Karma?

The realtor called me this afternoon. He told me that the realtor/owner of the house I was so taken by sent him an email saying that the house could be mine for the rock bottom price of $388, sumptin sumptin. Wow! What a deal! NOT! Besides, the property still doesn't work for me. He also told me that the guy is current right now on payments but if he doesn't sell it he will be in foreclosure. Really? A realtor trapped himself in a house he can't afford? Either that is a sales ploy, or the real estate market really, really sucks right now for the, once upon a time, fat cats that encouraged everyone else to bite on sub prime loans to fatten their own commissions.

Went house hunting with the realtor last Thursday. Looked at about 10 houses. Only two were exceptional. One, located further away from town on 3.24 acres, had a very nice home with a huge master bed room, a galley kitchen complete with a suspended rack (?) for hanging your pots and pans. Gas range, oversized garage door perfect for fitting my truck in, and although there were no outbuildings for the horses, at least I wouldn't have to fight with someone else's version of how the property should be set up. On the down side, the first thing I noticed about the house was how dark it was inside. Granted they had the blinds drawn and the walls were painted that light chocolate color, but there were not a lot of windows available to let light in. The master bed room didn't even have a south facing window that I remember. I immediately though of the tube lights that Stan had installed in his Colorado home. Then again, I couldn't see having to go through the expense and inconvenience of installing said lights in a house that was listed for $375,000. The biggest draw would be the acerage, the fact that it is on a cul de sac and bordered on two sides by 100 and 80 acre privately owned land.

The second house was in Golden Valley, the location I am most interested in. The house was absolutely gorgeous! I'm not even sure I can describe it well, and I am kicking myself for not thinking to bring along my digital camera. The inside is open and victorian-like. Large slate slab flooring in the Family room which is just a big open room. There are french doors off the side that lead to the deck. Sliding doors on the perpendicular wall that lead to the back yard. ceiling high bookshelves on the back wall. A few steps and the room flows into the kitchen. There is a hutch built into one wall. The kitchen itself is also open. the counter is a long L shape, there is a large old fashioned multi-paned window over the kitchen sink. A dining table sits neatly in the floor space in the kitchen with lots of room left over. The master was huge. The rest of the house was very nice but I couldn't get over the kitchen/living area. When the realtor said it was time to go, I literally didn't want to leave this house. I absolutely loved it. The downside.... the owner had turned about 1/2 of the back property into a park like area complete with pond and fountain. Perfect I imagine for most, but besides being a water sucking, mosquito breeding resort, that left very little room for the horse set up out back. While there is an old barn of sorts (it was locked up as the owners were using it for storage), but no where to put up a small riding arena or round corrals for breaking. The property is also inhabited by a realtor. My realtor say's that is a good thing because they already know the game when it comes to negotiations and tend not to get emotionally wrapped up in their houses. Unfortunately, perhaps because he is a realtor, he has priced this house below comp price for sq ft for the area so that probably leaves very little wiggle room on a piece of property that is listed for $399,900! Not in my league at all but man (!) that house was so beautiful and welcoming, it was all I could think about, and still is.

Timing is Everything

Well, as usual the universe is guiding me. Perhaps it is merely a hormonal influence that prompts me into action after months of procrastination. Maybe it is the change in the weather to more spring like conditions. I doubt it. When I begin to do things that are right for me at the right moment, I function on a sort of auto pilot. I am not trance like, I just go through the necessary steps without extraneous motion or better said, emotion. I don't stress over stress, I don't feel overwhelmed, I don't even think about procrastinating, and at the other spectrum, I don't feel giddy or excited or anything really. I just DO, and it is effortless, like auto pilot.

Such is the case so far in my quest for a home of my own after 30 years without. On an impulse I drove by a house that I had seen listed in a neighborhood that I would like. It doesn't really look like "the one" but that triggered a call to my old realtor. He is no longer doing real estate, I think he was too honest and nice, but his big brother is still in the business. Unintentionally, he became my realtor. Is he good? Will I like him as well as I liked his brother? Who knows, but I bet he is the right one for me because the way I see it, I didn't choose him, he was choosen for me.

Back in November, I called a mortgage broker I had worked with two (or was it three?), years ago when I first tried to search for a house. She sent me the loan application via email. The attachment sat in my inbox until just yesterday. Today it is complete and we will meet this Friday afternoon. I felt none of the sense of dread at what I had been percieving as a daunting task as I filled out the application and copied all of the necessary documentation. Again, it was effortless.

So now all of the events have been set in motion for the house hunt. I didn't think that I wanted to start yet. Consciously I was looking at perhaps April ,but apparently the time is right now.

The Jinx of 3's?

It is said that events happen in threes.

I'm not sure that it is specific to bad events but that seems to be the way it occurs.I hope it doesn't hold true this time.

My neighbor just informed me that they are going to put down one of their dogs next week. The dog, I believe her name is Sam, (I must edit. Her name, I remember now, is Molly)has lost her hearing and most of her vision. She has lost control of her bowels. They believe that "She is just miserable."

I am sad for them, they take in abused and displaced Burnese Mountain dogs or cross breeds thereof. They have been through several dogs and it is their dedication that keeps them sane through the horror that is putting down a beloved family member.

A friend of mine at work has two purebred Burnese. Her male, Charlie, only six years old, has been diagnosed with a liver cancer that was found after it had already metastisized. Last week the vet told her that Charlie probably only has two weeks left to live. I worked with her this past Sunday but now I am afraid to ask her about Charlie. It may be too late and she is much like myself in that she doesn't want a bunch of people offering hollow condolences which, while full of the best intentions, only serve to refresh the grief.

My hope is that Rowdy is not number three. If you throw in ever weakening hips from dysplasia and blood in the stool, Rowdy is in much the same shape as Sam. I keep looking for the sign that he is miserable. Perhaps I am in denial, but I don't see it yet. Yesterday when I got home we played an old favorite game while I was changing into my sweats. I mock slap him with a sock or the leg of my sweats, and he lunges at me as if he were to bite me but he never does. As I try to block him with my feet, he becomes more "aggressive" in his mock attack. This usually throws me into a fit of the giggles which encourages him even more. While the game is not as physical or long lasting as it used to be, he still gets that mischevious grin and that light in his eyes when he realizes it's game on.

I thought that I would be willing to trade Rowdy's lingering demise for Charlies swift disease process. Maybe I still would, but I would never trade our fourteen years of adventures together for six short ones.

Doggie Dementia?

Last night I let my soon to be 14, deaf, cataract impaired, stool incontinent, hip crippled dog, Rowdy out for a while. I checked back at the storm door after about half an hour. No Rowdy. I called out "DOG!" though I'm not sure why because as I said, he is deaf, waited for a moment and when he didn't show, sat back down in front of the T.V.

About a half an hour later the whole scenario repeated. Still, I wasn't too concerned. He likes to go where the hay leaves fall on this side of the horse corral and graze on their delicate sweetness. I encourage this habit because at his advanced age his grooming habits (he used to bathe himself very much as a cat does) and breath leave a lot to be desired. He can use all the sweetness he can find. The third time I went to the door I became concerned. He is usually not gone that long. I had visions of him laying belly down, all fours sprawled out, as sometimes happens, on the icy ground unable to muster the strength or traction to upright himself. My other thought was that perhaps he had wandered into the dog pen behind the shed and the gate had closed behind him. I hoped for the latter scenario, feeling guilty now that I hadn't gone out to find him sooner.
I told the cat that I was going out to find his brother and threw on a coat. I walked to the spot where I expected to find him but he was not there. I checked the dog pen and the gate was shut but no dog inside. I started to panic a little and began shouting, "DOG! DOG!" I returned to the front yard expecting to find him sprawled out in the snow beyond the trees where I couldn't see him. "DOG!" And then I heard it. The distinct monotonic, staccato arf that has become his deaf dog bark.

"Arf....."

"Arf....."

"Arf....."

Sound seems to travel a little bit differently when the night is still and there is a lot of snow on the ground. To me it sounds like he is across the street, behind the neighbors house! He never leaves the yard and I can't imagine why he would travel that far this late at night. I'm more panicked now because the neighbors have two giant Burmese Mountain dogs and one of them likes to pick fights.

I see that the light is still on at their house. They are such good people, not to mention dog lovers (they have offered to be there for me when the inevitable arrives, as it does for all good dogs) and I am sure they will help me locate Rowdy. I dash back into the house and grab a flashlight. I consider changing from my street shoes to some snow boots but feel like I've already wasted too much time.

Back out the door, I start up the driveway. I don't hear his bark anymore.

"DOG!" Nothing.

"DOG!!" I still don't hear him and I'm sure he still doesn't hear me but what else shall I do? I start across the street when I hear him again. "Arf!"

He is behind me somewhere. He barks again. Definitely behind me. I spin around and start walking toward the field to the west of the house. Although it is dark, I see movement in the ditch in front of me. The flashlight reveals my deaf and nearly blind dog in the bottom of the ditch.
My ditches are not your average ditches. My house is on the downhill side of the street, and hills, dare I say, mountains, arise to the west and north. The ditch is built to handle large amounts of runoff from the hills. It is at least six feet across and five to six feet deep with a 36" (?) culvert under the driveway. Last spring they came along and lined several miles of ditch with medium sized rock to help prevent erosion. The rock makes it even more difficult to climb down into the ditch to retrieve my garbage cans after the "sanitation" drones throw them in there. But, I digress.

I shine the light on Rowdy. He has made a path in the snow down the middle of the length of ditch he has become trapped in. I can only imagine how he got in there. I'm guessing he was somewhere on top when he must have lost his balance and rolled to the bottom. I foolishly think that he will climb right out when he realizes I am there. He seems to sense something as he stumbles through the hard crusted snow, closer to the driveway end of the ditch where I am standing. I am yelling at him and clapping my hands in an effort to get him to come closer. He stares vacantly straight ahead and seems to be listening intently. I realize that he hasn't seen me yet. The vet has assured me that Rowdy's cataracts are in the preliminary stages, but I know that he is almost blind in the dark. I try to shine the flashlight on me while waving with my other hand as close to his field of vision as I can get, all the while yelling his name and making I-don't-remember-what-kind of noises, trying vainly to get his attention. He arfs once, turns, and starts to wander off in the opposite direction. I have to commit now. I scooch down the snow crusted bank of the ditch on my butt, feet first. Snow spills into my shoes. At the bottom Rowdy is still trying to travel in the other direction. I catch up to him and tap him on the rear. He startles as he always does when emerging from the shroud of his dark, silent world. I pick him up and carry him back to the driveway embankment and lift him as high as I can onto the bank. He clings there for a moment until I boost him the rest of the way out.

(scene of the rescue)

Back in the house the dog curls on the floor beside me licking his wet fur. He does not seem to be injured. He looks at me now with some recognition. I tell him dogs typically rescue humans, not so much the other way around. He continues his bath. The cat has found his way back to my lap and is purring contentedly.

I say aloud, "My boys are here with me, safe and sound once again." Though I know it is just a matter of time before one of them is gone forever.

Creation

Welcome. I begin again. A new year, a new blog.

Unlike my brother, I find New Year's to be one of my favorite holidays. A fresh start, a new beginning. The insincereity of Christmas behind and spring just ahead. A rebirth and the prospect of new opportunities. I find it totally refreshing and eagerly anticipate what the universe has in store for me.

Even the blizzard that just passed through brings the promise of rebirth. With so much water for spring growth I imagine the weeds will flourish. Weeds not at all native to the area. Ah, the law of unintentional circumstance.

I have two small birds that like to perch on the thermometer outside my front door. It started with one. At night I would find her? him? all ruffled up with his nose tucked under a wing. After several weeks, another bird of the same feather joined. They now perch together. One on the round thermometer itself, and the other on the bracket which attaches it to the eave of the roof. I can go in and out of the door and they do not feel threatened enough to take flight. If the screen door is opened all the way, the upper corner of the door comes within inches of the thermometer and sometimes still they do not fly away.

If the cat has noticed them there, he does not let on.