Okay, so I know doodley about web stuff but since AW makes it easy for me to change some basics, I thought it was about time to update the hovel! Got a new avatar; seemed to make sense since I'm a blonde and not a red-head. I'm feeling pink this week so my background got changed. Updated the hound photos since Sam is now acting as head watchdog to the gods. Will probably add cat photos since they are such a HUGE part of my life (and Friend Heraklia has commented on their absence from the hovel!)

The grinder has been holding out all year (knock wood and sacrifice 30 lbs. of chicken thighs to the appropriate grinder deities). The cats have done splendidly on the changed diet! No ickies in the litter box, much better attitudes and energy, just happier kitties all around. I highly recommend a strictly raw meat diet to anyone with cats. We'll never feed ours any other way.

The cleanup/renovation on the house owned by my Love FINALLY progressed to the point where we were able to move in on the first of September. The beasts all seem to have adjusted to the new digs without too much drama. There's still a lot of work to be done but we've managed to finish a few rooms so it feels like we're living at home and not on a construction site! The cats remembered living here before and are a little frustrated that they are no longer allowed to run amok then disappear out to the garage. Griffin, in particular, wants to go adventuring out there but I refuse to allow it since 1) I like having them all indoors with us 2) I don't want them disappearing to the garage and hiding if they happen to get sick and 3) I suspect that there are spiders out there bigger than they are!

My new grinder, purchased about a month ago, is having troubles.It starts off just fine; merrily grinds 30 pounds of chicken thighs like it hasn't a care in the world. But then, when I've got 6 hungry cats circling around a huge bucket of partially slopped chicken and my Love is cringeing in anticipation of the sounds of crunching bones and begging me to just get it over with... only then does the fickle piece of machinery decide to take a powder!

Luckily the seller of said grinder was remarkably responsive to my dilemma and has promised a speedy repair if I will just ship the unit to him. Let's hope he keeps his word. I only have enough slop to feed the mutants for a week; then it's every man for himself and "guard your toes at night dear" because the kitties are hungry!

These mutants are such social creatures. They'll put up with just about anybody if it means staying warm.

It's been on my mind to write about Sam again but I haven't been able to do it. I haven't been able to let myself think about him much. It's too hard, too painful. His pictures are everywhere but I only give them a passing glance. To focus on them, to look closely and see the dog he was and think about the dog he became. . . I can't do it. He was a good dog trying to make the best of the circumstances in which I placed him.

Being a border collie, or at least a border collie mix, he'd always been mildly crazy from the first day I adopted him 10 years ago at a local dog pound. My friend Wendy once said that Sam was a "dog's dog." He didn't care about what the people were doing, he was all about what the dogs were doing. When he moved in with me he suffered from fear aggression, separation anxiety, claustraphobia, and an insane need to chase EVERYTHING. Over time we conquered most of the problems but as he became more confident that the world around him wasn't going to eat him, he also became more dominant with other dogs. I noted the problem, managed it (or so I thought), and figured we were okay.

When I moved from California, where Sam was my constant companion, to Oklahoma, where he could no longer go to work with me each day, I worried about him being alone so much. I adopted a small female greyhound and she and Sam adored each other on sight. I had always been fascinated by greyhounds and I gradually became more and more involved in efforts to get them adopted when they retired from the track. Then I got married, blah, blah, blah. The short version is that I was busy and Sam stopped getting the time and attention he used to. Oh sure, he was still an inside dog, still slept at the foot of the bed and guarded me when I took my evening baths, but I wasn't there for him the way I used to be during our first years together.

I made a lot of mistakes. The biggest one was thinking that Sam's dominance issues had gotten better as he'd matured. I adopted a male greyhound mix puppy and the two seemed to get along splendidly, that is until the puppy grew up. My marriage had gone bad after only 4 years and I was distracted. There were some scuffles, lots of noise, a little blood, until I figured out that I had to supervise all their interactions for things to be okay.

This year was a big year. My new Love and I moved in together in January and all was sweetness and light with one exception... Sam. With some trepidition, we combined households which meant Sam suddenly had to tolerate 4 new males who were bigger than he, along with 6 new cats. This time I was extremely careful. Baby gates everywhere, near constant supervision, plenty of exercise for everyone. But my Love was not accustomed to living with a crazy dog; he was not used to having to watch every glance and tail twitch for signs of trouble. The new dogs outweighed Sam by 45 lbs. Once again there were scuffles, only this time they were serious. Lots of blood, lots of vet bills, lots of sleepless nights keeping the wounded company and comfortable. Sam was not happy, I could see that. But because of his special problems rehoming him was not an option - he was not safe for the average pet owner and anyone I knew who might be able to handle him already had their quota of male dogs.

So we instituted a new policy of zero contact with the young males, supervised contact with the senior who Sam didn't seem to mind, and female hormone injections by our vet in hopes of curbing Sam's need to be in charge. It was stressful and exhausting for me but I was willing to do it if it meant Sam would be happier and everyone would be safer.

As it turns out Sam still wasn't happy. He began grumbling at the cats and snapped at one that ventured too close. He'd never done such a thing before so I began trying to keep them away from him as well. The last straw came on a lovely Saturday morning when Sam launched an unprovoked attack on the old guy - 14 year old Bleu who is arthritic, falls over in a strong wind, nearly deaf, and totally unable to defend himself. Luckily I was less than 10 steps away and was able to drag Sam backwards while Bleu struggled to pick himself up.

We ran out of options that day. I loved Sam. His unhappiness was my fault, brought about by the choices I made to further MY happiness. And now I had the safety of the other animals to consider. The vet agreed that given his temperment and age there was nothing else I could do.

I stayed with Sam until the end. Figured if I was going to have his life cut short I had a responsibility to be there. The vet made it as gentle as possible; Sam got a sedative first, then he just wasn't there anymore. I held him and wept the entire time. I tell myself that he made it to 11 years old with me; without me he would likely have been put down before he was 2. It's no comfort.

Sam was a good dog. I loved him. I will grieve for him always.

I'm a blues fan, always have been. Plug into my ipod and a lot of what comes out is music of the "I ain't got a dime, my woman just left me, my old dog died, but my guitar's still plays good" variety. Some of it isn't necessarily hard core blues; some of it is music a blues purist wouldn't even call the blues but might be inclined to call jazz. But as I mentioned, I'm a fan not a purist so I don't give a dog's fart what they want to call it, it's blues to me.

Every blues fan knows Mr. B.B. King, King of the Blues. I've spent a lot of time, a lot of quality time, with Mr. King's music. When money's tight, B.'s right there singing those "Inflation Blues." When I ended a long-term relationship and moved out of state, he sang "The Thrill is Gone" and "I'm Movin' On" like he wrote 'em just for me. When I come to a fork in the road and have to choose, Mr. King tells me to keep it "Full Speed Ahead."

For all my love of B.B. King's music, I've never seen him play in person. He's no spring chicken anymore - he's 80 years old and in his words, he's a diabetic with bad knees who can't remember much these days. He's doing his "farewell tour." Says he's not stopping, just slowing down. Either way there's a good chance I won't get another opportunity to be in the presence of the King. And that is why last night my Love and I slogged through a muddy, swampy field to stand in the cold and rain for 3 hours shoulder to shoulder with cigarette smokers (my Love is allergic) and drunken buffoons (I am intolerant). B. came to town last night. I almost wept watching him onstage and listening to him play. God that man can play. If he were 40 years younger or I were 40 years older... Be still my heart.

Ya know, as I stood there with water dripping off my nose, up to my ankles in mud and spilled beer, I kept thinking what a classy guy B.B. King is. He's got a great band and he knows it and appreciates them. He's got lots of folks around that love him and he appreciates that too. He gave credit where credit was due and he seemed truly touched that we'd all stand around in the downpour to see him and hear him pick a few licks.

Seeing B.B. King play last night was the fulfillment of one of my life's dreams (sorry, I'm a pretty simple gal) but it was bittersweet too. B.'s startin to show his age and I know that sadly, he's gonna pass on someday. I imagine that I'll quietly grieve for him, just like many other fans. And when they play "Everybody wanna know why I sing the blues" I'll tell 'em it's because the King is gone.

I need to win the lottery. It would free me up to do so many other things. I have a list:

Train the dogs
Cross stitch
Research SCA period garb
Sew SCA period garb
Attend SCA events
Research Vikings
Write something interesting and useful about Vikings
Upload said interesting and useful something to homesite
Go visit Dad
Go visit friends
Go to Disneyland
Research the Goths
Read all those History Book Club books I've purchased but haven't had time to read
Learn to cook something other than tacos
Travel to wherever BB King is playing
Travel multiple times to wherever Rod Piazza and the Mighty Flyers are playing
Research the Friesans and learn a little about "my people" (It would make Dad proud)
Learn Dutch
Learn French
Learn Russian
Visit Holland
Visit France
Visit Russia

See... It's not a short list! I have things to do! Having a job so interferes!!!! But alas, I keep forgetting to buy any bloody lottery tickets!

Sam is an old dog. He's not ancient, but he's beyond the age of 7, which is the age most dogs are categorized as "seniors." At a little over 11 years old, he's spent 10 years of his life with me yet he remains for the most part a fairly dignified and reserved creature. I adopted him from a dog pound and believe him to be a border collie mix. I have no idea what his life was like before me but I know that he probably would not have lived past age 2 if I had not adopted him. I know this because he is crazy and there are not many people willing to adopt a crazy dog that is smarter than they are.

When I got Sam he suffered from severe separation anxiety, severe fear aggression, and a total lack of manners, in addition to having a dominance streak a mile wide. He's better mannered in his old age and the anxiety and aggression are HUGELY improved, although I remain vigilent just in case it should ever return. But he's still a nutbag and he's still finds ways every day to outsmart me.

Sam's never been a touchy-feely kind of dog. He makes it known that I'm his by following me around everywhere and guarding me when I sleep. I guess he figures that should be all the affection I need from him. He seeks me out for butt scritchies anytime I sit down for business in the bathroom but that's about it.

Sam is my first dog and during our early years together I wanted to do things right so I read a couple of bookshelves worth of "training" manuals. That was before the shift towards positive reinforcement and the building of a relationship with your dog based upon mutual respect and trust. Owners were still being told to be "dominant" and encouraged to use choke chains for correction during training. You weren't really teaching the dog what you wanted him to do, just what you DIDN'T want him to do. I've come to recognize that I was far too demanding and too hard on Sam. He became a better behaved dog but the method didn't build trust and he's never really been one to play with me or snuggle with me on the couch much.

At 11, Sam's still as dominant as he ever was. More so probably. He's cranky and less tolerant of the younger males who have come into our lives during the past few years. Mixing 6 dogs (4 males and 2 females), one of whom hates other male dogs, requires an inordinate amount of pack management and awareness of the silent communications that go on between them. I spend a lot of time working to keep everyone calm and quiet so my tempermental boy doesn't use the excitement as an excuse to pick a fight with one of the other resident guys - who are at least twice his weight and height, by the way. I worry a lot that Sam's not happy. I know he'd have preferred to remain an only dog forever but circumstances have taken our lives down a path that didn't allow for that. I'm happier, but I'm don't think he is. But I digress...

Because rowdy dogs tend to turn into fighting dogs when Sam is around, I am the fun police. No running, jumping, bouncing, growling, barking, playing with toys, wrestling,or getting "wound up" in the house if everyone is together as a pack. This morning all the planets aligned just right. The 3 big guys were gated off in a bedroom, the 2 girls were out in the backyard, and it was just Sam and me in the den when he did a really unusual thing, a thing I haven't had seen do with a human in years - he got a case of the sillies. He chased me around the furniture, I chased him, he jumped on me and play growled, pulled at my robe. Then he went on a tear through the house and I swear he was smiling, just grinning from ear to ear. For about 10 minutes he was as happy as it's possible for Sam to be.

Sam has been a special needs dog from the start and I've always done the best I can by him. But me being me, I've often wondered if I could have done better and I've regularly thought that he DESERVED better. There have been a lot of times over the years when I've thought how much easier my life would have been if I hadn't gotten involved with dogs in general and with Sam in particular. But then I think of all the good things I'd have missed like snuggling up in the night between my Love and Rusty-the-bane-of-Sam's-existence, or giving ear rubs that make Eli rest his big head on my leg and groan. I realized this morning that all the stress and aggravation, all the blood, sweat, tears, vomit, and diarrhea, all the walks for miles in the cold and heat with dogs who wouldn't do their business, all the vet bills - none of those things really mattered because without them I wouldn't have Sam. For some people, the price of pet ownership is too high. For me the joy of playing with my Sam, the dog who doesn't play, is priceless.

Ah the joys of jury duty. That's right, you guessed it, I've been summoned. In this state, one is required to appear and be a part of the "jury pool" for the entire week for which one is summoned. It's boring, it's tedious, it's uncomfortable, it's my duty.

Don't get me wrong; I recognize that our system is designed to be as fair as possible and that everyone has a right to trial before an impartial jury of their peers. The problem is that as I listen to the questions being asked of potential jurors, I wonder if these people are responding truthfully and I ponder what my responses will be if and when it is my turn in the jury box.

Unfortunately, I do not believe that I am capable of being a fair and impartial juror. My years in a law firm have tainted me and I have become jaded and cynical. My attitude is fair only in that I hold both sides in equal contempt. My state of mind, as I listen to the questions and observe both the prosecution and defense, is such that I would not want me in the jury box if I were one of the parties actively involved in the trial.

But how does one say these things in open court, in the presence of others who have vowed repeatedly that they can put aside their personal prejudices and be impartial? And the even bigger question is how can any one of us disregard all of our previous life experiences and preconceived notions to fairly judge another? Admittedly it is a juror's job to judge the FACTS presented as evidence in a case. But you do that by watching and weighing. Does this person appear to be telling the truth? Does that person look shifty? How do you keep your personal preferences and stereotypes from playing a role in your judgment of what the truth is and who is telling it?

I don't have any good answers. It is my belief that most individuals THINK they can be fair and impartial but they are kidding themselves. It is my belief that a judge's questioning forces potential jurors to lie because they feel pressured and worry that to say they can't be impartial reflects badly upon them as people.

It's always been my attitude that a girl's gotta know her limitations. Right or wrong, I believe it is beyond me to act as a fair and impartial juror because my 20 years in the legal field have exposed me to matters and issues with which most people have no experience. Regardless of how this admission reflects upon me as a person, I believe it is my responsibility - my civic duty, if you will, - to make this admission.

So tomorrow will be another day in the jury pool. I will wait my turn, I will state my position, and I have little doubt that I will be judged unfavorably by others. That's okay. I'd rather be a cynic than a liar.

Being woefully ignorant about the country and culture from which your ancestors come puts one at a disadvantage when getting involved in a site like Ancient Worlds. You're bound to screw up right off the bat. Doing something as simple as choosing a name and a neighborhood turn into total guesswork.

Luckily, from what I've seen so far, having picked a name from Norway doesn't preclude me from posting about/researching other places. Which is a good thing since I know even less about Norway than I know about Friesland!