JT got so sick but I was able to get her through and well this time She now will eat peaanut butter on a spoon or a Milk Bone and if I hear they are involed law suit will begin we love our babies and need more to stand up for them
Tag Archive: Sadness
Until March I had never gone away, well from anything besides my home and I shared it with the love of trucking. I had two pups then that traveled coast to coast when loads took me that far away.
Then again there was one occasion when we had six of the seven from their litter and they were small but weaned, that I packed up them up into the van and left them with my brother. There were their four children and the two of them perfect as that left a pup for each of them to dote on. I took the parents of these pups overnight on a run to Maryland with my then husband, as we needed the load there quickly and he could not do the hours alone.
So as we jumped into the rig and headed down the road I could not get them out of my head. They were the most rambunctious English Springer Spaniel’s, already with names. Remington and Diamond showed no signs of missing them, as each mile south was behind us. I was not very good company I missed them so much. We delivered the load and grabbed or return haul and headed north once again, me calling my brother at every truck stop, no there were only payphones back then. He told me when I called they were having so much fun not to hurry back , can you imagine. Many of you know me by now I just put the hammer down and got back home, as quick as I could get those 18 wheels moving!
So that brings me back to March. This year. I knew the cat and dog would be fine here with their Dad but JT has been my constant sidekick and if I was hurting so bad, I knew she would never understand why I was gone.
So while I missed the man in my life, he understands why I went away but my furry babies would be top on the list for me to be Home Sweet Home!
I spent years really living on the edge but a very slippery edge, indeed.
I was a trucker who worked and worked, never getting enough rest. I was young and fearless.
After a divorce and a bad wreck( no not of my doing, lol )thankfully, life for me was so very different.
I lost my balance. I fell. I fell into deep sadness. Yes I mucked about pretending all was well but clearly everyone could see how I had changed. I lost ME.
Well things are back on an even keel.
I have a blessed life.
I see that now.
I blog with people all over the world who have had such deep sadness in their lives. I also have some followers so full of joy, it is contagious.
You see I had stopped caring. I stopped LIVING.
When I found WordPress I was in search of who I was.
I had to pick a name for my new blog and it came easy, Living and Lovin, as that is really all I searched for.
I am here to tell you that I found it and then some.
I eat right now and actually exercise in the amounts I need. Balance it is a good thing.
I wake daily and with coffee see what blogging buddies are up too.
I eat breakfast and do the housework. For years I really had stopped caring.
I now work in my garden.
Play with the dog.
Have conversations with the love of my life.
I thought I had it all till sadly it was gone. My edge may have been different from yours but clearly living on the edge is hard for anyone eventually. It will catch up to you.
It has been a long winding road but finally no longer do I stand on a slippery slope of sadness and despair. No longer a part of the rat race of life. I have taken back who I really am. I wake each day thankful for all I have. I do stop to smell the ROSES, well all the flowers. How could I have gotten so far out of whack? Are others as well and still not knowing it?
For me it is about BALANCE.
Doing what needs to be done and making time for play.
I play usually with a camera in tow so now they can all see the change. Pretty dramatic even when I look back.
My wish for all of you is to find your balance. With work, love, life and play. When you are out of whack that is truly living on the edge.
I was still injured but I needed a job.
I used to drive a “big rig” but then I was hit, by that bus.
I went through the savings which were sadly, as in most case, s never enough.
I saw an Ad in a local paper for a Special Needs School Bus Driver, surely I could drive a small van.
I applied for the position and they could clearly see my wounds but it was the ones inside that hurt the worst.
Due to my physical injuries I was given the troubled youths to transport to schools where they did not want to attend.
Many never even bothered to get up and shower and dress for the day, never mind step into the van. Very sad.
One by one as they entered my school bus I introduced myself, the one with the huge blue knee brace on.
I asked them to buckle up and not to swear (being a trucker at this point didn’t matter) I turned on music of their liking
just not gangster rap!
I knew they all had stories about how they ended up on a bus such as this. I did too.
I showed them respect and demanded the same right back. Friends were worried about me alone with them.
So many scary stories you read about children such as this. Remember they were the worst of the worst.
No one else at the bus company would drive them willingly. So they gave them to the New Girl!
I had a run in the morning where they were still half asleep then again in the afternoon after no nicotine.
Yes some were angry. Many had nice parents that just could not take it anymore and turned them over to the state.
Some lived with Grandparents God Bless them.
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into years, two of them, I healed. So did they. We stopped listening
to music unless it was them singing to my great-niece in an infant seat while one played the guitar. They had
me to smile and make them feel welcomed each morning and I was their ride away from that school each day.
I had a solid group of eight who had been tossed aside.
Told they would never amount to anything. Have you been mad enough to say that to your child?
They were so talented in so many ways, I was so proud they stuck it out and rode both ways with me. I will always
remember these young people who not only graduated but in the end helped me to heal all the hurt inside.
They all know that they were MY SILVER LINING.
So very sad.
Such a beautiful day we had, till this afternoon.
Sun was shining, people from all over the world were running the Boston Marathon and the 26 miles of roadways were lined with happy cheering people.
Two bombs went off
A little eight year old has passed away before their life even began.
Tears shed by the world at large or those with hearts anyway.
The last mile was in memory for the children who were murdered in CT.
The poor first responders that were at the finish line to help with fatigue after they had topped Heartbreak Hill and to give them a place to rest and fluids could not be ready for what took place here today.
What is wrong with the world today?
There are now armored personal carriers at our local hospital where I take Mom every 3 months for a check up I did a post on that pretty garden down the street from the same hospital this is just simply another sad day in the history of the world and today was Boston’s turn.
Doctors are pulling ball bearings from people’s bodies.
A dirty bomb is used daily in many countries but this is Boston and it was gorgeous and just a perfect day for the runners.
In tears so sad saying prayers and sending out mad love to all those heroes that stopped the bleeding for so many to get them to help.
For those of you who live in countries where this has become so normal I am so sorry it is not what living is supposed to be like.
Please hug and love each other.
Lots of Meta going out to all
Well today is the day before my son’s birthday. So many years ago I was contemplating my motives and listening to my heart. Not knowing the next day would be labor and he would come into the world. That he was healthy was all that mattered to me. I took good care of myself while pregnant. Lots of woman had children, I would be OK. Never knew how sadness could destroy a soul, hell I was young, so very young. This is a photo of me 2 years before. My High School Year Book photo with wet hair and clothes as it poured when me and Mom were walking in Lowell, a rain cloud opened up no big deal I didn’t want a photo or to be in the book.
Grandma had given me the pretty silver spoon. It was a pin meant to be worn and I adored her, so I did. Who knew in the 80′s things such as this were used for drugs. In fact since I was never into drugs, cocaine never entered my thoughts as I gave my copy of this photo to Mike. He saw the spoon and guess it took on a different meaning never knowing who I was or for that matter who I really am now. Do not know how he was raised but they were older than me so maybe they were wild in the 60′s I still pray they were not.
So this is a story on us the we that never was to be. I do not know anything really about Mike except he grew up not to far from me. He could have been a wild child. I was so young I never thought they would tell him he was not theirs. Why would they he was 3 days old. Then for him to turn 18 and get angry I was not at the door asking for him. See heartache was not mine and mine alone. I know I would never take the life of a child through abortion unless it could not live but I am here to say that must be a hard decision to make, same as the one I did. I wanted him to have two loving parents and I trusted this older woman at the adoption agency to only allow good people to come through that door and fill out applications swearing they would be. I chose the couple from a book full of smiling faces who all said they wanted a baby of their own. Well I hand-picked his, if she told me the truth. I have grown a lot since then and know too much. I know one thing for certain they paid a lot to get a blonde haired blue-eyed, white male baby in 1977, that was healthy and weighed 8 lbs 9 oz. I doubt he ever went a day in his life without being given every opportunity possible for a young man. Life was good! I made that life he had possible. With God watching over me all these years I know I did right by him , they were not me but they had to love him. Then they had a child of their own, a daughter not sure how that came to be I really don’t care I am just glad he was not an only child, he had a little sister. Sure the dynamics of his life must have changed for him , he was only 2 or 3 but he had a family.
Now to the part where we meet by phone. I emailed the agency and asked if they knew if he was OK, I had just lost my Dad and had the need to know. She called right back when I hit send, asking me “Where have you been your son has been looking for you?” First thought was WHY? Come on he was 32 years old. They had my parents contact information all those years and never a word. Maybe the time was not right. Maybe he never cared to know who I was or who his birth family was. Remember he had EVERYTHING. So I take down the information she said he left for me and I hang up the phone. She gave me his and his parents information so I wrote to them. I asked if he was OK and if they were OK with him wanting me to call or write him. They never bothered to write to me so of course I had the story worked out in my head already, I knew all the answers. Funny how we can do that. Next thing I did was make the call to the numbers he left and just said “Hi it’s Eunice I got a message from agency to call you.” Pretty short and sweet Scared to death all he wanted to do was scream at me for giving him to them. When he did not call back that day yes I was expecting he would, he is the one who said if she shows up please have her contact me, so I sat and wrote a letter , really too long and gut wrenching with too much family information included for him as I now look back on it. I figured if he had changed his mind about wanting to speak to me at least he would know who I was and who his uncles and grandparents were. Medical stuff too. I have spent many days since then wishing I had never called the agency. No one needs to visit deep pain over and over it doesn’t do any good and for me it has been horrible. Had they just said he had a wonderful life and I should be so proud, it would have been so much better.
So finally Mike, that is what they named him, called me. He was happy from doing some wild things while on skis out on his mountain range. He said he had been scared to call me. WHY? This has been my question since learning about him from agency. Remember he is 32 always knew or from age 2 or 3 that he was adopted so why now at 32 was he still so worried about ME?
We talked for hours and hours and learned what anyone could through a phone. That was in March of 2008. Then in May that year for Mother’s Day he sent me a beautiful email with photos of him and his dog. Then a few more calls, then nothing. So he was all set but I wasn’t.
I finally was hurt enough to leave a message or email can’t really remember now saying when he grew up to come see me. Get the answers face to face. See who I really was.
He showed up that October days before Halloween and we spent the afternoon together at the beach him and I and the two dogs while Ron detected and gave me my space. We had a lunch together, seafood like this is not really the same out west.
I told him to go back to his family in Maine they would be worried sick about him, he didn’t want to leave but my heart was hurting and I just wanted to go home. We hugged each other goodbye. We have not spoken since. Emails yes but no calls. His parents went off the deep end when he got back to their summer home on the island. It destroyed him and his joy that day. So he shuts me off to not hurt them.
That following Feb. 19th a woman calls me asking how to get to my home she has a delivery for me I laughed and told her not me I didn’t order anything. She assured me I would welcome her. She arrived and she was the driver for a florist. She delivered a bouquet of long stem Red Roses in a tall Red glass vase with a beautiful card from Mike thanking me for having him. I sent an email thanking him.
Years passed by and still no calls . Only word from him was an occasional email. Maybe I am just not the make believe Mother he had made up in his head too bad as actually I am so much better than an imaginary one.
Then he joined Facebook and I could see his artwork that he did with spray paint. He is very talented. Hard on himself yes. All artists are deep and troubled aren’t they .
Here is something he sent me, made by him just two Christmases ago or was it three.
I love the artwork he shares where he lives, as well as opening up finally on his own Artist Facebook page. I know it is not easy for him to share.
He doesn’t understand when I say I want no more art for my home. I can’t take anymore pain from loss. I know I was a strong trucker for so many years but with wreck I had in 2000 and all that has taken place since I am just happy to be alive and know he is as well.
So tomorrow it is his birthday and I will not wish him a happy birthday as it is their day. He is theirs. So yes it has always been a horrible day for me to get through and usually I walk the local beach as I did so long ago, well 36 years ago. Happy Birthday to Mike. I do wish him the very best.
So now you know the story and why I will welcome the retreat he went to and wants the love for me. Hell I want the LOVE FOR ME it has been too long!
Sorry for such a heavy post but every action has a reaction doesn’t it.
Love you all.
Thanks for all the support you always show me.
As a new year begins for me alongside this stream I feel like the time is coming to share a few personal things with you.
No not that personal well then again maybe.
You know insight, a reason for still being here. I thought I could hide behind a few pretty pictures but a few have seen through my exterior and are behind me hiding but also know in time my story will come to light. I am really writing a few books, I have the words all in my head now to make them come out the way you who write do. Guess that is my fear that in telling a story the reason for it gets lost in the wrong words as I am not a writer maybe more a story-teller, again hiding the real heartbreak.
So 35 years ago I was a month away from having my baby. No way of knowing the sex back then. I was just 21 and the baby’s father wanted me to have an abortion. Are you kidding me, this is what you say to a young woman you have known all your life. A girl next door. One you had unprotected sex with not once but two times. I was devastated that I was pregnant and unmarried me the good girl, the Girl Scout, the Rainbow Girl. I do not know what I wanted him to say as he was not marriage material, I knew that but we were friends. He was a year older and had lived a troubled life, I know I have to stop making excuses for him. So I grabbed the cash that was offered to FIX IT and drove home in tears.
I told no one. Only he and I knew. I did tell him before walking out with the cash to NEVER come near me again.
I went to a clinic finally in my six month. I then told my Mom in the seventh month I guess that way no one could do a thing about it, like what he had suggested. My Mom was upset but I was 21 and living out on my own and working sixteen hours each day. What she did not know till my eighth month was that I had gone down to a local adoption agency and had picked new parents out for my baby, who had yet to be born.
Her sister had cancer and could not have babies and had adopted two little boys that she adored. She made a difference in their lives. Two boys from two different mothers. Her world was complete. I knew I would be a great mom I was awesome with children but I could not be a dad as well. My child deserved the best in life and I set out alone to make that happen. Twenty one really was young back then to do all that thinking alone. The ocean became my favorite place to go and walk in tears or sit and think and pray to God for him to watch over this child.
So in my eighth month I asked Mom to go to the adoption agency and sign the papers as a witness. I look back now and think what a horrible person I must have been to make her sign below my name giving up the first grandchild. She wanted me to bring home the baby and with their help I could do it she assured me I could but it was my child and I wanted more for it. She never spoke to my dad about signing the papers and when he took me to the hospital in labor that Saturday morning he had no idea what I was doing. I knew I had disappointed them and brought shame upon them but I always made it better in my mind knowing I had chosen life for my child and a home where they wanted a baby so bad because they could not have their own. I am not sure my parents ever truly forgave me in their hearts as it was never spoken about again. You see I was all alone at the hospital in labor doctor said I could still change my mind, it was my baby. Nurses held my hand as I gave birth to the most beautiful baby boy. Blonde hair and Blue eyes. He weighed 9 lbs. 8 oz. I had him completely natural. I swore to God that day I would do anything and go through what ever hell I had to as long as he always watched over my baby.
That baby will be thirty-six come February. Yes I met him over the phone when he was 31. A year and half later he drove into my front yard here along this stream, where he said a Great Blue Heron had welcomed him. He may have been away from me for thirty-one years but without a doubt he is truly my child. He is so beautiful ok handsome and such a beautiful artist and I will be sharing all I can about him, with you, because he has made a beautiful ending that all stories should have.
Now there will be some more stories I will share with you that you can be sure of but my days are numbered with you, hiding behind photos. I will really kick it into gear to sell them as cards, puzzles or prints. You see I really am writing a few books when I can sit with less pain in my heart .
Thank you Chris another blogger who knows another part of my life through our blogging but this is where the life I lead began and it where I really had to begin the story from, as after thirty-one years I finally know WHY. Why I was who I was. Why I allowed others to do what they did to me but you know what there is a very happy ending and I thank God for making that possible. There have been many times in my son’s life and mine that had things gone differently we never would have held each other and kissed or felt complete.
Thanks for listening
This is what I was saying in my post Why?
It is happening more than most of you will ever know
I drove a school bus and you would be shocked.
So when your child or your siblings child acts like this speak up offer support and help them GET HELP or this will never end and will surly get so much worse.
Friday’s horrific national tragedy — the murder of 20 children and six adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut — has ignited a new discussion on violence in America. In kitchens and coffee shops across the country, we tearfully debate the many faces of violence in America: gun culture, media violence, lack of mental health services, overt and covert wars abroad, religion, politics and the way we raise our children. Liza Long, a writer based in Boise, says it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.
Three days before 20 year-old Adam Lanza killed his mother, then opened fire on a classroom full of Connecticut kindergartners, my 13-year old son Michael (name changed) missed his bus because he was wearing the wrong color pants.
“I can wear these pants,” he said, his tone increasingly belligerent, the black-hole pupils of his eyes swallowing the blue irises.
“They are navy blue,” I told him. “Your school’s dress code says black or khaki pants only.”
“They told me I could wear these,” he insisted. “You’re a stupid bitch. I can wear whatever pants I want to. This is America. I have rights!”
“You can’t wear whatever pants you want to,” I said, my tone affable, reasonable. “And you definitely cannot call me a stupid bitch. You’re grounded from electronics for the rest of the day. Now get in the car, and I will take you to school.”
I live with a son who is mentally ill. I love my son. But he terrifies me.
A few weeks ago, Michael pulled a knife and threatened to kill me and then himself after I asked him to return his overdue library books. His 7 and 9-year-old siblings knew the safety plan — they ran to the car and locked the doors before I even asked them to. I managed to get the knife from Michael, then methodically collected all the sharp objects in the house into a single Tupperware container that now travels with me. Through it all, he continued to scream insults at me and threaten to kill or hurt me.
That conflict ended with three burly police officers and a paramedic wrestling my son onto a gurney for an expensive ambulance ride to the local emergency room. The mental hospital didn’t have any beds that day, and Michael calmed down nicely in the ER, so they sent us home with a prescription for Zyprexa and a follow-up visit with a local pediatric psychiatrist.
We still don’t know what’s wrong with Michael. Autism spectrum, ADHD, Oppositional Defiant or Intermittent Explosive Disorder have all been tossed around at various meetings with probation officers and social workers and counselors and teachers and school administrators. He’s been on a slew of antipsychotic and mood altering pharmaceuticals, a Russian novel of behavioral plans. Nothing seems to work.
At the start of seventh grade, Michael was accepted to an accelerated program for highly gifted math and science students. His IQ is off the charts. When he’s in a good mood, he will gladly bend your ear on subjects ranging from Greek mythology to the differences between Einsteinian and Newtonian physics to Doctor Who. He’s in a good mood most of the time. But when he’s not, watch out. And it’s impossible to predict what will set him off.
Several weeks into his new junior high school, Michael began exhibiting increasingly odd and threatening behaviors at school. We decided to transfer him to the district’s most restrictive behavioral program, a contained school environment where children who can’t function in normal classrooms can access their right to free public babysitting from 7:30-1:50 Monday through Friday until they turn 18.
The morning of the pants incident, Michael continued to argue with me on the drive. He would occasionally apologize and seem remorseful. Right before we turned into his school parking lot, he said, “Look, Mom, I’m really sorry. Can I have video games back today?”
“No way,” I told him. “You cannot act the way you acted this morning and think you can get your electronic privileges back that quickly.”
His face turned cold, and his eyes were full of calculated rage. “Then I’m going to kill myself,” he said. “I’m going to jump out of this car right now and kill myself.”
That was it. After the knife incident, I told him that if he ever said those words again, I would take him straight to the mental hospital, no ifs, ands, or buts. I did not respond, except to pull the car into the opposite lane, turning left instead of right.
“Where are you taking me?” he said, suddenly worried. “Where are we going?”
“You know where we are going,” I replied.
“No! You can’t do that to me! You’re sending me to hell! You’re sending me straight to hell!”
I pulled up in front of the hospital, frantically waiving for one of the clinicians who happened to be standing outside. “Call the police,” I said. “Hurry.”
Michael was in a full-blown fit by then, screaming and hitting. I hugged him close so he couldn’t escape from the car. He bit me several times and repeatedly jabbed his elbows into my rib cage. I’m still stronger than he is, but I won’t be for much longer.
The police came quickly and carried my son screaming and kicking into the bowels of the hospital. I started to shake, and tears filled my eyes as I filled out the paperwork — “Were there any difficulties with… at what age did your child… were there any problems with.. has your child ever experienced.. does your child have…”
At least we have health insurance now. I recently accepted a position with a local college, giving up my freelance career because when you have a kid like this, you need benefits. You’ll do anything for benefits. No individual insurance plan will cover this kind of thing.
For days, my son insisted that I was lying — that I made the whole thing up so that I could get rid of him. The first day, when I called to check up on him, he said, “I hate you. And I’m going to get my revenge as soon as I get out of here.”
By day three, he was my calm, sweet boy again, all apologies and promises to get better. I’ve heard those promises for years. I don’t believe them anymore.
On the intake form, under the question, “What are your expectations for treatment?” I wrote, “I need help.”
And I do. This problem is too big for me to handle on my own. Sometimes there are no good options. So you just pray for grace and trust that in hindsight, it will all make sense.
I am sharing this story because I am Adam Lanza’s mother. I am Dylan Klebold’s and Eric Harris’s mother. I am Jason Holmes’s mother. I am Jared Loughner’s mother. I am Seung-Hui Cho’s mother. And these boys—and their mothers—need help. In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.
According to Mother Jones, since 1982, 61 mass murders involving firearms have occurred throughout the country. Of these, 43 of the killers were white males, and only one was a woman. Mother Jones focused on whether the killers obtained their guns legally (most did). But this highly visible sign of mental illness should lead us to consider how many people in the U.S. live in fear, like I do.
When I asked my son’s social worker about my options, he said that the only thing I could do was to get Michael charged with a crime. “If he’s back in the system, they’ll create a paper trail,” he said. “That’s the only way you’re ever going to get anything done. No one will pay attention to you unless you’ve got charges.”
I don’t believe my son belongs in jail. The chaotic environment exacerbates Michael’s sensitivity to sensory stimuli and doesn’t deal with the underlying pathology. But it seems like the United States is using prison as the solution of choice for mentally ill people. According to Human Rights Watch, the number of mentally ill inmates in U.S. prisons quadrupled from 2000 to 2006, and it continues to rise — in fact, the rate of inmate mental illness is five times greater (56 percent) than in the non-incarcerated population.
With state-run treatment centers and hospitals shuttered, prison is now the last resort for the mentally ill — Rikers Island, the LA County Jail and Cook County Jail in Illinois housed the nation’s largest treatment centers in 2011.
No one wants to send a 13-year old genius who loves Harry Potter and his snuggle animal collection to jail. But our society, with its stigma on mental illness and its broken healthcare system, does not provide us with other options. Then another tortured soul shoots up a fast food restaurant. A mall. A kindergarten classroom. And we wring our hands and say, “Something must be done.”
I agree that something must be done. It’s time for a meaningful, nation-wide conversation about mental health. That’s the only way our nation can ever truly heal.
God help me. God help Michael. God help us all.
(Originally published at The Anarchist Soccer Mom.)
Today we will walk the shore before the snow moves in and covers this beautiful seaside landscape but with an ocean storm soon to brew, we will be back next week with both metal detectors to see what has been thrown up upon the sand.
Our hearts are broken with all the senseless killing of adults and children here in New England as well as all over this world we live in. This family lived less than five miles from me until just over 10 years ago. There had to be warning signals. I see them in children of friends and no one ever seems to say a word. I am one who speaks up and then pulls away when the correct thing is not done, though if something as horrible as a plot was known to me I would say something but would authorities interfere?
I own guns, I have been trained in the use of them and would never hesitate to protect someone from being killed, by someone who meant them harm. I am not evil, my gun is not evil but sadly not all who are allowed to PLAY WITH GUNS, SHOULD.
So as you go about your daily lives judging or just keeping your mouths shut for fear of hurting someones feelings or even just minding your OWN BUSINESS, know that by closing yours eyes to the obvious you are in fact perpetuating evil, ever so small it may be at the time. I see how children treat their parents I am sure you have too or how they treat animals and even strangers. We all have seen this. I decided a long time ago I would give up my life to protect someone from loosing theirs, it is just who I am. I will not walk by as someone is mistreating another human or animal they are supposed to love and respect. I will say something for the person or animal unable to SPEAK UP for themselves.
The poor families from this recent mass murder now face a lifetime without their babies and for those who just went to work at that school who lost their lives they leave families behind left to ask WHY?
Please say a prayer for them and your loved ones as you never know when true evil will walk in on them
From another who knows true love
Originally posted on Collies Of The Meadow:
“If you open your heart to let dogs in, you will eventually be blessed with a once in a lifetime chum. It isn’t that you love your others dogs any less, but rather you love this one special animal more. The bond between the two of you is stronger, the connection deeper, the understanding clearer.”
-Kristina Marshall from FOREVER FRIENDS
I have been blessed with three of them whom I have lost.. I have my fourth one now…..Trevor Forever is perhaps the most unusual and unlikely collie to be one of these dogs…. in a kennel in a barn till 5, he then ran free in a outside kennel with lots of friends till 7… then he came to me and adopted me…. I can;t imagine what he would’ve been if he could’ve been with us from the time of being a pup…… this picture speaks volumes of about an old dog that was the toughest guy in the kennel and yet loved everyone…….
I huff and puff all the way to the top
I stay as focused as my pup
When we reach the top I let her play as we catch our breath
It does feel good to push through the pain
Down 65 total so far
Boy what a mess I had gotten myself into
There is still ups and downs with pain
I have the diet down pat
If you can’t do anything it takes longer to see results
So I will push when I can rest when I can’t
It took 10 years to put it on
So if it is all gone in 3
I will be so pleased
Keep on keeping on what ever battle you face down the road
I know the wreck started this
I was not to blame but in the end I only
Our friends live on top of a Mountain/Hill and they raise reining horses and Border Collies and of course their children as well.
They had a horrible thunder and lightning storm hit their area of VT and lost every animal that was in their huge barn. Horses, border collie pups, female horses just getting ready to foal, it was sickening to see the loss and the pain the family went through, being helpless to help the animals when the lightning hit.
We had JT from litter before the one lost and took her up to see her old family and to give them hugs.
Here are the two horses that were outside and the dogs that were in the house, plus our JT , she loves when we go there.
Our little female has no idea how big this horse is and how quick she can move
She was scaring me.
Her brother is even crazier he is always up against these two female horses heels
Sad to think of all the horses that used to run here, now just two females, sisters.
Tex is the father of all the pups that were born here.
She is watching them
JT’s brother Tex’s son
Tex respects these giants, he has been chased before.
These horses mess with the dogs and their toy balls as they really are all young and playful.
Thanks for stopping by.
As he searched for treasure in and around the boulders and gravel I found GOLD in a
friendship with Marie.
There may have been 3 vehicles parked in the shade along this stretch of route 112
but the woman in both made their way over to say hello and to say h to JT.
This part of the story will focus on Marie. She said she was from MA in an area I used to go to once a
day, in my Big Rig.
I was siting in a chair throwing sticks or a frisbee to JT and told her about my back and she said she
knew my pain.
In fact today was the first time she had left the home with her husband for fun in 8 years. She had been
hurt in an accident at work, boy could we relate.
We talked and talked and tears flowed from both of us.
We knew each others pain.
She saw me as strong . It was not till we spoke she knew I too, had been broken.
She has to go through exactly what I had gone through for 10 years. Marie was now
into her 8th year of hell. I told her to hang on it would soon be over.
It is what they do to hard workers who get hurt and go after them for damages.
They want us to give up and God knows I came close more than once.
She has to fight for disability. I told her how. I asked her to please just not to give up.
After hugging her and telling her it would be OK my mate saw us crying and said
“Do you know each other?” he was smiling as this happens so much he is used to it.
Marie told him I was so special and he smiled again and said he knew. He also told her
this happens to me a lot now that I have started to really LIVE my life again. I am glad
it is with him.
So I let Marie know how to reach me. I do not know if she will but one thing I am sure of
is the fact she left that river’s edge a little stronger inside. She needed to meet someone who had gone
through the pain and depression and had come out the other side. Yes battered and bruised but no
longer busted and broken. I refused the drugs finally and am finally Living and Lovin (the name of my
For all of you fighting the fight please do fight for your life. It is worth it.
Peace & Love