The (sheltered) men in my life.

No, this post isn't going to be about my husband nor is it about my son. Actually, it's going to be about my dogs. (If you're a rescued cat lover, I have one of those too, but she's a girl...so suck it up and read on.)


Have you ever been into a shelter or pound? I don't ever remember going as a child, and knowing my mother, she would have spared us of that torture. But when I was 18, I ventured into the Mahoning County Dog Pound, a 72 hour kill facility, for the first time in my life. I was interested in attaining a puppy and I had every intention of saving a life.

I'll never forget the noises I heard the moment I entered the door to the outer hall. The block building was full to the hilt with dogs, every cage full. Some of them even had a few dogs sitting together, and a few others had full litters of puppies in them. And very few of them were quiet.

Instead, they were screeching and barking and yipping and doing what they could to get my attention. I had never felt so wanted in my life.

I was told which dogs were not friendly, and indeed, when I passed the crates, I was welcomed with a snarl or a warning bark. But for the most part, there were wagging tails and smiling faces and ears facing forward, as 50 plus dogs tried to garner my interest. I passed the older ones, though, and headed to the puppy crates.

I wanted a baby. Something to be trained and brought up in the way I wanted to. I was looking for something I could care for, something young and vibrant, as I was living with death. You see, I was staying with my grandparents at that time in my life and my grandfather's health was rapidly declining as he lay in the living room, dying from pancreatic cancer.

I needed to bring a life home. I needed to focus my attention on something that was going to live, something I could actually rescue and keep from dying, because I knew there was nothing any of us could do for the man who spent 18 years raising me as if I was his own daughter.

So I had the keeper open a pen full of wiggly brown balls of fur and one of them chose me. He was soft and cuddly and he couldn't lick my face fast enough. On top of it, he smelled like cocoa. It was love at first sight and without another look back, we left the dog pound together.

It was the first time I had ever bought anything that large, as all my prior pet purchases were always able to live in a tank. So with the puppy on my lap, we headed home. I named him Speagle because I could tell he had some beagle in him, and I just liked the name. I snuck him into the house past my grandfather, because I knew in his condition, he wouldn't have wanted a dog in the house. But my grandmother and I both felt it would help us a little bit as long as it didn't hurt him.

So Speagle spent his days in my room way in the back of the house, playing and waiting for me to arrive home from school, when I would spend the rest of the evening romping around after him. Things were going well until his first bath, when a floppy, wet puppy raced through the house and the smell of cocoa permeated the rooms. Suddenly, my grandfather realized there was a dog afoot. He called me over to his hospital bed and asked to see the animal, so dutifully I produced the puppy. As I watched his nose crinkle and his eyes darken, I knew what was next. He began retching from the smell of the puppy and waved me off immediately.

You see, his cancer and pain medicine had changed his ability to tolerate certain smells. We were limited to what we could cook, bring in the house to eat, or even with what perfumes or bath soaps we used. For example, popcorn would have him heaving almost immediately, as would any type of meat product. And it became apparent to us that chocolate also gave him the same reaction. Without another word of discussion with me, he spoke to my grandmother the next day and demanded the puppy be taken back to the pound. She broke the news to me after school and suddenly I was faced with a horrible realization. I had just saved this puppy from death a mere month before, and now I'd have to put it back in a place where it was sure to face the same fate as before.

I couldn't do it.

I sat down with my grandmother and insisted that she give me the time to find the puppy a good home. He was a great dog, very loving and obedient for how young he was, and I couldn't let him face death twice. Lucky for both of us, she agreed and she lent me the money to place an ad in the paper.

We had him a new home within a few days and together, we drove to drop him off. I can remember crying as I held the puppy out for the man who was taking him off my hands; I was unable to say anything to him but I remember that he was Greek and had just moved to America. His family was replacing a dog he had left back home. When the older woman and the family surrounding him started telling him the puppy was for him, all he said in broken English was, "Dog?" and then Speagle was gone. The group enveloped him and the puppy, each trying to get a look at their newest family member.

I turned and walked back to Nana, who seemed a little melancholy herself. Without speaking, we got in the car and drove home, happy to see the dog had gone to a family who welcomed it so, but sad to see the little guy go at the same time.

So flash forward 16 years. Our rottie had just passed away and my husband was beside himself with shock and despair. I waited a month, knowing we had put down another of our dogs 18 months prior and had also found yet another one a home where she could be the only dog in the pack.We were down to one at the time, Koty, our 12 year old standard poodle. And as Patrick sat in the living room, I headed out to petfinders.com for the umpteenth time to look for our next baby.

I had come across so many already. Mixes, most of them. Some I called on, others I passed by knowing they'd be picked up without issue because of their size or color or breed. And then I came to this face --->

My mind went back to my senior year in high school when a puppy that smelled like cocoa had graced my life for a month or so. He was the same brown with the same dark muzzle, and his ears were floppy just like this puppy. It only took me a second to realize we had found our boy.

I put a call in quietly to Noah's Ark and they informed me he was still available.  They were calling him "The Rock" because his muscle tone and gorgeous brown eyes reminded someone there of Dwayne Johnson. I told her without a doubt, please put a hold on him and we'd be down first thing in the morning to see him.

He was six months old and he was listed as a "Boxer/Cur". That's a generic term they use when they don't want to tell you there's pitbull in there somewhere, because pits don't find homes in most cases. But it didn't deter me one bit. I showed Patrick his picture and then we told Jaryd. I'm not sure any of us slept that night as we anticipated meeting this bundle of love.

But the next day, we arrived to a shelter full of potential adopters and several volunteers. Scared we wouldn't get the dog we wanted, we agreed to at least look at the others if he was no longer available. Patrick and Jaryd waited outside the ruckus, and I dove into the melee looking for someone to point me in the direction of my new baby. I was told he was on a walk with a volunteer and would return shortly. It left me in a lurch.

I was back in an old scene suddenly, with dogs barking and screaming, hitting their cages with their paws trying to get attention. I wasn't sure I was going to make it standing up so I bent over and began to rub the head of the nearest dog around me.

Meanwhile, my husband was sitting outside with Koty and Jaryd, waiting for me to bring out "The Rock". As the volunteers started coming back in from the woods, he noticed a puppy pass him that really struck his fancy and he remembers commenting to Jaryd about how beautiful and sleek the dog was as it passed. He decided he was going to ask to see that one if ours had already been adopted out.

But that switch wasn't in the cards. The same puppy Patrick had seen walked back through the doors with the volunteer, passed the 20 people in the room and headed right up to me. He then proceeded to jump on my back and pantsed me in front of this room full of strangers. As I was hurriedly pulling up my drawers, I turned around to see what would be the next love of my life.

It was love at first sight for all of us and we brought him home, happy to have saved a life. As we were leaving the shelter, I gave the family the option of names. "Tater Salad", as a dedication to our then favorite comedian Ron White, or "Diesel". (The boys chose the latter and we later learned he would definitely live up to his name, but that's a story for another time.)

Eighteen months passed and Koty was sliding downhill. We knew she wouldn't be with us much longer, so we went back to petfinder.com and began our search anew. This time, I wanted something smaller in the house, a dog that would fit nicely into Diesel's routine.

I decided on a Beagle mix and focused my search on finding the right one, which is how we rescued Toby Joe. You'll see him on the right, in the back, behind 2 of his brothers from the litter. There were 5 or 6 of them, total, and none of them even resembled Toby, or Mr. Moseby, as he was known back then. Right then, I knew he was special.

Again, we went down and picked him out; this scared, shy little puppy that was in distress from the noise and anxiety of the other dogs. He was shaking and tense, his little body as hard as a rock and about as unforgiving. He couldn't relax and he couldn't trust, he had been through so much more than any of the rescuers knew, but one thing was obvious - humans had not been kind to him during his puppyhood. It took me a while, but I eventually won him over, and before long, he and Diesel were best buds. Now, as those who have heard his protests can attest, the two of them are inseparable.

So where does that leave us? Ahhh, yes. It leaves us in the middle of the love story we have with these dogs. Both rescues. Both originally in kill shelters as puppies because there are too many born every year that people throw away. Too many that aren't sought-after purebreds or designer dogs, too many that look like pit bulls (or have pit in them) and too many that aren't chubby, wiggly and happy, which are the ones families gravitate towards first.

Instead of buying, instead of breeding, we went with the alternative route on these two and we couldn't have asked for better dogs. All of our dogs have been special, no doubt, with each of them having a certain charm that endeared us to them for eternity. But these two, these two are brothers in every sense of the word. And we, their human parents. It's like they remember, and have possibly shared their tragic and scary pasts, and they know we were the ones who gave them homes with warm beds to sleep in, and fresh water to drink, and nutritious food to eat. They are thankful, still, after all this time, and they show us that with their demeanors and their enduring loyalty.

So in closing, I just want to say that from that first puppy 20 years ago to the latest 2, rescuing is the way to go. You're saving a life and the dogs know it. Their fidelity to you for doing so will be their greatest asset as pets and they will never let you down. I haven't met a rescued dog yet that gave up on his rescuers.

And when it comes to love, what better way to spread it than by saving an animal's life? I can't think of  one, can you?

The decision to stay.

So this month will mark the 90 day anniversary of our move to Florida. For the first two months, I will admit I couldn't relax. I just kept thinking some huge cosmic rubber band was going to snap us back up north against our will. But my husband convinced me that our future is up to us. It's our decision where we end up and how we do when we get there.

So after much discussion, we decided to really put down some roots here. And by roots, I mean deck legs. Yes, we are building a deck. Well, no, we aren't. OMG. It's 100 freaking degrees out there! I mean, we are paying to have a deck built. One of the guys in the park works with another of the guys here and they build decks for the full-timers.

So this will make it official. Well, as official as it gets, I guess. I mean, when we do eventually leave, we can't take the deck with us. We'll have to "give" it to the resort like the one in Ohio that we bought used and already on-site at the campground there. But in the meantime, if you spread the payment out over 12 months, it's literally cheaper than the total monthly cost of Patrick's Dunkin Donut runs. How could we not add 128 square feet of living space?

It's going up over the patio area so we'll be forsaking a wonderful piece of concrete. But it will add a whole bunch of extra space for the dogs and I plan on buying some screen panels and hanging them from the awning so we'll finally be able to eat outside without being eaten alive ourselves!


After all, that is also where I cook every night.

Now, yes, for those of you who have never seen our humble abode, we do have a full kitchen setup inside. However, as any of you who have lived in smaller homes/apartments know, whatever you cook can and will smell up your entire house for days, especially if the rooms are open to each other. Well, in our home, every room but the bathroom is open to the  main area and I'd really appreciate it if my clothes didn't smell like frying fish, baking clams or even the occasional splurge of garlic-laden homemade red sauce. 

So some reconsideration of our set up was necessary if we were going to do live this lifestyle long-term.

First, we took the two old grills to metal recycling and bought a new smaller grill for 2 people (Bonus for the future: it's easy enough and tiny enough to get on a condo patio without paying movers to help). It's a pretty nice model that has enough room for 6-8 half pound hamburgers, which is still more than we would need, but it's got a great compact footprint, especially with the sides down.

It's only about 2x2 and it's fairly no frills, but it does have a really nice ceramic coated inside and it seems to cook very well. But will it hold up? We're notoriously hard on our grills, going through a gas grill every two seasons since we even grill throughout the winter months. Our longest lasting grill was the stainless steel Jenn Air Patrick bought with his first bonus check from BAE, and that lasted us 8 years. But not without all 3 burners dying on us and the starter going fairly early on.

So the BBQ is taken care of. We could grill meats and crisp up corn and potatoes, but what about pasta and sauce? Or frying anything? Our only other modes of cooking are in the microwave or in the toaster/convection oven combo inside. Back to the drawing board.

And that's how we got to investing a small bit into this new diddy:

She's a beaut, ain't she? I named her Sally the Stove. (I don't know why, she just looks like a Sally to me.) We had been eyeing her since we decided to do this trip and then when Patrick started working, we took the plunge and brought her home. Well, really, FedEx was kind enough to deliver her to us from her previous home at Amazon, but you get the picture.

She's got 2 burners, 30,000 BTU's each (your home stove is lucky if it's got 10,000 BTU burners on it as most are 5,000 and 7,500), so of course that means no teflon-coated pots lest we die from poisoning as it melts off the aluminum. (Did I mention I can boil 5 quarts of water in just under 3 minutes on her?)

Nope, everything has to go to cast iron or copper clad. Being that the cost of copper is outrageous and cast iron will last long enough to eventually be willed to my grandkids, we decided to go with the cheaper and longer lasting of the two.

So that then meant I had to add a few pieces to my already established collection of Lodge cast iron cookware. (Do you see where this is going? Have you caught on yet?)

Let me just state this before we go any further:

I LOVE LODGE COOKWARE.

If you've eaten at my house, you've probably been fed from my gorgeous rooster-red ceramic coated dutch oven. It is the bomb! Everything I've ever made in it comes out perfect each time. I can't tell you how much I love this piece!

From a whole 8lb 30 clove garlic chicken to enough Di Russo's sausage links to feed 30 people at 2010's Christmas Dinner, plus all the green peppers, onions and mushrooms it could hold, this baby is one beautiful and solidly build work horse that goes from the stove to the oven and back again with no issue.

All in a striking red paint job. Brilliant!

However, she's currently packed away  and buried in an unmarked and inaccessible box in the storage room. ACK!

So I had to head to Walmart and find something to replace her when we first came down here and were cooking right on the grates of the old grills. We picked up a 6" skillet, a grill pan and another 5 qt dutch oven. I figured that's a good start.

But I just felt with this new stove, there were still a few pieces missing. I searched online to see what else would make me a gourmet full-timing chef and I came across a griddle and this nifty combination of dutch oven base (that I'm going to use for making pasta and sauce in since it has a nice rounded bottom) and lid that doubles as a 10" skillet.

 

Now we're talking...

But how did this lead to the deck, you ask? 

Well, have you ever carried cast iron cookware? It's heavy. With food in it, it's freaking heavy!

So the way things were set up, we had the grill and the stove on the patio, which was down the 3 precarious shifty metal steps of our rig. Carrying food in and out meant having to brave a trip up and down this staircase that rocks like one of those carnival fun-house get-ups. Add to that a 20 lb pot of steaming hot liquidy food and you've got yourself a definite recipe for disaster.

So we opted to have the deck built.

Now all I will have to do at dinner time is step directly out the door onto a nice level surface, with my stove and my grill not but 5 feet away. No steps, no traversing concrete, no extra danger of scalding myself as I try to climb back up 3 wobbly stairs with 20 pounds of food and cookware in my hands. 

And it gives us somewhere to put the picnic table, a few of the wrought iron chairs we got from Craigslist, and second best of all, it gives the dogs somewhere to go outside where they will be safely confined so they can watch the world around them instead of staring at me blankly all day, stuck inside.

And if all else fails, while we're still here, it will double as a very weighted place to tie down all our outside stuff during the hurricanes...

Because if you know me at all, you know that's the main reason I signed on to have it built in the first place.  ;)