Paco Dog

In June of 1996 I presented my then husband of six months with an ultimatum. Yes, mature. I know. But, it worked. The ultimatum: I want a puppy or a baby. Now, let's be honest, at that point in my life I needed a baby about as bad as a hole in the head. And, I didn't want a baby. I did, however, want a puppy. More importantly I knew he absolutely DID NOT want a baby. Thankfully, he didn't call my bluff. Or, we'd have a 23 year old.

So, we pulled out the 'ol penny saver. This was how this was done in the mid-nineties. In Ritzville, there was a litter of Border Collies. Ready to go home that weekend. I sort of knew where Ritzville was. We called. We could come look at the puppies that afternoon. Directions in hand, a stop at the ATM for $120 and we were on our way.

Now, the puppies weren't exactly located in Ritzville. It was slightly outside. Sort of like describing the moon as 'slightly outside' of Earth. I couldn't at this point in my life come close to ever finding the place again. Winding road, down hill, back and forth, gates, wooden cattle guards. This was out there. First impression was not good. The house was, well, leaning. There was a milk cow tied up to a split rail fence in the front yard and chickens roaming around in the driveway. I swooshed them away when I opened the car door so I could get out.

We were greeted by a very old man. He was wearing bib overalls. Not many teeth. He didn't have much time for us. Told us that his wife handled the puppies.

At that moment, a tri-colored border collie puppy ran across the driveway toward us. The old man paused long enough to tell us that we absolutely didn't want that puppy. He escaped from the kennel anytime anyone came to visit. I picked him up, he grunted. I didn't want that puppy. I wanted a classic black and white, straight out of Babe Border Collie. The litter consisted of four puppies. All male. Three black and white, one tri-color. The mother was there. She was a very nice dog. Mellow.

The wife came out of the house to meet us. Hair in a hair net, house dress on, teeth not in, she greeted us and walked us over to the kennel to meet the other puppies.

I peered in. Still holding the tri-colored puppy, I bent down to see the other three. They scattered and hid. The puppy in my arms groaned as if to say, "You're gonna spend your whole lives in there if you act like that." Then he licked my face.

I set him down, reached in and grabbed a black and white puppy. It peed on itself in fear. The other two were still hidden in the dog house. I looked at the tri-colored puppy sitting in the grass. He smiled. 

Paco Dog. Also known as The aPACOlypse.

Done.

On the way home, up the hill on the windy road, he barfed in the car. Not a great start. But, it was his first car ride. He was clearly embarrassed as I cleaned him up.

On the way home we named him Paco. I'm not exactly sure how we landed on Paco but it was right after 'Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard' was on the radio. I think we decided that Julio was too hard to yell out. And somehow that idea morphed into Paco.

We settled into our new little family. A puppy and a cat. 

First task, train Paco to kennel. Bought the kennel. Put it in the bedroom. Put him in it. He spent the first two nights attempting a break out by digging through the plastic bottom. (I'm fairly certain he was whistling the theme from The Great Escape.) All night. He won. No more kennel. He slept under the bed until he was too big and then for almost 15 years he slept on the floor next to my side of the bed.

He was smart. Whip smart. He could sit, stay, lie down, heel, get his ball (and get his ball and get his ball and get his ball) but, he absolutely refused to do anything that might be mistaken for a 'trick'.

Shake?
Go to hell.

Roll over?
Go to hell and take the frisbee guy with you.

Speak?
Just give me my treat, then, go to hell.

After some discussion, we opted to keep it to the basic manners.

He was a dream of a puppy, Until he was about 10 months old. Came home from work to the house totally destroyed. House plants everywhere, garbage dumped out, every book pulled off the bookcase. The 'How to Train Your Border Collie' book totally shredded. (The other books were on the floor but untouched.) I'm sure it was fun, in the moment. He felt terrible about it, as soon as he heard keys in the door. He twisted himself in a ball and when I raised my voice he ran and hid under the bed. He spent the next few days locked in the bathroom when we were out. Lesson learned, he again had free reign of the house. I'm sure he and the cat threw some mean house parties.

He never met a stranger. He loved everyone and with his head cocked to the side, tongue hanging out and smile on full 'charm' he could get anyone to throw his ball or frisbee. He spent hours at the river where we'd throw rocks in and he'd dive under and bring back the rock. The same rock. Every. Time.

On camping trips, he'd make the rounds at the campgrounds. He'd find the college kids that stayed up late and get them to throw his ball and then early in the morning he'd find the fishermen and get them to throw for him too. At one resort/campground so focused on his ball, he didn't notice the in ground hot tub. When he surfaced in what he surely suspected was an attempt to boil him to death, a kindly camper reached in and helped him out. He, embarrassed, ran to his ball and pretended the whole thing never happened.

Kill 'em with your smile.

He often looked at me with pity. My brain was no match for his. My inability to keep the checkbook balanced drove him crazy and I'm positive he rewired the house when I was at work to get it up to code.

He lived a great life for seven years. Until the baby. Oh, the baby. In the days leading up to the birth, he was clingy, right by my side. Always the leader, he walked slowly beside me around the block while I tried to get contractions going. He was confused when we left the house late at night. And then we returned. With a baby. He was indifferent to the baby. The only change? He barked when anyone came to the house. He had never been particularly protective of the house. Until the baby. Even though he didn't really want it. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt it either.

He and the baby made a kind of truce. Then a toddler, he was allowed to throw the ball and Paco would bring it back. They could play together nicely, as long as the toddler didn't touch him. The truce was violated frequently with Paco retreating to a safe place under the dining room table. Over the months that year, we watched him slow down. Pushing 10, he'd run so many miles, it seemed that his body was starting to give out. So, Santa brought the toddler a puppy. Thinking the transition would be easier on us if we had a 'back up dog' so to speak. Paco was livid. First off, he knew exactly what we were up to. And he had no intention of leaving any time soon. Secondly, we got a Golden Retriever. A dog not worth his time. She would bound through the house, so happy all the time. And he would turn his back to her.

He finally loosened up and would play with her. Although, slightly disgusted by her constant happiness and flowing golden hair he did like to have a playmate. It seemed to pep him up a bit. For several more years, he played and went for walks and seemed happy.

After his 13th birthday, he started to slow down. No more fetch. He spent a lot of time lying in the sun watching the neighborhood. Always amused by the humans and their daily activities, he lived the life of a country gentleman for quite a while - greeting people at the door and happily taking human food from under the table.

After the second baby came, he was declining. Now deaf and mostly blind, he startled easily and had likely had a stroke. He started to fall often and with no more fetch and an inability to get around without pain, the tough decision had to be made. When you have a dog and are asking yourself if it's time, it's time. Over the years as he aged, I'd reach over the side of the bed to give him a little scratch in the morning and at first, the thoughts were, 'please still be alive' - those morphed into, 'please do this on your own'. He wasn't going to let us off that easy. 13 days before his 15th birthday, we took him in and sat with him until he was gone.

Paco was my first baby. He was my practice round at parenting. Unfortunately the human children haven't been as easy to train. He taught me a lot of things - a smile will get you far, always introduce yourself, only do the things you love, protect your family and always keep a ball close by - you never know who might want to play.    

Oil Pulling!

So, who’s seeing all the Oil Pulling blogs and Facebook posts? It’s apparently all the rage. In the last couple months I’ve nearly blinded myself with perfume and then pummeled my face into a pillar on my front porch. The intent of this blog isn’t to see what my body can handle, it’s just turning out that way… I’ve decided to test out this oil pulling thing and share the results with all of you. Aren’t you lucky?

According to the interwebs, and if it’s online, it must be true, the following are benefits of oil pulling:

Brighter, whiter teeth.

Now, I do have a slight OCD issue around my teeth. I like them to be just one shade shy of ‘Ross Geller’ so, whiter would be great. I also love chocolate, coffee and red wine. All white teeth killers. (And, if you don’t get the reference, we need to see other people.)

Healthier gums.

Sounds fine with me. My gums are healthy, but nothing wrong with healthier, yes?

Prevents bad breath.

I’m obsessed with mints and brushing my teeth. A guarantee of fresh breath - sign me up!  

Increased energy.

Um, who doesn’t want this?

Clearer mind.

Same thing, although pretty hard to quantify, I’d say.

Decreased headaches.

My headaches are generally self inflicted and the product of over indulgence in other areas of my life. SEE: Binge drinking.

Clearer sinuses.

I tend to get congested when I go to bed. This may be something that can be quantified.

Alleviated allergies.

I don’t have any.

Better sleep.

Sign me up! Sleep has alluded me lately.

Clearer skin.

I have a very strict skin regime thanks to a years-long acne problem. Everything is under control at this point.

Regulated menstrual cycles.

On the pill, they happen when they are supposed to.

Improved lymphatic system.

This is totally unquantifiable. But, it does sound fancy.

Improved PMS symptoms.

See above, not an issue for me.

General detoxification.

Something I’ve never done but is all the rage, so, what the hell?

A little background…

I prefer to ingest my coconut as the good Lord intended - surrounded by rum. But, I’m intrigued by this idea. And a few months ago I was complaining that I hate scraping my tongue when I brush my teeth and my hygenist friend said, “Oh, you should swish with coconut oil, it’ll clean your tongue.”

But, here’s the thing, other than surrounded by rum, I’m not a fan of coconut. This past Christmas season, I bit into what I thought was a chocolate covered peanut butter candy. Sadly, it was a homemade Mounds bar. My friend and a fellow mom, who can read my face with little effort, put her hand out. And, I, like a child, handed over what was left of the candy and choked down what was in my mouth. (This is an improvement - a few years ago I probably would have handed over what was in my mouth too!) So, this is going to be a challenge.

First hurdle - the oil isn’t really oil at all. I was expecting liquid. Like Olive Oil.  It is in fact more like crisco. Shit. From some online reading, I’ve been assured that the thick oil turns into liquid really quickly in your mouth. This is a lie.

Day 1:

Recommendations are to do this first thing in the morning. Well, my mornings are pretty hectic and having something in my mouth for 20 minutes means that there is 20 minutes not helping the kids get ready for the day. (READ: yelling). Nightime will have to work. 1 teaspoon, swish it around for 20 minutes.

I put it in my mouth. I gag. I choke. Eyes watering. Focused on better health, I keeping working on it. The husband, like most husbands is a 15 year old boy at heart. Everytime he looks at me, he giggles. He also says some things that I won’t repeat as they’d embarrass his mother, my mother and pretty much everyone else. I lasted 15 minutes. There a joke there too, but I’m going to let it go.

Day 2:

So, if by detox they mean everything inside you comes out angrily. Then, WINNING. If that’s not what detox means, there may be a problem.

Did slightly better - 17 minutes this time. Husband still holding in giggles.

Day 3:

Clearer skin? The giant zit on my chin begs to differ. I’m sure that the wad of oil inside my mouth has nothing to do with it…  

Made it the full 20 minutes. And, I’m going to give it to them - my tongue is nice and pink after three days. Woke up this morning at 3AM. So, better sleep hasn’t yet happened. This is a lot of work for a pink tongue. I’m probably being impatient.

Day 4:

Nothing terrifically interesting to report. No sleep improvements. Made it the full 20 minutes.

Day 5:

Again, nothing significant to report. When I asked if I have nice smelling breath, the husband reports that I smell like coconut. All the time.

Day 6:

I slept really, really well. Now, that could be that I had slept terribly for a number of days and my body was just that exhausted. Time will tell. Husband reports teeth are noticeably whiter. He still can’t control his giggles and he doesn’t even try now.

Day 7:

I can report that I don’t feel like I have ‘morning breath’ when I wake up. No weird sleepy taste in my mouth. Other bloggers have reported that they are no longer flossing or brushing now that they are oil pulling. I don’t know how this is possible. After swishing for 20 minutes, I still have the need for flossing. And brushing with my sonicare. In general I love to brush my teeth, if I say the only thing I have to do before leaving the house is to brush my teeth, you better just make yourself comfortable. It’s going to be awhile.

I also haven’t noticed any congestion when I lie down to go to sleep. I’ll try to keep paying attention to that.

Side note: When I’m done with the oil, I spit it in a paper cup and throw it away. I know, I know… not very environmentally responsible. (and, let’s be honest, totally disgusting) But, oil down the drain is a problem too. Today though, there’s a little wrinkle. Dexter Dog swiped the cup and after the oil had re-hardened, he ate it. I’ll be more careful going forward. And, I’ll be checking him for whiter teeth, better skin and a bottle of rum buried in the backyard.

Day 8:

Swish. Swish. Swish. I’m not known for focusing and I’m most certainly ADD so I’m actually impressed that I’ve made it eight days. The whole 20 minutes. Getting super annoying when the husband asks me questions while my mouth is full of oil but now I just calmly text him the answer he’s looking for. Which is generally very important like: I want to watch Raising Hope. Or: Stop laughing you weirdo!

Days 9, 10, 11:

Nothing much to report here. No big changes.

Day 12:

Sleep is the same. Teeth do feel really clean and the tongue is nice and shiny pink. Still brushing and flossing. (I’m not an animal!) No congestion. Skin looks good but I also use special cleanser and moisturizer - hard to know if it’s the coconut oil or just my regular routine.

Day 13:

I’ll admit it. Skipped it!

Day 14:

Back on track. Nothing really new to report. The 20 minutes does seem to go quickly.

So, there you have it. Just an average girl trying out the ‘latest thing’ for a couple weeks. I’ll probably use up the oil that I have but unless I see some other big changes or stop doing it and my skin and teeth go to hell, I probably won’t buy another tub of it. I also wouldn’t haul it around on vacation or take it anywhere. At home, watching TV, not a problem. I don’t see myself as obsessed as other bloggers are. And, I don’t think it’s a cure-all for people. I’ll continue on and post an update at the 30 day mark. And, maybe 60. Unless I get bored. Or injured. Odds are it’s both.

The Carlo

The following post is s short story that I wrote a number of years ago and gave out with a CD of some of the songs that remind me of our family car and those years, first in Hay and then in Lewiston. And, when my friends are shocked at all the 70's tunes I know, I say, 'Hey, we had 8 track!'


In 1976 the Crow family took delivery of their brand new light blue metallic Landau Monte Carlo.  It was the number one selling car that year.  1976 brought out the second generation of Monte Carlo’s, this new version had a cross hatch grill and stacked rectangular headlights.  It certainly earned its position as the number 1 selling car of '76.  It was spectacular.  And huge.  Weighing in at almost 4,000 lbs and over 17 feet long the car was a force to be reckoned with.  With a sticker price of over 6,000.00 it was a major purchase that was well worth it.  For six grand you got air conditioning, a white vinyl top, an eight track stereo and a car that scared wild animals off the road.   

Style AND Character.

The Monte Carlo slogan that year was, ‘When a car makes you feel good about its looks, that’s style.  When it makes you feel good about yourself, that’s character.’  Style and character.  That definitely describes the Crow family. To a T.

Traveling at over 100 miles per hour was no challenge for the 1976 Monte Carlo and heck with such safety features as an energy absorbing steering column and a padded dash there was no need to be nervous when traveling on winding country roads with your foot on the floor and your family in the back. It was also very efficient boasting 14 MPG in the city and 18 on the highway.  Good thing it held 22 gallons of gas.  Regular Leaded.

The Monte Carlo could comfortably seat three kids, two adults and a very large Saint Bernard.  It was no challenge to fill the trunk with luggage and still have room to throw in a dead pheasant that was killed on the trip – killed no doubt by that fancy cross hatch grill.

A ride so smooth, it lulls babies to sleep with ease.

Each Sunday we'd travel from the Orchards to downtown Lewiston for church. In the winter, the heat would finally be working about halfway there, our shivering would cease and at a stop light our mother would turn from the front seat and look down upon us.  We would sit there, paralyzed in fear as she licked her thumb and scrubbed one of our faces.  Thanks Mom, I feel much cleaner now that I’ve had Big Red flavored saliva wiped all over my face.

It’s funny how time challenges the memory. In my childhood memories, as mother careened around town in the Carlo, (Cruella DeVille style) she had a scotch and a cigarette in one hand and was flailing wildly with the other trying to make contact with one of us in the backseat all while threatening to ‘turn the car around’. That’s my memory at least. But, now that I think about it she didn’t smoke. The other parts are true though. Pretty sure.

We had many a fun family adventure in that huge car.  It outlasted numerous dogs, houses and husbands and was still chugging along when sold in the mid-nineties. The paint was faded, a few dents had been made in that fine Detroit steel and there was a bullet hole in the roof (Why yes, I do see a therapist!) but it still had spirit.

White vinyl. Nothing but the best!

I challenge you to take a trip through time.  Pop in the enclosed CD*, close your eyes.  Strain your arm to close the ‘extra long door’, feel the white hot vinyl blister your bare legs.  Take in a deep breath.  Can you smell it?  Hot vinyl, plastic, the slight smell of the aforementioned Saint Bernard and a whiff of Halston perfume.  You may be able to visualize Mom, dressed to the nines with large round sunglasses and blue eye shadow.  You are now home.

*Um, download and make a damn playlist. I wrote this like 10 years ago. Sadly, it won't sound like an 8 track.

Here You Come Again	Dolly Parton
Suspicious Minds	Elvis Presley
Kiss You All Over	Exile
Sundown	Gordon Lightfoot
Annie’s Song	John Denver
Funkytown	Lipps, Inc
Don’t Cry Out Loud	Melissa Manchester
Reunited	Peaches and Herb
Higher and Higher	Rita Coolidge
Just Another Woman in Love	Anne Murray
Can’t Smile Without You	Barry Manilo
Do That to Me One More Time	Captain and Tennille
Islands in the Stream	Dolly Parton with Kenny Rogers
Uptown Girl	Billy Joel
Ob-La-Di-Ob-La-Da	The Beatles
Carolina on my Mind	James Taylor
After the Lovin’	Engelbert Humperdinck
Woman in Love	Barbra Streisand
BONUS TRACK
Panama	Van Halen

Dad

It's been five years since I got the call. It was Fat Tuesday and I had made the kids pancakes for dinner. Just as we were getting ready to eat, my phone rang, it was my sister. It was two days before Madison's third birthday and I could picture her standing in a store, calling to check a size or color.

But, she wasn't in a store. At the sound of her voice, I knew there was a problem. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home, why?"

"Dad passed away today."

"What?" And I felt my knees buckle. I leaned against the wall. I always thought that was over dramatic in movies but it's true. I didn't pass out but I slid down and sat on the floor. I looked over at the table. Henley knew something was wrong but wasn't sure what. My emotion was enough to upset him and he started to cry. Madison sat there with her pancakes, smiling. Unaware of anything. Being almost three has some advantages.

He sat down to watch a John Wayne movie and he just died. The coroner had an explanation but if you knew my dad at all, you know he just went to meet John Wayne.

The next few hours were logistics. Calling in help. Telling friends. Talking to my boss. Packing.



Below is what I said at the funeral. I've edited slightly with a clearer mind and the benefit of time.



I’m not here to talk about all the great things about my dad. I can’t. We’d be here for hours. He and I didn’t share any DNA. And, I didn’t meet him until I was 10. Oh, I’d heard about him for years. My mom had been in love with him since she was 14. Suffice it to say, Danny Larkin had been mentioned in our house a time or two.  

Yes, these two got us through our teenage years.

He was silly and funny. But, the dad that is silly and funny with 12 year old girls isn’t silly and funny when you’re 14 and by the time you’re 17, he’s deadly serious. The only thing that can explain how and why he ended up with three teenage girls in the house at the same time is that some how he lost a bet with God.  

He stood out in the rain at our track meets, soccer and football games.  Whether we played for 30 seconds or 30 minutes he was there cheering us on. The only game he missed happened to be when I earned my one and only red card. I was prepared to be killed when I got home. Murdered. Out in the yard so it wouldn't leave a mess in the house. But, he just paused, and sports guy that he was said, "Sometimes that happens in games." He wasn't nearly as forgiving with poor grades or missed curfews.  

He was the master of nicknames. Everyone had a nickname. Kelly Belly, Ordinary Kari, Pittle Hittle, Flame, Yodi, Doo Doo, Tinkerbell, My Little Buddy,  Gorgeous, Taz, Shawnserpoosoner,  Petey Bird. Seriously, everyone had a nickname. Except any boy that ever came into that house to take one of us on a date. They didn’t even have names. There was the ‘mouthy one’, the ‘short one’, ‘that one’. As in, “Is that one still hanging around?”

He was good at a lot of things but wasn’t particularly good at advice. In fact, a tip for any one with teenage girls, the ‘there are more fish in the sea’ speech isn’t helpful. At all.

Happy Grandpa, Happy Boy.

I’m not really here to talk about the dad he was but rather the grandpa he was. I recently read a study that indicated that grandparents are the happiest segment of the population. From my experience I believe that to be true. He loved being a grandpa. And he was amazing at it. He lit up at the sight of them. Last fall he chaperoned Henley’s school field trip to the Oregon Zoo. He was scheduled to be a chaperone on Cole’s trip to Washington DC this summer. He even mastered changing diapers. Whatever the grand kids needed, he was there.    

I’m sad that our dad is gone but I’m heartbroken that the kids have lost their grandpa. Any future children will never know him. Cole, Henley, Caroline, Madison and Victoria will have pictures and memories but their loss is in the future. He won't be at rainy sporting events or scaring the holy hell out of boys that are hanging around. He will never again parade them through the house doing the soldier chant from The Wizard of Oz. 


O-E-O...

Dad loved the Wizard of Oz and I want to wrap up with a quote from the movie.  It sums up what we are all thinking and feeling better than I ever could.

Wizard of Oz: As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.

Tin Woodsman: But I still want one.