Being Interviewed by Cathy Lee Carper

Cathy Lee Carper interviews me at her blog this morning.  I hope you'll drop by -


http://www.leecarper.com/author-interviews/author-interview-with-kaye-barley

A Meego by Cathy Lee Carper

Cathy Carper, who usually writes under the pen name Lee Carper, is an author who is working on her first manuscript in a planned series about a serial killer investigation team. She holds degrees in social work and pre-med/biology, with a focus on profiling and forensics.  For the past few years, Cathy was a judge for the Thriller Awards, a prestigious award given by International Thriller Writer’s Organization (ITW), and has attended numerous conferences where she continues to learn about the craft of writing. Cathy was a member of a police advisory board, and wrote several articles for a local newspaper. She is an avid reader, writes reviews, and critiques manuscripts for fellow writers, and has at one time or another been a member of Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters In Crime, as well as several writer/reader sites. 

Cathy has three adult children and many animals. She resides in the beautiful state of Vermont.



A Meego
by Cathy Lee Carper


                                                                     

                Several years ago, I had a good laugh out of that Maxine-ism.  Little did I know I’d eventually end up with my own adorable black hole of need.  Don’t get me wrong… I already have three adorable black holes of need (my children, now adults and on their own) but this black hole of need was something entirely different than anything I’d experienced.  I mean, let’s face it.  We know when we have children, they’re going to be adorable, demanding little cusses, but a dog?  Surely they can’t be any more difficult than raising children.

                Ha!  

Now let me clear this up.  It’s not like I was *completely* ignorant to the fact caring for a puppy would take some work, but um… HELLO?  I was totally clueless just how much effort would be involved.  My ex-husband and I had always been animal-lovers, and we acquired a menagerie over the years, including but not limited to: a pot-bellied pig, iguana, turtle, cockatiels, and parakeets.  So it’s not as if I hadn’t cared for animals, but I sure wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead. 

So let’s get rid of the maudlin part of this, and go back to what led to my decision on getting a dog.  Even though I’ve loved my entire kaleidoscope of furry pals, my Amazon parrot somehow stood out among the rest, and had always been near and dear to me.  After a divorce a few years ago and being on my own, Chief the parrot became my best buddy, greeting me with a friendly hello when I walked through the door, or bye-bye when I left the house.  In a strange way, it was almost like having a person around.  After all those years of raising the children and accustomed to a lot of noise, Chief became the only sound left, her sweet little voice echoing throughout the house.  Sadly, she died a couple of years ago, and like anyone who loses a beloved pet, I suddenly felt too alone.  I’m one of those people who feel incomplete without a special animal in my life, but even so, I wasn’t ready to replace Chief… I needed awhile to grieve.  After all, it had only been less than a month.

But as the saying goes: “Life happens when you’re busy making other plans”. 

One day I noticed a woman walking by my house with a poodle by her side.  I don’t know what came over me, but without even thinking, I rushed out the front door and ran toward her, full-tilt, waving my arms around like a mad person.  I’m surprised I didn’t scare the poor gal half to death.  I told her I was thinking about getting a dog, and asked where she bought her poodle. 

A funny little smile crossed her lips.  “My dog’s about to have pups,” she said.  “Do you want one of them?” 

Clearly, fate intervened.  I didn’t even give the notion much thought before I plunked down a deposit for one of the puppies.  As I waited for the pooch to be born, my daughter and I discussed names.  She preferred Amigo.  A cute name I thought, but kind of hard to say.  It didn’t just slide off the tongue, so I thought if we dropped the “A”, Meego would be perfect.

Thus, Meego was born. 

I didn’t have experience with dogs, but I puppy-proofed the house.  I figured it was the same idea as child-proofing, so it wouldn’t be any big deal.  Holy shmoly, was I ever wrong.  It’s amazing how many places a dog could get in trouble.  I had to tape up the areas under the kitchen cupboard with cardboard because a tiny puppy could easily crawl up inside.  I proceeded to put all of my decorations away, which meant empty coffee tables and end tables.  I purchased several baby gates, but my house was such that I had to find additional blockage for the stairs so found some old boards.  These required a gymnastics routine for us humans to climb over.  The house was like an obstacle course.    

Meego was finally ready to join me, and was just as cute as cute can be.  I had no idea what I was doing, so decided to just go with the flow.  Well I went with the flow all right.  The pee flow.  Being an old softie, I didn’t want to put him in a crate in order to potty train him, so he was on my bed with me all night.  Yup, this required daily laundry.  I think I changed my bed sheets more in one month than I did my entire life. 

 So the little guy was with me less than two weeks, when I had a family reunion weekend at my house.  On day two of the reunion, I took Meego out in the backyard, and he proceeded to find something in the grass and gulped it down before I could get to him.  We’re talking as fast as a Hoover vacuum.  I had already gone through the yard throwing out all mushrooms, but somehow I knew that’s what he’d eaten.  I had missed one.  Out of a huge backyard, he managed to find the ONE mushroom I’d apparently missed. 

He became very sick within a half-hour, and I went into panic-mode.  Of course it was a Sunday – a rule of law I’ve come to live by… “when your dog is sick, it will be on a weekend so you have to take him to an acute-care clinic and pay a thousand times the normal fee”.  So with a house full of people, I apologized for leaving, and rushed Meego out the door and brought him to the Emergency Vet.  I hadn’t even had my puppy two weeks, and I was sure I’d killed him.

He spent the night in *ICU*, followed by several days at the regular vet, to the tune of over two thousand dollars.  That wasn’t my concern however, as all I cared about was him pulling through.

Thankfully, he did. 

Then a couple of weeks later I noticed he would spit-up a lot, and he’d tuck his tail down and limp… I frantically researched side-effects of various mushrooms, some of which were liver failure and eventual death.  Back again to the vet, and she wasn’t sure what was wrong – said to wait it out a few days and unless he became worse, we’d do nothing. 

So even though he wasn’t horribly ill, he would have days where he’d still limp and act lethargic.  He obviously wasn’t feeling well.  I took him to a different vet who said –get this – he had tonsillitis.  A dog with tonsillitis?  You have got to be kidding me!  So he went on an antibiotic, but he continued doing the on again/off again routine of seeming okay but then spitting up and the tail-tucking routine with the limping.  There was no diagnosis other than every time I’d bring him in, his tonsils were swollen.  So back to antibiotics, which in turn made his tummy problems worse, and round and round we’d go.

When I had him *fixed*, I asked the vet to take x-rays to see if there was a cause for the limp.  Sure enough, turns out he had dysplasia in his legs.  This means when he hits about five years of age, he’s likely going to require surgery, as well as suffer from arthritis. 

At this point, I’d only had him a short time, and the poor little guy was wrought with health problems.  I pretty much lived at the vet’s office, and I’m sure they started thinking of me as a “Munchausen-by-proxy” pet parent, seeking attention by always bringing my dog to the vet, especially when a couple of symptoms were never diagnosed.  

Between all of this, he began experiencing behavioral issues, the main one being aggressiveness when I’d leave the fenced-in area of the yard after playing ball with him.  He would do the same thing right in the middle of play-time as well, so it wasn’t as if he was just angry I was leaving.  I tried everything I could think of – even using techniques the dog experts recommend - but nothing made a difference.  He also had severe separation anxiety, so when I’d try to leave the house, he’d go ballistic.  He would attack me.  Biting, barking, growling.  This separation anxiety resulted in me becoming a hermit.  It was too much of an ordeal to leave the house.

This had gone on for a year.  Nothing had changed regarding his health issues.  The vet suggested allergy testing, and it turns out he’s allergic to… wait for it… wait for it… almost EVERYTHING.  Not only environmental, but food.  I immediately had to cut out about 99% of his current diet as well as treats.  His bouts of illness became less frequent, as did his spitting-up. 

Yay, progress!

Even though his myriad of health problems weren’t completely resolved, at least they were on the right track.  However, his behavioral issues were another thing all-together.  Taking him on walks proved as difficult as flying to the moon.  He would either pull on his leash so hard he’d cough and wheeze, or he’d sit and refuse to budge.  Meanwhile, his separation anxiety had become impossible to manage.  Seeing my pocketbook on the counter, set him into a frenzy.  Same with dressing in anything other than my *lounging clothes*, so now I wasn’t just living like a hermit; I was a horribly-dressed one at that.

I called in a doggie-trainer.  Yes, to my home.  She managed to help me teach the dog to sit.       

Woo-hoo!  Yeah, THAT was worth the $300.

Fast-forwarding… I’ve now had Meego two years.  Has his behavior improved?  Not really, although I’m learning to work around his *issues*.  Our walks became a little easier once I started using a long leash.  He fusses and whines if I’m not paying attention to him.  Having company over presents its own set of challenges; he usually requires tethering or else he’s jumping all over the people.  You’d think after being tethered each time, he’d learn.  Not.  And yes, it remains a major ordeal to leave the house, but I no longer allow myself to be a prisoner in my own home.  Not entirely anyway. 

In the past two years, I’ve spent more money on veterinary bills than I have my own health care.  Has it been worth it?  Heck, yeah!  For those of you who are animal-lovers, you understand.  I don’t regret having my Meego for a second.  He’s been worth every penny. 

I guess it’s like Private Ryan when he says: “Life is like a box of chocolates… you never know what you’re gonna git”.  When we add an animal to our lives, none of us knows how their personality will end up – nor their health – but just like with our human babies, we love them unconditionally, and no matter what, wouldn’t trade them for the world.

 

                                                          

Life on the (Funny) Farm by Cathy Lee Carper

Cathy Carper, who usually writes under the pen name Lee Carper, is an author who is working on her first manuscript in a planned series about a serial killer investigation team. She holds degrees in social work and pre-med/biology, with a focus on profiling and forensics.  For the past three years, Cathy was a judge for the Thriller Awards, a prestigious award given by International Thriller Writer’s Organization (ITW), and has attended numerous conferences where she continues to learn about the craft of writing.  Cathy was a member of a police  advisory board, and wrote several articles for a local newspaper.  She is an avid reader, writes reviews and critiques manuscripts for fellow writers, and has at one time or another been a member of Mystery Writers Of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters In Crime, as well as several writer/reader sites. 

Cathy has three adult children and many animals. She resides in the beautiful state of Vermont.

                                                            

Life on the (Funny) Farm
by Cathy Lee Carper

For those who know me, you know I’m rarely at a loss for words.  Well brace yourself… this time is no different.  Ha, bet you thought I was going to say I can’t come up with a topic, right?  Wrong, quite the opposite.  I have so many topics swimming in my head, narrowing them down is proving difficult.  Although, in the interest of self-disclosure, I should warn you I have more than topics swimming in my head… I have voices competing for attention in there too.  Just kidding, but only slightly.  Due to a compressed nerve in my neck, I have enough narcotics on board to medicate an entire patient population of a surgical center.    

Last year I blogged about my strange neighborhood , and now that I’ve moved again, I was tempted to write about my new neighborhood -which amazingly enough, is even stranger than my last neighborhood- but then decided against that topic as I don’t need repercussions if a neighbor “meandered and mused” his or her way onto this blogsite.  These appear to be folks you don’t want to make angry.       

So.  Moving right along… going through the house-selling process almost always means having to fix up a few things.  Um, yeah.  In retrospect – just for giggles, mind you (more like nightmares) - I wish I’d kept a diary of my days at the old homestead.  Thought I’d show you a sample of how it would’ve worked:

                                                                
Cathy’s Diary:

DAY 1)  We’re here!  What an awesome place.  Can’t wait to swim in pool!  Have decided to nick-name house THE SHANGRI-LA. 

DAY 2)  Pot-bellied pig continues to escape off leash tied to tree.  Fence company contacted.

DAY 3)  Fence installed.  $5,537.40  Whew… good to have that done!  Tomorrow’s errand: Go to bank and transfer funds.

DAY 4)  Upstairs toilet spraying water all over walls and floor (and me).  Plumber contacted.

DAY 5)  Plumber fixed toilet.  $150  Whew… good to have that done!  Better call dad and borrow some money.      

DAY 6)  Went for first swim in pool.  Noticed a funny crack in cement.  Pool company contacted.

DAY 7)  Pool leak fixed.  $1,500 (Hello, dad?)  At least everything is fixed, so now I can finally relax and enjoy my Shangri-La.    

DAY 8)  Have to pound palm over and over onto thermostat to get gas fireplace running.  Broke a blood vessel in my hand.  Electrician called. 

DAY 9)  Electrician came.  Replaced thermostat, but the dude stated all outlets need to be converted to “ground fault” (hmmm… I’m thinking as a backup plan, I should keep the outlets “as is” in case I want to stick a metal fork in there).  But no, poor sense prevailed, and I allowed him to replace all outlets.  $600         

DAY 10)  Downstairs toilet overflowed.  Plumber contacted.

DAY 11)  Plumber came.  He diddled with a couple of pipes (I would’ve liked to diddle a pipe right over his head).  $150 He states I should contact septic company.  SAY WHAT?  (I knew I’d need that metal fork!) 

DAY 12)  Septic guy came, pumped tank.  $350 (time to call dad again)  

… blah blah blah (more of same)

DAY 975)  Failed septic inspection.  Septic system replaced.  $7,600  (Hello, Bank?  Is this the loan department?).  Shangri-La has been flushed down the toilet.  I’ve now nick-named this h*ll-hole, THE MONEY PIT.         

DAY 976)  Failed heater downstairs, cannot be fixed.  New heater installed.  $2,200 (er… um… it’s me again, Dad)

DAY 977)  Awoke to flood in downstairs bathroom.  Ceiling caved in.  Assuming pipe has burst.     Plumber called (time for a glass of Cabernet Savignon).  Plumber came.  Said pipes were fine and problem appears to be a leak from roof.  Roofer called.  (decided to bag my wine glass and drink directly from bottle)

DAY 978)  Roofer states I need new roof.  (darn… I’m out of wine)     

DAY 979) For-sale sign placed on front  lawn

                                                                      End of Diary

Amazingly enough, other than the rapid succession of each event, the above depiction is accurate of my experience.   Worse, is during the “blah blah blah” phase, so many more things required fixing or replacing.  In the interest of time (and saving ya’ll from boredom) I decided not to list the myriad of other problems, but there were plenty.

I think what almost irked me more than the house falling apart, was being dissed by service people.  Makes me wonder how they stay in business.  The following is a great example.  Let’s refer to the electrician as “Sparky”.  By the way, this was a new electrician, as the one who replaced my fireplace thermostat was no longer in business.  Okay, Sparky came to the house to check things out, and said he’d get back to me in a couple of days with an estimate.  You know where this is going, right?  You’re right… I heard nothing.  After giving him a couple more days, I called and left a message.  Again, nothing.  The third time… still nothing.  It had now been about a month, so I finally got in touch with the person who referred Sparky, and that person did eventually get through.  Turns out Sparky neglected to let folks know he had been taking a couple of weeks off for (get this) DEER HUNTING - *rolling the eyes* -  at this point, it was clearly time to find another electrician.  He was my second one, so in the end, I went through three electricians.  I also had a parade of plumbers, lawn-mowers, snow-plowers (I don’t think that’s a word, but it sounds good - *giggle*), and who knows what else.  Selective amnesia I suppose.  Last but not least, don’t even get me started on the cable company (which by the way, I’d considered dedicating an entire blog-article to my cable company - *ARGH!*). 

In retrospect, the absurdity of how many things went wrong in only three short years, is really quite hilarious.  I tried to maintain a sense of humor throughout, and for the most part, did manage to pull it off.  The rest of the time however, was a real thrash.

I can now happily report I’m in a new place, and so far so good.  Let’s hope the only diary I might keep these days, would have page after page filled with fun times. 

Much Ado About Nothing by Cathy Lee Carper

Cathy Carper, who usually writes under the pen name Lee Carper, is an aspiring author who is working on her first manuscript in a planned series about a serial killer investigation team. She holds degrees in social work and pre-med/biology, with a focus on profiling and forensics.  Last year Cathy was a judge for the Thriller Award - a prestigious award given by International Thriller Writer’s organization (ITW) - and has attended numerous conferences where she continues to learn about the craft of writing.  She is an avid reader, writes reviews and critiques manuscripts for fellow writers, and has at one time or another been a member of Mystery Writers Of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters In Crime, as well as several writer/reader sites. 

Lee has three children - now young adults - and many animals, including: a pot-bellied pig, several birds, and the recent addition of a new puppy.  She resides in the beautiful state of Vermont

Brynna Carper at her Mom's workspace

Much Ado About Nothing

by Cathy Lee Carper

Over the past few months, I’ve found myself in deep contemplation on what I might choose for a topic here today. Okay, so it really wasn’t DEEP contemplation - these days deep contemplation is usually what to make for dinner - but since many situations or events could be great inspiration for us writers, I found the choice difficult. Some of my recent experiences have been profound, others just plain old day-to-day annoyances or pleasures. There were so many interesting subjects to write about, which one would I pick? Before I get to my choice, here are a few of the ones I nixed. 

I much prefer discussing fun things, so let’s get the serious stuff out of the way first. Like for instance, divorce. That could have been an interesting topic to write about, especially since many of us have gone through the joyous (not!) experience, but who in the heck wants to read about something depressing? So I nixed that idea.

Or I could have written about say, aging parents. Or chronic pain. Or the biggie of all... the loss of a loved one, which can come in all shapes and forms. Perhaps it’s not death itself, but the loss of a treasured relationship. The list goes on, but at some point, most of these sad situations touch us all. Again, too depressing. Nixed. 

Moving on... let’s take some of the more minor annoyances that could have made interesting blog material. My house for instance. Come to think of it, I could easily write a full-length novel on that topic. But I digress. Where was I again? Oh yes... my house. I bought the place a couple of years ago, and many of you might recall the movie THE MONEY PIT? I’m convinced this place was the model for that one. My house looks great on the surface, but don’t touch the walls or walk up the stairs... and for gosh sakes, whatever you do, do NOT flush a toilet while running the washing machine. Can anyone say tsunami? 

In retrospect, perhaps I should have purchased a farm. I’m a bit of a country girl at heart, but there’s a lot of city in me too (hey, that sentence makes for a great country song). But I digress again. Why would I want a farm you ask? Because I’m an avid animal lover and own several pets, some of them considered “exotic”. I suspect my neighbors aren’t too happy about my pot-bellied pig, and probably a few other things as well. This is a neighborhood where everything is neat and tidy... until you get to MY house. Mowing occurs only when I have money to pay someone - which isn’t that often - and in autumn, I happen to enjoy leaves in my yard. We live in Vermont. Aren’t we supposed to have leaves in our yard? 

In any event, as soon as I moved in, I had an aviary built for my cockatiels and parakeets, and at the same time was forced to install a chain-linked fence because Pumba the pig engaged in The Great Houdini Escape Act over and over (let me tell ya’ll, the pig was one plate shy from bacon at that point). Aside from the pig, I had an Amazon parrot who continually screamed: “LET ME OUT!”, so when I began meeting all the neighbors, I assured them I did not in fact have a child held prisoner in a closet, but owned a rather loud and massively spoiled parrot.

The most recent addition to my household is a puppy. I’m convinced the neighbors think I secretly own an animal-rescue organization or maybe they suspect I’m a hoarder. This was a quiet neighborhood until I moved in - MUCH too quiet. I like to joke we live in The Twilight Zone. Or perhaps The Stepford Neighborhood. Lawns always mowed, leaves scooped up as soon as they hit the grass, dogs that don’t bark, kids that don’t exist - or if they do, they’re hidden - and I’m convinced even the wildlife around here understands they’re expected to remain silent. I’m sure when I moved in, it was a shock for everyone. They’ve put up with a gigantic pig roaming around the backyard, a screaming parrot, and now the puppy. Wait ‘til this weekend when I host a family reunion and there are *gasp* CARS driving down the street and *another dramatic gasp* PEOPLE to be seen. 

Okay, enough babbling - as if you didn’t notice, I’m great at that. Before ya’ll are yawning (too late for that, I’m sure) I’ll get to the point. There was a point? Oh yeah. The topic for this article. Here it is! Wait for it... wait for it...

Oh dear. I forgot.