Not so golden...

I'm doing my happy dance... I was very excited to open my e-mail and find that I have been listed in the Top 44 Best DUI and Alcohol Safety Resources website! You can visit this website at http://www.totaldui.com/blog/dealing-with-dui-44-best-dui-alcohol-and-driver-safety-resources/ There is a lot of good information. Please make sure to check out this terrific resource.

I have read that there are more alcoholics that are senior citizens now than ever before. That makes sense to me since a higher percentage of the population is now reaching their senior years. Baby boomers are now in their 50’s-60’s and preparing for retirement, if they haven’t yet retired. When combined with the fact that humans are enjoying a longer life span, due to medical breakthroughs and a high effort being put on maintaining a healthy lifestyle, it stands to reason that there are more seniors in our midst.

These seniors may have been social drinkers in their earlier years and alcohol may not have been a problem. But, when retirement approached, these same seniors had more time on their hands and that means more time to enjoy a relaxed lifestyle. The martini after work became the Mimosa at the breakfast buffet. And the brandy before bed turned into Margaritas at the pool and the poolside party started at 11 AM EVERY day instead of just Sundays after church. More time to enjoy, more reason to socialize, more alcohol to consume. Instead of seeing the lifetime alcoholic, we see a new breed – the Leisure Alcoholic.

I’m sure that some would say, “Hey seniors have earned the right to a bit of irresponsibility.” A bit of irresponsibility occasionally isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the Leisure Alcoholic that gets caught up in the cycle, because, as we all know, alcoholic can grab you when you least expect it.

Being forced into retirement earlier last month has left me a little dazed and confused. I’ve had a job since I was 14 years old. I always knew what was expected of me each and every day. I knew where I had to be and when I had to be there and for how long. Large chunks of my day were pre-destined. When the lay-off happened, I often woke up in the morning and wondered what I was supposed to do that day. I could do anything I wanted, but I felt that if I did what I wanted, I must be ignoring something that I was SUPPOSED to do. The job loss left me angry. I was an excellent employee and was always considered to be a “company girl.” It felt unfair that they would put me out to pasture now. Fortunately, I already had a full plate of projects. I just had to learn to not feel guilty that I was working on them rather than working for an employer.

I would imagine that some seniors don’t have the same “project quota” that I have. Many of them simply went to work, had a few outside social activities, and went home. It would seem to me that the initial shock, no matter how welcomed, might throw some into a depression. If you mix depression with an increased level of alcohol consumption, you have a recipe for disaster.

Just as a hypothetical, let’s say a senior has been retired for ten years and is now drinking alcoholicly every single day. The children have left home and there is just the elderly husband and wife left in the house. No one really notices that alcohol has become an issue because it’s just the two of them. When the kids visit, who have never seen either of their parents drunk except on a rare occasion, they see a couple who are just enjoying their life. The alcoholism can go unnoticed for quite a while.

What happens if the non-alcoholic part of the couple becomes ill or takes a fall and now needs assistance on a daily basis. No one thinks much about it because the partner is there with the ailing senior. What no one sees or realizes is that the non-alcoholic is now in even more trouble because the partner is now an alcoholic.

Imagine if you were sick, unable to cook your own meals or do your own laundry and you were totally dependent on an alcoholic to do those things for you. I could not imagine eating anything Riley ever cooked for me even though he was one an excellent cook. And I’d rather buy new clothes than to let him do my laundry.

I don’t know how often that happens. It just seems to me that if it happens even once – it’s one time too many. Anyone who has been reading my blog on a regular basis knows that I’m really big on being prepared for the worst. But, what if the worst snuck up on you and takes you by surprise? By that time, you could be in a situation that could be deadly.

If you have the ability to do so, I recommend preparing for your golden years so that they will still be golden no matter what. I’m not sure how to do that if no one really knows that your mate has become an alcoholic at 60 years old. Maybe we, as a society, should be on the look out for our elder citizens and help them ask for help when they may not be comfortable doing it for themselves. Maybe we should be aware at Bingo when someone consistently has a few too many before the games even being.  Or when a group of gentlemen hang out at poolside from Friday night to Sunday night continuously, maybe someone should go check on the wives.

I’m not sure of the answer and I hate the question.

U.S.S. Riley...

Seems I’m always talking about detachment. Actually I hate that word. I don’t hate the meaning or action associated with the word. I just hate the word itself. De-Tach-Ment. It sounds harsh like something that would be cold and hard if I were to touch it.

I received a letter from a woman who seems to be having difficulty separating the alcoholic husband from the loving man she married. She talks of leaving him which is a form of detachment. It’s easier to separate mentally when the alcoholic is not physically present. However, most of us are not emotionally wired to abandon an ailing loved one when they need us so very much. That’s because we can’t see the big picture. We are too close.

There are four people inside the walls of this house. There is the alcoholic, the loving wife and two nearly adult boys. And as I’m trying to answer her e-mail, my mind keeps going to a movie I saw more than once. I’m not sure if it was Crimson Tide or Hunt for Red October, but it was a submarine movie.

There’s a scene in this movie that reminds me of what it is like to detach – well – sort of. There is a collision or something that damages the hull of the boat (subs are boats and not ships). A compartment is flooding and if it is not sealed off within a certain amount of time, the entire boat will go down and everyone on board will perish. There is a scramble of people trying to get out, but eventually the compartment is sealed with several crewmen still inside the flooding section. Because of their sacrifice, the rest of the crew lives. The surviving crewmen had to detach from the drowning crewmembers in order to survive. I always cry during that scene.

If you can grasp your mind around this – think of the house in which this family lives. It is similar to the sinking boat in the movie. The rooms of the house are the boats compartments. One room has the alcoholic and another room has the wife and two boys. If the alcoholic’s room were flooding and the only way to save the boys were to seal off the room, would you or could you do that?

Now try to take this one step further and imagine that the seal of the flooding room was activated only by flipping a switch in your mind. Mentally, you have sealed off the room and saved the boys. You have detached from the alcoholic by closing him off into a different compartment in your brain. He’s still there in your house, but your brain is telling you that he is separated from the rest of the family. Everything he does is within that little compartment and is not able to damage the rest of the brain/house/family. Because he is compartmentalized, you are now free to go about the rest of your life without having him muddle up your efforts. He ceases to be a factor in how you live your life.

I think this analogy may be far-reaching and difficult to understand. But it does seem to fit something for me. I keep Riley in a different compartment in my brain. When I want to ignore his antics, I mentally flip that switch that keeps him separate from me. I guess it’s a way for me to ignore and discount what he says and does. There are only two of us in my boat, but that doesn’t make my survival any less important. I save the save-able. Riley chooses to be beyond saving, but there’s still hope for me.

I try very hard not to mix that flooding compartment with the space that holds my good memories of him. That’s a whole other compartment that is not susceptible to flooding. It’s already sealed. But that seal is to keep the bad things out that would destroy what I have left of the memories of a marriage that was once happy and meaningful.

In Riley’s compartment there is an escape hatch called sobriety. There are life saving rings and a life boat just outside that hatch. All he has to do is reach up, turn that wheel to the left and the hatch will open. He knows it’s there. He knows how to access it. Only he can make that choice. I’m not in that compartment with him so I can’t turn the wheel for him. He must do it himself. And I will stay safe and dry as long as I don’t venture into his compartment.

Recovery for all...

September is National Recovery Month. When I hear about recovery, my mind is always drawn to the alcoholic or addict that has entered a rehab center. It is a step in the direction of sanity and the most difficult for them to take. But, recovery isn’t just for the one imbibing on substance or alcohol abuse. The entire family needs recovery as well.

Many end-stage caretakers get here by accident. We don’t get married and say… “I’m so happy eventually I’ll be able clean up the vomit and poop left by my alcoholic soul mate.”  No new mother says… “Oh my baby is beautiful! And someday his skin will be florescent yellow and you won’t be able to see the whites of his eyes! What a joy that will be!” Or what about the child who writes a school essay with a title of “When I Grew Up I Want to be a Drunk Like My Mom!”

Most of us don’t even know that alcoholism will be a part of our lives at all. Many of us deny it’s a factor even when it begins to show its face. We go along living our happy lives. We make detours along the way – we revise, reinvent, regroup, redirect and then it hits us that our direction is leading to a place we did not intend to go. It all happens so slowly that we don’t see it until it may be too late.

OK. The question isn’t HOW we got here but rather what we do now. This thing called addiction is a tough thing to understand and many people spend years in institutions of higher learning to get a grasp on understanding. We family members don’t have time for that. We must use other resources. Fortunately, those OTHER resources do exist.

If your alcoholic goes into rehab, ask the center about their family program. If they have one, take advantage of it. Attend with an open mind. Take in every bit of knowledge they offer. Most family programs are simply an extension of Al-Anon and that is unfortunate because there is so much more the family needs to know. But, whatever is offered should not be refused. It is a starting place and just that – a place to start adding to your knowledge database. Education and knowledge is the key to surviving alcoholic insanity. Let it begin here.

If you alcoholic isn’t going into rehab, do some research by calling around to different rehab centers. Ask if they offer a family program if the alcoholic is not a patient at their center. Many centers offer these programs and are usually covered under most insurance plans. Ask what is covered in their program. Do they include medical facts, how the disease progresses, or details of the family dynamics? They should always include an introduction to the Al-Anon experience. Find the center that offers the most information.

Now that you’ve got the basics out of the way start going to Al-Anon. The Al-Anon doctrine doesn’t always fit for the caretakers of end-stage alcoholics, but it provides an excellent platform for anyone dealing with alcoholism on any level. You will find within those meetings other people who may have similar difficulties and others who have yet to face what you’ve encountered. There is a support system in those meetings that you won’t find anywhere else. They all know the depth of your despair. They all keep the same secrets as you. There is strength in numbers and this is where family members can begin building their support systems. Families of alcoholics cannot depend solely on each other for support because other family members are subjective in their points of view. The objectivity of outsiders can often bring things into focus and provide alternatives to seemingly hopeless situations. If you can’t get to a real live meeting, there are meetings on-line.

This is the information age and we are fortunate enough to have computers. Research every aspect of alcoholism. Learn every thing you can about what alcohol does to the body, how it progresses and how it affects every member of the family. Google the names of diseases and complications such as cirrhosis and hepatic encephalopathy. Become your own walking reference section. The more you know, the less shocked you will be by the changes in the active alcoholic’s mind and body. Knowledge is the key to survival.

Below are just a few of the excellent sources of factual medical information:

http://alcoholism.about.com/lr/health_effects_of_alcohol

www.wikipedia.org/wiki

www.niaaa.nih.gov

There are lots of resources out there. Search by the bodily organ or name of the complication. If you simply enter “end-stage alcoholism” you will not end up with very many relevant leads. If you just search “alcoholism” you will be overwhelmed with an endless possibility of websites.

Connect with others. This blog offers support and information to end-stage caretakers, but there are other blogs. I use my personal experiences to show others that they are not alone in this insanity. Different blogs offer different points of view and different means of getting their point across. Visit them often and discover your favorites. Add yourself to the list of “Followers” to show your support for the efforts of the blog author. My favorites are listed on the left side of my blog page, but I do read others that are not listed here.

I have a FACEBOOK page where there is often a lively running “conversation” on a variety of subjects. This is where you can develop relationships with other readers who may be walking in your shoes. Ask questions and everyone will give you their own opinion and suggestion. It’s an open discussion on any topic.

Interaction can also be found on other sites such as www.about.alcoholism.com, www.recoverymonth.gov, and/or www.soberrecovery.com. These sites offer forums that allow readers to connect and offer various points of view.

Twitter also offers support. This service allows you to follow others who may share your difficulties. I have a Twitter account (which is FREE) and have found it be a helpful resource. There are many rehab centers, counselors, groups, etc. that connect using this site. For anyone interested I am ImrtlAlkysWife on Twitter.

My point here is simple. No one is an island. No one is immune. Anyone involved with an alcoholic on any level is subject to distorted thinking, unrealistic expectations and a whole host of difficult situations which can even lead to our own physical ailments. We need to become sane again. We need help to get back on the path to a healthy lifestyle. We need recovery just as much – or maybe even more – than the alcoholic no matter what the stage.

Cover me...

This past weekend I watched the movie “Shattered Spirits.” There was a scene in the movie where the drunken father insists that his 15-year non-licensed son drive the family car back home while the father stays at a bar. The young boy tries desperately to make his father understand that he cannot drive the car because he has no driver’s license. Of course, the father’s main concern is how soon he can get back inside the bar to continue what is important to him – drinking.

While watching that scene, I was reminded of an incident involving Riley and Alea that went along those same lines. Remembering brought about anger and tears. It was difficult to watch.

We had moved from Navy housing in Norfolk into a home in Newport News. When we moved from base housing, Alea left many of her closest friends behind. I did my best to help her maintain the relationships by taking her to visit her friends and encouraging them to visit our new home. I didn’t want her to feel that she must sacrifice her friends in exchange of our home ownership.

It was Easter. Alea was only 14 years old.  The distance was about 25 miles over and through the Hampton Roads Bay Bridge Tunnel. Riley had told me that he had to go into his command for a few hours. Alea begged him to take her with him and drop her off in housing so she could be with her two closest girl friends. She promised she would be at a specific house when her father picked her up.

Riley was hesitant, but said it would be fine with him. I was also concerned because Alea had a habit of not being where she said she would be at any specified time. It had been a bone of contention between us whenever I took her to visit. She had been acting out lately and I felt that special privileges had not yet been earned. Riley was also not extremely reliable about being home at a certain time. But, I knew that if Alea was at Elizabeth’s house – she would be safe until her father arrived. Both, she and Riley, ganged up on me and I consented.

The plan was that Riley would drop Alea off at Elizabeth’s house and she would meet up with three of her other friends. Then she would return to Elizabeth’s house to wait for her father. He would pick her up at about 3 p.m. They would be home in time for the Easter dinner that I would be preparing over the course of the time they were gone.

Brian had gone over to his friend’s house to shoot some pool and would be home by 3 p.m. to help put the finishing touches on Easter dinner. I spent my “alone” time taking a nice long hot bath, watched an old movie, and in between time, I baked a couple of pies. I remember that day so well.

Brian showed up and made the salad, set the table and did a few other things. I watched the clock. If they left Norfolk at 3 p.m., they would be home by about 4 p.m. considering the holiday traffic. I planned for dinner to be served between 5 and 5:30 pm.

The clocked ticked by… 4 p.m. came and went… 5 p.m. and no Riley or Alea. No phone calls. 5 p.m. turned into 6 p.m. and I was starting to panic. I called the command – Riley was not there and had not been there. I called Elizabeth’s house – yes they had already left for Newport News. Where were they?? Had there been an accident? This was before cell phones and I felt helpless. Time edged on into darkness – it’s now past 8 p.m. Brian and I ate some dinner, but I was beyond worried.

I called all of Alea’s friends and they all confirmed that they had all seen her, but she left with her father. In my mind, I was imaging that Alea was not where she said she would be and the Riley was out looking for her. The other images going through my head were just too horrible to be vocalized.

At little after 9 o’clock, the car pulls into the driveway. They were home. Now that I knew they were safe – I was livid. Could they not have called me?? Had they had no idea how worried I would be??

It took another 2 hours before the truth of the incident actually came to surface. Riley had picked Alea up at Elizabeth’s as planned. But after being in the car with her father headed for the tunnel – Alea insisted he take her back to Elizabeth’s because she was frightened. Riley was drunk and trying to drive but not doing a very good job. Riley refused to take her back to her friends and instead stopped at a coffee shop where Riley ordered a cup to go. But, when they got back to the car he poured vodka into the cup.

Alea kept insisting that Riley pull over off the interstate and he accommodated her – but not for long. The routine stops were made several more times. During the last stop, Alea told her father SHE would drive home and he could sober up. She said that I would never know and so I would not be made at him, but rather at her. She’d tell me that she lost track of time and wasn’t at Elizabeth’s house on time. He agreed. She got behind the wheel of the car and he passed out in the passenger’s seat. Once they got through the tunnel, Alea drove around town to give her father more time to get the alcohol out of his system. Then, when they turned into our subdivision, she stopped the car just about a block from our house. She made him get out of the car and walk around in the cool night air. Then he got back in the driver’s seat, and they came home.

I was listening in awe and disgust and disbelief. My 14 year old daughter, who did NOT know how to drive, had to traverse that car through the tunnel on the freeways in holiday traffic in order to get her father back home. I didn’t know what to do – should I hug her or punish her.

The next day, I told Riley it was best if he just stayed on the base until his boat left for deployment. It had not gone un-noticed by me that he never even went to the boat and the sting of all the lies was just more than I could handle at the time. He stayed on base and only came home every other weekend for the next six weeks – then he went on a four month deployment. I was happy to have him gone.

Keeping reality real...

After a frustrating week of trying to get help for the stray hound dog, Deputy McArthur arrived and took the sweet boy to SPCA for medical treatment. It was difficult to see him go, but the reality is that I cannot afford another dog. I pray that he gets a good home where he will be fed regularly and played with everyday.

This retirement thing is being a bit difficult to grasp. I still get up before dawn and find myself trying to get things done before my usual clock in time. I’m getting better – I actually took a nap yesterday. I think that these first few weeks may be a bit of a trial. I need to be better at scheduling my time and staying in a quasi routine.

My daughter, Alea, came out to visit for a couple of days. It’s always good to have her here. It started raining just as Alea was getting ready to leave. She made mad dashes to her car with her bags, trying to stay as dry as possible. I was in my office and I heard Riley yell out the back door – “You know it’s raining out there!” and “You’re gonna get wet!” He can’t stand up without holding onto something and he grasped the laundry room sink which is near the door. Still he swayed back and forth, watching his daughter scurry around her car.

It’s not often I see or hear Alea get irritated with her father. But today was different. She raced back up the steps and I heard her yell –“Move!!!” I knew that Riley was standing right in front of the door and she could not get around him. She was getting soaked just trying to get into the house.

The next thing I heard was – “Really, Dad? I’m pretty sure I know that it’s raining and I’m darned sure I know that I’m getting wet!!” There was no humor in her voice. There was no punctuating laughter. She was just disgusted with his statements of the obvious. “I think I know what I’m doing and yelling at me from the door is not helping anything or anyone.” As she entered back into my office, she mumbled “Damn drunks.”

Now, I know, and Alea knows, Riley is not responsible for the rain. He didn’t make it happen and no one blames him for the weather. We live in the south where it rains one minute and there’s clear blue sky the next. We just live with it. It is a fact of life. But somehow when Riley starts in with that little tone in his voice, it almost seems that he thinks someone is definitely responsible for those drops of water falling from the sky. It seemed to Alea and me, that Riley thought she had ordered up the rain and then went out to play in it. The thought of that made us laugh. So as we are speaking out about ridiculous weather scenarios we decided that just before her next visit we’d order up some snow to kill the gnats. Then on the day she arrives, we’ll order up a nice sunny, yet cool, day so we could sit outside and have a bar-be-que. How lovely it would be if that were reality.

Ahhh… reality… how fleeting it is in the house that contains an alcoholic – especially an end-stage alcoholic. For Riley, reality is whatever is on the news at the moment and everything on the news is an urgent matter that somehow needs someone to respond to it at the exact same moment that he hears it. He comes to my office door and makes a statement – then he laughs or grunts or makes some kind of noise and then goes back to the TV as he throws out possible outcomes of the newest bit of information. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do about it. Sometimes I comment. Sometimes I ignore. Sometimes I snicker. Sometimes I become irritated.

There are a lot of unrealistic things going on lately. Like, Riley’s need to hang on every phone conversation that I may have. His theory is that he wouldn’t mind if I picked up the phone and eavesdropped on his conversations with his brother, therefore, I should not mind if he does it with my phone conversations. I explain that just because he doesn’t mind me eavesdropping doesn’t mean that I don’t mind.  It’s not a concept that he can grasp. Simple courtesy escapes him because his reality only concerns what he wants at any given time. His reality is not realistic.

After Alea left, I felt a sense of loneliness in the house. My reality is that I need to make some changes. There is no companionship with a man whose world resides in a bottle or a TV set. Conversations are difficult even on his good days. I have been out here in the country for a year and I need to start cultivating some friendships with local ties.

Now that I’m not immersed in a “regular” job, there is no reason why I can’t join that book group that meets on Wednesday mornings. I have no time constraints that prevent me from volunteering at the hospital or library. As the caretaker of an end-stage alcoholic, I must remember that I need other people who are not part of the insanity. Interaction with others will give me insight – a barometer – of how bad things really are with Riley. If I continue to simply live my entire life within these walls, I may become to immune to the insanity and start to view it as not so unusual. It’s like placing a box in the corner of a room the day you move into a new house. After a while, it starts to feel that the box belongs in that corner and so it never gets unpacked or moved. That’s just where it’s always been so that’s just normal. I've even been known to throw a tablecloth over it, put a lamp on top and call it a table. The reality is that it IS NOT a table, just a box disguised as a table. But, it becomes a table because that starts to feel like a normal reality.

I know that even in retirement, I have a lot on my plate. My projects are taking the spotlight – that’s a good thing. But, I must learn to structure my time so that I’m taking advantage of other possible activities. I always work best in some form of scheduled situation – I would have failed if I had been forced to attend Montessori School as a child. I used to have a day-timer and I think I need one again. Uhhhh…. Do they even make those anymore???

Today’s schedule and tasks are: 1) Get a day-timer; 2) Set aside time in my day-timer to find a local friend and/or do an outside activity.

How hard could that be??

Home hunting hound...

On Wednesday I joined the ranks of the unemployed. So I guess that means I’m officially retired. RETIRED. What does that mean really? I certainly have things/projects that I’m working on. Does that mean I’m doing a “working retirement” like taking a “working vacation?” I’m not earning a paycheck from an outside employer and I’ve started collecting Social Security checks – so is that what it means to be retired?

Oh well… for me it means that I have lost my primary health insurance provider and to replace it will cost me $400/month, plus $50 for dental and $20 for vision. To convert the life insurance policies is another $600/month. So that’s $1,070/month just to keep my insurance benefits. I’ll need to go back to work just to pay for all that! But, if I go back to work full-time – I won’t need to pay for it because it would probably be in my benefits package! I think this is called a Catch 22.

I wonder if my readers would be offended if I put a couple of ads on my blog? It probably won’t earn a lot – but every little bit helps.

Whenever there is a hurricane/storm/tornado, lots of animals end up lost. Somehow they get separated from their families and are left to wander the area searching for food and shelter. I don’t know why people don’t protect their pets when they have been warned of inclement weather – nevertheless – it happens.

After receiving the news of my unemployment on Wednesday, a mottled-gray hunting hound showed up in our backyard. He (un-neutered) crawled under our little old Toyota and growled at anyone who came near. When he did come out, I could see that he was starving. I could see his backbone and he could barely stand. My first instinct was to feed him – but I didn’t know if he was sick so I decided to hang back.

Riley put out a bowl of food and he happily appeared from under the car and downed the whole bowl in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t supervising and before I knew it Riley had given him FIVE bowls of food. If an animal is starving it is not wise to give it some much food at one time. Food should be introduced slowly. I saw that on Animal Cops, so I take it as the gospel truth. They wouldn’t lie to me.

Anyway, I told Riley that I had just lost my job and couldn’t afford to feed another animal. He agreed to slow down on the feeding. I also told him that if we feed him, he will never try to find his way back home. Besides, we don’t know if the dog is sick and he may be contagious to our Jade and the neighbors Maggie.

On Thursday morning I started calling our county animal control office. There was no answer. I kept trying. After having no success at that effort, I called our veterinarian and was told that animal control didn’t open until 1 p.m. I waited and then called again, and again, and again – no answer and it was now almost 5 p.m. My anxiety was growing over the health of this dog. I called the sheriff’s department and was told the info would be passed on and someone would be out to our house soon. When no one showed up on Thursday, I called again on Friday – and was again told that someone would be out shortly.

Everything is different in the country. Time passes much slower out here. I have discovered that the term “soon” or “shortly” could mean days or maybe even weeks. It is now Saturday morning and “shortly” has not yet arrived. My concern for this dog is growing, but I’m now feeding it regularly. It doesn’t appear to be sick – but you never know.

Add to this that Riley has decided that we need to keep the dog and make him our own. Ohhhhh boy… I reiterate to him that I’ve just lost my job and we can’t afford any additional expenses at this time. I try to reason with him – the dog is not neutered and we don’t know if he needs shots – I’m looking at an vet bill of about $600 by the time we get the physical, shots, neutering, flea, tick, heartworm treatment – the list goes on. Not to mention that we feed our dog high quality food and it is not cheap. Adding this dog doubles our dog food expense. Keeping the dog doesn’t seem like a good plan to me.

Riley is an actor. For the past two days, he’s acted in the role of a Jewish MaMa playing the guilt card. How could I leave that poor dog outside when he so clearly wants to come in the house? How could I turn my back on a creature that needs our help? Look how he plays with Jade and Maggie. Look how Jax Cat doesn’t mind him being around. It goes on and on. Riley is not Jewish – but he could win an Oscar for this role.

I’m not buying a ticket for that performance. Riley does not take care of the dog he has adding another dog to the mix is ludicrous. Of course, an argument ensues when I tell Riley that he cannot be trusted to be responsible for an additional dog. I turn off my ears and fail to hear his pleas.

I’m still waiting for the Sheriff to come out and take the dog to the shelter. They can give him the proper care – feed and examine him. Possibly they can find the family who left him behind – but if it were me – I wouldn’t return him to them because it looks like he hasn't been fed well since before the hurricane. This is a hunting hound with long floppy ears, big paws and small body. We live in hunting country.  He’s a sweet, friendly dog and I’m sure he’ll end up in a good home. It just won’t be MY home.