CHARITY KNITTING - THE MOTHER BEAR PROJECT

I often go around saying I do a lot of knitting for charity because my desire to knit is disproportionate to the number of folks who actually want to wear my stuff.  Besides the people who have enough hats/scarves/mittens, there are those (like my husband) who don't understand why you'd bother to knit a pair of socks when a six-pack of Hanes costs less than the skeins of yarn.  I consider him a man with a complete lack of culture.  And his son adores my knit wool socks and has to be forced to stop wearing them when the weather tops 80 degrees.  I also try to make him understand that striped knee socks don't go with shorts.  But I digress...

About a year ago I got involved with The Mother Bear Project.  This group sends hand-knit or hand-crocheted bears primarily to kids affected by HIV/AIDS in developing countries.  (You can read more about this group and the horrors of the AIDS crisis in Africa for these children here.)  Since some of these kids literally do not have one toy to call their own, The Mother Bear Project was formed to put lovingly made bears into their hands.  Sometimes I wonder how much good I'm really doing.  Obviously these kids' problems are not going to be solved by one grizzly in a skirt, but then I also think that if it can bring them a little joy, give just a trace of comfort, then it's worth doing.

I've donated twenty bears so far and have another six or seven ready to go in the next shipment of ten.  The pattern, which is purchased through The Mother Bear Project website, is based on a WWII-era pattern.  It's a simple design, originally used to make toys for English children being evacuated from areas most at risk for bombing during the war.  The wonderful thing about it is that it's basic enough that any mildly proficient knitter/crocheter can make one.  However, it can also be modified with hats, skirts, hoodies, headbands, flowered embellishments.  If you want to be bowled over, check out some of the pictures in the Ravelry group here. There are some amazingly creative women there.  My donations tend to be a little more basic:

I'm wild about the hoodie! 
Directions on Ravelry here.

I've written previously about my relationship with a once-abused dog named Tristan and his rescuer mommy, Lori.  I've been sending him handmade toys on holidays for three years or so and according to Lori he loves them.  The problem has always been that I hate to make them.  I found knitting dolls to be beyond painful and crocheting them was only slightly better.  Still, I slogged along every holiday because they made him so happy.  When I discovered Mother Bear I was suddenly blessed with a pattern that did not make me twitchy to knit and could be adapted to any theme or season or reason.  He may never get another pattern again.  And I think that's alright with him.  Some recent examples:

The vampire for Halloween.

An Easter ducky

Tristan's brother, Tully, had a recent
medical emergency, so he needed
his own home health aide.

Christmas bear gets the taffy-pull treatment.

If you're interested in crafting for The Mother Bear Project (or making a monetary donation), you can check out the website here.  If you'd like to know about Tristan and Lori, you can check out her dog-lbs. blog here. 

MEET DAISY DUKE

"Adopt Me"

I had no intention of rushing out for another dog when my beloved Frank died.  I was too raw and distraught and we already had St. Jimmi, so it's not like the house was lacking canine energy.  There was also the issue of Jimmi herself.  Jimmi is not mean.  Jimmi is...bossy.  And sometimes loud and definitely opinionated, especially when faced with someone she finds annoying.  Usually this annoying creature was poor Frank, who really never did a thing to her, but that didn't stop her from doing her "fish wife" routine, as my mother called it.  She'd get pissed at him and start this loud, incessant howling that could go on for ten, fifteen minutes sometimes.  She'd get right next to his ear and let him have it.  He'd try to walk away and she'd follow, like an infuriated wife, hollering as if saying, "And let me tell you one other thing..."  The only person who really gets her going is Foghorn.  When Jimmi has reached her limit, Foghorn gets the same howling routine as Frank and if that fails to shut her up, Jimmi trees her on the couch as if she were a two-legged raccoon.  In other words, Jimmi is the alpha dog and that can present difficulties when bringing a new dog into the house.

I didn't actively look for a dog last summer, although I kept an eye on the listings from Recycled Doggies, one of my favorite rescue groups and the folks who gave us St. Jimmi.  Besides needing a mid-sized model with a temperament that could get along with our Bluetick Coonhound's, there was a the small matter of her matching my personality.  My ideal dog would probably be one of those yawning bloodhounds from Hee-Haw.  I like a dog who gets enthusiastic about walks and likes to fetch toys -- but in moderation.  After a walk or fifteen minutes of play, my perfect dog then wants to cuddle up with me for a nice nap.  Hound dogs have always worked out well for me for that reason. 

As I say, I wasn't actively looking, but by August I did find myself checking not only Recycled Doggies but other shelters and rescues on PetFinder as well.  I kept saying the right dog would find me, as they always seem to do.  Of course, that didn't mean I shouldn't keep my eye open...  Then one day I found a dog on the Animal Adoption Foundation's Petfinder page.  Her name was Sandy, found as a stray during a storm.  She was a basset hound mix mixed with probably golden retriever or yellow lab and as soon as I saw those sad, droopy eyes, I thought we had a winner.  Bassets are generally pretty laid back, a nice way of saying lazy.  She was described as getting along well with cats, kids, and dogs, all important in this house.

Getting ready to head home.

I sent an email asking if she was available, which she was, and mentioned that I'd like to come and see her on Saturday.  We arrived at the shelter, a good 40 minutes away, all four of us plus Jimmi, only to find that Sandy wasn't there.  She was out at an adoption event at a comic book store.  Would have been nice to have known that.  I suddenly went from not being in a hurry for another dog to being frantic some Fantastic Four junkie would scoop her up before we could get there.  Back in the car and raced down the expressway and pulled into the parking lot on two wheels.  Okay, I didn't really drive like that, but my husband swears I did.  We walked in the door and there she was.  While she can certainly put on that sad basset face, at that moment we saw her usual face, smiling and cheerful with sparkling eyes.  She stood on four short legs with an "Adopt Me" vest around her middle, her tail going in circles like a helicopter.  I bent over to say hello and she was all over me.  I sat on the floor and in half a second she was cuddled in my lap, happily accepting the pats of my husband and daughter.  The Professor was waiting in the van with Jimmi, so we walked Sandy outside and let the two get to know each other.  Since we weren't on Jimmi's turf it was hard to tell if there would be issues, but we didn't immediately have a snarling fight and that seemed like a good sign.  They mostly ignored each other while the rest of us fell in love with this little blonde beauty.

Orange collar with black name tag to
match The General Lee. 
NO Confederate flag.

We filled out paperwork that day and went to the shelter on Sunday to bring her home.  I had toyed with various names connected with my various obsessions.  Since St. Jimmi was named for a character in Green Day's American Idiot she could have been Billie Joe (for the lead singer) or Whatsername (for another character).  Wrigley was seriously considered for my love of Chicago's Friendly Confines.  And then, of course, she could have been Carol Brady after my BFF.  Ultimately, though, my childhood obsession with The Dukes of Hazzard won out.  Sheriff Rosco on the show had a basset named Flash and although this new dog looked nothing like the traditional brown, black, and white basset, I decided to go with Daisy Duke.  As my sister pointed out the name was all the more funny (and therefore fitting, in a strange way) because she looks nothing like the long-legged cocktail waitress from the series.

Snacking has its challenges.

Daisy is everything I wanted in a dog.  She's mostly easy going and fairly quiet.  We were shocked by her bark when it first came out, though.  It's very deep and is a bit disconcerting given her appearance, kind of like Christie Brinkley speaking with Barry White's voice.  She's a first class cuddler and immediately made herself at home in my bed.  The cats hate her, which is to be expected, but she's not aggressive with them.  She does, however, enjoy chasing them which does not go over well.  Like most hound dogs she's a bit of a hungry gut and despite her stature has managed to steal hamburgers off the kitchen counter.  She's unfortunately a chewer, which can cause problems when she's left alone.  Often I try to move as much as possible to high ground before leaving for an extended period (read:  longer than ten minutes).  Dogs, like people, have their good traits and bad and I accept hers even if I'm not always thrilled by them.  Overall she's been the perfect dog for filling the void left by my devoted sweet Frank.

Within two minutes of entering her new home,
Daisy found the toy box.

Half an hour later, after pulling every
toy out of the box, she was ready
for a nap.

Too bad she can't relax.

And, yes, I do go around singing, "Just the good old dog, never meanin' no harm..."

 

AN AFGHAN FOR ADDIE

Rusty

Shortly before I took my tumble on February 1, my mother's beloved 14 year old hound, Rusty, died.  At the time she said she didn't think she'd ever get another dog.  After about two weeks, my mother and sister, who lives with her, could stand it no more.  They had to have a dog in the house.

Recycled Doggies was taking part in the My Furry Valentine event, a huge gathering of rescues from the greater Cincinnati area.  I checked out their website of available dogs ahead of time and e-mailed my mother about a little hound/dachshund mix named Lilly.  Turns out my mother already had her eye on her.  After a few e-mails with Recycled Doggies regarding the dog's temperament and disposition towards cats and other dogs (in case some day the new pooch would have to come live with me), we decided she sounded like a winner and planned to get to the event right when they opened, before anybody else could scoop her up.  My mother went from  not wanting a dog at all to desperately wanting this dog in the span of about 24 hours.

At My Furry Valentine,
waiting to go home.

My Furry Valentine is so huge that it was held at the distribution center for leash makers flexi USA.  Parking was across the street and a shuttle bus brought visitors to the door.  My husband had come along, he claimed, because he wanted to see the new dog.  I think it was really just to ensure that I didn't bring a new one home myself.  I tried to tell him I had my arm in a sling and was hardly in a position to stealthily sneak a dog into the house.  He turned out to be useful since Lilly was terrified of the whole thing -- noise, people, dogs -- and refused to go with us on the leash.  He carried her through the warehouse, across the parking lot, and onto the shuttle bus.  Then off the shuttle bus, across another parking lot, and into the van.  I think he was sorry he came.

On the way to the event we discussed names.  Emily was almost chosen, although Foghorn kept insisting on Viola for reasons known to no one but her.  Then my sister mentioned the name Addie.  She was thinking of the little girl in A House Without a Christmas Tree, one of my mother's favorite Christmas shows.  I immediately got an image of Tatum O'Neal in Paper Moon.  Either way the name seemed to fit this small, slightly fluffy pooch.

I've always said my mother has a knack for ending up with neurotic dogs.  She manages to attract the Woody Allens of the canine world and Addie is no exception.  In all fairness, we think the poor little thing had quite a life before ending up with Recycled Doggies.  She was dumped at a rural Kentucky shelter by her family who was moving and decided not to take her with them.  Their loss is our gain.  Actually, their loss is also Addie's gain, as I don't think she was treated well.  She's very nervous and extremely quiet, to the point where the first week we thought her barker was broken.  She's terrified of men, even my husband.  He takes this a little personally since he hauled her furry butt all over the place on adoption day.  She no longer runs and hides in another room when he's around.  She mostly cowers behind one of her owners and barks at him.  She will eventually accept some treats, but it takes all her courage and she immediately ducks behind a caregiver after swallowing.

Despite her emotional issues, she's just about the sweetest little thing in the world.  She can't get enough love and attention and petting (at least from those of us without a Y chromosome).  She loves to lounge on the couch on a big pillow and my sister covers her up with an afghan at night.  Well...in that case I could hardly wait to get my knitting fingers back so I could make Addie her own afghan.

Addie's Afghan

It didn't have to be big, so I chose the Sunny Baby Blanket by Lucie Sinkler.  (My Ravelry notes are here.)  While the pattern is intended to be made in one color, I decided to use up the leftover yarn from the Hoover Blanket I made for my mother last year.  I love the Depression green with the rose pink together.  Plus it was a way to use up a couple partial skeins of yarn I had left over.  Plus I figure if it was using left over yarn my mother wouldn't decide the afghan is "too nice" for the dog to use.  (She has yet to use any of the dishcloths or place mats I made her because they're "too nice" to get dirty.) 

 

Addie's fitting in nicely in our family.  She has a nickname from me ("Addie Banaddie") and every time I see her I have to break into "Let's Have Another Cup of Coffee."   (I'll never get Tatum O'Neal out of my head now.)  At first she gave me the bug-eyed, freaked out look common to those listening to my singing.  Now she's gotten used to it and accepts that I'm not a maniac.  Well, she accepts that I'm a harmless manic...who can knit nice soft blankets.

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PERKY PUMPKIN KNITTED DOG TOY

Yeah, the alliteration fairies got a hold of me this evening.  What can I say?  Anyway, I've written before about my beloved Tristan, the former abused dog, and my beloved Lori, his owner.  I couldn't let the month of October go by without sending Tristan and his schnauzer brother/tug-o-war partner a gift.

The Jack O'Lantern who ate
a trailer park.

I found this cute and easy Jack O'Lantern knitting pattern at curlypurly.  (You can find the free pattern here.)  Then I made it look like it had mated with a giraffe.  See, for Tristan a toy is just not a toy if it doesn't have long arms and legs which can be grabbed and pulled and growled over and slobbered on and ultimately ripped off.  After knitting up and stuffing the little pumpkin head, I simply did half a dozen rows of single crochet, folded over and stitched, to make a nice, sturdy leg...or arm...or two of each.  I think the results were successful, at least by doggie standards.

Oh, the anticipation!

"Mine!"
"Mine!"

If you haven't already done so, please check out Lori's Dog-Lbs. blog and learn about her weight loss/fundraising project for Recycled Doggies.  She's lost over 70 pounds and raised thousands of dollars for a great cause.  Our own St. Jimmi is an alumni of Recycled Doggies and they do simply fabulous work.

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{this moment}

{this moment} - Inspired by SouleMama

"Summertime...and the livin' is easy..."

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LAZY, HAZY, AND A LITTLE BIT CRAZY

We are past the halfway mark of summer vacation here, which means The Warden's nerves are seriously frayed, the sibling arguments are getting more frequent, and I've put on seven pounds.  (Last year I indulged in dozens of pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream for medicinal purposes, the year before I went with the creamy whip's banana splits, also known by me as "housewife heroin", and this year packaged cream horns seem to be feeding my addiction.)  We've been seriously hampered in our summertime outings this July thanks to weeks of temperatures in the upper 90s, topping out at 100 or more some days.  Hard to believe we're having snowstorm-like cabin fever during the hottest month of the year.  Nonetheless we have managed to squeeze in some memorable activities beyond our usual trips to King's Island, Coney Island, and Grandma's swimming pool:

1.  Niagara Falls - We started out the summer by heading north, all the way to a foreign country.  (A nearly blow-by-blow account can be read by checking out my Facebook page.  You can "like" it by clicking on the link in the upper right corner.  Uncle Chester also kept a daily account on her blog, which you can read here.)

Preparing for the Maid of the Mist ride

Perfect weather

Canada's Butterfly Conservatory.  Only The Professor was
enthusiastic about this one and it turned out to be
fabulous.  I never thought I'd be that impressed
by butterflies.

The Whirlpool Aero Car

Chester doing a Fred Sanford on us.

The Hubbard-Roycroft Museum in East Aurora, NY.  Lots of
arts and crafts-style goodness.

Frank Lloyd Wright House in Buffalo.  Lots of art deco-style
goodness.

At Fantasy Island amusement park.  Foghorn's first time
behind the wheel.  She spent the whole time either turned
in her seat looking at her brother in the car behind her or
stopping dead in the road to pretend to light a cigarette.  Sigh...

Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield, Ohio, the supposedly
haunted prison where they filmed large chunks of
The Shawshank Redemption

 

 
2.  Let's go surfin' now - The Professor and I took in the Beach Boys' 50th anniversary concert when they stopped in Cincinnati.  Much to The Vulcan's dismay, I returned home with an autographed program.  Hey, when you're talking about a band with only one member under 70, you gotta figure you need to grab collectibles like this when you can.

Die-hard Beach Boys fans will understand how I felt
seeing Brian Wilson on stage with the rest of the band.

3.   Mermaid time - Swimming is not an unusual activity for us in the summer.  What is unique is how often Foghorn has done it this year and how rarely The Professor has.  King's Island's water park was revamped over the winter and opened this year as Soak City.  The new, huge wave pool and the ability to ride in it in inner tubes was a hit.  What they did to the lazy river was not.  It was once a relaxing float along a meandering waterway with only the occasional water hazard or screaming, splashing kid to contend with.  Now it's a constant assault by water guns, spurting fountains, and overturning buckets.  The Professor was so mad we haven't returned since.  On the other hand, Foghorn is improving in her swimming thanks to weekly visits to Grandma's pool with Uncle Chester.  The Professor has declined all invitations to accompany them, opting instead for hours spent on his computer playing Minecraft and watching videos on YouTube.

4.  Doggy overnighter - A few weeks ago a dog rescue had a transport that was stopping overnight in Cincinnati.  (For those unfamiliar with the concept, dogs in shelters have been taken in by rescues in another state and need transport.  It ends up being like the pony express, with dozens of volunteers driving dogs an hour or so away and then meeting up with a new team who take them on the next leg.)  A plea was put out for a place for some of the dogs to board overnight or they wouldn't get on the transport and would have to be left behind.  Despite The Vulcan's objections, I volunteered and we played host to the sweetest seven month old hound pup named Billy.  Even The Vulcan agreed he was incredibly cute, although he admitted this after he was sure I had safely deposited Billy with the next driving team.  He's always so sure that if an animal enters our house it will never leave...just because that's been the case every time so far.

Foghorn and Billy had a special bond.

He didn't make a peep all night until he spotted a couple
deer in our backyard.  That got his attention.

A total cuddle-bug.

Foghorn in particular became extremely attached to Billy.  I've often thought we should be a foster family for Recycled Doggies, taking care of some canine cuties until their fur-ever homes come along, but I wondered about the emotional toll it would take on the kids.  This overnight experience, unfortunately, taught me that it would simply destroy Foghorn to have to let dogs go.  She cried in the middle of the night, while Billy was still there, and then rose at 6 a.m. to cry over him as I was preparing to take him to the transport meeting place.  I would judge her for her sappy, wimpy ways if I hadn't cried all the way home myself after dropping him off and saying goodbye.  Despite her mourning, she was almost immediately talking about the next time we have a dog over for the night.  The Vulcan wandered away mumbling to himself and locked his office door.

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As I've mentioned many times, our beloved St. Jimmi (above) was adopted through the fabulous Cincinnati-based dog rescue group Recycled Doggies.  Well, today only (May 18th) they are in the running to win a new van from Toyota through 100 Cars For Good.  In addition to doing dog rescue, they also run the Cincinnati Pet Food Pantry, providing pet food, kitty litter, etc., to low income pet owners, allowing them to keep the furry members of their families.

Now my plea -- I would really appreciate your voting for Recycled Doggies to win the car, which they will use to transport food for the Pet Food Pantry.  You can vote for them by clicking on the box below.  Or if you go to 100carsforgood.com, you be directed to their Facebook page.  From there you can click the green "vote" box on the far left, which will bring up the five charities in the running today.  If you click on Recycled Doggies, you can see a video explaining what they do and why this vehicle would make such a difference.  Just click on the "vote" box and we're one step closer to getting them that Sienna!  We're ahead at the moment, with 39% of the votes, but we only have today.  Please, please, please vote for Recycled Doggies.  St. Jimmi and all the dogs like her would be so grateful.  Thanks!

A FURRY KIND OF LOVE

Anyone who has met me or has read more than three of my posts knows I'm wild about animals, particularly the domesticated ones.  To misquote Will Rogers:  "I never met a dog I didn't like."  And dogs almost always like me.  I have no doubt animals pick up on a person's vibe and can sense if a kindred spirit is before them.  Given how many times I've been French-kissed by strange dogs, they obviously tag me as their kind of gal.

There is one dog in this world, though, who inhabits a unique place in my life and my heart.  His name is Tristan.  I met him only once, almost exactly a year ago, and I doubt I'll ever see him in person again.  He has, however, affected me in a way that few others have in my lifetime.

My mother's pal, Jumpin' Jack

On occasion I help out the rescue group Recycled Doggies, transporting dogs from "death row" at the high-kill shelters.  It was on my first such mission that I met Tristan.  He was one of about a dozen dogs being rescued that day from the rural Clinton County shelter in Ohio.  I had dragged my mother along and it was while she was in the van wrestling with a furry, overly enthusiastic (but incredibly lovable) pooch named Jumpin' Jack that Tristan was literally dragged out of the shelter.  I was standing outside in the cold, a light snow coming down, and the poor, breathless rescue worker asked if I'd hold his leash while they retrieved more dogs.  Tristan was flattened to the ground, his ears back, shaking and obviously terrified.  As I said, dogs tend to love me, so I crouched down and talked to him and stroked his head and...got no reaction at all.  It wasn't that he was afraid of me or just nervous about where he was headed.  This dog was frozen in fear and there was a blankness in his eyes that was like nothing I've ever seen.  I've often described it as post-traumatic stress disorder.  He looked like he was in shock and not quite mentally there.  He had been so afraid of being removed from his concrete cell in the shelter that he had fallen into the trough where animal waste accumulated in an effort to get away from the people approaching.

My interaction with Tristan literally lasted about five minutes or so and yet that dog haunted me.  I knew he was on his way to safety, he had a foster home to live in until he was adopted, but I couldn't get that face out of my mind.  What in the world had someone done to him to make him that scared?  And what would become of him?

Thoughts of that shell-shocked dog might have continued to overwhelm my thoughts if not for a tragedy that ocurred just a week later.  I received an e-mail on the morning of March 1 from my mother.  I knew there was trouble when it started "I feel like I can hardly breathe."  There had been a fire the night before at the home of Shannon DeBra, the founder of Recycled Doggies.  In all about a dozen dogs and one cat were killed, including Jumpin' Jack.  (Two dogs who survived later had to be put down due to the severity of their injuries.)  My sister wrote a lovely tribute, with all the details, on her blog here.

St. Jimmi, settling into her new home

Between Tristan and the fire, I was in no clear mental state when I went to a big adoption event of Recycled Doggies' at Red Dog Pet Resort in Cincinnati on March 5.  It was my birthday weekend and we had gone out to lunch before heading over to the event.  The hardest part may have been trying to steer my kids from the signs and the slide show showing the deceased dogs.  I had told them about the fire, but said that all had survived, they were merely injured.  Foghorn never seemed to notice, but The Professor caught sight of the slide show and briefly said to me, "I thought you said they all survived."  I assured him they did and tried to distract his attention.  He never said a word about it, but I have no doubt he knew.  It was in that charged emotional atmosphere that we adopted St. Jimmi and brought her home.  I didn't save Tristan, couldn't save Jumpin' Jack or the others, but at least we could free up a spot in a foster home by adopting this dog.

In the months to come I would see periodic updates about Tristan on the Recycled Doggies Facebook page, enough that I was reassured he was being loved and cared for.  His foster mom, the divine Lori, officially adopted him last fall.  Only someone with her kind of patience could have helped him make the progress he has.  She has dealt with his night terrors, his fear of leashes and strangers and going outside.  Lori has a website chronicling her weight loss efforts, through which she is raising money for Recycled Doggies.  Please check out the page she has dedicated to Tristan here.  There is a special place in hell for any person who would abuse a dog so badly.

Tristan with his Christmas present
from "Aunt Shannon".

When I found out about Lori's Dog-Lbs. project I immediately made my per-pound pledge and left a comment about having met Tristan briefly.  That began an online correspondence which has evolved into a treasured friendship.  I sent Tristan a Christmas box of goodies, including a knitted dog bone (pattern found here).  "He" sent me a gorgeous flower arrangement.  (Foghorn said, "It's really from his mom, isn't it.  He didn't really order flowers, right?")

Christmas flowers from Tristan.

He and his schnauzer brother love to play tug-o-war, so for Valentine's Day I knit a critter with nice long arms and legs, perfect for doggies to get their mouths around.  (Free pattern found here.)  Lori posted numerous pictures, including the dogs eagerly anticipating the box-opening.  She later e-mailed me that Tristan took it to bed with him that night.










This dog was labeled "unadoptable" and was literally hours away from death when Lori stepped in to save him.  He's been abused and traumatized.  And a year after his rescue he is one of the most-loved dogs on the planet, by those who connect with him in person and by those of us who adore him from afar.  Happy Valentine's Day!

Tristan and siblings playing with
his Valentine gift.

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THE FOOD STAMP CHALLENGE

Last year I was inspired by Katy Wolk-Stanley over at The Non-Consumer Advocate blog to try the Food Stamp Challenge.  The basic premise is that you attempt to live for one month on what a family of your size would receive in food stamps.  Katy lives in Oregon, but she has two sons just slightly older than my kids and one husband, so I figure the $400 a month figure she was working with should be comparable to what we'd get in the state of Ohio.  To make this a little more palatable to my fast food-addicted children, I told them about the Grayson County Humane Society in Leitchfield, Kentucky and their Grayson Angels program.  This is a small, rural shelter, always short on funds and held together by dedicated volunteers.  A member of the Grayson Angels pledges to donate $1 per day for the year.  Given that we are totally gluttonous and spoiled human beings in my household, quick calculations revealed that if we stuck to the Food Stamp Challenge for one month, we could save more than enough money to fund ourselves as Grayson Angels for the year.  It worked beautifully, no one died of trans fat-withdrawal, and the shelter got its money.  While my children have many faults, one of their redeeming qualities is a love for animals, so I knew I could get them on board for the Food Stamp Challenge this year.

In addition to funding a charitable donation, my hope for the challenge was to show my children how lucky they are in their normal lives.  I always feel a little obnoxious doing this challenge, as if it's some great sacrifice for us to do without for one month when some families are living this way all year long.  It's a little like spending a week in a wheelchair to understand what it's like to be disabled.  I still wouldn't truly understand because I would spend that week knowing that in seven days I would indeed be standing up again.  In the same way, we know that on February 1st we can head down to the nearest McDonald's and stuff ourselves with fries.  It makes me feel like a bit of a fraud, but I figure it's for a good cause.

We're just over three weeks into the 2012 Food Stamp Challenge and things are not going so hot.  We got off to a bad start when we tried to soothe The Professor's post-Christmas/back-to-school depression by taking him to see the latest Sherlock movie on January 2.  We very rarely go to an actual theater, so when we do I let the kids get something from the snack bar.  Needless to say, I could have bought us all Taco Bell dinners for the cost of The Professor's Pepsi and king size box of candy.  We also hit a few potholes in the form of strep throat and colds.  The Vulcan was the only one who came through completely unscathed.  I, on the other hand, got both this month, and The Vulcan doesn't appreciate me cooking him food when I'm ill.  In fact, he avoids all of us when we're sick, appearing only to get a drink from the kitchen and then making a hasty exit with his shirt collar pulled over his nose and mouth like a doctor's mask.  (I get my revenge by chasing after him, pretending to heave big, germy breaths his way.  Makes me feel better just to see the frantic look in his eyes as he races for the stairs.)  As a result, there were more fast food meals than would normally fall into my personal guidelines for this challenge.

Our main goal is to stay under $400.  In reality, my goal is to spend $365 less than my average monthly grocery bill last year.  Given the embarrassingly large amounts we spent on food most months, this goal is totally doable.  To add a little extra incentive, anything we save over the $365 will go to Recycled Doggies, a fabulous rescue group in the Cincinnati area.  (Our beloved St. Jimmi came from them.)  They recently took in an adorable dog named Liberty who had been hit by a car and horribly injured.  She was taken to a shelter by her owners who couldn't afford vet care and luckily the shelter contacted Recycled Doggies.  She's a beautiful black dog, less than a year old, but her injuries required a tremendous amount of treatment.  Last I heard the bills topped $5,500, so I figure they can use all the donations they can get.

If you'd like more information on the Grayson County Humane Society and their Grayson Angels program, please click here.  If you'd like more information on how you can help Liberty, please see the Recycled Doggies Chip-In link here.


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CHRISTMAS CHARITY CRAFTING

Today my mother, sister, and I took some of our handiwork to one of my favorite charities -- The League for Animal Welfare in Batavia, Ohio.  (Recycled Doggies has to get the #1 spot in my heart, for giving us St. Jimmi, but they both do tremendous work.)  For years now we've been donating craft items for the sale table at the annual Christmas party.  I must confess that I dropped the ball this year.  Usually I have at least a dozen little cross-stitch items that they can sell cheaply as stocking stuffers.  Because of my new-found knitting addiction, I only managed five items.  Luckily my mother and sister picked up the slack.

My mother made three of her small organizing totes in cat or dog fabric.  (I received one for Sweetest Day in a pattern of Airstream trailers.  Heaven...)  I use mine by my bedside to hold my iPod, lip balm, tissues, etc., all in handy little interior pockets.

My sister (The Inmates' Uncle Chester) provided handcrafted wire spiral bracelets with dog or cat charms.

She also donated handmade lever back earrings with beads and animal charms.  Other homemade-y goodness from Chester can be found in her Etsy shop here.

And then my donation, rather paltry this year.  I always do cross-stitch items and managed two holiday cards with needlework inserts, two cat-themed bookmarks, and a Scottie dog Christmas hand towel.  I swear in 2012 I'm gonna do one item a month so that I'm sure to have a nice group of items come November.

The Inmates always enjoy going to the League and seeing the animals.  We can only say "hi" to the dogs through glass, but we are free to wander in and play with kitties in the cat rooms.

Ack!  Not the Dooney!  That cat was loving
Grandma's purse strap.

 

I made the mistake of telling Foghorn that I've had my eye on a blue-tick coon hound mix named "Confetti" who looks a lot like our St. Jimmi and I want to adopt her so I'll have a set of bookends.  That led to Foghorn promising me everything under the sun if I'd take Confetti home today.  She doesn't realize that, despite my stern voice and practical arguments, I'm always dying to bring a new addition home and it was all I could do not to start filling out paperwork.  We have two cats and two dogs as it is.  One more critter, on top of the Inmates, would push The Vulcan over the edge.  (It might actually be fun to watch his breakdown.  Yet another reason to consider that dog...)


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