two hearts

He's a pup in Japan. Doesn't he have a lovely heart on his coat? It's not doctored, he really has a furry heart.

Appaloosa

When Christopher was 4 or 5 we saw a bunch of horses on a ranch. He excitedly uprighted himself in the car to take in the view. He loved horses eventhough he wasn't terribly familiar with them.

Among the horses there was a black and white spotted one. Christopher yelled, "Woe look! There's a 101 Dalmation horse."

Doggie Pictures

For my visitors who love dogs, you'll like this site: http://www.cybersalt.org/cleanlaugh/dogs/index.htm

Unfortunately I couldn't make the link work, so copy and paste the address into your browser. You'll enjoy this. There are tons of funny dog photos. Enjoy.

Kudos to the Momma Tiger

In a zoo in California, a mother tiger gave birth to a rare set of triplet tiger cubs. Because of complications in the pregnancy, the cubs were born prematurely and died shortly after birth. After recovering from the delivery, the mother tiger started to decline in health. The veterinarians felt that the loss of her litter had caused the tigress to fall into a depression. The doctors decided that if the tigress could surrogate another mother's cubs, perhaps she would improve.

Checking with many other zoos across the country, no tiger cubs of the right age were found to introduce to the mourning mother. The veterinarians decided to try something that had never been tried in a zoo environment. Sometimes a mother of one species will take on the care of a different species. The only orphans that could be found quickly were a litter of weaner pigs. The zoo keepers and vets wrapped the piglets in tiger skin and placed the babies around the mother tiger.

Momma Tiger is the proud mother of these little piglets.

Hannah's Signature

Hannah enjoys writing her name and exploring new and unique signatures. Watching her write her name over and over last night, I was reminded of the very first time she actually "signed" something.

We had two hamsters, Chimpy and Reepicheep. Chimpy belonged to Hannah, Reepicheep to Rachael. When we were ready for baby hamsters, we put them in the same cage and watched the science lesson unfold before us.

A couple weeks later, I picked the girls up at school and we rushed home to discreetly watch the delivery. Again, very fascinating and beautiful. The girls were wowed.

We watched as eight little hamster babies grew and became independent. Hannah tried to sell them to her friends and relatives to now avail. Finally it was time to part with them as I was afraid they were getting old enough to start reproducing. With love, gentleness, and quite a lot of sadness, the girls put the babies in an ice cream bucket.

We went to the pet store, and since Hannah was the rightful owner, I stood quietly beside her as she tried to sell the manager her hamsters. (I had phoned ahead and knew it was most likely they'd take them as I'd been told they'd take our baby hamsters if they looked healthy. They were healthy, so I assumed it would all go well.)

Hannah was six years old. She stood with her shoulders back looking so thoughtful and confident as she spoke to the lady. "Would you like to have my hamsters?," she asked as they looked at the energetic rodents in her ice cream pail.

The manager responded with, "How much do you want for them?" She addressed me, but I quickly redirected the question to Hannah. Truthfully, I didn't expect money, I just needed to get rid of the cute babies before we single-handedly multiplied the rodent population exponentially.

Hannah looked up and asked her with no guidance from me, "Would $2 be too much?" This was becoming way more of an education than I had envisioned. I was milking it for all it was worth. When the manager asked me a question, I'd say, "Their not my hamsters, their her's." (Yes I know the manager probably had bigger and better things to do, but I was molding a young heart and I viewed that with awesome seriousness and beauty.)

It was agreed upon. $2!

When the manager went to the till to get the money, Hannah looked at me with those big blue eyes and shrugged her shoulder as if to say, "Can you believe it?"

The manager returned with not $2, rather $16. $2 per hamster! Hannah looked at me with eyes like saucers, but remained cool as if she were expecting $16 all along. After the lady counted out the money into Hannah's chubby little hand, she turned to me and asked me to sign the receipt. Again, I redirected the transaction to Hannah. The lady, perhaps annoyed with me, handed Hannah the pen. Hannah was puzzled so I coached her, "She wants you to sign your name. Write you name right here." With grave seriousness, Hannah gripped the pen firmly. She sucked in her bottom lip and bit it as if the harder she bit, the better her printing would be. With deliberate precision she wrote across the bottom of the receipt, H A N N A H

The lady asked if we wanted our ice cream pail back and Hannah told her no. We started to leave and Hannah said, "Mom can you believe I got $2 for each of them? I thought I was getting $2 for all of them."

She gasped and ran back to the manager, clearly remembering something. I arrived just in time to hear her say, "I forgot. Do you want to know their names?"

It's a precious memory.

Potbelly Pig

Recently we had guests who were telling about their neighbor's intentions of getting a Vietnamese Potbelly Pig. I personally think that anyone who wants to have a pet pig in the house is a bit demented, but that's just my take on the subject. If someone wants a pet pig in the house, more power to them. I'll stick to dogs.

As my friend talked about this potbelly pig that might soon become her neighbor, I was reminded of my brief, but interesting, exposure to potbelly pigs. The girls, Gordon, and I were at a petting zoo. Because of my and the girls interest in petting zoos, we have been to quite a few. At this particular one, there were a couple potbelly pigs.

My city husband and kids didn't know I was familiar with pigs, so I was quite pleased when I had opportunity to show them a few of my piggy tricks.

I told them I knew how to make the pig go to sleep standing up and make him have a sleep-induced fall over. I always love to impress my kids and this was one of my moments in the sun.

I knelt down beside the pig and he and I got acquainted while I stroked him. Soon I was scratching the underside of his belly and telling them to watch closely. In no time, Mr Potbelly Pig was swaying back and forth with his eyes closed. Then, just as I predicted, he fell over. My family was awed by my hypnotic prowess.

I continued to rub his belly as my family stood mesmerized. Soon something began to emerge from Mr Potbelly's lower belly. We were all mildly horrified, as it looked like nothing we'd ever seen. I don't know quite how to say this, but Mr Potbelly's private part was out and it was shaped just like a cork screw. It looked like a black uncooked spiral noodle. Very gross and nasty looking, to say the least.

The kids let out horrified screams and ran away. Gordon and I stared, perplexed and speechless. Gordon got his wits back before me. Thoughtfully and slowly he articulated, "That gives a whole new meaning to screwing around."

Blood Pressure vs Doggie Pressure

Did you know that having a pet significantly reduces blood pressure? My humble advise: Get a dog and cuddle it every day.

Fat is in the Air

This is Hercules. He was missing from his owner, but was found when he got himself stuck in a doggie door attempting to steal a snack. Isn't he huge?

These are 2 newborns in Cancun. The big guy weighed over 14 pounds and the other little fellow is of "average" weight. Can you believe this whopper? Can you believe someone's been carrying him around in her tummy? And you think you have stretch marks?

Hannah and Ferrets

My 10-year-old Hannah has her future mapped out. She is going to university to become a librarian. Then she is going to get married and live in a tall apartment building. She will drive a PT Cruiser. In the evenings, after the day job at the library, she will give art lessons and dog training lessons. Sounds like a good life, eh?

Last week the ferret society called to interview me as that is what they do before allowing one of their ferrets to be adopted. Hannah, as you may recall was in the market for a ferret, and was harassing the society. Finally they called me to conduct the interview and plan for an in-home assessment. Kind of intense, don't you agree? I was thinking through the interview, "It's a ferret for goodness sake, not a child."

Well as our interview progressed, I learned things about ferrets that the books from the library had neglected to tell us.

Tip off question #1: "Are you prepared to spend $60 a month for ferret food?" Hello? That's more than my dogs, cat, fish, and hamsters eat collectively. So she preceded to inform me that ferrets need SPECIAL food and nothing but SPECIAL food would do. I knew I'd throw the carnivorous ferret an occasional hunk of meat, so with no intention at all of spending $60/month for ferret food, but assuming the gist of the question was really if I planned to feed him, I answered yes.

Tip off question #2, and about 25 minutes into the interview: "Are you prepared to spend a minimum of $2500 in vet bills over the course of the next 7 years for your ferret? Hummm, let me think about this; do you have a really sick ferret you're wanting to give our family? I didn't ask that, but I thought it. Turns out ferrets are susceptible to cancers and many other sad maladies. Whereupon learning this, I politely told her to kiss off. Not really, I politely told her that there was no way I could make that kind of commitment. She was gracious and understood my position.

Ferret Society Interview Lady and I said our goodbyes. Hannah had been right beside me throughout the whole interview. I told her what the lady had said about ferrets being such expensive animals to own. After my explaining what all I'd learned I ended it with, "So Hannah, I think when you're older, one night when you're not teaching art, you and the hubby need to hop in the PT Cruiser and go and buy yourselves a ferret, because I just can't afford one."

She cried. I held her. I again told her, "maybe when you're grown..." I was impressed with her astute money sense. Through her tears she said, "What a foolish way to spend money."

Lacy and Bear

Pals? Not.

Meanwhile, at the Dykstra Animal Reserve

Meet Chirp! This little bird is about 1 inch big and a perfect specimen of a wren, I think. Hannah found Chirp last night under a spruce tree. We looked for a mama bird and siblings, but didn't find any. We fed him ground up worm, apple, watermelon and seeds from an eye dropper,-- a meal any bird would be happy to get, or so we think. He ate tiny amounts very often. I decided to look up their diet on the net and what did I find except that they eat tiny amounts but they eat 15-19 times an hour (and mama birds have been known to die of exhaustion). Surprisingly, none of us were up to the challenge of feeding little Chirp that often and I can think of better ways to die.

Gordon, being the good Daddy he is, concocted a secure little home for Chirp in the spruce tree Hannah found him under.

Hannah checked on him this morning. She could hear 2 birds in the tree, but Chirp wasn't in his "nest." Hopefully he was enjoying a wren-style family reunion.

Pictures

Deborah and her Interest Fair Project
Harry the Hamster.











Rachael and her project, Ancient Kings.














I went to bed much later than the girls last night. I tucked them all into their own beds, but when I went to bed, this is what I found. Yesterday some dingbat at school told them about demons and how they sometimes attack you and choke you to death while you sleep. I guess Mom and Dad's bed felt much safer and secure.

Allow me to brag and then allow me to wallow

Hannah
Interest Fair
Dogs
2nd Place Winner

Well, well, well, I don't mean to brag, but (picture me snorting like Barney on Andy Griffith), but my Hannah won second place in the interest fair at school. It was such a cute display and she put her heart and soul in it. It was soooo Hannah.

Rachael's looked nice too. Deborah's display board kept falling over, but Harry the hamster was a big hit. Kids are so smart these days. There were displays that boggled my mind. Smart, creative, artistic, and elaborate.

Attendees voted on the best displays. First, Second, and Honorable Mention in three age divisions were the voting options. As Gordon and I made our way around the gym, we were impressed with the many displays. I voted for all my girls I must admit. Gordon, on the other hand, was more methodical. He stood thoughtfully in front of each display he was considering. I was like a dripping faucet behind him: "You can't vote for him, he tripped Deborah on purpose last year." You can't vote for her, she laughed when Rachael auditioned for the solo." "He is really a mean kid, don't vote for him." "She's a brat, don't vote for her." "Oh looky there, her Mom did a fine job on that one." Finally Gordon turned around and asked me to leave him alone. But "truth" prevailed anyway and Hannah won Second Place. She deserved it.

I do not mean to wallow in self pity, but I loath my new job. I'm no good at it and there is no other way to say it. Yes, my cakes look sick. I thought it would be easy, and I guess it is for most people. One girl said, "Any idiot can do this, Val." But it doesn't come easily for me. I am to cake decorating what I am to dancing and drawing. I just can't get it. I am "challenged." I came home today and cried. I committed to Gordon to keep it up till school's out, but I'm bordering on depression over the whole stupid thing.

I can decorate a cake as a homemaker and be happy with it. Even today I made decorated cupcakes for Rachael's teacher's birthday, and they were precious. But I don't think I've got the ability to ever be a professional. I'm comfortable with my ability as an amateur. I wish I'd never gone down this stupid professional decorator path. I feel like a retard. I must have heard 10 times today, "why are you doing it that way? I showed you how to do this already." Even my adoring husband looked at my red velvet cakes and asked what the red blob on the top was. It was a rose bud, but no one could possibly know.

Tomorrow is a day I've been mildly dreading for months. I was subpoenaed as a witness to a hit and run by a drunk driver. I have dreaded tomorrow, but now that it will pull me away from buttercream icing, I am happy to testify and wish I could do it more often.

Today the girls found a pathetic cat and brought it home. (We have a reputation as animal rescuers and have saved many a pet from a lonely death.) This poor cat couldn't stand up. Its nose was partially missing and its ears too. It was so pitiful. We wrapped him up and took him to the pound. The lady who admitted him like to have scared us silly. "You need to go home right away, bathe and put your clothes in the wash on the hot cycle." And that is precisely what we did. An hour later we phoned to find out what happened to the poor cat and they had euthanized it. They said it had a number of things wrong with it.

That little experience made me so thankful to be in a civilized and humane society that deals with those things in a compassionate way. I was so proud that my girls cared and that we played a roll in ending its awful life in a loving manner. I hate the idea of what may have happened had we not rescued it.

That reminds me of a magpie that the girls rescued once. A magpie is a scavenger bird. This bird, they promptly named her Maggie, had a broken wing and a broken leg. It too was pitiful. We made a make shift home for it in the backyard. The girls fed it and tried to nurse it back to health. On about day 2 of this operation, we had a church picnic. On the way to the picnic, it started to downpour and Hannah and Deborah began to wail, "WHAT ABOUT MAGGIE?" I turned the van around and drove home. The girls got some towels to wrap Maggie in and away we went with Maggie with us. Because magpies are not an esteemed bird, she had to stay in the van. But because I kept going to the van and checking on the bird, everyone knew about it. This led to a conversation. A church friend mentioned that they found a presumably orphaned rabbit and had thought about calling us. I was kind of puzzled that she would think about calling us about this orphaned rabbit. Kind of confused I asked her why she thought about calling me. A friend across the table answered the obvious that I had missed. She said, "Valerie, you have a magpie in your van." She was pointing out that we have a reputation of rescuing the oppressed. After she said it, it made good sense to me.

Maggie lasted a couple more days and then died. The girls buried her, built a cross out of sticks, and wrote an epitath on the rocks on top of her grave. Hannah wrote and recited a poem about Maggie at the burial. It was moving, even if it was all about a Magpie.

Sweet, sweet kids I have!

If you don't hear from me for a few days you can assume I'm rolled up in the fetal position, rocking gently back and forth. But I will return. I will rebound.

Sex in the Country

I grew up in a home where we didn't talk about the birds and the bees. I remember the day I discovered boy parts. I had seen them before, but I remember the day it "registered." Michael and I were in the bathtub. We were adept at changing identities with the help of Palmolive dish soap. With our bubbles we could instantly metamorph into Santa Claus or white haired Brother Bowen at church. When we were feeling particularly risque, we would slap 2 mounds of bubbles on our chests for breasts.

We didn't have "real" bath toys, but made our fun with cans, shampoo bottles, and occasionally a bowl or cup. On the day boy parts registered, Michael and I were playing when I noticed he had something that would go up and down in the bathtub waves. I was mesmerized by his "floaty." Michael noticed I was staring and he gingerly, yet uncomfortably, took the brown Hershey's cocoa can and placed it over his floating part. That was the last bath we had together.

I suppose all little girls are taken aback the first time they see the male anatomy. When Rachael, Hannah and Deborah were much younger, I fostered 2 little boys. The first time they saw Markus in the bathtub, Hannah exclaimed happily and in awe, "he's got jingle bells." Many months later they were exposed to Shaun. Two-year-old Deborah tilted her head to the side and with affection said, "awhh, isn't that sweet."

I have a young cousin who recently saw her grandpa at the toilet. She ran telling, "Grandpa has a tail!" Now when she observes him walking to the bathroom, she follows him and wails dramatically on the other side of the closed door, "I want to see your tail."

We mothers have come a long way in how we tell our kids the "facts of life." I for one am happy we've made this progress. When I was a youngster I was given 2 books. One I can't remember the name of, the other was Almost Twelve. They really screwed up my normal development. After reading those books, I was ashamed to be among the human race; I couldn't make eye contact with a male for fear of getting pregnant; and watermelon became a forbidden fruit.

The pictures of sperm resembled watermelon seeds, so I swore off the melon family for a few years. I watched in horror as others ate watermelon wondering if they would become pregnant by the seeds. Far as I know, no one did, but I wasn't taking any chances.

One of those insightful books said to make a baby, a husband and wife lay close to each other (a little understated, don't you think?) and gaze into each other's eyes. The sperm enters the female and joins her egg and a baby begins. After learning that, I developed some seriously darting eyes. I didn't want to inadvertedly gaze into someone's eyes and get his sperm in me.

Years passed and the grossness wore off some and was replaced by curiosity. Lawana, my trusted sister-in-law, became my personal expert. She and I once were at our local country corner store where we saw they had recently added Playgirl to their magazine selection. I was curious and I think Lawana was too, but she was more curious about my reaction than the contents of the magazine.

We stood around waiting casually for the few customers to leave and for Mrs Weatherbe to busy herself with something out of sight of the magazines. When the coast was clear, I picked up a Playgirl thinking I knew what to expect. (Was I expecting to see men and women gazing into each other's eyes?)

The magazine fell open to a very large naked man. Freaked right out, I screamed and threw the magazine. Lawana laughed so hard she shook and Mrs Weatherbe came running. I don't remember what I said to Mrs Weatherbe, but to Lawana I formed a shape with my hands and said, "WHAT WAS THAT?" Lawana still shook with laughter.

"It was huge! Did you see it? It wasn't normal," I declared indignantly, as if I knew what normal was.

Stephanie came along years later and me gazing into someone's eyes had nothing to do with it. I was determined that I would not hand a book to my offspring to teach them about procreation and sex. I would save them from the dysfunction of darting eyes and fear of watermelons.

She was an early bloomer in the awareness department. She started asking questions at 3 and I gave enough information to satisfy her questions but not overwhelm her. When I became pregnant with Christopher, her curiousity grew right along with my belly. I put on a brave front, using words that still make me blush. I was proud of my maturity and wisdom.

The day arrived when she asked, "what do you do with your legs?" I don't know where my motherly wisdom and maturity were in those moments, but they clearly weren't giving me any inspiration. I toyed with telling her that "a husband and wife lay close and gaze into each other's eyes....," but decided it wasn't good to lie.

I've given the same little sex education speeches to 4 other children since then, and never have I been asked, "what do you do with your legs?"

"Well," I began to answer slowly, still quite unsure what was to follow "When you are old enough to have sex, you can take your legs off." She was satisfied, although awed, and I was relieved when she walked away.

Stephanie continued to be totally fascinated with the subject. (I'm sure that fascination is serving her well these days as a newlywed.) She told me a couple years ago as we laughed about the above conversation, "I'm still trying to figure it out what you do with your legs."

When she was 8, Gordon bought me a series called Wildlife Fact Files. I was intrigued and fascinated learning about the different creatures God created. I was thrilled when Stephanie appeared to be following in my interest and began spending hours reading it too. Later I figured out she was only reading the mating and breeding habits of all the animals.

When Rachael, Hannah, and Deborah were a few years younger, we got their first hamsters. Chimpy a girl; Reepacheep, a boy. Chimpy was Hannah's and lived in her room and Reepacheep belonged to Rachael and lived in her room. When we were ready for baby hamsters, we put them in the same cage. For a few minutes we watched wide-eyed to see how babies are made. There were squeels of laughter (from the girls, not the hamsters) and expressions of "oh gross."

Since that little exercise, -- that yielded 8 more hamsters that the girls also watched be born -- the girls have been satisfied with their knowledge and haven't asked many questions.

The other night though, Hannah asked if so many sperm are released at the same time, "what happens if 2 sperm reach the egg at exactly the same time?" I pondered for a second or 2 and then said, "I really don't know, but it's a really good question."

She bounced off the sofa and did a gig like a football player after scoring a touchdown. With her arms raised, she spoke for the sperm, "Tie game, tie game."

New Pets

Deborah got a hamster for Christmas. She named him Harry. When Gordon took the girls to the pet store to pick up supplies for Harry, they came home with a surprise for me; 2 new mice. I was less than enthusiastic. I love animals, but mice? The girls begged and pleaded and I reluctantly agreed to the new house mates. Two hours after they arrived, the house stank. I went to Hannah's room and the stench about knocked me over. "This is not a good sign," I said. Hannah sheepishly agreed.

By evening time I could smell them in my bedroom. I shouted, "I can smell those rats from here and they've gotta go." No one argued. The smell was pretty convincing.

The next morning Gordon took the girls and their mice back to Petsmart. He told the clerks that the mice stank and they matter of factly said, "Oh yeah, mice stink, especially males." (Ours of course were males). Did you know mice stink?

An hour later my family arrived home with 2 new hamsters. Dusty and Smudge bring our rodent population up to a bustling 3. I'm fine with hamsters, I even like them. We've had several and they've all been loved.

World, meet Dusty, Harry, and Smudge.

New Rodents

Hannah and Dusty
Deborah and Harry
Rachael and Smudge

Fabian

This morning I read Psalm 71:17 in the New Living Translation. “Oh God, you have taught me from my earliest childhood…” I was reminded of my first answered prayer. I was about 8 years old, the loving, proud mother of a new kitten. She was a bundle of gray and white fur and I loved her the moment I saw her. As I studied her trying to come up with a name, my mom suggested Fabian. I’d never heard that name and I thought it sounded quite fancy, so Fabian she became.

I took Fabian everywhere with me. We lived on a farm so I explored with Fabian either in my arms or beside me. When Fabian was still very small, a young kitten, I put her down while I played in a stream. I lost track of time and couldn’t find Fabian when I got ready to proceed to the next adventure. I looked for her the remainder of the day.

Because she was so tiny and lost so far from the house, my mom and dad said I probably wouldn't be able to find her. They warned me that a wild animal might have gotten her. I went to bed crying. As I cried, I asked God to help me find Fabian.

I spent a good part of the next day looking for her, but to no avail. On the third day, as I walked across a pasture I stumbled onto Fabian, lying lifeless in the tall grass. I picked her limp body up and she cracked her eyes. She was alive, but barely.

As gently as I could I carried her home. Mama and Daddy said she was dead, but when I told them she’d opened her eyes when I picked her up, they examined her more closely. Her body was ravaged. She was terribly skinny and she was missing some of her fur. Daddy imagined that the dogs had had a game of tug of war with her. We could feel torn and broken things inside her. I don’t know whet we were feeling, but it wasn’t normal.

Mama and Daddy told me she was going to die. I took a saucer of milk and cat food to my room and began my vigil on my bed. She was non-responsive. I dipped my finger in the milk and rubbed it on her nose and lips. I stayed by her side and prayed. “God please help Fabian get better. Please her get well.”

Mama and Daddy came to my bedroom throughout the day. They tried to prepare me for her impending death. At night I drifted off to sleep stroking her mangled body and praying for her.

The next morning there was no noticeable improvement, but by the afternoon, she licked her nose and lips when I put milk on them. She didn’t raise her head or even open her eyes. I held her like a baby and kept praying, “God please help Fabian get better.”

Finally Fabian tried to stand. She fell down several times, but eventually was able to drink a saucer of milk. Later she ate several kernels of cat food.

Within a few days she was playing “chase the ball” and doing regular kitten things like climbing the living room curtains, much to my mom’s chagrin.

I was young but I knew a miracle when I saw one. God had answered my prayer and I experienced personally the love of God for the first time in my life. I was the only one who prayed for Fabian so I felt exhilarated knowing it was MY prayer that God had answered.

That childhood experience was one of those pivotal moments in my life. I recognize that experience as the beginning place of what would become a life of prayer.

“Oh God, you have taught me from my earliest childhood.” Psalm 71:17

Lucky

On the nights when Gordon works, sometimes I let one of the girls sleep with me. Last night was Rachael's night. We were lying there reading; I was reading Gifts from the Sea, she was reading The Book of Virtues. Lacy was between us and Lucy was at our feet. (That menagerie only happens when good ole Dad's not around).

As I read I came across something that made me want to jot in the margin of my book. Because I had heard Rachael writing something a bit earlier, I asked if she had a pencil. What she had was a marker. She offered to get me a pencil, "I have lots," she said. I asked her where and she said they were under her mattress. I asked why she had pencils under her mattress and she said, "so I'll always know where they are."

Rachael is a hoarder. She has hoarded many a treasure in her 9 years. Have you ever heard it said that if you play the piano when you're pregnant, your baby will be a pianist? Well I've often smiled and said since I had a hamster (hoarder) when I was pregnant with her, she's a hoarder.

When Christopher was 3 or 4 he found a 3 legged turtle. He named him Lucky because "he's lucky to have me." He loved his little turtle. Once we came home and Lucky was gone. Christopher cried and cried saying someone stole Lucky. I told him that perhaps Lucky crawled away. "Lucky would never leave me, he loved me," Christopher wailed. It was a sad day.

2 years later when Christopher and Stephanie went back to Arkansas after spending the summer with us, I was very depressed. Gordon went and bought me a cute little tan Teddy Bear hamster. I named her Lucky because she was "lucky to have me." (Lucky had indeed been lucky in the recent past because 9 days after we got her she gave us 11 more little hamsters.)

We had Lucky until she died peacefully in her sleep 3 years later. Gordon buried her in the flower bed in front of our townhouse.

Meanwhile Rachael was born. As soon as she was mobile, it became obvious that she was a hoarder. Gordon and I made jokes about her being our little hamster child.

When she was about 18 months old, things began to disappear. They were always Gordon's things. I probably rolled my eyes and thought "you'd lose your head if it weren't attached." One day I was in the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I saw chunky little Rachael lift the floor vent and put something in it. I knelt down, pulled the vent up and ran my arm down into the elbow of the heat duct. I found a cache of treasures: Gordon's watch, 2 sets of Gordon's keys, Gordon's toothbrush, half a moldy hot dog, a sippy cup, coloring book, and various little Fisher Price animals.

To this day Rachael collects and hoards things. Last night I learned of a pencil stash. 2 summers ago I found a number of beetles in her underwear drawer.

Unfortunately I didn't play the piano when I was pregnant with her. But I did love my hamster Lucky and Rachael is living proof.