The Mount Dora Citizen is pleased to offer the story of the life journey shared between Glazer, the Boxer, and her family – as told by Glazer.
Kevin – The Best Thing about Colorado
Kevin Toman, be still my heart, was the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to a dog, at least as far as going to the vet was concerned. You knew something was up, put on your collars (why?), load up into the truck (hopefully we’re just going for a ride), out of the truck, and oops we’re into a vet’s office. You can smell even before the door is opened. I’m all about smelling and visiting and Sara is shivering between mom’s legs. The door is opened and there is this most wonderful person who wants to sit on the floor, rub Sara and me, and most importantly, loves Boxer kisses! This guy is great, so much so that I don’t even realize that I’ve been given my shots. He just keeps on talking to me, talking to Sara, talking to mom, more kisses, and then it’s over. He doesn’t even mention my nose, what a guy!
Unfortunately, Kevin and I got to know each other very well during our time in Colorado. I developed a bunch of little bumps and lumps and, so I’m told, it’s better to get rid of them when they’re on the outside before they come inside. We had a couple of months where I didn’t get rid of stitches in one place before I had to have stitches in another.
Then the dreaded eye thing. Don’t ask me, but somehow I managed to tear the cornea on my right eye. Blink = hurt, blink = hurt. Do you realize how many times you blink in a day, in an hour, in a minute? There was much discussion that I could gather, but Kevin agreed to fix my eye. There was some big-wig vet up in Denver that would advise. The surgery would be hard; the recuperation would be harder, especially for mom and dad. The inner lid of my eye, you know the thing that slides over when you’re going to sleep, would have to be stitched closed for Yikes! six weeks. We persevered – it was not fun and it took a long, long time, and supposedly we have no concept of time (that’s what humans like to think). So, on a late Friday afternoon, and it’s not just humans that wonder why stuff goes wrong at night or on the weekend, my eye comes undone with two more weeks to go. Mom is frantic, Kevin can’t be found, and dad is gone somewhere hunting or fishing. Enter Aunt Patsy, savior to lost souls, weary moms, hurt dogs, and I don’t know what else. She has a whole passel of dogs herself. I can smell all of them on her. Bubby, who has an intense smell, but we’ve not met. Abby, yet another Lab, but we’ve met and she’s cool. Tessa, another Lab infinitum, and she’s okay too, if not just a wee bit young and tiresome.
We find Kevin and I get to take that night-night stuff again. By the time all is said and done, it’s very late at night. I’ve never gotten to wake up from surgery being held by my mom and that was neat, although I think it scared the dickens out of her and Aunt Patsy. I guess when your brain hooks back up with your body, you can talk a blue streak and, I suppose, wiggle around doesn’t quite begin to explain it. We all lived through it and Aunt Patsy held me in her lap all the way back over the mountains and home. I’ll never forget her.
Lost in the Snow
It snows a lot in Colorado. A lot. And, after it snows, they push it around into big piles with a huge machine. After a while, these piles can get as big as a house. Early one morning Sara and I went to find a business place in all this sea of white. Being Florida born and bred, we had a bit of a learning curve getting used to snow. Somehow, we got separated. Well, to be honest, I followed some kids to the bus stop and you know, we horsed around for a while, then they got on the bus and left. Left me! And, I was lost, as in really, seriously, lost. There were walls of white all the way around, like a maze, and by this time I’m getting more than a little cold. I go one way for a while, it leads to somebody’s garage, not mine, I go another way, somebody’s door, not mine, and I’m starting to panic. Where the hell am I? Where’s my sister? Where’s my house? And then, I hear mom and dad, “Glazer! Glazer!” I can hear them, but I can’t see them. This seems to go on forever and then finally I start jumping as high as I can. All four feet at once, I’m practically levitating, like I’ve got springs in my legs. Sure enough, they spot me, and rescue me. I’m telling you, the lure of children to play with is strong, but you can sure get into a lot of trouble following them around.
Okay, think James Taylor, “Oh Mexico, sounds so simple I’ve just gotta go . . . “ Did I mention my mom is a music nut? She is, and while her voice is like music to MY ears, maybe not so much to others. And did I mention also that she is sometimes not eaten up with a great deal of practicality? Anyway, she gets this idea that since they are going to Mexico, Sara and I should go with. I’m game – I’m in, let’s go! It wasn’t quite as simple as we first thought, turns out Sara and I have to get passports and a visa. Nothing daunts mom. Off we go to Durango with our official veterinary papers and after a few setbacks, fits and starts, we have our paperwork!
Mom has this new big ass black Suburban so we load up and there’s a whole caravan of friends along with. We go through mountains and we go through desert and the humans trade off so Sara and I have all kinds of friends feeding us treats along the way – my favorite was Jim Kelly’s corn nuts. Have you ever seen how much slobber a dog can make over corn nuts?
We finally arrive in Kino Bay, Mexico. Whoa! Big water! And it moves – in and out and in and out. Is this a trick? Trust me, you get used to it. Mom and dad and all their friends are having a big ole time, lots of whirring noises in a machine, then they lap it up and get all happy. (Tip – this is the part when you know you can just about get away with anything.)
The days settle into a very nice “different” than anything Sara and I have ever known. Everyone is almost as peaceful as a dog – if you get what I mean. Then my favorite Jim Kelly – my favorite after dad – starts going into town after dinner every night. They clean up all their scraps from dinner, and I’m thinking “Wait just a doggone minute here, Sara and I could use that!” but Jimmy takes mom’s big new Suburban and goes into old town. He comes back hours later – very sad – telling stories of all these dogs that crowd around him for food. One night, he is crying telling about a mama dog and a bunch of pups who were so hungry they might not live. Might not live?! A hush falls, and for the first time, I think Sara and I are really, really lucky.
Marilynette Cox, Guest Columnist