Turban Squash, the Woods, and Us

Although we do not have as large stands of color as is seen in wooded areas in the midwest and in the eastern parts of the United States, the San Bernardino mountains where we live do boast some rather spectacular scenery this time of the year. Our alpine forests gleam, their deep green splashed here and there with swathes of red and gold that when illuminated by slants of autumn light are little short of spectacular.

Jerry decided to go with me last Friday when I said I wanted to tromp through some areas around here hoping to get a few good photographs. The hour was toward noon before we left, so I whipped up a couple of fine sandwiches, filled a slim thermos with freshly brewed coffee and snagged from the cupboards a hand-full of fun-size candy bars. Winston made three of us.

A few weeks ago when i bought pumpkins and other fallish items to create a display near our entrance door, included in my purchases was a turban squash which was so beautiful that I moved it into our house and set it on a chair in the study. I loved the way those two simple items looked. Then I envisioned them set among thin weeds in the woods.

I carried the chair and the squash to our trusty Jeep. i drove, looking for the perfect spot.

I stood on one of the highest reaches of Crestline when I snapped this picture which affords a stunning glimpse of highway 18 winding its way from the valley floor into these mountain communities. But it was when we drove down a canyon trail that I found the spot.

I moved the chair about until I found the right place with the best light. . . .and then it was as I imagined.

The temperature hovered around 40 degrees, a bit chilly for an authentic picnic, so as we sat inside the car, we ate the delicious ham sandwiches and drank the steamy coffee. Winston sat on the console between us, looking from one to the other as he begged with his round glossy eyes.

Not one car came by us on the canyon road as we lived out the afternoon squash/picnic/photography spree.

A beautiful spot with streaming light lay across the trail. I moved the chair, and when Jerry and Winston had sat down in it, I shot the final photo of the day

Words From Winston

Occasionally Winston and I discuss his part in my blog writing, and with sad brown eyes he emphasizes that a great period of time has passed since he has been allowed access to my computer, and he feels quite sure that many of you are wishing to hear from him. Sometimes as I sit on the couch in my living room and type on my computer, he sits beside me, and when he lifts a fuzzy white paw toward the keyboard, I know he is feeling creative, and is wishing I would let him have a turn.

Because of his very black face into which his dark eyes are plunged, Winston is hard to photograph. Yesterday, though, I snapped a few good shots of him, and when I loaded them today I decided this would be a fine moment to let Winston tell you about them.

Winston here! Sir Winston of Crestline, I’m sure you recall.

My people have a thing about the trash. Well, I suppose I have a thing about it too, but they have quite a difference in opinion about the trash from mine: They even go to the extent of placing the trash baskets on top of the toilet fixtures in the bathrooms, so I can’t share them. The kitchen one is a compactor which I haven’t learned to manipulate, but the study! Oh, the trash can in the study is wonderful, and even though Mistress pushes it under the desk I easily get under there and knock it over. It’s a glorious place, mostly filled with paper, envelopes, used up pens, and cellophane pieces, along with an occasional Kleenex or paper towel. 

Early yesterday I visited the study, and when I left I looked behind me, and there scattered about was quite a trail of wonder; papers gathered all about the black plastic wastebasket I had tipped over. I knew Mistress would not like it, but I just couldn’t help myself, and maybe if I could figure out how I could scoop all the litter back into the can, but I just don’t know how to do that. Later, as I sat atop the stretched-out legs of Master who was reclining in his favorite chair, I had some moments of reflection. Mistress had taken me to the vet on Monday for boosters, and I was thinking about beautiful Dr.Nicole Stanclift, and all those stunning nurses . . . just remembering how sweet they all are, and how I didn’t bark, or yelp too loud when I got the shots . . .when I noticed Mistress heading toward the study.

Now Mistress is not mean to me, never has been, but sometimes she gets really upset when I do a couple of things I shouldn’t, and she makes a loud voice. Same mouth as her regular one, but the sound that comes out scares me a little bit, and I know then I have done something wrong. Same thing with the trash can as when I nip at her to play: She says, “No Winston. You don’t bite.” and I try to tell her I’m not really biting, but I’m just wanting to play. I think she understands that for I hear her explaining to people about my nipping. The thing is I love Mistress and I don’t want her to be mad at me, and about the trash . . .I just don’t know what comes over me . . .

One thing I’ve thought about is that I am so beautiful, and my people love me so much that sometimes when I’ve been a little naughty, I remind them of how lovely I am . . .like wagging my gorgeous fluff of a tail really fast, and looking at them in a very sweet way with my deep doggy eyes.

Sir Winston and His Manhood

I didn’t tell him about it, but I believe he sensed anyway that something was different about today. I had given hima bath last night, but he gets dirty so easily, especially since he loves to dig in the black dirt, so I scooped him up, set him on a bar stool, and with his own cloth, I washed his small body, his four spotted paws, his head, ears, and specially around his eyes.  As he often does when I wash his face, he laid into my chest. Today, he lifted his little face, and with his telling brown eyes, he looked hard into mine. I could have wept. A couple of hours ago, we drove Winston to his vet. Today, he will be neutered.

He looked worried as I snapped his picture after I washed him.

I left him in the care of the sweet people at Rimforest Animal Hospital. I’m awaiting a call to hear that his surgery is finished. I’m sad.

5:45 Monday, May 19 Winston has been home a couple of hours and is doing well. He’s a little groggy and can’t have food until 8:00, although I have given him a little water, and it has caused him no problems.

 

An Anniversary

It snowed, they say, that day in the deep south state of Louisiana when he was born. Now, here he is today 82 years old. Gerald Buxton, my hubby.

We planned a simple day–some last minute shopping for our big trip that is just days away now, a stop at the pharmacy, a little business at the bank, and a run by Costco for fuel and for treats for Winston. Throughout the day our children called to wish him a happy day, as did several of the grandchildren

“I’m taking you out for dinner for your birthday,” I had told him previously and he decided on the Cheesecake Factory where he would order their Jambalya. But as the day wore on, and we were miles away from the designated restaurant, he talked himself into settling for Cocos which was much closer to home and where he would order the Oriental Chicken Salad. As we entered the restaurant, we both stared at the bountiful, beautiful pies in the glass case, and I said, “We could take one of those home for your birthday.” But through the meal as we ate our delicious food, we decided I would whip up a coconut cream pie at home.

I did.

Winston whimpered. . .

. . .and because it was a party . . .

. . . and because that little pup is spoiled . . . rotten, I tell you.

Anyway, it’s Jerry’s birthday, and I cannot imagine my life without him . . .so, I’m wishing lots more pies and cakes. Many more celebrations–rare, elaborate, or simple. But there.

A Caring Lesson from Winston

I knew from the beginning Sir Winston of Crestline was a very special pup, but I had no idea he would be called into the ministry . . . First clue came when I found him with these in his mouth.

He has chosen the bottom shelf of a bookcase covered wall as his daytime den and sleeping place. The shelf is positioned beside a large chair I sit in when I’m working at the computer and had a few books on it with a large vacant area. He just took over. I moved the books so he has the whole shelf to himself . . . otherwise there would be no books left. He’s very studious it seems, and besides that he’s teething.

He conquered the four cement steps from the driveway yesterday and today. He was hesitating to come down, but I encouraged him, and here he came but on the last step got to going so fast he tumbled over and bonked his little head.

I’m eager for his vet appointment on Monday when he will receive his first puppy shots, for he’s at a high risk now for lots of things, and the nurse in the doctor’s office advised me to keep him in at our house. But we go so much . . .and when we went to a funeral last week, Rebecca “baby” sat him, and of course Winston met his cousin, whose name is Sir Maxwell. (Another titled, rather important dog!) Maxwell is a Snauser.

…and he’s met and played with Sarah who lives across the street. Sarah bounds up our driveway with Winston chasing right after her, his short legs chugging like a locomotive. He tires easily when he does that, though, and will plop down right in the street. (We live on a cul-de-sac with almost no traffic.)

Winston is fearless.

Our delightful neighbor Bill lives next door. He walks into the woods every day, blows snow off his sidewalks on blizzardy days, is sharp-witted, as friendly as can be, and is 91 years old. Last week from our back deck, I lifted up Sir Winston and showed him to Bill who was out in his yard. He grinned . . . then yesterday came into our yard and down the steps to meet his newest neighbor who was frolicking with his master.

He bent over then, and lifted up the tiny pup.

I didn’t notice the lesson as I snapped the picture, but as I processed it and saw Bill’s feet and his hands grasping my little pup, the understanding of the helplessness of Winston and to some extent the neediness of Bill occurred to me. Winston taught me another lesson, that of caring for those who have difficulty caring for themselves. Last week Bill hired a young boy to rake up leaves and acorns, and by the time he was finished he had more than a dozen large, black bags full of debris. Today was the day the huge trash trucks would come on our street. Led by the charge of my caring husband, a few men of the neighborhood grabbed up those bulky, heavy bags and set them out for Bill. Too many for the collectors to take, so Jerry put some bags with our trash, Ken put some with his, Mary some with hers, as did also Kerry.

A nation–a people–are known by the care they give to those who cannot care for themselves.

Winston adds his greetings.

News from Sir Winston

I’ve told you before how gracious and generous are the Pastor Robert Allen family, but their generosity almost excelled itself when Sister Allen said to Chloe, “Would you like one of the Shih Tzu pups?” I wasn’t there when they had the conversation, but a few hours later I learned of the potential gift when I too was offered one of the little dogs.

“You’re giving me one of the puppies?” I asked.

“Yes, we often give one to our friends who are in ministry.”

That night I met Sir Winston and Milo . . . and my life has forever changed, for how could I look into such a face, and say, “No, thank you.”

Chloe called her dad for permission. Her dad said, “Yes, but we’ll keep it a secret from your mom,” thus arose the need to delay the earth-shattering news. She picked Milo, a tiny little fella with a beautiful white face.

It was Friday night when we met the pups, and Jerry had said yes, I could have the remaining puppy. I hesitated for all the reasons I’ve mentioned previously.. . . but when we pulled away from Tucson we had two beautiful pups in a big cardboard box and were on our way to Lake Havasu where Mike and Mel were preparing dinner for us. Chloe and I had plans. We stopped at a WalMart the other side of Phoenix for we had to lay in supplies for our babies. Jerry kept Sir Winston in the car: Chloe tucked Milo in her purse and nearly caused a riot in the pet section when several people spotted him, called their relatives to see, and even had their picture taken with him. (We’ve learned since that we shouldn’t take them out in public yet, for they are too young for their shots, and they might pick up a disease.)

Chloe and I hid our pups behind our backs when we arrived at Mike’s, said, “1, 2, 3” and then popped out Milo and Sir Winston. Mike grinned . . . laughed . . . and called Melina to come see. We had bought puppy shampoo, so before dinner Chloe and I gave our babies their first bath.

Jerry had preached in Lake Havasu Sunday, we drove home Monday, and by Tuesday afternoon, we had arrived in San Diego, and all the family had been introduced to Sir Winston and Milo. Shawnna was totally surprised, but excited.

From everything I’ve read and with conversations with other puppy owners, I’ve come to think Sir Winston is an exceptional dog. Excuse me while I brag.

1. Yesterday at Pet’s Mart, I bought a kennel for him. With no difficulty at all, he slept in it last night, by the side of our bed. He had his last potty trip at 10;00 . . . and slept without a sound until 5:00 am!

2. He almost never whines . . .

3. When I take him to the back deck, he immediately pees, but to finish his job, he wants to run around and sniff here and there. Our deck is one story high with open sides, and every day he walks a little faster, and I’m afraid he’s going to fall off the deck. So, today, Jerry and I made him a private bathroom. He does not like puppy papers, rather prefers the outdoors. To accommodate both his needs and his wishes, his area has many leaves, dirt, and other plants. I’ll probably put a paper out there, to help him get used to it for the days when freezing rain is falling and he will be forced to such a lowly thing! (He’s just much too elegant for plastic puppy papers; rather he needs a portion of God’s green, cool earth.:) )

Early this morning, Sir Winston got lost. I had been playing with him for about an hour, could tell he was tired and was probably ready for a nap. I worked on my computer for a few minutes, then looked around for him, and he was gone. Gone! I mean. I called, looked under chairs, couches, in the bathrooms, under beds . . . calling all the time. I could not find him. I even went outside, called there. Nothing. Finally I went to the bedroom where Jerry was still asleep. “You didn’t come in here and get Winston, did you?”

“No,” he said as he roused and began to dress.

Sir Winston likes to sleep under my green chair in the dining room. I had looked carefully under there, had even run my hands around on the floor to feel for him. Nothing. Now, I retraced my steps, and decided to move the chair completely out. There. There on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, tucked way far back, he was curled fast asleep.

“You little rascal,” I said as I gathered him up. I took him to Jerry and said, “Winston has been a bad boy.”

I said that two or three times as Jerry was rubbing the thick black and white coat of little Sir Winston, then Jerry quietly said, “Shirley, you’ve scolded him enough.” I smiled inside.