Showdown on the Tundra

The Alpine Spotted Spoiled Shih Tzu and the Great Northern Naked Boxer in
their native environment.



The naked boxer about to become dinner for one of the northern hemispheres
most terrifying predators.



He is in the fight of his life.



At this stage of the game, he knows he has lost. He will soon lie down to
await his grim fate. She will slowly devour him and then carry his 6 hairs
home to her nest.



But look--unbeknownst to the powerful female, her own worst nightmare
lurks in the tundra. The King Pug can shoot venom an amazing 20 feet from
his flattened snout.

The Barfing Flu

OH, was it awful. For the first time eve, all 7 of us had the barfing flu! What that meant is that Brian went to bed for 2 days and I stayed up for 2 days. He's usually not that big of a baby but this time...oh, this time. There was barf EVERYWHERE. I had to go to supervalu to get popsicles/gatoraid for the kids because they were so dehydrated and I actually barfed at supervalu. Yeah, I did! I made it to the bathroom but barely, and Zac was with me and wouldn't shut the stall door. He kept talking. "Mommy, you're FROWING UP NOW?"

Some pictures of the carnage above. Note that our canine family members cannot be left out of the fun. Leo is a nurse pug, as you can see. He is the Florence Nightingale of canines. He is always ready to hold your hand for you, or just sit quietly at the bedside as you pass away (or wish to). Casey, on the other hand, I couldn't tell if he was nursing assistant or the patient in the other bed. If you look at his face he looks pretty pained. It could have been sympathy. He did help a lot with barf clean up though--you don't want to know how. So maybe he is just housekeeping staff.

Last but not least, Dottie the laundry dog. With laundry in disarray thanks to loads and loads of barfy bedding and clothes, Zac chose to recline on the couch after a bath and wear his favorite fur coat. This isn't the first time he has worn it in the nude, which is why I say favorite. There must be something very sensual about wearing Shih Tzu in the nude.....

Hey Shawna

Shawna (Locke) I see you have been trying to reach me! What a blast from the past! I can't seem to email you--send me an email at gillerschurman@gmail.com and let's connect! Tracy

The Cheetoh Store

The picture is a just-for-the-heck-of-it picture of Ana and Lijah in a silly mood. I was moving some old pictures off my old computer today and found so many pictures like this from 8 years ago! (This one was just last week). Those two have always been such good buddies. I'll start posting some of the old ones, for old times sake. But for now, here is a newbie, just for fun.

ANYWAY, I can't emphasize enough how rare this is, but I went to the liquor store today. Everyone rare once in awhile Brian or I will have a beer. You just get a yen now and again, you know? Trust me, all it takes is half a beer and I'm singing like a canary. He doesn't make it much further.

So anyway I had Zac with me and we went into the liquor store--I explained that that's where we were, a liquor store--and I grabbed a 12 pack of something or other (Giller Lite!) and checked out. When i was buckling Zac into his car seat he said "Should we go to the Cheetoh Store now?"

(We did.)

On another note, Brian spent the day rearranging things upstairs. We are both on vacation this week, FYI, thus the multitude of postings on a usually barren blog. He likes to arrange furniture--that's where Elijah gets it. He moved all the big 8 by 10 picture frames of the kids to a new spot, complete with all the new pictures (lacking on Zac's, which we should have this week.) He then came to me and said "you know, we are missing only one. If 6 kids, perfect balance, two rows with 3 each."

So, the funeral is Friday. You are all welcome. His ashes will be kept in my curio cabinet with Grandma Mary.

What's Left At My House When Everyone Else Is In School

Dottie

She is writing an essay of her own, happily tapping away at the computer with her new dog tucked behind her on the chair. I sneak a look at the title. "The Story of Dottie: How a Dog Can Heal You." While I'm delighted to see Ana writing for fun, like I do, I'm made even happier by her confirmation of the miracle I see taking place.

She's been grieving quietly for a year and a half for Minnie. I knew the sadness lingered, but didn't realize just how scarred she'd been by the traumatic loss of her little pug. Minnie had been her gift for her 5th birthday, a consolation for being the only girl in a family of 3 boys. They were accordingly as close as sisters. At a petite 14 pounds, Minnie was just the right size for doll clothes and stroller rides, for sleeping in the crook of a small arm.

In the ensuing 5 years, our family was completed with one more human boy and two cats. Minnie, her coat jet black and glossy, began to grey prematurely. She was a quiet and gentle dog who enjoyed sitting in the sunshine and watching the kids play. When she wasn't with Ana, she was with Leo, my own pug. They moved in a pair, circling my feet in the kitchen, reminding me of sharks and making a synchronized effort to look forlornly starved.

I was at work when I got the news that I had unknowingly run her over on my way out of the driveway. Horribly injured, she had dragged herself through the yard until Brian found her. She died a short time later, her body seizing, her eyes wide with pain and betrayal. The children watched in fear as death touched them intimately for the first time. Still at work, I got a heart wrenching email from Ana. "Mommy, it's Ana. My Minnie died."

I drove home slowly, knowing that her tiny body waited for me. She was so broken, still and already cold. They had wrapped her in Elijah's quilt in a heartbreaking attempt at making her comfortable in death. Holding her close, I breathed tearful apologies into her shiny fur. Leo sat nearby, his presence comforting. I wondered if he understood that he had just lost his sister and best friend. I think he did.

Brian buried her the next day near the edge of the yard, marking the spot with a large stone. We gathered around her grave that evening to say goodbye to her. I did my best to answer the hard questions every parent dreads. Why did she die? Why couldn't the vet have fixed her? Was she cold in the ground?

I have a picture of 9 year old Ana, her heart heavy with grief, staring vacantly at the spot where her innocence was newly buried. I didn't know it then, but it was the beginning of the end of her childhood. A year and a half later, the turbulence of adolescence hit. With it came the realization that the loss of Minnie had left a gaping wound in her heart that time wasn't healing.

Then, by the hand of the Great Orchestrator and with the help of human guardian angels, Dottie came. She appeared on a beautiful late fall day, just like Casey had almost exactly a year before. Also like Casey, it was a chain of serendipity that led her to us.

There the similarities end. Sixty pounds of boisterous boy, Casey bulldozed his way into our world. Tiny Dottie daintily sashayed across a patch of grass at the dog park, her long coat floating along the ground like the wings of a sting ray over the ocean floor. She took time to appraise the situation—and us—before lying down near Ana.

We brought her home the next day and it was immediately clear what her purpose in life was and that she knew it. Hours after we brought Dottie home, Ana emerged from her room in tears with an already-devoted Dottie in her arms. "I feel Minnie," she said, "I see Minnie in Dottie's eyes."

Dottie has melded in perfectly with the rest of the family. Initially, she was cautious with Casey, but now she chases him. It's a ridiculous sight, a big sleek dog running gleefully away from a tiny fluffy one. She has found a nice warm spot near Brian on the couch, where she can wait all day for Ana to come home from school. The gentleness of her spirit is so pervasive that even Casey, when he first met her, gently lay down and offered her my shoe. Leo, who is surprisingly protective of his home for one so round and lazy, took little notice of her. He opened one eye and let it slowly drift itself shut after discerning that she belonged in the picture.

Dottie's new "uncles", the boys, literally welcomed her with open arms. She is another easy bone of contention as they argue over holding her first and holding her longest. Their clamoring is pointless, though, because her heart belongs to Ana. The uncles are relegated to the role of lucky babysitters.

We've had her a week today and each day I've seen another bit of my girl re-emerge. Always a troubled sleeper, she has been sleeping soundly with her little fluffball of a dog resting by her feet. Never a morning person, she has been getting up early to do Dottie's hair along with her own. Not much of a housekeeper, she has arranged her room to give Dottie a small dining area and even her own labeled drawer for hair supplies. Best of all, her spark is back, along with her smile. My camera is working overtime as I try to capture the abundant joy one little dog has brought to our home. At night, I sneak into the "the girl's room" and pick up the little white dog and thank her, in the same voice I used to say goodbye to Minnie, for coming to us.

I return

My muse has been absent for way too long, and I heard it returning today as I sat at work staring at my computer screen. I tried to focus on the task at hand but kept thinking about more fun things to write about.

Update on me: I'm settled in as a staff RN in acute pyschiatric inpatient unit--same unit I was on as a student and as an LPN. So far, so good!

The school year is off to a good start for everyone. Wil has had some adjustment issues and would prefer to be home playing all day, but I think we all would. Last year I was able to say OK--you can stay home one more year. This year I had to say "Dude, you're 6--it's time to man up." And he does. He goes, and he enjoys school and does well. He would just rather be home.

Benj is doing great. He turned 8 last week and is a very responsible and dependable student. He throws the occasional fit which is very entertaining because it is so out of character.

Elijah is just cool. Just cool. Good lookin' guy, cool as a cucumber, mature and responsible. Still hates to brush his teeth and it is harder to get him to do his homework than it is to get his sister out of bed in the morning.

Ana girl herself recently completed a one week introduction to swim team class and will now try the YMCA swim team. She is an awesome swimmer, very strong, with those long arms and legs and great muscle. Her backstroke is breathtaking and when she does a flip she sails halfway through the pool on her kick. That's why, you see, the boys are very careful.

Zac is still nuts.............inappropriate for a psych nurse to say but he IS! He calls me and Ana "womans". He pretends to eat worms off the floor. He drives a truck over his legs and says there is a river under there. He likes cheese. He is so, so, so, spoiled.

Brian is content. It's football season. The Vikings suck so he will be needing electroshock treatments soon.

Casey, Leo, Jamie, Blue, Thomas, and miscellaneous hermit crabs are all doing good. We haven't seen the kitties for a week because we have been babysitting Dawn and she has been at OUR house the whole time (the idea was for us to feed her at HER house).

I will post pictures tomorrow--I have some good ones from a recent Wisconsin weekend.

hello world

Hello--yes I am way overdue to post on my blog. Let's just pick up where we are at because I have no idea where we left off!

I finished my BSN (Bachelor of Science in Nursing, or 4 year degree in nursing). It's great to have that out of the way. Now I look for an RN job at the VA. There are starting to be openings so eventually I should have one. In the meantime I am still working as an LPN on the acute psychiatric unit. It's still fun, mostly.

Ariana turned 11 on May 27th and is lots of fun. She is at grammas right now taking a break from her brothers. In her absence Elijah has taken over as President of the house. It keeps him busy, all that supervising. She and I are going to a Justin Bieber concert this week. We are excited. I don't plan to take my ear off but that's OK!

Elijah caught himself a huge pumpkinseed--nearly 1 pound. We had it mounted for him and he is one proud boy. We found a taxidermist who did it for a great price just because he's a cute. Very nice.

Both of the older two are doing some summer school, the academic type. He because he didn't do homework this school year--her because she is motivated to do well in school.

Ben is having a nice, laid back summer. Lots of swimming and fishing and boating. We bought a used sailboat (100 bucks!) from a friend at work and he even came and gave us lessons. The kids are having a great time with it. We also have an old sailboard from Dale and Lynn. So this is the first summer they've really gotten out on the water!

Wils is attending a summer school class called "into the wild". They do stuff like "camp" in the backyard of the school. he is having a great time. He is getting to be much less of a little boy :(

We do have one little boy left................Manic Muffin is still nuts.

We had two additional birthdays--I turned 38 on June 5th and Leo was 8 on the 26th. I guess you can tell how old I was when i got him (and Ben--just a few weeks after Leo came). The next birthday

I'll post pictures soon.

Casey John, one year old

He bounded joyfully into our lives, leaping gracefully like a porpoise from a metal cage into our hearts. Powerfully muscled and strikingly white, Casey was a sight to behold. His excitement literally flattened us as he greeted us individually with flying kisses. It was as if he knew instinctively that he had found his family, just like we knew we had found our dog. An instant love match, a friend called it.

What drew us to Casey was the very thing that had put him in the shelter and prevented his adoption. Casey, like Brian, has been deaf since birth. Dogs like Casey are routinely euthanized by breeders who believe deaf pups are dangerous, unadoptable, and destined for a miserable life. Educated human beings say inconceivable things. “Responsible breeders NEVER knowingly sell, place or give away deaf pups to pet homes. Deaf pups should ALWAYS be humanely destroyed by a veterinarian. In the event that a deaf pup is inadvertently placed, it should be replaced with a hearing pup”. Shelters do their best to place those who are allowed to live, but the general public is unable to see beyond the disability and the unfamiliar to the delightful dog within.

He came to us serendipitously, as many things will, if we let them. In an effort to make him more adoptable, his shelter sent him to a school that trained veterinary technicians. There, he learned basic obedience by working with a student who knew some signs. That student was my cousin, and through a series of events I came to know of him.

The first pictures I saw of Casey were taken on a cell phone camera, grainy and blurred. He focused on the person taking the picture with a familiar intensity in his eyes, an intensity I feel in my own. It makes people uncomfortable, when they aren’t used to it. His expression was one of curiosity; it wasn’t imploring. There was clearly nothing insecure about Casey, nothing nervous or timid. Certainly nothing threatening. He emanated confidence, intelligence, and a curious sense of fun.

And so we brought him home, all 60 pounds of him cradled like a tiny pup in his new Daddy’s arms. He rested his head on Brian’s shoulder in cautious contentment as I drove, occasionally looking up to peer behind him at the many faces of his new family. Through the cities, through the countryside, down the interstate we went, heading into an adventure much bigger than we imagined.

He’s opened our world in surprising ways. People take notice of him for his carriage and presence; when they learn he is deaf, they are fascinated. I think, maybe, that I know why. There is a simple wisdom in Casey. His world is what it is. He doesn’t care what it’s not. He’s happy. He makes no apologies for who he is. Of course, he is different. We can’t call him to come, but we can shine a flashlight or stamp our feet to get his attention. Then he’ll come—if he feels like it. He can sleep through chaos and noise, and would hardly deter a burglar unless the burglar tapped him on the shoulder first. He can’t go on the road by himself, but then, what dog should?

What we see as unique about Casey is not his deafness, but his intelligence. He responds to subtle visual cues to which there is no equivalent in the hearing world. He knows that a jerk of the head means he should go to the other door to be let in. He awakens me by standing on my chest, jowls and ears flopping, a running shoe dangling from his mouth in a subtle hint. He'll pre-emptively offer his paw to request a snack, knowing he'd have to do it anyway before he'd get the treat.

But he's just a dog. At night, he lies diagonally across my bed, stretched out like a racehorse crossing the finish line. He naughtily stands at the kitchen counter helping himself to food. He chases cats. He thinks dirty diapers are a snack. He’ll offer his paw to shake, if you politely sign “friend” first. He lies patiently as children crawl over him, but he later exacts his revenge by stealing a coveted toy or snack. He's even participated quite willingly in a conga line. Finally, at the end of a long day of playing, running, chasing, being chased, and doing naughty puppy things, he collapses into an exhausted white heap of dog and falls asleep to the gentle pats of 5 small hands.

Deaf pups should ALWAYS be humanely destroyed by a veterinarian. Or maybe some veterinarians need to meet Casey.

She'd have been 86 tomorrow

She would have been 86 tomorrow. I wonder what she would have been like now. I have a picture in my head; her eyes would be more hooded, her hair more strikingly white. She’d be thinner, not from losing her hearty appetite (which only death could stop), but from the relentless march of age. She’d have taken on that albino rabbit look that her only living sister now has as she nears the century mark. Her mind would still be sharp, I have no doubt. She’d be snippy, too, when she wanted to. Maybe her eyes would have faded a bit, making her “crossword puzzle books” harder to do. Maybe her already bad hearing would have gotten worse, so she’d have to turn her game shows up to an earthquaking volume. She'd scratch her head with her pinkie.

In the five years since her death, she’s missed many things. Her oldest grandchildren just turned 40. One last great grandchild, another boy, one who would have delighted her with his antics. The others are growing; the oldest, my cousin’s children, are entering high school and leaving childhood behind. They remember her, but they didn’t know her well, having grown up on the other side of the country. Ana, only 5 when great grandma died, is now old enough to have emailed with her; they both would have loved that. My oldest boy is doing the things with my dad that my brothers did with Grandpa, learning to hunt, enjoying the woods and the outdoors, wearing blaze orange and thinking he is grown up. She would have gotten a kick out of that. She liked little rednecks. He’s the last one to remember her; he saw her the day after his 3rd birthday party when we sat on her deathbed beside her and showed her his gifts. It’s one of my most treasured memories, my strong-willed and usually-less-than-cooperative boy patiently removing his gifts from a bag one by one and showing her. He talked to her in his little boy lisp. He knew. Today I can still see that knowing in him, a sense he has of what people are feeling and when they need a little boy hug.

Ben was too young, only 2 years old, but he was special to her; he was the one who came a month early to be born on Grandpa’s birthday. He's sort of our connection to heaven. Wil is my watermark. I held him, a beautiful, curly haired 4 month old, three weeks before her death, the first time I saw her after her cancer returned. He had cute little blue jeans that made her laugh, one of the last things she laughed about. She rattled on about them to all of her visitors. He’s five now, so I know how long she’s been gone. It’ll be easy to remember. I still have the pants, too.

She missed the loss of a daughter in law who’d been in her life for more than 40 years. She’s missed Christmas cookies and red lipstick. Hotdogs and buns. Cake. Her oldest children turning 60.

If she had lived another 10 years, as her big sister has, she’d have seen several more of us turn 40, the 2nd bunch of great grandkids enter high school and even begin to graduate. She would have loved all those birthday parties and graduations. Great food! I imagine we’d still be having her own annual “Happy Birthday Mary” bash. We’d be having it tomorrow, the perfect timing of her birthday falling on a Sunday. Two year old Zac would have asked for coffee. She’d have giggled. He probably would have sat on her lap, for a minute.

The Osceola girls wouldn't have been there, though. They're almost all gone now. Most of the in laws are gone too. Fortunately,with the size of her family, there'd still be plenty of people sitting around the big party room in her apartment building, eating off paper plates and discussing health problems.

I’d probably have had to make the kids kiss her when we left. For some reason it’s a chore to kiss your great grandmother; I felt the same. Come again, she’d say. And thank you for the cake!