Stella’s Blog #5 – Why Did God Make Cats?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello! Once again, it is I, Stella, the Olde English Bulldogge. Today I ask an age-old question – Cats. Why?

I understand that the Creator made all sorts of creatures, most importantly, dogs. But He made cats, too, and it seems to me odd that He would put any time or attention into such an annoying animal when He simply could have made more dogs.

While dogs are straightforward, cats are sneaky. Well, Snoopey is a dog and she looks suspicious most of the time so she may be sneaky and I have actually only been acquainted with one cat so I may be over generalizing, but that’s not the point. The point is…cats. Why?

And this question brings me to my List of Offenders. From the greatest offender to the least offensive:

  1. For the first time we have a tie for the greatest offender: Moon the Cat and Snoopey.

Snoopey tore 2 huge holes in her new bed just to see what was inside. How rude! If it is soft, comfortable, and it doesn’t smell like food, why would you even want to know what was in it? Just sleep on it and let it be! Now Lady Human is going to take time away from paying attention to me so she can repair it. Will you tear more holes in it, Snoopey? Hmmm? Will you? Will you?

But equally as annoying was Moon the Cat. Instead of being quiet and staying in her numerous secret places (where it is almost impossible to reach her), she pranced around the house as though she owned the place. Which she does not, not even one day a week. We bulldogs own the house. Ssshhh! Don’t tell our humans! They are confused on this issue though they may be clueing in. Anyway, Moon (what a silly name) tempts us to chase her and usually gets her wish. So unfair. Why is she allowed to put temptation in our paths and then slink away or climb to heights we cannot reach? Again I ask – cats. Why?

  1. Tiger made #2 on my offenders list. Reason? Excessive barking – at the cat.
  1. Me – why? Well, excessive barking – at the cat.
  1. Wiggles was hilarious. She almost caught the cat! And she had no idea what to do! So she just stared at Moon for a few seconds, I guess waiting for the cat to say something more intelligent than “meow”, and then walked away. Good old Wiggles.

Ages hence, as the humans say, if I am given the honor of asking the Creator any question at all, I think I’ll have only one. I believe you can guess what it will be.

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Don’t Fight the Lead!

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I have noticed that I tend to use a lot of exclamation points in these blog posts. Many advise against them. Those many are not writing about bulldogs.

All the dogs I have ever owned or dealt with have walked on leads or leashes without much trouble. There was the introduction phase, the training phase, and things proceeded pretty easily from there. Of course, the one Great Pyrenees we had years ago (weighing in at 100 pounds in the winter) knew when she was going to the vet, and no leash could persuade her to move once we got to the parking lot. From that point on I did a lot of picking up the front paws, then picking up the back paws, then picking up the front paws, etc. It went that way until we inched our way forward. And I do mean ‘inched’.

None of our Olde English Bulldogges came to us leash-trained. What does that mean during transportation or walking? They walk when they want to and stop when they want to and there is a lot of cajoling, commanding (hence the exclamation points), and less cooperation than I would like.

And then there’s the pulling, and I mean pulling as in we could win a tug of war against a group of Marines. When one of our dogs makes up her bulldoggy mind to head in a certain direction, she heads in that certain direction which is not, of course, my certain direction. We wage a war of wills, or more to the point, a war of muscles, and that is where I often come up short.

I give a lot of lip service to following the will of God for my life, but when it comes to following His lead, I strain in my own direction, hoping that He will change His mind and go with me or that I heard Him wrong. He loves me enough not to give up on me. He knows my stubbornness. Sometimes He lets me pull in my own way down the wrong path until I stop and turn around with a confused look on my face. Then we start over.

When the bulldogs fight the lead, I hold on with a mighty hand. For a time, the battle is on. But I love them too much to let them run across a busy street, stray off on their own to get lost, or aggressively charge another dog. And that’s how the Lord loves me (though truthfully I have never been known to charge at dogs).

“Teach me to do Thy will; for Thou are my God: Thy Spirit is good; lead me into the land of uprightness.” Psalm 143:10 KJV

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Gifts – Use ‘Em, Don’t Abuse ‘Em

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I bought a commercial brand bed pad for Snoopey after having made her one from some stout fabric and a bunch of left-over stuffing material that just sat around being lazy. Every good thing has a use. Nobody and nothing is without a purpose.

Snoopey never tore at the pad I made the way Wiggles and Tiger tore at theirs. She liked it a lot, but it was bulky and hard to wash and the fabric collected and held onto dog hair like a hoarder at a multi-family garage sale snatches up knick-knacks. (There are hoarders, and then there are collectors. I argue for my part that I am the latter. Don’t try to talk me out of it.)

So I bought a bed with a zippered cover that could be removed for washing and with a recessed cushioned center. I thought it was nicer looking than the one I had made (it was) and it would be so much easier to clean. Snoopey treaded it thoroughly, snuggled down into the center, and went to sleep. Success! Gift giving is so difficult when you don’t know what others like.

And then I found her tearing apart two seams and pulling the stuffing out. So much for the perfect gift. Why, Snoopey, why?

You never quite know how someone is going to use, or abuse, a gift you give them. Perhaps they won’t use it at all.

I have been guilty of failing to use gifts on so many occasions that I have lost track. I have literally found a gift in a drawer or a closet, never touched since the day I received it, and realized, “Hey, I needed this. I could have been using this the whole time.” Why didn’t I? And I have found gifts that were stashed away for so long that they had rusted and crumbled to iron-red dust.

Gifts are meant to be used. Gifts are meant to be shared. At the very least gifts are meant for more than storing away or tearing to shreds.

Now I must learn another lesson – how to repair a dog bed so that a bulldog cannot easily rip it apart.

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

A Little Rain Must Fall

Posted on by H.J. Hill

My mother often employed the old expression, “Into every life, a little rain must fall.” She never knew a bulldog or she would have realized that they reject that sentiment utterly. Like oil and water, rain and bulldogs don’t mix.

Our most recent interactions with a morning-long downpour went something like this:

Snoopey. I knew what was going to happen, but I tried anyway. “Come on, girl, outside quick! It’s a little slower now.” She took five steps toward the open door. Nope! Recognizing the wet mess, she whirled around, ran into her crate, and hunkered down.

Okay, next?

Stella didn’t even lift her head. She opened her eyes, glanced at the door, and closed them again. Nope! I generally know when not to waste my time.

Okay, next?

Wiggles. Sweet, sweet Wiggles. I hustled her through the door before she knew what was going on in the world of weather. (Not always quick on the uptake is Wiggles, but as I said, really, really sweet). She halted just outside, cast a longing look over her shoulder at the dry house, sighed, went “oh, well”, and trotted into the yard to get it over with which she did in double quick time. Back inside, she performed the mandatory ceremonial shaking of the coat.

Okay, next?

Tiger. Eager and quick, she ran to the door, skidding to a halt, cartoon style, with all four legs fighting off the soaked threshold. Nope! Oh, come on, Tiger! I gave her a push from behind, but the feet were planted. Nope! I gave up. Some bulldog battles aren’t worth fighting. She flipped around and rushed into her crate, not even detouring for a morning snarl match with Snoopey. That’s how serious avoiding this rain business was.

We all face trials. Some are easier than others to confront. Our attitudes make the difference in how well we come through it.

“…count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.” James 1:2-3 KJV

Like the bulldogs, I don’t always count rain or some other delay or temptation a joy, but if I let it, it does teach patience. And none of the fussing over it stopped a single drop of rain from falling. We all eventually got a little wet.

  

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Don’t Jump the Gun

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Not all anniversaries should be celebrated. A few are what I refer to as “anniversaries of hell” – days that deserve to be forgotten. Those are the days we never wanted to live to see and may be surprised that we lived through. Then there are the ones that mark an event or a meeting that changed our lives forever, days we continue to thank God for year after year, decade after decade.

Stella and I just passed one of those great anniversaries yesterday – the anniversary of the day she came to live with us, but it didn’t start that way. I have related how I felt when Stella showed up all stinky, flatulent, pregnant, and just plain bulldoggy.

While that day does not qualify for my definition as an “anniversary of hell”, it fell far away from being a Day of Heaven. The rough edges around my job at the time cut through that day. I wanted to crawl into a proverbial hole, but I couldn’t find any that would fit me. And here came Stella, turning my den floor into her toilet, and for her next act, throwing up a piece of plastic that she had consumed at her former residence.  Welcome to bulldogginess.

This could not end well. Could it? As it turned out, I jumped the gun. I judged the event too soon. I was old enough to know better, but I didn’t.

We can make that mistake both ways. We run into a situation that looks terrible or at least not so great only to find out down the road that it was a gift from God. And we run into another situation that is all shiny and bright and wrapped in colorful paper and ribbons only to wind up crushed with disappointment when we discover the sheen dulled, the brightness dimmed, and the shredded paper and ribbons were headed for the trash all along.

“Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, Who both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the heart…” 1 Corinthians 4:5 KJV

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY,  STELLA!  THE DAY YOU CAME TO US WAS A GREAT DAY!

 

 ©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

 

Stella’s Blog #4 – What is a Campout? Hey, Why Are We Outside?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Lady Human put me in her car one day along with a bunch of interesting smelling stuff, a bag of treats, and several small bags of food. I was so excited because none of the others were coming, just me. And that’s as it should be. I am Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges. No other bulldogs need apply.

We rode for a long time and when we stopped, we walked into a wide space surrounded by trees. What kind of a place was this? We were in someone else’s backyard. We could have stayed in ours. Ours has a fence. Here just anyone could walk up. There was no fence and no house to go into when it got dark or if it started to rain. She kept saying “campout”. I wanted her to stop. That word had an ugly sound like it had something to do with being outside. No. No. No. Inside dog. That’s me.

I took advantage of being outdoors to pee, but instead of leaving, Lady Human spread something on the ground and used long, thin, bendy sticks to raise it up. A tiny cloth house! Cool! That’s where I am sleeping tonight! I told her. Don’t get any ideas about me sleeping out in some stranger’s unfenced backyard. Why did we come here anyway?

Humans are strange creatures. But not as strange as cats.

The tiny cloth house was more comfortable than I imagined it would be. It had my portable crate and my regular bed and Lady Human had brought along my toys. She had a long soft pad that opened up and she could crawl into it. During the night, I left my crate and crawled into it, too. She acted as though there wasn’t enough room, but I pushed and pushed until I proved her wrong.

When daylight came back, we went to a building where Lady Human spoke her odd language with another human and all of a sudden we got into a little car that had no walls. My crate was not in it. Was it safe? My lady seemed to think so. She was not wearing a leash across her middle. She was turning the round toy that made the little car go one way and then another. Scary. She wanted me to sit beside her on the seat. I opted for the floor, thank you very much. It was closer to the ground.

We rode around in the weird little car for a while. There were huge creatures with long faces and very long pointy sticks coming out of the sides of their heads. They stared at us and chewed grass. A little grass now and then is fine, but these beasts made a meal out of it. Their stomachs must have really been upset. They looked angry. I am not happy when my stomach is upset either. I wished my lady would make the rolling car crate go faster. What if they had decided to throw up?

We ate outside. We slept in the tiny cloth house again. Then we ate outside. When it was dark, Lady Human spent a long time sitting in a chair, looking up into the black sky. She kept saying something about “moon”, but Moon the cat was not with us so I don’t know what that was about and I was tired, so I went to bed. Lady Human’s long pad was perfect. She would just have to sleep somewhere else.

Then we got into the real car with all the stuff including the tiny cloth house and we came home. Real home. Everything was the way we had left it. Which causes me to ask again – why were we outside?

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Don’t Stick Your Neck Out

Posted on by H.J. Hill

We have backyard chickens. They are silkies. They came after three of the bulldogs and provide amazing entertainment for humans and dogs. The dogs are still at a loss of what to make of them and any attempt to introduce them further could end up, what’s the word…badly.

The bulldogs might not even mean any harm to the white, fluffy, two-legged creatures, but in an attempt to play, cavernous bulldog mouths have been known to close a little too tightly and all of a sudden the whole thing ends up…well, as I said…badly.

Years ago, a rooster that lived in our country barn was found dead inside his pen. He was headless. The carcass was otherwise intact. There was no sign of forced entry and no sign of trauma to the body except his head was missing. Completely gone. It was never found. We wondered about that for years until one evening when the settling chickens in our backyard run showed me how it could have happened. The hens closest to the outside of the flock stuck their heads through the holes in the thick wire wall. A tempting target in the dark for a passing skunk. Or dog.

The chickens pay attention to the dogs. They must in order to survive. The dogs never stop being predators no matter how calm and domesticated they appear. Day after day the chickens live in the moment. When the dogs approach the pen, the hens stare. They keep on with their business – pecking, eating, scratching, clucking, setting, but they never cease to be observant, alert, and ready.

We have a little hen that I call Skinnyhead because her topknot is smaller and narrower than all the others. She is the boldest of the flock, at least when it comes to staring down the bulldogs. Skinnyhead locks onto Stella with her sharp eyes and Stella returns the favor. Skinnyhead may be attracted to Stella’s big bulldog eyeballs so I have to encourage her to keep back a few steps, out of reach of the chicken’s quick beak. Meanwhile Stella waits to see if the skinny head of the chicken will come poking through the pen wall so she can check it out with her curious bulldoggy mouth.

Refusing to stick your neck out around a predator is common sense, not cowardice, and I am pleased that, for all her boldness, Skinnyhead has kept her head. Thus far, no close encounters of the bulldog/chicken kind have occurred, and I expect that to continue so long as no chicken sticks her neck out.

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

 

The Louder We Are, The Less We Hear

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Peace and quiet – the words always fit together. If we leave out the quiet, the peace is never completely …well, peaceful. Shooting wars are loud; arguments can be loud, if not on the outside, on the inside. Loud can be uncomfortable. It can damage your hearing even if it doesn’t damage your eardrums.

When the bulldogs start barking, they don’t hold back. Full volume with no shutoff and no timer. You can hold your hands up, you can say, “Shhh!”, and you can start barking orders yourself. But when they are in full voice, a single human can’t compete. At that point, everybody is hearing the noise, but no one can hear what is being said.

“Hey!” is my favorite go-to word at those moments. I can’t drown them out. It doesn’t matter. “Hey!” is an attention grabbing word. It doesn’t have any other purpose or meaning. If I shout it long enough, loud enough, I will eventually insert it into a narrow window in the barking and one bully will pause, then another, and so on.

At last, I can hear and be heard. Whether I am obeyed or not is another matter entirely.

I believe we are guilty of shouting at each other and at God more than we are willing to admit. When we get loud, we can’t hear. Take a breath. Lower the volume. Listen in the quiet for the still, small voice of the Lord. (1 Kings 19:11-12 KJV)

“Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother…” Psalm 131:2 KJV

No matter what we are trying to say, the louder we are, the less we hear. The less we hear, the less we learn.

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Stuffed Animals

Posted on by H.J. Hill

There is being in love with the idea and then there is being in love with the reality. Before Stella came, I was only in love with the plush toy fantasy of having another dog. The soft, sweet-smelling, no fleas, no ticks, no shedding, no chewing, no whining, no barking, housebroken, quiet when I wanted, active and playful in the way I liked, easy, cheap, wind-up toy idea of another dog. I did not think that I had enough energy for anything more. Surprise, surprise. I did. (God knows what He is doing.)

I like soft things, plush things, colorful things. I confess it – I have a stuffed animal collection. Not every plush animal qualifies; only the ones that jump out at me from the store shelf or the ones people give me. I have been collecting them for 25 years. I have around 100. That only averages to four new ones per year. Not an overwhelming collection (except according to one or two non-collectors in my family).

Of course, the bulldogs love their soft toys, too, and for that reason, they are not allowed in my room unaccompanied. They might just like mine right into their giant bulldoggy mouths. (You can see the results of their love in the picture above.)

So what happened when Snoopey was invited into my room on a quick pass while I retrieved some items? She has been in there before and, I suppose, was feeling quite comfortable. One bound and she was on my bed.  A few quick head tosses and the part of my stuffed animal collection that she could reach went flying. She didn’t grab any. That was going to come next. Maybe she was clearing out the competition. I put a quick end to what could have been a stuffed animal massacre.

Stella has been sneakier. I keep a plush dog-shaped pad on my easy chair that is specifically made for microwaving as a neck warmer. Always the hoarder and silent stalker, Stella sticks her head in from behind, even when I am sitting right there, and pulls at the neck warmer. The ploy does not work. I feel the move and stop her. She has five soft toys in her bed, but there is always room for one more, especially one that doesn’t belong to her.

Coveting comes so easily to us, dogs and humans, and most times it is not based on need. It is based on the fear that we are not going to get what we want or the envy that someone else already has it.

Covetousness pulls us into its trap and we don’t even realize that we are trapped. You can see it in a dog that is guarding a full bowl of food but reaches over to snatch the portion in his neighbor’s. Or in King David with his multiple wives who reaches into another man’s home and takes the only wife his servant had. (2 Samuel 11:2-4: Read the whole story. It did not end well.) The difference is that the dog is not under the commandment not to covet and we, being humans, are – for our neighbor’s good and for our own.

“Thou shalt not covet…any thing that is thy neighbour’s.”  Exodus 20:17 KJV

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Better Get Out of the Way!

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Imagine a Sherman tank about 18 inches tall running full speed with no one at the controls. Now imagine that it rolls directly at your legs and you can’t get out of its way fast enough. That’s a bulldog on the high setting. You don’t have to worry about moving your legs. They will take care of that for you.

Dodging a barreling bulldog is good practice for maintaining balance. Of course, it helps immensely if you see them coming. Or hear them coming. When several bullies get to galloping, well, just think about a stampede in an old Western movie. Turn the volume down a little bit and you’ve got the idea. Oh, and like in the old movies, if they’re headed in your direction, RUN!

Our dogs are happy when they are running. They don’t mean to take my legs out from under me or bowl me over. They don’t mean to stomp on my feet or cause me trouble. Still I had better pay attention and I had better get out of the way. Even if they put on the brakes, they slide. Alertness is a price we all pay for living in a fast-paced world.

It’s not cowardice to move out of the path of a runaway bulldozer. Or bulldog.

Proverbs 22:3 tells us: “A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on and are punished. “  (KJV) The simple person is not even stupid, but naïve or gullible. How many times have I found myself in that description? Never mind. I’m not going to count them.

It took me a couple of bulldog stampedes and other nasty events in my life, but now my middle name is prudence. (Not really. My middle name starts with a “J”, but you get the idea.)

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

What’s the Magic Word?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Snoopey is the Alpha of the pack, so she is always first to be invited to Doggy Study Hall. She came into the hall one day, laid her head on my lap, and then jumped up and lay down again, unable to settle herself.

She looked me in the eye and made a deep, mellow rumble from her throat through her barely open lips. Ruum. Ruum. Ruum. She waited and then repeated it, pausing between each Ruum. Never had I heard her or any of the bulldogs make that type of noise. By the third round of Ruum, I was working to translate the bulldoggese into some human tongue. What was she doing? Why this thrumming sound?

Then I realized. I had forgotten to set up the speaker and the music that I had been playing for them. (To be honest, the music is for me, too, and I always get to pick the tracks.) But that would be too odd, I thought, for her to be missing the music and even more odd for a dog to be trying to let me know that she missed it.

So. I tested my theory. I went to my room, got the speaker, turned it on, and started the music. When I sat back down, Snoopey nestled her head on my lap , stopped her Ruum sound, and fell asleep.

Skeptics might point to coincidence as the reason for Snoopey’s sudden silence. I choose to believe that, despite our language barrier, she asked me to bring in the music and asked politely. If she could have added a “please”, I am sure she would have.

What did I learn from this? More of a reminder than a new lesson. Ask and ask politely.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” 

(Matthew 7:7 KJV)

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Doggy Study Hall

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Quality time is a term that people threw around a bunch when my kids were little. There are 24 hours in every day for everyone and they get filled without effort until the overflow fills up the next day and the next and the next. Soon weeks, months, years have passed and we don’t know what happened to them.

I got to see our dogs every day. I fed them, watered them, cleaned up after them, and talked to them, all of which is fine, but not really fun and not individual to each bulldog. So after a few months, I instituted Doggy Study Hall, a separate playtime for each dog. Yes, it takes time (about 30 minutes each) and it takes energy (mine mostly, as their internal generators seldom slow down).

I take each bulldog by herself down our quiet hallway. I light a scented candle high above their reach and sometimes I set up a speaker and play instrumental music. I sit down on a large beanbag chair that each bulldog has tried to claim with only limited success. A large cushion is available for their use, but what the human has is so much more appealing.

Doggy Study Hall rules are simple:

  1. No stepping, standing, or walking on the human. (Snoopey routinely violates this rule. She still thinks that she is a lap dog.)
  2. No invading any room into which you have not been invited.
  3. No intrusion into the front room at all. There is nothing in there for dogs and it is not a public doggy restroom (though Tiger and Wiggles have tried to turn it into one.)
  4. Dogs may choose their activities– soft toy play, fetch, chew toys, lounging, cuddling with the human, or napping.
  5. Stepping, standing, or walking on the human after 3 warnings may cause expulsion from Doggy Study Hall for that day.
  6. And no chewing, tearing, or eating of any books (even if they look delicious).

At first I thought the dogs had some fun there, relaxed some by being away from the others, and maybe learned to tolerate me a little more. No big deal. As time went on, the excitement level revealed that they had come to expect it. They would run, prance, and dance at the hall door at that time of day. Each one had a favorite activity. Snoopey loved to cuddle and nap. Wiggles loved to play with a big, blue, rubbery chew stick. Tiger cuddled and lay on the cushion, fiddling with the soft toys every so often. Stella loved to be petted and massaged behind her shoulders.

I forget how much special time set aside means to my friends, to my family, and to the LORD. It is actually harder to set up quality time with the people in my life than it is to spend time with the Lord of the Universe. He is always awake. He is almighty. His invitation always stands.

“And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed.”  (Mark 1:35 KJV) If Jesus knew the importance of time apart with the Father, how much more should I realize the importance of quality time with Him?

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Do I Look Foolish?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Stella doesn’t really need to wear a hat to look nice. Truth be told, she did not choose her hat. I found it among some old doll clothing that my daughters left behind when they grew up. I just had to try it on Stella. She humored me and let it stay on her head for, oh, about thirty seconds. A bulldog in a purple church lady hat with flowers and a veil, no less. She even knew better than that. So much for foolishness.

Foolishness. We try to steer clear of it whether in ourselves or others. Not the kind of foolishness that makes us smile or laugh, but the kind that ends up hurting us and others. Once introduced into a group of people, foolishness spreads like a virus. It invades conversations and opinions and the only vaccination against it is a good shot of wisdom. If foolishness is allowed to flourish, like a virus, it will pop up in a totally unexpected place.

People must really enjoy foolishness. We do so love to spread it. Just take a gander at social media.

The Bible teaches us not to be fools, but God can and does use foolish things. (I am glad He does, otherwise, I wouldn’t get much use at all.) “…the foolishness of God is wiser than men…” (1 Corinthians 1:25 KJV) When I account myself wise, knowledgeable, on top of things, and self-sufficient, WATCH OUT! He comes with something foolish to show me just how unwise, ignorant, unsuccessful, and lacking I am without Him. And that is good news. He doesn’t leave me stuck in my own mud pit, believing my own nonsense.

He introduced me to bulldogs – silly, foolish, barrel-bodied bulldogs. A few of the things that they have shown me are:

  1. I can physically handle 50-60 pound dogs with the temperaments and pulling power of tiny bulldozers,
  2. Not everything important has to have a paycheck attached to it,
  3. Sometimes you have to spend a little money and that is not a bad thing if it improves your own life or the life of another, and
  4. Laughter is free.

Not foolish at all.

 

©2016  H.J. Hill  All Rights Reserved.

Are You Related to Me? Really?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello, I am Stella, the Olde English Bulldogge. I am back. Apparently, when I do not blog, my transcriptionist, the Lady Human, does, so you get her point of view and that may not be entirely accurate. I am not saying that she or any human lies, but they see things differently than dogs do and, if I had to choose between a human and a dog, I would trust a dog. Well, not all dogs. Not Tiger. And probably not Snoopey most days. Okay, let me just say that between a human and a dog, I would trust me.

Allow me to explain my frustration. First, here is my current list of offenders, from most serious to least:

  1. TIGER – yes, still. TIGER! TIGER! Please grow up! I don’t remember acting like you are when I was your age. You may be a teenager, but could you speed it up a little? She is still constantly challenging Snoopey for supremacy. Snoopey’s new tactic is to ignore her, well, about half the time. Lady Human is now bribing Tiger with a treat when she comes in from outside so that she will calm down and not try to fight Snoopey. It’s a good ploy and may be working. Treats are good anytime and I do not object on principal to using them as a bribe. Anything to get a treat. I just don’t want Tiger thinking that she deserves them.
  1. SNOOPEY – She still reacts to Tiger, only a little less now. And she got a new bed that she did not deserve at all. Why? At least mine is prettier.
  1. WIGGLES – She is calm and friendly as usual. But she has become obstinate all of a sudden and will not go right into her crate when the humans have to leave to go to their mysterious places. So she has to be coaxed in and once again Lady Human bribes her with a treat which she in no way merits. (Lady Human gives the rest of us treats at the same time, but that’s beside the point.)
  1. ME – Yes, I am the least offensive this time, least offensive to me anyway. Lady Human seemed annoyed when I was telling Tiger off. I was just trying to help. Maybe I did go on a little too long. And loud. The humans do not yet understand my dialect so they probably didn’t understand that I was lecturing Tiger on good behavior. The humans need to work on their language skills.

I expect more from my family members. Snoopey is my sister. Wiggles is my half-sister. Tiger is my niece. Have you ever heard of humans having trouble with their family members? I think not. What? Wait, my transcriptionist is saying something. Oh…well, that is something to think about.

Signed,

Stella the Queen of the Bulldogges

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill  All Rights Reserved.

Don’t Stir the Boiling Pot

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hot words start fights. To confirm that, check out Proverbs 15:1: “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.”  (King James Version) That applies to dogs, too.

Tiger snorted her displeasure at having to wait for her focused attention session with me. She started snorting because Stella was free. Her envy against Stella knew no bounds until her envy of Snoopey and dominance competition with her kicked Stella aside. She has been snooting against both of them.

Tiger was in her crate with her food and water because she won’t behave around the other bulldogs. She manipulates Stella by barking and snorting and silly, peaceable Stella runs around like mad trying to figure out what to do. Stella flopped down in front of me, upside down with her tongue lolling out to the side. Stella is a lover, not a fighter, well, not a good fighter anyway.

Snoopey, not to be left out of any disagreement, voiced her complaint with her whining bulldog vocabulary, working her petulant lower lip up and down beneath the flopping umbrella of her expansive cheeks. Silent Stella only barks and vocalizes once in a blue moon. Is there another one of those coming up soon? Sweet, amenable Wiggles sat and watched. She seldom offers an opinion. When she does, it is at full volume and she gets the last word.

Tiger always snoots her impatience before the loud, incessant barking starts. It is amazing to me that she can blow that much air through her nose without blowing snot all over everybody. I am told that the bloody battle that almost claimed her life started as a fight over food. I don’t know. Tiger does love her food, but food or not, the fight was over territory. The other dog protected her ground and Tiger protected hers. Tiger lost.

Pretty soon after the barking begins, everyone (by everyone, I mean every non-human one) adds their own bulldog version of two cents. It is a conversation, but not a polite one.

I have avoided a great many useless fights over the years by learning (the hard way) when to speak and when to keep my mouth shut. The other thing I have learned is not to spew angry, spiteful words in reaction to someone else’s venom. Those two lessons have saved me a lot of grief and a lot of late apologies that never would have set things to right anyway.

Now if we can just get the dogs to learn even part of that lesson.

“Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.” Proverbs 21:23 KJV

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Heart Enlargement

Posted on by H.J. Hill

How large is my heart? Not the blood pump in my chest but the essence of me. For quite a while my life has been played out on a very small stage and that has been pointed out to me by my reactions to the arrival of the bulldogs. I had no room within me to accept even one of them when Stella came. I looked at her and judged her too big, too smelly, too ugly. I knew nothing about bulldogs or their personalities, their affectionate nature, their silliness, their gift for making me laugh. And sigh. She was too big for my small heart.

No one wants to think of themselves as too small. We are not tight-fisted or stingy. No, we are thrifty, frugal, practical, and good stewards. We are not hard hearted. We are reserved, stoic, perhaps dispassionate, but that can be good, right? We use all manner of euphemisms for ourselves and speak the truth only about others.

What if God looked on us the way we look at others? What if He valued us only as much as we value those around us? (Uh-oh. That’s a scary thought.) Thankfully, He is kinder than that. I needed to enlarge my capacity to love and I believe He is using these dogs for a reason – there is nothing they can do for me in this big, cold, practical world. They can’t buy me a car or give me a job or make my breakfast or clip my toenails. They can only be what they are – dogs. I take care of them and they can’t pay me back. Not with money or services or stuff anyway. No quid pro quo. They give only what they can.

Bit by bit, dog by dog, my heart has been expanding.

In Luke 14:12-14, Jesus said that we should specifically invite people to our banquets who cannot repay us. There is no loss to us in that bargain.

How much room do I have in my heart for all these dogs or anyone or anything else? I asked that question before the birth of my second child. How large is my heart? Do I have room to accept one more? A neighbor told me the truth. God enlarges your heart.

“…for the LORD seeth not as man seeth, for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.”  1 Samuel 16:7 KJV

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

 

That First Step

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I placed a new bed pad that I had made into Snoopey’s crate. I am not an expert seamstress or dog bed designer so it puffs up high on the ends. I thought she might like that for an extra head rest and she does when she sleeps. The only problem shows up when it’s time to come out of the crate. I open the door and she hesitates, lifting one paw high, tapping the air with it, unsure that she can make that first step.

Eventually she does. She steps over the threshold and onto the old familiar solid floor. There was really no choice. Outside the crate is freedom and fresh air. And the bathroom. Going back into the crate doesn’t hold the same challenge for her though. Same crate, same pad, same puffy end, different attitude. Maybe it’s just easier to overcome obstacles when you want to go to bed.

That first step out is the crucial one. Without it, nothing else follows. She doubted her footing because the situation was new and she had to step a little bit higher than she was used to doing. Once she summoned the courage and took that step, the whole world opened up.

First steps can scare you. What if I take this step and fall flat on my face? Won’t that be embarrassing? Won’t that hurt? What if I get a bloody nose?

What if we sit in a crate all of our lives? What if we let that first step stymie us into never trying at all? We may have to pick our feet up higher and deliberately plant our steps on the ground outside our safe zone. By and large, the ground will be solid enough to support us.

And what if we do fall flat on our faces and bloody our noses? Wash it off and get an ice pack. Then take another step.

“For Thou hast delivered my soul from death: wilt not Thou deliver my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of the living.   Psalm 56:13 KJV

 

 

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Saving Tiger – Part 4

Posted on by H.J. Hill

“She looks great!”

The whole veterinary staff grinned when they saw Tiger walk in a week later. Tiger was one of those success stories that remind people not to give up. She favored her leg and wouldn’t put her whole weight on it. The worst wound was still draining a little from a small rift in it, but not at all as horrible as it had been.

The vet was delighted. “Keep doing what you’re doing. She has good range of motion in that leg, but just expect that she will walk with a limp, probably for the rest of her life.”

Expectations are funny old things. They are patched together from what we’ve experienced in the past, what we’ve seen others experience, what we’ve planned, and hope. A glimmer of hope, people say, as though hope is a weak candle flame about to go out. Sometimes hope flares up and spits right in the face of the past. We stretch our faith to hope for a difference and God meets us more than halfway.

Tiger had other issues. The skin on her back was enflamed and broken out and no one could confirm the reason. Not mange, not mites, or maybe it was. The test results said no, but test results could be wrong. Allergies? That would be bulldoggy of her. The skin problems had begun when she was with her previous owner before the attack and she was in a new environment, still with no improvement despite special shampoos and a changed diet. But the leg was still the biggest question.

One night my son brought his shop vacuum inside to work on it. When he turned it on, the screaming whir bolted Tiger to her feet, all four of them. Not one to waste an opportunity, he opened Tiger’s crate and Tiger followed him through the back door, wobbly on the weak leg but moving.

Her leg fought against the whole weight of her body pressing on it. It wasn’t ready to do the job yet. She looked at me with her curled lip exposing one fang of her bulldog underbite as if to ask why didn’t we smart humans know that. After a slow walk around the yard, it looked looser though. Okay, maybe stepping on it wasn’t so bad an idea after all. Maybe the humans were not as dumb as they seemed.

Tiger lived. Tiger healed. Tiger walks and runs and jumps…without any limp.

Hope and faith can be a dangerous combination. You may just get what you are hoping for.

“And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.” Romans 5:5

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Saving Tiger – Part 3

Posted on by H.J. Hill

“I can’t even give her 50/50.” The vet’s lead-weighted words dragged on the air in the room. No false hope. I appreciated that. It’s good to know what level you are fighting on. We drove home with Tiger for a long weekend.

My son poured himself into research on the internet. Surely someone else had battled this and won. He had bonded deeply with Tiger during those days and nights of doctoring. When I would be long in bed, he was still up, face to face with her pain and her fight against the enemy organisms that were eating at her body.

“These people say raw honey helped. I have some. I’ll add that and keep up with the hydrotherapy. After all, why not? What is there to lose?”

“Yeah, why not?” I said. “Why give up now?” We had a miracle going. Were we going to give up so easily? It was going to take persistence and patience.  Those require time and time is something we hate to spend, but nothing good comes without it.

He used a strong stream of water from the hose directly on the open wound, then pour raw honey into the hole, and bandage the leg. Three times a day. We saw the pain it caused her, but Tiger never bit us or snapped at us. She kicked a little, but she knew we were trying to help her. Her trust in us flowed from her eyes. Now she wore a Cone of Shame. I think that bothered her more than the treatments, but it kept her from licking the leg and making it worse.

I prayed for her. “She’s already a miracle, Lord.” I talked to Tiger over and over. “You are strong, girl. You are a fighter. We won’t quit. Don’t you quit.” She might not understand my words themselves, but I made my voice carry hope. Dogs understand your tone. But we needed more than hope. We needed a change. And we needed it by Monday.

Nothing changed Friday or Saturday. She still had a fever. She couldn’t put any weight on the leg with the gaping wound.

“Does it look better to you?” my son asked.

“About the same. But not worse.” We put so much pressure on how things look.

 

After church on Sunday, I ran into my friend, Meg.“Do you pray for animals?”

“Yes!”

“Well, we have one that you can pray for. Tomorrow is D-Day.”

And we prayed, standing outside the church building in the open air and we believed that God heard us on Tiger’s behalf, on behalf of His animal, His creation. We asked for a new miracle. Everything is a miracle anyway. I have never created one thing, not the smallest grain of sand, not the tiniest speck of dust. We asked for a miracle – for a dog. Why not?

Sunday afternoon, the change came.

My son called me over when he removed the bandage. “The wound is closing. The hole is much smaller than it was.” It was. The change was dramatic.

When the vet saw it on Monday, her smile returned and she said the only thing she could. “Wow!”

To Be Continued

 

Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

Saving Tiger – Part 2

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Tiger knew the dog that attacked her. They had each escaped from the safety of their separate kennels while their owner was not at home. If Tiger had stayed in her place, she would have been okay, maybe. The attacker was aggressive. Tiger should have been mindful of that. But then so should I have been mindful in my own life. Watchful, alert, awake around aggressive humans.

We were Tiger’s guardians now. My son took her in out of a strong heart and the merest breath of a hope.

“50/50, huh,” I told her, sitting by her side and feeding her again with the syringe. “Let’s up those odds on our side, girl.” 50/50 just didn’t sound right. I laid my hand on her head and prayed for God’s mercy to His creature. And to us. Hope reflects light and light shows things for what they really are. I needed hope and so did the dog.

The next evening she stood up for the first time since the attack, on three legs, not four, but she was up. Then she pooped. I was never so happy to see a dog poop in my life. She chewed on the end of the plastic feeding syringe so we offered her food and water in bowls and she lifted her head readily for each and ate. My son put the medications in soft dog food that he mashed into attractive meatballs in his hand. Tiger devoured them.

My job ended at noon on Monday. I told them it was my last day. I decided not to fade away.

That afternoon, to everyone’s amazement, Tiger walked with us into the vet’s office on her own. The doctor smiled. From being carried in my son’s arms and out on a towel stretcher one day to walking, albeit slowly and gingerly a few days later, was a miracle. We all need miracles at least once in a while. The 50/50 chance was erased from our minds. “I’ll see her again on Friday,” the vet said.

When I got up Wednesday morning and walked by Tiger’s crate, bright red goop was on the floor. Tiger’s worst leg wound had opened up and a deep tissue infection had burst out. It was a danger the vet had worried about, but we had hoped Tiger was beyond it when she responded so quickly those first few days.

When the vet saw her, she no longer smiled. The wound was deep enough that a man could put his fist in it. Amputation was no longer an option, if it ever had been. This breed doesn’t always handle it well and the hidden infection had likely spread further up in the leg. Hydrotherapy, another antibiotic that works against anaerobic bacteria, and that was it. The vet said that she had seen dog’s legs literally dissolve from this. If Tiger lasted the weekend, Monday we would have a decision to make.

To Be Continued

 

Copyright H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved