Darla's Diary of Doom, the Delight of a Dutch Dog, and the Death of Greta Gravenstein

Welcome to my blog!

Okay, FYI, I don't really write blogs (what is a blog?), so I hope you're not too disappointed with my random ramblings. This, being my first post, should give you an idea of what to expect in future posts, but I think expecting the unexpected would be more accurate. Oh, and most likely, it will be at irregular intervals--I'm kind of a hit or miss sort of person when it comes to these things.

Darla's Diary of Doom

So, today is Sunday, the 9th of August, 2020, and I've been mostly quarantined since March. My family and I are really feeling the impact of the changes that our world has had to make. There are days when I just want to stay in bed and read or write all day or sleep, but unless I'm having a flareup, I have to push myself to actually get up and do something productive.

How are all of you coping with the changes in our world? How has the pandemic impacted your lives? Have you found it difficult to adjust to a new normal?

People say that things will never be the same again and some keep looking backwards, wanting things to return to the way they were. But the truth is, life changes daily, things are never the same twice, and the world evolves whether we like it or not. There, I said it.

Big breath.

Some days I really resent having to stay put. Life for me hasn't changed drastically, since I'm home-bound most of the time anyway, even so, I feel constrained and itchy between my shoulder blades. My heart aches for all the families who have lost loved ones, people who never got to say goodbye, people who died without family and cherished friends by their side. I hurt for those who have yet to recover and those who will inevitably contract the COVID-19 virus.

I miss giving and receiving hugs, kissing cheeks, and spewing out hot coffee at the local bistro when my friends say something well-timed and hilarious (okay, that's kind of gross, but it has happened more than once).

Recently, my friend, Gina, told me that, though she isn't a huggy, kissy kind of person, she is feeling touch deprived. I agreed with her and told her how thankful I was for having my dog, my husband, and our son at home with me. Notice, I put the dog first? She said the same thing, then we ended up laughing and sharing photos of our dogs for the following half hour or so. Of course this was all on Facebook messenger and we were typing, so it wasn't the same as hanging out together at the brewery or coffee shop. She lives in Michigan, I live in Oregon.

The Delight of a Dutch Dog

I love my (our) dog and am so grateful for his company and his affection. He is goofy and lovable, and super sweet, but he's also "special". The Fizz, Fizzy, Fizzy Pop Rocks, is a Dutch shepherd.

What is a Dutch shepherd, you ask?

I asked the very same question.

When we adopted him from the Oregon Humane Society, we only knew that he was a shepherd mix. We had just lost our dear eleven-year old purebred German Shepherd, Dieter-hosen-heimer von Luiten von TeMar, and eleven years before that, our GSD/wolf hybrid, Enzo Maximus von Luiten Parmiggiano il Naso Hot Diggety Dog Wolf. But, when we brought The Fizz home, read his paperwork and investigated the internet, we found that he was a Dutch shepherd. (By the way, Fizz came with his own name and it fits him perfectly, so we didn't change it).

Also known as Dutchies, the Dutch Shepherd is a somewhat rare breed to find in the US. Their cousins, the German Shepherd and the Belgian Malinois, are more popular and well known. If you want to ;earn more about Dutchies, I put up the Wikipedia link (because it has no advertisements) and a really cool Youtube video about how amazing these dogs can be if they're loved and trained well.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dutch_Shepherd

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAoZ-4U19Gk&t=246s

Back to The Fizz. We think he's a purebred, but that he was rejected by the breeder because he has light eyes and floppy ears; he's imperfect--not up to the standards for a show dog. He was found wandering the streets somewhere in California and brought to Oregon. The Humane Society rehabilitated him and he was adopted. But after three months the family took him back because he was too much work! We fell in love with his photo and the rest is history.

Now, the "special" part has nothing to do with the rare breed, has somewhat to do with the abuse and neglect and abandonment he suffered, but everything to do with his character, his personality, and his pure heart. He came to us with PTSD, was incredibly nervous, super reactive to noises, and incredibly protective of his home and his people.

The night we brought him home we kept everything silent--no TV, no computers, no phones--we set up the crate for him to sleep, but he wouldn't get in it (and still to this day, will not enter it). We didn't want to leave him locked up in a room, all alone, so we put his bed in our room.

Did Fizzy stay on his bed?

Nope.

He instantly hopped up onto our bed and slept soundly between our feet on a blanket. You have to understand that we've never let any of our previous dogs get on our bed. Now, almost a year later, he's crawled his way up to our pillows and sleeps on his own pillow. Well, most of the time he ends up under my husband's armpit with his feet digging into my back or chest. Every night he waits for my spouse at the foot of the bed, as soon as said partner attempts to get into bed, Fizz races to his own pillow, thereby robbing my husband of a yard of bed covering. Sometimes we both end up clinging to our bedside tables, clutching tiny corners of our bedspread, while Fizzy sprawls freely across our bed.

We don't sleep well.

We don't care.

The Death of Greta Gravenstein

One late evening, in early July, our favorite centenarian apple tree, Greta Gravenstein, gave up the ghost. But, she went out in glory and with a bang (which had nothing to do with fireworks).

At first we thought we had blown a fuse because we just heard a popping noise, and only half our house went dark. But, after investigating outside, in the black of night, my husband found a downed power line dangling from the tree. It had sparked a quick flash in the breaker box and scorched the side of the house!

He could have died and our house could have burned to the ground with us inside it!!! Well, if he had tripped and fallen against the tree and merely brushed the power line with any part of his body, he could have died; and if he had caught on fire and had run into the gas can in the garage, he could have set the house ablaze and died with us inside it. Luckily, he had his trusty head-lamp and a bright flashlight, and he isn't prone to tripping and falling.

I would have died if I had gone outside to investigate. Anyway, PGE (our power company) came and cut off the power for us and for our nice neighbors. So, we lit candles then spent the night in the dark.

Two hours later we heard a crash followed by a thump--Greta toppled over, revealing her roots and her inner, rotten core.

I swear she was a nice tree! She just had some problems with the ivy dress she insisted on wearing. We told Ivy to leave her alone, but Greta thought Ivy looked beautiful with her moss and lichen accessories. It turns out that Ivy didn't kill her. Greta died from the same serial killer who murdered Cherie' Cherry several years back, and Dagmar Dogwood last year. I can only hope we find the killer and do what must be done. Greta's death taxes were over $2000 (the electricians worked for two hours, rewiring). On the positive, loving, neighborly side of the story, many of our neighbors came together to help us with Greta's massive corpse. (Thank you Tammy, David, David, Jacob, and Isaac). It took days to dismember her. Some of her body went to our neighbor David, who makes gorgeous wooden bowls, beautiful fountain pens and other interesting things. Some of Greta will be cremated for BBQ, and I have kept some of her body parts for a few weird projects. Today, Sunday, I got up late, but I was determined to get outside and do some yard work, since the weather was nice. We are still, slowly clearing our backyard of the death and subsequent butchering of Greta Gravenstein. Greta gave us delicious apples and refreshing shade, she had been our party tree for many years, but now our backyard is bare and gets direct sunlight. It's so strange to go outside and not see Greta. We don't know exactly what we'll do with that area, but we're thinking about actually planting a garden next year.

Anybody who knows me, knows that I have a Black Arm, not a Green Thumb, so planting a garden may not be the best idea. But that is another story.

Never lose hope!