Spartacus

First Flurries – Day 759

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Cardinal in First Flurries – Photo: L. Weikel

First Flurries

Yup, it’s definitely starting to feel like winter, even though we’ve not technically arrived there yet. Here in eastern Pennsylvania we experienced our first flurries and snow coating of the season.

I hope I never get so old that I don’t feel the joy of ‘first flakes’ fluttering in my heart as they come cascading out of the sky. I know, I know. There are personal safety issues that arise with the arrival of the slippery stuff. I’m not talking about the stresses that might accompany having to walk or drive anywhere essential in the snow. I simply never want to have my first reaction to seeing snow be anything other than a touch of childlike glee.

Critter Reactions

I’ll admit it; I had to laugh at the birds falling all over themselves at the feeders. I should’ve taken more photos of the house finches, goldfinches, nuthatches, and cardinals crowding and dive bombing each other at the feeder just outside my living room window. You’d think it was the equivalent of avian Black Friday.

But I did manage to get a lovely photo of a mama cardinal that looks almost staged. I only wish I could activate the ‘live’ feature of the photo within this post because when I hold my finger down on the photo in my phone, you can’t miss the curtain of flurries falling from the sky as she turns and winks at me.

Squirrel Squatter – Photo: L. Weikel

Squirrel Squatter

While I was making my morning coffee, I had to laugh at the unexpected sighting of a squirrel balancing on a metal hanger for a floral basket. I cannot imagine that its tiny little peds aren’t freezing. I hope they didn’t stick to the metal when s/he went to move. They probably didn’t, although I was surprised at how long it hung out there. It did not look like the most comfortable perch.

Luckily, the temperature was just under freezing. I think that tongue-sticking-to-a-metal-pole type of reaction only happens when everything is in a deep, deep freeze.

Slugs

And then there were the spoiled creatures that live in our home. Cletus and Spartacus were not venturing far away from the fire. They much preferred watching the flakes from the window or the door. Or even better, from the vantage point of inside their dreaming eyes.

Cletus & Spartacus – Photo: L. Weikel

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Tryptophan Haze – Day 748

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Tigger – Faithful Guardian of the Bird – Photo: L. Weikel

Karl and I held off on roasting our turkey until late this afternoon. As a result, my attempt to write something coherent tonight is noticeably hindered by the inevitable onset of a tryptophan haze.

I’ll tell you two other members of this household who are staving it off with me: Spartacus and Tigger. (That’s because Karl’s already succumbed to the turkey drug’s siren song and hit the sheets, Precious hasn’t indulged, and Cletus is out cavorting with opossums and skunks at the moment.) So here we are.

Tigger and Spartacus were ever such great helpers as I stripped the turkey’s carcass and put away the leftovers. Yes indeed, the best of helpers.

As can be seen in the photo above, from the moment the bird was extricated from the oven, Tigger was a faithful guardian of the roasted beast, maintaining a watchful eye against any unanticipated marauders that might storm the gate. I could do nothing less than reward him for his vigilance.

The same went for Spartacus. He faithfully fulfilled his responsibilities as four legged Roomba equivalent, impeccably maintaining a spotless kitchen floor. Not a single fleck of errant foodstuff lasted longer than the blink of an eye under his eagle-eyed watch.

I Stand Corrected

Nope. I just checked. The other two are down for the count as well.

Spartacus never even made it upstairs. He snatched a few blankets and collapsed on the sofa as I wrote the above paragraphs.

Tigger? Well, I thought at least he would stick with me and keep me company as I fulfilled my nightly devotional responsibilities. But no. I just checked. He apparently stole away to join Karl in bed, opening one eye as I reached the top of the steps in tacit acknowledgment that he was aware of my existence but had no choice but to make me a warm spot instead. He made a sad attempt at claiming that warm spot-making, too, is one of his sacred responsibilities, but I call bs.

So much for tonight’s post.

Hopefully tomorrow’s turkey sandwiches won’t have quite the same effect. But…yum. I’m looking forward to finding out. I think that’s probably *my* sacred task. It’s a tough job, but…

Spartacus – Trypt out – Photo: L. Weikel

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Little Things – Day 742

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Precious Awakened – Photo: L. Weikel

Little Things

Each and every day, particularly right now, focusing upon the little things in life, the things that make us smile, is an act of self-love. Off the top of my head, listening to my cat Precious snore like a longshoreman while curled up on the back of the couch right behind me fits that bill.

And now that I start to contemplate the many ‘little’ things I’m grateful for, I see how many of them revolve around non-human creatures, especially Spartacus (our Boston Terrier), Precious, Tigger, and Cletus. I can say without qualification that they bring a dimension of joy and comfort into my life that I’d be lost without.

Tigger Snoozing – Photo: L. Weikel

You know me…recounting the joys my four-legged companions bring to my life is something I engage in routinely. And it’s not at all likely that I’ll stop dipping into the pool of love they provide anytime soon.

That’s at least partly because simply living life in 2020 and paying attention to our collective reality means we are bombarded with news that hurts our souls. Literally. Even if we only cursorily glance at the headlines just to see where we stand as a community or a country, it’s enough to drain our energy and leave us feeling defeated, deflated, or perhaps occasionally worse: enraged.

Our nervous systems are drenched in the fight or flight hormones of cortisol and adrenaline. And unlike pretty much all other times in our nation’s history, because of the ubiquitous nature of technology in our hands, we are kept mercilessly up-to-date on the latest atrocities being waged against the things many of us care about most.

Spartacus & Tigger getting some flame time – Photo: L. Weikel

Purring and Comfort and Walks

Beyond the scientific proof that the purring of cats is healing to the physical body, I for one can attest to how my cats have mended tears in my emotions since I got my first kitten at age six: Katen. Katen was a black and white domestic shorthair cat with a white hourglass on his nose. He got me through my childhood, pure and simple. He was my closest confidant (although I was lucky enough to have a couple two legged ones too – you know who you are).

It’s amusing to me to realize that he was black and white – just like my beloved Sheila and Spartacus; just like Cletus. Indeed, just like the marvelous Stinky who’s been around recently.

I love feeling the heft of a cat on top of the covers, his purr resonating through the layers of sheets and blankets. (I will admit to allowing Spartacus to nestle along my back underneath the covers. Talk about a comfort.)

And the walks. The walks are good for all of us. All of these little things, these opportunities for giving and receiving love, make my life incredibly rich. I hope you have such little things too.

Cletus with a rare smile – Photo: L. Weikel

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Pungent Pooch – Day 730

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Bath Bummer – Photo: L. Weikel

Pungent Pooch

I’m keeping it light tonight. Light and short. Given my post from last night and my delusions of the stink ‘not being that bad,’ I’ve paid the price wrought by my pungent pooch all day.

I don’t know if I was just so tired last night that I persuaded myself to believe Spartacus hadn’t received a ‘direct hit’ by the visiting skunk or what, but wow – I walked into our living room this morning and, umm, I definitely could tell that Spartacus had hung out there last night.

Even though I did whip up some of the hydrogen peroxide/baking soda/mild detergent concoction last night and washed him cursorily, I got the distinct impression that I’d not done enough. So Spart and I did a deep dive this morning, as can be seen. Tomorrow I’m going to give this stuff a try – based on the recommendation of a friend whose baby, Augie, has also probably seen his share of the wrong end of skunk.

There’s something here in the living room that’s harboring the stench. I think it might be an errant pillow hiding on me, for I’ve done three loads of wash, tackling every single blanket he may have even thought about cuddling in last night, yet still something…SOMETHING…is emitting a mighty waft.

I’m tired.

I’m also finding the stench of poor losers and those who lie and cast aspersions on our democratic process without any proof are also exhausting.

Silly me, I thought maybe – maybe – we were putting all this behind us. Apparently not yet.

Definitely a stench of another kind, but a stench nevertheless.

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Stinky Surprise – Day 729

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Stinky Surprise

Everybody chime in with me: “If it’s not one thing…” Yeah. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And we actually encountered a handful of circumstances today that would fit that bill, the latest (but a mere 90 minutes or so ago) was a most stinky surprise.

You can guess what happened. We were watching an episode of one of our latest distractions (Patriot, a quirky and unpredictable series on Amazon Prime), when Spartacus woke up and asked to go out. Karl did his bidding and opened the kitchen door, whereupon Spartacus took off like a shot.

Now, we routinely try to make sure there aren’t critters hanging around the yard when we let Spart out, but sometimes we forget to check. He’s had a couple of encounters with opossums, raccoons, and deer – but it’s been a while since he’s encountered a stinky surprise. (Thank goodness, I might add.)

But alas…

Good Boy

I could tell Karl sensed trouble was ahead just by the tone of his voice as he called out to Spartacus. When I jumped up and joined Karl, calling to him, I saw that he was trotting up toward the house like a good boy. While seeming a bit reticent, like maybe he knew he might’ve done something he knew he regretted but wasn’t quite sure, he entered the kitchen and headed toward his water bowl.

The skunk stink wafted into the kitchen like PigPen’s cloud of dust as he passed by me. But his fur wasn’t ruffled, and he didn’t have the same ‘look’ about him as the last time he got skunked. Clearly, he’d been in the vicinity of a spooked skunk. But had he been nailed? It looked like he’d endured a ‘near miss.’

I’ve had to deal with these circumstances before, so I knew if he was the victim of a direct hit, I’d have to run out to the grocery or drug store for a couple of bottles of hydrogen peroxide. Sadly, because this isn’t our first rodeo (with Sheila too – she was no angel in her younger years), I knew the remedy of bathing in tomato juice is ineffective. Nope, I had direct experience with this recipe, and I know it works.

Slightly (But Enough!) Stinky Boy – Photo: L. Weikel

Tangential Hit

We quickly herded Spart back outside onto the porch. Walking out the door, it was as if we were walking into a cloud. Precious was on the porch, looking totally freaked out, and Cletus was nowhere to be found. I got down on my hands and knees and put my nose right up to Spart’s fur (a dangerous undertaking, believe me). It wasn’t him; or at least it wasn’t a direct hit. It almost seemed as if he may have walked through the spray after the fact. I did notice his mouth seemed to be watering a bit, but sniffing his head and neck, it didn’t seem to be giving off any greater amount of stink than anywhere else.

The mouth watering worried me, though. While I was glad that at least it wasn’t in his eyes, it did look like he might’ve gotten a mouthful. Ack! The last time he got majorly nailed by a skunk, his entire face, including his eyes, nose and mouth had been drenched. And his stench had been so powerful at that time that I’d nearly passed out while trying to clean him up.

The Remedy

While utterly and disconcertingly smelly, I still don’t think he sustained a direct hit. Although I will confess, I mixed up some of the remedy* (baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and a little bit of shampoo) and washed his face and mouth, and even down his back. Sadly, and somewhat inexplicably, I can still smell it.

Whether it was a direct or tangential hit, the skunk definitely made its presence known. And of course me being me, I am compelled to consider the potential message it was bringing. Skunk is all about reputation – having self-confidence in your own abilities and gifts and realizing that your ‘reputation precedes you.’ Perhaps we might benefit from reflecting on how our self-esteem is holding up?

Whatever. If it’s not one thing…

*Note! You need to be careful mixing these items; it can be dangerous. You should also wear gloves. I learned that the hard way.

Sassy – Photo: National Geographic

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Spartacus’s Sadness – Day 687

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Sheila & Spart’s Last Minutes Together – Photo: L. Weikel

Spartacus’s Sadness

When we let go of Sheila last Friday I mentioned to Karl that I doubted I would write about it. At least I was pretty sure I wouldn’t share it right away. But as the evening wore on, of course, I could think of nothing but Sheila, so I wrote ‘Irreplaceable.’ That’s what happens with this 1111 devotion. I deliberately refrain from planning ahead what I’m going to write about; instead, I allow whatever is foremost on my mind or in my heart lead me as I settle in to write each post. Tonight, I have to admit, I am compelled to bear witness to Spartacus’s sadness.

As I’ve written elsewhere, Spartacus was Sheila’s one and only puppy. Her only son. We never intended to breed her, but even our veterinarian felt she was such an extraordinary pup that allowing her to have a litter would be an incredible gift to all of us. We were so on the fence over it that we willingly dealt with the hassle of her cycles for four years.

Finally, we decided to take her back to the breeder from whom we’d bought her. The breeding process itself was awful. Sheila wanted no part in the shenanigans and the stud was – of all things – polite. He was not inclined to force himself on her, given her obvious distaste, in spite of what a cutie pie she was. It took a lot of persistence, and we almost gave up. But finally – success!

The only stipulation? I looked into Sheila’s eyes when it was over and she made me promise – she demanded – that I never make her go through that living hell again. We had a deal.

A Room of His Own

When we were sure the single encounter had ‘taken,’ I was psyched to midwife my little girl’s puppies! I read up on it and prepared for the big day as best as I could. We had her checked a couple of times by different people familiar with pregger pups and everyone predicted 2-3 puppies.

Of course, her labor started and abruptly stopped. Naturally, this occurred in the early evening, when our regular vet was closed for the day, thus necessitating a trip to the animal emergency room. An x-ray confirmed that our petite Sheila had one huge honker of a pup laying upside down along her spine, splayed out, enjoying the room of his own – just like he continues to sleep on his back to this day. After a touch-and-go emergency C-section, our Spartacus was born.

She Was Here Just the Other Day… – Photo: L. Weikel

Bottom Line

Sheila and Spartacus came home with me that evening and slept right beside me on the floor beside the bed, in a makeshift nest of blankets. And ever since that June day in 2008, they were inseparable.

Sheila was a great mom. She groomed him and loved him, taught him all the good stuff to eat, played with him relentlessly – and always, always cuddled him.

If you take a look at the photo above, to her very last day, he was trying to engage her with a new toy we’d bought him. Sadly, she hadn’t played with Spartacus in probably two years, as she grew steadily more blind and deaf.

Of course, we knew he would miss her. His life would be altered in a way he’d never experienced. (Neither of them ever spent time away from each other. Where one went, the other did too.) His life will never be the same.

He’s been sticking by us like glue, and we’ve been lavishing affection on him – not a hard task by any means. It’s been hard to discern between his sadness and our own. Indeed, even the cats have been subdued and withdrawn.

But when I saw him this afternoon, laying on the grass in the exact spot he’d last spent time with Sheila before we took her to the vet last Friday, I thought my heart would burst. My little boy misses his mommy. No doubt about it.

Spartacus’s Palpable Sadness – Photo: L. Weikel

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Irreplaceable – Day 684

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Sheila and her Sage – Photo: L. Weikel

Irreplaceable

As I struggle to find words to express my feelings tonight, ‘irreplaceable’ keeps spiraling to the surface.

Happy Pups: Spartacus (l) and Sheila (r) – Photo: L. Weikel

She came into our lives in October 2004 and changed our family forever.

Sheila – Queen of the Household – Photo: L. Weikel

We thought we knew love before we met our Sheila. Boy, were we in for a surprise.

Speaking of Watchers… – Photo: L. Weikel

There just aren’t any words for me to share with you tonight.

Inseparable Mother & Son – Photo: L. Weikel

This photo of Sheila and Spartacus snuggled together almost inseparably, has them facing a wall hanging we got after Karl died. In stumbling upon this tonight, I think she is letting me know we listened to her…by letting her go.  It says:

In the end what matters most is

How well did you live

How well did you love

How well did you learn

To let go

Irreplaceable – Photo: L. Weikel

Beloved Sheila: 9/17/2004 – 9/25/2020

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Working From Home – Day 646

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Spartacus Usurping My Work Space – Photo: L. Weikel

Working From Home

Since the pandemic hit, Karl and I have been working from home. When I say working, for me at least, I am primarily referring to shamanic work and focusing on my next writing project.

Once it became warm enough, I essentially moved my workspace out onto our porch. It’s a small space, but it is where I gravitate to and feel most closely aligned to Mother Earth – and She is my primary partner in everything that I do.

Peeking at me across my driveway – Photo: L. Weikel

In case you’re wondering, I probably should clarify: when I have a session with a client, I don’t usually conduct it outside on the porch. Rather, my habit has been to retire upstairs to one of our bedrooms where I can open Sacred Space, shake my rattles, use my drums, and envision my client reclined in front of me as if they were in my office. That said, as long as there’s good cell service, a session can be conducted anywhere.

But all the other time I spend writing follow up emails to clients, corresponding via email and text message, and working on my next book, I generally spend on our porch. Which means that I’m assisted by a wide range of creatures.

This post is a short one. I’m sharing some photos of only a few of my office mates.

While we don’t generally gather at a water cooler, we have been known to share a few peanuts when the going’s gotten tough.

Hanging near the olive oil for Sacred Fire – Photo: L. Weikel

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Tropical Storm Isaias – Day 632

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Photo: L. Weikel

Wow. Well, I mentioned in last night’s post that here in Pennsylvania we’re not used to tropical storms maintaining their ferocity as they march into our area from the south or tornado warnings beeping out on our phones and warning us to ‘take appropriate cover.’ Enter Tropical Storm Isaias – yet another reason to wonder just what we did to so profoundly piss off 2020.

Who’d have imagined a tornado would touch down at  the hospital in our county seat of Doylestown? The storm ripped off part of the roof of the on-site daycare center, damaged another pavilion, and tossed about and upended six cars in the parking lot. And that’s just one instance among many reports of a devastating number of trees uprooted and creeks and other bodies of water blowing past their flood stages and inundating everything in their path.

And it does sound as if the full moon did indeed exacerbate the impact this storm had when it slammed into the North Carolina coast as a Category 1 hurricane last night. Storm surges have been devastating and well over 3.5 million households are without electricity. It’s all a bit hard to fathom – a tropical storm at the beginning of August.

Stress Eaters

Just after the height of the storm hit, I walked out onto our porch to take some photos of the storm water cascading across our property. As I stood there in the pouring rain, I was joined by Spartacus. Instead of acting fearful of the storm, he quite adorably seemed more concerned than anything else.

Spartacus – Storm Watcher – Photo: L. Weikel

Then I noticed something even odder. There were a bunch of birds at our feeders! That was pretty much the last thing I expected to see in the midst of the storm. Granted, the absolute worst had probably just peaked – but the rain was still pounding down and strong gusts of wind were whipping the willow behind our barn and making the rest of the trees dance very hard to keep up.

Yet there were these birds, crowding several of my feeders. My heart went out to them as I sort of chuckled to myself. I could relate. Clearly they were stress-eating; stuffing in as much as they could while the getting was good. Living for the moment.

Stress eaters – Photo: L. Weikel

Rampaging Tohickon

After the storm passed and bright sunshine made everything look and feel as though it’d just been power-washed, the after-effects were startling. The Tohickon overflowed its banks and was rapaciously engaged in transporting logs and all sorts of other bobbing doo-dads and detritus to the Delaware River.

Many roads were impassable, either as a result of flooded creeks and streams or massive trees giving up the ghost and dragging electrical wires down with them.

The Delaware practically had enough trees floating down it to qualify as a forest itself.

Tohickon Creek – Photo: L. Weikel

It’s Only August

While I’m profoundly grateful we were spared the worst of it, I have to admit, this does give me paust. It’s only August. That seems pretty darn early to me to be dealing with a storm of this magnitude. Given the attitude of 2020 so far, I don’t think I want to challenge worse – that’s for sure.

It’s kind of amazing to contemplate just how devastatingly effective Mother Earth is at putting us in our place. It doesn’t take much. We really are a vulnerable species when you get right down to it, which makes me wonder. Is that why we’re often such bullies when it comes to Nature?

I hope everyone is safe and dry. I’d say I hope you’re warm, too – but if you have no electricity, warm may not exactly be the state you prefer. I hope you’re safe, dry, and comfortable. Take good care of yourselves – and don’t forget to feed your birds.

Casualty of Tropical Storm Isaias – Photo: L. Weikel

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Familiars – Day 615

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Spartacus – A Happy Boy – Photo: L. Weikel

Familiars

I adore the four-leggeds with whom we share our life. In fact, I cannot imagine my life without having at least one of them in the family. Luckily for both of us, Karl shares my need to be surrounded by my familiars.

Nothing proves that point more clearly than that we honeymooned on Cape Cod – and adopted a gorgeous solid gray kitten at the ASPCA in Brewster, Massachusetts. Yes, our very first official act as a married couple, on the very first business day of the week following our marriage that weekend, was to drive through Cape traffic instead of going to the beach to see if we could find a kitten to adopt.

Brewster was his name and he was a trooper. While he ruled the roost for a year on his own, he oversaw Karl’s birth and eventually schooled him on the proper way to sneak hard cat food when I wasn’t looking. He gamely and not begrudgingly shared our laps with his ‘little brother’ Karl.

Fast Forward to Today

At the moment we, as you’ve occasionally been made aware, we share our home with two dogs, Sheila and Spartacus, and three cats, Precious, Cletus, and Tigger.

I could write about our beasts every night. Especially lately, they’ve been providing me with an abundance of fodder, some amusing and some sort of hard, but I’ve been trying to hold off.  Last night, however, brought a message that was hard to ignore.

Messengers

After completing my post for the evening, I made my way upstairs. Usually Spartacus is already upstairs with Karl, making a warm spot for me. Sheila, no longer able to navigate the stairs, sleeps downstairs in her soft furry bed. That makes me sad, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so I’ve become resigned to it.

Cletus religiously makes a pest of himself while I’m writing my post (every post, every night) by stomping around if he’s inside, howling to be let out, and then after he’s been outside for about 20 minutes, hurling himself against the screen door out front and sticking to it (with his claws) like Velcro – until his claws slowly rip the screen. That’s how he demands to come back in. He does this a couple times while I’m writing.

Precious is our paranoid one. If anyone came to visit (pre-Covid), she’d disappear and not be seen or heard from again. Not until the interlopers left. She’s mostly a loner, but every once in a while she’ll become frantically affectionate. It’s weird. But we love her. Even if she is a cellar-dweller.

And then there’s Tigger. We inherited Tigger from Sage after he (and his fiancé Sarah, truth be told) adopted him from a pet rescue place in central Pennsylvania. It ended up not being a great look for an RA to be harboring a fugitive kitty, so Tigger relocated to Bucks County. I think I’ve relayed the story of his name elsewhere.

Message to Mommy

Which leads me to the scenario that greeted me when I went to bed last night:

Mouse with Dog underneath – Photo: L. Weikel

I know; right? It’s as if they were lines up perfectly, in some surreal real-life enactment of a Medicine Card* pick! Mouse reversed with Dog underneath.

So freaking weird.

The only one who could’ve set this up would be Tigger. Had Precious participated in this macabre message delivery scheme, she definitely would’ve eaten the head off the mouse. Especially if she wanted to convey is as a ‘reversal.’

So. Tigger? Was that you? Were you behind this message to Mommy?

Tigger – Avoiding My Gaze – Photo: L. Weikel

Hmmph. Good thing I’m not squeamish. Poor mouse.

*affiliate link

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