Butters came along after Gracie passed away; Lula came along just as Finley was preparing to join Gracie and Woody.

In 1987, my Nanny (grandmother) passed away on December 23 — fifteen minutes before Christmas Eve.  She’d lived with us for 15 years. She was a great friend, feisty competitor — ask anyone who dared to play a game of Scrabble with her — and tough as nails.   She was born in September 1912. My younger brother never failed to remind her that she was born only five months after the Titanic sank. During World War II, she worked at US Steel in Chicago.  I believe she was a supervisor.  We always said that had she been born in a different time, she would have earned her PhD. She was that smart.   But I digress…

After Nanny passed away, I was rudderless. She was our pal. She was always there when we returned from school. And then God sent Evelyn into my life.

Evelyn is feisty. One July 4th, our congressman wanted a man he called and “Afghani Freedom Fighter” to ride with us in a local parade. She stood toe-to-toe with this guy poking him in the chest saying,”He’s not getting on this float. He’s not making my  kids a target. He can ride with you!”  Years later, and lots of research later, a friend of mine discovered that our Evelyn was not too far from the truth.  The man she denied access to was apparently a card- carrying member of Al Queda.

About 7 years ago, we celebrated her 80th birthday — on St. Patrick’s Day. Didn’t know that she’d been adopted. But it explained a lot. She has a BIG heart and a BIG smile.  She had met a lot of people over 80 years, so when her daughters asked us each to supply a page for a scrapbook, they were overwhelmed by the response.  Congressmen, Senators, elected officials of all sorts, golf friends and a gaggle of “youngsters” (We were in our mid-30′s at this point)  all provided pages. 

Oddly, my friend and I recalled the parade where she stood down Al Queda. Chris heard the whole exchange. My recollection was much different.

Evelyn was snapping photos, and I assumed it was of the float we designed together. I was wrong!  She said, “Suzi, look on the balcony.”  So  I looked. There were 5 smokin’ hot men  — one in nothing but his BVD’s — on the balcony watching the pre-parade festivities, and there was Evelyn recording the view for posterity!  I do admit, she has excellent taste in men. I expected nothing less.

Blissfully, Evelyn is still with us. Still getting along in her late 80′s. We love her. We love that she was so willing to play the role of grandma for us after losing ours. She is a treasure, and we’re so happy to have claimed her.  

BTW… Evelyn had a rescued schnauzer named CB, short for Code Blue. CB had coded as a puppy and was recussitated. Yep, another pet person!

Well, where I live, there is: CALIFORNIA VEHICLE CODE 23117.  (a) No person driving a motor vehicle shall transport any animal in the back of the vehicle in a space intended for any load on the vehicle on a highway unless the space is enclosed or has side and tail racks to a height of at least 46 inches extending vertically from the floor, the vehicle has installed means of preventing the animal from being discharged, or the animal is cross tethered to the vehicle, or is protected by a secured container or cage, in a manner which will prevent the animal from being thrown, falling, or jumping from the vehicle.    http://www.dmv.ca.gov/pubs/vctop/d11/vc23117.htm

I’ve called the paper and asked them to publicize this code — as well as encouraging people to not take their dogs if they have to be left in the car. As of January 1, 2007, it’s illegal to leave your pet in a car unattended on a hot day in the Golden State.

When I think about where I got this role of protector, I think of my mom.   When did she start instilling in me how the initiative system works?  When I was 5-years-old.  When I was 5, the board of education wanted to bus kids away from their home districts. Mom had lived in Chicago and worked in a hospital. One day, my older brother came by to visit, which was odd because it was a school day.  His school was taking part in an assimilation experiment and one of the kids pulled a knife on the bus. Well, that was it.  Not only did the Chicago program come to a grinding halt, but that’s when my mom decided none of her kids would be subjected to this again.

So there I sat, at the kitchen table as a 5-year-old stuffing and sealing envelopes to convince other California voters to not allow this intiative to pass.

Thanks to those days around the kitchen table, I’ve developed a healthy appreciation for the political process. I was able to meet a President of the United States, a few representatives, two governors of California, work for a County Supervisor and meet more than my fair share of movers and shakers –each who was a force in her own right.

I think it’s ironic that virtually every one of the people I mentioned above was an animal person.

So Mom, thanks for being a Protector and for all the opportunities.

My mom was a sucker for a stray. That’s how I got Cyndi, my first dog.  Sure, I loved Sugar, a sweet black and white Cockapoo, but Cyndi, a small toy black poodle, was mine.  Mom confiscated this little pup from a woman who was going to “turn her loose in the park”.    Well, Cyndi lived with us for 18 years. She passed away in my arms on February 13.  Valentine’s Day was never really the same afterwards.

But Mom had always wanted dogs. When the time was ripe, she got a dog. A basset hound named Muggs.  Then the parade started… Sugar, then Cyndi, then fish… lots of fish, then a bird, then another basset named Fred, then birds… LOTS of birds, the birds had babies,  so there were even more birds… then Woody the bichon mix, then Gracie, the stray shepherd mix and Finley, the original Big Red Dog. 

My grandmother never really was too into the dogs, but alwasy brought a doggie bag home from Sunday brunch. She was a big softie.  She’d sit in the yard and feed bits of chicken and steak to Fred and Cyndi. 

My great aunt, even in her spiral into dementia, loves having her dog nearby. She brightens when Butters nuzzles her ankle. Butters is a bit of a charmer. She’s always had pets.

My cousins raised miniature horses. Cousin Joanie says we horse folks have “THE DISEASE.”

There are stories that my great grandmother was an equestrian in Poland. She’d ride to events as a young girl. 

So there you have it… how I got “the gene!”  Thanks, Mom!   If you have “the gene” welcome! It’s a great affliction to have.