Sequel Preview! ... More Tales from a Dog Catcher

In the course of my duties as an animal control officer, I was sometimes often responsible for doing things I didn't want to do. Sure. Everyone can relate to that. It's work. Some people feel this way all the time; others some of the time - for example - using the copier machine at my job is definitely NOT one of my all-time favorite things. "Why not" you ask? "Well that sounds likes tons of fun". I guess I'm just not a fan, especially since it's usually not working or stops working the moment it senses I'm in the room standing in front of it. Now, let's say if one of my responsibilities was breaking the copier, chopping it up with an ax, and I mean really annihilating it, repeatedly - and then dancing on the wreckage while yelling "There you go - how do you like that?!" than that would be an entirely different story. That would be a story of vengeance that would follow with a story about the ways one looks for another job. But I digress.


The story segment below could be construed to be a series of sad events - an isolated eccentric older woman facing an eviction and having to give up some of her beloved pets in the process, unfortunately feeling that the mobs of feral cats that she fed daily who accumulated in the lot next to her building were her pets as well - an opinion not shared by her landlord. However; (especially those who are familiar with the first book), you will find that what may begin as a common and tragic tale is always something more.  It could be unusual and a little dangerous, involve blood shed, high ranking police officials, in full dress uniform en-route to an important ceremony, on their knees in a parking lot yelling into the back of a car and then arguing about who's better at it.  Some hysteria...mass hysteria as well as the more common humorous type, and surprises. Always surprises.
 Below is a segment from the sequel to Tales from a Dog Catcher...only the very first part since there is so much more to the story. This is a promise that the book you ask me about is in the final stages and coming soon. I just wanted to give you a little taste of what's to come and thank you for your patience and continued loyalty. I hope you enjoy this small preview from More Tales from a Dog Catcher. - Lisa

 The General (chapter segment)

After bringing the two carriers downstairs, I saw the owner of the building waiting for me. I braced myself for what was to come and started to walk over to the car. The landlord was still really mad and since the problem of Miss Sally was only half solved by evicting her, he still had to deal with getting rid of the cats that hung around outside. It seemed that he still had quite a bit of mad left in him that he had to get out of his system. "I got a business all lined up to come in here lady, I mean Miss, um warden person… these cats will drive people away. I want them out of here, all of them, that crazy old woman is gone, but those…” He hesitated for a moment and took in the scene before him. A crowd was beginning to gather, and within them, possibly some potential customers for whatever he planned on turning this building in to. I could almost visualize him applying the brakes in his head . 

“Those…stinkin’ cats!”

Clearly, this was not his first choice of words. He knew what he wanted and even though I liked Miss Sally, and I really didn’t like him…none of that mattered. Somehow, I had to get these cats out of here and find a way to dissuade them from coming back, a complex process that I knew he would not understand or tolerate. It would take too much time. I knew that after a while when no one was feeding them anymore they would move on to somewhere else, although he didn’t look like the kind of person who could wait that long. It couldn’t be done overnight. They would come back until they saw that there was nothing more to eat, but that could take weeks. I tried to explain that to him, but it wasn’t having it. It wasn’t the immediate solution he wanted. He stood there with his arms crossed, glaring at me; the current target of his hostility. 

On top of the rest of his complaints, he had just informed me that his taxes paid my salary. You would think with so many people paying my salary that I would be driving a sports car and vacationing on a warm tropical island somewhere…but this was not the case. I was standing on a sidewalk in the middle of the city on a cold day with the wind making me realize I should've opted for the long underwear underneath my uniform pants.  A growing audience was waiting to see what I, and their tax dollars, would do next. The crowd wanted action. 

And that was when I spotted The General.

Miss Sally had named him “The General” and it suited him. He was a grizzled orange cat  -  clearly a veteran of many battles. He was probably the scariest cat I had ever seen. He had scars criss-crossing the side of his face and missing fur in other areas. Half of his left ear was missing from some conflict in his checkered past, but mostly…he was mean and proud of it. He was pretty bold for a feral cat.  I would sometimes get calls from people complaining a wild orange cat had chased them in the middle of the city. I knew immediately who they were referring to. He wouldn’t attack them; at least he never did before. His modus operandi was to charge at strangers walking by and as soon as they reacted, turn and fly back in the other direction. He would run out and chase cars as they were pulling away. He was one of the few wild cats there who didn’t mind getting a little close to people, however not for affectionate purposes. He seemed to enjoy harassing them and showed no fear of humans. It was this feature of his personality that led me to my idea.

The General as the unofficial leader, (or official leader if there is some type of secret feral cat fraternal organization –sort of like the Masons), of the feral cats, was usually the first to come out and eat when Miss Sally set out the cans of cat food in the back of the building. Perhaps I could trap The General?  I knew I would have to bring him to the shelter. He was hostile, aggressive and he was the one I got the most phone calls about. Maybe with him gone, the rest would go off on their own more quickly. It was time to do my job and put all emotion aside. I often had to do things I didn’t want to do, and then gave myself headaches trying to figure out a way to make something positive result from a bad situation.  Sometimes there was no upside. It was what it was. I knew if I baited the trap and left, he would just manage to get to the food and back out without tripping the latch that would shut him in. He was too smart for that. I had had twice trapped cats from this empty lot next to Miss Sally’s building, but never him. Any cat worth earning the rank of general wouldn’t be trapped that easily. But, maybe if I set the trap up and waited there, I could grab the trap up the moment he went for the food and shut the latch myself. I had a feeling that it wouldn’t take that long. I knew I had to do something with the growing crowd waiting for my next move, and The General might be bold enough not to mind an audience.

I went over to my car and pulled it up onto the sidewalk. Yanking open the back door which was heavy and unwieldy, even without the wind, I pulled out the trap. Maybe this would work, but even if it didn’t it would be obvious to the owner of the building, as well as to the people in the crowd, that I was trying. I hated being in this position, but I had to do my job. I had to put the thoughts about what would happen to The General, if I was able to catch him, out of my mind. I knew in my heart that the General was a cat with little hope of rehabilitation. Maybe he wouldn’t go for it. Maybe he was smart enough to tell it was a set-up. Regardless of how grouchy The General was, I didn’t want to be the one to bring him to the place of his ultimate demise. More and more lately, this seemed to be the primary purpose of my job, but I couldn’t let myself think about that right now. I had taxpayers waiting to see what I would do next.

I set the trap and grabbed a can of cat food out of the car and popped open my glove compartment to get the can opener. I had dry food in the back of the car, but that wouldn’t do it. I opened the can, choosing fish since I knew it would smell the strongest. I set it up and walked back to my car. Looking at my watch, I saw that I was late to another call. If he didn’t jump on this opportunity soon, I would have to leave and come back later and try again. I knew this wouldn’t go over too well with the onlookers, not to mention the landlord, I couldn’t sit around here all day and wait. I had to stay long enough to appear like I was doing my job while ignoring the other calls that were also part of my job. I would probably not be able to catch this cat in this last ditch effort to perform the impossible so I would be NOT doing my job in two places at once, Tax payers love that. - but sometimes appearances were more important than real work in public service - something that still didn't make sense to me.

It was about 10 minutes after I set up the trap, that I saw a flash of orange approaching from the side of the building making its way towards the trap. No way. I couldn’t be this lucky, but it was actually him. The General. He ignored all of us, brazenly heading for the can of food.  It seemed as though The General was going to decide his fate with his stomach. He looked over at the crowd with disdain, and slowly sauntered towards the trap. Everyone was standing still, so apparently chasing people wasn’t in the cards. Slowly, I backed over towards my car and leaned in to open the glove box again. I grabbed the new lead lined gloves the Chief had recently purchased for me.

     “They use these to handle primates at the San Diego Zoo!” He’d told me with a grin. He seemed very pleased with his purchase.

     “Guaranteed to be impenetrable.” The Chief put them on and admired them.

     “You’ll probably be the only A.C.O. in the county to have these!” he did a few air-boxing moves and took them off, somewhat reluctantly handing them to me.

     “Now don’t go and lose these, they weren’t cheap.”

     “Yes Chief” I'd said and took them out of his hands. I wondered if I would ever have to use these…hopefully not for any primates. Although in this town; I was learning that almost anything was possible.

     “These are finally going to come in handy,” I thought to myself while pulling them on. 
If I was going to get anywhere near The General, I would certainly need these. By the time I turned around, The General was already in the trap sniffing at the cat food. I started to walk over towards the empty lot. He didn’t move but just sniffed the food and started to eat. I quietly approached him from behind. I knew I only had a split second to do this right. I gave him a quick push and quickly snapped up the trap and tried to slide in the latch that would close it. 

It was jammed!  But wait! I had on my new invincible gloves, I thought why not? and blocked his escape with my hand, keeping the door shut and grasping the wires to hold the trap and trap door all at the same time. There was a loud “yaaay” and some clapping came from the crowd. This was really getting to be too much. Didn’t any of these people have jobs?

All of a sudden, I heard a loud pop and felt like someone had squeezed my hand as hard as they could. The General was howling and banging around inside the trap so hard that I could hardly hold onto it. 
All I have to do is get him in the car and get out of here. I thought to myself. I sort of limped over to the car, banging the heavy trap against my leg. This cat wasn’t as heavy as I thought he would be but the fact that he was howling and thrashing around didn’t help matters any.  I was having a hard time holding onto the trap but I needed to use my other hand to open the back door. I must have caught my hand in it somehow and the gloves were stiff, making all of this more difficult. The General kept howling and hissing, but he wasn’t as large as I thought he would be. I’d held on to Dobermans and Rottweilers easier than this. Why was it so heavy? That was when I heard the crowd again.

     “Oooooooh!!”.

 Really? Didn’t these people have anything else to do? I turned to look at the landlord who looked different. Paler...sort of gray. Oh no...I hoped he wasn't going to have a heart attack.

     “Miss, um, Officer…are you ok. Do you need, uh, something?” 

But the landlord, as ill as he looked, seemed more subdued than he was before, actually almost nice.
"No thank you. I can do this." I said.  I opened the back door with my free hand and  struggled to slide the trap into the back seat and tried to close the door to make sure that The General didn’t escape. I was pushing as hard as I could, but my right hand wasn’t cooperating.  I turned to face the landlord to ask him what he was talking about when I looked down at the sidewalk and noticed that I had stepped in what looked like a puddle of blood. “Oh no! Had I hurt The General?  Did I close his paw in the trap or something?”

That's when I saw the stream of blood pouring down my arm from underneath my invincible lead lined gloves. How was he bleeding through my gloves? Why didn't I feel my hand anymore. Then it finally clicked.  I suddenly realized why I had been having such a hard time holding onto The General. 

Then there was  a loud crash. Turning from the growing puddle of blood, I saw the trap lying on the ground. I hadn’t even felt my hand let go of it. I watched as The General took off like a bullet towards the group of people who had been watching the scene unfold. There was some screaming and a bit of chaos as taxpayers ran for cover. The General zigzagged around the crowd and then ran off into the distance but stopped and turned around abruptly, staring the crowd down. This was the feline equivalent of a Clint Eastwood movie. And that was when he started to charge back in our direction. 

He was heading straight for me. It was too late to run and my hand was now throbbing in pain. I mustn’t have felt it right away due to that adrenalin rush people get when they’re injured. Someone who just got hit by a car will tell you. “Well I felt a bump, and it wasn’t all that bad.” Meanwhile their leg is still under the tire.

Things were starting to appear as though they were in slow motion and my feet felt extra heavy, like they were glued to the sidewalk. Everything started looking wavy. Well, this was how it was all going to end I suppose. Maybe I’d get a statue dedicated to me in the middle of town. No, probably just a plaque. I'd settle for a plaque - it would cost less tax money. 
 I closed my eyes and put my arms up in front of my face and waited for the white light.

I heard a loud bang and then more screaming from the crowd. I hadn’t felt anything hit me. I opened my eyes to see that some of the people in the crowd had adopted my exact posture.

“He hit your car door and then took off up Division Street!” a woman in the crowd yelled over to me.

“No, he hit the car door and ran under it. I saw it!” a man shouted.

“Nah, he’s not under there” said a boy who was on his hands and knees on the sidewalk looking under the car. He looked like he was about 11 years old. Why wasn’t he at school?

     A murmuring started to develop among the crowd. It seemed that there was some disagreement over which direction the General had gone. The owner of the building looked a bit shook up and whatever animosity he had toward me in the beginning had seemed to evaporate. He started to approach me and I noticed that he still looked a little pale. I thought some people can't take the sight of blood. It never bothered me even though in this case; it was my own.  I mustn’t have looked much better myself because he walked over to me and gently removed the radio that I was clutching in my good hand.

“I think you should sit down Miss.” He said holding onto my radio. 
I looked over at my right hand and pulled the glove off with my left. It didn’t look as bad as I thought it would, considering how much I was bleeding, but when I tried to move my fingers, nothing happened.

“Could you do me a favor and …help me call headquarters?” I asked. 
There was no way I could use the radio without pushing the transmit button.

“Uh, sure. Why don’t you let me hold that for you? I’ll press the button and you talk.”

“Okay” I said and sat down on the hood of the car. Blood started dripping down my arm again.

“You just sit there and …well..put your arm back up and hold it up, good....yes, like that.  Now hold onto that hand with as much pressure as you can.”

            He held the radio up in front of me. I could have asked him to use the emergency switch on the side of the radio because that would signal that an “officer needed assistance”.  It would have sent every police officer in town racing over to me like I’d been shot. I’d only used it once before and this was no way even close to how dangerous that previous situation had been. No, I needed to get some help, but not that much. I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself, although I had a feeling I’d already lost that battle.

            “306 to 844. I’m at the 100 block of Division Street. I’ve been bit.”

Instantly Will responded from the dispatch desk.

             “Officer’s responding. ...are you okay?”

 “Affirmative” I said and explained, as briefly and calmly as I could so they would't send the cavalry, what had happened.

I held onto my injured hand to try and control the bleeding. It didn’t look that bad, just two perfectly round puncture holes right in the middle of my palm surrounded with a large purple bruise that was starting to grow larger by the second. So much for the invincible lead lined gloves.

 I tried moving my fingers again and to my relief I thought I saw them move a little.  I heard sirens in the distance and I looked down Division Street to see who they’d sent for me. I felt  my hand was swelling up and I was afraid to look at it again, but when I did, I was surprised at how benign it looked compared to how it felt at the moment. My hand throbbing, I sat on the hood of my car and waited, trying to move my fingers without much success. I would need a ride to the Emergency Room. I looked at the crowd. It seemed to have thinned out a bit yet there was still quite a large group just standing there staring at me. I thought that maybe I should say something. This was getting odder by the moment.

“I’m okay. Thank you for your concern. You can go now."  I said. 

The crowd seemed to collectively turn around and walk away. I thought I might have heard a sigh of disappointment.  The boy was still standing there while his mother was trying to pull him away. 

     “I’m sorry you got hurt.” He said.                                                                          
     “Thanks” I said. That was sweet. Then I thought about it for a moment and asked

     “Why aren’t you in school today?”                                            

     “I got braces…see” he said and gave me a big grin. He certainly had a significant amount of metal in his mouth. 

     “Impressive.” I said.                                            

     “Thanks.” He said.                                                                                                         
     “You’re welcome.” I said. Then he and his mother walked away. Aside from him, I just couldn’t wrap my head around why all of these adults had nowhere else to be considering it was a week day. The previously angry building owner - now apparent friend, was waving the police car over towards us. For someone constantly trying to stay under the radar, I usually ended up doing the opposite.  My friend Nick pulled up and shut off the sirens. I was glad they hadn't called the ambulance. This was a quick trip to the emergency room - and thankfully it was busy enough today that I didn't have to be anymore the focus of attention as I already was. I sighed. Finally, for the moment it seemed as though there was quiet. 

   “Show’s over” I whispered to myself under my breath....but what I didn't know was that it had only just begun.

More Tales from a Dog Catcher (c) 2016 Lisa Duffy-Korpics
Photo courtesty of Mark Rogers Photography: San Francisco Pet Photography

Section from "The Pine Kneedlers of Bay Shore". (working title)

   
Belinda looked around the "space". Why in the world apartments, or condos or any place where people lived these days was referred to as "space" instead of: "hall" or "room"...made no sense. Supposedly it sounded trendy...or larger. Who knew?

"This is a lovely open space; would work perfectly for your book collection. You could really showcase your collection here. It would be quite the showpiece."

      Since when did having books in shelves comprise a "collection". Why was everything a "showpiece" and small 3 by 5 foot blocks of empty areas considered a "unique space."

      It was bullshit. All of it. On top of that; it was all bullshit in the shade of beige. The "neutral palette" was in fact nothing but different shades of beige. It reminded Belinda of the bland pureed food she had once used a syringe for to push down patient's throats when she was still a nurse on the geriatric service.

      None of this looked like the advertisement. None of this looked like the model. Why would they show people the model and raise their expectations and then bring them into the mashed pureed "space" they wanted you to pay over half a million dollars for. It was indeed, utter bullshit, but Belinda was not the kind of woman to say things like that. Only recently had she become the kind of person who actually thought things like this. Grief can do that to you. Anger can do that to you....apparently getting old can do that to you.

     "So?" asked the optimistic Brittany "sales liaison", who Belinda thought was likely a receptionist who was the only one willing to work on weekends in the off season - but being a "liaison" sounded enticing, cosmopolitan. And after all;  they had made her business cards.  The way Brittany was dressed it didn't appear as though she needed the job. Her purse alone probably cost as much as Belinda's entire wardrobe. She had to stop being so negative. Brittany was probably younger than her own daughter. She knew it wasn't polite to make blanket statements like that; even if they were just thoughts. Blanket thoughts were just as rude.

"Would you like to look at our 3D visual of available lots? They're filling up pretty quickly so it might be a good idea, you know, just in case you wanted to put a deposit on a nice spot before it's taken."

     The hard sale. That is what this was, Belinda thought to herself. Quick. Buy the beige blocks of "space" before someone else did. Someone else with nobody to look with them because they're all alone now and everyone knows nothing makes life exciting for AARP members like beige boxes to huddle in until you're found one day not moving and they can sell your beige "space" for the going rate depending on whether you died during a buyers or sellers market.

     Belinda realized she was in a bad mood. "Don't make decisions during a time of stress" was the advice Cyndi at the Grieving Group gave everyone. Cyndi with an "i" said this frequently. Cyndi wore Crocs, even in the Winter. This would've usually caused Belinda to mildly distrust her; but for some reason it just made her seem more genuine. She had a point. Just like her advice to not go grocery shopping when you're hungry or after you've eaten. You're not making  decisions for the right reasons. At this rate; Belinda wouldn't make a decision for the next 20 years.

     "I think I'll come back next weekend if that's okay?" She said, knowing that it was highly unlikely she would, at least until Cyndi with the Crocs heard about this and brought her back personally. Until then though; there was no need to ruin Brittany's day. After all; she'd left her Sudoku book at the receptionist desk to show Belinda around. It was hard to get back into Sudoku once you stopped, especially if you were on a roll.

     Belinda left and got into her  new non obtrusive 4 wheel drive Subaru. It may have been a sensible choice since two of her three kids had decided to move up north and she'd need it for driving in the snow, but at least she'd bought a red one. They'd had beige, white and gray....but she chose red. Belinda was determined not to buy a car in a color that reminded her of everything her life had recently become.

     Neutral. Stagnant...Pureed.

The Things we Leave Behind

The things we leave behind

Smile at our ignorance
They know they're always there
We pretend we don't know
But we do

They follow you in rare moments of silence

And call your name

There are moments when you catch a glimpse of them

Out of the corner of your eye
In the lyrics of a song
In the fog of a dream
In the eyes of a stranger
In the sound of the rain

And you can choose to look
And listen

Or avert your gaze
Or think of other things
Or turn off the volume
Or cover your ears

But the things you leave behind
Are beside you all the time
And will follow you with vigilance
Until such time
That you become
The thing that's left behind

Chocolate caliente para el alma de las madres - found in Library of Congress in Argentina

Surprising things on a Sunday evening - I was looking on Google for a Wikipedia article on Siberian Huskies that included my book in the index as a resource of information, (which is very strange to me - cool, but strange), and found that a story I wrote for the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series many years ago  in a book called Chocolate Caliente Para el Alma e Las Madres which translates into "Hot Chocolate for the Soul of Mother's"

I think it was Mother's Soul 2 because the title of the story was "Crecer" which translates "To Grow." I have a story about my mother entitled "Growing Up" (Publishers often choose titles and this story was one of my earliest ones. As time went on I was allowed to choose my own titles and do more of my own editing.)

I wonder why hot chocolate for Spanish speaking mothers? Does soup not mean the same thing? Is soup perceived as less soothing as it is in the English speaking parts of the world? Maybe the reputation for chicken soup helping all ills is one that is significant only in certain parts of the world. I, for one, would definitely find hot chocolate pretty soothing, or at least as comforting as chicken soup. I happen to find soft vanilla ice cream sundaes with hot fudge and home made whipped cream topped with a cherry very soothing. Can you imagine that title having to be translated into multiple languages and cultures?

Knowing that people all over the world can read about my mother in their native language, about the obstacles she faced and her amazing courage - along with the ability she possessed to ensure our lives were as normal as possible even though this must've been so incredibly difficult, is so profound to me.
I didn't totally appreciate or understand this until I had children of my own, but isn't that the way it is with most of the really important things in life? You realize things in hindsight so much clearer than when you're in the midst of it.

So, if you happen to be in Argentina, check out the Biblioteca del Congreso de la Nacion Argentina. It's in Buenos Aires and looks like an absolutely beautiful building with multiple activities to get involved with.

Hasta la próxima vez - y me comprometo a comenzar realmente a terminar la secuela. Estoy casi ahí. El amor para todos!

Coming Soon...The Sequel to Tales from a Dog Catcher

                                                  

"I'm ready for more Tales from a Dog Catcher!"

It's taken a number of years. Two thirds of the book has been completed for a while, (pre-final edits), but finally...the sequel to Tales from a Dog Catcher will be coming soon!

Right now it's still a work in progress - but since so much of it has been sitting on my hard drive for years while I was busy with other projects and issues, it shouldn't be too long before it's available. I'm very excited - and I hope you are too. 

Mysteries will be solved. There will be action and adventure, bloodshed (mine), experiences with the super natural, rescues, close calls, reunions, lessons learned, revelations realized, bravery in the most unlikely places and even a possible love interest - and of course as usual -  the requisite odd "only in Annesville NY" situations abound.  They could possibly be more outrageous than the stories from the first book. You be the judge!

You'll laugh more, you'll cry, but most of all I hope you enjoy another set of adventures with the clumsy well meaning animal control officer from Annesville Police Department as she fends off violent joggers, gets stuck in an underground sewer pipe, is sent to the hospital after being attacked, recruited to spy on a motorcycle gang, bumps into a TV legend and more as she experiences a wide variety of humilating but hysterical situations in her efforts to help the animals and people of a small town along the Hudson River. 

Most importantly - the strong and unconditional bond between people and their pets is the major theme throughout the book. I'll keep you updated and I thank you for your continued support. 17, 5 Star Reviews on Amazon, 135 3.8 out of 4 Reviews on Goodreads.com, Library Systems across the world - I can't thank you enough. Your support continues to mean a great deal to me.

Thank you to my readers across the globe. I hope to create another book you will love just as much as the first. 

For All my Twisted Sisters...

I just received a letter from a reader who had been touched by "Tales from a Dog Catcher" in a way that was very different from the usual reader email I get.

This reader touched my heart because she understood firsthand the chapter "Odd Blessings" which is the only chapter in the book that mentions and explains the background of my scoliosis. I included it because it played such an important role in my life in myriad ways - many very positive.

For those of you who read the book, or know me personally, you know I had scoliosis surgery as a teenager and went through braces and casts and all the other exciting adventures one had to go through in the late 70's to treat it. Thankfully there are now amazing newer treatments and surgical options that allow someone with the need for scoliosis spinal fusions with instrumentation to be able to keep their ability to twist and move normally. These improvements also prevent the problems that resulted down the road for those of us with the original Harrington rod surgeries when we began to hit the 30 year mark post surgery.

I realized today that I hadn't mentioned any of this in my blog and that some of my readers who aren't my usual readers, animal lovers or people who enjoy heartfelt stories - but perhaps people who have also traveled the the same road that I have in reference to scoliosis, may need this information.  So this blog entry isn't too funny or profound, but necessary. I hope that there are others who can benefit from feeling that they weren't alone during that time. There are indeed many of us from that era - and I want to thank you Ana, for letting me know how much that chapter meant to you...from our shared experiences from youth to now...we really do truly live parallel lives!

I feel an explanation as to why this blog hasn't been updated as it should ...it also may help others who share my story, or at least get me out of trouble with those who think I've been lazy or irresponsible...although the jury's still out on those last two reasons as well!

In October I had another spinal surgery to fuse the rest of my spine and repair some of the damage caused by the initial 1978 procedure. No one could see that down the road the state of the art surgery for scoliosis in the 1970's would create further problems in the future. At that time it was a miracle that I'll always be grateful for. With that said; I've been "oddly blessed" again by an amazing team - a neurosurgeon and orthopedic surgeon who work together to take on the complicated spine problems us "scoli's" develop as we age when many other major hospitals and orthopedic surgeons are resistant to take the chance.

I am forever grateful to Orthopedic surgeon Dr. Seth Neubardt M.D. and Neurosurgeon Dr. Jack Stern M.D., PhD. of Brain & Spine Surgeons of NY, for being able to not only repair the immediate damage but also halt the progression of my flat-back syndrome which would've resulted in an additional incredibly dangerous and invasive surgery down the road. I went for many consultations and by the time I found them I had lost the ability to walk any further than a few feet. I was using a wheelchair. No doctor would take this on without two separate invasive surgeries that would've resulted in a year-long recuperation with a questionable success rate for someone my age.

Instead - I had surgery in October and was back at work full-time in January back in the classroom!

Thank you Dr. Neubardt and Dr. Stern and the entire staff at the Brain & Spine Surgeons of NY. For anyone on the east coast with similar issues - I highly recommend them. They're not only incredibly talented, but professional and accessible. During Hurricane Sandy, Dr. Neubardt had no power for two weeks, yet he still found the time, during the height of the storm, to check up on me at home from his cell phone.

On a side note - I found a scoliosis Barbie online! I could've really used that as a kid. How cool is that?!
Or creepy...
I think I'll go with cool.

photo courtesy of me :)

Photographer that Gave Amazing Gift to the World...Needs Some of our Love Now

Hannah Stonehouse Hudson and Jim Hudson (c) 2005

Hannah Stonehouse Hudson touched the world. She probably touched your heart and you didn't even know it.

Especially if you are a reader of this blog  - because so many of you are animal rescuers, animal lover's and basically just beautiful compassionate people who understand that animals have souls and that it is our privilege and responsibility to care of them while they're here. To make their lives happy and safe and escort them from puppy or kitten hood to the harder years when they experience a myriad of problems that we all will face some day, if we aren't already facing them now. We can tell someone when we hurt. They can't. Hannah captured this in her famous photograph below. Unfortunately, Hannah lost her 34 year old husband, Jim Hudson, to a tragic accident on January 26th, 2013. .

(c) Hannah Stonehouse Hudson 2012

Please click on this link to help Hannah with expenses and support which she needs now. She not only lost her husband but his business and income and there are so many things she has to deal with now, she needs any help to make this even a tiny bit easier. Below is an article about the accident and more information on the Hudson family.

 http://www.giveforward.com/hudsonfamily

Wisconsin angler, husband of 'John and Schoep' photographer dies after snowmobile goes through ice
Twin Cities Pioneer Press. (c) 2013.

Transitions...Sending my Son to College

You Are Not a Blogger! Accurate Criticism from Luann and an Attempt to Right this Wrong.

I received an email from my best friend Luann who in essence sort of summed up this blog lately with one word. Boring.

Impending Storm. (c) Eric Metzler. 1950's

She's right. I have neglected this blog and I am truly sorry. The simple fact that she still checks it shows you what a loyal friend she is. Never one to mince words as evidenced by her accusation above - I am going to try and write something here that is not boring. Since this is a blog for a nonfiction book, I suppose my post should be nonfiction as well. So, in reference to my exciting life at the moment - I decided to write a brief description of yesterday as it really happened...then I will attempt to jazz it up.

Sunday, August 5th 2012. It was a stormy day. My husband asked me to check accuweather to see how close the storm was. This involved finding the live radar site, refreshing it at intervals since it would freeze, and then tracking the coming storm on the screen as it approached. Apparently I did not do this quickly enough, or well enough, as Jason seemed irritated at the speed at which I was checking the track of the storm. The dog sat on my lap. Finally, the storm arrived and he closed all the blinds in the family room to go stand in the kitchen, where he opened the blinds wide, to watch the storm standing up, several feet away from where he was sitting when he was waiting for the storm. For some reason he felt this made sense.The storm came. There were several comments made about the storm. It ended.

Sunday August 5th, 2012. The darkening sky was ominous. Something in the air hinted at what was to come - the stillness, the absence of sound, a thick, almost palpable sense of dread settled in among us. Watching the approaching storm clouds we knew we were powerless in the path of this monster. Our faithful dog, relying on primal canine instinct, never left my side. She was protecting me as best she could from the impending onslaught. (Not really. She had no clue. She's a pug. The only thing probably going through her mind was "I am comfortable here. Why are you moving around. Since you're up, can you fetch me a snack?")

 My husband, pacing back and forth approached me suddenly and said

 "The radar. Go to the radar!" 

Knowing that this was the only thing we could do as we lay in wait for the inevitable, I quickly punched in the website for accuweather. The computer slowly started trying to load the page. We watched as the circle spiraled - attempting to bring forth accuweather.com - I felt it was mocking us.

"Why?!" Jason yelled, shaking his fist at the sky, (well, ceiling actually...we were indoors and there's the ceiling and then another floor above us, followed of course by the roof unless you don't consider the attic, which of course you should if you're trying to be accurate.) He became increasingly agitated, his pulse visible in the veins of his neck.

"Hit refresh!" He bellowed. (I've always wanted to use the word "bellowed". It's not often one gets the opportunity to use that word. I just may use it twice.)

"I did!" I bellowed back. (See.)

Finally, the page for accuweather.com came forth, (much more dramatic than"loaded" don't you think?), and the truth was laid out before us. Any hope that we would avoid this storm was stripped bare. (Stripped and bare....how about that. I'm SO like that 50 Shades of Grey writer except that I'm not a gazillionaire.)

In the same instinctive way men of past generations have prepared to save their families from the wrath of mother nature, Jason battened down the  hatches. (Read "closed the blinds."). The wind picked up, whistling through the trees, ( I really couldn't hear the wind because the windows were closed.)

"Don't look!!" I bellowed. (That was too much wasn't it? Twice was good, three times not so much.) I cried.

"Why?! WHY!!!?" Jason yelled, cursing the storm. (This is actually the truth. I told him that this was akin to that line about it being futile to curse the darkness which I thought was not only an astute observation on my part, but also pretty witty. He did not seem to find me as witty as I find myself and just looked at me and said "Huh?".)

The storm was upon us, wailing against our home - and then almost as suddenly - it was gone. We hugged each other, knowing that next time, we might not be so lucky. (That didn't happen. What really happened is that it was still raining in our yard, yet the sun was shining in the field behind our house and Jason, for some reason, did not approve of this. I think he said something to the effect of; "What the hell is this?")

We grasped hands and silently walked out to survey our territory. (We have like a HUGE amount of land...almost the size of Vatican City. I think it's like almost an acre!) Jason put his arm around my shoulder and said "Look, the sun is shining for us.". (Actually he stayed on the deck suspiciously eyeing the horizon and I said something like "This is cool." and walked down to stand in the sun shower, expecting him to follow and join me in appreciation of this rare and rather unique situation. He did not. Rather he asked me if bees can fly in the rain and I said "I don't think so." Thinking back on this I probably should've said "I don't know", because I really don't know. When people ask you about bees you should probably know what you're talking about. I'll note that for next time.)

As I turned back to watch the storm clouds receding and sun beaming through the light rain, Jason beamed at me (read "glared"), and gave me a knowing look. Yes. We had survived...and we would survive again. He pumped his fist in the air in that easily recognizable gesture of triumph used in many Rocky movies and I smiled. We had not only survived, but thrived. (Don't you love that trite sentence? If you Google it, it comes up all over the place. That's how much people love that sentence.). We would see another day I thought, watching our reflection in our private lake, (okay, it's an above ground pool..but it's one of those oblong ones so it's pretty close to a lake), noticing that my reflection was too thin - I reminded myself that I should eat more, (HAHAHAHAHAHA!).

Our faithful dog galloped through the yard, joyfully claiming her land back from the storm that had threatened to take it all away. (Actually, as you know...she is a pug. She doesn't gallop. She trots around sniffing and snorting, but that doesn't really create the same visual impact.)

Jason once again raised our flag, in symbolic recognition of our victory...and I knew...and he knew....and the dog knew....and AMERICA KNEW!!!!!, (that was good, right?),  that we'd overcome great odds. (We have a flag pole, but no flag. The people we bought the house from took the flag with them. Who does that? Anyway, I keep reminding myself I have to get a flag.). In silent homage, to those who weren't as lucky as us, who perhaps had lost satellite reception or worse...cellphone signals...we stood silently watching the flag wave in the wind. Yes. Life was good. Indeed.

(In reality I turned to talk to him after he asked me about the bees to find that he'd run inside. He ran back outstide...and those of you who know Jason, know that he really does run everywhere..and sprayed behind a piece of vinyl siding where there had been a huge bees nest. "WATCH OUT!" he yelled. "YOU SHOULD BACK UP AND GET AWAY FROM THERE AFTER I DO THIS. THEY'RE GOING TO FLY OUT OF HERE!". He sprayed and flew up the stairs back onto the deck and into the house. One bee sort of crawled out of the siding, like he'd been napping, and then walked back in. I think I might've even seen him yawn a little bee yawn.) Jason came back out and looked sadly at the siding.

THE END.

Okay Luann. How'd I do?   :)

My Appeal for Patience, Understanding, maybe a Box of Milanos...that would be nice.

I just wanted to let everyone know that:

I do love you.
I do want to talk to you.
I mean to return your call but I pass out with my phone in my hand.
I do miss you.
I don't mean to be so cranky.

Now that that's all cleared up - I'm at 55,000 words with 50,000 or so to go. I could bang this out if I didn't have a full-time job with a stress level of 15 on a scale of 1 to 10. I have ideas, paragraphs, a narrative arc, plot lines, endings, beginnings...excitement....I am loving this project...but what I don't have is time. And it's frustrating, although this is just the way it is. Opportunity knocks and you don't say "Hey, can you wait until my summer vacation?" Opportunity would tell you where to get off....although I don't think Opportunity would be that crude about it. I've always thought of Opportunity as sort of refined and well regarded. If Opportunity were at a party, it would wear beige...or something else nice and neutral with maybe one signature piece of jewelry...nothing flashy like Kim Kardashian would wear.

Please don't forget me. I haven't forgotten you....really. I'm just 55,000 words in with 50,000 or so to go and for those of you who know what that feels like, you know what I mean. For those of you who might understand  but not relate...just know that I'm still here...I miss you all very much and I'll call you back soon. :)