Skip to main content

A river runs through it

I'm not sure what 'it' is, though.

Today I skipped walking the lake and took hubby and the doggie to walk along the river on the levee. Once again, Cassie didn't want to get into the suburban because she knew if she did, I'd take her somewhere and make her walk a lot.

She finally decided to cooperate and climb up.

Here she is at the beginning of our walk. Notice that she looks somewhat happy.


This didn't last long. The sun was shining and although it wasn't really hot out, it seemed that way to her because she's black. Oh, and just a wee bit chubby.

We walked and we walked and finally found a place to get down to the river so she could drink. Except I knew she wouldn't. You see, the water is....well, wet. And this particular water is moving, which is infinitely more frightening than water that is in her water dish at home.

Did I mention that this particular dog is afraid of water? Especially if the water is moving at all. We've taken her to the beach and watched as she had a panic attack each time a wave hit the shore--even though she was nowhere near the water.

So, down the river we went.


And she collapsed. The only thing on her that was holding her up was her tongue.


We tried to rouse her and get her to the river so she'd drink. No joy. So my husband, the man with the biggest heart on the planet, cupped his hands together and filled them with river water, then walked to where she was and verily the canine did drink. A lot. Lance went back to the river several times, cupping and trapping more water and taking it back to the panting pooch.


More and more water....


After she'd been sufficiently hydrated she was able to slowly finish up our walk and make her way back to the suburban.

I think I'll take her to see a waterfall tomorrow.


Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…