Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Babe (and Maggie)

I'm fifteen minutes into a chat with Max and Lorraine tonight before Mom mentions, "did I tell you about those two dogs we rescued last week?"

No. It must've slipped her mind. And I was immediately wondering -- out loud -- how she managed to get them past my stepdad, who does not possess the same weakness that she and I share for animal rescue.

"Oh I wore him down," she said matter-of-factly. "He had his chemo that day and he was too sick to fight me."

They'd been to the lake to take their dogs for a run when they encountered a couple of six-month-old puppies, clearly abandoned, hungry, and scared. They didn't have their usual extra dog supplies of treats/food, but finally they found a drum of peanut butter in the car (only my parents would have a spare drum of peanut butter in the car) and served it to the dogs on a couple sticks.

The next day they went back with leashes but were having some problems enticing them, til Mom befriended a "couple nice young girls --- I guess they were there to make out or something ---but they helped us out." The lesbians ran off and got the leashed dogs into the car so Mom could take them to the animal shelter.

She hauled Pops out to the car and made it clear that they would each take over one adoption fee -- their local Shelter has a "buddy-system" where you pay for the animal's care at the shelter and that buys them a stay of indefinite execution until they're adopted. You can visit them; walk them; take their pics. Mom named her dog Samantha. Not sure about the other one. They're fine now.

She then told me she needed to hang up so she could go doctor up Babe's leg... with crazy glue -- which is apparently standard treatment for various suppurating wounds. It's time consuming, cause she then has to make sure Babe doesn't try to eat her leg and then get her tongue stuck there. She then said she dreamed the other night that my grandmother woke her up and told her "Hush, you stop worryin' bout that dog. I'm takin her with me." And Babe just walked off with her. To Heav.N.  Never even looked back.

Odd, cause my grandmother didn't even like dogs even when she was alive. But today would be her birthday so I suspect we may see more of her over the next few days.

Mom had to hang up anyway, saying "Oh I see it's time for your Kathy Griffin.... Balls of Steel...? It looks like?"

I always tell my Mom she'd love Kathy's relationship with her Mom because it's so much like ours. "Oh it is not... " she protests. "Oh how? I am nothing like her." Well, the way Maggie always says "KathLEEN you'd just be so funny if you didn't SWEAR so much," or "KathLEEN, there's no need to be so hard on people... You'd be so funny if..... You have such a pretty face.... if only...."

About the only think they don't have in common is Maggie's self-admitted alcoholism and spokesperson status for Franzia and the two-buck Chuck. Mom says, "Oh no, I'm not much of a lush. Just a druggie. Does that count? Could you use that for material?"

I said, "Mom, you're not a druggie if the pills are keeping you alive." Interferon, for example, is not recreational.

Then she had to get back to crazy-gluing the dog's leg.

No comments:

Post a Comment