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For those of you who haven't heard, I have a new man in my life. No, he isn't Mexican. Cherokee Indian, actually. LOL! (Dusty & Kim Reunion 2003)
I know you've got 'em...so come off with 'em! There were pictures being taken all over the Reunion...so where are they? Huh? Don't make me have to walk, drive, bus, fly out there, knock you over and grab 'em!!!!! Send them on!!!!!!!!! And um, P.S. If you should happen to have one of a really attractive American Indian guy who just happens to be loving up on ME. :-) My feelings wouldn't be hurt to receive the jpeg. Yeah, I wanna see all you other guys too, but at least I know you'll be there again next year, or the year after, or the year.... Hey! I'm 30 something going on 30 something else. I may never have this again. You ladies know EXACTLY what I'm talking about! Dear
Daddy, I'm talking about riveting, intelligent conversation. :-)
12-06-2003 Editor's Note: To
view Lois Johns Miller's Reunion 2003 photos go to:
Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? If I Should Grow Frail
If it should be that I grow frail and weak You
will be sad, I understand We've
had so many happy years together, you and I, Bring
me the one who my needs he'll attend I
know in time you will agree Please
don't grieve that it must be you In
Memory of Trubble After many hours of resting in his adoptive Mother's arms, Trubble Johns did pass away quietly at home on the evening of December 28, 2002. IN attendance, to ease his passing, was Dr. Octavio Blanco, DVM. of Lutz, Florida. His biological Mother, "K.C.", Kitty Cat, and his dear friend Molly, aka Mollinga, a lovely and precocious Balinese, who passed away March 2002 at 17 years of age, preceded Trubble in death. Mourners
present were Snickers, aka "Sniggy" Maurer, Isabella "Bella"
ferret and Babette "Baby" ferret, along with his human
loved ones Jack and Joshua Maurer, and his adoptive Mother, Kimberley. He will sorely be missed by the many whose hearts he did touch in his very long life, graciously given to us by our Heavenly Father. May he Rest in Peace Barb’s
Entry 12/4/02 I hope she is referring to someone else, like a poet or someone else in the creative world, and not my Dad. ??? If she's referring to my Dad and asking if he could have done something in the 8th grade...my answer is that...HE DID! My Dad read every book in the library in like the 2nd grade and the school wanted to promote him above one grade. Only he, or someone, refused. Perhaps my Grandmother Alta, not wanting him to miss out on any part of school life, and knowledge. I don't know. I just know if he said HE DID...well then, HE DID. I, not having read every book in the library when I was in the 2nd grade, was called upon in the 6th grade to read books that were brought into the library to make sure they were suitable for my age group. Taking less mature readers into consideration, of course. After all, I was not in an all girls school and preteen boys would have to understand, and not desecrate, the literature, also! :-) I'd say Daddy rubbed off on me just a bit. Though, unfortunately, not completely. I have no idea what he's talking about when he starts doing that algebra and figuring in his head gunk...:-/ Anyway,
I couldn't find the original discussion that Barb was referring
to. If she was questioning whether Hemingway, Manet, or Rochet,
did something in the 8th grade, I'll understand. If she was questioning
whether my Dad did....well then, I really don't get the question!
:-) HOW I BECAME A FOSTER MOM BY ACCIDENT
by Kim Johns A near-miss of an accident, that is. It was Friday evening, September 21st, and it was the rare occasion that I was alone. This was my partner's birthday, and some friends had invited him out for the evening. I, being the procrastinator that I usually am, had not purchased a gift for him yet. It was getting very late and the stores would be closing soon. I never go out late, especially if I'm by myself, but the gift was not going to buy itself. So, off to Beall's department store I went in the midst of a pretty heavy rain storm. The cashier was none too pleasant when I placed my last minute purchase on her desk at 9:05, and then asked her how much that medley of colognes would cost, which were sitting behind her and hadn't been put into stock yet. $19.95 was the cost, and I grabbed them up! She was just thrilled for me, God bless her. :-) When
I left the store, awesome purchase in hand, I didn't relish the
thought of going home to an empty house. So, with no other brilliant
thoughts coming to me as for where to go, I decided to entertain
myself by turning down a different road, which would give me a different
view of my home as I pulled in. I had recently put in quite a few
plantings in the yard and wanted to see what they looked like from
the East, as opposed to the West, which is how I normally viewed
them. What the heck. I'm easily amused. So I traveled down the road,
just South of my normal route, at a reasonable rate of speed, which
is not the norm for that road on a Friday night. We have always
had teenagers spinning through it at break-neck speed in order to
get to our road that does not have the speed bumps they hate to
deal with. I rounded a sharp curve and decided not to run over that
tin can in my way. I caught the sight, out of the corner of my eye,
of several more tin cans in the road and screeched on brakes thinking
that some teenager must be playing a prank. It seemed like an eternity
but was surely only the matter of a split second decision. The cans,
which no longer looked like cans to me but were simply unidentifiable
objects, were placed about two feet apart from each other. The one
that was furthest out in the road is the one I almost hit. Nothing
moved until I opened the door of my car. PART TWO That is when one previously unidentifiable little kitty lifted its head to see what all the commotion was about. I was shaken and dumbfounded! I had almost run over a litter of kittens! They were all curled up tightly and were obviously fast asleep when I came upon them. I grabbed each one of them up in my arms, softly scolding them and loving them up at the same time. Begging them to tell me what it was they were doing out there in the middle of the road at 9:30 at night. They didn't seem to have the answer, either. I began walking toward the nearest house, assuming the kittens had gotten loose and the "presumed" owner must not be aware of it. The house was a bit ramshackle and badly in need of repair. Also, there was no one home. I made the firm decision right then that, if these kittens did belong to this home, the owner just lost all rights to them. I've raised many a "kitty baby" in my life and never have any of them found themselves sleeping in the middle of the street! There was simply no excuse for that! I piled the babies into my car, and I do mean piled. These guys were about two months old and were not "teeny tots". I just knew my partner would kill me for doing it, but I had to take them home with me. He was already upset that my geriatric 18-year-old boy was having a problem going "potty" and was soiling the carpets. And what with my two ferrets, and his 3-year-old tabby boy, he couldn't possibly be too happy about this. Well, I thought, he will have to just deal with it for one night. I would take them to the Humane Society on Saturday and the home would be back to normal. I placed the babies in our restroom, filled a box with litter, gave them a towel to rest on, a couple of toys and, of course, plenty of food and water. I don't know how long it had been since these babies had eaten, as they did seem pretty healthy, but their reaction to the food told me it had been quite some time. They growled, swatted, hissed, piled over and under each other to get to the food, and even as they chewed and swallowed, they were growling deep in their throats.
L TO R Little Girl, Olive Eyes & Little Girl cleaning Dot Nose PART THREE I took note that the three gray tabbies, and the orange tabby, were all boys. The little "I tried to be a calico" was, of course, a girl. Her coat was black and she had orange "calico-like" colors mottled through her fur. She also had the tip of one of her ears cut off. :-/ I was already having doubts about taking her to the Humane Society. I had to admit, she wasn't so pretty. She was, however, the only one to crawl up on my lap and attempt to get to know me. She was a sweetheart! It was getting awfully late so I left my house mate a note telling him to be careful when he opened the bathroom door and not to be mad. The troop in the bathroom would be off to the Humane Society the next day. To my surprise, when I awoke, Jack was not upset at all. "Snickers, his 3 year old tabby boy, doesn't like the kittens very much", he told me, "but the ferrets love them!" I couldn't believe it! He had exposed all our family pets to kittens we knew nothing about. Were they diseased? Could they possibly spread something to our pets that inoculations couldn't protect them from? How could we know? But, what was done, was done. And "no", he said, "Let's find them good homes. No Humane Society. And that is where my saga began. Little did I know just how much the County of Hillsborough is inundated with unwanted, homeless cats and kittens. I'd never even heard of foster programs and "no-kill" facilities, but 2 months later, here I am and I am getting to know them well. I even know of the facilities that many people thought were "no-kill", but aren't.
L TO R Dot Nose, Olive Eyes & Little Girl, Sweet Face PART FOUR Not wanting to place an ad in the paper for fear of the "wrong" type of parent adopting them, I began education myself about these "foster" programs. Each weekend I called the St. Francis Society, while they were at PetSmart trying to get other homeless babies placed for adoption. Each volunteer I spoke with vowed sincerely to see to it that someone get back with me and help me out. No one ever did. I even told them I would volunteer my time, money, and whatever else they were in need of. My offer didn't help my cause. No call back. I called many veterinary clinics that I was told could help me. "No" was the answer. These babies are too old. People only want "teensy-tiny" babies. I called every adoption program I could find. "All full" was the answer. Many would not even put my name on a wait list. I was even scolded harshly by a PetSmart employee who told me that she had 40-50 babies of her own at home that she couldn't find homes for. "Deal with it until you find them a home" she told me. I was thinking, "40-50 babies is very unhealthy for both you and the babies. Get help somewhere, lady!" Time after time I heard, "No room at the inn." And the statistics I heard, I would rather have never known. A Humane Society employee told me that 7,200 cats and kittens were taken in last year. Only 400 found homes. That means that 6,800 cats and kittens were euthanized last year at the Humane Society alone. That is horrible! "How can that be?" I asked. Well, that is more than one cat placed for adoption per day. She had a point. What more can an organization be expected to do? Running out of options, I finally gave in and placed ads in the Tribune, and in the Flyer. The orange tabby went quickly. A little boy absolutely fell in love with him and his Mommy even called me a few days after adopting him to let me know how he was faring, and that she already scheduled an appointment to have him neutered and get his inoculations. Whew! He had found a truly good home. Only, that was the only response I had to my Tribune ad. Both ads read, "Three orphaned tabby boys. Healthy, playful, and well trained. Please call for adoption interview". (I still had hopes of keeping the orange tabby and the calico. The calico has even learned to play fetch!) They were the most dynamic of the "troop" and they absolutely adored each other. I had no responses from the flyer. That was strange, I thought. I checked my ad the second week it came out and then I knew why I'd had no responses. Instead of the "happy kitty face" I'd requested to have next to my ad, there was a nurses hat! Therefore, my ad was lost among the rubble. My partner, having been "somewhat" patient for these two months has finally lost his patience. Two weeks ago he packed them into the kitty carrier and told me he was off to the Humane Society with them. I was sobbing as he left, and I said to him, "No one will want the calico. She will definitely be killed!" This was before I had heard the grim statistics of how many animals actually get placed. Ten minutes later he walked into the house with tears running down his face. The kittens never cried or whined, never made a peep. Two of them simply reached their arms out of the carrier and placed them on his arm. "They knew what was about to happen to them", he said. It crushed his heart. But now here it is, two weeks later, and the babies are loving the new furniture. As a scratching post, that is. My partner has had it and demands that they all be gone by the end of the day. If they aren't gone, he is taking them to the Humane Society. I've expended all of my options. Billie from Fix and Feed has promised to pay to have them spayed/neutered and inoculated, if I can just hold on until they can find a home for them. Fix and Feed is the only organization that has even offered to help and, whether the kitties are placed through them or not, I will be donating my time and money to Fix and Feed. I have begged friends and family to please just foster them until I can get them placed, but to no avail. Everyone is afraid of being "stuck" with them, or falling in love with them and not being able to let them go. One gracious woman has even promised me that she will find homes for them within the week but, according to my partner, their time is up. So, that is where I am as I write this. He just walked in five minutes ago and told me he is taking a nap and, when he wakes up, the kitties go. I'm going to make a few more phone calls in hopes that I can find someone to foster these little darlings, with me paying for the food and litter, but my hopes are not very high.
For
anyone who doesn't "get it" yet, please read and re-read
this story and, for God's sake, and the animal's sake, GET IT!
PART FIVE November 21, 2002 They just had their first doctor's visit this morning, thanks to the "St. Francis Society" who, through the efforts of volunteers and donations, seeks out good homes for orphaned animals. They are one, of many, no kill organizations that take on this huge task. They now have an adoption fee of $60, which will cover the cost of inoculations and spay/neuter All of the no-kill facilities that I contacted in my two months as a "Foster Mom" to these babies were full...and remained that way. Many would not even take my name to put it on a waiting list. St. Francis saved these little guys' lives, and Fix and Feed also stepped up to bat, willing to get them inoculated and spayed/neutered, but had no "room at the inn". Nor did St. Francis, but a wonderful, caring woman stepped up to take them in and not see them put down. Remember, they still need a good home as her hands are now full. She saved their lives, against her policy of not fostering animals. She has so many other tasks to attend to on their behalf. It is not just cats whose lives are saved by these groups. It is any animal who finds itself homeless and in need of care. Type in keyword "no kill facilities" on your browser and you will find many of these "little known about" "Humane" organizations. And
by the way....spay/neuter your pet. :-)
My Daddy For Bill by Kimberley What could I ever say about my Daddy? What couldn’t I say about my Daddy? He was always the man who could do anything! If it was broke, he fixed it. If it hurt, he kissed it and made it better. If is called for a lullaby, he sang it. If it called for his pocket- knife, it was a splinter in my foot! Of course, all little girls think their Daddies are special, but when it comes to "My Daddy" it’s true! He taught me love for all things great and small. He taught me love for red and yellow, black and white. And if there’s something that must be done, you don’t ask how! You do it! My ever-patient Mom never knew what I might bring in the house next. Often times it was an unfortunate snake that had the bad luck to get in the path of a curious little girl. (My Daddy had certainly taught me love for all!) For hours, the poor, misguided animal would slither up the living room wall, out of its newfound bucket home until my Daddy would get home from work. I’d wait in heightened anticipation to see Daddy’s old, dusty-blue truck lumbering up our dirt drive. I’d run and jump in his arms, as always and, for a moment, my reptilian prize would be forgotten as I had far more important things to contemplate. (Such as the Wrigley’s gum that Daddy always had in his rough pocket, always placed there "just for me!") I’d nuzzle up to his neck, which always smelled "just like Daddy", forage my Wrigley’s out of his pocket and, once it was chewed up well and satisfying my mouth with its juices, I’d remember myself and SQUEAL, "Daddy! Guess what I found! Guess what I found!" Daddy would always take the confused and frightened creature out of its predicament and explain to me, "This is one of God’s creatures, given to us for a short time to help us learn and grow and teach us to love. We have to let it go and live the way God meant for it to live." How many times did I hear that over the years? Every time I lost a beloved pet and Daddy, who always gave the Eulogy, would say his prayer and remind me, "They were given to us from God, as a gift, and they have served their duty well. Their job here is done and now you should reflect on what they taught us and be thankful that we were given the gift of their life." Daddy always taught me to put first what was right. Not the way I wanted it to be but the way that it should be. The way it was meant to be. I have "My Daddy" to thank. Not for the mistakes I’ve made in my life but for the decisions I’ve made to right those mistakes. I have a beautiful and treasured baby boy to show for ‘My Daddy’s" teachings. It wasn’t my way. It was the right way. I Love You Daddy! Happy Fathers Day! P.S. Daddy, if I told all the stories I could think of, I’d have to set up my own site dedicated just to you! There are so many things you taught me! Why, I still drink out of the milk jug (I have to buy my own now.) And, I can burp really, really loud!!! P.S.S. The parrot did too go across the wire on a Uni-Cycle!!!!!!
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