Shih Tzu + Maltese = ???

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for new breed

I have had this talk with Miss Tia Mia before.  I told her that if she didn’t want to sit at the Wal-Mart parking lot with me again peddling illegitimate pups, she had better behave herself.  I thought she understood.  I did not count on male perseverance, the strong sense of procreation, and the tiny body hidden beneath a mound of fluffy hair that enabled this determined male Maltese to slink between the slates of a very sturdy picket fence.

When I discovered their indiscretion, I noted the date on the calendar.  We are pro puppy, after all. She gained the usual puppy pregnancy weight but this time was different.  She would just lay around and only cut those shaggy eyes up when I walked by.  Guilt, I’m sure.

 Sixty-one days came and went.  No puppies.  No digging in the closet for a maternity ward.  No eating binges or lack of eating.  Just a lot of whimpering, heavy breathing, and a strong need to be held by Dr. Hubby.  I was worried.  At 66 days she was way overdue so it was off to the vet for x-rays. The vet asked how many days and I told her 66. 

“66 days from the last encounter?”

“Uh, no from the first encounter.”

“Oh, you have to count approximately 62 days from the last encounter.”

“Oh,” and I glared at Miss Tia as if I could possibly make her feel more miserable.

 “Yes, there are five puppies in there and yes they could arrive within the next three days and yes that will be $130 please.”

And yes she had the first one two hours after we arrived home, not in the nicely prepared birthing box I had for her, but on the bottom book shelf on top of Hubby’s t-shirts.  By morning all five puppies had arrived. Now how to market them.

My niece said to advertise them as “Designer Pups”.  Ok, Designer Pups, but they needed a cute name like those Peek-a-Poos to reflect their heritage, a Shih Tzu mama and a Maltese daddy.  Would that make them Shih- Tese? Tzu-Malts? Tzu-Tese?  Shih-Malt-Tzu-ese?  Mal- Shihs?   None of those sounded very “designer-ey”.  This was not looking good for the Wal-Mart Parking Lot Puppy Sale.

Six weeks flew by.  I put an ad in our local e-trade newspaper.  I simply said Shih Tzu/Maltese puppies, shots and wormed, six weeks old, $200  A week later and we had sold two and given one to my oldest daughter.  By now the nine-year-old and the thirteen-year-old had named the two remaining “designer pups”…Tatter Tot and Two-Spot-the-Runt, not exactly the kind of names that would generate big bucks. 

Then the oldest daughter got a promotion at work which meant traveling so her puppy came back to our house.  I should have named her Boomerang but she only stayed a day. She was sold the next day to a nice family.

Spring Break and Tatter Tot and Two-Spot-the-Runt went to the RV park with us.  It was my lot to walk the two puppies around the RV park while Dr. Hubby walked Miss Tia in the opposite direction.  I’m sure he was thinking somebody in one of those half-million dollar motor homes would like a Designer Puppy to go along with the other dogs they had. One lady did stop me and ask the price of Tatter Tot.  Without twitching an eyelash, I said “$1600.”  Ok, I had become attached to the little thing.  And the price doubled when asked about Two-Spot-the-Runt.  Well he’s little and fluffy and would have gotten lost in a big old motor coach.

“Have any luck while you were walking the pups,” asked Dr. Hubby.”

“Some, but I think the price put them off.”

I have since received at least fifteen calls from people wanting a Shih Tzu/Maltese puppy. I told them I did not have any more for sale and that is the truth.

I  have two very special unique puppies valued at $3,200…..by me.

And Miss Tia has an appointment with the vet next month. 

The Maltese will be so disappointed.

Doggie Do!

By Jody Worsham,and yes I co-authored "Kin We're Not Related To"

All rights reserved for Dog Whisperer

Yes, it was that time of year again...The Great Pet Costume Contest.  Still glowing after the Funniest Costume win with the nine-year-old, I wanted more, and this time there were actual prizes.

Last year, Pork Chop, son of Tia Mia, won First Place in the Lite Weight Division AND over all GRAND CHAMPION as "Taco Bill" wearing my original homemade Taco costume.  This year it was up to his mother to carry on the winning tradition.

Now to win, you have to be clever, stand out in the crowd, and be unique.  I had an idea but first I had to create a helmet for a dog.  Shih Tzu’s have a small head.  I thought about those green Styrofoam balls you stab artificial flowers into, but those were costly and they had to be hollowed out.  I searched the house for something round.  Cereal bowels were too heavy, no time to create a paper mâché helmet, tin foil would bend, and cardboard required many small cuts between the cardboard ribs and then it would only bend one way.  Like Thomas Edison, I discovered many ways not to make a Shih Tzu helmet. 

Then beneath the kitchen sink, I found the Cone of Shame Tia had once worn when she had a hurt paw. It fit, but it needed to be round.  I tried twisting Wal-Mart sacks (we have a lifetime supply) around the base of the cone to build it up.  It had the shape, but would need something to cover the sacks.  Felt was too stiff.  A white tee-shirt in the Not-Ever-Going-to-Wear-This-Again-but-Too-Good-to-Trash pile caught my eye.  It was soft, pliable, and it was white.  However, the twists in the Wal-Mart sacks showed through.  I settled on some batting left over from quilting.  All the helmet needed now was some gold duck tape around the edges, and a rounded visor I covered in gold duck tape.

With the helmet out of the way, it was time to tackle the air tanks.  I had bought two extra two liter bottles of root beer and Dr. Pepper for the previous Scuba Zombie costume.  I instructed the two kids to empty the contents, which they eagerly did.  Tossing me the empty plastic bottles, the hyper children ran outside to chase the squirrels.  I sprayed the bottles white then added pieces of red plastic and strips of orange construction paper to the opening of the bottles to represent flames.

I printed out two American Flags and glued those to the tanks.  All that was left was printing the name on the helmet and Astro-Mutt was ready for a win.  And WIN she did. 

First Place and Best of Show!  Whaoo!  Automatic Dog Feeder and $30 in dog food.

This doggie did do it, and yes, therapy will be required.

Kee Kee Koo Koo! Kee Kee Koo Koo!

By Jody Worsham, co author, FINALLY, to "Kin We're Not Related To"

All rights reserved for an agent or mid-wife

I guess it is fitting that the book is being born on Labor Day.   But having no previous experience with giving birth to anything, I was not prepared.

As most of you know I have eight adopted children.  God knew what He was doing when He sent me six children already house broken, walking, and eating solid food before He sent me a one day old baby.  But nothing has prepared me for giving birth to a book.

The gestation period for human babies is nine months.  James Patterson may be able to pop out a book in 53 days like my Shih Tzu pops out puppies in that same amount of time, but I think I am more between the Asiatic elephant and the Alpine Salamander.  The elephant’s gestation period is one year and ten months while the viviparous amphibian, The Alpine Salamander is pregnant for three years and two months. I have been carrying  this book around for two years and three months.

It took a year to write it, a year to re-write it so it made sense, then 92 days to figure out the business end.

Here it is Labor Day and the book is born.  Now what?

When I announced the birth to my Christian Writers’ Group, one member asked “How do you feel?  Are you excited?”

How do I feel?  I didn’t know.  Numb?  Depressed?  I said “I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout birthin’ no book but from what other mothers/authors have said, I think I’m suffering from postpartum depression.  I’ve wagged this thing around for almost two and half years and all of a sudden, here it is—out in the open for all to see. And it’s little and it doesn’t do anything.  It just lays there.”

 Since I am not a normal mother, maybe I am not a normal writer.  I don’t think I am a normal writer.  What if people don’t buy the book?  What if they do and don’t laugh?  I didn’t laugh.  I mean I grinned a few times but is that worth $8.53 cents plus shipping?  But then I am always surprised when people do laugh.

So what should I do?  I can’t take it back.  It’s too late.  It’s out there.  People know!  Besides, I am not the only author.  Even if I could delete my half, then Wanda Argersinger’s half would not make any sense.

This is all Wanda’s fault anyway.  She’s had children.  She's even published books before.  She should have warned me about PPP, Post Partum Panic.  It was all fun and games when she said “Let’s write a book” and dumb me, not knowing what was ahead, said "Ok."  I may never speak to her again!

Of course now that I look more closely at it, it does look kind of cute with its little red cover.  It may have been Wanda’s art work, but it was my idea.  And the stories are laughable.  And later, years later, when I see it on a table at Barns and Noble I will think "Wanda and I created this little book of laughs." It took both of us to make this book.  Ok, maybe I will talk to her…tomorrow.

So maybe I will buy 30 copies myself and give them to my family.  Families always think your baby is darling and cute even if it is ugly and not so funny.

But what if they recognize some of the characters in the book?  What if they talk to each other?  What if they compare stories? They won't know it is all made up based on facts.  If they see themselves in the book, my family tree will look like it has been pruned down to a nub.  I will be family-less.  Cut from the will.  Chopped off the tree.  Excommunicated.  A literary orphan.  A…A... uh oh! I feel another attack of PPP coming on.  Kee kee koo koo! Kee kee koo koo!

Tip:  Read this book, then pass it on as a gift.

“Kin We're Not Related To” by Wanda Argersinger and Jody Worsham is available at Amazon.com and Create Space Books in both paperback and e-book form in English unless Jody hit the wrong button. 

The I-Groan, Part 2

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to learn Indian Smoke Signals

I was beginning my second minute of lecturing on the virtues of taking notes on paper versus electronic devices at the AT&T store, when the eleven-year-old rolled her eyes completely out of sight. That signified total shutdown from listening to anything else I had to say.  I have seen this before many times.  I don’t think Alex, the AT&T employee who was helping me, had.  He was making the sign of the cross, even though I was sure he was Baptist, and dialing 1-800-CALL-An-EXORCIST.   I stopped talking and her eyes came back into view just before he hit dial.  The color came back to Alex’s face and we continued.  I completed my notes, paid for the phone, and we left.  Alex held the door open calling out “God Bless”.   I am sure we will be on every prayer list in town by Sunday, both for her sake and mine.

That afternoon with I-Phone, charger, adaptor, and notes in hand, we loaded up the children, packed the RV and headed for our favorite camping spot.  I decided to try out the new I-Phone on the way.  Now, just so you know, we have a family plan of 700 roll over minutes of which I used 5 last month so I basically have to review my notes every time I answer any cell phone.  

I had already learned how to translate toddler gibberish, speak fluent two-year-old, and decipher every nuance of eye rolling before the first six children were in high school.  I was tri-lingual before these last two were even born. The children never bothered to learn even rudimentary “Senior”.  We were destined to have a failure to communicate.

“I think I will try out my new I-phone and call my sister and tell her we are on our way,” I confidently said.

“You might want to practice first,” said Miss Eleven-Year-Old-Know-it-All, between the sounds of her texting, the whirling sounds of sending, and the beeping notifications of receiving on her cell phone.  “I’ll call you.”

I was waiting for my phone to “ring”.  Instead, it shocked me and I dropped it.

“You’ve got it on vibrate.  Do you want it to vibrate?”

“No, I want it to ring.  I don’t want an electric shock in my hands or my pants.”

“Which ring tone do you want?  You can have a ring tone that is different for each person?  Do you want separate ring tones for just our immediate family?”

“Ten ring tones?  How will I ever remember ten ring tones much less which tone is for which family member?”

“You can put a picture of the person calling you so you will know who it is.  Here, I’ll put my picture so it will come up when I am calling you.”

“Couldn’t I just say ‘Hello, who is this?”

“Fine,” eyes rolling toward the ceiling.  “Here is a high pitched ring that you are sure to hear.”

My phone rang.  The sound of an alien spaceship circling our car sounded, the dog began to howl, and the eleven-year-old’s picture appeared on my I-phone screen.

“Answer it!” my husband yelled above the howling dog and the sounds of the alien space ship trying to land. 

“How?” I queried?

“Slide the bar at the bottom and tap on the number.  Here let me” came from Miss Queen of the I-Phone.

“No, if you do it I will never learn.  Now where is the bar?” I said scanning the tiny screen.

“I don’t know but I’m looking for one” came from my dear tee-totaler Hubby as he swerved the truck from side to side. “Just answer the phone so the dog will stop howling and the space ship can land.”

“Hello?  Who is this?”

“It’s me. Look at the picture.   I’m right behind you.”

“Ok, I think I have that.  Slide, tap, say hello.  Got it.  Now how do I text?”

“Well to text, you tap the green oval at the top, type in the address from your contact list, type your message, then hit send.  If you are texting and someone is calling you, you can tap accept, reject….”

“STOP.  Don’t give me so many options.  Speak slower, not louder.  You aren’t making any sense…”

My husband reached for his cell phone.  “9-1-1?  What is my emergency?  Are you kidding?  I’m in a four passenger pick-up truck with a Shih Tzu, a seven-year-old and an eleven-year-old who do not speak ‘Senior”, a phone that E.T. tried to call home on, a wife who can’t see a bar when it is right in front of her and it’s an hour and a half to our destination.”

“Yes, sir.  Stay calm.  Alex notified us. There is an I-Phone Crisis Counselor about a mile behind you.  He has been following you since your wife left the store.  He is a certified Instructor for I-Phone 4 and he is fluent in “Senior”.  I’ll stay on the line until he catches up with you.”

My husband pulled the truck, trailer, two kids, one dog, and three cell phones safely to the shoulder of the road and waited for the I-Phone Crisis Counselor to catch up to us.

As the I-Phone Counselor spoke to me slowly, using simple one syllable words, I said to myself:

“Who needs a cell phone anyway?  Maybe I’ll just send out smoke signals.   There’s plenty coming from my ears right now.”

Cujo in the Attic

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for the Dog Whisperer

Last night was your typical evening at home with the family.   By bedtime, all teeth had been brushed and/or removed for cleaning and baths had been taken.  Then the Tween-ager couldn’t find the dog.  The hunt for the Shih Tzu began.  Finally I yelled in a clam voice “GO TO BED.  The dog is in the house somewhere.  She’s just hiding… (and I don’t blame her).”

Five minutes later both children burst into the bedroom wide-eyed, slamming doors, screaming, and talking at the same time.  “There’s something in the attic.  It’s chasing us up and down the hall.”  Thinking this was just a ploy to avoid bedtime, I went into the hall to herd them toward bed when I heard it.  More screams, slamming doors, and talking at the same time which brought Dr. Hubby to the hallway.

He heard it but rather than scream and slam doors, he merely pulled down the folding staircase in the hall ceiling to investigate.  There was the Shih Tzu.  I was sure she had morphed into Cujo.  It seems someone had left the storage door to the attic in the upstairs playroom open.  While upstairs hiding one of my biscuits under the sofa, the dog had investigated the open door.  When she heard the kids calling her, she followed the sounds through the ceiling…running all over the attic.

Hot and dehydrated, cool water was administered.  The dog was hot and dehydrated, too, so they gave her some cool water as well.  After many assurances that there were no other critters in the attic and Cujo was just a movie, I managed to go to bed.  The kids and the dog had gone to bed an hour earlier.

Some people have bats in the belfry; we have Shih Tzu’s in the attic.  More fodder for the blogger!