I forced myself to finish the essays yesterday, one day before the deadline I had set for myself, and one day later than they would have been done had blackboard been cooperative. I finally posted the grades at 8 last night. Long day, and big relief to have it over.

I wanted to be finished because the yard was calling! Things needed watering and I had to weed whack. I wanted to do it first thing in the morning to avoid the heat, so got up earlier than usual and did it, without having essays to grade hanging over my head.

I picked tomatoes today! And not just the usual early varieties such as cherry or grape. I think this may be the earliest ever. Who would think I'd have tomatoes before green beans?

The green beans are coming, though.

My favorite annuals this year are white wave petunias.

The tiger lillies have arrived! Mine are always later than other people's, not sure why.

Today is the one year anniversary of "Little" Ande's death. So very sad. I remember a few years ago my cousin's dog died suddenly at about age 6. He was a small dog, and not a breed that is usually short-lived. Shortly afterwards she adopted an adult dog around the same age, to live out the years her late dog didn't get to experience, she said. That struck me, and I did the same thing. It seemed as if Little was cheated, dying so young. So now Teddy Bear -- or Theo Cat -- is living out the rest of his adulthood and hopefully senior years here with us. (He doesn't really respond to his name.) Of course there was also the name coincidence, as TB or TC was called Andy. (He doesn't know that name either. He also doesn't know "Kitty.") He's not very much like Ande, and even though he looks similar to Edna, he's not very much like her in personality, either. Thankfully he's a voracious eater - like a dog, since my poor Little could hardly eat. Here's Little in Samsonville doing something TB/TC could never do (because mean people took away his front claws), anyway, what a cutie pie:

September 13 - 106 years ago, Mimmie was born. In 2007, I found Ande, a tiny little stray cat, in the parking lot at Villa Valenti. Since it was her birthday, and she always had (lots of) cats, I took it as a sign, and scooped him up. Two months ago, he passed away.

I wrote this piece several years ago, in April, on the anniversary of Mimmie's death.

Next Spring, If I’m Alive

Outside the living room window, there is a pussy willow tree that is just beginning to bud. It is now encased in a coating of ice, as is everything else. It looks like it might be January out there, except that in January there were two feet of snow.

Ten years can seem like a long time ago, or a moment. On this day in 1993, my maternal grandmother, Mimmie died. When I think of the things that have happened in the past decade: graduate school, job changes, building a weekend house, the growing up of nieces and nephews, adopting pets, getting published for the first, second, third time, it seems like a lifetime.

But when I think of Mimmie, of the other people who have passed on, and the animals who have gone over the trail, it seems like yesterday. "Next spring, if I'm alive," she would say every year, when she talked about gardening plans. So I guess her leaving in the spring was somehow appropriate.

One of my most prized possessions is a gorgeous antique bookcase that was Mimmie's. In my lifetime she used it to store utility items on the back porch. It was painted green and sat next to the springy wooden screen door that creaked when you opened it. The porch at the old place had the fragrance of mildew mingled with cats. It may seem strange to choose the word "fragrance" to describe the odor but in my memory it wasn't unpleasant. My front porch here in Castleton smells much the same way, which could be another reason I like this funny little house. But open my front door and the scent of "hound" may knock you down; this wasn't the case at Mimmie's.

Ma remembers that Mimmie cut the bookcase in half during the 1950s, so that it would fit in the living room at the house in West Shokan where they lived at that time. The woodstove may be what happened to its other half, sacrificed for an apple pie and a pot of baked beans. In the 1970s, a couple of years before Mimmie moved from the old place to her trailer, my mother stripped the green paint away and revealed solid oak. My growing collection of novels replaced the paint cans on its four shelves.

It sits now in my living room, and holds my finest books. The top two shelves are devoted to Mark Twain, and should he need more space, the others will be gradually evicted. There is one shelf for a set of his complete works, and one shelf for miscellaneous copies of his books. I've never formally studied Mark Twain. His books were not assigned in high school, and I never took a college class that included his work either. Regardless, you might say I'm enamored with the subject. Just some examples of my collection: I have six copies of various editions of Life on the Mississippi and four copies of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; one of those copies of Huck Finn is from 1948. I have A Horse's Tale from 1907, A five volume set of his more popular works from 1917, A 2001 copy of A Murder, a Mystery and A Marriage, and two versions of his two volume set autobiography from 1925.

The bottom shelf houses The International Cyclopaedia (1892); the third shelf contains various hardcover books, including Lincoln by Gore Vidal, Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, some Georgette Heyer novels that were gifts from my Aunt Jean and have been worthy of a place in the oak bookcase since it became mine in high school, several dictionaries, and books about Mark Twain written by different scholars.

From my later studies I know this handsome furniture is Federal-style. Sometimes I notice the still-rough end and I lament that Mimmie sawed this piece in two. Then I assess the size of the room and realize that it wouldn't fit anywhere if it was still intact.

I suppose the cold weather will be gone soon enough, the pussy willow will thaw, and my thoughts will go from reading and books to outdoor pursuits. Looking ahead to late spring and early summer, I eagerly anticipate strawberry season. Mimmie didn’t like to go many places, but she did enjoy strawberries picking; in fact, she even liked it more than she feared snakes.

In my mind’s eye I can see her, wearing sneakers and a house dress, carefully navigating the rows, carting quarts of perfect berries, making sure that she didn’t step on any plants. She looked frail, but somehow strong at the same time. Mimmie never gave into temptation as the rest of us did, by sampling the berries while out in the field. That was due more to the fact that insects may have been on them at some point, than to a concern about pesticides. And if she discovered later that a bug had gotten into one of her quarts, she’s have to throw the whole thing out.

“Next spring, if I’m alive,” she’d say afterwards, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked off into the distance, as if she could see all the way until the following June, “I’m only going to pick medium sized red-orange ones, instead of ripe ones. They’re rotten by the time you get them home. And the big ones look nice but they’re tasteless.”

No matter what berries she used, Mimmie’s strawberry jam was never tasteless.

I've started some long-term consulting work, and so I'm busy, busy, busy at the moment. It's good stuff professionally, and personally, it is taking my mind off the loss of Ande somewhat.

We spent the weekend in Samsonville, and did a lot of swimming!

The thought of getting another cat has entered my mind. At this point I know I will, but the question is when. I've never waited very long after one of my dogs has died (the longest was 6 weeks or so, the shortest was one week). I didn't get another cat after Edna died, although I seriously considered it and did some looking. But Bob's recurrence was detected less than 2 weeks after Edna died, and I decided it would be better to wait until he recovered. Getting to the vet etc. was just too difficult while he was convalescing. Little did I know that by the time he was feeling almost 100% better, I would also have lost Ande.

I thought it might help to focus a bit on happy, rather than sad, memories. Although his life was far too short - but that's always true, I guess - in his time with us Ande made a big impression on everyone.

He was so cute! His tiny size contributed to that, as did his friendliness. From Edna he learned to slide his front paws down before jumping off a cabinet - this was a trait she developed as an older cat, and even though he could have easily jumped to the floor without this caution, he copied her behavior. Despite this, he did like to jump up on high perches, and would often go up on cabinets, especially in Samsonville.

As a kitten, while we were introducing him to Sam, Sophie and Edna, we kept him in the bedroom sometimes, and I remember we could hear him playing with various toys - batting around a ball with a bell. He wasn't all that playful otherwise, but he would often play with Sam, or bat small objects from the table to the floor. He liked to tip over our full water glasses! And to follow me in the bathroom, where he insisted on sitting on my lap. I could flip him upside down and he let me cut his nails. When a window was open, he would sit on the windowsill and watch the birds and squirrels.

I wanted him to be an indoor cat, but felt bad that he couldn't go with Edna and the dogs when they went outside, so I would put on his collar and a leash, and bring him out with me. He was very docile, and that much exposure made him happy - in fact he loved to go, would calmly lay in a lawn chair while I watered the plants or weed whacked the yard.

He liked to perch on our portable dishwasher, which is on a table near the window, and while up there, he would bat the small Woodstock chimes that are hanging above it. I don't think I will ever be able to hear the tinkle of those bells without thinking of him.

He wasn't a big eater, but he loved Greenies and salmon flavored Natural Temptations. He also liked to drink the water from canned tuna, salmon, chicken or turkey. He was very vocal, communicated with loud meows. Sam was his buddy, more than Edna or Sophie.

He wasn't a hunter, but I think he did get one mouse when he was young.

Some of these cute things may have been indicators of his health condition, I guess - his calmess, his tiny size. (And of course, his poor appetite.) Sniff.

Sometimes I called him "Ando," but our favorite nickname for him was "Little" and he may have thought that was his name. Ande is Edna backwards, and today I am thinking without an Edna maybe there couldn't be an Ande?

Trying to articulate some of the ways I feel.

When I was 12, I got a baby goat for my sixth grade graduation present. My mother asked me if I wanted a ten speed bike or a goat, and naturally I chose the goat. I am not sure of the date I got her, but I know it was in the Spring when she was several weeks old. I named her Heidi, and she was a cross between a Nubian and a Toggenburg. We didn’t have a fenced area near the barn for her, she was extremely mischievous, and when she was loose, she would attack the bushes near the house. She could devour an entire large shrub in minutes. So when I couldn’t closely watch her but didn’t want to lock her in her stall, I would tie her in the yard.

One day in August, I had her tied so I could swim with my friend in our pool. During that time, she managed to stretch her collar and the rope so that she could reach some brush at the edge of the yard and the woods. A small branch slipped through her collar. She was very smart, could untangle herself. So she tried to get loose by going ‘round and ‘round. Her collar became a tourniquet, and she strangled. She was still warm when I found her minutes later. I will never forget the sight, or the horror I felt. I yelled for my mother. We rubbed and rubbed her, trying to revive her, but it was too late, she was gone. I was devastated.

One result of that trauma is that since then, I have never felt comfortable with leaving a collar on an animal. I much prefer harnesses for walking, and I never tie my dogs. I take their collars off whenever they are inside, and they don’t wear them at all in the yard (which is fenced). I always took Ande’s collar off, too. He wasn’t free-roaming, and he was always closely supervised when outside. Edna didn’t wear a collar at any time. (I know their collar-less states create risk of them being lost without ID tags, but I am just as neurotic about being sure the animals don’t get lost.) The other outcome of that horrible experience was that at the time, and for 36 years, I blamed myself. I still do today.

My mother said it wasn’t my fault. Whether she said this because she believed it to be an unpreventable accident, or because I was a child and couldn’t be blamed for that reason alone, I am not sure. But I didn’t agree, and still don’t. It most definitely was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t properly assess the risk.

I’m not saying that it was intentional, or even that I could have been expected to know it could happen. I’m also not arguing that there is a need to place blame for accidents, or for when someone dies.

But I do believe in learning life’s lessons, taking responsibility, and being careful to not repeat mistakes.

I am (not clinically, but self-diagnosed) to some degree OCD. I have to check certain things, and there are triggers: in particular, fire risk or the animals. I lock the doors more to be sure someone doesn’t open one and inadvertently let the dogs out, rather than because I am afraid of burglary. So I have to make extra sure that the door is locked when I leave. I always unplug certain appliances, am sure the oven and stove top are off, and close all windows when there is a thunderstorm. I don’t let my dogs stick their heads out of the car window both to protect their ears, and to be sure they don’t jump or fall out. (They never would, as they take on the beliefs of their owner eventually, and so they always bark at all dogs they see who have their heads out of the car windows – warning them of the dangers, perhaps? This has been true for all of my dogs.)

I worried over every minor health problem that my first dog Howie had, or any tiny change in his behavior. He seemed sickly, always had skin and digestive issues. But he lived to the age of 15 ½ with few major sicknesses and little need for veterinary intervention. The same is true for Sophie, although she has had more illnesses than he had, and as a result has needed more trips to the vet over the years. But despite her various issues, she’s never been seriously ill. She is now 11 ½, which is quite old for a Bassett Hound. Doesn’t matter, though. I worry still.

Howie's start in life was a good one, though. You could tell his mother had a fabulous home. Sophie's is unknown, but I assume she is the product of a puppy mill.

I never worried about Penny. She ties with Edna as the easiest pet I’ve owned. Never sick, no issues, behavioral or otherwise, no need for constant fussing. Both proved there was no reason for concern – Penny lived to be 16 ½, and I had Edna for over 16 years. (I don’t know her age, but she was an adult when I found her.) Penny had been born in a home, although the family clearly didn’t have a lot of money, and were sort of running a backyard breeding operation. But she had no papers, so they weren’t really cashing in. And they did seem to adore her mother, and even cried when I took Penny home. Edna was a stray, so who knows what her life was like before. But she was a Main Coon Cat, and Penny was a Poodle, so maybe the breed had something to do with their robustness.

Similarly, I didn’t worry over Rudy. He, of all my pets, was the picture of health. Shiny, handsome on the inside and out. High energy, and blessed with a winning personality. I was so proud of him. Then he got Lyme Disease at age 7. I am not sure if that was the cause (maybe), or if it was his beginnings – born at the shelter to a stray mother. But he got cancer when he was 9 years old, and died a week after his 10th birthday.

I am not sure why I didn’t worry over Ande. Certainly the pillow paw should have always been in the back of my mind. Although I didn’t make the connection, his eating habits (not good), small size, and docile temperament should have been red flags. And his beginnings were even worse than Rudy’s – Ande was born in a feral cat colony. So why didn’t I worry more?

I don’t worry much over Sam either. So far he seems very healthy. I got him at the shelter, but he was owner-surrendered. I assume his mother was not a stray.

All of these pets have eaten homemade diets. I was doing it before it was “cool,” when people said you were wrong to not feed commercial food. They all drank spring water. Some have taken supplements. The vaccination / flea control history is different with each pet – in some cases, I followed the vet’s recommendations (which have changed over the years), in others I was more cautious. But generally, I have erred on the side of caution. I can't make any generalizations about whether it has had an impact, though, or if I should have made a different decision.

None of these dogs and cats succumbed to accidents – Heidi’s sad death taught me to be mindful. However, the reason I accept blame for Heidi (I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t properly assess the risk) is true for Rudy and Ande, also. Of course they did not die from a sudden accident, but there were occasions, before and during their final illnesses, where I should have been as mindful as I am about making sure stoves are turned off and windows are closed. I ask myself, why didn't I notice? Why didn't I do some things differently?

Leaving out Heidi's very different circumstances, my worry over all of my animals' health has been warranted in two cases where I didn’t worry (so I was wrong), unwarranted in two cases where I did worry (so I was wrong again), and unwarranted in two cases where I didn’t worry (I was right for a change). Sam is still young, so the jury’s out, but my track record says that I am neither a good nor a bad judge of risk.

This picture was taken on June 13. Hard to imagine that one month later he would be dead!

I don't usually do this so fast after a pet dies, but yesterday I packed up his food, dishes, beds, litter box, collar and leash, toys, medication, scratching post. I had to get them out of the living room and kitchen, can't look at them every minute. I am tempted to rip out the catnip I am growing for him, but I have resisted. I am not sure what I will do with these things. The food could be donated to the shelter, but could the other items transmit a disease to a new cat? I am not sure. Maybe I will ask Dr. Tina. The dogs have an appointment on August 2.

Bob picked him up while I was at a meeting. It was very upsetting, much more so than if he had died at home, which would have been my preference if I could have seen into the future. But then I may have felt guilty for not taking heroic measures to save him. I had to look into the bag he was in - Bob didn't want to - but since I didn't get a chance to say goodbye it was important for me to see him again. I wasn't able to curl him into a basket as I would have liked, but I wrapped him in a fleece blanket and put him in a box. I put a package of Natural Temptations in with him. Silly, I know, but it was his favorite food, when he felt like eating. Last evening we drove down to Samsonville. Our nephew and my father had dug a grave for him in the afternoon, right next to Edna. Not that she liked him very much, but he loved her.

Today I feel so sad. Also guilty, like it is my fault and I could have saved him somehow. Or should have worried and fussed over him and appreciated him more for the short time I had with him or something. It isn't rational I guess, everyone notes what a good life he had, that he would not have lived this long as a feral cat, how much love and attention we gave him, but I know it is the natural process of grief. All of that is easy to write and say and hard to believe and feel. It is especially hard because he was three. I was blindsided, when I shouldn't have been. The signs were all there that he was gravely ill, and I pushed it out of my mind. For his whole life I knew he had "pillow paw" which is a sign of a terrible immune disorder, but I was in denial. He seemed healthy, until very recently. Even then I thought he was young and it wasn't serious. That was how I felt until Saturday, when serious worry set in. But it wasn't until early Monday that it hit me: he might die, although even when he was at the vet, I chose to believe that he would bounce back.

For the first time in 17 years, I don't have a cat. He might be my last one, and that is a distressing thought, too.

I have so many things to do, and focusing on them would distract me, but I am too distracted to focus on them...

RIP "Little."





Here is a post I wasn't expecting to write today. Our sweet little cat Ande died this morning. I am kind of in shock, although since Saturday I feared that this might be the outcome. We don't know exactly what happened, but he had an immune disorder. We knew from his first vet visit as a kitten. It wasn't FIV or FeLV (he tested negative on two separate occasions). He never grew very much, was very docile (not at all like a very young male cat activity wise) and was not a good eater. He didn't have any bouts of illness before this, but he was sort of sick for the past couple of weeks. He got over the kitty cold part just fine with antibiotics, and we thought he would be OK, but his appetite never recovered. He lost weight and was lethargic and declined very quickly over the past few days. Didn't respond to various treatments (steroids, blood transfusion, hydration, syringe feeding) when he should have. I knew he would never be a long lived cat like Edna was, but I didn't expect him to live for only three years! But I know if I didn't take him home he would not have lived even three years. People who have feral cat colonies are criminals!

I am going to do this walk. It will be my first effort since spraining my ankle last year (although as I've written many times recently, in that same year my arms have gotten stronger from lifting etc.). Hope the weather is as nice as it is today!

Taking advantage of the beautiful day - I am going to put up the fence around the garden. Yesterday we attempted to go strawberry picking, but got rained out. So we bought two quarts at a farm stand, and plan to try again on Friday.

I have a draft story / snippet about strawberry pickin' and Mimmie - it was something she loved. Someday I will work on it more, get it into shape, and try to get it published.

Ande has developed a strange odor. I am at a loss, since Edna never had a single issue when she was young. Or old, for that matter. He seems fine otherwise, he is eating and active, but he doesn't seem to be grooming much. I've never had a pet with white fur who wasn't OCD about keeping it immaculate. He is very docile and lets me wipe him with a wet washcloth, which helps a little, but I am not sure where the stink is coming from - but it could be his face. I treated his ears, looked in his mouth and don't see anything obvious.

This is a picture of Edna when she was young. She died at 10:15 am on Saturday, December 26. She was at least 17 years old. She was a full-grown stray back in October 1993 when we took her in. She'd been living on Main Street for a couple of months, and Richie had been feeding her. He convinced me to take the beautiful cat who was always sitting on the front steps of his restaurant when we ate there. He said, that cat will never survive the winter. She wasn't wild cat material. I wrestled with the decision for a couple of weeks before going there one night, picking her up and telling her "sweetheart, this is your lucky day." I'd always liked cats, but never had one, and even now, I'm still more of a dog person.

Edna could turn you into a cat person, though. She was a Maine Coon Cat, beautiful, friendly and sweet. She had long hair and enormous green eyes. Not once in her life did she do something bad. At that time, I had two elderly dogs -- Howie and Penny -- and I wasn't sure how they would handle a cat. For two weeks I kept her on the front porch, and then slowly introduced her to inside. At first, when I wasn't home, I kept her in the office, which is the room I am in right now. Then we let her have free run, and there was never a problem with either of the dogs. She didn't scratch them, and they didn't chase her.

After Howie died, Edna was very upset. Then we adopted Rudy; she had to put up with an active puppy, which she did with great patience. Eventually, Rudy and Edna became great friends, and when he died she mourned him very deeply. After Penny died, we adopted Sophie -- who has never bothered cats at all, she's be a "0" on the cat reactive scale that shelters use. But four years ago, when we adopted Sam after Rudy died, once again Edna had to raise a puppy. Two years ago, she had to accept Ande - and she did. He loved her, and she tolerated, maybe even lukewarm liked - him.

Even as a young cat, she only rarely played, and when she did, it was always with a rubber band or twist tie - cat toys didn't interest her. She was a big, dignified cat. She didn't like cat treats, but she loved regular people food - even chicken parmesan - and barbeque potato chips. She only liked fish flavored cat food. A few years ago, after the pet food tragedy, I switched her to Wellness (could do an ad for them!). It had to be from the tiny 3 oz. cans - she wouldn't touch it if it was scooped from a larger can. (I even tried fooling her by using a small can as a "cookie cutter," but she didn't buy it.)

She loved salmon, the kind that comes in a foil pouch. She also loved tuna, but I didn't give it to her often, due to the mercury. She never required grooming or nail cutting until she was quite old. She rode loose in the car (but often got car sick). She went outside nearly every day in the good weather, and occasionally in the winter, never went too far from the house, and came when she was called. She was able to jump quite high until just a few weeks ago.

She got a few mice in her lifetime (and a chipmunk over the summer!), and years ago, one bird (the only time I was truly mad at her). She spent most of her time in the kitchen, rarely venturing into other rooms of the house, especially in recent years. I let her get on the table, and that became her favorite place.

She declined gradually for the past few months, and then more dramatically for the past month. She was quite sick for a week before she died. I suspect she had cancer, since the tests she had on Tuesday didn't show kidney or heart problems...they showed anemia. She had lost weight - went down from nearly 13 pounds to just under 9. It wasn't easy to tell because she was so fluffy. Her last night was not pleasant, although except for a couple of episodes and the last five minutes, she was comfortable. Ande spent several hours laying right beside her, it was very sweet of him. She died in front of the fireplace in Samsonville. We had spent the night on our sofabed, so we could be near her all night.

On Saturday afternoon, we buried her next to Rudy. There was a snow cover and it was a drizzly day, but we managed. Back home in Castleton, the house seems so odd, the kitchen in particular. She was always there - on the table - begging for the food she loved to eat. What a sweetheart she was; that October day back in 1993 was not just her lucky day, but mine.

Ande is very upset. I suppose he will adjust eventually, but it is hard to handle. Because of her age - how much longer can you expect a cat to live, even one who has had a remarkably healthy life? - it isn't as difficult to accept, plus I didn't want her to suffer, but it still is very, very sad. How I will miss her! RIP my dear Edna. I won't forget you.

9/11. Hard to believe it has been eight years. It seems like 20; at other times, it seems like 1.

Yesterday I was remembering that it was the 14th anniversary of Howie's death. Howzerdo. That was his nickname, and now it is my Internet identity. Because on the Internet, no-one knows you're a dog. Howie didn't know he was a dog. I've never had a dog that loved me so much. He was a one person dog, and didn't care much for other people.

September is a month of birthdays for me, also a month of sad anniversaries. Mimmie's birthday was 9/13. Mine is 9/18. Rudy's was 9/17, the day Don died. Rudy died in September, too. Mimmie's birthday is also the two year anniversary of the day I found Ande, who loves me almost as much as Howie did. But he likes other people too. And he's a cat.

Classes zip along. Again this semester, we have been asked to plan what we will do in the event classes have to be suspended because of the swine flu.

I almost forgot! Ande is FIV and FeLV negative!! So the pillow pad is something else, probably not that serious. What a relief! All the other bloodwork came back too - all good for Sam and Sophie. Edna has some kidney and heart issues (which I knew about already), but that is to be expected at her age, and even at that, nothing is really, really severe yet.

We took the dogs and cats to the vet yesterday. It was basically a well visit, as none are obviously sick. Edna cost the most and took more time, she she is very old (16+). Sam was the fastest and least expensive, since he is young (3) and robust, to say the least. Sophie and Ande were somewhere in between. Sophie is pretty old for a Bassett Hound (10), but there is nothing major wrong with her. (She has severe allergies, but that is nothing new.) Ande is young (1.5 years). Unfortunately, one of the really cute things about him (he is tiny) probably means he is also frail. He doesn't seem ill, but the vet noticed he has plasma cell pododermatitis (pillow foot). Some studies have linked it to FIV, so she tested him for that and FeLV. His results were negative when we first adopted him, but given that he is tiny, hardly eats, gets dirty ears, has this condition on his front pads, and came from a cat colony - who knows. FIV isn't easily transmittable to Edna, but FeLV might be. Then, he is likely to have a decreased lifespan if he has one or both. It sounds to me as if FeLV is the more serious disease, in terms of both ease of transmission and outcome. So I am keeping my fingers crossed that he tests negative again, but I confess that I am a little worried. Poor "Little!" Not sure what I will do about his contact with Edna if he has FeLV. Luckily, they don't fight at all, and really don't share their dishes or groom each other. But they do share a litterbox, and it won't be easy to keep them separate.

After two days of barking and equipment noise, the crew has moved up the street and the hounds (make that one full-hound and one half-hound) can get some much needed rest. Edna was able to prowl the yard. All is well.

Make that all is almost well! Reading the paper this morning, in Dr. Fox's column a voluntary recall of Mars dry cat and dog food is announced due to possible salmonella contamination. The dogs eat a homemade diet, Edna eats Wellness canned and Fancy Feast dry, but Ande, who eats Wellness dry food (although he is not at all a big eater), adores Natural Temptations. I got a free sample when I bought Wellness, which is the only reason I tried it. So we give him many treats per day, because he expects one when the dogs get a cookie and it is so cute. Natural Temptations are made by Mars! Although I haven't noticed any signs of illness, in the article, "Natural" is one of the brands listed in the recall.

So I went to the website and luckily, "Natural" is a Sam's Club brand; Natural Temptations aren't listed. What a relief!

Two pieces of good news! I think I finally found a decent hosting service for my audio files: Box.net, and I located a few pairs of Supreme Softspot Trek shoes in my size! (Not linking since I don't want anyone else swooping in to buy them :-).

I picked vegetables - came inside - thought I had three of the larger tomatoes from the July 4 plants but could only find two - in the process of looking, dropped a few of the small grape tomatoes on the floor - scrambled to get them before Ande (who tried to play with one). Shared a nectarine with the dogs. Went in the bathroom. Heard Sophie's awful barking, she makes a terrible sound when she is trying to protect her dinner from Sam (we generally have to guard for her, since Sam is extremely competitive). Yelled shut up, came out of the bathroom. Saw that she had something, was worried that it was a nectarine pit (though I thought I was careful about throwing it out). She guiltily drops it to bark at me for threatening her, and I see it is a small red ball. Wonder where it came from, realize it is the missing tomato, which she proceeded to eat in between barks (and Sam kept his distance, but begged from me until I gave him a grape tomato).

Classes started yesterday! I am pretty much already back in the groove. Both went well. My online class started Monday and it is too big. Usually a lot of students drop in the beginning once they see what they are getting into, but that hasn't happened so far. Tomorrow I will have the first of my remaining class. On Friday we are going to the Chatham Fair. And then swimming this weekend! It's bittersweet, the end of summer.

I know it has been a while since I signed on, because the blogger dashboard is different tonight.

I got my grades done (I thought I had until 11:59 pm on the 21st...turns out that I was holding up the registrar from doing degree clearance for August graduates! Yikes! I am not sure if Lyme Disease has impacted my brain, or if the registrar was just hassling me). I failed two students and gave three D grades. I already had quite a go around with one of the students who failed. I suspect I will get some complaints, if not from another of those five then from one of the students who got C or B. There were quite a few A grades this summer also. That is the way summer is, students are either completely motivated, or total slackers.

I have three of my syllabi done, and the online class partially updated. I am always pushing deadlines, but this semester is ridiculous.

But I will get everything done tomorrow, and the weekend looks great for swimming. I am also going to plant spinach.

Last night we went to see Neil Diamond at the Times Union Center. (Note: it will always be the Knick Arena to me.) I am not a fan of his at all, in fact the only song that came to mind when I agreed to go was "Coming to America." (Turns out that was the encore.) We got the tickets for free, though, and who can say no to that? They were nosebleed, second row from the top, but even those go for $55 each. Apparently, when shows don't sell out, the unsold tickets are donated to charities, and become tax write-offs for the arena and entertainer. So that's how we got them.

It was a curious experience, watching the concert from so high up. I don't think I have ever sat so far away. It wasn't bad, actually, because it was not nearly as loud up there. And when you aren't a major fan, it is more comfortable to sit away from the groupies who were throwing underwear on the stage. Sometimes it was almost like being an observer, rather than a participant. The one drawback was that it was hot up there! It seemed that many people around me were afraid of heights. Despite my various phobias and neuroses, that isn't a problem of mine.

He played several songs from a new album (the standout was a song called "Pretty Amazing Grace,") and a lot of his old stuff. It turned out that I knew about three-quarters of them, for example "Sweet Caroline," "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" (a song I have never liked, but then I am not a Streisand enthusiast, and most recently she generates memories of my last root canal - when the dentist was playing one of her albums and I thought I would go insane), and "Forever in Blue Jeans."

He spoke about his faith and his Brooklyn childhood. There was a big screen behind the stage with close ups of the band, or sometimes with pictures of his family, from when he was a kid, so binoculars were not necessary. It was somewhat generic (he didn't mention Albany) and he didn't do that much chatting. There was no political commentary, which was a welcome change from most concerts I attend. I can't say it transformed me into a fan who will run out and buy his albums, but it was a surprisingly enjoyable night.

I almost forgot! Ande got his first mouse. He was so proud that he puffed up to twice his size, but even at that, he is still much smaller than Edna. She supervised. It was kind of awful in a way (I can't even kill spiders or ants), but on the other hand, getting rid of (indoor, he will never be allowed to get critters outside) pests is a great thing about cats. Both dogs were either afraid or disgusted, I couldn't tell which. They do not seem to have any instincts.

There are parents who put "my child is an honor student" bumper stickers on their car. And then there's me, recording my cat's first successful hunt.

Finally: some interesting links on Lyme Disease / transmission from insects other than ticks here.

Here are some cute pictures, to make up for the post I just made! This is Ande, the Villa Valente cat.

This comment gave me an idea. So I took a break from evaluating and article writing (ie, procrastinated) and found some photos to post. Sort of an early Spring 2008 Virtual Museum.

Howie was a champion bed sleeper. Here he is in the dorm in 1980 as a six-week-old puppy (yes, it was against the rules).



Here he is, with Penny and Bob, in Brewster, in ~1984 (I remember we got that comforter as a wedding present). Penny liked sleeping on the bed, too. Mostly because she wanted to be near Howie.



Here he is, once again with Penny and Bob, but this time Edna has joined them. This is Castleton, circa 1994. The iron bed has been mine since I was a kid. It came from Watson Hollow Inn, where Mimmie worked. That blanket has become a "dog heirloom."



Not exactly a bed picture, here he is with me, under the covers on the couch. I think I was battling an illness at the time, if memory serves. This was about 1995, shortly before he died.



Rudy was more of a "floor" dog, but sometimes he would get on the bed. Here he is in Samsonville in about 2000. I know I have shared this picture here before. How handsome he was. Also always immaculate.



Here he is with Edna, around the same time. I think this says that Edna is pretty EEO about dogs, eh?



Sam is more likely to sleep in the bed than Rudy was, but he also likes chairs.



The next three are a series of shots I couldn't resist a few days ago. I didn't know I would be posting them here at the time, I just thought he looked cute. Especially since he is so active, it is rare to catch him snoozing.







Sophie is happy to get on a bed, when she can reach it. In Samsonville, she gets on the bed, but in Castleton, the iron day bed in the living room is too high, and she can't do the stairs to the bedroom. Her legs are too short and her body is too long! So she spends most of her time on a couch or chair.



She usually is covered, or as we call it, "wrapped." (Note that I did not cover her. I took the picture because I thought the way she had covered herself was so funny. She often wiggles under blankets, slipcovers or throws and barely disturbs them.)



Can you tell she's here?



Here's the close-up.



I don't have any bed pictures of Ande yet. But he likes the iron day bed too.

I think the moral of the story is that animal lovers think everything beloved cutie pie does is worthy of a picture.

Something I forgot to mention in my earlier post was that the past two times we've visited the vet, she has said, "you just have to get another Rudy." She's saying that not only because our Rudy was so great, but because it was clever and funny to have a dog named Rudy, given my last name. I think she hoped that we'd give Ande the name Rudy. She probably understood that it was too soon when we got Sam, and also that he'd already been named and we didn't want to change it. But with Ande - why it is two years later, he isn't the same species and we had free choice of names. So why not?

Last time we were there, I just chuckled and didn't respond. But this time, I said, "there will never be another Rudy." That is the simple truth. Yes, back in 1995 when I got Rudy I did name him after "the" Rudy. It was a lot more obscure to everyone except New Yorkers. But I'd watched Rudy's career for a long time. Now, he's running for president. 9/11 happened, and the name recognition is huge. I guess it may seem like even better timing, to give a pet his name, again, given my last name.

None of which matters. I still watch "the" Rudy's career. And I'm still glad I honored him by naming "my" wonderful, handsome Rudy after him. But I don't give pets the same name, even if one could argue that it would be an honor. There never will be another Heidi. Or Howie. Or Penny. Or Hobo. Or Mr. Wuj. Enough said (sniff).

On Sunday I noticed that Edna didn't seem to be herself. She ate, but not as much as usual and although she didn't really throw up, she coughed/gagged occasionally. No major retching. She slept a lot of the day and wasn't interested in going outside, and it was such a beautiful day. Then, on Monday she didn't eat at all. She was interested in food, but when she tried to eat, she would immediately throw it up - before it even got down. We thought it could be a tooth, a hairball, or maybe something more serious, considering her age. She did go outside on Monday, but the occasional gagging continued.

That evening, I decided to put Ande in the bedroom so he couldn't irritate her. Almost immediately, she perked up. She still wouldn't eat but she stopped sleeping, got up, wanted to be petted and was purring like crazy. I kept Ande away from her all night, and in the morning when she still wouldn't eat, we made an appointment with Dr. Tina. I wasn't sure if we were overreacting, but at her age I didn't want to risk her not eating for very long. The vet appointment was in the afternoon. After I made it, she did eat. We really debated whether to take her (vets aren't cheap, our holistic vet is even more expensive, and the car ride could be traumatic, being the kind of roads that usually make Edna car sick). But since we both had already taken the day off, we decided to take her anyway.

It is not serious - turns out all she has is a sore throat! That's it. Dr. Tina cleaned her teeth (without any sedative, believe it or not, and she was an angel), gave her a vitamin shot to boost her appetite, and a shot of antibiotics. I think Ande upsets her, and she made herself sick. So now we are going back to keeping him separate from her at night. We bought another large crate for the living room (we have Sam's old crate set up for Ande in Samsonville) since we can't continue to keep him on the porch once the weather turns cold, and that's where he will spend nights. During the day, when I am not here, he'll be in the bedroom. He has free run at other times, although if Edna seems irritated, I put him in his crate or in the bedroom for a time out. It's working well. He meowed some the first night (and Sophie barked because there is a food dish in that crate!!) but they have both settled into the new routine.

I'm not sure if this is what we will have to do for the rest of Edna's life (maybe) or if she will tolerate him better eventually, facilitated by him learning how to behave around her. He really isn't that active for a kitten. But we think that she wasn't able to sleep at night, that he kept bothering her and she couldn't relax enough. She loves to sleep on the day's newspaper, on the kitchen table and he was making that impossible. They don't really fight or bite each other or even hiss or swat at each other, but I think he just annoys her.

Anyway, she bounced back to even better than her usual self in less than a day. I think she loved the attention, of being the only animal to go with us for the day. We took advantage of the opportunity to do some things in Hudson. It was fun, and Edna was excellent in the car. Of course, the vitamin shot is magical too. They are why Rudy had a good quality of life for longer than the conventional vets predicted. And why, ever since Rudy's cancer, it's holistic all the way for them. Right now, I put Ande in the bedroom with his ball (he has a really cool toy that's just his, although Sam would love to play with it). He had free run this morning after I took him out of his crate. He was full of pep and vinegar, as my mother would say (about a horse). My perception is that mostly he pesters me - but when I was in the bathroom, I felt a presence silently come in, and when I looked down, I saw Edna's huge green eyes imploring me. So I told her, yes, I will put him in the bedroom for a while.

Ande is leukemia and AIDS negative!! We have to re-test in 3 months to be 100% sure but it is looking good.

A rodent chewed the wire again in Samsonville! My father is trying to figure out how to make a heavy duty cable that they can't chew. Another possibility is putting it inside a garden hose for the entire length. I'm also wondering if there is any kind of solution I could spray on the wire to deter rodents?

Very warm day here.