Guys like you who are gentle and true don’t come around here everyday

The Pretenders -- Sense Of Purpose -- 1995


First, some updates:

The e-mail harrasser has not contacted me again. However, there have been some unusual hits on my Blog, so I don't know if she or her moles are monitoring. If so.............................................................

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CRAZY!!!!!!!!!! I'm still here and I'm still tattooed. Even better, I'm still not done with my response to your unprovoked attack.


The Princess is finally better, but she was really sick for an entire week. She missed work for 4 days, and I am sick.to.death. of running to the grocery store to pick up any variation of

popsicles
tylenol
juice
ice cream
mashed potatoes
soup
more mashed potatoes
more soup

and, the thing that everyone desperately needs when they are desperately ill -


light bulbs.

Yep. Whatever.

My gimpy dog Annie has a partial ACL tear of her knee that is supposed to get better with rest, pain meds and anti-inflammatories. We'll see. So far, she's still hobbling around.

I finally dragged my ass to the eye doctor. He did all sorts of hinky things. To my eyes. And then he proclaimed my eye health to be EXCELLENT.

I was practically floating out of the office before his voice managed to break through my dilated-eye-haze to mention that, although the actual state of my eye health was great, my vision was getting crappier. Due to the natural aging process. Or something like that. I had stopped listening to put my head between my knees so the room would stop spinning. It seems that the entire dilation-of-the-eyes experience was a signal to my pea brain to make me motion sick. I think I may have heard, over the ringing in my ears, that I need progressive lenses. A kinder, gentler way of saying BIFOCALS. But now, we already suspected that, didn't we?

So I left there and went to the Optometrist. I ordered some glasses that I think might possibly look nice, but since I really couldn't see and I was dizzy and feeling like I was going to barf on the counter, I might end up sporting something that looks like these:




However, the real reason for today's post was to discuss the inaugural visit of the Trevor/Avalon team to Hospice.

Please don't sit there all doe-eyed and act like you don't remember talking about this.

*blink*

You really don't?

Let me refresh you. Take your time. I can wait. It's not like I have anything better to do. Like work.

Back already? My, you must have taken one of those Evelyn Wood speed-reading courses.

Now that we are all caught up, let's forge on.

Trevor and I set off to Hospice on Saturday afternoon. Coming so closely on the heels of our fairly successful nursing home visit last week, I was feeling pretty positive about our chances for a good visit even though this was a brand new environment for him.

We got there and I got him brushed, into his Delta vest and proceeded to head inside. Where he completely came undone by the PNEUMATIC DOORS OF DEATH. After I reminded him that he has passed through these kinds of doors before without being eaten or maimed, he charged through them before they got his ass.

When we got inside, his head appeared to be on a swivel. He was looking here and there, on high alert for enemies or secret butt pinchers. It was really difficult for me to get his attention at all, but I figured that, as he settled in, we would do some basic obedience commands to increase his self-confidence and remind him of what he was there to do.

Except, it never happened. Trevor was really, really nervous. To the point of being unable to even hear and/or respond to what I was asking. Nothing seemed to be working to calm him and allow him to focus. I tried to be very patient, understanding that he is still young and this is all new to him. Part of the problem was that, at Hospice, 4 bed are in each room and visitors are allowed at any hours without restrictions. So there are normally several people in a very small area. He was actually fine with approaching the patients at their bedside, but when the visitors tried to come and meet him, he would instantly back away and plant himself behind my legs. Peeking out. All 50 pounds of him.

Oddly enough, the people he responded the best to were 3 young kids we met while there. Trevor has had very limited exposure to kids, but he really seemed much more comfortable with them than I would have expected.

By the time our allotted time was up, I can honestly say that I was disappointed in our performance as a team, and worried that maybe he simply was not cut out for this type of work. I headed home to mull over what I should do next. I knew that I probably needed to give him another chance to be fair, but I was really worried that all of this was stressing both of us out to the point that it wouldn't be enjoyable.

Then, I opened my e-mail to find that an e-mail friend, Marty, had suddenly and devastatingly lost her Standard Poodle Sid that same morning. Her heart was broken into tiny little fragments.

And it dawned on me. Slowly but surely, I realized. The entire point of Pet Therapy is to bring happiness. Comfort. Peace. If I am going into this venture concerned that we are not a good enough team, how am I providing ANY of that to the people we encounter? Instead of being a freakish, perfectionistic controller, I need to just relax and let my dog teach me about limitations.

About how to be imperfect but still manage to be happy.

About how to accept what is instead of worrying about what should be.

And then, when the day comes that Trevor collapses suddenly and cannot be revived, I can take solace in the memories of the times he and I shared bringing a few moments of respite to someone else.


Or each other.

Reputations changeable, situations tolerable

Handle With Care -- George Harrison -- 1988



Soooooooo......updates:

Took Trevor to work with me for a few hours Friday afternoon. He was shy at first, but quickly warmed up to 2 of my co-workers. By the time we were ready to go home, he was sitting in my friend Jen's lap and refused to get up. Then I took him to the nursing home on Sunday to visit and he did far better than the first time we went. He likes to be the one to approach the patients and visitors. If they come at him, he gets shy and tries to hide behind me. However, he is clearly getting the connection between strangers petting him and the sweet taste of Liver treats. He was loved by all he met, and I am happy to see that he is getting more comfortable with the routine.

Started prepping the kitchen for the new, improved look after the epic installation of the new floor. We are going to paint the walls and the cabinets, so we had to take down the old half-wall wallpaper. Some day, our kitchen will look lovely. Probably not in this millenia, but someday.

Officially finished my Hospice training, sans Trevor. Now I just have to schedule our very first Therapy visit, which might be this week as my friend Kathy asked that I visit her childhood friend. A 50 something woman dying of advanced Breast Cancer metastasized to her brain. So I will see if she can be our very first visit.

The Princess is really sick. Probably a whopping case of the Flu. Body aches, high fever, headache, no appetite. I was there last night at 9:30 to bring her Popsicles and Tylenol. She hates to miss work as they are only allotted 10 sick days per year, but she really is too ill to get out of bed, never mind teach a class of 3 and 4 year olds.

My Mini Poodle Annie has something wrong with her left back leg. She was fine all weekend, and then late Sunday night I noticed that she didn't want to go down the 2 back steps into the yard. We always have some Metacam on hand because my 3 rescues all have issues with joint problems, and my Vet lets me treat minor aches, strains and pulls at home first before subjecting them to medical testing. She always advises me to give them 24 hours of rest and care before contacting her, unless it is a true emergency. She understands the depth of my medical knowledge and experience, and she trusts me. So, I gave Annie a dose of Metacam Sunday night and again yesterday. Usually, the problems start to clear up within a day or 2 of treatment, but Annie seemed more sore this morning, so it will be off to the Vet for an exam and possible x-rays. Annie has very, very loose knees and sometimes they can slip out of place with the slightest misstep. Hopefully, it's just a strain that can heal with rest and medication.

Started a new Rally-O class with Willie last night. He did exceedingly well and we will continue every Monday. He is the easiest of my Poodles to work with, so I think he should be pretty successful. Since I am directionally challenged, it will probably be a completely different story for me.


So, as you can read, things have been relatively boring. Status quo. Nothing of interest to report.




Until it all went wonky. And it wasn't even my fault. Honest.


( Sit back and grab yourself a beverage. This is gonna' be a long, complicated story to follow. But oh so fun!!!)


Saturday evening, I decide to check my e-mail. As I am culling through what to read and what to delete, I come across an e-mail addressed to me with my friend Daryl's name in the subject line. I don't know the person who sent it, but it mentions Poodle rescue so I open it up and proceed to read it. The e-mail, shockingly, is a deliberate copy of all the private e-mails between Daryl and this woman ( the sender who shall remain unnamed because I am not stupid) about a possible placement for a rescued dog. Apparently, this woman took issue with the fact that Daryl wanted to place a small dog into a home with a large one, and became increasingly upset as their e-mail conversations unfolded.

Her solution to her frustration was to take all of the contact names from a previous e-mail that Daryl had sent out ( completely unrelated to the subject at hand), use those names to compile her OWN list and send an angry e-mail to all of DARYL'S contacts regarding what she thought of Daryl's decision!!! She included all of their private conversations in the e-mail that she spammed to all of us, Daryl's friends, co-workers and contacts in rescue!

When I realized what the e-mail was, I sent an e-mail to this woman, whom I had never even heard of before she had the audacity to do this and I advised her that she had no right to cull my name, or anyone else's for that matter and use it to air her complaints about Daryl. I also told her that she also had no right to copy the private e-mails between her and Daryl to an entire group of people without Daryl's permission. I was very clear with her that I NEVER expected her to contact me again, and if she did, I would report her to her ISP Verizon for harassment and spamming. I told her that her issues with Daryl had absolutely NOTHING to do with me or the other people she e-mailed. They occurred between the 2 of them and should have remained between the 2 of them.

By the following morning, this woman e-mailed me again in an angry, threatening and rude tone. She assured me that she had every right to do what she had done and actually had the audacity to accuse me of not caring about what happened to rescued Poodles.

I advised her that I was certainly reporting her behavior to Verizon as I had warned her NOT to e-mail me ever again.

Guess what? She obviously doesn't understand clear, concise language because she e-mailed me AGAIN. To tell me NOT to e-mail her. And to make some threats about reporting me to HER ISP for the content on MY BLOG!! DUH!

She also made a disparaging remark about my Blog entry concerning my new tattoo. Then she had the gall to complain that I had made this issue all ABOUT ME!

Ummmmm, hellooooo.

I didn't e-mail YOU first lady. You e-mailed me and many others. With a stolen list of contacts. With private and protected conversations. With threats and slander and libel. You started this entire ball rolling. You. Alone.

I didn't ask to be involved in this matter at all. Nor did any of the other people you e-mailed. You have made many, many people upset. You have committed serious breaches of internet policies. You have brought this upon yourself, and now you will have to suffer the consequences. Because people WILL NOT be bullied. They WILL NOT be threatened. They WILL NOT sit quietly while you wage your immature and obviously poorly thought out campaign against ONE PERSON who has upset you.

You picked on the wrong person when you picked on me. When you hijacked my e-mail address for your diatribe against another person, you chose unwisely. I know that you have read this Blog. I know when. I know for exactly how long. I know how many pages you viewed. I know where you viewed them from. I hope you read deeply enough to understand that I take threats very, very seriously.

I also hope you are reading this Blog again now. Send your friends on over to read. Make it a group effort. Every time someone reads, they will understand that YOU initiated this entire fiasco. Their visits also raise my Blogger stats!

Then, know this. Complain to your ISP all you want. Complain to Blogger all you want. I have done nothing wrong and have nothing to lose. My Blog content is allowable. My child is safe. My dogs are well cared for. My job is secure. My home is my own. My conscience is clear.

I don't care what you think. I only care about what you do. And, when what you do interferes with my life, I take action.

I have taken action. Unlike you, I have taken appropriate action. I will continue to do so until this matter is resolved to MY satisfaction. You were wrong, and when confronted with your errors, you became angry and threatening. That is NOT acceptable. Ever.


You should have just apologized.

I guess that's why they call it the blues

Elton John -- 1983


For today, we will all participate in a canine history lesson. Because I am the crazy poodle lady. Because this is my Blog. Because I can.

PAY ATTENTION!



Poodles come in 3 recognized sizes in the United States. Toy: 10 inches or under at the withers ( highest point of the shoulder); Miniature: over 10 but under 15 inches, and Standard: 15 inches or over. There is no maximum height measurement for a Standard.

They also come in a variety of colors. The most commonly recognized are Black and White, but they also come in varying shades of Brown, Apricot, Creme, Silver, Parti Colored ( more than one color at the skin) and, like my Trevor, Blue. He is a Blue Standard Poodle.

Since they say that dogs begin to resemble their owners, I can state with some authority that he gets better looking every day.

Many people have never seen a Blue Poodle, and in fact, Blue is somewhat of a misnomer. To delineate the color from Silver or Black, it was coined Blue. However, the color most typically clears to a variation of a gunmetal grey. At birth, it is sometimes very difficult to differentiate a Blue from a Black. Some Blues do not actually clear to the final color until they are 3 or 4 years old. Trevor was 3 last month.

Trevor's breeder Carole told me he was Blue from our very first contact. Here he is at about 9 weeks old. You can see the odd color of his muzzle, but his little body is clearly still Black:

By the time he first came home with me, the only obvious thing that indicated he was not Black were small lightened circles of color around his muzzle and under his eyes, and some light hair around his ear edges. Otherwise, he simply looked like a Black Poodle.

Here he is at about 10 months old. Notice the changes to his face, but the rest of his body still appears Black ( the lighting in the photo is a bit harsh):



Over the next year, he continued to change color gradually. A patch here and there sometimes looked lighter. It was really hard to gauge the changes because I see him every day. Here, even though it is several months after the above picture, he looks much the same except that the hair on his front legs might, to the astute observer, look almost Brownish in tone:



In this picture, taken in the natural light of the yard, you can see a slight bit of lightening in his coat, definite lightening of his entire face, and a change to the hair on his sides that foreshadows the color he will become:



However, when his face is unshaved, it takes on a brownish cast peculiar to Blues. You can see it in this picture I took several months ago:



So, imagine my surprise when I shaved him down Monday night and found a dark grey Poodle underneath his hair. I did the initial rough shave without the benefit of a bath, and then finished the grooming last night after bathing and drying him. The color change was shocking, and it had only been 5 weeks since I last groomed him.

Here are a few pictures from last night and this morning. Depending on the lighting, they show the variation of shade in a coat that has definitely changed from Black to Grey:





One shot taken as he lay next to my (fading bad Black) Mini Annie to show the color difference between her leg and his:




And the final shot of him this morning, sitting in the natural outdoor light of my yard. This is probably the truest example of his current color, quite a difference from the deep Black he once was. My apologies in advance that the pic is not completely in focus. I was trying to take the picture while I was wrapped in a towel people!



So there you have it. The change, I think, is still evolving. It has been a lot of fun to watch.


What say ye, Poodle people and lurkers alike?

There'll be some blood no doubt about it

Black Tie, White Noise -- David Bowie -- 1993




Just how good are all of your memory's? Have you been paying attention? Do you hear me, do you care ( name that tune).

Do you remember when I held the world captive with this little Blog entry? Can you recall the chill on your skin as my writing enthralled you? Captivated your mind and your heart? Forced you to send smoke signals to the rest of the Blogging universe, willing them to come and read this new Mistress of the Blog?

DO YOU?????

I thought so.


Well. I did it. Got the tattoo. Friday evening after work. The Heat Miser gave me my very own gift certificate to a new place. A new place that hired many of the artists from the place I USED to go. Before they became money grubbing scoundrels that wanted 450 dollars for a tattoo.

The new place. 200. TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS to ease my aching heart and bring me joy.

And it all fell into place in a most unusual way.

I had to go to my doctor for a physical to qualify for the Pet Therapy program at Hospice. I made the appointment for the beginning of December and trudged to the office, certain to hear bad news about something.

I lay on the exam table waiting for a technician to come in and do an EKG. As the young girl entered the room, she asked " oh, are you a Scorpio too?". It took me a second to realize that the scant medical gown was allowing my thigh tattoo of a Scorpion to peek out. So, she and I began a conversation about tattoos. She confessed that she had many tattoos, mainly because she got them done for free.

You see, her boyfriend is a tattoo artist.

Who had just opened his own shop.


When I asked his name, I realized that he was the very same artist who had done my Poodle tattoo last year at the shall-remain-nameless-but-obscenely-overpriced-tattoo-shop that I would no longer be frequenting. I told her about the dream Bowie tattoo that I had been unable to get and she virtually begged me to try his new shop. She gave me one of her boyfriend's cards, told me that she would tell him to expect me and promised that they would " hook me up" with a great price.

When I got home, I told my family of the encounter. A few weeks later, on Christmas morning, there was the gift certificate and the rest is now being penned in the annals of significant historical events.


Just let me share one more thing.



This tattoo. It took 2 hours and 10 minutes to complete.


And it hurt like a motherfucker.

For those unfamiliar, there are many different sizes of tattoo needles, but 2 main types. One is a very sharp, single needle for outlines. That is the hurting one. Then, there is a multi-pronged one that's used to fill in the color. That is a more dull pain. Easier to take.

My artist, for effect purposes, did the entire tattoo in the outline needle. The end result is beautiful, but there were actually moments where I considered telling him to stop. Permanently.

I am pretty tough about pain, but this one, well, it was painful. Very, very painful.


I hung in there and my thing of beauty was completed. But not without some white knuckles and many, many bad words.


When I finally release it from the confines of the bandages, I will try to take a picture and share it here.


It makes me very, very happy to look at my leg. I suspect there may be several concussions in the near future as I try to carry out my regular routines while staring adoringly at my calf. But, not to worry.




When David Bowie is laying on your skin, it's all good.

There's something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear

For What It's Worth -- Buffalo Springfield -- 1967


The Princess is a little obsessed with the Antique's Roadshow. In brief, it's a televised show that invites people to bring items they feel are of some worth to be appraised. They employ a team of world-renowned appraisers who are experienced in every type of antique and valuable. They always look for an interesting backstory, and people are often shocked at the value of the piece of crap that has been moldering in their guest room for 57 years.

When I am forced to watch it, I am most thrilled by the evaluations that tell the person their item is trash. Worth 17 cents. You can see their dreams of fortune and decadence deflate visibly as they realize that great-great grandpa's gold leafed sabre is a complete knockoff from J.C Penney.

The Princess has long contended that she would want to bring 2 items onto the Roadshow if she had the opportunity. One is a horrible, ugly and cartoonish cookie jar. It is bright yellow and appears to be a caricature of a dinosaur. She actually had the exact same one many years ago, but it broke, and by happenstance, my mother found it's twin in a local antique shop. The Princess named the jar Neil, and in her budding wanna-be-a-filmmaker days in college, Neil was the star of a quasi-slasher flick she created with her friends. The Princess is certain that Neil has some value. I think she is ridiculous.

The other item she would love to have appraised is her great-grandmother's painting. It now adorns the bedroom wall in her apartment. A wall that is completely unfettered by anything other than the painting. The Princess would love to know if the painting is of any value to anyone aside from her. The backstory, of course, would be very interesting. She is certain that the Antique's Roadshow would simply BEG to have her on.

Yesterday, she was surfing the web and took a look at the AR website. She found, to her great delight, that the AR is coming to Hartford. A mere 50 minutes away from us! She has begun the application process and will take pictures of her 2 beloved items this weekend. The website states that applications are chosen at random, but the Princess does not believe that. She thinks that if the story is interesting enough, the AR staff will choose it. The website also states that there is only one entry allowed per household, so she is entering Neil from our home address and the painting from hers. She is determined to get onto the damned show.

I hate to hear her voice when she is confronted by rejection.

In other Princess news, there was a a rather interesting development yesterday. The Princess, being a brand-shiny-new college grad, is considered an associate teacher. She co-teaches a Pre-K class with a more experienced teacher, R. R has headed this class for several years and has 2 children of her own. Since school began this year, R has become more and more unreliable. Showing up late, calling out sick, leaving early. The Princess has taken up the slack and has worked early, late.....whatever was needed to keep the class functioning. R took the Princess aside yesterday to inform her that she would not be returning next year due to increased family demands. She had already informed the Administration of her decision.

The Princess is trying mightily NOT to get too excited about this. She would LOVE to be the lead teacher of this class, but she is worried that she does not yet have enough experience to qualify. However, she does have a dual masters degree.....which R did not. R ran the class with only a bachelor's degree in education. The Princess' specialty for her master's was early Childhood Education. So, the Princess is sitting on her excitement to see what happens next. She is worried that she not seem to eager by approaching the Principal to inquire about the application process. On the other hand, she does not want to miss the opportunity to let them know that she is interested. I advised her to go for it. Approach the Principal, tell him that she is interested and leave it alone. Don't wait for the job to be posted to the public and then she is just one of dozens under consideration.

I told her she has nothing to lose.

In fact, that's probably not the entire truth. If rejected, she can lose face, lose faith and lose a little snippet of her pride.



Then again, when she strikes it rich on the Antiques Roadshow with her million dollar cookie jar, she won't need to worry about work at all.

Together we found it, just got lucky.......

Just Got Lucky -- The Jo Boxers -- 1983



Do we all remember this sad tale of woe?

Well, life has taken a turn for the better. beginning Friday. When this is released!

We are hoping that there will be LOTS of Larry's hitting the stores in conjunction with the big cinema debut of LARRY-THE-PIRATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think Trevor might love Larry even more once he gets a gander of the eye patch and the manly bandanna.

{{{ Editor's note: I am well aware that the pirate is NOT Larry. He is correctly identified as Elliott. Do you really think my dog will care??? Do you really, for a moment, believe that I am going to tell him???? I didn't think so. In Trevor's little world, every single green, talking cucumber is Larry. His Larry}}}}

So Trevor's tiny little world has just brightened. This weekend, I might just dress him up in some Crocs and a baseball cap and see if I can discreetly sneak him into Toy-R-Us. I think it's only fitting that he gets to pick out his very own Larry. I don't think anyone will notice he's a Poodle. He's probably better looking than at least half the screaming cretins in the store anyway. Then, I'm thinking about taking him to the matinée showing of The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything.



Weheeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

Smoke a cigarette and lie some more

Stone Temple Pilots-- Big Empty -- 1994

I have written about my friend/neighbor Patty before. She finished her mandated counseling, returned to court and the charges were dropped. Everything appeared to return to normal in her house. Patty and her son Joey have been living as virtual tenants in their own house.

When Patty and Gerry married many years ago, Patty's 2 sons were already teenagers. The older son Jimmy had been dating a girl since he was a freshman in high school, and shortly after he graduated, they married and moved into their own place. Over the next few years, they bought a house and had 3 children. Jimmy worked nights and/or evenings, so he was a stay-at-home dad during the day while his wife, a nurse, worked part-time.

Joey, Patty's younger son, stayed at home with Patty and Gerry. Joey had lots of friends, many girlfriends and was a great help to Patty. He cheerfully completed projects around the house, helped her with anything she needed and generally acted as the buffer between she and Gerry when Gerry was difficult. Joey, we always teased, was Patty's "baby" and she loved having him live at home with her. He worked mainly low-paying blue collar jobs, but he was good to his mother and got along relatively well with Gerry. It wasn't unusual for Patty to come home from a long day at work to find her husband asleep in the recliner and her son washing the kitchen floor, taking down all of her curtains and blinds to wash and clean them, or fixing her a meal.

The arrangement worked well for many, many years. Joey was a good kid and Patty adored him. He was a bright spot in her otherwise lonely days, and in return, she provided him with a place to live and a purpose. He never gave her any trouble.

Then, 3 years ago, Joey injured his knee at work and was unable to return until it was operated on. He was 29 years old. The surgery to repair the injury went well, but after the surgery, we all noticed that Joey seemed different. Distant and removed. None of us were aware that he had quickly become addicted to the Oxycodone prescribed for pain post-surgery.

Until the day Patty checked her bank balance online and noticed that several hundred dollars had been withdrawn. Not by her.

She confronted both Gerry and Joey (as Gerry had himself had made a mess of their finances more than once). Joey admitted to his mother that he had taken the money to support an out-of-control addiction to Oxycodone. Patty was devastated but vowed to get her son the help he needed. She insisted that HE had to admit himself to a hospital for detox, that HE then needed to agree to inpatient drug rehab, and that HE had to arrange to pay her back the money he had stolen. It was only after he became an inpatient that Patty recognized the extent of Joey's theft. He had made unauthorized charges and withdrawals on several credit cards belonging to her and Gerry. He had effectively accrued several thousand dollars worth of debt that he was unable to pay back as he was out of work. He was also accused of stealing petty cash from his job. He was fired.

Within days of being admitted to an inpatient program, Patty began to get threatening calls at her home from a drug dealer that Joey owed money to. Patty, all 5 feet and 120 pounds of her took herself to the dealers house, plopped down the cash on the table and advised the man that if he ever contacted her again, she would not rest until he spent the vital years of his life in prison. She also advised him NEVER to sell drugs to her son again. She walked out and the harassment ceased.

Joey seemed to do well in rehab and was soon discharged to a day program. Patty had sold his truck ( with his knowledge) to repay some of what he owed, so every day, either my mother or I would drive Joey to his day program on our way to work and pick him up in the afternoon. Patty was unable to because of her work schedule and Gerry was unwilling. Aside from Gerry, we all understood Joey's worth and wanted him to succeed.

And succeed he did. He completed the program, returned home, found another job and appeared to do well. Patty survived the stress but emerged an older and more tired woman.

Then, Patty's older son announced one day that he no longer wanted to be married. He packed his bags, left his wife and 3 kids and moved in with a girlfriend. The wife was so angry that she refused to let Patty see her grandchildren for weeks at a time. Patty was crushed.

Over the past year, things finally seemed to even out in Patty's life until the domestic incident in September. Her son and daughter-in-law divorced and the son remarried the girlfriend. Patty was again allowed to see her grandchildren. Joey was working.

2 nights ago, I let the dogs outside before going upstairs to bed. As I stood in the yard, I heard Patty call my name. I went over to the fence and she handed me a large paper bag. She asked that I keep it safe for her. Inside was everything of value that she owned. She told me that she had come home to find that three pieces of jewelry were missing from her room. One was her engagement ring. She questioned Gerry and he denied any knowledge of the missing items. She had tried to reach Joey but he was out and had not answered his phone.

When Joey returned home later that night, she confronted him and he admitted that he had taken the jewelry. Apparently, he is now addicted to Percocet and had pawned her jewelry for cash to support his habit.

Patty's heart is broken. Her voice is emotionless. She told Joey that he has until the end of this week to get out. She told him that she doesn't care where he goes, what he has to do, but she cannot live with a liar and a thief under her roof.

She told us that it was the most difficult thing she has ever had to say to anyone. She desperately doesn't want to lose him, but she also realizes that she can't save him.

She is devastated. She is angry. She is overwhelmed. She feels alone. Mostly, she is terribly sad for Joey.

My family will stand by our friend in any way we can, but right now it is heartbreaking to see her suffer, knowing that she gave her son every opportunity and he betrayed her. I worry that the stress and sadness will be too much for her to bear and I wish I could do more to help her.

People, if you have any cosmic juju, please send some to my friend Patty right now. She needs it.