me, at the Fort, to tell me that she had just found out.  It had been some time since she had passed.  I was so upset that I burst out in tears, and was inconsolable.  I handed the phone to the other ranger standing behind me, who had never spoken to my mother, and had no idea what was going on.  I had to sit down, before I fell down.  Although it had been many years since I had seen her, I still loved her very much.  She was my good friend.  Finally the other ranger hung up the phone, and I sat and told her most of what I have told you here. 

Phil remarried and died some years back.  I miss them both dearly and wish them well on the other side. 

Ilsa

Riding Around

I have the most wonderful cousins in the world.  One of them is named Drew who I have talked about a bit before.  Drew and I were tight.  Right after Drew got his first truck, a real piece of crap that he paid $300 for and pulled out a creek, he started picking me up from school.  The truck was originally this orange yellow color, and then he spray painted it dark blue.  It took him a while, but he did it.  It had rusted floorboards, and a door seal that leaked, so when it rained and even if the window was up the seat often got wet.  I remember many mornings riding to school in a wet seat.  Oh well. 

Drew and I had the best time in that old truck.  Sometimes we would pick up one of his friends.  Sometimes he would just pick me up and we would go riding.  We would listen to music on his tape deck.  Gods we had the best time in that old truck.  We had the best conversations.  We dreamed and planned for the future. 

I had known Drew was gay almost since the day I met him.  He always wanted to play with my hair and play with my Barbies.  In my mind I thought, oh cool he is a girl and guys body.  I was 6 and he was 7.  But let me be clear here.  Drew identifies as a gay man and not as transgendered.  That was just what made since in my little girl heart and head.  Drew did not officially come out to me until I was 19 or so.  He brought me back into his room one day, when I was visiting and told me.  I told him I had known our whole lives, how I had suspected it, that I loved him, accepted him as who he was, and it was a non issue with me.   

In those days of riding around in the truck we made plans, that if we were not both married by the time we were 25 we would get married.  You know by then we felt we would be ancient.  That he could live his life and be with fellers, and I could do my thing on the side.  That way there would be no questions asked, by the family as to why he was not married yet.  My dad had already said, “Why don’t you and Drew get married?  You know keep it in the family, since y’all are not biologically related.”  I think he was pretty drunk when he said that.  I think that is the spark that got us talking about that.

So why talk about Drew being gay, because I want to say this.  At no time in my life did I ever decide to sit down and like men, neither did Drew.  As one of my oldest gay friends once told me, “Why on Earth would we chose this life?  Where we could be hated, ostracized and possible killed.”  I have had the joy and privilege to love someone who was gay from an early age.  It has helped define me.  For most of my life I have been an outspoken advocate for my gay brothers and sisters.  I want them to have the same rights and abilities that I have.  Why? because I love Drew.  I want him to have every happiness that I can be afforded.  I want him to find a good man and have a fabulous wedding, I want them to be able to have babies, and go to the grocery store and hold the hand of the man he loves, openly and in public, with no fear of being hurt, or someone saying something nasty to him.  Being gay is only a small part of who he is.  He is wonderful and loving and kind. 

Although Drew still identifies as Christian, I could not stand by and be part of a faith that in large part, condemns my beloved cousin for being true to himself, so I left the church.  I believe when Jesus made Drew, he made him gay.  Just as when Holda stirred me in the cauldron of life, she made me an Animal Communicator.  It is simply the way our brain is wired.  It is in Drew’s DNA, just as is his crazy curly hair, and blue eyes.  If we demonized gay people, we miss the chance to love some truly awesome people.  My life is better for knowing and loving Drew.  He has forever transformed who I am, just by being himself.  I wish him every joy that this life can give him.  Blessings my brother.

Drew and I rode around in that old blue truck for a long time.  Just talking, some of the best memories of my life.  I road with Drew on and off until he graduated, the year before I did.  Drew and I would go to the Opera together.  It was the truck we drove the first time Drew took me out bar hopping when I was 18, cause you could drink when you turned 18 back then.  I know I drove my car my senior year to school some, but I also still rode the bus a lot.  Because I remember falling off that bitch a lot! 

I was the last one on the bus and it was such a short ride from my house to the school, that by the time I walked all the way to the back and fought for a seat, we would be there, so I just stood, or sat on the steps.  We would pull up to the elementary side of the school and I would step off to let the little ones off.  I would give hugs, tie shoes, make sure they had jackets on and stuff, and wipe noses.  Then I would get back on the bus, ride 40 feet to the High School side.  I would take one step out the door to get on the concrete, inevitable miss, and fall flat on my face.  Everybody would just laugh and laugh their heads off.  Most people didn’t bother to come over and help me up, but many did ask if I was okay.  That’s about the time I started learning to say out loud, “I’m good,” when I fall, because so many people asked.  I still think I fall so much because my tits are so huge, I feel they make me unbalanced.

My first car, which was never titled in my name, but that I got to drive to school, was this beautiful 1973 Gold Mercury Comet that my mother had driven to high school.  She was a 4 door, automatic, 8 cylinder, 302 cc, with and engine built for drag racing in her.  My mother used to drag in her and would occasionally win.  The car had originally been built for drag racing, but when the original owner went to pick it up, he decided he didn’t like it and never bought it.   She had a solid metal body and these horrid vinyl seats with a western motif pattern on them.  So in the summer when you wore your shorts, and you got out of the car, you had this print on the back of your thigh!  Ha! Ha! 

Gods I loved that car.  We had a new windshield put in it and must have been done improperly, because it started leaking under the gas pedal every time it rained.  So I had to keep a pan under it.  Eventually it started to rust out the floorboards. 

She could do 90 like she was sitting still!  PAWYA! And done the road I went.  Boy could she fly.  I tore the roads up in that car.  I think Me and Mom and Grandpa, put a tape deck in her and I would make these great mix tapes, give them awesome names, and I would put them on and just drive around listening to my music.  That car was freedom to me. 

I would put Texas, my dog, in the car, and down the road we would go.  Gods I loved him so!  I think he was the first dog I ever really communicated with.  My dad had brought him home years before.  This skinny little thing, that had been sleeping under dozers at my Dad’s pipeline location.  He was giving him his sandwich everyday.  Finally Dad brought him home.  He said, “I had to bring him home, or I was going to starve to death!”  My Daddy has always had the biggest heart.  Texas was covered in oil, and mud, and gas.  It took us 2, if not 3 baths to get him clean, and that water was just black.  He was the best dog.  We believe he was part Border Collie and part Lab. 

Texas and I would go get gas together, I could fill that huge tank up for $20 back then and drive around for almost two weeks on it.  I would go in the gas station and get candy for me, and Famous Amos Chocolate Chip cookies for him.  He loved them!  Back before we knew not to give dogs chocolate.  One cookie for me, and 2 or 3 for Texas, then we’d drive a bit, and then one for me and more for him.  He was so heavy that when he road in the front seat, and it bounced the seatbelt light would come on for him.  He loved to go ridding with me.  I knew if he was in the car with me, nobody was going to mess with me, so I went anywhere I pleased.  I really liked to go riding when the flowers bloomed.  I would watch the land over the years, and knew where the flowers bloomed in spring, and I would just go down some lonely road and pick flowers, Texas in tow. 

Texas was my best buddy.  When I had no body to talk to, I talked to him.  He was a great friend.  He never told anybody my secrets.  He just wanted his belly rubbed.  I have this great picture, that Mom took of us, sitting on the porch, a book by my side, and his head in my lap.  I had no idea she had taken it.  It’s one of my favorites.  Here I am holding court with my dogs, in my favorite blue dress.  He died 6 weeks after I went to college.  The vet said he had Hepatitis C, that he got from eating something dead.  I think he died from a broken heart of me not being there.  I still miss him.  I have his picture on my ancestor altar.  I think of him often.

Ilsa

 

Goat Problems

In late 2012 I had acquired a new dog I named Perro, an Australian Cattle Dog, aka a Blue Healer.  Tami had found him.  I took him because Tami had too many animals.  He had belonged to some Spanish fellows, and they had been trying to get rid of him.  He was such a bad dog, they were planning on putting him down.  I never could properly say his name.  So I named him Perro, the Spanish word for dog.  At first he only spoke Spanish.  He had never been in a house before.  He was terrified to come in the first few days.  It was only later that we would find out how severally abused he had been.

Perro could at times be a very good dog.  Then a switch would flipped in his brain and he would attack.  He had been raised on a horse farm, and he kept attacking the million dollar thoroughbreds.  He was trying to herd them, by biting them in the leg.  He was beaten for that, often.  He would be beaten so badly one time, he defecated on himself.  We would learn later, that if you do not properly train one these dogs from an early age, they kind of go nuts.  They are not for a first time dog owner.  I believe Perro had brain damage from his abuse.  We later found out that his original name meant Devil dog. 

Perro would bite my goats and not let them go.  They would just scream out in pain and not let them go no matter how much I screamed at him, or threatened to beat him.  It was no simple nip in the heals.  He often broke the skin.  Our goat herd was large that year.  We were running about 14 head at the time.  I would turn them out to graze, and go about my day.  They would just take themselves across the highway, to the fire station and start grazing in the woods over there. 

One day we went to round them up, taking Perro with us.  I had hoped he would herd them for us.  He didn’t he just ran around biting them.  Tami and I were riding on the back of the truck, and I had my leg hanging from the tailgate.  Perro was happily following behind us.  Suddenly he reached up and bit me in the leg,  and threw my jeans he drew blood.  The only reason he didn’t take a whole chunk out of me, was because his bottom teeth tried to bit threw my boots, and could not get thru.  I knew I in trouble.  I was bleeding, but I had to cowgirl up and go on.  My goats took priority. 

We were able to get the heard back across the road and in the pen.  By that time I am hurting pretty bad.  “Jay I’m in trouble,” I said.  And I dropped my jeans, in front of Tami, god and everybody.  I was pouring blood at that time.  Tami was shocked and ran for medical supplies.  Jay was pissed and fussed me.  “Why didn’t you say anything?!” he scolded me.  I told him we had to get the herd safe first. 

The wound was bad enough that taking me to the hospital was discussed.  I told them, “No.  If they find out it’s a dog bite they will put Perro down.  It’s my fault for what he did.  I should not have been dangling my leg.”  Thank the gods Jay is a trained medical assistant and first responder.  He patched me up, and although I was sore for a few days, the two deep punctures I received, healed up nicely. 

My goats continued to go across the road, every time I let them out.  The cops were nice about it the first 10 or 15 times they were out here.  In March of 2013, the livestock man came to my house.  He is in charge of arresting people for livestock violations.  He drives a truck with a fifth wheel attachment in the bed, to hook up the goose neck trailer to take your animals away from you.  He is a regular police officer with a gun, handcuffs and everything else. 

He’s a bit terrifying.  He came to my house to discuss my goat problem.  He told me, “If I have to come back out here again I will take all your goats, and it will cost you $75 a head to get them out.”  And he looked around at my dogs, who are free roaming, and said what terrified me most, “and I’ll take your dogs too.”  I kind of lost it after that.  I went into a suicidal depression for several weeks.  I jumped at every sound.  I was terrified he was here to take my fur kids from me. 

We continued to have goat problems.  We put up a fence, and the goats just jumped threw it.  At some point that year Jay and I were both separately slapped with a lose livestock fine.  In August of that year I gave away most of my heard.  I kept Star, Kali, Bridget and Dagda, because they never went across the road.  In September I had to go to court and plead guilty to a misdemeanor.  One of the scarcest things I had ever done. 

Perro’s attitude never improved.  He often wanted to nibble or give love bites to people.  He never got any better.  He had tried love and we had tried whooping him.  I would not keep him confined or chained up.  That is no life for an animal.  We did not know what else to do.  Perro was becoming a danger.  He was still biting the goats.  I never knew if he would bite me again.  I never knew if he would suddenly decide to bite someone else.  What if he bit a child?  I was also feeling a lot of pressure from D & K to put him down.  Perro was unpredictable and a liability. 

Jay and I made the decision to put him down.  It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  I have never had to put down a perfectly health dog for mental issues.  In the end I could not be in the room with him when it was done, and we did not bring him home to be buried.  I wonder if he hated me for that.  Felt abandoned.  I hope one day he can find it in his heart to forgive me and return to me in a new body. 

Perro taught me a very important lesson.  You can’t save every dog.  Some dogs are just too far gone from, abuse, trauma, bad breeding, etc.  That doesn’t mean we should not try, I just think we shouldn’t be devastatingly angry at ourselves, if we try our best, and it does not work out.  Sometimes we are just not the right home, the right owner, or the dog is not the right breed for you.  I often still kick myself, thinking that I did not do enough for him.   I wonder if someone who knew more about his breed, could have pulled him though this and made him change. 

I recently journeyed to Holda’s Garden.  I wanted to check on some of my goats who had passed over.  Holda told me the pasture was around the bend, and so it was.  Just past her house, down the dirt road, thru a grove of trees I found the pasture.  Sitting among my goats was Perro, watching over them.  I did not expect to see him there.  He came to me, and gave me love.  He told me that he had had, “a broken brain.”  He told me he was all better now and his job was to watch over the goats.  I told him again how sorry I was about putting him down.  He said he didn’t blame me, and assured me again he was alright.  I am glad he is there with them, doing what he loves.  Even if it may all be just in my head.

Ilsa

 

Circle Star Farms

Mike D’s wife loved animals.  When she moved here part of her menagerie included a horse, a pig, and chickens.  I had always wanted livestock, and she and I began to talk about me getting some type of livestock.  She had inspired me and Gods’ know we had the room.  After spending a few months with her chickens I decided they were not for me.  They were way too messy and stupid.  I had talked with her about getting goats.  One day as she was sitting in the UU church, and the lady sitting beside her, mentions that she is looking for a home for her goats.  Mike D.’s wife got her number.  She came home and shared this with me.  Jay and I contacted the lady and made plans to go to her house to meet her goats; Star, Pan, and Flora.  When we arrived I instantly fall in love with them.  Although I have never owned a goat or had much interaction with one, I decided that I must have them.

Jay and I spent the next few weeks, preparing part of the lean too attached to our shed/ barn, to become the home for our new set of goats.  We brought them home a few weeks later in January of 2010, in the back of my Buick.  The same Buick I had sold to my mom all those years ago.  I even took them thru the MacDonald’s drive thru to get a rise out of the people at the window, but I got no response.  I guess they must have just thought they were big dogs, as they had their heads down.  I bought Storey’s Guide to Raising Dairy Goats at my local feed store, and it became my bible.  I think I even slept with it for a while.  For the first time our lives had really became tied to the land.  We decided to name the whole endeavor Circle Star Farms after Momma Star the goat. 

Let me jump back here a minute.  By the Spring of 2009 we had received the remainder of Momma Muriel’s estate.  We decided we need to do something great with it in order to honor her.  So in April of 2009 Jay began school to become a medical assistant.  It was an 8 month program.  I never saw my beloved happier.  He graduated in December of 2009.  He began to work for the dialysis center in February of 2010. 

It was a happy time in our lives.  Jay and I decide to finally take our long awaited Honeymoon in April of 2010.  Now because of my IC we could not go too far.  We packed the car and head 5 hours north to Altus, Arkansas, right in the heart of wine country.  Now don’t make that face.  I can see you from behind this screen.  Arkansas has some wonderful wine, and no not the kind that comes in the box!  This little valley was settled by several Swiss families, who began to make wine after finding the microclimate and rocky soil was just right.  They’ve been doing it for over 100 years.  Jay’s family has been coming to this winery called Wiederkehr’s for at least the last 30 years.  They make over 20 different varieties of wines there and have a wonderful little German / Swiss restaurant there.  Don’t believe me?  Check them out here at http://wiederkehrwines.com/

We had found a little cabin, on-line, that allowed pets and was not far from the winery.  So Jay, me, Punka, Precious and Sophia headed up to Arkansas.  Everybody else stayed home.  It was just beautiful.  We had the best time.  We stopped and let the girls swim at the boat launch on Horsehead Lake.  We brought Sophia because we wanted to.  We brought Punka and Precious because we had to.  Why? Oh Crap!  I’m sorry I forgot to tell you a few things. 

Okay on Christmas Eve 2009, right after her first birthday, we almost lost Precious the second.  She had not been feeling herself for a few days. Not wanting to play and being tired. The day before she had stopped eating and that day she had stopped drinking.  She just laid in bed, was too weak to stand, and her gums were white.  I knew something was terribly wrong with my baby.  We immediately rushed her to the ER.  After several anxious hours we were finally told that she had Canine Autoimmune Hematologic Anemia.  Her white blood cells were attacking her red ones.  She needed a blood transfusion, and if she lived thru the night, she would have to be on steroids for the rest of her life.  We were told this would shorten her life span.  Precious the second survived after spending the weekend in the animal hospital.  We are told the first symptom of her disease is often death.  Most owners do not catch it in time, because it is so quick and so subtle.  Another day and she would have been dead for sure.  So Precious came because she had to take medicine every day, and we had to constantly watch her to make sure she was not getting sick again. 

In the Summer of 2007 Pumpkin, aka Punka, injured her back.  Dachshunds are prone to what is called Canine Intervertebral Disk Disease.  Basically over the centuries people have bred their backs to a breaking point, because they made them too long.  Dachshunds are now, not as long as they were 40 years ago, but they still carry the gene for this problem. 

Punka was shaking and not able to jump up on things.  We took her to the vet, who told us to watch her.  She never told me to crate rest her.  To crate rest is the best treatment for a Doxie who, has had a back injury.  We went thru this twice with Precious the first.  You basically lock them up in their crate for 6 weeks.  You only take them out to potty and then that is supervised.  You do heat packs several times a day, and swim therapy in the tub at night. Hopefully by the end of that time they can still walk.  You hope and pray that the body will have healed itself. 

A week after Punka injured her back, she became what we call “downed.”  This means that she could no longer walk.  As soon as Punka became downed we crate rested her.  She was not crate trained.  She screamed for 3 days straight, despite being in our bedroom and with us.  The only way I could get any sleep was to sleep on the floor next to her, and hold her paw thru the crate.  Every Mommy has her breaking point.  We knew after a few days that Punka would never regain her ability to walk.  I still blame myself that I saw the signs and did not immediately crate rest her.  I feel I am the reason Punka became paralyzed.

With her paralyzation also came the inability for her to pee on her on.  We had to extract her bladder for her, so that it would not spill all over everything.  If urine was left in her bladder too long, it could cause an infection.  We have to learn to squeeze her so hard, that you think you will kill her, to make the pee come out.  Punka had to be peed 2 to 4 times a day, depending on what she was doing and how much water she drank.  We tended to pee her more times in the summer, because she consumed more water.  We got so good at it, that we could look at her and tell when she needed to pee.

We bought her an expensive wheelchair, which she hated.  She would get stuck between a tree and wiggle out of the chair.  She never figured out reverse.  We’d turn her lose in the yard in her wheelchair and she’d come back an hour later without it.  Being downed never stopped Punka for a minute!  Why should it, nothing ever stopped her!  She had lost 95% of feeling in her back legs, but she just kept going.  We soon learned she was faster without the chair.  She preferred to drag her legs behind her.  She could still knock over trashcans and kill chickens.  She killed 6 AFTER she was downed!  We changed our lives to accommodate her.  She slept in the bed with us at night, and if she had an accident we just changed the sheets.  We never made her wear a diaper. I was afraid of diaper rash.  We even built her a ramp to come into our house.  People often asked us why we did not put her down.  I would respond, if your child was paralyzed and in a wheelchair, would you shoot her in the head?  Sometimes people just don’t get it.

Her doctors were amazed at her.  We all were.  They had never seen a downed Doxie live so long.  In the end Punka died of congestive heart failure, and nothing related to her downed condition.  When Punka died, in February of 2014, she had been downed for 7 years.  Our vet said that was the longest he had ever seen a paralyzed Doxie live.  He credited it to the good care we gave her.  We credited to her indomitable spirit. 

Punka was my familure.  I don’t know that I will ever have another dog like her.  I still wake up some mornings, and think I have to find Punka so I can pee her.  Jay and I buried her in our little grove, a year later we put her brother Prince beside her. Their graves are the first thing I seen when I wake up in the morning and look out my window.  I want them to always be close to me. We have built a whole sitting area around their graves, so that we might sit and visit with them.  I try to do that every few days. 

Now where was I going with this.  Sorry I’m crying here.  I’m still grieving Punka in a lot of ways.  Oh yes so Jay and I, Punka, Precious the second and Sophia all left to go to Arkansas.  We had only been there for about a day when we got a phone call.  We were pretty amazed, ‘cause we knew we had little or no signal up there.  On the other end was Mike D.’s wife.  She told us Star was in labor, and had been for a few hours. 

Now when we left we knew Star was pregnant by Pan.  We believed her to be close, but we had no idea when she would birth.  That’s why we had felt it was safe to leave.  I listened on the other end of the phone as Ostara was born.  We decided to leave the next day and return home. 

Ilsa

After Momma Muriel's Death

My health had been in decline for some time prior to Momma Muriel’s death.  For months I had been going thru sever stomach and lower belly pain.  There were some nights it was so bad I was on the floor crying, rocking on my hands and knees trying to survive the pain.  I had been hospitalized with hip and stomach pain in December of 2007.  After three days and a battery of tests, the doctors concluded that I had a hiatal hernia in my stomach and that was causing the pain in my hip.  They called it reflexive pain.  In truth they had no idea what was wrong with me.  I was beginning to think my job in life was to live in pain. 

A few months later, still in pain, the Dr’s begin to believe it was my gallbladder.  I had test that showed it to be working just fine.  The Dr’s came in and said, “Well we can take it out and hope it fixes your pain.  It has about a 50/50 shot of working.”  I told them to call me when they could give me better odds.  It was some years later that the lawsuits about Yasmin, an anti-testosterone birth control pill, came out.  I had been on Yasmin for several years.  But at the time I was having this pain, I was off of it.  They now believe this medicine to cause problems with the gallbladder. Yasmin and Metformin were what I had been taking to combat my PCOS.  They were the only drugs available to treat the diseases at the time. 

My pain came and went over the next few months.  I began to see a new OB/GYN a few days after Momma Muriel’s death.  I explained to her that I was in a tremendous amount of pain, and that I often had pain after I had intercourse.  I had told my previous OB/GYN this for the past five years. He told me I was too tense, that I needed to relax and have a glass of wine before I had sex. As I did not want to go through life having to drink in order to have sex, I got a new Dr.  She said the most beautiful words to me that you can say to a person in chronic pain, “If you’re having pain, there is a reason.”

 After listening to my symptoms, taking a history and examining me, she decided to send me to a Urologist.  I had been to one before.  I kept having what I thought were UTI’s all the time, but my urine was always clean.  I had struggled with urinary problems most of my life, but it really became quite bad after I left Mike.  At one point they had to put me on a bladder pill for having to go so frequently.  I remember being excited that I could go and pee whenever I wanted.  I remember drinking cranberry juice all the time, and taking lots of AZO pills, because everyone told me that it would help.  The UTI problems came and went. The first Urologist I had been sent to, early on, told me he really didn’t do women’s health.   He could give me no answers.  My new OB/GYN sent me to someone who specialized in women’s urinary health.  A month later I was diagnosed with Interstitial Cystitis.  I was told to get off all caffeine and high acidic drinks like grapefruit and orange juice.  Thank the Gods I was already depressed ‘cause I slept for weeks.  I had been living on cokes and coffee for many years, so getting off was not easy.  It finally leveled out after about 6 weeks. 

Interstitial Cystitis (IC) ought to be called Painful Irritated Bladder Syndrome.  I have the sensation that I am coming down with a UTI all the time.  Three of its primary symptoms are having to pee all the time, pain or burning in the pelvis and pain during sex.  Cranberry juice and other acidic drinks make IC worse.  This disease limits how long I can sit or stand.  How long I can ride in a car and what I can wear.  When I am having a flair, I cannot even stand to be touched.  It is a progressive and painful disease.  It will only get worse with time.   There is only one medication which is very expensive without insurance.  Although there may be genetic components to IC, there is to date no real known cause and currently no cure. 

So within the span of a few months Momma Muriel dies, I am given a devastating diagnosis, Novelle dies and then Precious the first died.  The hurricane winds had been blowing a lot that fall.  On ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­September 2^nd, 2008 what was left of Hurricane ­­­­Gustav rolled thru town.  It was the first one that had hit us that year.  We were without power for 55 hours.  That’s kind of hellish when you are dependent on a CPAP to sleep with.  My neighbors, who are on a different electric company, that we can’t get on, were out about 30 minutes. 

As the storm rolled in the winds began to change.  The dogs started going ape shit, chasing all the new smells.  Precious the first ran off in the woods.  Not a big thing.  We have such a big place that we let our fur kids roam free, and we have a doggie door so they might come and go as they please.  They were always in the woods and Precious the first loved to do nothing more than hunt.  My friend Marie and I were sitting on the porch enjoying the breeze as the power had already gone out.  As the rain started I began to count kids and came up one short.  Precious must still be out hunting.  I remember Jay and me going out back of the house tying to sense where she was. I got nothing.  I became hoarse from calling from her so long.  I finally collapsed in the tall wet grass, weeping.  Jay had to help me back in the house.  I was distraught.  She would not stay out in the rain.  She never did.  Something had to have happened to her, something bad.  She was my light.  She was my child.  She and I had been thru so much together.  I could not lose Momma Muriel and her too.  It was all too much. 

A few days later I began to hear Precious the first’s voice in my head telling me she was gone.  I did something then I had not done in a long time.  I did some non-dominate hand writing.  What I wrote was a letter from Precious the first to me.  She told me not to cry, that she was okay and in the heavens with Oma and Momma Muriel.  She said she had been chasing a rabbit and got hit by a car.  That she had died quickly.  I begged her to lead me to her body so that I might bury her.  She told me she did not want me to see her that way.  She told me that she died doing what she loved, being free.  She thanked me for loving her and bringing her to this land.  She said she wanted to ride in the Wild Hunt with Holda.  I told her that was fine, but she had to come home to me very soon.  I begged her to at least have something of hers so I might have closure.

The day after the writing, one of the fur kids brought me her collar.  Complete intact with her tags, and undamaged.  It was a breakaway collar.  Meaning it was designed to unbuckle should she get hung in something, so as not to choke her.  It was still buckled.  My guess is that she got hung in the bushes chasing a rabbit and it slipped off her head.  Despite looking for one, we never found a body.  I still don’t know how much of what I wrote was me and how much was her.  Or was it all me?  I don’t know.  I may never know.

I felt at times I would break, and perhaps I did, and I was remolded.  It was all too much for me to handle. I had to keep reminding myself that with great death, comes great rebirth.  I think Jay took Precious the first’s death harder then Momma Muriel’s.  At least with Momma Muriel’s we had been prepared, and she had lived a long life. We had known it was coming for a long time, and we had time to say goodbye.  Precious the first’s death was just out to the blue.  One moment she was there and then the next she was just gone. 

When Momma Muriel died she left us the land we live on and half her estate.  A few weeks later I told Jay that for the first time in my life I wanted to buy a dog.  I wanted to buy a Dachshund girl and have the joy of raising her from a pup. I knew a good responsible Dachshund breeder in town that raised beautiful fur children.  I talked with her and told her that Jay and I wanted a pup.  We were hoping for a black and tan little girl.  She told me that she did not have any girls available at the time, but that Cookie, one of her girls would be in heat soon.  She hoped to breed her to Dan, one of her males.  I told her if she had a girl from the litter, no matter the color, that we would like her.  We were content to wait for the right fur child to come into our lives. 

Now Dachshund genetics are a weird and complex thing.  You have 2 sizes, Mini and Standard.  Unless you are from Europe and then you have Rabbit, Mini and Standard.  Rabbit sized ones are so small they can go in a rabbit hole.  You have three coat types; smooth, wire hair, and long hair.  Then there are multiple colors with variations like piebald and dapple.  I believe there are 16 different colors and combinations.  Cookie was a standard chocolate long hair.  Dan is a standard red and white piebald.  With that combination we had no idea what we would get.

On December 21^st, 2008, at noon, Precious Teufel Plaisance was born.  She was born on Holda’s holy day and at her holy hour.  She was the only girl born to a litter full of boys and she was black and tan, just like her grandmother had been. We believe Precious the second to be Precious the first reincarnated.  Now that is not that odd of a belief.  Our animals often return to us.  Have you never caught yourself saying, “You know she reminds me of this dog I used to have.”  Many animals believe it is their duty to protect us our whole lives, or even generations of our families.  Even if that means they might have to go thru a few bodies to do it. 

We fought over who was going to be the first to hold her.  I won!  Oh she was so tiny!  She fit in my hand.  I got to hold her when she was just a few hours old.  Her little eyes and her little ears were closed and she still had a bit of dried umbilical cord on her.  Oh she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen!  But then doesn’t every mother say that about her child.  Fur, skin, scale or feathered it matters not.  A child is a child, and after many long months, mine had finally come home.

Precious Teufel, who I will call Precious the second here, needed time to grow and learn important things from her doggie mommy before coming home with us.  You take a pup away from its mom too soon and you end up with a neurotic dog.  My breeder friend would not release her until she was 8 weeks old.  Which I think is just wonderful because that lets them be better adjusted.  She always has her pup’s best interest in mind.  But we were allowed to visit until she could come home and got regular pictures.  We got to bring her home around Valentine’s Day. 

We maintain a good relationship with her breeder and even adopted Cookie, when her breeding days were over.  Although I got to hold her first she quickly became a Daddy’s girl, again.  In many ways she is still who she was.  She loves her daddy and she still loves to swim.  But in some ways she is different, and that is fine with us.  Now she could care less about hunting, she is content to lie on the couch.  Time changes everyone, but not who we are at our core.

I am still often not sure what happened to Precious the first.  Did it happen the way she told me?  Did whatever is in my woods get her?  Did someone pick her up on the highway?  Or did she end up living out her finally years at a neighbor’s house I know nothing about?  Did she end up in the pound and was put down?  Is she still alive?  These are the things I torture myself with before I go to sleep at night.  Is Precious the second really her reincarnation or am I just fooling myself and seeing what I want to.  Sometimes I wonder.

Ilsa

 

Making Plans

Jay and I continued seeing each other, falling deeper and deeper in love.  He would steal away to my house whenever he could.  He would come for what we called, “sleepovers.”  I was not allowed to sleepover at his house.  While my mother in law loves me, she was not too keen on her unwed son having sex under her roof.  I had told my parents long ago at least if I have sex in the house, you know where I am.   I’m not out on a pipeline somewhere, or back in the woods where if something happens to me you can’t get to me.  My parents adored Jay, they still do.  When Mom would come to say goodnight to me, she would tuck Jay in bed first and then me.  I still think they like him better than me.  At some point my father told me, “If you ever decide to get a divorce from Jay, just walk right across the hall and take out a restraining order against me ‘cause I’m going to kill you.”

Now I had lost my job in the Summer of 2002 and I continued to look for work, any work for many months.  When you have a B.A. most people don’t want to hire you.  They think you will become bored with the job and leave as soon as they have invested all that time and money in training you, or your find something in your field.  They also don’t want to hire someone who has a lot of education and not as much work history.  Again a lot of men doing the hiring are intimidated by an intelligent woman. 

My Anthropology degree, while pretty on the wall, was not worth very much here.  North West Louisiana does not invest in science or preserving their history.  There were a few private museums here that were run by volunteers and only one was run by the state.  There are also no state historic sites here.  There was nothing here where one with my degree might make a living.  It’s kind of like having a marine biology degree while you are living in the middle of the desert.  My dreams of a higher degree had been dashed by my GRE results.  I was too stupid for graduate school, plus now I was in love and I did not want to leave him behind.  I took the civil service test and began to look for work with the state. 

About the time I meet Jay I had finally found a little job as a barista.  That job lasted a few weeks, before the owner told me they were having money trouble and would have to let me go.  They closed a few months later.  I had friend named Paige (who’s so twisted she deserves her own article and that I plan to write a little later) who’s father owned a convenience store.  I asked her to get me an interview with him.  She did and I was hired a few days later.  Even he was intimidated by the fact I came to the interview in business attire, with a resume in a nice folder for him, and had a degree.  He didn’t want to hire me at first because I had a degree.   He, like so many others, was afraid I would get bored and leave.  People like him sometimes forget that we all have to eat.  Paige had to explain I was just very professional.  I stayed almost 6 months, a lot longer than many of the people there. 

I got the word in September of 2003 that I would be a Park Ranger at Fort Jesup State Historic Site outside of Many, Louisiana. It was built in the 1820’s and had been used as a staging ground for troops in the Mexican American war. I was terrible excited that I would finally be able to put my degree to good use, and to make a living for myself.  It was an hour south of where I was living and an hour and half south of Jay.  For the first few weeks I commuted back and forth from Keatchie to Many.  But we knew this would never do.  I began to look for a place to live. 

I refused to leave Precious the first behind.  Would you leave your human children behind if they suddenly became inconvenient for you?  No she was my child, just because she had fur did not mean I got to cast her aside because a place to live would not allow pets.   

Precious the first had come to me in those years of writing the “Prodigal Daughter,” from a friend.  She was a beautiful black and tan Dachshund.  She had been rescued from the Bossier pound.  Her owner had been an elderly lady, who had died of a heart attack, a few weeks after Precious the first had delivered puppies.  The family had sold the puppies and took Precious the first to the pound.  The day my friend got her Precious the first was so engorged with milk that she had to ride home on a towel.  For years Precious the first would wake up screaming in her sleep.  I know she was dreaming of her pups.  Over the years she had become my trusted companion. No I was adamant she would come with me.  I would not leave her behind. After a few weeks I lamented to a co-worker the problem I was having trying to find a place for both of us.  He told me that he had a cousin who had a trailer that would allow pets.  I was overjoyed.

In October Precious the first and I moved into a little trailer in the tiny community of Belmont.  Jay came to visit when he could, but for the most part we were on our own.  It was the first time, other than living in the dorms in college I had ever lived on my own.  It could be exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, especially at night. 

I did not want Precious the first to be lonely while I was gone to work, so I decided I should get her a playmate.  I put a call into the Shreveport Pound and told them if they came across a Dachshund to give me a call.  They called three days later.  They told me they had picked up three doxies knocking over garbage cans to stay alive.  I told them I would take all three.  I happened to be on a date with Jay when we got the call.  By the time I ran to the bank and got out the cash, they had already adopted out two.  On the way there we had already decided on the name, Pumpkin.  No matter the color or the sex of the dog.  It was October you know.  I was calling everybody Pumpkin about that time. 

When we get to the pound we are led back to the kennels.  There sat the most beautiful, scared, little red Dachshund on a green bed.  They opened the door and I crawled in and laid on my back in submissive position.    She began to give me kisses.  I picked her up, proclaimed her Pumpkin, and gave her to Jay.  And so we add Abigail Pumpkin Plaisance to our family.  Pumpkin and Precious the first fought a lot in the early days, but at least they were company for each other. 

Jay and I had been together for about 10 months at that time.  We were engaged but had not set a date as of yet.  Our families were getting pretty tired of the fact we were sleeping together, but not married yet.  We decided to set a date.  We would marry the week after my birthday in March when the flowers would be in bloom, my favorite time of year.  I figure that in the coming years he might remember one of the two dates, since they are so close together.  He has never forgotten either. 

Now at this time in my life I am Christian but I am also still very interested in Native American Spirituality and Native American culture.  Jay is and has always been interested in their different cultures.  At this time I have even danced in a Pow-Wow, and have my own regalia.  Although it might be cliché and not politically correct Jay and I feel we have spent many lifetimes among the tribes. 

I am talking on the phone one night with Mary, a friend of mine.  I mention to her how I wish we could be married by a Medicine Man.  She asks me, “Isn’t Jerry Fairbanks a Medicine Man?  Can’t he marry you?”  I said I will find out.  Indeed my friend, who I have talked about before, is an Ojibwa Medicine Man and can legally marry Jay and I.  We are delighted!  We begin to make plans for our Ojibwa wedding.

When our family hears of this, they are not pleased.  They do not consider such a thing to be “legal,” their way of saying they don’t consider it to be correct.  I tell them if they want us married in the church then they will have to pay for it.  They say they will.  So we begin to plan for a church wedding as well.

Ilsa