Beulah at 20 weeks on the left and Brewster at 18 weeks on the right.
These two joined our family at the first of January. Since losing Bubba, I had tried twice to adopt a frenchie, but was turned down both times. Why? I don’t know. I was encouraged to keep trying, but Bertha and I weren’t getting any younger. Filling out reams of paperwork for each dog and waiting up to two months for the rejection is not a positive experience. Besides, I am no masochist. So I looked up Bertha’s breeder, and lo and behold she had two litters ready to find families. Bingo!
If you’re wondering why I didn’t adopt from a local shelter, it’s because I needed a breed that would be a good companion for my Bertha, not jump my four foot fence, and not dig too much in the garden. I have always loved the squish-nosed breeds, and in the past I had adopted two pugs and a Boston Terrier. The pugs had a lot of health and behavior issues, and the Boston breed is generally too high strung. So it was suggested that I try the French Bulldog, and that is how I came to purchase Bubba in 2003 and Bertha in 2006.
Back to the reason why I didn’t adopt. In my search for a dog to adopt, I discovered that the shelters had mostly pit bull mixes and chihuahuas to choose from. In the last few years breed specific rescue groups have formed. So when a specific breed of dog finds its way to the shelter, that shelter will then call the appropriate rescue group, and that group will then place the dog into a foster home. I think this is wonderful. The advantage of adopting through one of these groups is that each dog’s personality and health issues are discovered while in foster care, and this information along with photos are placed online. Unfortunately I was not chosen for either of the two I wanted to adopt.
It was my intention to only purchase one puppy, but my vet strongly suggested that I get two. That way Bertha could be the queen bee, and the two little ones could bond, play together, and wear each other out. It’s now quite obvious that my vet was not thinking of what all this puppy energy would do to me. Let me tell you… I just love getting up at three in the morning to take them out in the freezing sleet for their potty break. And what’s even more fun is having to ditch the umbrella in order to carry both out, since they refuse to leave their crate, only to have them run right back inside after having put them down onto the soggy grass. You can guess what happens next. Indoor clean up!
Click on the link below for more photos.
Sweet dreams my little boy. Letting you go was the only way I could make you feel better. Bertha and I will miss you terribly.
dressed up like dolls. If we don’t look ecstatic to see Santa, it’s because Win and I learned early on not to take him very seriously. Not once did he ever bring us what we had asked for. The usual presents for me were more hats, gloves, underwear, slippers, socks, and nightgowns. I know, I should be grateful. At least I wasn’t running around naked.
I’m pretty sure that number holder thing also served as an ashtray. Everybody smoked in those days, including Santa.
Dallas’ deb season officially begins this weekend. When I say the “season”, I mean the traditional season that’s been around since 1884 before there was La Fiesta de las Seis Bandera and the Dallas Symphony’s presentation ball. I don’t know how long the season was in my mother’s time, but during mine, 1975, it lasted for three months with up to two parties a day with the exception of Sundays and Mondays. It’s a very different story now with an abbreviated season and fewer parties during the week.
I find the photos of my mother’s era far more glamorous than what has been produced in the last thirty years — especially in the last ten years with the advent of the digital photo. Perhaps it’s because of the black and white format? Maybe it’s because we no longer have the same kind of poise and polish. If you follow the link below, you’ll see what I’m talking about.
Brigadier General Frank F. Bell II, USAR, 1948 (my paternal grandfather, Pop)
It’s Veterans Day, so instead of a shallow topic like upholstery, I’m honoring the men in my family who have enabled me to freely be who I am. Men who have left me an honorable legacy. Fortunately my grandfather Pop, who’s in the above picture, left us a wealth of information about our family history. And then my father in his final years hired a genealogist to bring the family history up to date. It’s now up to me, to continue the research and to then create and print the family history in a hardbound book. After spending the first four months of this year clearing out the old family home and bringing all the important papers and photos here to my house, I reached a saturation point. Eventually I will be editing, scanning, and filing all of the millions of photos, but only after I have had time to recover from the burnout.
FYI: If the copy reads stiff and tedious, it’s because I copied from various word files that the genealogist had created. The time involved pulling this post together was way more than I expected. Trunks and boxes were searched for missing photographs, then there was the scanning, then there was the composing, so if I were to have this up before Veterans Day came to an end, I had to forego perfection. Besides none of this generates any revenue.
To know who my heroes are click on the link below: