I felt this needed reposting... a laugh was required!

Hi guys!
This came to me via email from a friend, who received it from a mutual friend of ours who is a malamute owner. It is a true story, with some artistic licence of course in the form of the dog's script, and best beloved is the partner of the malamute owner who wrote it.
And I totally had to share it with you guys, because I may have never had a malamute, who as I understand it have immense appetites, but I have had thieving dogs.
Today was Mother's Day, by the by, and I hope all my fellow mums had a wonderful day filled with love.
xxxx
Stevie

Dog: I am starving.
Me: Actually, no. You aren't starving. You get two very good meals a day. And treats. And Best Beloved fed you extra food while I was gone.
Dog: STARVING.
Me: I saw you get fed not four hours ago! You are not starving.
Dog: Pity me, a sad and tragic creature, for I can barely walk, I am so starving. WOE.
Me: I am now ignoring you.
Dog: STARVING.
Dog: Did you hear me? I am starving.
Dog: Are you seriously ignoring me? Fine.

[There is a pause, during which the dog exits the room in a pointed manner.]

[From the kitchen, there comes a noise like someone is eating a baseball bat.]

Me, yelling: What the hell are you doing?
Me: *makes haste for the kitchen and finds dog there*
Dog: *picks up entire raw sweet potato, which is what was causing the baseball bat noise, and flees for the bedroom*
Me: *chases dog, retrieves most of sweet potato, less the portion which has disappeared into dog's gullet*
Dog: See? STARVING.
Me: ...That can't be good for you. It's a RAW SWEET POTATO.
Dog: I had to do it. I haven't been fed. Ever.
Me: You realize you aren't normal. Normal dogs don't steal raw sweet potatoes.
Dog, sadly: I was badly brought up.
Me: Yes. Yes, you were.
Dog: By people who starved me.
Me: Oh, no. I am not doing this again.
Me: *exits the room, bearing sweet potato*

[There is a pause.]

[There is a noise like someone is trying to eat a baseball bat very very quietly.]

Me: Oh, for the love of GOD.
Me: *heads off to the kitchen*
Dog: I am not eating a raw sweet potato.
Me: You have sweet potato parts all over your snout.
Dog: But you don't actually SEE a raw sweet potato, do you? So maybe that's just - um. A birthmark.
Me: Did you seriously eat a whole sweet potato?
Dog: You don't listen. I told you, I wasn't eating a sweet potato.
Me, searching around fruitlessly: Look. NO MORE SWEET POTATOES.
Me: Oh, what am I saying? This is you we're talking about, here. *goes to hide all the sweet potatoes that are left - which isn't many - in the fridge, because some people cannot be trusted*
Dog: *attempts to look thwarted*
Dog: *does not succeed, because her tail is wagging so hard small cyclones are forming in the kitchen*
Me: *has a very bad feeling about this*

[There is a pause, during which I do not even bother trying to return to what I was doing. I just stand in the computer room, waiting.]

[There is, as I wholly expected, a baseball-bat-eating noise.]

Me, stomping back to the kitchen: OKAY. GIVE ME THE DAMNED SWEET POTATO.
Dog, looking up guiltily: What sweet potato?
Me: THE ONE IN YOUR MOUTH.
Dog: Oh, did you want this? I just, um. Found it. Lying here.
Me: *confiscates the sweet potato and deposits it in the locking trashcan*
Me: Let us say no more about this.
Dog: ...Nooooo! They be stealin' my sweet potato!

[I attempt to remember what I was doing before the sweet potato episode.]

[Some ten minutes later, I succeed, and return to it.]

[NOT ONE MINUTE LATER, I hear a noise with which I have become all too familiar.]

Me, bonking head on desk: Arg.
Me, arriving in kitchen: How did you even get another sweet potato?
Dog, smugly: I have my ways.
Me: Are you punishing me for being away for several days? I was at a FUNERAL, you know. It wasn't FUN.
Dog: How would I know? You didn't take me. You left me here with only one human to look after my needs. One human is NOT ENOUGH.
Me: *shuts dog in bedroom, conducts a sweep of the kitchen to track down all remaining sweet potatoes, wipes up random sweet potato particles from floor, eradicates all traces of sweet potato from house*
Me: *lets dog out*
Dog, sulkily: Oh, so you think you've won.

[I watch her go about her business with the same sense of overwhelming doom that heroines of Victorian novels get when they meet Count Sinistrus Grimblack for the first time.]

[Half an hour later, there is a wetter, juicier eating noise, as though someone was eating a very moist baseball bat.]

Me, wearily: What NOW?
Dog, hunched over the remains of a butternut squash: *says something garbled because her mouth is full*
Me: Okay. Fine.
Me: *stomps over, empties entire vegetable bowl into trash*
Me: WE JUST WON'T HAVE ANY ROOT VEGETABLES ANYMORE. THERE. ARE YOU HAPPY?
Dog: I'm not even remotely sorry. I told you I was hungry. And you went to a funeral without me.
Me: ARRRRRRRRG.

[A half-hour later, there is another baseball-bat-eating noise from the kitchen. The dog, who apparently does not know how to win gracefully, has found another sweet potato, or possibly caused one to materialize from the Rift.]

Me, hauling chewed sweet potato parts from the mouth of a dog very reluctant to part with them: Oh my god how is this my life?
Dog: Don't you think it would just be easier to feed me?
Me: EVERYONE GO TO THE BEDROOM AND STAY THERE. EAT NOTHING.
Dog: Actually, I feel...um...not so good.
Dog: *throws up* *vomit is very bright orange*

[Unfortunate details ensue.]

Some time later:
Me, attempting to rescue something from the wreckage: So. What have we learned from this?
Dog: Sweet potatoes are yummy!
Other Dog, looking thoughtful: I should pay more attention to crunching noises. Sweet potatoes are probably yummy.
Me: I need a lobotomy.

And that, Best Beloved - and anyone else who made it through that - is What Kind of Day It Has Been.

FRICKING SWEET POTATOES. ARG.

And here we go......

So I am running for District of Invermere council.
And suddenly I am squarely on the other side of the reporter’s notepad… or in this day and age, email address.
While I knew running for any sort of public office, whether I am elected or not, would involve this little switcheroo, I didn’t realize how strange it was going to feel, nor how unrelentingly rigid my standards for our local media were going to be.
I have to admit, I am upholding them to the standards once held by the editorial staff at The Valley Echo, back in the days of Cobb, Stevens and Fernandez. Perhaps I am just arrogant, but I am of the opinion that the three of us in particular made one hell of a trio, a journalistic gaggle who produced a paper worth reading each and every week, without compromising our integrity or losing our humanity.
Ah, for the good old days, of low pay, long hours, editorial “meetings” and J. Jonah Cobb bellowing at one of us at the top of his lungs.
Oh, wait…
While I do recall the old days at the paper fondly, it would never have allowed me to run for office of any kind. What is did give me was the opportunity to understand what makes this valley tick, and see, via covering council meetings, community forums and doing hours of research and uncounted interviews, what it takes to make it all happen.
Still, should I be successful in my campaign and become Councillor Stevens, there will be a lot to take in and learn. Over and above procedure and policy, and as certain of you reading this will agree, my heart might be better kept within my chest rather than on my sleeve, and the old chestnut think before you speak will become more of a mantra.
And as I suppose I should be actually campaigning a little… I do promise to listen. You can reach me via email at stephanieannstevens@gmail.com, or stop me on the street for a chat.
Catch you on the flip side folks… or better yet, at the polling station.

Sue.... find peace now....

Dear Sue...
When we first met our young sons were already best of friends, and as so often happens with parents of children who are chummy, we became easy, amiable acquaintances. It was a year or so later, me exhausted and in dire need of help at the youth centre, and you in need of another job, that we really found each other, once again, via our kids being friends. I was picking Scott up and you had just been laid off, and we started our real road together that moment.
Sue, you never once pulled your punches, but you also never once failed to open your arms and heart wide when I or one of the youth needed you.
You worked like a demon all day, and still showed up at The YC ready to spend the evenings cooking noodles, playing games or offering your particular brand of advice to whomever needed it.
The things to keep are the memories we made and shared.
The sign you made for my office wall, calling me the marshal. Scrubbing the corrosion off of ancient coins you bought on E-bay, and laughingly cursing me for introducing you to online shopping.
Hawking hot dogs, planning events, wrangling kids, phoning parents, butting heads with me and reminding me of the mistakes I made when I was young if I was too stern, and the exasperated look on your face as you sent kids into my office, telling me to “fix them.”
The look on your face as you brought in more treasures from the thrift store or garage sales to make The YC more homey, the smile on your face as I walked in the door, calling out “hi sweetie, how ya doing?”
Memories flood in like so much flotsam and jetsam, each producing a smile at its rediscovery.
You bringing a tiny puppy into work one day and convincing me she could be our mascot... and she was. We promptly named her Anaphe, after the Greek goddess that protects children, though sometimes when she took her job too seriously and loudly announced newcomers, she was tagged Sarah Jessica Barker.
I remember the evening I came to The YC and saw you had sheared your long dark hair super short just two weeks before we were supposed to shave our heads together, saying you just needed a change and couldn't wait, grinning all the while at the look on my face.
Driving together to the youth conference in Rossland, you answering my cell every time it rang and telling whoever was on the line I could not take the phone as I was driving, stopping for coffee at the shop in Creston, you gripping the panic handle when we crossed the Salmo pass and encountered snow.
Your enthusiasm for my “Neon Rider” ranch dream,” as you teasingly called it, planning the garden and chickens and goats we would raise with our wayward charges. Perhaps one day that dream will still become reality, and I know your spirit with be there.
Your unwavering love for your boys, your fiery temper and equally fiery determination.
A whirling dervish of a woman, a port in storm.
Sue, you were my girl Friday.
And I miss you.
Love,
Stephanie.

Puppy... er... kitten love, and Uncle Tony and Miss Macy

Dogs and cats sleeping together. What's next???
And holy blue eyes on those Dutch people.
A real post soon.
Love to all.
S

Introducing Fric and Frac!

after all... what is a ranch without cats?

Small towns kick ass

Columns again.... we'll see!

I'm home! After two years away, nothing says home like the Columbia Valley, and I am sure as heck happy to be back in your midst!
There are so many reasons I love this place, not least of all because my children are here.
Family, friends, familiar places and a general feeling of being back where I belong have all meshed together to give me that ol' Mayberry feeling I wrote about years ago when I was a new reporter for The Echo.
Having been out of the committing journalism scenario for some time, I look forward to writing a column now and again and offering my sage and brilliant perspective on all sorts of valley issues... heh heh! Oh I hear the collective groans now!
But one thing I do want to touch on with no uncertainty is our health care.
Now, I know there are always going to be people who gripe endlessly about small town medical care, and I know that just like in every profession there is a wide variety of talent and experience.
And I know something else.
I am sitting here clacking away on my computer today for one reason and one reason only: our hospital rocks.
See, a few Mondays back I got sick. Very sick. By Tuesday morning my husband Tony made the decision for me that I needed to see my doctor, Theresa Ross, immediately. And I did. An hour later I was in her office, with Tony doing the talking as I was in a fog of pain and fever.
And Theresa had me up in the ER, then the ICU, very shortly after that.
Things are a little hazy from that first day or two, though I do recall snippets here and there, many of them coming back like clips from a “best of” show.
If I could play it on a screen for you, with internal monologue dubbed in, it would have sounded something like this.
Upon first arrival...
Me: I hurt everywhere... so cold... please help.
Nurse: We're going to give you something for the pain Stephanie.
Me: I'll take anything.
About half an hour later...
Doctor: Stephanie you are very sick, we need to do more tests and you are being admitted.
Me: Mmm, yes sick. Goodness Percoset is lovely.
Ok, ok, of course my memory is a little befuddled, but my point is the doctors and nurses did such a good job of caring for me I really had no idea just how ill I was, or how close I came to dying.
Had I been in Calgary or Edmonton, sitting in a waiting room for untold, and precious, hours, the outcome for me would have been very different.
But I was not in a big city hospital.
Nope. I was here, in our little town, in our little hospital, getting the treatment I needed exactly when I needed it. Theresa, along with Drs. Francois Lowe, who was in the ER that day, Mike Walsh and Shannon Page, and nurses Teena Godlien, Ann Zurbriggen and Clara not only did their job, they exemplified professionalism, compassion, and respect for me that week.
I know there were other nurses who were involved, and please know it is not that I value you less. I have to plead memory issues from that week. What I do clearly recall is that first day in the ER with Teena, long days with Ann and long nights and Clara, my primary pair, who checked my vitals too many times to count, and made decisions for me when I was just incapable of doing so myself.
It did eventually occur to me how serious it all was. But when you have a group of people doing their job so well... heck, it just made it easy not to be afraid. And I was so confident they would take care of me, even without the Percoset I drifted in and out with an underlying sense of safety.
We have a wonderful team here.
I am thankful for all of you. I know I would not have received the same quality of care or compassion anywhere else.
Too often we take the bonuses of small town life for granted.
Heck, we take life for granted.
Not so much anymore for me. I am still recovering, still feeling the effects. I guess it`ll take a while. But when I think of the damage sepsis can cause, and look myself in the mirror, I remind myself my kids still have a mom, my husband still has a wife, complete and essentially in good working order.
And let`s face it. I just have too many opinions yet to voice.
Catch you on the flip side folks. Sure is good to be home.

the goods on the visit to hospital land.

Branding at the Feldmann Ranch.

So the last week of April was an interesting one.
I felt very unwell on the Monday, my entire body aching, could not get warm, generally felt dreadful. I assumed I had the flu. By the next morning I was worse, and Tony took matters into his own hands and got me in to see my doctor Theresa Ross. Tony did most of the explaining to her as I was feeling pretty dazed, was still in considerable pain and just could not get warm, which of course was because I had a fever.
I was admitted to the ER where Dr. Francois Lowe and the nurses took wonderful care of me, tests were done, turns out I was full on septic and was shuttled into the ICU.
Between pain meds, IV antibiotics, pain meds (yes I know I listed them twice) and general good care I was not feeling particularly concerned. Of course, I had no idea just how gravely ill I was either. And as the staff did not know what was making me so ill, so there were no other answers to be had.
My blood pressure did dip very low at one point, and I was given boluses to combat that (large amounts of saline sent via IV quickly into my body), but unfortunately my kidneys did not quite keep up and fluid backed up into my lungs causing a new issue, as did the large amounts of painkillers which were necessary, but a little too strong for narcotically virginal system. See also "I was absurdly stoned and unable to respond to anyone coherently," not a state I ever wish to be in again. It scared the hell out of Tony and Theresa was none too pleased either, so pain meds were changed right away.
Thursday my fever was gone and I was sent to Cranbook via ambulance for a CT scan to see if they could pinpoint the cause of the sepsis. This was a nightmare of a trip. I was supposed to go in, have the scan, and come home. Did it goes that way?
No.
No instead I went in, they did the scan, sent me to their ER and was told to wait for a surgeon as I had to have a biopsy in the morning. No other explanation at all. Just that.
They stuck me on a stretcher in the ER, I could not get in touch with Tony as I had not brought my cell and had not memorized his cell number, so I was a little distressed. Then a nurse comes in, closes all my curtains, tells me my fecal samples finally came back and I was now under quarantine, could not leave the curtained area as I had some dangerous contagion and to wait for the surgeon there. It was another half an hour before he arrived and by then I was in a total panic thinking I had infected my children and husband and who knows whom else with this apparent infectious disease, and needless to say I got weepy and a bit... well... hysterical for a few minutes when he did arrive.
Feel a little sheepish over that, but I mean come on!
Ultimately what the fecal had revealed is I had contracted a Campylobater infection, which is infectious, though not quite as fearsome as they had made it initially sound (I had visions of bad movies with rabid monkeys creating an epidemic... keep in mind I had been very sick and was not on top of my game!).
What the CT scan revealed is my large intestine is rather a bit of a mess, and likely has been for a while, which explains to a degree just why this bacteria was able to take over as it did and send me into sepsis.
The biopsy was postponed until things are fully healed up, 10 weeks or so, and I was sent back to Invermere ICU. Mike Walsh, another doc, was the hospital when I arrived around 9:30 that night and asked me if I knew how I likely contracted the bacteria. I explained the surgeon had told me it was from improperly prepared chicken, and I was to stop antibiotics, go home, and not touch anything for a couple of weeks. (sounds logical... NOT).
Keep in mind it is a small hospital, I was very sick and so all information I had given anyone had been shared between the docs as they discussed my case, so it was easy for Mike to pinpoint just where I had picked up the campylobactor: at the branding I had helped at the Saturday before. Just as he had contracted it at a branding a couple of years ago.
After a Friday morning meeting of the eight docs on staff at the hospital it was decided that the surgeon's suggestion I not be treated further was not going to fly as he had no idea just how sick I had been, but they would let me go home on the stipulation I be very careful and take a round of Zithramycin, which does combat campylobactor.
And I must note, my friend Dr. Shannon Page had suggested I had campylobactor when I was first admitted, and was tickled to know she was right... in fact was oddly gleeful as I lay in a peekaboo hospital gown... Shannon has a positive attitude that just won't quit and I totally adore her!
So home I am and home I stay until I am fully healed up, which hopefully will be soon. Every day I feel little better, but internally it will be a while before things are totally back to normal. I can eat again, which after fours days of no food and little water is very nice indeed.
I have to say the care I received at Invermere's little hospital was incredible. I cannot thank my doctors Theresa, Francois, Mike and Shannon enough, nor the nurses that took such care of me, especially my night nurse Clara and day nurse Anne, and ER nurse Teena. Though they were not the only ones involved, they were my mainstays over longs nights of constant vitals checks and IV replenishing.
The first 24 hours were in all honesty a little dicey, but it is done an over with, and I am healing fine.
My new personal theme song is Day by Day by Doug and the Slugs.
:)

a long overdue post...

It's been a long time since I have posted anything on a regular basis. In part that is because of being busy, in part dial up and wanting to post photos and not really being able to, and in part because this past year or so has been exceptionally trying.
No desire to go into details, but suffice to say, it has just really not been a year to go in the good books.
But things are better now. Much better, and with luck and positive thinking and hard work, it will only continue to get better.
And part of that is some big news... we are moving back to the valley!
We got a new job for us both as caretakers of a thousand acre ranch half way between Radium Hot Springs and Invermere. While the ranch is much larger (we are on 30 acres here), there are at this point only three horses to care for, rather than hundreds of alpaca. It was used for years as an organic beef ranch, but now the owner wants to reclaim that land and bring it back to a more natural state. There is also her own home, pool etc that we will be caring for, as she is only there sporadically, though she does occasionally rent it out as a high end vacation "cabin." If you want to know why I used quotes for cabin, visit her website... www.firlandsranch.com.
Our own home is not so lavish as hers of course, but very nice and a good size.
There are a few concessions, but a lot of gains, first and foremost, going home to my boys.
And right now, and really feel the need to be home.
I am so sorry I have been so reclusive. I am not trying to be secretive, just not stuff I want to air just now, or perhaps ever.
But you have been on my mind, all of you.
Here is to making a concerted effort to be here more often. Facebook is ok, but this is our spot. Know what I mean Jellybeans?
Much love
S