As you know, all of my dogs have departed and being dogless didn’t work, so I ordered up a new pup.  And as usual, I decided on something completely unexpected, due to that old no impulse control thing.

I’ve always had smooth dachshunds, and have said I hate, and actually would never own, a long hair.  Guess what?  Luongo’s a long hair.  But it’s good to try new things, so here I am trying a dachshund with a new coat length.  You know how bad my nerves are with major changes.

And then, who knew how bad my nerves would be as the parent of an eight week old pup the size of a pound of butter.  He has to be watched constantly as he gets into mischief every chance he gets.  He also has to be taken outside every couple of hours to learn how to go out there rather than in the house.

However, as none of the dogs has ever really been completely house trained, I’m kind of skeptical that it’ll work with him.  But to date he seems very smart so there’s a always a first time with everything.

I’d bought a little kennel as I idly thought maybe I’d be able to train him to sleep in there.  So on Friday night, which was his first night, I put him into the kennel and put it on the bed beside my pillow so his face was inches from mine.  He hated it, and screamed bloody murder until I let him out.

So I popped him into bed with me, and just like all the other dogs, this seems to be the right place for the puppy.  Because he’s just eight weeks old, he still gets up at 2:00 or 3:00 AM and has to use the newspaper in the room for a bathroom as I refuse to go outside at that hour.

Nicky loves the pup and the feeling appears to be mutual.  I’d gotten Nicky to babysit the pup this morning while I went to the gym and when I got home Nicky was in bed with the puppy under the blanket beside him.

But hopefully puppyhood is going to wind down a bit as I’ve done nothing since I got the pup except take care of his every whim.  I took him out when I planted some tomatoes and flowers but he’s a complete menace as he picks up the little plastic pots and runs off with the plants in them.  So cute!

I wept a bit as I looked at this dear new life form and thought of the three dogs I’d brought home just like this.  I’d watched them grow old, or else get sick, then die, and here I am on the threshold of another dog adventure.

But shortly afterward, the only crying I was doing was from pain over the cut on my lip from the puppy’s razor sharp teeth.  He loves charging and biting as hard as he can, and I, ever the fool, seem to be allowing it.

As you know, last Sunday was Mother’s Day, and so I was surprised and happy to get a Skype call from Luke in Thailand.  I said, “Did you know it’s Mother’s Day?” and he replied, “No, I don’t know what day anything is.”  But it was great to chat, though I had to hang up after a few minutes as I have a standing call to mom every Sunday at 1:00 PM.

Then later in the afternoon Nicky came upstairs and said with conviction, “I know it’s Mother’s Day.”  I said, “Well that’s good….”  You know, a person takes an acknowledgement however they can get it.

In any case, he’d kind of given me the present the day before as he used the weed eater around the vegetable beds and mowed the lawn.  I’ll have to settle for that.

This weekend I went to Osoyoos as mom was having a birthday party for Freddie, who turned 67.  Hard to believe someone who can party like that is 67.  I’m obviously the weakest member of this tribe.

I was there for two nights, and Nicky came down for the birthday party.  For once, I wasn’t hungover the next day as I’ve finally learned moderation.  It took four decades, but I finally understand I don’t have the tolerance of the rest of my family.

On Saturday night, the night of the birthday party, there were 18 people invited for dinner.  Good thing mom has a huge dining room, as we set up one table to seat ten and the other for eight.  Jerralynn barbecued chicken, and I’d made two salads, one potato and the other asparagus.

You may recall at Gerry’s memorial 40 people, many of whom don’t drink much if anything, consumed 28 bottles of wine.  The event was largely over in two hours.  At the birthday 18 of us drank 17 bottles of wine! There were also a dozen beers and a bottle of brandy consumed as well.

On Sunday night we were invited over to the Mayor’s house and he and Martha made a lovely roast beef dinner for ten of us.  It was another raucous event and on both nights I didn’t get to bed until after midnight.

Which is insane, because as you know I love nothing better than to hop into bed at 8:30.  And to think as a child I chafed at the idea!  Now I luxuriate in bed, reading happily until 9:00 and then night night.

So going to Osoyoos is like diving into an icy lake in January.  It wakes you up and if you survive it, it makes you stronger.  And to think, my mom is 88 and my dear bro’s 67 and both of them have the constitutions of horses.  I, on the other hand, have the constitution of a gnat.  Oh well.

My little dog, Ricky, went to Heaven last Monday, and it was a terrible thing to have to say good-bye at his relatively young age of eight.  However the vet concluded he likely had a cancerous tumour somewhere, and stated the most humane thing to do would be to euthanize him.

I felt totally sick at the thought, as he was still a gorgeous specimen of a dog, but I didn’t want him to suffer.  Nice Dr. William allowed me to be there throughout, from the time they sedated Ricky to the time he was given the lethal injection.  I believe he died very painlessly.

But there I was again, holding a dead dog and feeling terrible.  Nicky dug a grave beside Arnie and Mojo, and I laid him into it and told him what a good dog he’d been.  Then Nicky covered him up, and we walked back to the house feeling sad, like each time before.

After 18 solid years of dachshund ownership every corner of the house and yard hold memories, so I immediately ordered another dog!  I flirted with the idea of getting one from the SPCA and then imagine my surprise to find two pure bred standard red dachshunds at the Vancouver branch.

I immediately contacted them, but they said these dogs weren’t approved to a home with cats.  If only I hadn’t blabbed.  I then inquired about a mixed breed at a shelter here, but it had just been adopted.  I scoured the net for standard dachshunds for sale, and found two breeders in Alberta.

I contacted both, and sadly one retired.  The other said she’ll have a litter in 18 months, so I’ll certainly be the owner of a standard then.  However, as Nicky said, “mom, we can’t live for 18 months without a dog” and I totally agreed.  I contacted some miniature puppy owners and one of them seemed to have a dog of interest.

I said to Terry, who lives in Williams Lake, that I don’t want a super tiny dachshund, as I actually prefer the standards but they’re so hard to get.  Terry said her male is 17 pounds, so actually between a miniature and a standard in size, so I said okay to one of her pups.

So I’m going to be a mother again and I’m kind of excited about it.  I’m a bit worried about the current lull on Hall Road, as there used to be hours of barking per day from this yard.  You know how quickly people get used to something.  Now that it’s been quiet for a while, a healthy dachshund’s lungs might cause upset.

Nicky keeps doing his part in keeping the neighbourhood on its toes.  He arrived home with a BB rifle in order to shoot a mouse in the basement.  I said for the love of God, don’t shoot up through the basement ceiling into my foot as I watch TV.  I’ll have to be super careful with that new pup.

The dog was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy (a weak heart) and put on blood pressure, heart and diuretic medication.  This went on for a week, with no improvement in Ricky whatsoever.  He’s eaten about a tablespoon of food over the past week, so yesterday when he started vomiting I took him to the emergency vet.

The vet said the medications should have started working if the dog did indeed have a heart problem, and they shouldn’t be causing vomiting and loss of appetite.  He examined Ricky and found his lymph nodes are enlarged, so he said the dog may have lymphoma (cancer).  In any case, this vet said discontinue the heart medications immediately.  The dog got a shot for nausea and we were sent home with special food.

The food was touted as ‘very palatable’ but even it was turned down by the dog.  He simply doesn’t want food, though he’s drinking water.  He’s not interested in barking or doing anything except lying in his bed.  I’ve paid nearly $1,000 to the two vets, have no idea what’s wrong with the dog, feel terrible for him, and hence I’m in this horrible mood.

If Ricky makes it until tomorrow, we’re returning to my vet and I’m inquiring exactly why he thought the dog had heart problems when his lymph nodes are enlarged!  I’m not really interested in more expensive speculation, either.  Especially not when my dog was nearly 14 pounds one week ago and yesterday he weighed 12 pounds.

While the dog was laying around, deathly ill, I still had to prepare for my dinner on Thursday night with the German relatives and my friends Petra and Larry.  I made a pot roast, which seemed easy, but it’s actually a nightmare at the end, as you’re mashing potatoes and making gravy.

I’d made Jerralynn’s baked cheesecake for dessert, topped with wild Canadian blueberries.  I always like to go Canadian for food ingredients, especially with German visitors.  They asked exactly what constitutes “Canadian cuisine” but we said we’re really not sure because we’re a land of immigrants.

The next morning Petra had organized a hike for us down to Powers Creek at Gellatly canyon.  They live right on the edge of the canyon, and their neighbour is an 86-year-old retired biologist who hikes in the area every day.  We met at Petra’s, and he lead us down a trail, explaining about the plants and talking about the things he’s seen over the years while walking in this park.

When we returned from the hike, Petra had made a beautiful lunch of ham and salami buns, smoked salmon open-faced sandwiches, and had a lovely assortment of cheeses with it.  She cans Bartlett pears in Creme de Menthe liqueur and served the vibrant green slices on vanilla ice cream.

It was a welcome mental break, as being at home right now is a total downer with my poor sick, lethargic little dog.  But I’m here with him, and hoping tomorrow there’s an answer either way, even if it’s a terribly sad one and a difficult decisions had to be made.

I noticed the dog’s now exhibiting rapid breathing, and so thanks to Google he’s either anaemic or having heart failure.  Why my pets always get sick on the weekends when only the expensive emergency vet is available, I don’t know.  I’ll take Ricky to my vet tomorrow to confirm the diagnosis.  I’m already saying good-bye to the new set of summer tires I’ve been informed I need.

It’s either the tires or the vet’s fee, and because we all know how obsessive I am about my pets, the dog trumps my safety on the road.  But instead of being totally glum about what this all means, I decided the best thing to do is to look for a new puppy.

Two people already answered my e mails, one saying she’d just had a litter of 9 standard dachshund puppies last winter, and they just placed the last one in February.  The other kennel also had a litter around the same time, and both said there won’t be another litter for a year and a half!

I think there are 6 standard dachshund breeders in Canada, so the dogs are as rare as attractive men over the age of 50.  Miniature dachshunds are everywhere, but I would really love to have another dog like Arnie was.  He was so sweet and devoted; we were happy as long as we were in each other’s company.

I had pleasant company over yesterday for Kaffee und Kuchen, which is a delightful German tradition.  The typical German way of eating involves a fairly hearty breakfast, a hot lunch, coffee and cake around 3:30 or 4:00 and some bread and cold cuts or cheese around 7:00 PM.

The German relatives, Nicola and Sebastian came over and I had made chocolate cupcakes with white butter icing and pineapple upside down cake with whiping cream.  Margaret gave me a sweet white cake stand years ago onto which I piled the variously decorated cupcakes.

I made a pot each of coffee and tea and the table was all set with my beautiful Pembroke Aynsley china, including the set’s to-die-for pot.  I have an old art deco cream and sugar set from Marlin which I put out.  I placed my dear grandmother’s sugar spoon, brought in a wooden crate by sea from Germany so many years ago, beside the sugar bowl.

I had my pal Alison’s mom Pauline’s pink tablecloth on the table, and a bouquet of pink alstroemeria in my favourite Bohemia Crystal vase as a centre piece.  Pauline’s pink napkins completed the lovely picture.

Nicola sighed when she looked at the table, because let’s face it, one would feel as though they’d fallen down the rabbit hole, coming in from the yard.  Did I mention Luke’s car is still up on blocks out there, hood up, doors open, wheels off?

The three of us sat down and horfed down as many cupcakes and pieces of cake as we could, washed down with cups of tea and coffee drenched in cream and sugar.  After about an hour of this we all felt slightly dizzy, yet happy.  You can see why this lovely tradition should never die.

Luke e mailed me that he’s having a great time in Thailand.  He said they just celebrated the festivals of Songkran and Tamboon.  These sound like loud, raucous Buddhist celebrations, hence tremendous fun.

He said he loves clowning around in the tiny village with his new family, and describes it so well I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye.  I thank God I had the opportunity to see it last November, otherwise it’d be impossible to imagine.

Luke said he was sitting out at the farm where the Bunyungs have their water buffalo, and watching dogs fighting, chickens running around and his wife Jan “talking very loudly in Isaan to her mom about some town gossip.”

Luke described eating eel and rice at the festivals, and drinking whiskey with the local Thai cops.  All of it makes me miss Thailand, and I definitely want to return there some day.  I must remember to ask him if the suitcase full of chocolate made it there okay.

Here in Opposite World, I’m trying to impose some strict order on the property, as The Germans, as we like to call them, are coming.  There are currently two relatives here at this time, and two more are expected at the end of the month.  I therefore wanted to have the property cleaned of garbage, and with any luck, I’ll have Luke’s car towed out of here to the scrap metal yard.

Yesterday Nicky’s friend Taylor kindly cleaned the sunroom roof for me, and it looks great.  When German relatives arrive, we start cleaning.  I can’t explain it, but it just occurs.  My sister in law Wendy is in a frenzy down at the Coast, as we’re all staying there the night before the relatives fly back to Germany.

So bit by bit I’m slapping the yard and house into shape, and have been forcing myself to do a bit more with so-called social media when I need a break.  I’m trying to post more on Facebook, so if you’re reading this you may want to be friends with Nuttier than a Fruitcake.  I’m attempting to post recipes and other helpful or funny articles there.

Then thanks to my faithful customer Ken out in Ontario, I’ve asked my web designer to update the testimonials part of my website.  Ken pointed out that all testimonials ended in 2008, and I told him it was due to sloth on my part, and thanked him for giving me the nudge.  I’m obviously not intrinsically motivated.

Now that I have Netflix I’ve been working my way through the old TV series, Lost, and find I dream about it as well. When you watch it nightly you’re immersed in their world, and I end up wondering if this is some kind of religious experience, or are they (or am I) high on acid?  It’s a great mystery, and as I’m on episode #42 of 100, I’ll let you know when I find out.

In the meantime, I have to get out the paint tray, paint and roller, and touch up some of the lattice around the edge of my deck.  First I have to find a nail or two to repair some broken pieces of lattice, and as I don’t own nails, it’s always the smallest details that can derail a project.  Why I don’t buy a pack of nails is another of life’s mysteries.

As mom’s able to move large pieces of furniture around in her house when she’s on a re-decorating binge, she isn’t your typical wheelchair user.  However, as we know some airports require miles of walking, I ordered one to be at the ready from Alaska Airlines for our trip this past week to Palm Springs.

The first leg of our journey was by car, as we drove from Osoyoos to Spokane.  On the way, a nice police officer pulled me over to explain that I was “going a little fast.”  However he must’ve had his quota for the day as he just gave me a warning and let us proceed on our merry way.

We were immediately lost once we’d parked in the handicapped spot at the airport.  Luckily, mom had kept Gerry’s sticker.  After wandering around lost for a while, we managed to find the terminal, and made our way to the boarding gate.

We took one of those teeny tiny airplanes with propellers to Portland, where we waited for a larger plane to Palm Springs.  Mom was met by a wheelchair and a ‘pusher’ so we put all the bags on the chair and off we went to wait.

We had a wheelchair waiting in Palm Springs, so were wheeled right to the exit, where we were met by Brigitte and her husband Bob.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Palm Springs, but it’s awfully cute.  There’d been a huge wind that day and bark from the palm trees was strewn over the roads.

We spent two days eating in restaurants and shopping.  Bob and Brigitte drove us around to see different sights, and we sat our in their beautiful yard.  They have a lemon and an orange tree and the fragrance from the orange blossoms was wonderful.  Hummingbirds came and went all day.

Luckily, Bob and Brigitte were babysitting a friend’s Chihuahua, so we even had a little dog around for a bit of dog love.  This little dog is 12 and was sitting there snapping at the air.  I asked Brigitte what she was doing, and she said the dog must have cataracts or floaters and is snapping at imaginary flies.  So adorable.

Brigitte took us to some stores in a nearby town, called Temecula, and we spent some happy time in Target and Nordstrom Rack.  The next day we shopped in her home town of Hemet, and went to Ross and Marshall’s.  And really, in an area of that kind of wealth, what would a shopping trip be without a stop at the local Salvation Army thrift store?

Then it was time to leave, and not wanting to inconvenience ourselves with an early departure, I said there’d be no problem at arriving at Palm Springs airport at 9:00 AM for a 10:00 AM departure.  It would’ve been a problem, but not in the magical wheelchair.  Mom hopped in, the pusher came, and we went right to the head of the line and through security.

We landed in Seattle at 1:00 and our plane left for Spokane at 1:30, yet we made it.  Yep, we even had time to spare, as we were pushed from the arrivals gate to our new departure gate within minutes.

We then got a wheelchair from the Spokane arrivals gate right to the car!  I’m telling you, I don’t care how you do it, but do not travel minus a wheelchair.

It’s raining again today which puts me in an extra-good mood regarding our trip to Palm Springs.  Mom’s friend Brigitte lives there, so we’re going to stay with her and her husband Bob.  Apparently they live in a small town outside of Palm Springs, have a large pool, and said it’s currently 28 degrees C so bring bathing suits.  Fun!

Since Mojo died Nicky says whenever I’m away Ricky howls at night.  Ricky and I sleep together every night, so when I go away he has to sleep in his dog bed on the floor, and he gets mighty lonely.  Being a hound, he likes to tip his head back and let loose with some mournful cries.

Nicky said he just screams from downstairs for the dog to shut up.  I suggested it might be better to move the dog bed downstairs so Ricky doesn’t feel so lonely.  But I can’t cancel trips because the dog’s sad, as I know he has everything he needs, just not me.

And for my nerves it’s good to get away once in a while, as you know I’m never, ever alone in this house.  Luke’s mercifully left for Vancouver, and tomorrow he’s off to Thailand to spend five weeks with Jan.

I had bought some stuff for Jan and her family, and had asked Luke to take it.  He said he certainly wasn’t going to be packing anything much for me, and if it didn’t fit into carry-on he wasn’t taking it.  Then one day he and Jan were talking on Skype and Jan said make sure you bring lots of chocolate.  And soap.

As you’ll recall, I had taken 60 pounds of gifts when I went in November, most of which was chocolate.  Then when a friend of mine from the gym went to Thailand in February I sent chocolates for her to give to Jan.  So I assumed Luke would take gifts, but he said no.

Luckily, the Mrs. is able to motivate him better than I can, so once given the order he said to me, “Mom, you have to get me 25 boxes of chocolate.”  I went to Costco and got a whole bunch of their Belgian chocolate, and then went over to Home Sense for bars of soap made in Italy.

I’m not overly hopeful about it all though, as taking 60 pounds of chocolate to the tropics is harder than it sounds.  I did it successfully because I’m a Type A, so I made sure the suitcase was kept cool under any and all conditions.  IE in the Bangkok train station: “Run! Run! We have to get the air conditioned train.”

When I drove Luke to the airport he had tumbled out of bed, straight into the car.  Teeth unbrushed, greasy hair in a nest on the back of his head.  We put the suitcase in the trunk, and when he took it out at the airport I gave him one more pep talk about vigilance, but had a sinking feeling.

Never mind.  My problems are more immediate in that I have to imagine what 28 degrees C feels like and go through my wardrobe and pick the appropriate things.  Mom and I are both taking carry-on only, so I have to be mindful of the quantity on the way there.  If I happen to shop a bit, I’ll want a bit of room, won’t I?

Out in the yard, Luke has his old car on jacks, hood open, two of the tires removed.  The kids took off the exhaust as they needed it to repair Nicky’s old Civic.  Beside that wreck there’s a huge pile of pine needles from the yard, topped with my former gate.

It was weird as I was looking out the kitchen window at the dump truck sized pile of pine needles, and I was thinking about how nice it’d be to have them hauled away.  Then I thought to myself, what the heck is that white structure right on the top?  I had to leave the house and walk over as I was so intrigued by the gleaming whiteness and symmetry of the object.

I soon realized it was the gate from the top of the stairs leading to the landing at my front door!  I wondered why in the name of God in Heaven my children would’ve removed that without asking me.  However I had to admit to myself I’ve always hated that gate and never understood its purpose.

I asked the kids, and they explained the wood in the gate was rotten and it no longer closed.  I said fine, but can you please get rid of the pine needles, random garbage and the car on jacks for me?  I’m hoping this’ll be done within the next few weeks, as we have even more German relatives due April 29th.

Currently a really nice couple, aged 24 named Nicola and Sebastian, are here until the end of June.  They’re going to volunteer at the Red Cross for a couple of hours a day to improve their English.  I helped them find a cute furnished basement suite in the Mission, and they’re happy touring around the Okanagan.

Sadly, they have to use Nicky’s 1992 Civic.  The exhaust fell off in what I consider to be a very lucky place.  They were visiting mom in Osoyoos, and had been sight-seeing all the way there, taking a nice detour to Naramata and back.  Then just past mom’s the incident occured, and they were able to reach her and let her know they were stuck.

Mom called her neighbour, Gerry, a self-sufficient farmer, who drove right up, wired and duct-taped the exhaust back on, and sent them on their merry way.  It was an excellent opportunity for the German kids to see Canadian ingenuity in action.

They’ve learned how to bump-start a vehicle, too, which I said to mom will be another invaluable skill someday.  The first time it occurred they phoned and said the car was stalled on a busy street.  Nicky got on the phone and calmly said for them to push to car, jump in and make sure it’s in second gear, then let the clutch out abruptly.

We held our breath, and I said those kids’ll be phoning any minute asking you to go and help them.  But we waited, and then they phoned and said they had started the car on their own!

After this incident they felt completely happy to drive the car to Big White, which I thought was exceedingly brave on their part.  Yesterday they took my suggested route to Vernon and around Westside Road back to Kelowna.  Maybe we’ll make Canadians out of them yet.

For once I’ve made a list of plants before driving off to the nurseries.  I have every intention of buying them while sitting here at my computer, but when I get to Art Knapps or The Greenery, something happens.  If I can’t find the exact plant I want, instead of waiting or looking elsewhere for it, I buy a random substitute.

Sometimes I hate my list by the time I’m in the store and prefer all the lovely things they have on display instead.  Then I get home with an unruly assortment of finicky plants that don’t fit in anywhere.

You’ll recall I hired a landscaper last year, and had the lower lawn converted to a xeriscape garden.  This year I’m going to continue on my own, and hope to find some of the plants used down there for beds around the upper deck.  Imagine how beautiful it could be if all one uniform, sensible theme.

But why would I think that’d occur outside when inside my closets there’s a riot of colours and styles, I’m not sure.  I don’t think I’m a One Theme kind of person.  When I look at my recently-purchased Bill Blass pumps ($6 at Sally Ann) beside my pink canvas flats, I can see competing moods, can’t you?

I don’t think gardening’s going to be the fun it used to be, thanks to the new house across the street and now some type of hotel being built on the bluff behind me!  I e mailed a city councillor yesterday and asked her why that’s allowed in this rural area.

As you know my greatest joy is pushing the wheelbarrow around in summer while in my underwear, and now I can see that’s going to cause a lot of anxiety for many people.  Naturally, I refuse to budge on how I dress in my own yard, so all I can say is, if thine eyes offend thee, pluck them out.

But for me it’s also kind of disconcerting as now I’ll have to make sure to keep my stomach pulled in at all times.  Try to do that while gardening and you’ll see what I mean about my summers being less fun.

You can imagine my profound disappointment last week at the Rutland Hospital Auxiliary Thrift Store.  They had three pairs of Joseph Ribkoff pants for $2 a pair, but all were too small.  But I managed to find darling Liz Claiborne cuffed stretch jeans for the same price, so left placated.

One of my goals was to clean up my newsletter bulk e mail recipients by deleting old e mail addresses and adding new contacts.  As I worked on it last week I was thrilled to recall I had the addresses of everyone contacted regarding our 40th high school reunion last year.

So that was a windfall of contacts, and I added all of those.  Then as usual, when I sent out my March newsletter, orders followed.  It’s a fabulous marketing tool, for sure.

We’ve got German relatives here and I baked a banana loaf and gave it to them, and they loved it.  Luke’s coming home in a day or two, so I’ll be baking and cooking for him, whether he wants it or not.  I suppose that remains my main theme:  Food Production.