Project Coffee Cup

It was suggested by an important person in my life to make a collage...cause I like doing that kind of project...and sometime after she suggested it, I saw a travel coffee cup at Starbucks (my BFF) that was made to allow you to collage things and preserve it...carry them around with you and your brew...

I FINALLY got around to applying the photos I cut out of magazines and all to it...I like it...Pikachu supervised...I think she approves, too. In a catty sort of way, which by the way, carries a lot of authority!

It's probably going to make me drink more coffee...and smile more...and well, ain't nothin wrong with that.

They say coffee makes your mind sharper...this might just assist with that in several ways.

Triggers

The other night at work, I was on a call to assist Hospice. Apparently the narcotics prescribed to the dying mother were being used by a family member. She was out of medicine again, experiencing great pain. Hospice didn’t feel safe entering the house alone. I went there twice that night with them. The house was dirty and cluttered, too small for the five that were living there. Not a home I would want my mother in to slowly watch her life pass away.

The patient probably weighed 85 lbs. Her eyes protruding as her flesh was shrinking. She was frail as frail could be. And I thought of Moma. I live with what could I have done better. What if I had taken her to a specialist out of state. I am sure I am not the only child of a cancer victim that feels that way.

Moma had more fight in her in the last days than I had seen in her the entire time I knew her. I think she was able to have this fight because she leaned on people she loved instead of pulling away.

I believe it is easier for me to pull away, as I don’t want anyone to see or know my weaknesses. But I’ve yet to master that “not thinking” trick and so it stays with me and keeps life’s trauma’s in my face.

Who Wears The Collar

Daisy stands on her back legs beside my bed, raking my face with her sandpaper paws. The sun is up, she tells me as she licks my hand and refuses to let me sleep.

Who Wears The Collar?

Dragging myself out of bed, the air is chilly outside; I haven’t even had time to get coffee in a cup. She somehow gets me out into the yard to play ball.

Who Wears The Collar?

I know she just went out as I get busy around the house, but this is the fifth time she stands at the back door whining. She is NOT in need of relieving herself.

Who Wears The Collar?

I can gather my stuff, to work on something, placing everything on the cocktail table. It become inevitable, I must choose a different seat as Daisy now occupies the area she decided I was prepping for her.

Who Wears The Collar?

Workout on the floor means I am in her territory. Pushups and such become an act of play…try to move with a 75 lb dog sitting on your stomach.

Who Wears The Collar?

Leaving to run errands can be tricky. If the truck door is open and I turn my back, Daisy loads herself in. I come back to the truck to find her proud and ready for travel. And the struggle begans.

Who Wears The Collar?


She drops the ball at my feet as I get dressed for work reminding me we’ve only played ball 10 times today. She sees her chances slimming for more. The uniform means Moma is leaving. She rests her head and her ball on the window sill and the pout goes on.

Yeah, Just Who Wears The Collar?

Who Wears The Collar?


Daisy stands on her back legs beside my bed, raking my face with her sandpaper paws. The sun is up, she tells me as she licks my hand and refuses to let me sleep.

Who Wears The Collar?

Dragging myself out of bed, the air is chilly outside; I haven’t even had time to get coffee in a cup. She somehow gets me out into the yard to play ball.

Who Wears The Collar?

I know she just went out as I get busy around the house, but this is the fifth time she stands at the back door whining. She is NOT in need of relieving herself.

Who Wears The Collar?

I can gather my stuff, to work on something, placing everything on the cocktail table. It become inevitable, I must choose a different seat as Daisy now occupies the area she decided I was prepping for her.

Who Wears The Collar?

Workout on the floor means I am in her territory. Pushups and such become an act of play…try to move with a 75 lb dog sitting on your stomach.

Who Wears The Collar?

Leaving to run errands can be tricky. If the truck door is open and I turn my back, Daisy loads herself in and
She drops the ball at my feet as I get dressed for work reminding me we’ve only played ball 10 times today. She sees her chances slimming for more. The uniform means Moma is leaving. She rests her head and her ball on the window sill and the pout goes on.

Yesh, Who Wears The Collar?

Daisy Days

The other morning I let Daisy out and didn’t notice Pickacu had left a little field mouse lying on the patio. The little grey thing lying there on its back, legs in the air, white belly showing. I did noticed though as Daisy flipped to her back putting her legs and the air and looking to her side where the little mouse lay in the same position. How could I miss it…

This morning she found a dead mole. She flipped it up in the air, rolled on it, and desperately attempted to entice it to play. She has carted her friend all over the yard. When she brought it to the back door to gain entrance to my home, sweet, home…I said, “at-at, Daisy, you aren’t bringing that in here.” She gently laid it down and came in without it…I think she said, “ah, Mooooom,” under her dog breath…which by the way I probably don’t need to mention is tainted by rodent germs.

She stood by the door a bit later, barking and growling at a blue heron in the field, sparked and wanted to ensue attack on this long legged creature who dare approach her domain. Honestly, after the groundhog incident I don’t want to under estimate her ability so I opened the door in such a way to alert the heron that “something wicked, it’s way comes.” Daisy lit out offer it! Its five to six foot wing span was incredible and did not seem to intimidate my furry child. She pranced all about attempting to establish her authority over the terrain…and “blue” flew away.

She loves cooler temps…I love her.