Senseless Deaths

I have recently had two deaths in the family.  I am still working through them, but not for the reasons you might think.

Yes, I am sorry they are gone, but I’ve accepted that already. I cried a little but my grief is mixed with anger, so I know I will eventually have to work through that.

One I will miss terribly.  The other, I will always wonder how I could have made a bigger difference in his life.

Death number 1:

The first death was my cousin’s.  My cousin was fantabulous.  I didn’t grow up with him.  I babysat him. He was considerably younger and so I never really was around when he was a teen or growing up.

The visits to our Mexican side of the family had been few and far between, by then I was a mom and responsible parent.  My young cousins seemed wild and we all worried and wondered if they belonged to gangs. One visit in particular, I remembered seeing gunshot holes in a straight line along all the cars across the street from their house.  My aunt and uncle moved from there shortly thereafter wanting to get the kids to a better neighborhood. Given the circumstances of his death, my brother’s response to the news is, how grateful he is, we didn’t grow up in that environment. Mother kept us away.  Mother may not have been quite sane, but she still had a mother’s protective instinct. I thought for a long time she was ashamed of her family, but perhaps not.

Still, they are family and for that reason, I’ve since tried to get to know them better.

For 30 years, I lived out of state and hadn’t seen them in quite a long time even though I stayed in touch by phone and mostly just with my aunt, their mother.  When I returned four years ago, I started visiting them again.  All grown up now, “RA” (not his real name) and I became buddies.  During my time away, he’d had four kids and they’d had kids. He was no longer with either of their mothers and now lived next door to my aunt, his mom.

On m first visit, I drove up in my “dirty” car.  I’d just washed it either a couple of days before or the day before.  He insisted, he’d detail it.  In short order he had all his buddies washing and buffing every inch of it.  Before long it looked brand new!!!  I didn’t realize that washing alone doesn’t cut it. A good waxing and buffing makes a world of difference!  Spit spot.

I offered to give him something for it but he always refused.  When my son got his new, used car, he taught him how to take care of it and when they were done his car now looked spanking new.  That particular time, because he had worked on two of our cars and quite laboriously, I might add, I once again offered him a sizable amount of cash for helping out.  That time he took it.  I think he went to the casino afterwards. I was, of course, disappointed and vowed to not do that again.  Instead, I thought I’d give him something in trade, perhaps.  I’m a first born.

On some afternoons, we would talk and occasionally have a beer together. He was warm and kind. I did get around to asking him if he’d belonged to a gang and he said, No, never.  We would talk about everything and I saw nothing but a good guy.

He was also quite artistic and gifted me a Betty Boop clock that I knew my airline pilot brother would be envious of and he was. Betty Boop

On that first visit, when I was in LA for a screenwriters workshop, I told him of my screenwriting desires.  He had gotten so excited about my screenplays.  It was neat, he looked up to me for all he thought I’d achieved, even though a part of me was so afraid to disappoint. He was interested in what I’d written and even hooked me up with a guy who had once been in law enforcement who might help my research. My story centered on a kidnapping and a woman’s unknown connection to the cartel.  Later he would tell me, “Cuz, don’t do it.”  He was quite serious. I didn’t understand his change of heart, but even though he said it sounded great, he reiterated, “don’t do it”. He said, it was dangerous.  It never made sense to me since lots of writers write about the cartel.  In fact, there are so many cartel stories out there, how would one more make a difference?  I said, it’s fiction after all and my queries were non specific, plus I told him, most everything I had, I got off the internet, the rest was made up. Nevertheless, I let it go because it wasn’t developing the way I wanted it to anyway.  Unfortunately, there was also one about a kidnapping that came out soon after.  Plus that year, so many cartel movies began to surface that I would be hard pressed to sell it anyway, even with revisions.

On my aunts property, she had fruit trees. RA would harvest giant grapefruit and from her tall avocado trees, avocados.  She would sell them to the neighbors or passersby that would stop and ask.  Of course, that was frequent since RA made her a big sign inviting them to buy.   “RA” would also be the one to climb this tall ladder to harvest the fruit so his mom  could sell them for a little cash (like 10 for $1 or so), mostly so they wouldn’t go to waste.  When I was there, I’d hold the ladder for him as he’d tie it and himself in before he’d get to work some 20+ feet up.  Between him and his brother they took good care of his mom and did things for her all the time.

A few weeks ago, he was shot, assassination style.  The news said that, except for his age, 63,  it had all the markings of a gangland “hit”.  But what got me is that it was a story that got snuffed almost immediately. It was weeks before his body would be released to the family.  Am I overstepping my bounds in saying so?  I hope not.

It was around 2 AM.  He was riding his bicycle home, after visiting a “friend”, after said friend called him over.  Was it a set up?  We still have no answers and pictures are sparse for a reason.

At first, I thought perhaps, because I knew he liked to gamble, that maybe he’d gotten in debt with the wrong person.  But that was just a guess.  No one else seemed to have a clue.

I’ve since learned the FBI is investigating.  The FBI?  Hmmmm

The story gets curiouser and curiouser.

Death Number  2 –

Last weekend, we deposited my ex son-in-law’s ashes at sea.  My daughter and granddaughter came out for the services.  She was his first and I believe his only legal wife. His mom, sister and ex football jock friends from high school were there and all his homeless “crew” were there.  The contrast disconcerting.

The homeless sat or stood on one side and the country clubbers on the other.  How did this once good looking guy go astray?

I knew he had an alcohol problem when he married my daughter and I only suspected the drugs.  One time, when I visited them, I had observed him stepping out momentarily with something in his hands and then returning moments later, but I was naive to those matters at the time. Was it a drug deal?

What I didn’t know is that he had once used my daughter, while she was pregnant with our grand daughter as a drug mule. So, his addiction and her love caused them both to make some unwise choices. I never knew.  Drugs and alcohol, for me anyway, have never been a temptation, for which I’m grateful.

We talked them into moving to Colorado to live with us hoping that away from his druggy friends, that he’d kick the habit.  They were there for six or seven months.  We employed him at our bicycle business and kept him busy, but he was miserable.  He didn’t have his drugs, that we knew of, but he still had access to alcohol.

While cleaning one day, I found a stash of alcohol, several bottles of vodka, whiskey or whatever.  I went back to check later and those were gone and several others had taken their place. Where and when was he getting these? One day, I asked him to run to the store for me, so he borrowed my bike and took off.  After more than an hour, I went looking for him on my son’s bike. (the store was nearby) I found him sitting on the bridge, downing cans of beer and tossing the empties into the Colorado River!!!  I took the cans from him and we had a chat.  When the chat was over he hugged me, thanked me and then closed in for a kiss.  I pushed him away and told him, he was drunk and I’m his mother in law, for Pete’s sake!  He was only 21.

I wasn’t angry at him because I recognized only too well that this young man had a serious problem. (My ex had been an alcoholic, but a good natured one such as BAC, (not his name). He was a teddy bear… a gorgeous, handsome, charismatic hunk (at the time).  Women had trouble not forgiving him. Instead of getting angry, they forgive and forgive, which was a disservice to him. Some time later, the kids announced they were moving back to CA. We were not happy.

They got their tax return and he was going to go on ahead, get a place and send for the girls.  We never saw him again.  My daughter, after waiting awhile, learned he had moved in with her former roommate.  She filed a divorce in absentia.  I’m not sure if that’s the correct term.  She would later marry a guy who became the only dad, my grand daughter would recognize as dad.  He and his family love her to pieces.

BAC didn’t show up in her life again until he learned she’d had a son. His mom, sister and brother were always in Becca’s life, so it wasn’t as if he was totally unknown to her, but he wasn’t dad and she’d never met him.  She finally agreed to meet him.  By then, he’d been in and out of prison, lost an eye in a fight and was living on the streets.  He’d stolen from friends, and abused his friendships. He was a mess, but despite that she says philosophically, “he lived life on his terms.”  She doesn’t hate or admire him.

My daughter met his “wife” and she told her that he stayed away as much as possible because, he said regarding his daughter, “she was the only good thing I ever did” and didn’t want to ruin that. She was the only child he would ever have.

Now, here he was, at 48, in a box. (His mom gave permission to use his pic on this blog.)

The program had a picture of him when he was young and the way my daughter remembered him when they first met.  She lost it.  She never expected that hurt to spring up after 26 years.

The homeless people laid out a spread you would not believe, but no one, except the homeless ate anything that they’d prepared. Even then, they didn’t eat until most everyone had left. We drank water and dipped only what our own hands touched.  There was a pork loin (several, in fact) that were on the barbecue, but when I saw this guy slicing it up with his filthy hands… well.

My grand daughter and I made an attempt to talk to them, but discovered that most of them seriously suffered mentally and from their addictions. They did say, he talked about us often.  It was difficult to watch. We learned that some of these folks had, at one time, had come from good homes. Some were well educated and talented. I learned they  are provided phones and other resources by family and friends, who have not abandoned them completely, but don’t know what else to do for them. There was among this older group, one young man, who is probably not unlike BAC was at one time and it saddened my heart to see and wonder where he would end up. It was sad all the way around in so many ways.

BAC died peacefully I hear.  He got up one day and sat down at the table and that was it.  He died where he sat.

My daughter said, she believed it started when his father died while he was still in high school.  He never got over it. I think people are more aware of the impact of traumatic events these days, but perhaps not so much then. No two people suffer the same and for some, it is deeply hidden and surfaces subtly.

His high school jock friends turned out. They went to college and he went to drugs, but they were there anyway.  Some were childhood friends and others he’d grown up with later and they came.  Two of his friends went out on their boards to deposit his ashes.  None of his homeless friends except for his wife, would walk that far (one block) to the beach for his send off.  For me, it was so evident who his true friends were.

 

When his friend had paddled the required 1/4 mile to deposit the ashes, he said that once the ashes got wet, they felt like 50 pounds on his back.  The sea was not in his favor and he returned exhausted.  That’s friendship.

Bret sendoff

 

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Talk to Me Please

It comes down to priorities.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I was just telling my 80 year old neighbor who walks with me and my dog daily how I have become the person I pitied many years ago when I was still tremendously mobile.

She is nine years my senior and I must go slowly as her feet give her trouble. My feet are fine, however.

Now my hip twitches from an old skiing accident I got when I boldly and stupidly took the slalom training course the young kids were running, which had, because of their intense use was now slick ice, which turned out to be a mistake.  I realized my mistake going into the second turn. Needless to say, I fell hard and had to be carted off by the ski patrol on a snow mobile.

At first, I thought my ski pole had not only broken but had also gone straight through my chest.  My face had slammed the slope hard.  I slowly sat up and checked to see if blood was running down or a ski pole had indeed gone through me.  It hadn’t.  No matter, I was seeing tweety birds circling my head and I was in pain.  Something certainly had broken.

As I waited for my rescue, I methodically checked each limb.  Sore but nothing appeared to be broken, but I’m no doctor.  A part of me was disappointed.

Yes, you read right.  Ever since I was a kid, other classmates had broken something.  An arm, a leg, foot, a finger and were getting all sorts of attention, not to mention the signatures on their casts.  Not me.  I’m as solid as they come, which I now appreciate.

casts

Buuuut, some attention would have been nice.  Be careful of what you wish for.  Little did I know…

I did, but not the kind I’d hoped for. At the time, I was working for this FM radio station in Colorado (I will not name the city, since there is only one golf shop there).  As an account rep,  my job was to get businesses to buy radio advertising.

As it was, I was black and blue with cuts and bruises over my  body, some on my face and a major black eye, actually that whole side was swollen and black and blue.  Not that unusual actually when you live in a place where people are actively engaged in dangerous sports and sometimes do get hurt. I did my makeup wizardry and off to work I go.

One of my accounts was this golf shop.  As I walked in, the owner , a very good looking, well built guy, was brazenly fooling around with his secretary/sales girl and had his hand down  her pants. Being as it was on the other side of the counter, I ,of course didn’t realize it until I was right on them.  He slips his hand out and turns to me, unabashed.  Yup! Out there in front of God and right smack dab in front of me!  That’s the kind of person he was.

Weeell, I was of course rattled but went into my pitch, pretending I hadn’t seen anything while he kept staring at my face.  Finally, he said, “What happened?  Your hubby catch you cheating on him?”

I responded with the truth,  but he acted like he didn’t believe me, doing his best to make me feel like the person he was. Sadly, I’m not one of those with a quick wit because there were a thousand other things I could’ve said and didn’t. I also probably should have just turned around and left, period, but like I said spontaneous quick thinking is not in my repertoire. I did turn around and leave but not before he got in a few more jabs.  Needless to say,  I gave the account to someone else and eventually quit altogether.

Some jobs, no matter the money are just not worth the abuse you may receive.  Nowadays, due to the “Me Too” movement, it doesn’t happen as often, but I’m afraid it probably still does, somewhere.

Not everyone reports, because it’s just not worth the energy expended to do anything about.  I know there are people who say I should pursue it, but it’s been nearly 20 years ago and way after the fact. Some might think if not for me but for everyone else and yes, that’s true, but I’m guessing at my age, now plus 70,  Why?

If I live to be my parents age, I may have only 10 to 16 years left, so time is precious.  Am I wrong to feel that way? I’d rather spend it with my kids.

Okay, I’d not intended to take this blog in the direction it went, but maybe it needed saying and maybe in saying it, I actually did get involved.

As time goes by, I have to mete out my energy selectively.  I still work out with a trainer and I eat horribly (not really), I have a cigarette now and then (don’t judge), only so I can stand being around hubby when he gets into a smoking jag.  (Stress at work)  So glad it’s not all the time.  But overall, I take pretty good care of myself.

I have learned that if I eat too many sweets or drink alcohol, I swell up like a balloon and my joints hurt, so after the holidays I find parts of me need to be salvaged.  The good thing is, I know what to do.   I didn’t always.

The truth is, I hit on it accidentally.  After one holiday 5-6 years ago, I was hobbling around, hunched over like an old lady and in so much pain I couldn’t straighten myself up.  I could not even stand up straight!!  The ol’ grey mare just ain’t what she used to be! I once could eat and drink anything and everything and not gain an ounce or have it affect my body adversely, but those days are so gone.

So what to do?  I thought about it and asked myself what was different?  It was the holidays.  Where I worked, everyone brought treats and goodies everyday for the last two months of the year and going into New Years. They were party animals and I was enjoying each and every morsel I could pop in my mouth! That is so how it was.

buffet 3

Sooo, I said, “Self.  What are you going to do about it?”

Well, I could have gone to the doctors and picked up some meds. That’s what most people tend to do.  Cover up the problem.  I’d already been told I was pre-diabetic and on the cusp of becoming diabetic and my cholesterol was on the high side but not dangerous. But I really didn’t want to rely on meds to get and feel well.  It meant I was going to have to be pro active.

Sugars are inflammatory, that I knew.  Alcohol, and caffeine were also inflammatory.  I’d heard the nurses often enough tell young women with breast sensitivity to first eliminate caffeine from their diet.

At the time, I was proud of the fact that for my age, I was not on any prescription meds, so it was my goal to keep it that way.  So, in as much pain as I was in, not to mention the pounds I’d put on, I went cold turkey and cut all the above culprits out of my life.

The first to show results was the pain in my back and legs due to swelling began to subside.  Little by little, I was able to stand erect once again, eventually I saw a loss of  weight.

As for keeping off meds, even with my workouts, I’ve finally had to give in to the only one I take – for cholesterol.  That’s it.  I still suffer now and then, but I know what to do and it has never gotten so debilitating.  I sort of wish I could go Vegan or pseudo vegan, but it’s not gonna happen.

As my son would say, “I want meat!”

I don’t have to have it all the time, but now and then.  You know I did write that article about chicken… That’s still on the table, but it is my least favorite. I do like fish though.

Has anyone else found themselves in my shoes?  Having to pick their battles regarding food, time and other life choices or am I the only one?

BTW, I would never attempt that run again even though I’d sure like to go skiing again someday.

The Greatest Fight In All The World / A Post About Meaning…

I found this truly inspirational and… remember the fight. Thanks James!! Don’t forget to check out his blog and music links.

JamesRadcliffe.com

[Note:  The story that follows is, in part, about a boxing match.  Now I don’t know how you feel about boxing.  You may love it, or you may feel that it is the height of senseless brutality.  I can see both viewpoints.  But this article is not *only* about boxing so, however you feel, read until the end and I promise you a payoff, ok? Good.]

Will I tell you about the greatest boxing match in the history of all the world?

On the 30th of October, 1974 in Kinshasha, Zaire, Mohammad Ali faced off against the most terrifying force boxing had ever seen.  George Foreman was a destroyer of men.  A taker of souls.  Powerful, ferocious, and skilled in equal measure.  To be hit by George Foreman was to be run over by a tank.

Fighters did not get back up.

No one thought Ali could win.  No one. …

View original post 1,555 more words

The Ladies of Burlesque

Queen Bees

Sometimes I wonder what it is that makes anyone, male or female want to take their clothes off in front of others. I’ve given it some thought, but no way in hell would I do it.  Now, if I were ten years younger and had a rockin’ body…?  Well… Uh, No!  At least I don’t think so.

In a way, I wish I could be so bold but I never was or have been.  Heck! I wanted to try out for cheerleader in high school but when it came to my turn, I looked out at the crowd and high tailed it out of there.  I never regretted anything more in my life. Now if you asked me to rock climb or slide down a mountain on ice with only an ice ax to break my fall, well that’s different and I’ve done that. I ran a half marathos and won a cycling race in my age category, I’ve done a century ride (100 miles in a day), climbed mountain peaks… well, you’ve read my stories.  Oh, and I’m scheduled to go sky diving soon, weather permitting, but that’s different.

I’m sure there’s a psychological explanation for that.

Queen Bee’s is a small theater in the North Park area, in San Diego. I went to a Burlesque show and last night I witnessed the most tremendous array of bodies in all sizes, shapes, ages and… ethnicity do just that.  They were simply amazing.  I was in fact impressed and jealous that these women had the guts to do what they did and they did so with gusto and grace.

Backstory:  This was my second time attending and I was sooooo reluctant to go the first time and found so many excuses not to attend again from there on.  Truly.

I – DID – NOT – WANT – TO – GO!!!

But, my sister, who is in the show, insisted.  My hub, said “No way,  I don’t want to see your sister naked!  You go, if you want to!”

I didn’t “want to” but, when Sherene said, “I don’t have anyone in my family I can share this with, except Brian…”  Brian, her husband goes to all of her shows.  Well, once her son J.C. went, but not to see her, but because a friend of his was in the show and invited him. Otherwise, oooh, ick no way!

For my across the globe, across the country, conservative friends, hang on. <Big Smile>

I totally get it.

I also get and would so much like to have someone I could share my screenwriting with, someone that actually gets it and won’t get all hot and bothered when I kill someone off or get upset that a sympathetic character dies or  heaven forbid has sex, or whatever.  My writer sister didn’t want anyone to die, have sex or use “swear” words,  she writes for children so her mind thinks only “G” material and not of the string variety.  I let her read my work once and she “G’d’ it immediately.  What? I’m supposed to use marshmallow guns?  No one dies?  I explained to her that it’s called  an “inciting incident” and a necessary “evil” is a must.  No, no she cried.  That’s not you!   That was the end of that.

Even though, Sherene can’t reciprocate, I do understand the importance of family support.

So, off I go…

I pick Brian up, because he’d had hip surgery and couldn’t drive, but we’re early, so we grab a bite to eat in an old timey diner next to the theater.  Yummy onion rings.

 

We wait in line for the doors to open and once in, I get a gin and tonic and sit in my seat facing forward wondering what in the hell I’m doing there.  I text my husband and ask him “it’s party time, except for me. I feel like such a stick in the mud!  When did I get so old?”, I ask.  He responds, “Sorry, Me too.”  I turn to Brian.

Brian is busy talking to some lady across the aisle from him and it’s loud and I am so unconnected.  A bunch of rowdy women seated behind me catch my eye and ask me if I had someone in the show.

“My sister”, I replied.

“Our Zumba instructor”, they said.  They’d never been and were giggling like school girls. We made friends and suddenly I find myself forced into having a good time.

The Emcee (is that what she’s called?) is a voluptuous redhead with ivory skin in a black corset and silver pointy nails. She never strips.

Burkesque queen

She announces that these girls have been working very hard and are pretty much all beginners and her expectations of the audience was for tear down the wall cheers and clapping.  She  said the audience were all invitees, family and friends of the performers with the exception (she jokingly says) of possibly a “perv” or two in the mix who might have snuck in. “You know who you are”.  Everyone of course laughs.  It was then, I realize she is right.  These were all family and friends of those who would be performing.  A non hostile crowd.  Hmmmm

This is not the strip joint type crowd. It was a small but humble theater. There are two young men sitting in front of me, perhaps in their mid thirties. One had a green Mohawk, but he was well dressed and clean cut looking otherwise. Green though? he was a looker too, quite handsome.  The other young man seemed to be more conservative and equally good looking.  A young lady sits between them, but it appears they are all together.  The crowd was mostly well dressed people and some more so, like they were attending a gala.  There were young (over twenty one because everyone was carded) and old alike. All were quite friendly. In fact, I gathered many were of the artsy types,  so why am I being a snob?  I got over it.

When the show began, it started with two solo routines with rather large women. The women came in all sizes  (boobs and bodies), ages (my sister is in her 60’s) and what surprised me,  varied ethnicity.  I was slightly embarrassed for them (?), not sure, but they were fantastic. There were routines with and without clothes, like hip hop, one with bare minimum, which was a shocker and a ballet spoof at the end. There were young ladies who were extremely fit and more experienced and poised and then there were the moms.  With bodies like any one of us. They obviously had to be fit to do the routines they did, splits, twirls and kicks plus dance but they jiggled in the usual places they might not have when they were young, yet fit.

One especially large gal, strutted her stuff and made sexy moves like she was flirting with her man and him alone.  She went through the whole song, fully dressed and put out more sexuality than most women would scantily dressed.  She smiled and flirted and shook her booty, until the very last. And then, in the last few seconds, she took it off to briefly show her stuff and the crowd roared!!!  I laughed so hard and cheered ……………..  Way to go girl!!!

 

Bees cast 1

They jiggled and they jogged and gave it their all.  Throughout, I watched the conservative young man in front of me, who never yelled but would nod his approval and on occasion stood up and clapped at the exquisite routines, especially of the big gals.  It wasn’t like he knew them but more like he admired them for having the chutzpah to get up there and be proud.

My brother in law Brian, leans into me and said it’s “woman empowerment”.

 

Yes, I could see that.  It wasn’t about showing off your body so much as, this is my body and I’m okay with it!

Pictures were not allowed of the performances, but we did get a group with their teachers. The man in the middle, teaches hip hop and his wife the rest.

Bee's cast

I still can’t figure how they get those “things” to jiggle like they do?

Do they sell that stuff at WalMart?

 

Sherene and I

I’ve had a cold and it sorta shows here. Lookin’ tired. It was way past my bedtime.

Peter Tork and Me

Yes,  for one brief moment, there was a Peter Tork and me…

As I’m sure many of you know and in case you hadn’t heard, Peter Tork of the Monkees just died yesterday.  That may not mean much to most people, but it does to me.

Peter Tork

It was the late 60’s. Our meeting was memorable to say the least.  He was sweet, charming, personable and unassuming.  I was a nut.  He reminded me of someone else I loved and lost years before, but that’s not what made our meeting important.

He twirled me around once when he entered the plane in a lighthearted way.  I thought it was funny (and weird), but other than that I liked it.  When he asked me for a drink…

I carded him.

Yes, I did.  I didn’t recognize him at all.  I just thought he was cute and flirty and I was too busy basking in his attention.  Not in a serious way, but in a fun way.  We always enjoyed and chatted it up with good-natured people.

I was a flight attendant at the time for an airline few people are familiar with, PSA.  Look them up.  I was one of those cute ones, picked by the airline to make the average businessman’s commute interesting and pleasant to be on.  We were selected for our looks  and  personality.

It was mostly a no frills airline, but besides coffee, we offered cocktails.  Even high in the air, we were expected to adhere to the law, so, if there was any doubt in our mind of the person’s age, we carded them.  So, I carded Peter Tork, and…

I never looked at the name on his license, just the DOB!!  So, silly me, had I looked at the name and if I recall the license was out of state,  I might have been in an even greater dither having one of my favorite celebs paying so much attention to me.

It was a light flight so we’d had plenty of time to chit chat, so that was cool

As it was, it wasn’t until the end of the flight when we’d said our goodbye’s that I learned his identity. By then, my fleeting brush with fame had passed.

As he went down the ramp, the station agent came up and said, “Oh, I see you had Peter Tork on your flight!”

Crap!! For real?

Peter tork1

God Bless and condolences to family and friends.

Winter’s Journey

When my grand daughter gave Winter her new home, she was not expecting this.
winter ad
Fortunately with Grandma’s help, we were able to get Winter back.  Apparently the people who took her had their script well rehearsed and Becca thought they would be good for her.

I had worried about this, but years and experience have taught me that people do not value what they’ve not worked for.  That’s why I’m not a big welfare advocate (with some exceptions) and that’s a whole ‘nother blog.  I know there are people who may disagree with me, but somehow those feelings do tend to change when it comes to animals.

In Winter’s situation, I (we) were sick about it. Becca called me crying. I made an appointment with them to come see the puppy, which allowed my kids to go over there and pick her up.  Becca did give them an earful but they didn’t fight her when she took her back.  These folks turned around and changed the phone number on the ad so that I would get the calls. So I did have to suffer through that for a short time.  People who called were apologetic and kind.

It has taken awhile but someone did come along to give Winter a new home.  She’s been renamed Winnie.  What made this new home a blessing is that they did take another puppy, Winnie’s little brother to keep each other company.

DANGERS OF FREE TO GOOD HOME ADS!

DANGERS OF FREE TO GOOD HOME ADS!  This is just one of many horrific examples of what can happen. Google Puppy Doe Kiya.

Free
Winter is happy and two hours away from her family. They shared information and her new family are looking to get her the help she needs.  It appears that “Winnie” does have some sight, which is good news.  If she hears, it’s limited.  It seems as she gets older, she is showing improvement in both those areas.
Here are some more recent pictures.
If you must re-home your pet, please charge a re-homing fee, spay/neuter prior to adoption, call vet references and do two home checks…one before adoption and a second one a few months after adoption. Download an adoption contact online for both parties to sign.
The above information came to us after the fact off my neighborhood website, but I thought I’d share this with you and I hope you will pass it on as well.
Becca knew there was the possibility of future expenses with Winter and thought to be considerate of a future owner, but as you can see not everyone is as they claim to be.  For the safety of your pet, take that extra step.
Winter’s sister, Kahlua is the last one available at $700.
Kahlua Isn’t she a dolly?