Puppy Love

I realized I hadn't blogged about Miss Ivy lately. 

There hasn't been much in the way of "training" lately. As soon as she got the potty thing down, I was just so relieved that she was doing that so well, that I haven't really pushed much else. She knows the sign for "no" although most of the time she ignores it. Typical boxer behavior. 

I just thought I would take a minute to tell you about what she does do.

Her ears do things that kill me. They seem to have their own personality as they grow and morph into whatever they are becoming. Silky, pink, velvety triangles that wiggle and flop. 

She gets dead-panned looks on her face that make my heart hurt and my tummy tickle. 

Her face...it puddles. 

It wrinkles.

As a matter of fact, there isn't much on her that doesn't puddle and wrinkle. 

Her neck begs to be kissed. And, surprisingly, she lets us. 

Her eyes, they do that goggly, boxer thing that is both endearing and hilarious. 

She is exquisite and adorable. 

She's my puppy...and I love her.

Pack Leader-ish

It has become more and more apparent that Ivy is going to require every ounce of the exercise-discipline-affection rule along with the rules-boundaries-limitations rule. Woooweee that girl is stubborn! I've been doing affection-affection-affection. And, while it's been fun, she is now pushing 4 months old and is really needing to learn the gosh darn rules. High-energy is just a mainstay of the boxer breed. Some are more high-energy than others but, if you have a boxer, your going to have to provide an outlet for all that energy. I think this is why so many of these babies end up in shelters. 

Let's face it, we live in a fairly lethargic culture and people don't want to take the time or effort required to raise and keep a pet that is going to obligate them to get up off their butts. 

Sorry for that side-rant

So far, our leash-training/walking exercises have been fairly short sessions. Just a stroll down the road a bit or a walk to the barn. So, today we did a real walk. She went two miles with me. 

When Aimee was here with Daisee...

(This is Daisee, isn't she cute?) 

Anyway, when they were here and went walking with us, Daisee was pulling on the leash and about choking herself, even having to throw up a couple times. I asked if I could have a try at walking her and, within a few minutes of calm-assertiveness and quick concise corrections, she was walking like a champ. I had claimed my victory a THE dog whisperer. 

Yeah, Ivy wasn't nearly as quick to be corrected.

I could feel my patience wearing out and that's bad. Dogs can sense your energy and, if you're not sure of yourself, you can forget about them trusting you with their discipline. 

We stopped a few times and adjusted the collar and leash situation. I would make her sit, catch my breath and compose myself with some calm assurance and we would continue on our journey. 

It wasn't until she started to physically wear out that she began complying and quit pulling and trying to run off with my arm. She is surprisingly strong. 

Even on our last leg home, she was still trying to get away with running ahead and/or sneaking behind me to be on Emma's side and grab HER leash. Oh how she wants to be the pack leader. 

It dawned on me that I had a couple of those prong collars in the barn that we had used on our show goats and that I had seen Cesar Milan (the actual dog whisperer) use them on exceptionally stubborn dogs.

We stopped by the barn and found them. After I took a couple links out of it to fit her tiny widdle head, I put it on her and we walked the last quarter mile home with much less struggling. 

Isn't that just the most horrible awful looking medieval torture device? I've been assured that it only pinches a bit and is actually less painful than a jerk on a nylon collar would be. And, that last bit of the walk was far less effort on my part. 

I do plan on reading more about leash training and those prong collars before our next walk, which will be tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that and the day after that......

Confinement

Well, it had to happen sooner or later. With Ivy being completely deaf, we knew she would have to be restricted to the yard and leashed when on walks etc... I figured if Emma was confined to the yard, that Ivy would stay put as well. Wrong. 

My other handicapable dog, Faith, who is blind but gets around with Vulcan-hearing (Rodney says she can hear a flea fart) and a heightened sense of smell (even for a dog) sometimes goes on ventures outside the safety of the yard. Miss Ivy decided to join one evening and about gave us a stroke. 

So, we bought a collar for the invisible fence (or force field as we call it). It's as big as her head and I was reluctant to put it on her at all. One thing I've learned is that a deaf dog (or blind) has a much increased "sixth sense" and will very quickly pick up on your mood and energy. Dogs do this anyway but, a dog that is missing one of their other 5 senses just seems to have an increased ability (or need) to be much more in tune with emotions. And guess what? I am a extremely emotional person. Not only am I having to train a deaf dog to obey but am having to learn to keep my emotions in check for her sake. 

I had to dig down and confidently place the collar on her neck. No pity. No angst. No fear. Calm assertiveness. And she received it happily. 

I've not witnessed her testing her boundaries yet but she has remained in the yard since putting it on. This morning I walked to the shed (which she normally would follow me) but she went as far as the oak tree and sat down and waited for me to return. I assume she figured out where the boundary is in that direction (only about 5 more feet from where she stopped). 

Please understand that it is for her safety. The "correction" that the collar gives is not painful and is certainly a better alternative than having her lost or injured. And, once they learn their boundaries, they rarely test them again. I only mention this because I've had online rants from strangers after they've seen Emma in her collar. *rolling my eyes*. 

We've also not had a potty accident in a week! Hooray for progress!!! 

13 Weeks

Miss Ivy is 13 weeks old today. According to my bathroom scale she is 19.4 pounds. I think it is a safe to say she's gonna outgrow Emma. We are hoping that Emma gets a little more bluff in on her before that happens because Ivy can be pretty rowdy during playtime. 

We had some house-guests this week which included our little almost-3-year-old nephew and I was very pleased with Ivy's response to him. She had the standard boxer outburst of joy and wiggles and kisses. Luckily, Brayson was just as excited to see her. She is at that critical age where it's important for her to be exposed to plenty of different situations and, so far, she's handled them all beautifully. 

This morning, we had a bit of a break-through. She actually whined because she wanted outside to potty. Not only did she really need to go, but she went out in the rain. I was so proud of her. Up to this point, I've been constantly taking her out after every nap or any time she even walks near the door not even giving her a chance to alert me that she needs to go. I'm definitely not letting my guard down by any means but, I think she has proven that she is getting the picture. 

I also think that once she is completely potty trained that Jenni will be getting some new flooring in the living room. The carpet is 14 years old now and I've raised 2 kids, half a dozen dogs, three litters of schnauzers, not to mention baby goats and who-knows-what has been tracked in on our boots. There's a stain from a RED candle that got knocked over and, a hint of blue near the piano from where Kyle broke a gallon pickle jar of Gatorade. I've shampooed it a million times but it is actually starting to cause me some anxiety now. And, we just can't have that. Im looking into that do-it-yourself laminate flooring. If anybody has had any recommendations or suggestions on this, I'm open for ideas. 

Anyway, Ivy is doing awesome as we continue our progress. 

Kennel training

I haven't taken much time to try to kennel train Miss Ivy. The only time we've put her in there was when it was necessary, if we were going to be gone for a while and couldn't have her roaming about. 

She HATED it. I've never seen a dog that upset. She drooled and cried so much in a 45 min span of time that she had a blanket soaking wet. I've heard that deaf boxers can have extreme separation anxiety and, I guess Ivy is no exception. 

She also started being somewhat obsessive with her chew toys (pig ears, oinkies etc) and it was suggested that she only be allowed to have them during kennel time. 

Soooo, I figured I'd better get to work on figuring this whole thing out. First of all, I moved the kennel from an obscure corner in my bedroom to a cozier spot in the living room. Somewhere where she could find solitude but not be completely isolated. Then I got one of her oinkies (it's just a rawhide wrapped chew toy) and offered it to her in the kennel. She got that glazed over look in her eye but I patiently kept offering it to her only if she went in the kennel. She finally surrendered and went in. Of course the first thing she did was grab it and try to run. I made myself a comfy spot on the floor and the game of wits began. 

She would try to high tail it out of the kennel with the oinky and I would stop her, take it away and place it back in the kennel. We did this for about 15 minutes and she finally laid down to chew on it inside the kennel, to which I signed "yes" and smiled as big as I could. She attempted a few more times to sneak it past me but I was consistent and kept on putting it back. Then she decided to give it up completely and crawl in my lap to snooze. I simply placed her in the kennel. She woke up for a second but was pretty worn out from the morning and voluntarily laid down and fell asleep. 

As you can see, Emma is on puppy watch. She actually is more likely on oinky watch, but it's cute nonetheless. 

Anyway, we've made a small step in getting comfortable with the kennel and not dreading it quite so badly. I plan on leaving the door open and hoping she will start voluntarily choosing to sleep and find comfort there. 

Comfort but not solitude apparently. 

Ivy the farm dog

Ivy quickly figured out what time it is when momma starts gathering milk jars. Time to visit the goat pen...which means milk for Ivy. It's amazing the power goat milk has over a puppy. 

She loves riding in the car but, I am constantly holding in to her pretty tightly for fear that her bravery will overtake her common sense and she'll bale. 

She also has to be tethered to the milking stand while I work. The first time I took her with me off-leash, she decided to go running down the road with Kevin and Emma when a truck was passing and nearly gave me a heart attack. She doesn't seem to mind it at all because she knows what's coming. 

And she patiently awaits it. Sometimes I squirt it directly in her face (which I would have taken a picture of if I had three arms) and sometimes I put it in a little dish for her, you know, proper lady style. 

Either way, she's most appreciative and it makes the whole chore of milking so much more entertaining. 

Ivy

It was suggested that Ivy have her own Facebook page. Since I already have a personal page, a photography page, one for Ouachita Valley Soap and two blogs...I decided that I would simply start a series of blogs on my farm blog. 

For those of you that don't know, Ivy is our newest addition to the family. Rodney and I (and I actually mean "I") had been toying with the idea of getting another boxer for a while. I follow a lot of boxer pages on Facebook and they seem to always be in pairs, or more. Some of my boxer buddies had even told me that one of the best things I could do for Emma would be to get her a brother/sister to play with. 

So, a few weeks ago, we were having coffee on the deck and I was browsing Facebook and came across a picture that literally made me gasp. It was two little white female boxers and the caption read, "these two little girls are all I have left." To top it off, they were very nearby and for sale from the same breeder that I got Emma from. It was more than I could bear. 

We talked about it a little. I showed Rodney the picture along with pleading eyes and a series of reasons and explanations of how glorious it would be. Nothing was agreed upon but I immediately started messaging the breeder and, within an hour, I was holding the most precious puppy in my arms. 

Upon getting her home, it became very clear that something wasn't quite right. She wasn't responding to any sounds or my voice. I thought maybe she was just overwhelmed by the new surroundings and, typically bully-breed stubborn. I was concerned because I had heard that a lot of white boxers are deaf. I started googling how to tell such a thing and, after a series of tests, it was pretty apparent that I had just become the momma of a deaf boxer baby. The confirmation came when she finally fell asleep and I started shouting her name...nothing. No response at all. 

My first reaction was fear and sadness. I wanted to melt into a puddle and weep. She was so beautiful and perfect...how could she have a flaw? I felt very overwhelmed like, "what did I just get myself into?" I have a blind dog but she was grown when I got her, very independent and liked outside better than inside so, we just let her figure things out herself. With Ivy, I was dealing with a baby. How in the world do you potty train a puppy that can't hear you? How do you tell them "no" or, this part killed me...how would she know how much I love her if she couldn't hear me say it? 

I laid all my fears aside and decided to just do what I knew to do, and that was to love her. I started researching everything I could about deaf dogs. There is a lot of information out there. I posted a query on facebook and was contacted by a lady who also has deaf dogs and has been an invaluable resource for answering questions. 

One of the first things I learned was that they need to learn to watch you. They need to know that making eye contact and watching for your signal is how they will know what to do and, what not to do. I watched a video that gave a brief explanation of the most common ASL signs for dogs. When the woman in the video started explaining that the dogs knew their names, to come, and even to get in their beds...I was flabbergasted and filled with doubt and insecurity. Not that Ivy couldn't learn it but that I would be able to teach it. So, we started slow. We started with the "watch me" command. 

I was immediately amazed at her willingness to be attentive. Especially with me waving a hot dog around in front of her face. She seemed to know to sit without me even having to explain it. I would slowly bring a piece of hot dog up to my nose, wait until she made eye contact and then reward her. It didn't take long until she was voluntarily staring me down. Talk about melt your heart. Those puppy dog eyes are hard to resist especially when they are working so hard to be obedient. 

Potty training has been quite an experience. The only way for me to congratulate her on going potty outside was for me to bend down to her level, smile and clap and give two big thumbs up. It definitely made me thankful that I live in the middle of nowhere. She seems to know the "potty" command now but has associated it only with peeing. We are working on poop now. She is also at that stage where she knows that its good to potty outside, she just hasn't quite grasped the concept that going inside is bad. Plus, being a baby she has to go every 5 minutes. 

Emma has been amazing. I so appreciate the fact that she can hear and that she is so obedient. A lot of times, I will ask Emma to do something just so Ivy will follow suit. It really is a great help to have her. 

We are BOTH learning patience. Like I said before, it isn't that I doubt Ivy's ability to learn but have great trepidation in my ability to teach. I feel absolutely certain that she was intended for me. That we were fated to be in each others lives. If for nothing more than for my heart to expand to even greater capacity. 

We love her. We love her. We love her. 

I knew after Eddie came into my life that I would probably never be boxer-less again. And, I knew that one day, we would have two. Since Taylor took Charlotte to live with her and Sophie is pushing 14...I reasoned that it was as good a time as any to expand our little family. Rodney is participating greatly in spoiling her. Its so awesome. 

I'll be posting our progress as I'm sure we have many adventures awaiting us. 

Red Neck Snow Day

One of my goat buddies brought me these two orphan babies a few days ago. In fact, it was Christmas eve..eve. They were only a couple hours old when they got here and their arrival created quite a stir on the farm. It's amazing how two tiny little creatures can cause such a ruckus. We were running around, trying to find baby bottles, fetching colostrum from the freezer, cleaning out the dog kennel, and all while trying to get our evening feeding chores done before dark.

They are flourishing now. I was very happy that I had the foresight to save the colostrum that I did. We've already grown attached to them. That happens when you are up at 2 am heating up milk and wiping little butts. Now that they're on their feet pretty good, we've had to allow them some leg-stretching sessions. These would typically take place outside and we have had them outside a lot... that is, until today. 

This is what it looks like outside my backdoor right now. Yikes. So, our leg-stretching activity took place in the kitchen. You heard it. We are officially red necks. I actually like Si Robertson's definition of red neck..."Fun is his middle name. RED-FUN-NECK". So, the following are photos of our fun. Our joyful, red neck fun.

There really is no way to convey how tiny these guys are. But this picture helps a bit. 

That would be a baby goat trying to nurse on my teapot. 

See? So cute!! 

Emma is still not sure what to do with them. Are they puppies? Are the chew toys? 

They've created a lot of head tilting curiosity. And, I LOVE head tilting doggies. 

Just wanted to share what we've been doing this Christmas day. Watching it snow, playing with babies, baking goodies, and refusing to come out of our PJ's. 

Merry Christmas to all my sweet friends out there from our snowy farm. 

it happens at night...

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a faint whimper. My sleepy eyes flutter and mind comes to consciousness.

It is her. The one we call Emma.

I slowly sit up and look in the direction of the sound. Her stately bulldog frame silhouetted against the moonlit window is an intimidating site. She sits and waits.

She manipulates.

For a moment I consider lying back down but I know it will be in vain. What is it that she wants? Did she hear something outside that beckons her? Does she really need to go to the bathroom? Did I forget to fill the water bowl? Did her ball roll under the couch again?

She waits.

I half-heartedly fling the covers back and dangle my feet off the bed. In the darkness I know the old one is there. She, a heartbeat at my feet for 12 years now, is never really far away. And, at night, she keeps vigil on my side of the bed where I've tossed pillows to the floor. My bare feet feel her soft fur and I step carefully to one side of her resting place.

I stand to my feet and turn to where she stands.

The shadow by the window, that intensely sinister looking profile, lures me towards her.

She makes her move.

Through listless eyes and faint mind, I watch her approach. While body is still half sleeping, heart is awakened. For, as my outstretched hand reaches to greet her, that menacing shadow melts into a puddle of wiggles and delight that I've come to her aid. We share a moment of greeting and then make our way to the door.

I open the door and send her out into the moonlight.

Making my way back to the bed, I wonder how long it will be before I am entreated to rise again and allow her back into the house. The sleeping lumberjack in my bed never moves. I quietly admire his brawny bare shoulder in the soft light and doze back off.

The call from the window is clear. She learned when she was a puppy that her claws on the screen make the loudest noise in which to arouse us humans. Again, I carefully place my feet on the carpet as not to step on Sophie and make my way to the door.

Another joyous salutation takes place as if we'd not seen each other for weeks. She makes her way past me to her resting place on the couch and I head back to my bed and my burly sleeping farmer.

While Emma sleeps soundly after her outside adventure, I lay awake wondering if I paid the home owners policy.

As Lovely As a Tree

Only God knows how long this oak has resided in this spot. He knew the moment life sprang from a tiny acorn and roots began to grow. He remembers the very first spring when it pushed it's way through the rocky soil and into the sunlight and rain. From the moment it was a tiny sapling struggling to grow a dozen or so leaves, to the time it became mighty and shaded the ground beneath it. Every leaf that has ever grown green and lush and then fallen to the earth is counted and known. Each Autumn that it's fruit has fed squirrels and deer and birds from it's branches, the creator has record. Every bird that has nested in its great arms; God knows. 

For the past 12 years, I've gazed upon this tree daily. It occupies a prominent space in the field behind my house so my eyes are simply met by this creation every day, sometimes with reverence, sometimes with random monotony. I remember the day I took this picture. We were praying for rain during a very hot summer and storm clouds were building in the north creating an amazing spectacle of light and shade. I stood with my camera in hand, heart in my throat, trying to capture the moment...astonished at the light and the power of God and nature. 

2 summers ago, my family gathered beneath it's branches to bury and mourn our beloved family pet, Eddie. The summer breeze blew through it's boughs and sang a solemn tune as we wept. Reverently it watched on as we placed him in the earth, and stood by for the days that followed to keep watch over the place where he laid. I placed wind-chimes in one of it's limbs to bring joy and peace to this space. Over the years that I've watched it drop it's leaves and grow them back again, I've grown quite fond of it. Then I remember to thank God for allowing me the capacity to love a tree. 

We knew it was languishing a couple years ago. The poor trunk had become so old that it was beginning to decay near the earth. It would let go of a branch now and then when a storm blew through. Last years drought was more than it could bear and it decided to simply cease living. I was a little hopeful that it might come back this spring and try one more year, but it has remained bare. 

The scripture from Isaiah 55:12 rings through my soul often...

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. 

So now I daily gaze upon the remnants of what was once living and grand and think of life and it's fleeting vapor. For as long as this mighty oak has lived, 100 years, 200 years?...it was still here today and gone tomorrow. I wonder how many changes it has seen. If it was here when the fields were orchards and strawberry fields? Has it seen the tilling of soil with ox and plow? Did another family, a century ago, gather beneath it to pray? Were songs sung here and picnics eaten? Was it planted by man or did a jay bird misplace an acorn? I'm anxious to cut it down and count it's rings to know the length of it's life on earth.

 It will be cut down and used for firewood, and even that won't be it's last gift. For firewood becomes ashes, and ashes feed the earth. What a brilliant plan of our Master and Creator. These are the lessons learned from God. 

Let me be as selfless as a tree. To be blessed by my Creator as I stand firm in my faith so much so that it feeds and shelters those who would seek refuge beneath it. 

I think that I shall never see;

a poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day

and lifts it's leafy arms to pray,

A tree that may in summer wear

a nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree

    

                                                Joyce Kilmer

Puppies

I'm going to try very hard not to speak ill of those among us who are irresponsible and cruel. Those people who can see no other solution to a problem than to pawn it off on somebody else. Those who's hearts are unaffected as they toss helpless puppies out of their vehicle and drive away. I get that times are tough. I understand that it takes money to feed a dog and take them to the vet and treat them for fleas. But to abandon a puppy? To hope someone else will drive by and pick them up? To think they'll just survive on their own??...that I don't understand.

Yesterday when I was heading home, I saw two little fluff balls running down the road. I immediately knew the story. I've seen it many times. The thing that breaks my heart more than anything is that those babies were, more than likely, running after the jerk that left them behind. This is why I love dogs. They are loyal to even the nastiest of us humans.

I stopped the car and got out, talked to them for a second and they, apprehensively and very wiggly, allowed me to pick them up. We rode home without incident as I reassured them that it was going to be ok. I wondered if I was lying to them but kept on telling them, "it's ok".

By the time we got home, I'd already assessed how completely covered in fleas they were. I recruited Taylor and we immediately began the bathing process. It must have taken us an hour of scrubbing and combing and a good half a bottle of tea-tree oil shampoo to remove the fleas. I'd never seen so many fleas in my life. Then we blow-dried them, treated them with Frontline and removed the remaining ticks. Taylor folded back one ear and had a conniption when she revealed a huge mass of ticks. It was a grueling process but we removed every last one.

They were very patient and even seemed to enjoy the whole operation. I can imagine that it would feel pretty awesome to have all those blood-suckers removed.

We then let Emma in on the action and she greeted them warmly and licked them thoroughly. They seemed to like that too.

They spent the night with Faith on the porch, barked at the goats and kitties, and had a big breakfast this morning. They seem just a little skittish but follow me wherever I go. I'm sure it would only take a little encouragement for them to move right into being a very lovely companion. They seem extremely smart and are so precious and sweet.

If you know anybody that would be kind enough to take them in, please let me know. I'm going to be contacting some rescues and shelters for help in placing them. You can find me on Facebook or email me @ barrettfarm@gmail.com

Thank you for any and all help.

20 years

Nobody wanted me to marry that man. "Go to college! You're still so young. Go and be free. Your going to tie yourself down and regret it later."

We thought that my dad was going to have to be institutionalized. He hated the whole idea. He refused to spend any money on renting a tux (or anything else) and swore he would walk me down the isle in his overalls.

My mom patiently helped me plan the wedding. We shopped for flowers and material for bridesmaids dresses. We called everybody, begging and borrowing for decorations. I wore my cousins wedding dress, another cousin performed the ceremony and yet another cousin was my photographer. The venue was free, the singing was a-cappella, the coordinator was my great-aunt Ollie Bell, and the whole thing was nuts. But, the groom was Rodney Barrett and that was all my eyes could see.

There have been few things in my life that I've been that sure of. I wanted to be with him and nothing could convince me otherwise. We both felt that way from the moment we laid eyes on each other. I can still take myself back to that day and feel it all over again. Seeing him from across the room, our eyes locking and... I was done for. My knees literally went weak. And if eyes locking made me go weak, you can imagine what happened the first time he kissed me (which was about 3 hours later).

We talked so many times after the wedding about how we should have just run away together and saved ourself the grief of all the drama and money. But, weddings are more for the family than for the couple...a concept I've never understood. I've given my children permission to elope.

Today, we celebrate 20 years of marriage. Although, I felt married to him from the beginning. God formed some beautiful master plan and, I'm sure, has enjoyed the show since the two of us have been married. Rodney and I were talking the other night and decided that even the fact that we landed on the planet in the same generation, within years of each other, and then to have somehow ended up in the same room at the same time and fell in love that forcefully, that it all had to be masterfully planned. 20 years is only a drop in the bucket of time, a tiny speck in God's tapestry. 20 years to us is quite a long time and, in the same breath, it has gone by like a vapor.

So, after 20 years of babies, houses, farm, dogs, cats, laughter, tears, fights, make-ups, work, bill-paying, more crying, more laughing, more bills, where-are-my-socks?, blessings, struggling, living with, living without, toddlers, school, sports, teenagers, discipline, and even and little counseling, we are coming around to a place in our life where Jenni and Rodney can be Jenni and Rodney again. We are whisking ourselves away tonight for the first time since our honeymoon. We will attend the big fireworks show and hopefully make a few of our own. And, I hope I get at least 20 more years with that man.

Happy late Birthday, Emma

I was out hanging clothes on the line a little while ago and I could hear the wind-chimes that hang in Eddie's tree. There is a sweetness about those chimes in the field. It doesn't make me sad, it causes me to pause and remember my blessings. As I was reminiscing about that boy and the happiness he brought to our home for the brief time he was with us, it occurred to me that I had overlooked Emma's birthday.

Emma turned a year old on June 8th. I can't believe she didn't remind me. Probably because she knew I was going to put that silly hat on her head and take her picture.

When I made the hat for Eddie, I planned on taking his picture in it yearly. Then, when he died, I had no idea what to do with it. I just knew it would be impossible for me to throw it in the trash. So, it's been sitting in the same drawer that the other birthday stuff resides. The banners and streamers, the glitter and glue, the crepe paper and raffia.

Once in a while when I have to pull something out of that crazy-disordered drawer, I touch the hat and let my heart hurt for a minute and then smile and remember how silly he was and how he was so patient with me while I put stuff on his head and laughed at him, then took his picture and posted it on facebook. Oh the shame of it all.

It doesn't seem so long ago.

Emma on the other hand...

She is not quite as tolerant of my shenanigans.

As a matter of fact, I think she may be plotting some sort of revenge. Off the top of my head, I'm thinking the massacre of some poor stuffed animal and probably a good digging in the flower pots.

She reminds us of Eddie once in a while because she is a boxer through to her core...but she is 100% Emma, and that's a good thing.

Happy Birthday Emma...2 weeks late.

Scariest thing ever

Let me preface this particular blog by saying I fully support the 2nd amendment. My husband is a very responsible gun owner and has taught our son and daughter gun-safety and done it well. We are hunters. We are law-abiding citizens. We have many firearms in our home both rifles and hand guns. It is our right to have them and to use them. Until today, I had no idea of the incredible responsibility that comes with owning a gun.

I will also tell you before I begin this story by saying... nobody died today.

When Kyle was 5 years old, he was playing down at the pond at my parents house. He called me over to watch him walk out onto the old rickety bridge that spans from shore to the "island" on the pond. "look what I can do" he exclaimed. I told him sternly to NEVER do that unless an adult was with him. I'd almost lost him a couple times to drowning because the boy sinks like a rock when he is in water. Anyway, I went back in Mom's house where we were preparing dinner and working on plans for the new church building. About an hour went by and my dad asked, "has anybody seen Kyle?" Then it dawned on my that I hadn't seen him come through the house or heard him outside for a while, so I went to find him. I called, and called, and called and nothing. Mom came out and started to call. Kyle! Kyle! Nothing. Dad came out and began to look.

We started panicking.

I felt my stomach turn over as I thought about him standing on the bridge. My knees became so weak I could barely move. I began walking towards the pond absolutely sure that he would be face down in the water. Rodney pulled up and saw us running around calling for Kyle. He shouted at Dad to go check the house one more time. I was still jelly-leggedly making my way towards the pond, praying to Jesus with all my might.

Please God, please God PLEASE GOD.

Before I made it all the way to the water's edge, Dad yelled from the house, "I found him!"

He had crawled into the dog house in the garage and was sleeping with Dexter, Mom and Dad's old Weimaraner. It took me hours to quit shaking.

Until today, that was absolutely the most frightened I've ever been in my life.

I was sitting at my desk and was on the phone when it happened.

A gunshot was fired in the house.

Kyle was the only person in the house with me and I immediately jumped up screaming.

KYLE! KYLE! KYLE!

It was the only words that were coming from my mouth. There was no immediate response and I knew I was about to witness the most horrible thing a mother can experience. My heart is aching and tears are welling up just writing this.

When he emerged from our bedroom, white as a sheet and frantically asking if I was ok, I embraced him so tightly and wept like a baby thanking Jesus over and over.

After about 5 minutes of clutching each other in panic and thanksgiving, I started to ask what in heavens name he was doing.

He said the gun "just went off". Why in the world he was messing with it in the first place is beyond me but he learned a valuable lesson without the cost of life. He was shaken to the point of physical sickness. My tummy ain't too happy either.

Here are the forensics.

The gun that was fired is the revolver which is always located in Rodney's closet in our bedroom.

When the gun went off it was facing the closet wall. Here is the first bullet hole.

Rodney's only "good" hat.

Bullet hole number 2 went right through the hat rack.

...and then through the wall behind the hat rack.

It came out of the closet wall in the bedroom.

Then it went across the bedroom, through the wall on the opposite side.

it then came out the living room wall and ricocheted off the ceiling.

and finally came to rest right above the front door. It is lodged in the header above the door.

This is the scary part.

I don't know a whole lot about trajectory and angles but this was a crazy close call. It is still not real to me yet.

Rodney came home not long after it happened and went over the events with Kyle. The story ended up being that he pulled the hammer back, it slipped and the gun fired. A long gun-safety lecture commenced while Kyle sat with tears streaming down his face, hands shaking and still pale-faced.

I don't know why this happened. You would think that a 17-year-old wouldn't have to be monitored like a toddler. My emotions are ranging from confusion, to heartache, to anger, to thankfulness. The name Jesus keeps coming from my lips. Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus! I'm sure I'll be processing this one for a while.