Chihuahuas Are Like Potato Chips

We used to have a Pomeranian. Frankie was with us for 16 years, and I always figured I would have another Pom when Frankie left us.
But instead, we rescued a Chihuahua, Sissy, 5 pounds of sweetness. She is a very submissive little dog, and totally attached to me. She is not interested in anyone else, which is hard on Wick, since he is crazy about her.
She does, however, love Little Bob, a Chihuahua who belongs to our friends Bob and Dean. She always wants to play with him, jumping and running and trying to get him to play with her.

So we decided that we would get another Chihuahua, a puppy who would love Wick, and who Sissy would enjoy playing with.

Cassie is eight weeks old, with a black muzzle, and she loves everyone, especially Wick.

But for ten days, Sissy avoided her, refused to sit or lie next to her, and didn't even want to go outside when Cassie was taken out for her house training lessons.

We had been told that Chihuahuas recognize fellow Chihuahuas, and that they were much more inclined to bond with their own breed than with other kinds of dogs. So we were surprised and saddened that Sissy seemed so unhappy about our new puppy.

Then, suddenly, yesterday Sissy initiated play with Cassie. They are so funny to watch, and such a source of entertainment to us.

So that's why I say Chihuahuas are like potato chips. You can't have just one.

This Is Important Stuff Right Here

I believe that life should be lived every moment. Life never goes on hold. The moments spent with loved ones are the foundation of life, and we should never waste an opportunity to be with them.
I believe in prayer. Constant prayer. Giving thanks for all things, because we never know what lessons we are learning until we live them out.
Treasure every minute with your babies. They are grown and gone before you know it.

I believe in chocolate. Chocolate makes everything better.
I believe in real food:
Real butter, not margarine, or oleo as my grandmother used to call it, which makes it sound even more gross.
Real cream, not whipped topping made of vegetable oil . Ugh.
Real vanilla extract, not imitation, which definitely alters the taste of anything.
Real potatoes, not flakes.
Real rice, not instant.
Real eggs, not stuff in a carton or box. What's really in there, anyway?
Real food, not fat-free. The manufacturers usually replace the fat with sugar, because fat carries the flavor, and sugar is what they use instead, so it isn't really better for anyone.

If it is man-made, in general it is crap. There may be a few exceptions, but I can't think of any right now.

I believe that children are a gift of God, and a blessing.

I believe that mothers who sacrifice their own desires in order to stay at home with their children are blessing them for their whole life. These mothers are raising their own children, instead of paying someone else to do it. I realize that some mothers have no choice but to work, but I believe that God designed us so that two parents, both mother and father, are the ideal people to bring up their children, not paid strangers.

I believe that family comes first.

I believe that it is possible to forfeit one's place within a family. I believe it is possible to renew the relationship, with true love and repentance.

I believe that we are born into a biological family, but we also create family as we grow older.

I believe that I am not a particularly interesting person, and I am always surprised when people remember me after not seeing me for a long time.

I believe that God gives each of us a gift, and that we have a responsibility to use it for His glory.

I believe that I am still alive because God still has a plan for me, something I am supposed to accomplish. I'm not sure what it is, but I am always listening for His guidance.

I believe in marriage. My husband is my best friend, my lover, my greatest fan, and the love of my life. I don't think I could live without him.

I believe that I have talked too much, and should stop now.

Adventures with a Toddler

Holy Mama asked me to write about the time when Scott was a toddler. There are several stories I could tell, so this may turn into a series.

When Scott was a toddler and Jeana a baby, we lived in a two-story house that was more than 100 years old. The bedrooms were all upstairs. I put the kids down for naps every afternoon after lunch, and usually lay down for a little while myself. Because of Scott's propensity to run off, I locked all the doors and put on the security chains before I lay down.

One afternoon someone knocked on the door about half an hour after I had put the kids down for their naps. When I opened the door, there stood my sister-in-law with Scott by the hand.

She and my brother-in-law were driving down a busy street just a block from our house. They found Scott in the middle of the street, with a rolled-up newspaper, "directing traffic" by swatting at the cars as they passed.

They threw on the brakes, grabbed him up and brought him home to me.

The curious fact is that the doors were still locked and the security chains still latched.

How did he get out of the house? I never found out.

But this is why, when we went out in public, he wore a special harness, with a leash. It was the only way I could keep up with him. I'm not saying it is ideal, nor is it for everyone. But for Scott, it was the only safe option.

I swear the child could climb a straight wall. Maybe he could even walk through them.

Lost & Found

About two weeks ago, our Sissy got lost. For three nights, she was astray, dragging her little pink leash, despite hours of calling and searching through a heavily wooded area.

We had given up. The creek running through the woods has coyotes and bobcats, owls and hawks, so we were both secretly convinced she was a goner. Aloud, we both said, she is so little and so cute--someone probably found her and kept her.

The third day, we were on our way to buy another puppy, when the phone rang to tell us someone had seen her.

We drove two and a half hours back to where she was lost, and again called and searched. Friends, family and strangers called, looked, and prayed with us. Again, no luck.

The next morning, Wick was up before daylight. About 6:30, he came and got me, and again I called and called. I asked every jogger and bike rider who came by to keep an eye out for our little fur girl.

At one point, we were ready to give up, but Wick decided to make one more effort. About thirty minutes later, he emerged from the woods, dripping blood and covered with scratches, with Sissy in his arms.

Her leash had gotten tangled in a briar patch, and she had wound herself round and round the briars. Wick's arms and legs were covered with scratches from the briars, but he says it was well worth it, to find our Sissy.

God answered my prayers when he sent her to us, and He answered prayers when He sent Wick in the right direction to find her. God cares for us, even in the littlest matters.