Good news!

In my first post of 2013, back on New Year's Day, I wrote about a dog named ET, who lived in a Kansas City cemetery with a deer named Ella. They were great friends. But some people were worried that ET might not be able to survive the harsh winter outdoors. So they had her moved to an animal shelter in hopes of finding her a permanent home.

ET and Ella

Well, this just in: ET has been adopted! While she was at the shelter, her name was changed to Mattie. (Mike wonders if Matt Campbell, a Kansas City Star reporter who covered the story last December, had anything to do with that.) But once she went to her "forever" home, her new human changed it again, to Moxie. Mike says there's a famous poem by T. S. Eliot about cats having to have three different names, but that seeing this rule applied to dogs is a first for him. I had to remind him that while he usually calls me Buddy, sometimes I'm Bud, Puppy, Pup-Pup, Pup-a-licious, Muttley, Sweet Buns, Big Doggie, or just plain Dawg. (I'm probably leaving a couple out.)

If you haven't read my January post, which has links to Mr. Campbell's original coverage and a related TV news clip, or if you've read it but would like a refresher, follow this link.

To see the story about ET's new home (and names!), follow this one.

As for Ella, she still lives at the cemetery, where she got through the winter okay despite being pushed around by some bad dogs. The people who run the place say that ET-Mattie-Moxie hasn't been back to visit Ella yet, but that she's welcome any time. I can understand her new person's wanting to wait awhile. After I came to live with Mike and Jeannie, Mike didn't walk me past my old wooded sinkhole for at least a year.

I'm too tipsy to tip my hat.

If I had some opposable thumbs and the strength to raise my arms, I'd tip my hat to St. Paddy. Like most adopted Sons of Erin, I'm a bit knackered from celebrating all day. Wanted to put in a blog appearance, even though I know I'm not at my best. (Mike says this picture looks like a mugshot. He probably knows what he's talking about.)

I think I'll skip the typing today. Instead, I've asked M to find us a piece of music that suits the occasion, something with a sweet melody and words that have a proper amount of Irish suffering. He says this one fits the bill. (For the full-size YouTube video, click here.) :

I'm still not over this.

 I thought I was, but I  was wrong.

Today is my Grandma Grace's 89th birthday. It's also been exactly one year since Grandpa George died. A pretty strange coincidence, huh? But wait--it gets stranger. As some of you who have followed this blog for a while may know, Grandma died on Grandpa's birthday two years ago.

At first I thought there was a bit of dark humor in this--and I still do, at odd times during the year. But when their actual birthdays arrive, it feels like someone's put vinegar on my ice cream. Today I'm sad because Grandma isn't here to enjoy her birthday with us. But I'm extra bummed because I remember Grandpa's not around either. And I'll bet that on May 27th, when he would have turned 91, I'll feel double-slammed again.

I hope my readers won't mind if I take the easy way out today and rerun this "Happy Birthday" slideshow that we made for Grandma last year:



As for Grandpa, Mike says we should be glad that he's resting where he wanted to be, with so many of his Army comrades in the Florida National Cemetery.

His other grandson, my cousin Bryce, went to visit his grave recently:

Grandma . . . Grandpa . . . we still love and miss you a whole bunch!