Woofers + Chocolate!

d.d. dawg (Diana), Mad Dog (Melinda), and Milkbone (Mary), celebrate the arrival of WOOF books with chocolate/chocolate cake!

Pre-order Today! Amazon

Perks of Being Over Fifty

*Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.

* No one expects you to run...anywhere.

* People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.

* There is nothing left to learn the hard way.

* Things you buy now won't wear out.

* You can eat supper at 4 pm.

* You can live without sex but not your glasses.

* You get into heated arguments about pension plans.

* You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge.

* You quit trying to hold your stomach in no matter who walks into the room.

* You sing along with elevator music.

* Your eyes won't get much worse.

* Your joints are more accurate meteorologists than the national weather service.

* Your supply of brain cells is finally down to manageable size.

*You're not "up" on the latest dance moves...and you don't care.

anonymous author(s)


Milkbone (Mary)

Loss -- Andy

I have cried so hard the last few days. My eyes are swollen and sore, but yet I continue to sob. My heart feels like it has been ripped out of my chest and I hurt—all over. The pain of grief is unbearable.

But it isn’t a mother, father, or close friend that I am grieving for. It is my cat. Only an animal lover can understand that losing a beloved pet can be just as painful, because our pets are truly part of our families.

I found Andy all curled up in his favorite napping spot. After sixteen years of being my constant companion, he was gone. I’m glad he didn’t suffer.

I got Andy from an animal rescue place when he was five weeks old. He weighed a pound and a quarter at his first vet appointment. He was so scared that he was literally shaking all over. When I picked him up and cuddled with him, he sighed and relaxed in my arms. And the rest is history.

We went through so many changes together—several long distance moves, the death of his brother, his struggle with diabetes, and the death of my husband.

I don’t think we humans can truly love unconditionally. We try. But our pets are experts at unconditional love. They never argue with us when we come in from a bad day at work. They don’t try to “fix” what is wrong. They never say a word about the extra pounds we have gained, or ask us “What in the world did you do?” when we come back from spending big bucks at the hair salon. They just listen and love.

They have their demands though. Andy would greet me at the door, meowing for a treat and a rub. At night sometimes, he would yowl—just to get me to wake up and acknowledge the fact that he was there. And the last eight years of his life, I had to give him insulin shots twice a day. But all I did for him only made me feel needed, wanted and loved. Through it all, I feel like he gave me a lot more than I gave him. He only asked me to love and care for him. And, in return, he gave me total unconditional love.

The house seems so empty without him. I long to hear him purring in my lap, and looking up at me as if to say: “You’re the greatest thing since tuna fish!”

Andy, I am so glad I had you for so many years. The pleasure you brought me will help turn this sadness I am feeling now into wonderful memories. Rest in peace, buddy.

Melinda

Cat On A Hot Tin WOOF

A WOOFer spies a feral cat prowling her farm and emails her observations. The feline ventures close for food and drink. Try to pet her? Gone, baby, gone.

My friend goes on to say the cat’s behavior reminds her of a middle-age acquaintance who is always on the move. A veritable undomesticated great dame.

So maybe WOOFers and cats have more in common than previously thought.

And maybe, when a woman hits 50, any wild streak she embraced in her younger years doesn’t immediately shrivel to the size of Cleopatra’s mummified ovaries. Her graying hair (somewhere beneath the L’Oreal) doesn’t automatically signal a dullness of wit and wiliness.

Correct me if I’m wrong (which I’m not, so don’t bother), WOOFers still feel the fire “down below” and a quickening pulse at the mere mention of the Denzel Washingtons and/or Ellen DeGenereses of the world.

Sure, a Barkalounger and Social Security take precedence over bikini waxes and firm abs on the over-50 woman’s priority list.

But, hey, all that means is this...a WOOFer not only weighs more than in her 30s, she also weighs a bit more carefully her choices.

Example: Now, with the urge to be a “bad dog,” many of us sip a glass of red wine before 5 and dine on extra-dark chocolate.

A WOOFer toast: To healthy, wealthy and … wild!

—d.d.dawg

Gone Fishin'

One of the more unpleasant things about getting older, I think, is that we become more resistant to change and learning new things. I know that has been the case for me.

Sometimes we are forced into change, and even when it is because of bad circumstances, that can be good. After I lost my husband almost three years ago, I had to change absolutely everything about my life. I learned to deal with all kinds of new experiences, from pumping my own gas to handling the IRA’s.

I also discovered that new interests not only helped me in the healing process, they empowered me and made me feel accomplished. I learned to dance, and became involved with different social circles. One of the people I met along my way was Tom, who is now my boyfriend. (And yes, it is OKAY for a WOOFer to refer to a man she is dating steadily as a “boyfriend”).

Tom had expressed his interest in fishing when we first started dating, but I was quite surprised when he suggested I try it. “Fishing??? Now isn’t that supposed to be some type of a male bonding ritual?”

His response was “Try it. You’ll like it.” So I reluctantly agreed to give it a shot. Or would that be hook? Of course, I have to admit, it helped when he told me that he had a covered pontoon boat, complete with a stereo system and bathroom. And—that the boat was stocked with lots of goodies, including chocolate and adult beverages.

The first day out was so relaxing—just quiet conversation, the warm sun and the sparkling water. I decided right then and there that this fishing stuff was okay. But then, it happened...

I looked over and saw one of the rods attached to the boat bend completely over. Tom yelled, “You got one!” and I grabbed the rod out of the holder. I started turning the reel madly, only to be told, “That’s the wrong way! You’ve got it upside down!”

The entire time I was trying to get that darn fish to take a boat ride with me, I was yelling “Help me! I can’t hold on! This is too hard!” I glanced over and saw Tom filming my novice attempt. “Oh yes you can!” he declared. “Just kept turning, and hold on tight!”

After a string of colorful words, and a lot of tugging, I won. Tom scooped my catch up into the net and put the fish on the scale. I couldn’t believe it when he said, “You caught a 10 pounder!”

My heart was pumping and my arms were shaking. Man, what a rush! I did something I never ever dreamed I would or could do. Maybe fishing is just a little thing, and of course, not everyone’s cup of tea—but it felt so amazing to realize I had pushed the envelope again. I had been challenged to step out of my comfort zone and try something new.

It has been great fun to share my “fish story” and show friends the photo of the big one that didn’t get away. And even more fun to hear the words “Wow. Is that you? And you caught one that size by yourself? Boy have you changed!”