Kids and Dogs

Kids & Dogs

How could you live without kids or dogs? The idea of neither stumps me for sure.

When Susie and I married It had been several years since I had a pet. My heeler Dozer was my constant companion while in college. He went everywhere with me and was my good travelin’ buddy. He even spent two weeks traveling the western US while I visited potential horse farms to intern at. My senior year in college I moved out to the equine facility at the Tarleton farm and lived there. I couldn’t keep a dog at the farm, so remorsefully I let Dozer go live with Chuck and Tracie Selman. While working in south Texas I found Chuck & Tracie living in McAllen, TX. We got together and I saw Dozer for the first time in about 3 years. It took him a bit to figure me out, but his tail went to waggin’ 90 miles an hour after a few moments with me. I like to think he remembered me, but it had been too long. He surely forgot about me and took to Chuck and Tracie like I had hoped he would.

Susie had two cats when we married, Patches and Jacob. Unfortunately, when we arrived home from our honeymoon, Jacob had passed on to that great litter box in the sky.  Pretty awful thing to come home to. It actually really sucked…  Susie found the next boarder running along the road by her work and brought him home. No one answered the flyers we posted, so we had a new family member, Smokie the nervous dog. He was a great dog with a ton of energy. His only fault was pissing on himself when he got excited. We had to be really calm when we came home at the end of the day so he wouldn’t piddle.

Susie found our next companion while helping her friend feed her horses. Mr. T probably went back multi generations as a feral cat. He passed on the gift of ringworm to us and everyone but the dog became infected. Loads of fun having to shave the cats so we could doctor the ringworm. Mr. T was named because of his sour disposition. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but Susie and me. Going to the vet was an ordeal in itself. He would scream like a baby (seriously, a 3-month-old human infant) and the entire waiting room stared and whispered when we left the vet’s office. Mr. T died at the ripe old age of 13 and still only had two friends. 

Smokie was not a very country smart dog and when we moved to Sherman, Texas, he found out the hard way that coyotes aren’t the nicest souls. Around 6 months after Smokie left us, I was at a feed store in Waxahachie, TX and a guy happened to stop in and ask the store manager if she knew anyone who wanted a Blue Heeler pup. Talk about timing. I met the guy on the side of Interstate 35 a couple of hours later and was soon the proud owner of two full sisters. Abbie and Mazie were two of the best dogs in the world. They were constantly no more than 25 or 30 feet away from each other their entire life. We lost Abbie at an early age to an auto-immunity disease and Mazie lived another 13 years. 

Sam the pit-bull was the most misunderstood dog in the world. He showed up one freezing winter day right before Christmas. Abbie and Mazie were outside and began barking like the end of the world was upon us. Sam was curled up in the flower beds and about half dead. He had literally no hair and was skinny as a killdeer with lockjaw, (Google it). The mange he had literally broke the bank. He got through it and was probably the best dog I ever had. Loyal and protective with a streak of goofiness in him.

Sam, Mazie, Abbie, Mr. T and Hannah (recently acquired cat) moved to California with us. 3 days in the car with 5 animals is a joy everyone should experience at least once. Abbie didn’t make the trip back to Texas and died in California of an auto immunity disease. Mr. T passed on in California also, grumpy to the end. Mazie, Sam and Hannah made the trip back to California in 2008; they knew how to pack it up and move it out on a moment’s notice.

Maize and Sam both passed within a few months of each other. Susie and me took Mazie to the vet, but Susie had to deal with Sam by herself. We kicked around the idea of a dog, but just couldn’t do it for a while.

While at a meeting, I get a call from a customer who knew someone that wanted to give away a Blue Heeler. I thought this was the sign we were looking for. Uhm, nope….

Lucy was 6 months old and all she knew how to do was eat and, well, you know. It has taken 2 ½ years to get her to somewhat listen to me. Oh sure, she talks to her mom and has a grand time, but I am only a shadow in her eyes.

About a year and a half ago, I stopped at a customer’s store and a man had a Red Heeler he couldn’t keep. She was about 3 months old and cute as can be. I called the boss to see if I could bring another dog home and got the okay. 

We couldn’t figure out what to name her until one day she was running around going ape-shit and I thought, “Damn, she’s a pistol.” Annie Oakley was derived from that moment of wisdom. She listens a lot better than Lucy does, but she can’t stand the deer, turkeys, squirrels and the peacocks from invading her space. By the way, I didn’t know peacocks could fly….

The both have multiple names now and believe it or not, they will respond to all of them.

Lucy                                                                           

Aka as “The Queen”                                                         

Lucinda                                                                                 

Lucia                                                                                      

Lucille                                                                                    

Lucy (said with heavy Spanish accent as Ricky Ricardo from I Love Lucy)                  

Dumb Ass

Annie                                                                        

Aka as “The Red Head”

Annie of Green Gables

Annie Oakley

Anna Alisia

Annabelle (as in the movie about the possessed doll)

Dip Shit

We don’t use the last two except when we are inside the house, but they still perk their ears up.

We have been blessed with the best “kids” of all. Even my mom calls them “grand-dogs”. My dad draws pencil art of them and everyone has a place on the wall. 

Life couldn’t be better without ‘em.

                              

                                                        

                                 

The Great Ones-My Dog Sam

Sam was quite possibly the best dog on the face of this earth. I’m not just saying this, he was quite the pooch.

Sam was so great I just had to share him with everyone. He had a tougher life than most people of the human race have had and he just sucked it up and kept on waggin’ his crooked tail.

One day right before Christmas while I was living in Sherman, Texas, my two heelers Abbie and Mazie began to bark like Armageddon was arriving. I snuck a look out the window and there was Sam curled up in the flower beds by the front door with two dogs barking at him like he was trying to rob the place. The mercury was hovering in the low 30’s and Sam was shaking like a leaf and just about frozen solid. He had literally no hair and looked to be only a couple of months old.  I called the county to come get him, but they left it in my hands. 

I called the vet with the thinking that Sam wasn’t going to see the new year. 

We drove him to Sherman and the vet said it was the worst case of demodectic mange he had ever seen. We couldn’t even tell what breed he was but we thought he was a Shar Pei by all the wrinkles. The vet said he would put him down if we wanted, but Susie and I talked about it and asked the vet to help him if he could. He warned us that it wouldn’t be cheap, but we relented anyway. 

We started giving him about 2/10ths of a cc of oral ivermectin twice a day for a month and we expected the remedy to do more harm than good. The vet said this was last resort and we hoped for the best. We were sure his liver would be shot. Sam was also dipped in a mange dip every 10 days that just knocked his pecker into his watch pocket after each treatment. After a few weeks his hair started to grow back and he started looking much better. After 30 days we had named him Sam (after Sam the Butcher on “The Brady Bunch”), but also affectionately started calling him “The National Debt” because we sunk a good bit of change into his recovery.

As Sam started getting better and his brindle color started to come back and his big ole head started taking the shape of, you guessed it, a Pit Bull. 

I was a little nervous at first, but his two adopted sisters had taken to him, (somewhat) and he was showing us how smart he was. We figured someone had dumped him because of his mange, but he had had scar’s like he may have been a sparring dog for some dog fighting people.  See what I mean by a tough life…

Having a name like Sam gave us a multitude of other names to call him. Some of the many were:

Sammy

Sammy Davis

Shammy Davis

Sammy Sosa

Sam the Sham

Good Ole Sam

Sambo

Samuel Gompers

Samuel Clemens or Mark Twain

He didn’t care what you called him, he was just happy to be here.

Sam and the girls would rough house and play fight constantly and most of the time they ganged up on him. Abbie would grab his back leg and Mazie would grab him by the collar and they would both pull. Sam was having the time of his life. I bet he was thinking “This is great! Two girls!!”. They were all buddies until nighttime. I had to buy a second dog house because the heelers would make him sleep outside and wouldn’t let him in the dog house. We also had to feed them and let Sam eat first because the girls would not let him eat. I don’t think he ever forgave us for removing his male parts. Every now and then he would walk be me and I could see him looking back toward his rump and then giving me the stink eye.

We moved to California and the girls rode with Susie and I rode with Sam. He turned out to be a terrible traveling dog and puked before we got to Wichita Falls. No more breakfast for Sam when we traveled in the car. I soon realized what a problem he might be when the property management people in CA asked me what breed Sam was. I told them the girls were heelers and Sam was a Heinz 57. Not actually a lie, but not all the truth. 

People would look at us sideways when we took the dogs for a walk or a run down by the lake. We grew tired of telling people he was a mutt and finally just accepted him as a Bulldog.

He for sure changed our minds and opinions of Pit Bulls. Sam loved people but was protective (like most dogs) of us and our property. His bark could shatter windows and he owns the world record for slobber hanging from the chin. Both length and longevity. Look it up. He was wary of other dogs, but as he got older he became more assured. He mainly just needed more socialization; our fault all the way. This breed of dog is so misunderstood and mistreated. It is all about who is holding the reins. If you teach any dog to fight or be aggressive, by God that’s what they will become. Too many of the wrong people are destroying this breed. Just because you have a Pit Bull on a logging chain leash doesn’t make you a tough guy. The media doesn’t help either. Look at the bad press German Shepherds, Dobermans and Rottweiler’s have received over the years. If you teach a dog to sic em, they’re gonna get in your hip pocket. Pretty damn simple…

Sam moved back to Texas with us in 2008 and then back again to California with us in 2011. Not so much puking on the last trip. Sam had kicked death’s ass in his first year of existence and he survived a tummy full of fertilizer (don’t ask) in midlife. He refused to pass through the pearly gates and shake hands with Elvis and Rin Tin Tin. 

He finally ran out of gas a few years ago. Bleeding profusely through the nose, we knew something was amiss. The vet said that in his advanced age and with the symptoms he was showing, he had some sort of cancer. I was out of town when all this came down and never got to see Sam again. Susie had Sam put down on her own. I felt awful and cried when Susie told what had transpired. She said he was a happy dog all the way to the end.

I don’t think I will ever have a dog as good as Sam. He was taught me a lot, like 

“Don’t worry Tim. We got this.” He would look at me and Susie and you could see it in his eyes that he was smitten with us. 

We were sure smitten with him.

Here's To The Mountains

Mountains are Calling 

John Muir once said, “The mountains are calling and I must go.”

It don’t get much more honest than those words. That sounds extremely corny, but I wonder if I could have survived the existence of a 19^thcentury wanderer.

“Jeremiah Johnson”, the classic tale of an 1800’s easterner transplanting himself into the Rocky Mountains, was recently on the tube. I think I could watch this movie another thousand times and not get bored. Even the movie theme takes me away.

Vacations growing up as a child were normally camping in Texas, New Mexico and Colorado. It took me years to fully appreciate what my parents were trying to instill in me... As children, my siblings (Amy & Dan) and I could not appreciate these mini-adventures like we should have. We wanted to stay in a motel or lodge and visit the mecca for all kids 12 and under; the motel swimming pool. Dining in a restaurant was super cool and much more appetizing than a fire side meal of roasted marshmallows and hot dogs. We could watch TV while in bed, a luxury that we could never do at home. The best part of camping was I never had to take regular showers. Ah, the constant smell of fire smoke and sweat. My dad finally told me, “Bath yourself or you eat your meals downwind.”

The solitary environment is probably what I crave the most. I could never be apart from Susie very long, but for some reason I feel like I could thrive being the only human for miles around. Well, maybe Susie, me and the dogs instead of just me… My need for them trumps my personal needs. 

We would have to rely on my hunting and fishing skills (strike one) and her gardening skills. Sometimes it’s kind of nice to think that you only had to lean on yourself to survive. I told my dad that once and he replied in a dead pan, serious tone, “So you want to be a bum?” Sometimes maybe I do.

I could probably build a fairly respectable cabin, although it would look like 7^thgrade shop class built it. I’m not very good at constructing 90-degree angles (strike 

two) and my stone masonry skills would probably result in a drafty and mis-shaped chimney. Susie could dress a deer or an elk out fairly well because she used to help her dad do this at home. Without her knife skills, I guess we would be pretty skinny.  Perhaps a vegan mountain man is more my speed.

I hope I would run into a Will Geer type of mountain man who could teach me the ropes and help me hunt grizz. Although I have a few outdoor skills already, I think help would be of the upmost need. I can build a fire, only I need lighter fluid and a match. Cutting down trees would be a breeze, but since I tire easily, it might take a few days for one tree. I suppose I would build a really small cabin because of that. Fishing would be fairly easy, but then you have the messy job of cleaning the fish. Thankfully I make a mean spinach quiche.

Oh sure, it’s fun to imagine living off the land in the 19^thcentury. Making grizzly tooth necklaces, eating jerky and corn dodgers, doing your business in an outhouse… Good times for all.

Maybe I’m best suited to just live where I do. I get to gaze at the mountains and listen to the wind in the pines. When I’m done with staring at nature, it’s good to know I can go back to my centrally air conditioned and heated home. Turn on my electric lights, open my refrigerator, crack a cold beer and binge watch “Breaking Bad”. 

Not a bad life and I don’t have to use my own feces to fertilize the garden. 

Long Hard Ride or 4 Months of Hell

Long Hard Ride or 4 Months of Hell

I know without a doubt that I am not even close to being ready for retirement and the proverbial rocking chair. The last 4 months of sitting on my arse has proven that.

I have been unemployed since July 1 and I start my new position with Century West Marketing November 1. Thanks to Jim and Jimmy Latter for the opportunity.

I suppose I was a little too full of myself when I resigned from my previous position in June 2017. I thought to myself, “You’ll bounce back like a boss and have a job inside 6 weeks.” Terrible famous last words. I have held a job permanently since 1992 and thought there would be a multitude of companies and people that would fall over themselves to hire me. Not so much…

I spent the first week of July “on vacation”. It was the first time in 25+ years, that I did not have to think about sending an email, doing a follow up call from a previous appointment or have to get paperwork in for a tradeshow. No responsibility (or so that it seemed) and worry and a care free existence. This will be a snap….

4 weeks led to 1 month and then 2, then 3 months and nothing. I would sit in front of my computer 5-6 hours every day (seriously, every day) looking for gainful employment. I made phone calls to business contacts and industry peers; nothing.  At first, I concentrated on nothing but animal health jobs, but that was not working.  I seemed to think that since I had worked in animal health all these years, I could do anything related to animal health. Not always the case Timo. After a few weeks, I started applying and sending resumes to any job that looked like it might fit. Hardware companies, farming rep positions, beverage and food distributors, the Fresno Grizzlies Triple A franchise.  

I tried to not leave a single stone unturned. I even looked into a position selling fancy television/entertainment systems to hotels.

I would use Susie’s office and computer to job search because I just couldn’t bear to go to my own office. “That’s where employed people work Timothy, not vagrants like you” was my thought process.

I started reading articles on how to word a resume and cover letter. I made countless changes to them trying to make them stand out. I looked into the psychology of interview questions. I was going to be ready to kill an interview, but still nothing happened. Then, out of the blue, I started getting phone calls and I felt I had reached the end of this terrible journey. When it rains it pours, as they say.

I walked into several face to face and phone interviews like I was the shit; full of confidence and bravado. Not so fast Timmy. I started getting emails from companies I had applied to saying “We like your experience and background, but we have chosen to move in a different direction or pursue other candidates.” This translates, “Your too old or you didn’t put in the right resume catch phrase.” Efff….

One morning I looked at my resume cover sheet that I had gloriously composed and read the header, “Professional Sales Rep With 27 Year’s Experience.” I looked at it proudly and then, like a ton of lead, it hit me. People looking at this will probably think, ”27 Years of Experience? How old is this guy?” Needless to say, I amended that very revealing tid bit.

Although it was only 4 months, it felt like 4 decades of no production or income. We were burning through our savings like grease through a goose. Susie went back to work and that made me feel like a real loser. She would leave for work and I would be home producing zilch. I looked at selling food at festivals and events, but nixed that. I’m kind of glad I did because I don’t think I would make a very good carny. I have too many teeth and possess basic hygienic skills.

I would go to the grocery and feel like I had a big ass “L” branded on my forehead. I started noticing that the only people at the grocery store during the week were retired folk. I was headed downhill fast and started going to the store on Saturday thinking I would blend in better with the people who actually had jobs.

Jimmy Latter called me one Sunday, which seemed odd, but he had just found out I was looking to find and he had a spot for me that might work. Probably goes down as one of the happiest days of my life.

We eventually met up and worked out a deal that is pretty sweet. I’m back doing what I have been doing since 2011 (independent rep group), but with a different mix of companies and a little different territory.

This has been the most humbling experience of my life. My brother went 8 months before he found something, so I can’t ask for sympathy. He showed major patience and fortitude for his situation. I just ate a lot and watched Dr. Phil and The View.

I guess the main thing I have learned is to not pat yourself on the back too much. We are always learning and we all need to stay focused and on track. Don’t get discouraged and keep on keeping on.

The best thing to arise from this ordeal is I was able to read about 5 or 6 books and split 3 cords of wood. Ask me anything about the life of Wyatt Earp and I can tell you. I read “Ball Four” again and have a greater appreciation for 1960 and 1970 major league baseball players. Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata were actually pretty good people. Ask me what it’s like to spend 4 days splitting wood.

I can tell you I’d rather be working…

Fire or Rain-Pick Your Poison

Fire or Rain, Pick Your Poison

This last week has been as horrific as it gets concerning the weather. Hurricane and rain in the south, fires in the west and it looks like the east coast might get hit with a sizeable hurricane by the end of the week.

Susie and I were talking the other day and I asked her what she felt is worse, hurricanes and tornado’s or fire. Tough to answer for us. We have lived in South Texas and dealt with hurricanes & the like and in North Texas, we dealt with tornado’s. Now that we are on the left coast, we fret about fire for about 5-6 months out of the year.

You know the only good thing about hurricanes is you know they are coming. Really. You seriously know they’re coming. Like 2-3 days at least. Plenty of time to get out if needed and to somewhat prepare.

Tornados are a different breed of duck. You kind of know they are on their way, but you really don’t get much more than a few hours notice that they are on the way. You can’t get out of their way once they hit and all you can do is hunker down and pray for the best. When we lived in North Texas I traveled a 10 state territory. I can’t count the times I was in Casper, Wyoming or Albuquerque, NM and I am stuck in my hotel watching the Weather Channel tell me about potential tornados in Dallas. And I can’t do anything to help…

I have been through 2 hurricanes, Camile in 1969 and Alicia in 1983, plus countless tropical storms. Yes, the stories are true that we have hurricane parties. Schaefer Beer was named the official Hurricane Alicia Beer that night. Fortunately, the only inconvenience was power outage. I was in Louisiana in 1969 and we evacuated to the school in town. Thankfully we came back to minor tree damage and the like. No water damage or anything like that. Same with Alicia. I had a second floor apartment and only lost power for 10 days. In August. In Texas. Could have been worse, but at the time I sweated for a living and I didn’t feel the need to sweat 24/7.

Both hurricanes and tornados in most instances do a ton of damage, but leave the buildings intact a lot of the time. Then people have to deal with repairing the damaged sheet rock, the soaked carpet and the ruined appliances. Not to mention the possibility of mold.

Fire is much different and very much alike in certain ways. If you are affected by fire you usually don’t have much time to get out (ie. Tornados). But the good thing about fire (if there actually is something that can be considered acceptable) is there is little to no cleanup, because you have nothing left to clean up in the first place.

The biggest and most important issue with me concerning fire are the idiots who start them. Yes, I know what you are thinking, “But Tim, lightning starts fires doesn’t it?”

Very true, but it seems that in the last several years, the idiot theory is prevalent and being proved year in and year out.

The Rim Fire of about 4 years ago was started by a great white hunter who felt the need to build a fire. The Courtney Fire of 2 years ago was apparently started by another braniac that decided to burn a deer carcass.  I guess they were too tired to dig a hole and bury the deer. 30 houses destroyed and it was very close to my home, something like 3-4 miles.

The Detwiller Fire this year burned 81,826 acres and 63 residences. I have heard target shooting attributed to this.

The death sentence for starting fires has my support. At the very least it will help thin down the gene pool. I don’t know if it is stupidity (number 1 on my list), ignorance or just plain ole bad luck. The comedian Steve Martin once said that we can bring the overpopulation down by issuing death sentences for parking violations. A little rash and humorous, but it’s a start.

Why, oh why do people not use ash trays. These are the same dorks that throw beer cans into the back of their trucks and miss the bed of the truck 75% of the time. They drag chains when pulling trailers, they park their vehicles in tall grass. “No need to douse the campfire, it’ll burn itself out eventually.” The list is long…

I have said in the past that I will never move back to Texas because of the weather and the problems that it brings. I’ll keep on believing that until the next dumbass decides to toss their cigarette butt out the car and we have to live with puckered butts until the fire is put out.