Scaring Myself I like to scare myself. If there are any television programs about haunted houses, I will watch them. If a movie comes out that deals with the paranormal, I will go to see the film. It is not until some time after seeing the program or movie that my imagination runs wild. I still remember the night I saw the original Friday the 13th in the movie theatre. Although I found the

I see them when I drive to work. I see them when I take Kimberly to band practices and games. They are everywhere. Everywhere I go, I see the stars people hang outside of their homes.

Why do people have these stars? Is it just a decorating fad like the shiny bowling balls people had in their front yards? Or does the star indicate membership in a secret society? Do people post the stars so they can be identified by other members of the group? Do they pass information to each other by knocking on the front door or leaving a symbolic object on the lawn?

This is starting to sound like a great idea for one of those investigative-unsolved mystery television programs. The star segment could be included on an episode Men in Black (the phenomena, not the movie) and that town in the Midwest where people hear a constant buzzing sound.

I have sometimes thought of hanging one of those stars at my house. If I did, I imagine the following scenario.

I am sitting at home one day. I am writing a new entry for Yes That Really Happened, acting as human dog door for Joe and Shelly and timing how fast Kim can send a text message. Suddenly there is a knock at the front door. After holding the cats so they do not make a break for the great outdoors, getting Shelly to be quiet and being surprised to find that Joey was awake, I finally open the door.

I see a stranger standing on the front deck. ( They see a stranger also because if I do not know them, chances are they do not know me. Unless they are a fan of this blog and became obsessed with me. Then I would have more problems then just wondering about the stars. I guess I have to stop watching so many Lifetime movies, especially when they run a “psychotic obsession weekend” film festival).

Anyway, back to the stars. The person at my door does not introduce themselves or ask if I am Kathy Kerr. This person just says something very obscure such as “The tall man wears yellow socks.” They say nothing else and just turn and walk away.

They feel their mission is complete. Little do they know the message has been passed to someone who has no idea what is happening.

That is why I will not hang a star outside of my house.

If any readers have an explanation about the stars please contact me so I can sleep at night.

The date was June 24, 2008. Our family would change that day. We would begin a journey into a new realm of existence. We stepped forward with apprehension, curiosity and courage.

June 24, 2008 was the day we brought Cookie home from the Gloucester County Animal Shelter. We had become cat owners. As I later discovered, we had actually become cat staff.

Our experience began when the shelter staff placed Cookie into a cardboard cat carrier for the ride home. I carefully placed the carrier on the front seat of my truck (yes, I drive a pick-up) and fastened the seat belt. I began the five mile drive home and it started as soon as I left the driveway of the shelter. The ride can be summarized with one word: meow. Cookie was making her feeling known for the entire ride.

I finally arrived home and carried the box into Kimberly’s room. As soon as I Kim opened the carrier, Cookie’s head popped up like a Jack-in-the-box. She looked around with a surprised look on her face as if the say “ where am I”.

Cookie jumped from the carrier and immediately began to explore the room. She did not seem frightened at all. Kim and her friend were watching a television program and Cookie sat in Kim’s lap and fell asleep.

As all this was happening, the dogs were outside. Once the cat seemed settled, I let them into the house. I had placed the carrier in the kitchen so they can become familiar with the scent of the cat and accept her into the pack. This is something dogs do when a new member arrives. I am still on their probationary acceptance list even though I adopted them. I am still trying to figure that one out.

After about one hour, the cat seemed to be resting well and we decided to let Cookie meet Shelly. The serenity would soon be over. We let Shelly into Kim’s bedroom and the dog was naturally curious about the cat. Shelly was not barking and approached Cookie. Immediately, Cookie arched her back and hissed loudly, her mouth wide open. Shelly has a great disposition and just looked surprised. The phrase supervised interactions immediately came to mind.

The next day Joey followed me in to Kim’s room and walked towards the cat. Cookie again arched her back and hissed loudly. Joe was surprised and ran (well actually walked very fast) behind me. He looked back at the cat. Being an old hunting dog, getting scared by a cat is especially embarrassing for Joey. I imagine he thought “I never seen a rabbit do that.”

Over the next few weeks, Cookie gradually grew comfortable with the dogs. I even have a photograph of Cookie and Joey lying together in the sun on the living room floor. An old hunting Beagle and a cat stretched out on the floor, lying back to back. Cookie has either finally felt comfortable with the dogs or was planning a hostile takeover of the house.

Only time would tell.

The following incidents are true. I have chosen to disclose this information to prevent myself from developing an inflated ego.

I was watching a program on the Discovery Health channel about the Birmingham Children’s Hospital. The show highlighted personal accounts of three children facing serious illnesses. I missed the first few minutes of the program but became quickly interested in the subject matter.

As the show progressed, I began to notice several people speaking with British accents. I wondered why so many British people were in Birmingham, Alabama. I thought this was rather unusual. It was only during the last five minutes of the program that I realized the hospital was located in Birmingham, England, not Birmingham, Alabama.

My first grand-nephew was born on February 12, 1992. I found out his mother was in labor while I was at work. As soon as I got home that evening, I called my sister to find out if she had any information about the baby.

I called my sister’s house. She answered the phone. In a classic blond moment, I asked “where are you”.

One day I was taking a load of laundry to my Mother’s house. Our water softener was being installed and our water was temporally turned off. I had a full basket of clothes ready to go. I walked to the car to place the basket into the trunk. Something distracted me so I placed the basket directly behind the car.

A few minutes later, I jumped into the car. I had totally forgotten about the laundry and backed the car over the basket. I looked through the car window to see my clothes spread all over the driveway.

I had surgery on my foot in 1998 and had to use crutches for about ten days. My niece Beth offered to drive me to a few appointments and we stopped by the supermarket on the way home. Beth helped me get a motorized shopping cart. Kimberly was four years old at the time and asked to sit on my lap as I drove the cart.

I quickly learned how to maneuver the cart and I was moving through the aisles fairly well.

Or so I thought.

I turned one corner too sharply and caught the edge of a stack of cheese crackers. This sent the crackers falling to the floor.

There is an old saying about blonds having more fun. I may not always have fun, but I am sure my life will be filled with blond moments.

I now have a plan. I know what to do. I can handle the situation.

If Shelly ever has constipation, all I have to do is take her to the Cumberland County SPCA.

Shelly and I had traveled to the SPCA for their annual Pet-A-Palooza fair on Saturday, October 3rd. Our purpose of being there was to promote Penny Angles Beagle Rescue by distributing newsletter and business cards.

Shelly enjoyed the car ride and seemed happy to be there when we arrived. We had been there two minutes when Shelly p**ped near the front entrance. Shelly had done the same exact thing on the only other time she had been there.

It must be the shelter.

Over all Shelly enjoyed herself at the pet fair. She was her usual charming self and enjoyed having people pet her. At one point, she almost crawled into someone’s lap. Shelly loves to hear people say she is cute. Obviously she has no problems with self-esteem.

I had relaxed my rule about giving Shelly table food. Being that she was behaving and representing the Beagle breed so well, I shared a slice of pizza with her. Shelly tried to take advantage of this rule relaxation and asked to stop off for a few beers on the way home. I explained we had to take Kim to Delsea for a band competition so there was not time to stop.

As I mentioned earlier, this was Shelly’s second visit to a Pet-A-Palooza fair. Kim, Joey, Shelly and I attended the fair in 2006. The Beagles immediately made their presence known.

Shelly relieved herself ten feet inside the entrance gate in the center of the main walkway. Luckily a shelter staff helped Kim clean that up. When Shelly came over to our table, she managed to tip it over, sending all of our rescue literature spilling to the ground. As I was picking up our papers, Joey lifted his leg on the chair of the rescue group next to us.

All of this happened within fifteen minutes of our arrival.

I guess I could summarize this experience by saying there is never a dull moment when there is a Beagle around.

Joey is the older of my two Beagles. Being that he was adopted from the Penny Angels Beagle Rescue, we do not know his exact age. The rescue estimated his age as 8 or 9 when we adopted him 5 years ago. So that makes him about 13 or 14 years old. (I did the math in my head. Imagine that)

Joey is a retired hunting dog. Although he enjoys living in a warm comfortable home, Joey is happiest when he is outside tracking a rabbit or squirrel. When he finds a trail, he begins to bark. Now Joey does not have an average hound dog bark. The sound he makes has been described as a sea lion, a fog horn and a duck. Some people have heard him barking and could not be believe that sound came from a dog.

Ornery is a great way to describe Joey. He opened a refrigerator when he lived at the rescue. While staying at a foster home, Joe chased some geese onto a frozen pond and would not come off the ice when he was called. They family was very concerned and called the police department to help get him off the ice.

Joey never walks around anything. He will step on anything (or anybody for that matter) that is in his way. He will push something aside rather than take a step sideways. When my Father was installing a new kitchen facet, Joey walked over him to see what was in the cabinet under the sink. Maybe that is why the hot and cold indicators are reversed.

I realized I have yet to explain why I call Joey “Iron Dog”. He earned this nickname because just when I think his age and the hard life he endured as a hunting dog have finally caught up to him, Joe surprises me. He will become energized and spend the remainder of the day turning us in to human dog doors. He will go to the back door to be let out. About twenty to thirty minutes later, he will bark at the door to come in. This process will be repeated about every two hours.

Joey is a stubborn dog. If he is doing something such as chewing cardboard and we tell him to stop, Joe will momentarily look at us and return to whatever he is doing. Being that Joe was older when I adopted him, I did not know him as a puppy. When I recall the Beagle mischief he has gotten into at our house, the thought of him as a puppy scares me.

Joey stole my heart the first day I met in him at Penny Angels Beagle Rescue. I will love him for the rest of my life.




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Let me give you some background information about all the members of my family.

Kimberly is 15 years old and a sophomore at Delsea Regional High School. She is taking 4 "Honors" classes this year and is very excited about her course work. Kim is also in the marching band this year.

The kids in the marching band seem nice. But based on what Kim has told me, they can get somewhat wild. But she enjoys being in the band's color guard and is helping her overcome her shyness. For example, she was sitting in the stands at Kingsway High School watching the football game after the band's performance. A friend dared her to yell "Come on Delsea, Show them what you are made of".

Kim took this challenge and said "Come on Delsea, show those pansy-a#### what you are made of. Show them how real men fight." Needless to say, this drew laughter and surprise from the other kids in the band. Many had not heard her speak a full sentence and now she was screaming at football games.

Then there was the bus ride back to Delsea. The kids were laughing and joking around. At one point, someone yelled to the band director that two kids were "making out". Kim claims all she did was sit and talk with a friend while this was happening. Such innocence.

I think I will offer to chaperon on future band outings.

Watch your nose.

I never said that phrase until we adopted Shelly, a tri-colored Beagle.

For those of you not familiar with Beagles, they are known to be “chow hounds”. They are on a constant mission to find food. Open the refrigerator, they are there. Open the oven, they are there. Open the dishwasher and soon you will find your Beagle with their front paws on the door of the machine. Their nose will be diligently surveying each dish for the most microscopic morsel of food.It is this behavior that warrants the phrase, “watch your nose”. The basic rule is that before you close a food related appliance; make sure the Beagle’s nose is not in the way.

Shelly may appear to be a low energy type of dog. And for a good portion of the time she is. But she can strike with the speed of a cobra when food is involved. A perfect example of this ability occurred one day when I was looking for something in my refrigerator. Shelly was by my side. Suddenly, she runs in to the living room. I follow her and discover she had stolen a chicken drumstick from a container in the refrigerator. On another occasion, she had taken three pancakes and left two on the plate.

Shelly was not fully housebroken when she came to live with us. She has now progressed to being about ninety-five percent trained. Although she has shown great improvement since that time, Shelly still has an occasional indoor accident. In fact, I find my self entering the house like a cop on a television show. I carefully open the door and quickly glance in to the living room.“Good, nothing there,” I quietly say to myself.I then slowly look around the front door to see if there is anything in the hallway. My head spins as I look into the hall and then into the kitchen. It as if my mind is telling me that if I sneak up on the “indoor accident”, it will not be so bad. If the hall is clean, I am faced with the final option of my search. I look at the dog. I scan her face to find any signs of guilt. There are none.

A lack of guilt on a Beagle’s face can be very misleading. They can be very strong-minded animals. When they get an idea they want to do something, they do it. If you happen to catch your Beagle doing something wrong, they will look at you as if to say, “Why are you telling at me. I’m just sitting here”

Walking on a leash was another skill Shelly had to learn when she came to live with us. Being a retired hunting dog, she has always enjoyed going for leash walks. Just the sight of her leash and harness sends her into a frenzy of barking and jumping. Unfortunately for me, I have to put her harness on at this time. After about five minutes of Beagle wrestling, Shelly is ready for her walk.

I am ready for oxygen.

After I regain consciousness, we go outside. You must understand that one does not take a Beagle out for a walk. You take then out for a sniff. The moment a most Beagles are outside, their noses are on the ground. This is especially true of dogs that are trained to hunt.

Being a retired hunting dog, Shelly has two modes of sniffing. There is the normal sniff and the trail sniff when the dog has found the scent of an animal and begins to track. Shelly makes a sound similar to that of a helicopter when she is tracking. I almost expect her to lift off the ground and circle the house.

Nothing will stop the Beagle who is on the trail of a rabbit or squirrel. Not even their owner at the other end of their leash. Walking Shelly has not only sharpened my agility and reflexes, but it has enhanced my own tracking skills. I can now find people drinking coffee at sports arenas and pizza shops at shopping malls.Shelly has also learned things from me. She surfs the Internet, watches football on Sundays and is a fan of Court TV.

Well, I have to go now. Shelly has to check her email.