Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 11

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

"Now what," I said more to myself than to Skye or Greta. All three of us had tears in our eyes while Helen stroked Kookie's crest. Even Libby was sniffling.

Helen pushed herself to a seated position. Kookie rubbed his beak against her face, cooing and talking a mile a minute.

"That's the most animated I've seen her since she moved in," Greta said. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the two reunited friends.

Skye nodded. "I don't think I can bear to separate them. Frankly, the vet told us that Kookie won't live much longer if this depression continues. So taking the bird back to the store..."

"Isn't a wise idea." Greta squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. "Mr. Salazar isn't supposed to visit us again for another two weeks. Libby? What's your feeling about this?"

Libby's dark brown eyes were huge with wonder. "I never been around big birds, but I don't want Miss Helen to have to say goodbye to her pet. Lord above, I thought she was all but, well, she was really poorly. Now she's acting like she's got her will to live back again."

"That bird does make messes," Skye said. "To be fair, I had to tell you."

Greta smiled, a tiny rueful grin. "All our residents make messes. How about this? Leave Kookie here. We'll see how things go."

With that, we made arrangements for her to stop by the store to pick up the perch, the cage, and the bird seed.

**

One week later, Greta called to ask if Skye and I were free for lunch. A hitch in her voice suggested she was upset, so I asked, "Is Helen all right? And Kookie?"

"Both are fine, but we have a problem. I'd rather discuss it with you two in person. Is it at all possible that we meet today?"

Over three salads at Pumpernickel's, Greta reported an unexpected visit from her boss, Mr. Salazar. "To make a long story short, he gave me twenty-four hours to find Kookie a new home. According to him, we're breaking all sorts of health department regulations."

Setting down her fork, Greta sipped water. Her eyes had been downcast since we walked in the door. She's chosen a back booth, a place where we could talk in private. By unspoken agreement, we didn't tackled the main subject until the server, a friend of Skye's, set our bowls in front of us. Now, my appetite deserted me. I couldn't imagine separating Kookie and Helen, and I said as much.

"He's adamant. Even wrote me up and threatened to fire me on the spot." Greta's face was a mask of grief. "I need this job. Even if I didn't, my replacement would be in the same predicament."

Skye toyed with a piece of tomato. "We all knew it couldn't last. Not long. But is Helen better? I don't want to sound rude, but I had the idea she wasn't going to live much longer. I guess I figured she'd be gone by now, and you wouldn't have to cope with this."

"If I'd been a betting woman, I would have laid odds that she would have passed over by now. However, she and Kookie are happy as can be. Of course, there are all sorts of visitors who drop by daily now. Everyone loves the bird. I've promised I'll see about getting other animals, but Mr. Salazar suggested that he was not interested. First there are the health regulations. Then there's the mess. Finally, there are liability issues. I prepped all sorts of articles about the therapeutic value of pets in an assisted living care facility, but he wasn't impressed. I guess if we could find therapy animals with trainers to come and go, he'd be okay with that. But live-in animals? A non-starter."

"Any word on the financing issue?" I pushed my food away. "If that gets taken care of, maybe the landscaping would help. The residents could look out the windows and see something--anything!--that would cheer them up."

"Mr. Salazar told me that it's taking longer than Mr. Boehner had predicted." Greta folded her hands in her lap.

None of us spoke.

Finally, she burst out with, "Look, I like both of you a lot. Let me be really frank, but this has to stay in the room, Mr. Salazar does not like me. He thinks I'm unqualified for my job. He's not interested in keeping me in the loop. He's a numbers guy, and that's what moves the needle on his dial. He's one of those old-school admin people who thinks of residential care as warehousing. Since he couldn't be clearer about that, I have to rethink my future at Martin Gardens. This isn't what I signed up for. This isn't who I am!"

Then the tears started.

~ To Be Continued ~

 

Author's Note: I know you'll want to read this story in its entirety when I'm finished. (And I'm not done yet!) Just so you're aware, I'll bundle it with other Cara Mia short stories and make them available as e-publications.

A Crafty Treat for Dogs

I love owning Bichons. My groomer, Pam, says that Bichons are the only breed capable of real love. (Don't throw things at me! I'm quoting her!)

 

But Bichons are also prone to a variety of problems, and poor teeth are right up there at the top of the list. They are also very emotionally sensitive. Leaving them behind really makes them upset.

 

To combat both problems, I've come up with this treat. Using Easy Cheese (otherwise know as Cheese Whiz), I squirt a little of the cheesy goo into a Kong, a rubber treat that's red and reminds me of the Michelin Man.



 

 

 

 

After I've filled all my Kongs (I keep four of them on hand), I pop them into a zipper top plastic bag. These go into the freezer.

 

Why are these such a great idea? First of all, gnawing on the Kong helps remove dental plaque. Second, because the treat is frozen inside, it takes a long time for Rafferty to get to the good stuff. And third, there's a small amount of treat per Kong, so it doesn't upset his tummy or add inches to his svelte waist line. Best of all, I can give one to Raffi when I leave the house so he's busy and happy while I'm gone.

I love the convenience of reaching into the bag, grabbing a cold Kong, and sharing it with my pet. Let me know if your dog enjoys this, too!

Of Mice and Men and Pigs

A couple of weeks ago I visited the local family-owned hardware store for mouse traps. It's not that I saw any mice, but I saw a few droppings and I heard the chewing in the walls. We've learned the hard way that mice travel in troops, and when the weather changes, they find their way indoors for shelter. David is a masterful mouse-trap setter, but he has one type of trap he prefers, so I'm a picky buyer. While I hate killing the little rodents, they do carry fleas and ticks that harbor Lime Disease, so I feel I must keep my family and my dogs safe. Spring loaded traps kill quickly and humanely, whereas poison can be eaten by dogs or kids. For a week thereafter, we caught a mouse a day.

I love hardware stores, and this one is particularly wondrous, full of nuts, bolts, tools, small appliances, fertilizer, and most delightfully, an indoor farmers' market. That day there was a special treat: the owner brought his pet pot-belly pig. I've never "met" a pig before, so I asked permission to scratch her behind her ears. When I did, she had a surprise for me--she fell over on her side as if dead.

Of course, I was appalled. I thought I'd killed her. Turns out she just loves to be scratched and that's her way of showing her enthusiasm. Her owner explained that she is very smart, smarter than a dog, and very clean.

Which brings to mind another neighborhood pig. This one is made of concrete. The story is that one brother gave the other a silly gift. The second brother, wishing to "get back" at his sibling, retaliated with this concrete pig, thinking that he was really "pimping" his brother by giving him something so hard to move. But the second brother had a playful streak, so instead of moving the pig and getting rid of it, he set it out in his front yard. Now he changes the pig's wardrobe and setting to match the seasons.

I love this pig. I've forgotten it's name, but I take my dogs on daily walks around the pig to see its seasonal changes. I've told the family how much joy they have given me.

That's something I love, the unintended positive consequences of living an interesting life. I'm sure that Brother #2 wasn't thinking, "Boy, will I make Joanna Slan's day." He was just doing this thing. But he has made my day. I enjoy his sense of humor.

As they say in the South, "I'm with the pig."

The Return on Our Investment

I love this photo. My new pal Donna Manz took it for the Vienna (VA) Connection. You can read the entire article here.

That's Vicky, on the left. You can't see her harness, but of course, it is pink. She's a girly-girl of a dog. We "adopted" Victoria in England, so she's a British Bichon and a little smaller than the American breed. Since her father was an English champion, Vicky is a bit of a princess. Sarah, one of the adorable little girls who lives down the street, told me (with a look of total sincerity on her face), "When I die, if I come back, I want to come back as Victoria."

Sarah also said, "I'm not sure if Vicky's very smart or not."

I said, "Oh, she's plenty smart. Let me ask you, does Vicky get you to do exactly what she wants?"

"Hmm. You're right!" said Sarah.

Believe me, Vicky knows her loyal subjects. She only does what she wants, when she wants.

And that's Rafferty on the right with the blue harness. He's a Bichon-Poodle mix. Would you call that a Bi-Poo? (You might if you knew Raffi!) He's only got three legs, but golly, he certainly makes the most of all three. He can jump up on furniture, a trick Vicky only recently mastered. (Actually, I think she was simply accustomed to having us, her humble servants, lift Her Majesty.)

They're my posse. When I'm hard at work writing, they keep me company by sitting in my office. Raffi whines unless I get him his own cushion because Vicky does NOT like to share. At night, Raffi jumps from sofa to chair to my lap. He doesn't know he's too big to be a lap dog!

Yeah, it's a bit of a hassle to plan for letting them out or getting dog sitters, but you know, I'd be so very, very lonely all day without them. When they're at the groomers, I feel a bit lost.

David and I were talking the other day about traveling, and we decided that we want to go places where we can bring the dogs along, too. It's just hard on all of us to leave them in a kennel or with sitters.

I realize that a lot of folks decide that once their children leave the nest, it's best not to be encumbered by a pet. But, our dogs own our hearts. They've made our new house a home. They're my posse, my small, furry personal herd of friends.

So if we have to open a wallets a bit more frequently, if we have to work a little harder at planning our lives, and if we have to glance at our watches and race home to let them out...it's really such a small price to pay for all the love we get in return.