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THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Marialuisa was in grade two. Before leaving for school in her little
town in northern Italy, she looked out the window at the chickens in the
courtyard and exclaimed, "Beate voi galline che non andate a scuola!" (O
blessed are you chickens who don''t have to go to school!) -- Adua Zampese
(older sister of Marialuisa) of Toronto
Last week''s column ("Hurricane Fantasia") was dedicated to the people
who are recovering from hurricanes. Debbie tells about her daughter Kellie
and her family who lives in Jacksonville, Fla. As a result of the
hurricanes they were without power for quite a while. Debbie was talking
on the phone to little Alexis. "It''s dark, Gammy," Alexis said. "My
lights are broke!" -- Debbie in Tuscaloose, Alabama
Neil found his son Jonah, 4, asleep on the couch one morning last
week. When Jonah called Neil at work later in the day, Neil asked Jonah
why he had left his bed. Jonah said, "I had a really scary dream. Want me
to tell you about it? Well, there was this big hairy monster... No, wait a
minute. It was Mommy!" -- Neil Grepke of Kendallville, Indiana
Melva''s 7-year-old granddaughter was in a school without her big
sister for the first time. She is in the second grade and her sister had
moved on to middle school. The school is only two blocks away and she
assured her mother that she could walk by herself. However, her mother was
concerned because there are no sidewalks. Finally, her mother agreed --
but said she would stand at the corner and watch her. After getting two
houses from home, the 7-year-old turned around and started walking
backwards. "See, I can even walk backwards!" she told her mother. Her
mother quickly replied, "How will you see the cars?" The 7-year-old
replied, "Oh, I forgot about that!" -- Melva Brown of Oxford, Ohio
Donald was in first grade and just learning to read. He asked his
mother if he could go to meet his father who would be coming home from
work. He wanted to show him his new overalls. Minutes later Donald
returned home without his father. His mother asked him why he was back so
soon, alone. He said, "I saw a sign and it said STOP!" -- Sr. Lita
Camozzi (sister of Donald) of Toronto
It''s the start of a new school year in Beth''s 6th grade class and her
students are sharing "Me Bags" to introduce themselves to their new
classmates and to Beth. One boy brought a country/western CD and said that
he likes that kind of music. They talked about the song titles, and that
led to some discussion about the fact that many country songs have a
drinking theme. Beth jokingly commented, "And we complain about rap!"
Another boy blurted out, "Yeah! Country''s just like rap, except with a
banjo!" -- Beth Fryer of Lebanon, Pennsylvania
While making deviled eggs for Labor Day, Melissa got out the paprika.
Her 5-year-old daughter Daysha asked what it was. Melissa said it was
paprika and Daysha said, "Just like Carlos." Melissa asked her what she
meant and Daysha said, "Carlos is Paprikan just like the stuff you are
using!" (Their friend Carlos is Puerto Rican!) -- Melissa Buchanan of
Youngstown, Ohio
MacKenzie, 4, was describing her new baby sister Rosie (a preemie).
"Poppy, Rosie has a mall head," said MacKenzie, who can''t pronounce
"small." Poppy responded, "Of course she does, she gets that gene from her
Nanny and Mommy." -- Amy (aunt of Kenzie) of Butler, Pennsylvania
After her daughter passed away, Nancy had her two young grandsons,
ages 2 and 4, living with her. "I wish I had written down more of what
they did and said, but that was a very difficult time for all of us," Nancy
recalls. She remembers attempting to teach Gary, 3, to whisper. One
evening after reminding him to "talk softly, please whisper," he declared
in his typical three-year-old no-nonsense tone, "I like to talk loud!"
"Why?" Nancy asked. Gary answered matter-of-factly, "It makes you listen
to me!" -- Nancy Johnson of Laverne, Oklahoma
When Gary, 6, repeatedly failed to pay attention, Nancy asked, "Was
your mind somewhere else?" He looked surprised and replied, "No, my mind''s
right close to mine ears."
Pnina, 17 months, was playing on the bed (with supervision, of
course!) with one of their pet hamsters. She put the sheet over the
hamster, and said, "Geebeegoo! Geebeegoo!" (Peek-a-boo!) -- Brandel D.
Falk (Pnina''s mother) of Jerusalem, Israel

DEPRESSION BROWNIES
by Darlene A. Buechel
Last September, the day before Labor Day, our family worked up a sweat
jam-packing two vehicles with towels, pillows, clothes, and enough shoes to
outfit a small village in Zimbabwe.
Then we proceeded to unload everything and haul it up four flights of
stairs to my daughter''s dorm room at the University of Wisconsin at
Oshkosh.
Since Danielle is our oldest (and only daughter) I knew it would be
hard to "let go" but I told myself I would not be a blubbering, lunatic,
college mom.
In fact, I didn''t cry at all during moving day, but the following day
-- Labor Day. Now that was a different story. Even though it was bright
and sunny outside, I was feeling dark and gloomy, so I smoothed on
sunscreen and hopped on the riding lawn mower. Since we live on a farm and
have several acres to cut, I knew it would take a few hours. What I didn''t
know was I''d be sobbing the whole time!
I didn''t even make my first pass around the pond when it hit me --
Danielle wouldn''t be around every day. Oh, there would be weekends when
she''d breeze in with laundry and food requests, but having a day-to-day
daughter in the house to play scrabble, take walks, and discuss "girl
stuff" was part of the past.
I don''t know if moms feel the same "gut punch" when their sons go off
to college, but the pain is very real when the little girl who let you
braid her pigtails every day through fourth grade trades her 12 foot by 12
foot bedroom for a closet-size 4th floor sauna she has to share with a
total stranger (WHO COULD BE A CLOSET AXE-MURDERER!)
Actually Heidi (also known as axe-murderer) turned out to be a sweet,
cheerful, friendly roomie, but she had to prove herself first -- in my eyes
anyhow.
Meanwhile, back on the lawnmower, my tears finally dried as the mower
ran out of gas. I dashed inside, took a shower, and got ready for a Labor
Day cook-out by our friends Ruth and Roger. Since my husband was still in
the barn, I stirred up a batch of brownies to take to the party. Later
that night, when we sat in Rogers'' garage, someone asked me what I brought
in the foil covered pan.
"Oh, those are Depression Brownies," I answered.
"You mean an old family recipe passed down from your Grandma or
something?" Ruth asked.
"No, we moved Danielle into college yesterday. I was depressed, so I
made brownies." I tried to laugh it off, but the watery glint in the eyes
of two "college moms" at the picnic table told me I wasn''t alone.
Danielle truly enjoyed her freshman year at college and we liked
having her around over the summer (even though she worked everyday to help
pay next year''s tuition). But now it''s time to pack clothes, towels, and
shoe collection once again and start a new year at school.
Recently my niece Shannon, a high school senior, asked Dani for the
top two things she learned about surviving that crucial first year of
college.
"Keep your dorm room open. I met my three best friends the first week
of school when I was sitting around listening to music and they walked in
with, ''Hey, I love that song!''" Dani shared.
"Also, don''t room with a high school friend, or you won''t have the
incentive to meet new people."
I thought they were both good pieces of advice. (But of course, you
should lock your dorm room at night and when you''re not there!)
As a veteran college-mom, I also had advice for Shannon''s mom:
Expect to cry a few buckets of tears, but be sure to treat yourself
too. Buy a new scented candle, fuzzy sweater, or romance book and then
whip up a big batch of "Depression Brownies" and give in to the chocolate
rush. And just remember -- the hug of a loved one and a sinfully rich
piece of dessert can get you though almost anything -- even freshman
move-in day!
-- Darlene A. Buechel <dar @ tcei.com>

BIRTHDAY SURPRISES
by Kay Seefeldt
Several years ago I''d come upon the idea of registering our backyard
with the National Wildlife Federation,
But time would somehow manage to slip by before I remembered my plans.
I wanted to have actual "evidence" in the form of a certificate rather
than an IOU note stuck in his card. This year was no exception.
Roy''s birthday would be the next day. I had the strawberries for his
tra***ional strawberry short cake, but I still hadn''t thought of a really
unique surprise for him. Of course, I still hadn''t gotten around to
getting the paperwork to register our backyard again when it dawned on me
that I could possibly go online to register! Computers are such great
tools. Much better than toasters and irons or hammers and saws.
Finally, Roy went to bed. He knows I like to answer a few emails
before my bedtime, so he wouldn''t be suspicious of me hanging out on the
computer and surfing with Jeeves.
It was so easy. I typed "register backyard wildlife habitat" in the
search box and up popped a link I could use. The survey was quick and easy
to fill out and then, with a leap of faith that a hacker wouldn''t steal my
identity, I sent my Visa card information, and I was done!
Smugly, I stuck a note in Roy''s card telling him his birthday gift was
in a document on the desktop.
We are officially Backyard Wildlife Habitat #44615.
The hard copy of the transaction congratulated us and informed us our
certificate and lovely sign would be in the mail in a few weeks.
Next morning, I guided Roy to his gift on the computer screen. I knew
I''d taken him by surprise with his exclamation of "Cool!"
The signed arrived just like the National Wildlife Federation said it
would. Then Roy made a post, using some of his handy dandy tools, while he
waited for me to decide on the "perfect" place in our extensive garden to
put it.
Not long after the sign was in place, I was again working at my
computer during the evening when I thought Roy had thrown an elastic or
something springy in my direction to get my attention.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"Didn''t you just throw something?" I inquired. When he declared he
had not, I asked, "Well, what the heck just sprang in my direction?"
I got up from my chair to investigate. Sitting on the ruby red carpet
was the "rubber band" -- a little green frog! I couldn''t believe my eyes
as I stared at the little critter. Evidently, he couldn''t believe his
either as he stared right back at me.
"How the heck did he get in here?" I queried. Gently, I picked him up
to introduce our surprise house guest to Roy. A little green tree frog
about two inches long. My favorite. I just love their little suction cup
toes. After much deliberation, we decided he must have hitched a ride in
on Roy''s pant leg while he''d been outside about an hour before.
"I know why he visited. He came to wish you a hoppy belated
birthday." I then took several digital pictures of him as proof and let
him go in the garden by the front doorstep.
When I came back in Roy chuckled, "I think you''d better order up
another sign from the National Wildlife Federation. This one needs to say
''Living Room Wildlife Habitat''."
Hmmm... Christmas is coming, I''d better get my "thinking cap" on, as
my mother used to say, to come up with another gift idea.
-- Kay Seefeldt <birdnest @ megalink.net>

MY FIRST FRIEND
by Beth Fryer
Don''t know what brought him to mind.
I was doing the laundry and he just flew into my mind. I thought
again about sending him a note or giving him a call. But that would be
goofy, I suppose. Guess he''d think I was pretty crazy. I''d thought about
doing that before, but always figured it was a goofy idea.
He was my first friend.
He lived next door to me back in the fifties when life was new and
fresh and summer mornings woke up slowly, with my mom and his mom chatting
across the fence below my bedroom window. He had a family that spanned
generations -- his oldest sister was only a year or two younger than my
parents, he was a year and a half younger than I was. And he had a brother
and four other sisters in between, and many of those sisters played with us
and took us for popsicles. Life was simple and grand.
We spent lots of time on the swings in my yard. Eating purple grapes
on our vine and the green ones on his. Visiting his grandmother who lived
on the other side of the double home that was his. She always had Hershey
bars for us and they were always in the refrigerator! And that''s the best
way. Even now.
You remember the things you did with first friends. Like opening
umbrellas in his living room and pretending we were camping. That was our
tent, and we always figured our parakeet was camping with us in that little
cage the umbrella has at the top!
And the fish worm farms. What fun it was to dig deep holes and
collect the fish worms. I can only imagine how his mom felt about the fact
that we then housed them in her basement. Needless to say, they never
lasted long there! But bless her heart, it wasn''t because SHE said get rid
of them... it was because fish worms don''t live very long in basements!
I had a little blue car with pedals. He had a little red fire engine.
We''d ride all the way to the other end of the street, over and over.
Years later, a woman who lived at that end of the street reminisced about
hearing us, parked in our little cars, discussing getting married some day.
But that didn''t happen, of course. I went to school two years before
he did. We made friends of our own gender and our own grades. But I''d
follow the changing music choices coming from his bedroom across the
sidewalks from mine, and sometimes we''d talk across those windows from each
other. And summer nights every now and again, we''d sit in our back yards
and remember.
I suppose we were young adults the last time that happened. And his
parents died, and mine moved away, and then so did he. And I moved 35
miles and a lifetime away from that town, and we lost touch. He never
married, and I don''t know what he did with his life. I married, divorced,
doted on my daughter and her family, and taught in an elementary school.
And every now and then, I thought about contacting him.
On Thursday, my dad told me. Paulie died.
I thought of him last Tuesday. He was my first friend.
-- Beth Fryer <bfryer @ nbn.net>

LOVE IS THE GOLDEN''S LIGHT
by Kathy Anne Harris
Many came to look us over when we
were wee golden puffs of fluff
And of their smiles and laughter,
well I simply could not get enough
Though I''d miss my siblings and mom,
you could have all of the rest
Because being with humans, for me,
was just beyond doubt the best.
To be in their company, I knew,
I would leave all else behind
For thoughts of being with them
were always filling my mind
When a young girl and her parents
said they had decided on me
There was a smile on my face,
and I was bursting with glee.
My mom''s human kin said, "You''ll love him,
he''s a sweet as can be!"
As my new dad lifted me up, he then said,
"I certainly hope so. We''ll see."
"Here, take his toy," she added, and smiled.
"From it he does not stray far."
He sighed, as he tucked it under his arm,
then carried me out to their car.
When they got home they put me in
the backyard with a grizzled little guy
He seemed all bones and fur, and studied
me through white-clouded eyes
I stood waiting for him to walk over
and check me out, but he was too spent
Too weak to lean forward and give me a sniff;
he dropped to the stained cement.
The next morning the man came out
and gave us each a bowl of dry food
I was hungry; it had been a day since
I''d eaten and it sure looked good
But later, as I sat the under the hot, hot sun,
I felt bad, then quickly got sick
Afterward, I looked for some water
and found only a dripping faucet to lick.
I suddenly felt lonely as I looked around...
the older dog had fallen asleep
But, in the gravel, oh what a find. My toy!
A treasure that was mine to keep
With toy in my mouth, I returned to the dog,
he was trembling as he slept
I dropped down beside him, snuggled close,
and whimpering softly, I wept.
The girl often came out and spent time
with us, she loved to bring us treats
But the first thing she''d do is give us
each a bowl of fresh, cool water to drink
Those brights days for my dog companion
and me, kept us from feeling alone
When we shared those special hours
with her, it was then I felt I was home.
She''d lovingly hug the small dog tenderly
to her, whisper softly in his ear
Then she would turn to me and we''d lose
ourselves in happy, happy play
These were the best of days for me,
it felt so good just having her near
It seemed all too soon our fun would end --
she was never allowed long to stay.
Each time before she''d leave,
she would caress her scraggly-furred friend
Then she''d hold my head in her hands,
saying, "I, too, wish it wouldn''t end."
As she gave me my toy she would kiss me,
whispering, "Don''t be sad!
"You two are my family and I love you.
You''re the best friends I''ve ever had."
As the summer weeks went by and
warm days made way for the cold
I noticed the little dog had grown thinner.
And I saw him quickly grow old
One night he couldn''t stop shivering.
So I laid next to him to keep him warm
As he leaned into me and sighed his thanks
I could tell he was very ill
When morning broke cold and frosty
the dog at my side lay so terribly still.
He had gone on to Rainbow Bridge and
he played now in cool tall grass
I knew he was warm, free, and happy.
I licked him once to bid him goodbye
Then the man came out, wrapped him in a bag,
and carried him to the trash
I tried to follow. What he did, it seemed so wrong.
Then, I heard the girl cry!
Oh, no! I pressed up against the glass.
Somebody, please let me in!
I pawed at the sliding door,
then I whined and gave a couple good barks
But the man hurried over; pulled shut
the blinds and I was forgotten, once again.
I walked back to the fence, looked across the way,
through the slats at a grassy green park
I gazed longingly at the people there with their dogs,
and watched them ''til long after dark.
The next night the man led me through the gate;
out front where I''d never been
Confused and frightened, where nothing was familiar,
I ran back to retrieve my toy
It was there, by the door. I was so happy, I wagged
my tail, picked it up, and grinned
Warily, I returned to the man.
He then kicked me while hissing, "Get outta here, boy!"
I slowly looked around me, I didn''t know
what to do and I had no where to go
But there in the park, above a stone bench
and patch of grass, one bright light shone
I heard the gate close behind me, I looked right and left,
then strode across the street
I curled up under the bench thinking of the
old dog and the girl, and finally fell asleep.
Deep into the rough winter, from country
roads to busy towns I did roam
Looking for someone who would take me in,
for a place that I could call home
Then came spring and I grew so tired,
I became sick and lost track of time
I collapsed in a field of dried grass and dust
with no person or place to call mine.
Then, through the haze of my fevered dreams,
I saw her standing at my side
She was murmuring as she bent down
and reached out to cradle my head
"You poor babe! How long have you lain here?
Come on, we''re going for a ride."
I wagged my tail, kissed her hand, tried to get up,
but fell into darkness instead.
When I awoke I was on a table,
in an examining room, at the office of a vet
The doctor took some blood for tests,
checked my heart, my eyes, and my ears
"He''s so thin and dehydrated. Where will he be going?
Have you decided yet?"
"Yes, I''ll foster him at home with me."
She hugged me and I felt the wet of her tears.
I was at the vet''s for a very long time,
receiving treatments that would make me well
I had surgery, shots, and pills to take and I can''t
say I liked all of what they had done
When my foster mom would visit, she''d say with a smile,
"You''re getting better, I can tell."
On a cool autumn morn she took me to her home,
a place, amid hills lit gold by the sun.
Wagging my tail I carried it gently
then laid in the palm of her hand, my toy
A gift from my heart and all that I''d
had to keep me company and give me joy
I wanted her to know that now I would wait
with her to find my forever home
It was my way to thank her, for I had no
plans or desires at all now to roam.
Mine is not the happiest of tales,
but it certainly is not the worst
We are a goldmine, if those of you
searching would just see our worth.
When you look at me now you''ll see a smile,
and a question in my eyes
Have you a place in your heart and
your home for this faded Golden boy?
If you spend some time with me,
it shouldn''t take you too long to realize
The dog standing there -- with his faded, dirty,
and beloved old toy...
is so willing for you to take him home,
to give him a fresh new start
And given time, he is the Golden whose love
will capture your own heart!
-- Kathy Anne Harris <bluebelliedlizard @ earthlink.net>

THE GROCERY BLUES
by Maria Harden
I hate grocery shopping with a passion.
I didn''t always hate it. Years ago there were fewer choices available
which meant buying a week''s worth of groceries only took about a half-hour.
Now a trip to the grocery store bombards us with more food selections than
I ever knew were out there, and we spend far too much time and money on
prolonged shopping.
On my latest shopping ordeal I inserted my refundable quarter into the
device on the shopping cart, but the locking mechanism on the cart would
not release, nor would it give me back my quarter. I tried again with a
second cart and it would not accept my quarter at all this time. On the
third try, I finally found a cart that took my money, but a wayward wheel
made navigation a bit awkward. The cart veered left when I wanted to go
right, and sometimes the wheels refused to spin at all. I''ve heard of
dancing to the beat of a different drummer, but never pushing to the beat
of a different wheel!
When did food shopping become a social event? It is frustrating
trying to maneuver past shopping carts blocking the aisle. Stores should
put in a visiting lane. That way, folks who meet their friends and want to
chat, can step politely aside and let others go through. Kind of like golf
course etiquette where a faster foursome is allowed to play through a
slower one.
It is nice to have a variety of food items that appeal to health
issues, personal taste, or convenience, but hasn''t it gotten out of hand?
I applaud clothing and dishwashing detergent being available in
compressed cubes, taking the guesswork out of measuring, but I ponder the
enigma of toilet tissue. It comes in one ply, two ply, single rolls,
double rolls, quilted. To my knowledge, they haven''t come out with scented
or colored yet, although that''s probably next.
If I want Ranch dressing, I have to decide among Original, Peppercorn,
or Buttermilk, then low fat, no fat, fat free, or light.
The last thing I want to do is choose among orange juice with pulp,
extra pulp, or no pulp, and whether I want it in a carton, bottle, or
frozen concentrate.
Milk comes in 1%, 2%, skim, whole, half-and-half, soy, goat, and
lactose-free, to name a few. I appreciate that many consumers prefer diet
and caffeine free colas, but I would rather enjoy the real thing than one
flavored with cherry or vanilla.
Then there''s cereal. In my day we had little more than Corn Flakes
and Rice Krispies. I really don''t want cereal that has the artificial
taste of French toast, cinnamon rolls, or chocolate. The price alone is
enough to make me gag. Does everything have to be sugar-coated, neon
colored, artificially flavored, larger than life, extra big, super-sized,
extreme, or bulk?
Why am I penalized financially for buying a small box of cereal if I
have no need for the super-duper size? Why does the elimination or
reduction of salt make the item cost more? And does everything have to be
instant, where the ad***ion of water magically turns a dehydrated product
into something we are fooled into thinking is food?
When the cashier inquired if I had found everything, I said no. She
didn''t question me further, and I was too shopping weary to offer details.
I think cashiers are programmed to ask this question, assuming most
customers will answer in the affirmative. When someone answers "no," they
have no idea how to deal with it.
An error on my bill made me wonder about the electronic scanning
system. I am considering a daily visit to the grocery store to buy what I
need each day, using a hand basket instead of a cart.
But as for most choices, who needs ''em? I would just like my quarter back.
-- Maria Harden <mharden @ mts.net>

SANDY, THE WORKING DOG
by B.J. Cassady
"DeWayne, DeWayne!" my uncle would shout from his room at 5am every
morning.
"Yes," replied his son.
"Time to get up," countered my uncle.
"Melissa..." The process would repeat itself.
"Bobby!" It was my turn. I was called Bobby as a child even though
my legal full name is B.J. I guess my uncle called me Bobby because my
father''s name was Bob.
So started each and every morning on the farm. DeWayne would fire up
the propane heater in the living room where we would huddle around it
warming our clothes and ourselves. My job, as the youngest, would entail
going to the front door and shouting, "Sandy, Sandy, fetch the cattle!"
While we were getting our warm work clothes on, Sandy -- the mixed
breed medium sized dog -- would run towards the barn and jump over the
corral fence, head off to the pasture and walk the cattle in to the corral.
DeWayne would go to the barn first and open the gate from the pasture
to the corral. Melissa would gather the buckets used for milking, and I
would gather the milk can and put the filters in it after I pumped the
"holding can" full of water to keep the milk can cool.
My aunt would be starting breakfast while my uncle and the rest of us
would be feeding the hens, doing small work and waiting on Sandy to bring
the cattle in. The cattle would lumber into the corral while Sandy herded
them gently nipping at their feet.
My uncle would bring in four cattle at a time into the barn to milk.
Their heads would be constrained while the milking was being done. The
splat of the milk hitting the bottom of the milk buckets is a sound I will
not forget. If the cats got to close a quick kick sent them out of the
way.
After a short while, the cows would be milked and the bucket would be
poured into the larger milk can. The filter would separate off the crud
from the milk.
After washing our hands we would hit the breakfast table and eat our
sausages, oatmeal and chase it down with a still warm glass of milk. If
you''ve ever done this and tasted the bitter taste of cows that have eaten
what we called "milk weed," you know what I''m talking about.
I was always impressed with Sandy. How did she know how to walk the
cattle? She basically took care of herself, and enjoyed playing with me.
She craved a person''s touch.
I guess about 12 summers had passed when I asked my uncle, "Where''s Sandy?"
"Did you check her bed?" he replied.
Her bed was just a pile of rags on the warmer side of the garage. I
found her there. She had died during the night. Old age, I guess.
I remember the last couple of years she couldn''t jump over the fence
anymore, but had to crawl under it. But she still did her job.
Rest well, Sandy. Here''s hoping I will see you one day in heaven.
-- B.J. Cassady <bj.cassady @ af-group.com>

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Paige, 7, was playing beautician and her grandma, Patsy, was her
"customer." When she was done, she was proud of her work. Grandma had
five ponytails scattered over her head and about six barrettes. Paige told
her grandma that she looked much younger with her hair that way. "You
almost look like a kid again," Paige said. Then Paige looked really
closely at her grandmother and said, "Now, if we can just do something
about those wrinkles... I know what. We''ll just slap a little make up on
them and no one will ever know!" -- Patsy Campbell of Portland, Tennessee
Caleb, 3, had a mosquito bite on his forehead. He wanted to call his
aunt to talk to her. When he got on the phone he said, "I have a pimple on
my forehead. And it''s mine. My very first pimple!" He was so excited!
-- Amanda Gehringer (Caleb''s mom) of Sterling Hts., Michigan
Several years ago Michelle''s oldest daughter Katie, then 5, came down
with chicken pox. A week later her younger daughter Nicole, 4, got the
spots. A week after that Kyle, 1, got the spots. They hated the itching
and pink spots, but they loved the treat of having their favorite cereal,
Cocoa Pops, while they were sick. One day a wee after everyone was healed,
their father was sitting on the floor with his shirt off, watching TV.
Nicole walked over to look more closely at his many brown moles and "age
spots." Then she declared that Daddy had "Co-co Pox" and she asked if they
itched! -- Michelle Monte of Oshkosh, Wisconsin
Nina noticed her 3-year-old son Miggy Boy was about to fall asleep.
She told him to go to the bathroom before going to sleep. He said firmly,
"No, Mama!" But his mother knew if he didn''t pee, he might wet the bed.
She told him to try again. Really frustrated, he stood up, removed his
underwear and said, "Look, Mama, it''s not working!" -- Nina Pascual
(mother of Miggy Boy) of Singapore
Emilie, 8, and Megan, 3, were telling their grandmother about their
new dog. Their grandmother asked their mother if Rudy was "fixed" yet and
their mother said the dog was not. Megan piped up, "He''s still broken,
right, Mom?" -- Sheila Thompson (grandmother of Emilie and Megan) of
Cobble Hill, BC, Canada
Here is another one from Sheila. Emilie and Megan were splashing in
the pool under the apple tree. Sheila pointed out to them the young
apples. Emilie wanted to know when they would be ready to eat. Sheila
said, "Not for a while. They are still baby apples." Megan thought for a
moment and then asked, "Well, when will they be mother apples?"
When her granddaughter Holly was 5 and getting ready to move to
Florida, Cindy told her she would take her out for a Grandma-granddaughter
day. Cindy told Holly she could pick any place she wanted to eat. Holly
chose Panera''s, which is known for its homemade breads, soups and
sandwiches. Cindy had never been there. When it was time to order, Holly
said she wanted French onion soup. Knowing that lots of little kids don''t
care for onions, Cindy asked her, "Are you sure you want that? It has
onions in it." Her indignant reply was to put her hands on her hips and
say, "Why GRANDMA! Of COURSE it has onions in it! Why do you think they
call it French onion soup!?" She then turned to the server and said, "And
I''ll take mine in the bread basket, please." -- Cindy Bevington of Angola,
Indiana
Sarah, 2, and Devin, 3, were playing. Sarah said to Devin, "Let''s
play school. I''ll be the teacher." Devin said, "No, I am the teacher."
Heidi, Sarah''s mother said, "Why don''t we have two teachers?" Sarah said,
"Oh, that''s a great idea." Then she turned to Devin and said, "I am both
teachers!" -- Heidi Murphy (mother of Sarah, aunt of Devin) of Austin,
Texas
Lynn was preparing to have her son Justin''s 6th birthday party last
weekend. During the prior week, they were discussing who Justin wanted to
invite. They just moved this past May, but there was one little girl
(Kennedy) from his old school who he was very close to that he wanted to
invite, and who he had referred to as his "girlfriend" all through
kindergarten last year. There was also a girl in first grade at his new
school (Zoe), that he wanted to invite. Lynn''s fiancee'' teased Justin,
saying that the two girls were going to be jealous and would fight over
him. Justin strongly denied this, saying, "No, Mr. Rob, I''m not
fight-bait!" -- Lynn Bowie of Gonzales, Louisiana
Recently Bonnie approached a neighbor child, Melissa, who is 3.
Bonnie announced how big Melissa had grown. Melissa replied, "Yes, I know.
But my feet have grown, too!" -- Bonnie King-Moran of Homestead, Florida
Waverly, 8, saw a sign saying that Pier One Imports was coming soon at
that location. Her mother Dart said, "I like Pier One Imports; we''ll have
fun looking around in there some times." Waverly replied, "Pear One?
That''s all they sell, imported pears?" -- Dart of San Diego, California

"HEY, WATCHYA DOIN''?"
by Kathy Anne Harris
More than two decades ago, Paula came to work in the task area where
we shared an office.
She had been given the position I had been vying for. It didn''t seem
at all fair. I labored to make her feel uncomfortable and unwanted. But
because of her indomitable spirit she kept pressing onward with her
positive attitude, generous smile, and infectious friendliness.
But I was not easily won over. I was miserable and worked overtime to
counter her goodness.
Deep down I had to admit there wasn''t much about her to not like. She
was Pollyanna and I was "The Bad Seed."
Shame and guilt eventually made me feel loathsome. Perhaps she saw
through my bristly facade. I truly hope at the time there was some essence
of good that glinted from my soul''s innards. I''m guessing there was and
she coaxed that spider silk thread out with her charm and began to weave
the web of our friendship.
Understandably, a friendship is a two-way mechanism. A relationship
functions best when both individuals proffer the finest qualities from
their heart and soul. I had a lot of catching up to do and, consistent
with my nature, I extended myself wholeheartedly.
Her friendship was a shining gem that sparkled brightly before my
eyes. What she offered was beyond description or value. The bond that two
beings can cement which lasts a lifetime... Friendship!
The saying, "Hey, watchya doin''?" became a part of our bitter, joyous,
disheartening, thrilling, ecstatic, crushing, and wondrous happenings that
living life brings.
Those were the words I stammered the night I drove over to her house
and apologized for how I had treated her when we first met, admitting I had
been cruel.
I should have gone to her earlier in our relationship and apologized.
She never spoke of my treatment of her in those first days. She never told
me that my actions had hurt her.
But when I asked her to forgive me she began to cry and all the pain I
had been responsible for was etched on her face. She merely nodded. Then
smiled at me.
We hugged and cried together.
I heard those words from her during the rough days when her marriage
was falling apart and she needed to talk. When there was a suicide in the
family she spoke that phrase through the tear-choked pain of loss.
Though we no longer work in the same area, we still work for the same
organization. No matter where the job assignment, stress is part and
parcel of the job. And many times we''ve phoned the other with the
question, "Hey, watchya doin''?"
We have seen heartbreaking human suffering, abuse, and loss. As much
as we might try to "leave it all at the office" we cannot always shove it
in the desk drawer, turn off the lights and head home with a peaceful
spirit.
It is at such times we have sought solace in each other.
"Hey, watchya doin''?" she said. "Why don''t you come on over tonight
for dinner? We need to talk." I did, and she introduced me to her fiance
-- a wonderful man who would give her all that she deserved. The joy of a
good marriage. She was long overdue!
She has asked me that question when her voice bubbled over with
happiness because she wanted to tell me her daughter was engaged. And
again, twice, each time she learned her daughter was pregnant.
"Hey, watchya doin''?"
That evening we got together and shared our fears. We were no longer
young women and the fast rushing reality of years gone by seemed to hit us
at roughly the same time.
"My folks are getting older. Oh, Kathy! I am so afraid of losing
them." Tears burned hot in my eyes.
"Me, too." My father had died years earlier but my mother and step
father were still alive and very much a part of my life.
"Hey, watchya doin''?" I asked one late afternoon. "I just got in from
work."
"Why?" she replied.
Emotion choked me as I tried to squeeze the words past my constricted
throat. "I have cancer..."
On another afternoon, when I woke up from surgery, I saw her face. By
her side was her youngest daughter. They both smiled tremulously. Their
eyes shimmering wet. Their expressions full of love and hope. They had a
gift and a card for me, but to this day I cannot tell you what the gift
was.
All I saw was the glow of a loving friendship reflecting back to me --
the years we had shared our secrets and hopes, our fears and triumphs.
"Love you!" she said.
"I love you, too." I garbled roughly through my tears. "Thank you for
being my friend."
Two and a half years have passed since that afternoon. We still greet
each other with that old phrase. And every now and then we will say...
"Love you! Thank you for being my friend."
And when I say those words, I count myself blessed to have your
friendship, Paula.
"I love you. Thank you..."
-- Kathy Anne Harris <bluebelliedlizard @earthlink.net>

EVERYTHING I LOVE AND NEED
by Jaye Lewis
Purina One. As their advertisement proclaims it will make your dog''s
coat shiny. Purina''s weight control formula will keep your dog slim and
strong.
However, not even Purina could possibly know that they just may have
saved my Dachshund''s life, not once -- but three times!
Happy Dog, was a little over a year old, when his hair began to fall
out. When I took him to the vet, she did a scraping, examined it under the
microscope, and came back with the bad news. Happy had demodectic mange, a
potentially life-threatening con***ion in an adult dog.
My heart skipped beats when I heard the diagnosis. When the vet told
me, that in dogs older than a year, it can signal a break-down of the
immune system, my blood turned to ice.
Immediately, Happy went into treatment, with a powerful insecticide
that is sponged onto the dog, and allowed to dry. It can cause dangerous
side-effects. Three treatments are required, and in Happy Dog''s case, four
were necessary. He became so sick after the last dip, that we were afraid
we''d lose him. I hovered over him until he began to pull out of his toxic
state. It was thirty-six hours of hell, but he pulled through.
I also switched Happy Dog from his old dog food to Purina One Weight
Control Formula, to protect his immune system and to keep him slim.
His coat took on a beautiful sheen. I exercised him every day. I
limited his treats. His muscle tone was so extraordinary, that every vet
who saw him remarked on it. In the nearly six years that Happy has been on
Purina One, he has not suffered a single recurring episode of demodectic
mange.
Then, in January 2004, Happy "went down" with a leaky spinal disc. He
struggled like a champion, never giving in to the pain, but his eyes told
me that he depended upon me to stop his pain. Would I be able to make that
horrible decision, if necessary, to hold him in my arms as he was quietly
put to sleep? Oh God! Not my Happy Dog! Please! I couldn''t bear it!
Surgery is expensive. Our family rallied. Everyone contributed from
savings, especially our daughters, who insisted on donating part of their
college money. Happy had his first spinal surgery at Virginia Tech
Veterinary Hospital, in Blacksburg, Virginia, two hours away. We were
warned that he might not walk for weeks, even months.
One hour out of surgery, Happy wobbled to his feet and walked!
Emotionally and financially, we were not prepared for a second disc
leakage a month later. This time, obtaining the money we needed was
nothing short of miraculous! God provided every penny down to gas and cost
of food! We were given the drill, again. Happy would be going home on a
cart. I didn''t care, as long as he wasn''t suffering, and he was alive. My
face couldn''t wait for that first tongue lashing!
Happy didn''t rally, immediately. This time, it took Happy Dog half a
day to walk!
Everyone at Virginia Tech called him the "miracle dog!" Happy
wobbled, but he walked! He amazed everyone!
When I last spoke with Happy Dog''s surgeon, I asked him if Purina One
Weight Control Formula could have been responsible for Happy''s remarkable
recovery.
"Well," he said, "to tell you the truth, it certainly helped to give
Happy the best muscle-tone I have ever seen. He''s the healthiest Dachshund
I''ve ever operated on. In fact, Happy has been carrying around those
slow-leaks for years. I had to pull them off the spinal cord. He should
not be walking. The Purina One Weight Control diet, and the consistent
exercise program you have kept him on, along with Happy''s unconquerable
spirit, have certainly contributed to Happy''s remarkable recovery. Someone
was certainly looking out for Happy Dog."
So, Purina One, I salute you, and I thank you!
Thanks also to Dr. Hopkins and the incomparable staff at Virginia
Tech. And a special thank you to that "Someone" who looks after all our
pets.
By the grace of God, I still have Happy Dog, a bit wobbly in the hind
end, but still everything I love and need!
-- Jaye Lewis <jlewis @ smyth.net>
THINK TWICE
Have you ever tried to give an injection to a moving target? This is
what I have to do daily for my foster dog, Owen. It is really awful. He
hates getting them as much as I hate giving them to him. I have never
given an injection to anything or anyone and this has truly been a trying
experience.
I have to give Owen injections, as well as medicine for hookworms and
Toxemia daily. He can only eat a special prescription food from the vet in
small portions 4 times a day.
When Owen first came into the program he was so emaciated and
dehydrated that he could not hold food or water in his stomach. He weighs
53 pounds and he should weigh in the 80s.
Every time I have to give him medicine or injections I get angry all
over again.
You see, I am angry at his former owners, and I really use that term
loosely. How could they not feed him or give him water or take him to the
vet to be treated for worms. It was not until he was picked up by Animal
Control and we rescued him that he got the medical treatment he needed.
Whenever I am fixing his dinner, he sits right beside me with his paw
up ready to shake my hand in exchange for food. This breaks my heart
because I just wonder if he did that with his former owners while they
completely ignored him. Was he tied up in the yard and fed only when they
felt like it? Was he at the end of his chain begging for attention as
people just walked on by?
These are all images I have in my head every time I have to give him
medicine and feed him. I wish people would carefully consider owning a dog
and not just buy the cute little puppy in the window. I really wish they
would think about the food and vet expenses they are going to incur. I
know in a perfect world that would happen. However, this world is not
perfect, so the people in rescue will keep trudging on trying to save one
more forgotten member of someone''s family.
I don''t know what it is about Owen, but when you meet him he is a
young dog with an old, gentle soul. He''s playful and sweet, but when he
gets your attention and looks at you with those eyes -- it''s almost
captivating. I can''t even see what he looks like, only what he''s going to
be.
-- Angela Walker <alwalker @ academicplanet.com>
___________________________________________
Angela says, "I run a foster home for Houston Collie Rescue. I live in
Liberty, Texas, with my 3 resident collies and Owen, my foster collie."
You can see Angela''s babies at: http://loveourpets.com/mycolliehaven
___________________________________________
RESPONSE TO GARY''S ANIMAL ABUSE STATEMENTS
Dear Petwarmers:
Hooray for Gary! Not to diminish Gary''s originality, but this is the
same, straight-forward, common-sense approach to curbing animal -- and
child -- abuse that several noted psychologists would espouse.
We need to be teaching more responsibility to our children, as well as
to immature and unfeeling adults of any age, and allow them to see, feel,
understand and remedy the consequences of their actions. It could go a
long way toward "decreasing the surplus population" in animal shelters as
well as domestic violence shelters.
-- Debi <Puffins1 @ aol.com>