Doggy birthday parties aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. 😉
For me, it’s a great excuse to clear out a lot of the old, dog-eared toys and chews and give our pups a fresh supply of exciting new choices! With a little silliness thrown in for my own entertainment.
Last Wednesday was Miss Rhonda’s 3rd birthday. I want to share some of the fun with you.
Jerry was happy to add some yummy chicken treats to Ronni and Baxter’s breakfast in honor of her special day, but that was about as far as his interest went. 🤷♀️ That’s OK … maybe it’s a girl thing.
One sweetly posed birthday picture …
Of course, being a birthday party, we had to serve cake! Ronni had a blast chasing and retrieving her “slice of cake” for several minutes (it was so big, it was a hoot watching her figure out how to carry it), but it wasn’t long before prey drive kicked in and she had to go for the squeaker.
Yummy birthday cake! Kill the birthday cake!
Knowing Rhonda, gutting the birthday cake was a foregone conclusion and a big part of the fun. Fortunately, she’s not into eating the toy innards. Her goal is to scatter stuffy-guts all over the room in an attempt to find and kill the squeaker! It was well worth the $3.99 price tag.
More new toys followed, spaced throughout the day, and my bed became “toy central” as Ronni and Baxter competed in party games such as Tug-a-war, Kill the Squeaky, Chase the Giggle-Ball and more!
As has become tradition, I also brought out Ronni’s beloved “Foxy”, the long, red, stuffed fox toy her breeder, Claire, had so thoughtfully included in the kennel when Rhonda made her maiden trip from Oregon to Alaska as a puppy.
Ronni (9 weeks old) & Foxy.
Foxy gets a little more ragged each year. It is much loved!
Ronni slept with Foxy (it smelled like her litter mates) for a full two weeks as a puppy before deciding to chew the ears off it, at which point we stored Foxy away – bringing her out for special birthday reunions. 🦊 Ronni still LOVES her Foxy!
Then we put Foxy up again before too much additional damage is done! 😂
To appease our avid little stuffy-gutter, we traded the cute but fuzz-filled Foxy for a crinkle-bottle-filled “champagne bottle”! What fun! 🥂🥂
As with all good things, Rhonda’s party eventually wound down. Admittedly, the whole event was as entertaining for me as it was for the pups.
Our tired out dachshund duo finished the day contentedly snoozing in a dog-pile on Mom’s lap.
Thank you, Miss Rhonda, for adding so much joy to my life. Happy birthday, pretty girl!
If it hadn’t been for several cases of poor Internet etiquette, I would probably have never met Jerry or ended up living in Alaska.
Seriously. Sometimes it’s the little things. Do you remember the early days of email chat? How many times over those early years did you roll your eyes and bemoan the “lack of etiquette” that left a long string of un-deleted previous emails, including other people’s personal email addresses, trailing along at the bottom of a post sent to you?
Most of us learned, eventually, that it was considered polite [on the forums, at least, since many of us were on dial-up connections back then] to delete all those email addresses and excess lines of text and only forward what was pertinent.
My “Celestial Dance” blog post, with the story that had brought Frosty into my life, brought so many good memories flooding back with it. It’s hard to believe it was twenty-four years ago.
One of the memories that gave me a fresh chuckle was remembering how I was able to scroll down, below Frosty’s well-written and intriguing story, past a couple of “You should read this” and “I just had to share this with you” emails from total strangers … to where it actually showed the original poster listed as (if I remember right) frosty@customCPU.com.
Even though I was still pretty new to the Internet in 1997, it wasn’t hard to figure out that frosty@customCPU.com was most likely the writer of the story I’d so enjoyed over my morning coffee.
“Hmm”, I remember thinking, all those years ago. It sure was a well-told tale. As I enjoyed writing myself, I fully appreciated a story that could lift you up and drop you right in the middle of the action.
Did I dare? All I had to do was hit “Reply All” and then delete every email address except the one. Biting my lower lip, I started typing.
It was a really short email … I had no experience chatting with people I didn’t know, and wasn’t even sure a correspondence would be welcome – but I wanted to let this “Frosty” person how much I enjoyed his story. I mean, really, what could it hurt?
I’m pretty sure it went something like this:
Hi Frosty,
Your wonderful story, “Celestial Dance”, popped up on my goat-owner’s list this morning. I just wanted to send you a quick note to let you know how much I enjoyed it.
Snowgoose
Snow geese … migrating to Alaska.
And I clicked “Send”. Amazing, isn’t it, how such a small thing can change the entire direction of your life?
Recently, someone asked me how my husband, Jerry, and I first met. Jerry has been living in Alaska since early 1972, having moved here straight from southern California at the tender age of 19.
I took a rather longer route, as seems to be my norm. Although also born and raised in southern California (actually, less than 50 miles from Jer’s home town); I left sunny California for the snowy Upper Peninsula of Michigan in 1984, where I was still living on that fateful day in 1996.
Ahh … the saga of Snowgoose & Frosty. It was quite the story and brings back fond memories of the early days of the Internet. Long before cell phones, Facebook and You Tube; all we had (and we thought it was pretty great!) were online chat forums, loosely based on hobbies and interests.
I was still pretty new to the Internet back then and I think I was only on two or three forums; GoatsLite, PygmyGoatPen and a Creative Writing forum whose name I don’t recall.
I lived on a 40-acre farm, only ten miles from the shore of Lake Superior, where I raised plump little Pygmy goats and big, white Embden geese. I worked winters at the front desk of a local ski hill. Alaska couldn’t have been further from my mind.
My home, “Stony Creek Farm”, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan
I guess if I hadn’t been open to the possibilities of life, I never would have left California. I’m glad I was adventurous enough to embrace the challenges of moving across country (the good and the bad of it) or I never would have found my beloved little farmstead in Michigan.
It’s a home that brings more good memories than bad, was where I met several women who I still think of as the dearest of friends … and if I hadn’t been there, reading my GoatsLite forum that day in 1996, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
So … how did I meet Jerry, (aka “Frosty” to most of his friends)? Well, settle in – Frosty writes quite the story.
I guess you could say it was written in the stars.
Once upon a time (actually, early in the winter of 96 -97) “Frosty” (Jerry) was working nightshift for the State of Alaska DOT. This night was special and when he got home the next morning he sat down at his computer and wrote up his experience in story form. Also being a hobbyist metal worker, he sent the story off to friends on his Art Metal forum.
Someone on that list thought the post made for good reading and sent it off-list to other friends . . . you know how these things happen.
The next day, he received numerous responses to his story from as far away as New Zealand as well as the far reaches of the United States! One of the responses was from someone named “Snowgoose” who had read his post on a Goat List. A Goat List? Yep, he did a double-take when he read that, and being intrigued by the web-handle, “Snowgoose”, he wrote back. Writing that story started something that was bigger than he ever expected!
This is the story Jerry wrote and posted to the world. He titled it, “CELESTIAL DANCE”. Side note: when I read it on my GoatsLite list, it had been retitled “Hale-Bopp From a Snowplow”. 🤷♀️
Subject: Celestial dance
Hey gang:
Had a very, very good night at work and thought I’d vent some exuberance on ya’ll. 🙂
I spent my first full night on the Rolba snow blower tonight, doing a blow back. That’s where we pull the snow out of the ditches as far out as a road grader will reach, then we blow it farther out so there’s room to plow the next snowfall off the roads.
Anyway, this is a powerful machine; it’ll move over 1,500 tons of snow an hour, it has lots of controls and it’s kinda tough to keep under control. At least for a newbie on the hill roads. 😉 I was having a good time, really enjoying the challenge.
Well, I’m pulling into the Park (parking lot) to turn around for my second pass down Upper Huffman Rd. and there’s a lull in the northern lights. The lights have been really dancing all night; sheets, curtains, streamers, loops, etc., not much color but lots of action.
Anyway, they’re taking a break as I pull up and I’m groovin’ on the stars now, it’s the first really clear cold night we’ve had in weeks and the stars are glaring down in colors so hard and sharp, they look fake.
Well, I gotta wait anyway, while Rick, the grader operator, gets turned around and starts pulling another windrow for me to blow, so I just park the blower, get out and stare at the sky.
I’m standing there, under-dressed, star gazing at -15F and something catches my eye, something unusual. I see a fuzzy star. Hmmmm. I say to myself, “Self. Why is only that ONE star fuzzy?” There’s a really little star right next to it and it’s so sharp it’d poke a hole in your eye if you’re not careful.
Hmmmmm, is there an itsy-bitsy puff of cloud covering that one star? I stare at it for a bit and it stays exactly as fuzzy as when I first spotted it but as my eyes adjust the fuzziness seems to be spreading and mostly in one direction. Hmmmmmm. Kinda . . . like . . . a . . . TAIL!
“HEY SELF!!!!!” I shout at myself! “That’s . . . a COMET!!!!! That’s Hale Bopp!!!!!!” Then . . . the northern lights start back up, better than before, dancing and weaving, over, under, around and seemingly with, the celestial visitor.
All this is going on over mountains, lit by the moon and stars, with Anchorage’s lights off to the left and below. It’s kinda like Alaska’s saying hello and welcome to the neighborhood.
As hospitable and friendly as Alaskans are, I’m still hoping any comets just swing by for a brief visit rather than dropping in for a stay.
Anyway, I climb back in the blower and send one of those sekret coded messages, so’s nobody knows what I’m talking about, over the radio. I says, “Uh, Rick, Bob, Anchorage-37.” 37, that’s my radio number. Oops, spilled the beans didn’t I. Oh well, too late now.
Rick answers first, “Ya, go Frosty.”
And I say, “Uh, I need both you guys back here to take a look at something for me.”
Bob hops out of the arrow truck (he’s parked right behind me) and Rick backs the grader into the parking lot and jumps down. I’m standing there looking at the sky, Bob’s looking at me and Rick asks me, “What’s up, Frosty?”
I point at the sky and say, “See that bright fuzzy star?”
Rick says, “Yeah.”
Bob says, “Where?”
I say, “About four fingers above that notch in the mountains, to the left of that stand of spruce trees.”
Bob says, “Yeah, okay, I see it.”
I say, “That’s Hale Bopp.”
Rick does a double take, “Hail . . . BOB!?”
Bob looks at me like I’m messing with him again. Everybody messes with Bob. It’s fun. 😉 Not this time though. “No,” I say, “Hale BOPP, B.O.P.P. It’s a comet, the biggest comet in recorded history.”
Now, there’s three of us, under-dressed, staring at the sky at -15F, watching the comet, northern lights and stars. Then somebody suggests lunch. Good idea. We all park our rigs facing the celestial dance troupe, shut off all our lights and spend lunch watching the show.
The show wasn’t over; it lasted till it was too light to see this morning but we had to get back to work. All you had to do though, was look over the mountains to see the lights and comet.
Yes, my friends, a very, VERY fine night at work. If you look north, you’ll see my grin. 🙂
Frosty
— If it ain’t forged It ain’t real wrought iron is The FROSTWORKS
This picture hangs in our home to this day. Jerry gave it to me as a wedding gift. ❤️
I generally enjoy winter. I have no problem with the cold or the snow. I’ve been living in snow country for over 35 years. It’s pretty spectacular.
Admittedly, the darkness of winter has become more challenging over the years, but not for the reason you might think. I don’t find the darkness in itself depressing.
It’s just that I can’t safely drive in the dark anymore, and that places serious limitations on me. In the middle of winter, I tend to feel trapped at home – only able to leave the house mid-day for a few hours – or when Jerry or someone else can give me a ride.
So, I’m over it. Really, I’m just so over the winter of 2020-2021. It’s March; it’s time for Spring. I need daylight! Not more snow!
OK. OK … I can hang on for THREE MORE DAYS, right? Sunday is Daylight Savings! March Daylight Savings is one of my favorite days of the year.
It’s hard to explain why the spring daylight savings changeover makes such a difference. I mean, here in Alaska, we’re already in a season where we are gaining more than five minutes of daylight each day. Why does DLS matter so much?
For me, it matters because it will mean we INSTANTLY gain a whole hour more daylight at the end of the day – where I most need it!
I’m not a morning person anyway. I generally don’t much care when dawn brightens the sky over the eastern mountains. I’ll putter through my regular morning routine either way.
I DO care about being able to attend evening dog training classes and still make it safely home. So do Baxter & Rhonda. ❤️
Baxter & Rhonda at BetCo
I know … silly thing to prioritize, eh? But it’s what I have. It’s what I want to do, and the classes and practices are almost always in the evenings.
This means the only way to attend for most of the winter (in a normal winter) is to have someone drive me.
So yes, in the spring, with daylight increasing at what seems at this point to be a snail’s pace – I get impatient. I want more daylight and I want it NOW!
De & the Dachsies - Our Rambles 