This past weekend I traveled to Northern California to attend my cousin's wedding. I left early on Saturday morning and drove and drove and drove. I drove for 4-1/2 hours until I got to Santa Nella, CA, where I stopped at In-n-Out and had an animal style cheeseburger and fries. I also bought some gasoline and used the facilities. Before I had my car engine rebuilt, I would have had to stop much earlier, but the old car gets really good mileage now. :)

I arrived at my sister's house at around 4:30. They live kind-of out in the woods in Angwin. And, because they only live at this particular home part-time, they had no phone, no internet, and no TV. Also, because they are in the middle of nowhere, they get no cell service. I honestly did not like that much quiet, although some people might find it relaxing.

It has been awhile since I blogged. I fell that I am not managing my time well. I honestly should be able to accomplish more in a day than I actually do.

Thank you again for your condolences and gestures of caring after the death of my beloved Milo. He was an amazing dog, and I still miss him every day.

Meanwhile, we have found a new friend to live with us at our house.

I have other pictures of him, but they are still in my camera, and I'm too lazy to upload them right now. So these will have to do.

Our new friend's name is Barney. He was adopted from the Northeast Los Angeles County Animal Shelter about 1 month ago. He was a stray and had been at the shelter for a month before we adopted him, so he was pretty yucky and stinky when he came to live at our house. He even had paint on his fur. He was also not neutered, so he had to go to the doctor first and then came to our house post-op. (Hence, the cone.) He had to wear the cone for 2 weeks and was not allowed to have a bath until the cone came off.

Now he is all clean and feeling at home. He sleeps on the kitchen love seat and has many toys to play with. Yesterday he ate Mom's breakfast leftovers from the table, dug through the recyling and spread paper all over the floor, and tore the feet off of one of his (actually Milo's) toys. He also has learned the sound of the garage opening and how to rest his head on my lap while I'm studying. He is becoming "my dog" but is also "our dog," since Pop went to the shelter with me this time. He is a friendly, sweet, dog, if a bit rough around the edges. He's not as gentle as Milo and Tim Tam, but with patience he will learn to be.

I am still in mourning for Milo. I miss him every day and cry about him often. But I am learning to love my new dog and to give him the life he did not have in the shelter. I'll keep you updated.

Grief is exhausting. Thank you to everyone who sent their condolences about the loss of my sweet Milo. It has been a very hard week for me. I stayed in bed for two days until I had to get up to teach a class. I have been back to bed on and off since then. I cried so much in the first 24 hours that I gave myself abrasions on my eyelids. I had to sleep with the windows open for several days, even when I was cold, because my bedroom smelled like dog. Yes, it has been hard. But I managed to get some work accomplished today, and I did go to school yesterday. (Oh, that was rough. My knees actually buckled when I walked in the door at home.) My eyelids are back to normal. Febreze appropriately directed does wonders. And there have been several of you...

So thank you especially to:

V for checking on me regularly and the cookie-baking session
P for calling and texting
M for the beautiful letter
R for letting me cry on your shoulder
T for understanding enough to let me off the hook tonight

...and to the rest of you who were so kind to me.

FYI, I am not going to answer any of the questions some of you asked. This is not something I want to discuss. And, no, I am not going to get another dog right away. I understand the reasoning when some of you have suggested this, but we all grieve differently. The next one will come along when the time is right, just as Ginger, Tim Tam, and Milo did. Until then, my arms will be empty. Again, thank you...

I've never been anyone's favorite. You may think that's a strange statement, but it's true. As the third child, it's hard to be the favorite. I have a theory that within families, aunties and uncles choose their favorites by whoever is the "baby" when they are falling in love. So my oldest sister was my Auntie Jemimah and Uncle Jerrys's favorite, and my second sister was my Auntie Daisy and Uncle Gerhard's favorite. No one was in love when I was the baby, so I ended up being no one's favorite.

By the time I came along, everyone was too busy even to give me a nickname, even a funny one, such as "Neng Neng" or "Lors." I was just the generic "Anak," the kid. My friend S loves to give nicknames to women. He names them after actresses, characters in movies and TV and comics and books; he plays with variants on their names and their looks. But he's never given me a nickname in all these years, because he only gives nicknames to beautiful women. Only once has he even called me "Kat," and that was because he was trying to impress another girl. It's always Kathy or, when he is angry, he uses my last name. The only time I ever had a true nickname was when A and J used to call me "Pokey," because they thought my long hair reminded them of Pocahantas. They have no idea how much it meant to me to have a nickname, even though it was a silly one. A nickname shows endearment. I needed that.

In school I was smart but didn't know it. I didn't really excel until I was much older. I was relatively quiet and didn't get a whole lot of attention. I still don't. I certainly wasn't anyone's favorite in school. I was just...there.

But for almost 39 months of my life, I finally learned what it was like to be someone's favorite. When I went to the shelter that day, I actually had a list of dogs I wanted to look at. It was the third time I'd been to the shelter, and no dog had felt right. I looked at the dogs on my list but didn't think any of them was right. I walked up and down the aisles several times, not sure why I didn't leave, but I had to look again and again. One cage had a sign on it that said, "Shepherd mix." As much as I love German shepherds, I was not sure that I could handle a dog that needed as much attention as a shepherd needs. So I walked by without looking. But he was looking. I walked by that cage at least 4 times, each time noticing that the dog in the cage was watching me intently. He would follow me with his head every time. I finally stopped to look and realized that he wasn't a German shepherd at all; he looked more like a beagle.  Since a beagle had just won the Westminster dog show the night before, I was drawn to beagles. (Also, a cute boy once told me I should own a beagle, so I have a thing for them.) But this dog wasn't a beagle; he was too big. Turns out that he was a harrier, and I had to do some research to learn about the breed. So that was how Milo chose me. I was his favorite from the very beginning.

It took him a full year to the day to decide to sleep on my bed. He had graduated from his bed in the kitchen to the whole kitchen to my bedroom floor. But on the anniversary of his adoption, he decided that he was going to sleep on the bed. And he did. He would usually jump down after a little while and spend the night on the floor--or lately, on the floor of my closet--but as soon as it got light, he would be back up on the bed. Sometimes I wouldn't even know he was there until I woke up.  If I was too close to the edge of the bed, he would cry until I woke up and moved to give him room to jump up. Or sometimes he would just jump on me. When I woke up, I'd say "Let's go, Milo." He would scoot up from his place at my feet until he was close enough to pet. Then I would rub and tickle his belly. He would roll on his back in utter joy. We played like this until he would sneeze from being on his back for too long. Then we would do it again. Then I'd say, "Let's go, Milo." He'd jump down and be ready to start our day.

If I went out during the day, even if it was just to go to the car, he would be waiting when I came home, usually with a toy.
 I admit that I couldn't resist buying him toys; they made him so happy. He would bring the toy to the door, but when I would try to take it, he would run away. If, however, I did not say, "Thank you, Milo," and try to take the toy, he would follow me around with it, pushing it against my thighs and rear until I gave him appropriate acknowledgement.

Another of our favorite activities was when I would sit on the top step in the hallway. He would sit right next to me then all of a sudden put his head on my chest and lean...hard. I would pet and pet and pet him until he would slide down and put his head on my lap. Sometimes he would fall asleep, but sometimes I would say, "Let's go," and we would run down the stairs.

My parents loved Milo. Milo knew them as "Grandma" and "Grandpa." If my dad went to take the trash out or if my dad went somewhere and Milo heard the car returning, Milo would whimper by the door until "Grandpa" came back in. If he heard the car coming, he would look around, deciding which toy to bring with him. At dinner, Milo would put his head on my dad's lap, hoping his cuteness would get him a treat from the table. But as much as he loved my parents, mine was the bed he slept in and mine was the room he thought of as his.

I was his favorite. For the first time in my life, I was someone's favorite. And he was mine. I called him "Milo, Milito, the Mexican dog." He wasn't really, of course. I was just making up a song to sing to him one day (something he thought was very strange), and it sounded like a Mexican song. So he became "Milo, Milito, the Mexican dog," with his own special song.

I do not have very much. (I know you're thinking, "yes, you do," but stick with me here.) I have been begging God for a job, love, a house, a family. Milo was all of those things. He was my one true love, my child, my family. He made this house (my parents' house) a home in a way I didn't know existed. Being his mommy was the one job I truly loved. He was my loyal companion
,
 my brave protector,
my best friend.
He saved my life, just by being. He was the only one who truly loved me first, and he made sure to let me know it. "Am I your favorite, Milo?" I would ask. He would lick my face and kiss me. "You're my favorite," I would respond. You're my own baby dog, and I love you. You're my own precious dog forever."

He put up with my crazy schemes and costumes,
 just to be with me. He was mine, my very own, the one thing that was my very own. I do not know why God would take away my one thing from me. God has not seen fit to give me the other things I have asked for; instead, God took away the one thing I had. I am devastated and hurt and angry. I cannot understand why God could be so cruel to take away my one true love.

As we begin the year 2010, many of us are making new resolutions, setting new goals, hoping new hopes. So, I offer this as inspiration for the day when the newness wears off--Faith the Dog!

I had heard about her before, but when I read this article a few weeks ago, I was inspired all over again. Faith was born with undeveloped front legs, so her owners taught her to walk on her hind legs, upright. Now, at 7 years old, she makes appearances to give hope to people who have lost limbs from disease, wars, and accidents.

Faith teaches me two things. First, sometimes when things don't work out the way I've planned, they can still work out. Second, a lot can be accomplished when someone is rooting for me. :)

(If you are reading this on Facebook, you have to go to my actual blog to see my blogroll.)

Just added a new blog to my blogroll. It's written by our school mascot, Duke. He is a beautiful English bulldog and just became a grandfather. It's a really cute blog and will make you feel happy when you see the picture of the puppies. Check it out! :)

I've been trying to take Milo out more often. It's good for both of us--we both need the walks. Today we walked just a little farther than we had been, even though it's been unseasonably warm.

As we were walking along, we saw a man with a dog coming toward us. He was several houses away, and, as most people do, he crossed the street to avoid a dog encounter. Milo, true to form, began pulling at the leash and whining. Surprisingly, the man (whose name turned out to be Paul) understood what Milo was crying about. Instead of walking away quickly, he came back across the street to let the two dogs meet. They sniffed at each other, while the "parents" discussed our "children." His dog looked like a beagle from far away, but up close her face looked more terrier-ish. Anyway, the funny thing was that once the dogs smelled each other up close, they were fine--no more crying, whining, barking, or pulling. The four of us parted, and Milo and I continued our walk without any trouble.

So Milo made a friend today, just because someone crossed the street to say hello. I know there's an object lesson in there somewhere. If you think of one, feel free to post it. :)

Wishing you a Merry Christmas from me and Milo!!!

A dog was hailed as a hero on Sunday after it risked its life to save a litter of newborn kittens from a house fire, rescuers said.

This is just more proof that dogs are awesome! :)

Pedigree has a cool project right now called the Million Dog Mosaic. You can upload your dog's picture, and it will become a part of a greater whole. Tim Tam and Milo are both in the mosaic. Tim Tam's code is tim1 and Milo's is milo25. It's pretty cool

Here's the link . . . click here.

If you want to be sad, read this story about a pair of dogs that sacrificed their lives for their owners.

Here are some pictures of me and Tim Tam, taken by Stephen. :)

Tim Tam was adopted on March 17, 2007. He died on December 27, 2007. He was my best friend. I miss him very much.

Meanwhile, I found this article that explains why it's so important to have pets.