Defining Success

     Before launching any new project, venture or business, my daddy always taught me you must first define success, so that you can measure your progress against a scale of time and money to see if you are on track.

     While good advice for business, today success takes on new meaning for me as I find myself spotting it everywhere I turn...more often these days, in ways money can't buy...

     (And may I just say, it's been a particularly successful weekend.)

   Coming home from a long day in Nashville, I turned into my drive to find my lawn newly mown by a neighbor who took it upon himself to do so with no questions asked...Getting out of my Jeep I noticed another neighbor, had delivered my (heretofore broken Cub mower) gifting me not only his skills, but his time in purchasing parts, and getting the machine back and forth...Taking care of something I had postponed all winter long...That to me, is success.
  
    The next day began with a text from a friend...on his way to interview Blake Shelton, no less...(How successful is that? ) And yet how kind of him, I thought... to take the time to check on me along the way, and ask about my brother (recovering from an automobile accident that left him with a broken neck)... I thought, how blessed I am to have such loving and talented friends, in professions they adore, doing things they love, here now to uplift me in my otherwise, not-so-ordinary, ordinary day Thanks, you! For sharing your success ...

    I opened my computer to post an update, thanking folks for their prayers, their care and concern ...and the outpouring of comments and overwhelming love there beaming at me through my computer screen...it brought me to tears...These prayers, (I thought) they're working! (If that's not success...)

     I stepped outside to see 5 big, white dogs, 18 goats (and 2 cats)...I plop down in a big sea of fur... tails wagging, critters slurping...baby goats jumping that cute sideways jump...I hug their huge necks...and scratch between horns (where goats like it best)... Everyone's safe and sound, just ready to see their mama again...I smile as I think, "Now this is success."

     But my bestest success of these past several days came while holding the hand of my precious big brother...Together we greet a beautiful new day, watching a perfect sunrise reflect off steely hospital windows...We cranked up his iPhone and sang with Bill Gaither; Ed wiggles his toes and squeezes my hand back...

     I don't care how you define it...
     THIS is success...


Post Script: To be sure, the journey has just begun...My brother continues to show improvement, though it's not been without its challenges...My family thanks you for your love and support and begs your continued prayers...(Funny that something as simple as posting this update feels successful to me this fine day. God bless you every one. Again, my heartfelt thanks.)
   

For Those of You Praying...

   

Candles lit. Prayers welcome.
Here's praying for my sweet brother, Ed.

     First and foremost-Thank you. Prayer itself...thoughts of prayers...casual mentions of "we'll keep you in our prayers" ....they matter. And they matter especially much in trying times such as those we are living through today...

     I am a big believer in prayer, so yes, if you are the praying type...if you have prayer groups, prayer lists, prayer circles ...add us to them. We're told it only takes 2 or more, so group up! My sincerest, heartfelt thanks to you personally for praying for my brother and our family at this time, but go ahead and include your own family along with the bigger issues in life while you're in the zone...(May these things serve to heal us all~)

     I post this blog (first in awhile and at a time that is more busy than usual given the circumstances) because I want to be VERY clear. Those prayer partners who know me spiritually, know what I'm about to say. Those who know me casually, might want to take note, if for no other reason than to be on the same page when referencing this word "prayer".Those who knew me professionally, know I've long held a fascination with words and phrases and am a stickler for detail and nuance in discovering origins and meaning behind things we say (often too flippantly) ...So please allow me to be very clear on what it means when someone says "I'll pray for you"

Let me tell you about my morning...

     My day began as it has for the last several...with a lengthy list of backed up texts and voice messages that I either could not get to yesterday or that came in overnight. (When I sleep or write, I turn ringers off, often at the frustration of others who use their mechanical devices in different ways. To me, phones are there for us; not the other way around.  I don't work for them, but here of late, it's been a debate, but I digress...I'll save my "cell phone etiquette" post for another day. Today, there are things of greater concern going on in my head and heart...)

      For those who don't know, my brother (my one and only sibling whom I adore) was in a tragic automobile accident over the weekend and today is recovering from a broken neck... (while severely damaged, his spinal column was not severed so the prognosis is good. We simply have a long journey ahead. Actually, there's nothing simple about it. Let me rephrase: it's going to be a journey.)

     Of my many messages this morning came one from a precious neighbor, asking about my brother...asking about me.... but tagging his text with
                                             "I worry a lot. Sorry that's just me." 
(For the record, you never know when I'm going to take something so precious and gracious as an innocently sweet text to make a point (much less a blog) but because it hit a nerve of an ongoing debate I had with my father almost until his dying day, my poor neighbor got a lengthy text back, expressing to him why his prayers I would welcome...but his worry I would not.)

     For starters, worry, by definition, nets you adjectives like unease, unrest, troubles, anxiety (and that's just the first line in Webster). "Worry" says to me you are pondering the worse case scenario and giving precious mental energy to the darker, drearier outcome. If you were pondering the best case scenario, you would not be worried. You'd be thankful. (As we are.) You'd be hopeful. (As we are.) You'd be seeing the lay of the landscape as I do, which is to say bright and hopeful, perfect and peaceful ...LIFE ~ appreciated in a brand new light like never before.

     So please: drop the worry. I refuse to go there with you. I will not meet you there...not even halfway.

     Worry suggests (even if you tell me you're praying) ...you're not believing what you're praying, but rather than you are holding a mental picture of some worse case scenario that you perceive as our end game...which is to say your mental picture outweighs anything hopeful you say you are praying for/ believing in...hoping to convince me of. (You tell me you're worried, I'll tell you quit praying until you can fix your attitude...you're not convincing anybody...certainly not me...most of all, yourself.)

     With all loving respect, my response to this MOST precious MOST appreciated neighbor of mine, went something like this:

      Thank you for caring and I know you do... And my family welcomes all prayers. (Alert your church groups, your family...anybody you know well enough to pray with, we'll take it, b u t ... (my text continued)

                                                  "ix-nay on that worried part"

     Specifically, I wrote:

     As a favor to me, I simply ask ~ please... No worry!

     Not to split hairs here, but worry tells me you are thinking the worst possible outcome and are giving thought to what might happen if it comes to pass..."Concern" tells me you care, and I know you do ... So if you want to use a word, go with concern, but never worry.

     If you truly want to help me (as in physically, mentally, tangibly Doing something FOR me, as I know you do (and often have)  ...please ponder the distinction...That's what you can do to help me today.  Think on these things... That is my sole (soul's) request of you this very day...

     (My text continued...)

     My dad and I had this conversation often. He, like you, identified himself as a worrier, no doubt thinking it a noble and loving thing to do for someone you love.
     As a sensitive person who picks up on these nuances, I picked up on these things: HIS worry only made matters worse, making ME have to work that much harder.  When Dad said he was worried (whatever the reason de jure), I then had TWO tasks before me: 1) to tourniquet the worry part/stop the spurting spiral of bleeding energy before 2) re-living the emotional of whatever had happened leaving us to be reaching for prayers in the first place....In other words, whatever he was then or (you are today) worrying about, that takes additional energy to process. It takes effort to combat it.  I don't have reserve energy for that. Just simplify it for me and skip past the worry, ok?

     As a matter of my own personal faith and my years of studying both the meaning of and the purpose for prayer, this has become a key issue in my life so once more, I implored:

     Please work on this... for my sake and my brother's ...for your kids's sake ... but most of all for YOU!

     I concluded (my lengthy albeit heartfelt text) with...

     All this said ... not to scold, but to tell you how it hits me to think something happening in my life sent a sweet and caring person such as yourself into a spiral of worry-dom and anxiety-ridden energy, (which I, in turn, must use my much needed reserves for to counter as I brace for both to combat and defend against your (unnecessary) worry ....All before reliving the emotional energy it takes to retell the story in order to express where things stand at present...

     Here is the news you seek: 

     My brother is expected to have a full recovery. Doctors say it. Surgeons say it. We are knowing it. "Expected" is the operative word...No one's pulling any punches here; he has a long and trying road ahead and our family DOES welcome all prayers, but please...If you're going to pray...DO NOT DO SO from a state of worry, but rather from a state of faith. Take a walk. Clear your mind...Just please...come at it fresh....
     You cannot live/experience/vibrate in both the level of faith and the level of worry at the same time; they are two entirely different vibrational frequencies... Just as stressing over a problem is nothing compared to the feel of that HUGE sigh of relief  when a problem is resolved,  so too is the vast difference in vibrational frequencies between worry and faith.   I pray you get what I'm talking about here. I pray you know/have felt/can spot the difference...Seems small perhaps, but it is HUGE.

     If you are worried...I beg you...save your praying until you can pray in the affirmative.

     As for me, I am not worried. I am knowing my brother can and IS fully recovering. I know my brother. I also know my God.

     Again, not to sugar coat it, he has some trying days ahead... his tragic ordeal has been a wake-up call to us all...

     As I see his sweet face, looking up from a neck brace, tubes and wires all I can think is

     May we never take for granted again something so simple as lifting a fork to our mouths or walking from one room to another...These things he must learn all over again, but his spirits are high and his resolve clear. And I'll be damned if I let worry show up on my face as I love him through it. 

     So please...if you want to help me...work hard on removing your own worries first. 

     I pray you know how sincerely/honestly/truly we appreciate this outpouring of love...I thank you for asking about him...I thank you for caring about me and our family.  I know where your heart is and I am grateful for your kind and tender heart...(Now but to engage our minds in the proper space and feel before launching into our prayers.)



My sweet little neighbor replied:

                          Thank you. I will try not to worry and just pray. 
                                                                  Glad he's going to pull through.

My reply:
                          THAT's the Spirit!   Thank you!   Now Pray Away !

      (Pray early and often and fervently and silently, in your closet... in your car or in any other space or place or way you choose to go about it... My family is deeply grateful.  I am personally,  deeply moved.)


   

Roz'nTary: My Pyr w/Opinions Speaks Out on her Observations of the Elections thus far

     After a depressing night of watching grown men behave like children, I did what any decent mother would do...I turned off the TV and insisted little Roz spend a bit more time in nature.
     I am happy to report this worked wonders. Her coat was shinier. Her eyes more sparkly. Her outlook on life took a significant change for the better leaving me to wonder if it's having this kind of effect on a dog (who understands very little of the nuances, but grasps quite easily the dog fights), imagine what it's doing to us.
     Here, Roz comments on debates, exit polling and how the vote count is shaping up here on the farm...

Roz'nTary (Otherwise known as my Pyr w/Opinions ...She's A-Pinionees)

     While trying to keep up with the many political happenings of the day, Roz has decided to pitch in and help with the blog, and has thus started her own political commentary. She will be my paws on the street (or on the couch as it may be) observing the world out there, while keeping tabs on how it plays in here (so to speak) ...amongst the other barnyard animals.
     Below is Roz on the current State of our Union....(Note: She is very depressed.)

Saying Goodbye is Never Easy

     I am sorry to report that little baby TG (Tough Guy) did not make it through the night.
     For those who follow the critters personally, here is his story...though far from over, as this one little life form gives me much to contemplate as I enter my day...
     With the warm weather and sudden drop came a change in little TG's health...I had noticed a couple of days ago that he had one eye turn gummy and he had a little cough. Having just come out of the flu myself, I wondered if we had something going around, but thought "well I got better...here's knowing little dude can get better!" Whatever it was, I took the proper precautions (I went for iron supplements first...you try to avoid antibiotics if you can help it as 1) he's very little and 2) they can build up an immunity rendering antibiotics null at such time that you really wished you had them. Since this was a male nobody would be eating, we do keep antibiotics on hand along with de-worming medications, which we do on a regular basis.
     Though puny, he was not showing signs of worminess, though I could tell from his gums he was slightly anemic; we spaced and paced what we gave him, after all he's a little dude...Mostly we watched to see if his mother was still feeding him. At this age most are weaned, but will still try to nurse their mothers if allowed. His mama (Triscuit) wasn't the best of mamas starting out, but grew into the role (She's younger...smaller than most; a twin born to Cupid). Tough Guy was more independent than most...something I credited to my bringing him inside when first born owing to a mother slower than usual to respond to him. He loved being held by people as friends will attest.
     In short, I suspect all the cute antics, like trying to nurse Rosebud (the dog)...trying to nurse TJ (the boy dog) ...loving to take a bottle, etc. were signs he wasn't getting enough food. As I mentioned, he was a bit  more independent than some of the other babies. He would come running like a puppy when he'd see people, which he clearly equated with affection and attention. His was a short life, but it made an impact.
     When I went out to feed the babies yesterday I discovered I was one baby shy...(Even when you have 21, you sense --even before you count-- when someone is missing.) I heard a faint cry back at the barn, which gave me hope. When I went racing to see, he was down (literally...on the ground) ...could've fallen...could've been knocked over by the larger goats running for food. (It's an odd thing, but once a goat goes down, if not spotted instantly, it can be their demise. I learned first time I had a mother undergo an emergency surgery to "Get her up!" and "Keep her walking!" It seemed a cruel thing to do to a mama that had lost a lot of blood, but the one time I allowed one to rest after a rough birth I lived to regret it. Once their legs go weak, it's nearly impossible to get them functioning again. TG's little legs had gone wobbly. I could rock him, but he wasn't able to stand from the time I found him yesterday.
     The good news (which seems a stretch, but I stretch in times like these) is that the little guy was  loved right down to the end and keenly aware of it. It was damp and drizzly yesterday, so I toweled off the big guys (the dogs, that is...at least the ones he was fondest of--namely Rosebud, Roz and Hix), and brought them inside to be with him. (I had to eventually put Hix out as he got very upset and did not want to let the rest of us near. He has this tendency when he spots a problem with one of his charge. He can get downright vicious if he thinks something's wrong and goes into protect (and sometimes attack) mode, which can get you bitten if you're not careful.)  So Hix, we had to put outside for a spell, but Rosebud was great to allow the baby to hear her heartbeat while I was off getting meds and milk ...a bottle the baby took for a little while...And then he didn't.
     Around 8:45 last night, little TG took his last breath..Held closely and with Facebook prayers being read to him, he was surrounded by love and appeared to be in no pain...He simply had no strength.
     You can never say for sure why these things happen. There was a cold for sure, and it could've been pneumonia. Oddly enough, having just recovered from the flu myself, I'll wonder, but probably won't go to the expense of an autopsy (as now they charge, where used to they didn't). Based on his symptoms, if it wasn't pneumonia it was heading there. (My own cold turn to bronchitis...and was heading the same...I have no idea where I picked it up, nor do I know if goat colds can spread to humans and vice versa, but I can honestly say I have never had the flu (knock wood)  --until last week, and for my first encounter, it was brutal.  If one of us transmitted a cold to the other all I can say is I probably won't quit loving on my goats anytime soon, though I will do a bit more research on the subject.
     My thanks to you all for your thoughts and prayers.
     Amazing the effect one innocent little life can have on a heart... a bunch of hearts.
     All to say, we felt your love...and it gave us much comfort. For this, we are truly grateful.

The Roz Report

     Because I promised...
     I offer you proof we're still at it...
   
     Otherwise, may I also acknowledge that Roz is the living evidence as to why most people know you might as well not even bother taking a Pyrenees to obedience training (though I will say she does remarkably well at "sit" and "stay" --and "ignore" and "sleep" and "oh, what's that you're holding?")

     Full report to follow (Long farm day; longer night)

     But for now, here's Roz...
     Trying to get it as best she can...
     No matter what...she's still a good gurrrrlllll.

Divine Discontent

     Suffice it to say, my year has not started out as I envisioned. Matter of fact, it hardly feels like it's taken off at all...
     For the record, January 1st is my favorite of all holidays. I block it off for silence. I pile up with new planning calendars, new journals, new Sharpies and flippy charts to brainstorm my fool head off. I LOVE blank pages and lined notebooks that invite me to list everything swirling about as my crazy head attempts to capture on paper what most needs doing, or contemplated...or scratched off the list all together.
     But a funny thing happened on the way to my new year...
     Life happened.
     For starters, goat babies started coming at odd intervals. (You've got to stop when new life comes in; they can't help it that their mom's waited 5 months to deliver in the midst of holidays, snow days...whatever days.) Not all of them made it. With these I lost a day to raw grief; with the survivors I lost more days in humble gratitude. (Either way, I was losing days to goat babies...Or, viewed another way, I was living my days with a more prioritized focus. It's all in the perspective I'm learning.)
     Second, not one, not two, not three, but FOUR of my friends died...People I love...People who touched my life...Some I knew were sick, but most I had no warning. One day I'm leaving a message; next day I'm seeing a Facebook post. I know it's life. I've got no monopoly on losing people. (It happens even more often as you age.) But it seemed a sucker punch to the gut to have so many in such a short window. I finally just kept my black skirt folded across the tub for easy access. (Honest to God, it's there right now.)
     But more than anything external (deeply affecting my internal), I began to notice something else was missing: my drive. For some reason, my desire to get things done had taken a nosedive. Some days I was hard pressed to get out of bed...(It's why I keep goats and cute puppies around. Walking Prozac. No time for pity parties when there are mouths to feed, plus, nothing lifts your spirits like the innocent creatures or Roz's precious face. I had no choice but to show up.  I was just moving slower than usual and I was digging deeper in the silence of my morning routines...listening for answers...watching for clues as to what the heck was happening?
     Could this be Depression? (I didn't want to check out, I was simply indifferent...noncommittal...non-motivated.  Projects that once consumed my creative drive were now met with a wall of overwhelm, leaving me to ask "Why bother?" or "Do I really feel up for that today?"
      In talking with friends, I'm discovering I'm not alone. I've got friends battling cancer; friends who've lost jobs; friends recovering from surgery... Others (most all) voice concern for their finances, if not the economy on the whole. No. This isn't just me. I think there's something in the air and like some sort of mental flu, it's contagious. Only nobody seems to want to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
     To process it all in one fell swoop is mind boggling. It was too much to handle. No. I was forced to tackle only the things I could handle in one day and leave the rest for later. For the first time in my life I decided NOT to make a list as lists now served to depress me seeing how much of them DIDN'T get crossed off.
     Then it hit me. De javu all over again. I had been here before. A long time ago...freshly out of college. I was eager to embrace my first job in a career I had trained for...a gig I had bragged about. I moved into my first apartment...Met all new people. A lot of change, and one day: splat. I was miserable...I had miscalculated. I felt guilt for not loving what I was doing as much as I thought I would; I felt tired for working against the flow of my usually upbeat and creative life force just to keep my head above water; I felt lost.
     Thinking back on my twenties, I was reliving those very feelings (if only we could tell ourselves then what we've come to learn now) when I turned the question forward asking "What advice would your 70-something self tell your 50-something self today?"
     The answer? "Brace yourself Evins. This isn't depression. What you're feeling is CHANGE. And the odd thing about change is it packs with it, a total loss of anything familiar...(If it was familiar, it would not be change now, would it?) What I was feeling was what I've now come to call "Divine Discontent" meaning, "Something's about to give."
     If I've learned anything from life especially since moving to the country, it's that life lives you. You may THINK you're going to the store today, but if a goat's in labor or you need to wait on a vet, you can get by another day on crackers. You may THINK you're heading into the city for business talks, but if a snow storm leaves cars strewn up and down I-40, you're gonna heed those anchors who say "If you don't absolutely HAVE to be out in it, stay home!"
     Most of all, I've learned to be forgiving. I'm fairly good at it with others. (Takes too much energy to hold a grudge and I've got better uses for that energy.) But I haven't always been so forgiving with myself. But today, for the sake of my sanity, I must.  I don't have enough energy to be lost, be present AND beat myself up for not sticking to "Today's To Do's" or for breaking more than half of my resolutions one month in.
     So here's to February 1st. New month. New days ahead. New attempts to figure it out.
     One thing I know for sure...One thing I recall from my 20-something encounter with this "funk energy" ...get uncomfortable enough and smart people will stop and allow the change....invite it, even...WELCOME it. You can only walk with a pebble in your shoe for so long before it forms a blister, at which point you WILL have to stop and take off the shoe. Why not stop before the blister forms? (Surely SOME wisdom comes with age.)
     Perhaps it means what you THOUGHT you wanted to do, isn't what you are REALLY supposed to be doing...or what you intended to tackle, you're actually not even GOOD at (so get ready for another new one Evins...how 'bout this time you ask for help? Or better yet, ditch those items from the list all together.)
     Life, I'm learning, is about adjusting our sails. Were we to set out on a sailboat, headed straight to some tropical isle, it would not be one solid, locked-in-place rudder that would get me there. It would be an endless series of back-and-forth, back-and-forth moves of the rudder that would navigate me home.
     To those of you who've reached out, shared similar sensations or are feeling it too...May you take comfort in knowing you are not alone. This feeling I call "Divine Discontent" begins in a space that doesn't feel quite right anymore...Maybe you've outgrown it. Or maybe what you were doing was training you for something yet to come. Either way, the fact that it forces you to dig deeper to find out what does bring that bliss thing back around, I'm all for digging.

Roz's First Day of (Obedience) School

     I begin with apologies to my friends whose kids with major life accomplishments, I feel I have not adequately emoted...
     Thinking over my closest, one's daughter just completed nursing school, with job lined up and life moving swimmingly. Another friend birthed an artist...a sculptor to be exact. A deep-thinking soul whose work is amazing. (I know I've said I'm proud. I just don't think I've said it enough.) I have another, whose daughter is a school counselor...PhD in psychology, works with troubled teens...increasingly on call for the traumas and tragedies that too often lead our newscasts. Another friend's daughter is a brainiac...newly engaged, she just aced the bar...Former president of her last school's student body she may someday be president. (If only we could plug her in now.)
 

    In short, I have some seriously gifted girlfriends raising seriously gifted daughters. And while one can never brag too much on these things (after all, they've had 20 plus years to perfect their profession) I now touch my toe into the shallow waters of their ocean, for only now have I felt their pride (on a microcosmic level mind you, but a mother's pride is a mother's pride)... This week we began . . .
     Puppy Obedience Class. (Yes. I realize it's a stretch here. But stay with me.)
     Leaving 4 big dogs behind, Roz squirmed in the passenger seat, her water in one cup holder, a Red Bull in mine. (Save your judgment; it was early. We needed it.)
     Pointing Jeep towards Nashville, Roz was more confused than anything and at first, not nearly as excited as I felt she should be so I sang to her, trying to pep her up for what was to come...(Our radio's been broken now for nearly a year; this is our time for bonding.)
     Within the hour we offloaded her from her co-pilot perch, leash attached; dog confused. (The co-op she recognizes...She's a hit at TSC...She's a regular at our local pet supply store. And she especially loves when we pull in to Room in the Inn to see all her friends. But today was different and she knew it. This was an all new experience. This was BIG (literally--as in parking lot, people, hustle and bustle) ....Lots of strange sites,  smells, and even strange dogs ....(What? DOGS? Insert Scooby-Doo "rut roh " here)
     What time I wasn't singing, I had been reflecting ... on what I'd gotten us into...what I had committed this little fuzzball to. To be clear, it is not lost on me my own subconscious desire to add a little more discipline to our lives--Never trained a dog before, but I knew "I" could use some structure. My life has become one endless cycle of re-routing plans ever since farming. A goat born here changes an appointment there.  A morning lost in writing alters the afternoon game plan for errands. At first I blamed Mother Nature where changes in weather can rule out an entire crop and an unanticipated storm can re-work your day. But there's plenty of this that just comes from working with creative energies for a living. Be it writing, producing or co-venturing on another's project, there has come the need for me to stop and regroup...Intentionally adding something of discipline into my day to day felt in order.  And since they don't have obedience school for people, I made Roz my excuse.

Roz...Gearing up for an evening at RITI

     Never have I taken a dog to obedience school; most plan this around a need, such as the puppy that keeps tearing up your pillows or the one that suffers from panic attacks when you walk out the door. Such were not our reasons. No. Roz's reasons involve a newfound career move born of an incident that took place last November. It was a conversation with a homeless man that instigated an entire whole chain reaction. (Can we agree? The Lord can use anyone to get a point across.)
     A little background...
     I hit the campus of Room in the Inn as I do every November. Some faces are familiar. Some faces are new.  I was downtown reuniting with fellow volunteers and guests alike--folks I had not seen since March (when our regular season ends). It's not uncommon for folks to ask about the farm...the garden...the critters. This year I had something new to share, that being Rosebud and her pups that were at the time of our season's launch, about 5 weeks old, so I was sharing cell phone pictures, clips of nursing pups and the goats they're born to protect. I had also confessed that I was trying hard not to keep a pup myself as 4 grown Pyrs is a lot in anyone's book.
     In talking with a new guest I had not met before, he took a glance at the pix and said "I'm getting one of those!" (I was pretty certain he was confused or hopeful or both, but I had to ask: "Are you sure? These are Pyrenees. They get pretty big."
     "Yeah, I'm already on a list...They're assigning me one as a service dog."
     (Again, I'm sad to say, my initial response was: you must be mistaken. A quick mental picture of Rosey as a seeing eye dog ended abruptly as I thought of how quickly she bolts at deer...Could not imagine a Pyr in service training...I couldn't imagine training a Pyr period.)
     But the service dog he was describing had nothing to do with eye-dogs...nothing to do with drug sniffing. Seems when I wasn't looking, someone out there spotted that Pyrs are among the best breed going to assist someone who might be suffering from something psychological ...challenges such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
     My new friend went onto explain that as a returning soldier he had been diagnosed with PTSD, and once his housing came through, a dog was next...but not just any dog-- a Pyrenees. And a trained one at that. First I'd heard of this; clearly I was gripped.
     Back home, I spent the rest of the night and half the next week, googling organizations, studies and the like. I watched videos; I called friends in high places asking "Whose idea was this?" and "How can I help?"
     To be clear, Pyrs are not known for being "trainable" as say ...a German Shephard or a seeing-eye dog. You google their heritage and you read words like "stubborn" or "strong-willed"... these adjectives usually come after "exceedingly large" and "expensive to feed" and the all famous "nocturnal" (meaning they bark all night and sleep all day...Trust me on this one. Then again, there is a great peace that comes with those nocturnal barking rounds.)
     So here I am with Roz...13 weeks old and newly vaccinated so as to enter this class. They say the ideal age is somewhere between 10 and 14 weeks for starters. Suffice it to say, despite the large breeds she's in training with (the Rott and the Weimaraner in particular) Roz was already head and shoulders above them in size...her laid back attitude in 180 contrast to the other, more "trainable" breeds. ( Roz was so laid back it was comical AND ironic given the shoes and ribbons she'd torn to shreds the night before, but at least this left her tuckered out by the time we got there. Not a lot of anxiety going on with Roz...even in a room full of strangers. Like Granny-Rosey, Roz is very much her own dog.)
   

Roz's Next-Chair Neighbor and New Best Friend

 The PetSmart classroom is located center of the store, so that onlookers and those considering the same can witness just what takes place. Last to arrive (yes, we know who needs the discipline) Roz and I took the last seat available, which stationed us between an 8-week old Weimaraner (talk about energy) and a teeny, tiny Yorkie (equally rambunctious; also known for yapping). Between the two --a mountainous Roz...30 pounds of fluffy white cloud only heavier and a face that said, "Who are these people?"
    First order of business, we were handed a clicker, sounds for which are to become synonymous with such things as her name, good behavior and eye contact, all of which, (once you click) mean a seriously tasty (read: expensive) doggie treat. (Note: same doggie treats are handed out to the Yorkie are were handed out for Roz...That she didn't go AFTER the Yorkie's to me, should've netted her a ribbon, if not additional treats, but what do I know. Roz was being such a good gurrrl. Quite frankly, I was amazed.)
     The name thing she got in spades. (Of course we'd been singing it all the way there.) The sitting part (if it meant a treat) she got equally well. ("Can I get two if I go ahead and lie down?") The clicker thing made her cock her head sideways with the cutest confused expression, but in time she gathered that the treat wasn't coming until she acknowledged it, skills for which don't exactly come naturally to one who's never taken a dog for training before. (Eye contact THEN click? Or click to get the eye contact. This took us a minute to coordinate. May've been a blonde thing. Roz, on the other hand was there to do whatever. The clicker part was more confusing than anything but saying her name, getting her to look eye to eye, that came naturally. Then again, she comes from a long line of eye-gazers...Plus I was holding a treat. Ok. What's next? )
     Next, we took a break in which we were led on a guided tour of the store. Leading the entire class through a Canine Candyland of Bouncy Burrows and Holee-Treat balls and indestructable KONG toys and game-playing things,  we were taught things like why a $30 elk antler is a better investment than a $.99 rawhide chew (if you account for the potential vet bill). All in all, highly educational, if nothing else I'll know where to find our aisle on future visits without having to ask for help. On the other hand, given the puppy-eye-level placement of this smorgasbord of delights, I felt it slightly inconsiderate (if not downright abusive) to expect a 10-week old pup to be still while being taunted by all the temptations.

     But more amazing yet, was Roz (who just the night before had pulled out EVERY toy she owned --and a few of mine--as in one last hoo-rah before the disciplining began). In total shock to me, Roz was not phased in the least by these things...Instead, Roz, who was closest to the door when leaving our training area for this little tour, (we were last in if you'll recall, thus nearest to the door) Roz held back...allowing everyone else to follow the leader first. Even when a fellow classmate offered to let us go before him and his Snickerdoodle, Roz remained poised, her herding instinct kicking in. Once everyone was in the aisle (and a long aisle it was-- long enough to host a dozen dogs, each with 2 or more family members) Roz observed her flock, strategically parking herself between the entire group and the rest of the store.  Roz (back to the group) had assumed her position and parked her body so as to serve as lookout, for this, her newfound substitute of a family.
     Back in the class area, we practiced clicking again before being asked to sit in a large circle. (This one was a new one on me, and one I feared might be our undoing.) Side by side with our beloved pets in front of us, we were to pass our babies to the person on our right, so that each of us would meet each of the other dogs (while watching our dogs look back in confusion). On this, Roz (at first) did not do so well; but halfway in (i.e. directly across the circle from me, watching her mama make over an adorable Rottweiler pup), she started to grasp the concept...they were moving her back my way. She would be coming back around before it was all said and done (big sigh). Her mommy would not be leaving without her. So long as I didn't walk out that door, she was cool and began to make friends with the other doggies' mommies. (Good gurrrl Roz. Good gurrl.)

Mommy's On a Bathroom Break. Gotta Guard Her Door.

     After this, we were given the opportunity to ask final questions. (I have to restrain myself in these moments; I asked only my fair share.) We were given some homework, a folder of things to read later and "suggestions" as to what things we might invest in next for new areas of training that are to come.
      Roz and I said adieu to our newfound friends ... and left the store with $40 worth of an antler and some treats. Exhausted she slept all the way home. (This time I didn't sing.)

How Not to Blog

Roz ... Before the week began

     I am glad I did not state specifically for the world to see, my New Year's resolutions, as two weeks in and I've already broken half of them... Anything that started with "daily" (as in "incorporate more of this into your routine") hasn't fully been incorporated and in reflecting on why it's pretty simple: my days were packed already. (What was I thinking?) Between farm commitments (may be no garden going, but the chores are forever) ...the goats (now entering another round of birthings) ... a new puppy AND puppy obedience school)...work projects...church projects...volunteer projects...friendship maintenance ...writing...living...being...Well, I don't think I'm alone when spotting: "To add ANYthing new into your life Evins, you're going to have to delete some things first."
     Sadly, as our houses grow more cluttered with each Kmart run, our closets overflow from one too many trips to the mall, our phones unable to store more pictures till we clear out our clouds, so go our lives...And yet mindlessly, endlessly we take on one more thing, meet one more person (and face it, most of us don't ditch our old friends just because we  make new ones)...We commit to one more project...At what point will we stop and realize we're manifesting things and activities and events in our lives quicker and quicker these days, and yet no one since Newton has stopped to remind us that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction" meaning for each new thing, each new invite, each new person met, each new activity tackled, come new set of responsibilities stemming from responses requiring new RE-actions, which in turn need responding and re-acting to, and so on and so on...
     Sad our lives aren't wired like our cell phones where before we hit the wall we're told our capacity is up only to be offered a plethora of monthly options to buy more storage.   If only there was a 99-cent-a-month plan so we could just tack on more space when we've run out of what we were originally given. In our increasingly noisy lives there is no such option. But does that stop us? No.  We just keep adding and adding and adding to our overextended lives anyway. And then we question our memories and our sanity wondering why we have the attention span of a gnat or can't remember where we were last Tuesday night. (Something I have lots to say about, but right now is not the time, lest I get further behind on this week's activities.)
     I titled this one "How Not to Blog" because each and every day this week deserved a blog all its own AND in real time. Had I stuck to my plan, there'd be four here by now (adding guilt to the overall mix of things).  So new, so eventful, so gripping some of this week's lessons (not all of them happy ones btw) I was too busy LIVING my life to write about it. So busy was I in questioning (be it instructors, be it myself, be it God) I found myself utterly exhausted by the end of each day, and as a result my body's need for sleep won out over my mental desire to live up to my commitment to a piece of paper made 2 weeks ago.
     So I'm making up for that today.
     Rather than updating you in real time...I'm updating you all at once; 4 days after. The good news is, a bit more reflection is now added to the mix. (Hoping that'll make up for me breaking my New Year's resolution of blogging here daily.)
     So forgive the "week-in-a-day" series of blog entries you're about to receive. Other option was to make one long entry, but given the differences each day held, the former option feels a more organized one, (organization and elimination of things being high on that resolutions list, and one I HAVE stuck to. Of course the year has just begun so I have miles to go before I sleep...)
     First up: Roz's first day of (obedience) school. (Brace yourself. This was one of the precious ones... I know everyone thinks their child special--and each one is-- But Roz, doing something SO off the beaten path for anyone ever from this family to attempt...well, it was an adorable thing to behold... a total unknown for the both of us. But may I just say she was a brave little pupster to have tackled it with such grace and charm.)
     Next on my list:  build some fold out steps for the Jeep so as to get her there by the end of the run or else by end of season she'll be driving...#growingbytheminute)
   

   

Video Blogging 101

     It would help when posting about a new venture into the world of blogging, to POST said video ... (yes, we actually hit a wrong button, which I am only now seeing)

     To make better sense of the afore mentioned (so called) feral cat blog ... I offer you 2 versions of what was meant to be a first... ( video attempt)

Next up -- video editing, and/or updating all systems (which I loathe as I shall lose several days figuring out where the Apple people moved everything)

     (Let us see if THIS allows the clips to show...If not, perhaps I'm best returning to long hand, written journal formats ...)

(Post Script: Rule changes and upgrades are easily lost on one not so technically inclined...Will consult my tech-y-'r friends tomorrow to figure out where all the other video posts of days past went...(Clearly, going forward, all must route through YouTube...that is, assuming the two above actually show up. I won't know until I back out and start again as a viewer.)

While grateful for technological advances, being force to upgrade sucks as there's  not a lot of excess time in our days as it is to stop and figure out what they assure us they've done to save us yet more time~  (which seldom if ever it does) ...Hoping these clips post... (And apologies if perhaps, for some of you, they posted twice. I can't see it from my end until I back out and start again, as clearly things I can see quite clearly in preview...don't make the final scene for you, the viewer.)

Going forward perhaps I'm best to stick to the written word accompanied with the occasional still shot ~ (assuming they haven't forced an upgrade there as well...)

Dear Lord, I miss analog.

So much for my simplified life :)

   

There 'R Blogs...(and then There 'R Blogs) Advancing to the World of the V-log (but not really)

   

More written words to come on my New Year's Resolutions (I actually DO have a lot to say about this, but my dog ate my homework...Literally)

     So may we shift to the "other" version of a blog...which is to say, the "video blog" also known as the "v-log" (which I'm pretty sure was the term 2 years ago...I haven't updated my technology since then, so please allow me this moment)

     To be clear, we are nowhere near ready to claim victory to the video-blogging thing by way of vitae,  but our attempts and excuses as to why ... should be more than self evident here.

     Case in point: please keep in mind, Roz, (cute white pup) is not the only critter taking up real estate in these parts ... In case you just joined us...may I introduce "Gracie" my (so called/not-so-feral) feral cat. (You'll have to scroll backwards if you don't know the history on my vast research into feral cats...why we need them...how all farms/barns should have them...How you should never name them for they will never let you close...)

     (For those of you who know me ... Well, here's the rest of the story. Yes. Gracie's now inside the house.)

     If you are only starting your own personal research on 'ferals' ....you might find this particularly helpful. (Just to let you know, it took two attempts to tell this story. Clearly going forward I need either  a)  to stick to writing or b) to hire a "for real" video editor ... (Pretty certain Steve Jobs is rolling over in his grave about now; surely he never intended his i-phones to be used for such foolish purposes, but hey ...  at least it's in real time :)

     How this all will end...
          well...
                 I'll share as long as I am able...

     Here's to educating the masses as to the pitfalls of the dangerous (so called) feral cat!