Why I Can’t Seem to Clean Out My Closet

Many years ago before I met my sweet Randy and after my divorce from my kids’ father, I met a man who convinced me I was damaged goods.  I was 30 years old, divorced, and had two small children, who was going to want to take that on?  In hindsight, I can only admit that I was extremely vulnerable after being replaced by a nineteen year old.  I believed at the time that the love of my life was gone forever and that I should just settle for whoever would have my children and me.  He was thoroughly convincing and was truly a con artist doing an outstanding snow job.  I took the bait, hook, line and sinker and will regret it to my dying day.

This man slowly but very surely alienated me from my friends.  The divorce had taken care of that with the only family I had in Arkansas.  Eventually he convinced me we should move out to California where his family lived so that’s what we did.  Very quickly I begin to realize what a huge lack of judgment I’d made for not just me, but my precious babies as well.  I won’t go into all the details but it turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.

Three days before we finally were able to leave California this man and I had the biggest argument I’ve ever had with anyone.  It got physically abusive and resulted in me being pushed so hard I blacked out for a few seconds.  I slid down the wall my head had hit and when I begin to slowly open my eyes, what lay within an inch of my right hand?  A perfect weapon, a child’s T-ball bat, and the man who needed me to hit him with it bending over me at the perfect angle.  Without a single doubt, to this day I believe God provided me with that bat.  I grabbed it, began to rise, and swung the bat with all my might in one fluid motion.  It landed squarely on his nose with a satisfying crunching sound and that nose immediately began bleeding profusely. He yelled as he grabbed it and said, “You broke my focking nose!”

“Good!” was my reply as I rushed out the door and ran to the neighbor’s house where both my kids were playing with her two.  Those kind people let us stay at their house for three days while my brother-in-law flew out to help us.

During those three days that man managed to clean out my entire walk-in closet including shoes, purses, jewelry, hats, underwear, bras, all my work clothes, jeans, t-shirts, blouses, skirts, everything, except one set of sweats and a pair of tennis shoes.  He did the same thing with my kids’ things as well.  Not only that, he put sugar in my car’s gas tank.  Ruined it.  My brother-in-law called the police and said he’d stolen all of these things from me but the cop looked me straight in the eye and said, “I think you should count your blessings and get on back to Texas.”

So that’s what we did after my brother-in-law bought us some more sweats at K-Mart and home we drove.  I’ve never regretted leaving him. 

An after affect of this trauma is that I can’t seem to clean out my closet.  I might need those things!  Who knows when someone will take everything I have accumulated over the years!  I guess I have PTSD but it is what it is, right?  Do you think I should get some help?

More About Marley

The sweetest thing happened with Marley yesterday and I thought I should counter it to my last blog entry when I was furious with him.

First of all, I have to explain a bit about Marley.  He came from the Rockport Humane Society.  They found him at the Victoria shelter and picked him up because the Victoria shelter was going to euthanize him and Rockport is a no-kill shelter.  He lived in our shelter for 6 months until we came along, or til Randy came along, that is.  We had lost our sweet Abe only weeks before and were still grieving his loss.  Randy likes having a big dog around so off to the local shelter we went. 

There were lots of dogs to choose from but this great, big-pawed, black hunk’a dog attracted our attention.  They allowed us to take him to our vet for a check over before we agreed to make him part of our family.

At that time our vet said, “Well, he’s got fleas and ticks, ear mites, he’s skinny, and he definitely has hip dysplasia.  I recommend you take him back because eventually he’s going to be in a lot of pain as he ages.”

That was enough for me because our last two Golden Retrievers had hip dysplasia and we spent a fortune on them in operations when they were young and meds in their later years.  So we took him back to the shelter and said we had decided not to keep him.

He wouldn’t get out of Randy’s truck.  Just sat there with this sad look on his face and finally, very slowly, jumped out and went back into his designated pen.  It was sad but I was convinced at the time it was the right thing to do.

The next day Randy went on one of his long bike rides and during the ride he said God, or Abe, or somebody, convinced him that he needed to save this dog and invite him into our family.  When he arrived back home from his ride he relayed to me this overwhelming feeling during his ride that urged him to save this dog and that was exactly what he was going to do.  So I said okay, but he’s your dog!

“Famous last words” come to mind at this point.  Randy went and got him, I stayed home.  If he was going to be Randy’s dog, then so be it.  Plus we had guests for the weekend.

His name at the shelter was Majestic and that didn’t work for me so I suggested we call him Marley, which is a perfect name for him as it turns out.  We’ve had our ups and downs with Marley.  He has to be crated when we leave the house and you can’t leave food out on the counters because he will eat it – package and all.  His nickname is MarshMoo, because of his love of jumping in it and being a royal pain in the buttinski to get out.  But, at the same time, he has many endearing qualities.

He saved my life once … literally.  But I won’t tell that story here. 

We had a DNA test run on him and he has not a drop of Great Dane in him like the shelter thought.  He’s one-half black lab, ¼ Dalmatian and the other ¼ is a mix of about 7 different breeds.  The Dalmatian part comes out in a couple of different ways.  #1 being he can be kind of aloof and his sleek coat is definitely the texture of Dalmatian rather than black lab, even though it’s black.  His white cross-shaped badge on his chest has a black spot on it and he has a great big knot on his bony head that has a cowlick sticking straight up right on it.  I call it his top hat.

Yesterday he gave me a gift he’s never given me before and we’ve had him almost two years.  He came to me and offered me his head to pet, which I gladly did because this dog is extremely sensitive to having his head messed with.  I don’t know what happened to him in his life for him to be reticent about that but he’s always been that way with us.  He even lowered his head and leaned into it.  He needed a cuddle and who doesn’t from time to time? I was so moved by his trust that I cried great big alligator tears.  After a few minutes he looked up at me and licked a tear from my cheek.  Made me cry some more.

I petted him very well and told him how much I love him and how happy I am that he is in my life.  I thanked him for saving my ass and taking such good care of me when Randy isn’t home.  He takes that job very seriously and follows me wherever I go.  From room to room, doesn’t matter if I’m only there a minute, he’s with me.  He sits by me facing the doorway when I’m on the toilet, ever vigilant because he recognizes how vulnerable I am.  He is my constant companion and a stalwart defender against anything and everything that might even remotely threaten me.

So, whose dog do you think he is?  Who feeds him most of the time?  Who gives him his meds when he needs them?  Who does he guard with all his might?  Yes, it’s me, his Momma, and I will love him for it forever!

 Notice his top hat

 Look at the size of that paw, would ya?

His hip dysplasia doesn't seem to prevent him from leaping, running or chasing the ball.

What a sweet & lovable guy he truly is!  More top hat showing here, heehee!

That's my Marley!