As we feed Franny and Zuzu a mixture of chicken, spinach, carrots, and green beans atop their dry kibble, along with the occasional frozen blueberries and mango, and some pumpkin now and then, we like to picture Max, Molly, Sunny, and even Otis gathered together in doggie heaven looking at each other and shouting, “What the hell!”

My sister says this excessive doggie pampering,which includes routinely buying pricey elk antlers, yak chews, and obedience classes, is a direct result of empty nesting. With our child no longer at home to dote and spend money on, we’ve redirected our attention, affection, and forgiveness to a sea of tan and white, whom we lovingly call our Angel Babies from Heaven. Even Huck regularly uses this moniker when requesting pics.

Nearly all of our blankets have a random hole in them, and most of our sheets and pillow cases have either been destroyed or eaten at the edges. One day we attempted to separate the sisters while we were at work in hopes of protecting their spay incisions from each other’s mouths. It was the dreaded January 6th, soon to be forever referred to as Zuzu’s Insurrection Day, wherein she somehow got the cone of shame off her head, tore off the molding around the door, brought down the curtains, ripped parts of a picture frame apart, filled the floor with sawdust, wood pieces, and nails, and somehow did no damage to herself.

We no longer separate them.

At their first vet appointment, two weeks to the day of adopting them, we learned that Franny has heartworm infection. We’ve survived the first month of her treatment and are now starting the second, which is a bit of a reprieve. The real work begins in mid-March when Franny will receive her first of three injections that require cage rest and sedation for around ten weeks. The final test to see if she’s completely heartworm free is scheduled for January 16, 2026.

We’ve loved dogs, we’ve lost dogs, and now we’re cherishing every minute with these two and looking forward to warmer days with normal activities like walks and dog parks and playing. When Huck was little he made a small black spot with a Sharpie on his lime green comforter. When asked why, he innocently answered that he just wanted to see what it would look like. And though I love my blankets to be intact and Sharpie-free, every single damaged portion makes me smile.

A year ago!

When Huck was little I always made a point to write a New Year’s Eve blog, summarizing our year together in a few paragraphs to look back on someday. He’s no longer little, in fact towers over me, but this morning as I watched him calming the dogs into a December nap on their bed in front of the Christmas tree and fire, I felt inspired again. I took a picture as he joined me on the couch to admire our sleeping beauties. Huck then played this Regina Spektor song we used to listen to when he was a baby (who knew he’d grow up to love her?), as he felt some of these lyrics matched what we were feeling.

“This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again.”

Happy New Year, loved ones, whatever it may bring!

Way back when the summer turned into the school year, my heart was heavy with worry and anticipation for my parents. It was becoming heartbreakingly clear that we needed to move my dad out of the home he’d lived in since 1969, and while I knew this was necessary and could even be a good thing, I also knew it was going to be incredibly stressful and sad for all of us. One day in September I told my yearbook staff that I needed a good cry. Others agreed that they, too, could use one, and so a few of us sat and concentrated on trying to cry. It didn’t work.

Fast forward to now, and what I would give to stop having a good cry.

One of our favorite storybooks of Huck’s childhood is Michael Wane Rosen’s “Going on a Bear Hunt” with a chorus that repeats can’t go over it, can’t go under it, we’ve got to go through it. My sister Jeni recently learned that emotions are like a tunnel with a beginning, middle, and end that we have to go through in order to avoid getting stuck in the middle. A few days after my last blog post, Troy experienced every dog owner’s nightmare and lost our Otis forever right as I was witnessing my parents being reunited in Wichita. What followed has felt like trudging through long wavy grass, a deep cold river, thick oozy mud, a big dark forest, and a swirling whirling snowstorm of grief for my precious puppy, the dad I knew, my childhood home. Just like in the book, I thankfully had a very loved one going right through that long dark tunnel with me.

One thing I salvaged from my childhood home was a little Currier and Ives looking clock that plays a sweet Christmas tune on the hour, another thing that can bring on the tears. I called my dad the other day right after the 2:00 song and he agreed that it was a little heartbreaking somehow to hear those songs. Together we used to appreciate Johnny Mathis singing, “Christmas makes you feel emotional.”

There are no words to describe how difficult this transition has been for my dad, and therefore for all of us. He is confused and lost, sometimes literally and four miles away. We were warned it would be a hard move, but we had no idea.

Which is why when a pair of Corgi mix sisters need to be rehomed at the most wonderful, emotional time of the year, you stop everything, wipe your eyes, and drive an hour and a half on a Saturday to meet them, only to dry your eyes again because they remind you of all the dogs you’ve ever loved. (But when Otis Redding begins singing “Try a Little Tenderness” at your highway exit, you quickly skip it because that’s a little too much.)

So we got ourselves each a little Christmas present this year, one named Franny and the other Zuzu, who will undoubtedly be serenaded with the “White Christmas” hit song Sisters throughout their hopefully very long, happy lives. My gift of the year was Huck, never an animal fan, after hearing about us meeting them last weekend, exclaiming: “Oh my gosh, Mom! GET THE DOGS!”

Cue another very good cry.

Otis 2023-2024

Apparently Troy and I are in the Sandwich Generation as middle aged people who are simultaneously caring for children and elderly parents. Of course Huck is an adult who’s doing fine on his own, but there’s still emotional labor involved in parenting him from afar (as well as his financial dependence on us). And nothing compares to the stress and sadness of watching your parents grow older and lose their memories, personalities, and marbles.

In an urgent turn of events, we’re moving both of mine into a lovely facility in Wichita near my sister Lori this weekend. Dad and his best friend Elvis the dog will be in a one-bedroom assisted living apartment while Mom and her stuffed animals will be down the hall in memory care. For them to be under the same roof again answers a lot of frantic prayers over the last four and a half years, and though this is a life change like no other for all of us, we three sisters are grateful. And a little unhinged.

These past few weeks have been a frenzy of trips back and forth between Kansas and Arkansas (and Iowa for my sister Jeni) as we navigated dementia, toured facilities, and began preparing our childhood home – where I was brought as a newborn with sideburns in 1970 – to be emptied and sold. (Does anyone want a painting?) Husbands took turns taking their father in-law to the neurologist, giving new meaning to the phrase “in sickness and in health.”

Due to a refreshing bit of timing, in the middle of all this was our long planned trip to Pittsburgh for fall break. Huck was a welcome breath of fresh air with his youth and carefree conversations. He excitedly showed us every single classroom of every single class he has taken or is taking at CMU, and in one of them he gave us a sample T.A. lecture that took me right back to his childhood. (Except that back then I could pretend to know what he was saying.) He made us smoothies every morning in his beautiful apartment, showed us “The Dungeon” where he builds sets, props, and costumes, and together we explored beautiful Pittsburgh. When I look at our one and only progeny and imagine the three of us in 30 years, I feel bad for not giving him at least two siblings.

In between our travels west and east, last week Otis developed seasonal allergies and was prescribed steroids that can, and did, cause incontinence. All over our house. I’m not sure how a one-year-old sneezing, peeing, adorable puppy fits into the Sandwich Analogy, but it’s getting crowded in here.

After returning from Pittsburgh I emptied my suitcase, did some laundry, and filled it up again to head back to Kansas for one more night on Marc Street with my dad and sisters. Can I handle the seasons of my life? I hope so.

Huck left us this morning in the fives to begin his second year of college hundreds of miles away. Yesterday he packed all his things up in two suitcases and several boxes for us to ship, said goodbye to his besties, and then came home to walk Otis with me through the neighborhood one last time. After a family pizza dinner we attempted a reenactment of our old Mommy/Huck dance to the song “Sugarfoot” from days of yore (but quickly cut some of our more famous moves when we realized how much weight he’s put on since age three.) Randomly (and magically) Shawn Colvin’s cover of “You’re Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go” popped up on my dinner playlist, so we slow danced around the living room together, which was really just a very long hug.

Huck came home in early May as we were ending one school year, and he’s left us in late August as we begin another. To quote my friend Sara back in New York City, Troy and I are experiencing the “wonderful terribles.” To quote my friend Shana right here in Fayetteville … it’s a “heart clench.” And to quote Bob Dylan, “You’re gonna have to leave me now, I know. But I’ll see you in the sky above, in the tall grass, in the ones I love. You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.”

One July afternoon this summer Huck compared coming home from college to having been on a trampoline for many months and getting used to the fun, unnatural feeling of jumping high into the air over and over again. Returning home was like suddenly getting off the trampoline and adjusting to the normal ground and rules of gravity, making it a little difficult to walk at first.

He’s been home since early May, so it’s safe to assume he’s quite accustomed to the solid earth beneath his feet by now. As he nears his return to the trampoline life in 11 days, Troy and I are getting extra hugs, affection, and quality time. Most nights, right as we’re about to turn on BritBox for another exciting British procedural, Huck enters the room with a flourish, makes the dog bark excitedly, and plops onto the couch for deep conversation.

People have asked us if Huck has changed since going to college, and while there’s so much about him that’s the same (luxurious hair, cup hoarding, a penchant for lounging around with his phone like Ennui from “Inside Out 2”), there’s one striking difference I’ve watched develop over the summer: He’s sometimes sweet to Otis. He invented a little game with him, praises his rare obedience, lets him outside halfway through the day now that we’re back at work, accompanies me on late afternoon dog walks, and laughs pretty hard at his antics. While none of this seems like anything special, trust me. It would be like me being nice to a snake.

And speaking of Huck’s little corgi brother, this summer Otis discovered the joy of our bathtub. He technically can jump in without assistance, as I’ve discovered him in there unexpectedly a few times, but he really prefers to be lifted up and plopped gently down. Running a little water makes the experience extra exciting, as does washing him with a cloth. Post-bathtub (with or without water) sends him speeding through our house like a maniacal tri-colored rocket.

Earlier this summer I asked Troy why Huck often lacks a sense of urgency in matters that require it, and he sang these Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young lyrics to me, which I would like to now dedicate to both Huck & Otis:

Don’t you ever ask them why

If they told you, you would cry

So just look at them and sigh

And know they love you.

Apparently puppies go through two “fear periods” – one at 8-11 weeks old and another sometime between 6-14 months. At the ripe old age of nine months and following our five day trip to Kansas a few weeks ago, Otis began acting very frightened at times, cowering in strange corners and desperately trying to get into our car any chance he could. We joked that it was because he missed his Kansas relatives so much; we feared that he somehow knew our house was about to burn down. There’s not much we can do during these phases except hold him, talk gently, go for a car ride, brush his hair and teeth, and wait for him to return to his confident, playful, naughty self.

My fear periods revolve around Huck, money, health, mortality, the election, my parents, & the puppy. There’s not much anyone can do during these phases except have coffee with me on the patio, plant more flowers, go on a bike ride, go on a dog walk, let me read or nap in the hammock, and put me in my pink pool inner tube whilst Troy swims laps around me.

We have about a month left of our sweet, slow summer staycation, and Huck has seven more weeks of dependent independence with us. We are basically Empty Nesters with a Corgi Sidekick and a Celebrity Guest Star who makes Cameo Appearances. We are constantly out of clean towels and cups, and the corgi still barks at the guest star when he comes through any door at any time day or night. (Recently Huck did a whimsical little leap in the air, which sent Otis into a barking frenzy of frantic laps around our coffee table.) We’ve enjoyed lots of meals and games nights together, had deep conversations and the occasional bicker, and we’re beginning to imagine this final summer coming to an end. But before that happens, there’s more Mr. Troy in the creek on Saturday mornings, a quick father/son trip to Chicago, and a visit from Aunt Jeni!

“During fear periods, puppies (& Jonny) become more sensitive and aware of the world around them. They may be more concerned about new objects or experiences, and even things that they previously might have enjoyed can become worrisome. The confident, engaged, and smart puppy (Jonny) you had just a day ago is now insecure and worried about a harmless object. Don’t worry—this isn’t forever!” (-American Kennel Club)

Photo taken by our niece Rylee on her 14th birthday!

Our home is filled again with the smells of incense and sounds of Lana del Rey as Huck crochets bags, complains of spiders in his bathroom, and processes the many experiences of his first year of college. It took us a little while to get our groove, what with his piles of things everywhere and all the incense, plus for the past nine months we’ve enjoyed some newfound independence from each other. Troy and I never returned to our childhood homes once we left for college in 1988 except for brief visits, so we don’t know what it’s like to taste freedom and then move back home for 108 days. Thankfully we’re perfect parents, so I’m sure he’s loving every minute of it!

Our summer so far has included bike rides (thanks to my new one), lots of swims, visits from favorite Texans & Kansans, Otis’ first haircut & only castration, a dance party, wonderful books, sci-fi TV, gardening, coffee on the patio, card playing, dog walks, hammock naps, a day trip to Eureka Springs, waiting for Huck to find a job, a fallen tree in our backyard, a broken toilet, an eye infection, and new brake pads for Huck’s car.

Because It’s Always Something.

The other day Otis was trying very hard to get a treat out of his “Snoop” dog toy designed to give ornery puppies a challenge, and over and over again I fought the urge to solve the puzzle for him.  It was so familiar, this feeling. So, so familiar. Only instead of a 19 year old human taller than me, I desperately wanted to help a 19 pound crazy corgi running through the house trying to get a pitiful treat out of a silicone toy. I resolved to look away and let him handle it himself, until hours later I found the abandoned toy stuck under a couch and realized my expertise was required. And that right there is the problem. MY EXPERTISE IS ALWAYS REQUIRED AROUND HERE!

So if you need web design, video editing, math tutoring, data entry, or if you know of anyone hiring, please reach out to our very available child before he uses up all the yarn in town. In the meantime, we will enjoy his potentially last summer at home in our very full nest.

My aging parents have officially lost all sense of time, and I guess this is when it begins. In your fifties, empty nesters, your baby out in the world. “Where does the time go?” they say. I look at this picture of Huck from 2013 (taken by Shannon during an early morning algebra lecture) and shake my head in wonder. I could walk into the other room and find him like this and be unsurprised.

These days I keep catching myself saying “this time last year” and remembering Huck’s last day of high school, awards ceremonies, graduations, parties, and all the emotions, stress, and fun of May 2023. Having survived his first year of college I realize how different those realities are; it’s like the difference between parenting a baby and a toddler. Both are pretty dependent on you for everything, both are cute in their own ways, but walking makes all the difference. Even thinking back to how I felt last semester – checking the CMU webcam for a celebrity sighting, his class schedule posted on my work bulletin board, trying to memorize all his professors’ and friends’ names – compared to the end of year when I no longer need to know what he’s doing every second and have finally given up on identifying people in pictures.

Here’s what I do know about my toddler’s second semester of college: He struggled and learned never again to overload on classes. He had a couple of beautiful choir concerts – one accompanied by the Carnegie Mellon Philharmonic Orchestra – and that he loves being in charge of props for plays and musicals. He joined the newspaper club as a copy editor and got hired as a Tartan Ambassador giving tours to prospective students while wearing a sharp red polo. And I know that when asked why he wanted to be a math TA for his favorite professor next year, he described the many years his mother (& others) endured his math lectures on white boards and how fun it sounds to help  math students who actually understand what he’s talking about. (I feel responsible for him getting the job.)

Tomorrow Huck will leave his freshman dorm for the last time and drag his luggage onto the bus to the airport for his summer visit home. This morning Huck FaceTimed to talk through how to check a bag at the airport “because I’ve never done that before.” And just like that, I became the expert again for a fleeting minute.

Where does the time go?

Huck at the Pittsburgh Zoo during Finals Week (with Jacqueline maybe?)

Last September when we received Sunny’s ashes in a beautiful wooden box with flowers engraved on the top, we also received a sweet certificate with a poem as if written by her.  This was the final line: “Don’t hold the love that you have within yourself. Give it to another like me and then I will live forever.” Troy was ready to follow these instructions; I was not. Until a day in mid-February when without warning, I suddenly was. The timing wasn’t quite right, as our very anti-dog son was about to come home for an early spring break that coincided with his 19th birthday. Nonetheless, our Facebook feeds immediately became filled with ads for dog food, dog beds, and pet insurance due to our sudden obsession with the local dog shelters, Petfinder, and NWA Corgi social media pages.

And that’s how we found Otis, the five month old 13 pound tri-colored Pembroke Welsh Corgi who has taken over our lives! To quote one of our friends, he’s “deliberate premeditated cuteness.” He inspires high pitched squeals wherever he goes and loves all strangers. He has a British accent, his old brother Max’s passionate bark, and boundless play energy until he suddenly falls asleep. He’s scared of Troy’s guitar and gardening equipment and needs a running start to jump onto the couch. He eats voraciously, has very sharp teeth, and recently discovered Sunny’s private water fountain in our little backyard pond. He came to us crate trained, but sometimes Troy “accidentally” falls asleep with him in the bed. He loves a pillow top mattress!

Huck was not pleased with this decision, to put it lightly, but when he met this new family member he said, “I can see how if you like dogs you might think he was cute.” When our friend Shana asked how he felt about Otis, he answered, “Only negative things.” After the laughter subsided he added, “But I’m happy for my parents.”

So are we!

And of course … HAPPY 19TH BIRTHDAY TO HUCK!!!