“Rat Ripple-down—Part Two”

  The second impact for us on removing the pond out back came with a new garden out front. The fountain, a cheerful fairy, needed a different location. We hauled huge rocks from our cabin in Leakey, purchased a new bird bath, and wheelbarrowed the fairy to a spot to show her off  to our neighbors. No longer tucked into the backyard for my personal joy, she sits encircled by rocks and flowers for all to see.

I decided this spot would display colorful annuals that I’d change by grabbing whatever caught my fancy when shopping at local nurseries (or sometimes the grocery store).  It’s fun selecting blooms that fit my mood and budget. Unlike the perennials I long to place in the new spot out back, I want this smaller garden to change  multiple times each year. 

The simple enjoyment of pulling into the driveway to blooms and blossoms is a wonderful ripple down to our rat solution. I miss the serenity of the pond out back, but it’s tied to memories of Koi drinking from the fairy bowl. Her new role as a planter shifts my grief to a celebration of life simply moving forward. 

2025

2026

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

IOUNIO's "Shadows in My Veins"

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"A Dog's Life"

 

Koi with Baby

            Koi’s sharp yip reverberates through the front window while his tiny body bounces with anticipation of my arrival. My fumble of key in lock frustrates him into a body slam against the door. Upon opening the door, this little dog doesn’t jump against my legs. Instead, he dashes toward the family room, scoops one of his stuffed toys into his mouth, and zooms into the master bedroom. I drop my purse and tote and immediately give chase. Koi’s keep-away game rockets us back into the family room in a mad circle around the coffee table. Then I dash behind him in a loop back into the bedroom where he sails onto the bed, leaps back to the floor, and whips around the corner just ahead of my grasp. One final maneuver on my part, and I capture the toy from his mouth, pop open the back screened door, and hurtle the toy into the back yard. Koi propels himself over the threshold, scoops the toy back into his mouth, and slows down enough to pee on his favorite bush before following me to my swing.

            We linger under the tree. Sometimes I read. Other times I talk to my sister or brother. Koi barks at Calico Sal, the patched cat from across the street, or he rubs noses with the dog next door. Sometimes, he sits closer to my feet, his toy resting between his paws until I signal that it’s time to go inside.

            I love that Koi lives a pampered life of belly rubs and walks to the park. His little heart knows with certainty that the big black box in the kitchen holds deliciousness (chunks of cheese). He never doubts the invitation onto our bed each night where he’ll cuddle as he snoozes. Security and safety shelter him each day. He lives a splendid dog’s life.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Saying Goodbye"

 

Koi's first night with us-2009

            Our beloved Koi lost his battle a few days ago against kidney disease. No matter how hard I tried to prepare for this loss, heartbreak envelopes me. Entering the house, I glance for him waiting by the window. No one answers my query, “Want to check the mail?” with a mad dash out the door. The wonderful Black Box, which Koi ran to for cheese treats, returns to just being a refrigerator. When I grab a book and say, “Let’s go outside to read” silence greets my words.

            I woke up the first morning and tossed out old leashes that belonged to both Koi and Bridget, who died many years ago. I emptied a drawer in the cabinet that holds urns from other pets to make room for the little white sheet Koi loved to sleep with as a puppy. I placed his brushes into the same area along with his first set of bowls. I tossed out the old leashes that both dogs used along with dog treats and the specialty food Koi never liked.

             This morning, I hand washed all of Koi’s stuffed toys. He loved stuffed animals that made noises when he chewed on them. Sometimes, we’d ask, “Where’s Baby?” and he’s sort through the pile in his basket in search of a koala bear that giggled. These toys will dry in today’s sunshine. I’ll pack them away in a bin along with a few other items that belonged to Koi.

            Koi’s beautiful spirit graced our family for sixteen years, like all of our pets over the years. Koi will be our final pet. 

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

           

     

"Tuffs of Koi"

 

         This winter, two year old Koi donned a luxuriously heavy fur coat. Whenever he sat in my lap, my fingers stroked this soft pelt with delight. If I wanted to massage the dog’s muscles, I had to delve under inches of fuzz before I’d feel skin.

         The warmer weather of spring means Koi leaves bits and pieces of his coat throughout the house. He loves having his fur groomed and often brings his chewed up brush to the couch, so one of us can comb through his fleece. He adores the attention and pampering that he gets when I run the brush through is hair.

         However, over the last few days I cannot keep up with Koi’s shedding enough. Everywhere he goes, he leaves little fluffs of himself. Since he follows me throughout the house, clumps of white trail from bedroom to hallway to Mom’s bedroom. Koi loves perching on the back of Mom’s dark brown sitting room couch where he spies upon the neighbor’s cats. Lately, he’s left so much of his coat upon the loveseat that we could’ve cloned a second Koi.

         I hate vacuuming and don’t want to haul out the machine every day to collect these little tuffs of Koi. Instead, as I move from room to room with my daily routine, I keep an eagle eye out for the cottony down. By the end of each day, I’ve collected quite wad, and I keep thinking that I should recycle this fur into something functional, but . . .

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Koi"

 

            For years my son, Paul, searched for a white Pomeranian because he wanted the contrast of a white haired dog with his own dark hair. I’m not certain what drew us into our local pet shop, but about eighteen months ago, we entered the store. I headed over to the puppies and kittens while Paul lingered around the snakes. When I saw two white puppies, labeled as Pomeranian, playing in their pen, I knew Paul’s quest had ended. One of the puppies had more cream within his coat, but the other was almost entirely white. Paul cradled that puppy in his arms, trying to decide if he should bring the puppy home. Not wanting to make an impulse buy, Paul reluctantly returned the pup to the store clerk. It didn’t take him long, though, to return to the store and nestle the dog within his arms again. We bought all the new puppy items we needed: brush, bed, ceramic bowls (with skull decorations), food, shampoo, and toys. The white fluff became a member of our family.

            After a few dips in the pond out back, someone suggested the name Koi for the puppy. Suddenly, we would all go Koi fishing as we dangled toys and ropes before the puppy to tempt him. Within days, Koi attached himself to Bridget. The older dog tolerated Koi’s too hard snips on her legs and ears. She allowed him to follow her through her daily routine and made room for him at the foot of our bed.

            All of our pets have distinctive personalities. Rambunctious describes Koi perfectly. Our laid-back cat, Sassy, still keeps her distance from Koi’s tumble and tackle play. Padme, our other cat, has a commanding aura. I’ve seen her bat Koi aside even though he outweighs her by quite a few pounds. Bridget, at first, indulged the high energy of the puppy. Like any momma dog, she let him nip and swipe at her tail. Some evenings, she’d recline on her pillows on the couch and give me this bewildered look, and I suspected she wondered when the puppy would go home. Eventually, she pulled him into the unusual pack that we call family.

            Koi communicates through “talking” in sharp yips. An intelligent puppy, he noted easily where we kept the Milk Bones we used for training. When first going through training, he’d run to the tin and jump against the cabinet demanding his reward for performing the desired behavior: sit, come, leave it. During the day, he’ll yip a few times if he wants a treat, jump against the counter, and yip again. Both dogs love chewing on rawhide sticks, which I decided to store in the bottom drawer of the kitchen desk. Paul showed Koi the stash one day, and the puppy learned to open the drawer within minutes. Fortunately, he’s never made off with the stash. He’ll bark at the open drawer until one of us comes and hands him the stick.

            Kio mastered the art of flirtation early in his puppyhood. He’ll tilt his head left, then right and give his fluffy tail a little twirl in order to get his way. If you ask him, “Are you my friend?” he’ll give you a head bump and lick your cheek, looking very dashing and coy. When my mother moved in with us last fall, Paul rented a house in our neighborhood. The house had a “No Pets” clause, so Koi still lives here with us. We’re glad that we get to continue enjoying his charming energy.

Koi--2024!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Koi’s Summer Crew Cut”



Koi in March with full coat

 




Koi at the cabin in March

            High temperatures and humidity hang over San Antonio beginning in the spring. By early summer, we get a rapid heat-up where our mornings start in the 80s and the day boils away by noon. Last summer, Koi’s thick coat meant he limited his outside time for early in the morning and after the sun went down. I’d let him outside after midnight, drift back to sleep, and hear him yelp to come inside an hour or so later.



          Although only in the first week of June, I can already tell that Koi’s miserable. He longs to go outside and piddle in the yard while I water plants. Yesterday, he would venture out for a few minutes, and then sit by the door, whimpering to return inside to the cooler air.

 

            Koi’s coat, always lusciously thick, grew to fullness over this winter that surpassed previous years. I think he’s leaving puppyhood completely behind. This maturity means he’ll suffer even more this summer unless we do something proactive.

 

Koi after the second round with the shears

 

 

 

            And so I purchased a set of shears the other day. David and I worked on Koi until the battery ran down, making it about half-way through. The next day, we worked again. Every evening Koi sat patiently until he ended up with his final hair cut. With luck, this new “do” will keep our Pommonster cool enough and let him enjoy morning walks in the park and afternoons under the live oak,  reading with me.

                                                                  

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

           

"Koi"

          For years my son, Paul, searched for a white Pomeranian because he wanted the contrast of a white haired dog with his own dark hair. I’m not certain what drew us into our local pet shop, but about eighteen months ago, we entered the store. I headed over to the puppies and kittens while Paul lingered around the snakes. When I saw two white puppies, labeled as Pomeranian, playing in their pen, I knew Paul’s quest had ended. One of the puppies had more cream within his coat, but the other was almost entirely white. Paul cradled that puppy in his arms, trying to decide if he should bring the puppy home. Not wanting to make an impulse buy, Paul reluctantly returned the pup to the store clerk. It didn’t take him long, though, to return to the store and nestle the dog within his arms again. We bought all the new puppy items we needed: brush, bed, ceramic bowls (with skull decorations), food, shampoo, and toys. The white fluff became a member of our family.

          After a few dips in the pond out back, someone suggested the name Koi for the puppy. Suddenly, we would all go Koi fishing as we dangled toys and ropes before the puppy to tempt him. Within days, Koi attached himself to Bridget. The older dog tolerated Koi’s too hard snips on her legs and ears. She allowed him to follow her through her daily routine and made room for him at the foot of our bed.

All of our pets have distinctive personalities. Rambunctious describes Koi perfectly. Our laid-back cat, Sassy, still keeps her distance from Koi’s tumble and tackle play. Padme, our other cat, has a commanding aura. I’ve seen her bat Koi aside even though he outweighs her by quite a few pounds. Bridget, at first, indulged the high energy of the puppy. Like any momma dog, she let him nip and swipe at her tail. Some evenings, she’d recline on her pillows on the couch and give me this bewildered look, and I suspected she wondered when the puppy would go home. Eventually, she pulled him into the unusual pack that we call family.

          Koi communicates through “talking” in sharp yips. An intelligent puppy, he noted easily where we kept the Milk Bones we used for training. When first going through training, he’d run to the tin and jump against the cabinet demanding his reward for performing the desired behavior: sit, come, leave it. During the day, he’ll yip a few times if he wants a treat, jump against the counter, and yip again. Both dogs love chewing on rawhide sticks, which I decided to store in the bottom drawer of the kitchen desk. Paul showed Koi the stash one day, and the puppy learned to open the drawer within minutes. Fortunately, he’s never made off with the stash. He’ll bark at the open drawer until one of us comes and hands him the stick.

          Kio mastered the art of flirtation early in his puppyhood. He’ll tilt his head left, then right and give his fluffy tail a little twirl in order to get his way. If you ask him, “Are you my friend?” he’ll give you a head bump and lick your cheek, looking very dashing and coy. When my mother moved in with us last fall, Paul rented a house in our neighborhood. The house had a “No Pets” clause, so Koi still lives here with us. We’re glad that we get to continue enjoying his charming energy.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Tuffs of Koi”

         This winter, two year old Koi donned a luxuriously heavy fur coat. Whenever he sat in my lap, my fingers stroked this soft pelt with delight. If I wanted to massage the dog’s muscles, I had to delve under inches of fuzz before I’d feel skin.

         The warmer weather of spring means Koi leaves bits and pieces of his coat throughout the house. He loves having his fur groomed and often brings his chewed up brush to the couch, so one of us can comb through his fleece. He adores the attention and pampering that he gets when I run the brush through is hair.

         However, over the last few days I cannot keep up with Koi’s shedding enough. Everywhere he goes, he leaves little fluffs of himself. Since he follows me throughout the house, clumps of white trail from bedroom to hallway to Mom’s bedroom. Koi loves perching on the back of Mom’s dark brown sitting room couch where he spies upon the neighbor’s cats. Lately, he’s left so much of his coat upon the loveseat that we could’ve cloned a second Koi.

         I hate vacuuming and don’t want to haul out the machine every day to collect these little tuffs of Koi. Instead, as I move from room to room with my daily routine, I keep an eagle eye out for the cottony down. By the end of each day, I’ve collected quite wad, and I keep thinking that I should recycle this fur into something functional, but . . .

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“The Cone of Shame”

         Bridget and Koi chase each other through the house, whipping around corners, clawing against the carpet for traction, rolling in a tumble of black sleekness and white puff over the foot of the bed. This represents their last bout of energy for the evening before they’ll vie for the mound of pillows and blankets tossed into the floor of the master bedroom.

         I know Bridget divides time into three categories: Before Koi, Before Grammy, and Now. In her past life, she enjoyed the indulgences of “Only Dog” status. Although she still had the two cats around, they rarely deigned to acknowledge her presence. Occasionally Padme would swat and hiss at a playful Bridget, but most of the time they lived happily ignoring each other.

When Koi came along, Bridget allowed him to snip at her. Her poor ears looked tattered for a little while. I expressed concern to our vet over the little bites she endured, and he responded, “When she knows Koi is old enough, she won’t let him get away with this nipping.” And, sure enough, one day Koi’s teeth lodged into Bridget’s leg, and she snarled with full ferocity, sending him tumbling head over heels. His approach with her after that incident showed more respect and caution.

When my mother joined our household last year, Bridget’s life changed even more dramatically. Her daily walks to the park ended. Occasionally David or I may manage to take her onto the back trails, but most of the time she’s housebound. I realized this week just how these changes in our lives have stressed Bridget. Normally a pretty laid back and eager dog, she now parks herself by the front window and barks at anything or anyone that passes.

A couple of months ago, Briget clipped her leg on a rock outside. She licked at the injury with neurotic fanaticism until I wrapped the sore. Then her focus shifted onto beating the bandage. It didn’t matter what kind of covering I devised for her leg, she’d manage to get it off before the end of the day. Eventually, the wound hardened and started to mend. A week ago, she injured her other leg by gashing it against one of the rocks out back that line my gardens. This time, she ripped through the bandages in record time and licked the entire area into a hot spot. Not wanting a repeat of her last injury, I researched some home remedies for hot spots.

My research led to several reasons dogs lick and chew at areas of their skin:   allergies (which Bridget has), infections (which she doesn’t have), mites/fleas (none), and behavioral issues. It troubled me that perhaps Bridget needs a little TLC. I’ve placed her in a “cone of shame” to prevent her from licking at her legs. Of course, every time I scratch her ears for her or rub her tummy, I tell her she looks pretty. When I apply cloths soaked in black tea to her leg, I shower her with attention. I bought a soothing lotion specifically for hot spots and dote on her as she lets me massage the ointment into her skin. More importantly, I know I must find the time in my day to take her on her walks again. Today’s rain ruled that out, but tomorrow I’ll take her along the roads near the park if the trails are wet. Otherwise, I think I should be the one to don the cone of shame.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Cuddling Under the Covers”

         During the night cooler air swirled into the house though the open windows. It fingered our faces gently and tickled our toes. It lured the dogs from the floor to the foot of the bed. As the temperature continued to drop, the dogs searched for warmth. Koi, with his thick white coat, sandwiched himself between me and David, flipping onto his back. I suppose he enjoyed the contrast of the cool air that pat his stomach to the body heat we provided. Short-haired Bridget dove under the covers. Nose first, she scooted under both sheets and comforter where she u-turned, slid up my side, and ended up resting her head on my pillow. Her sleek black body pressed against my back like a live heating pad.

         I burrowed under the blankets, spooning closer to David for warmth. In that hazy zone between sleep and wakefulness, I turned the dance of the wind chimes outside our window into a symphony of notes. Slumber pulled me deeper under the covers, cuddling with me against the cold. I resisted the alarm’s irritation and curved into Koi and David for one more minute of sleep. Finally, I dragged myself away when my mother called out from the other room to request her “first” breakfast. As I sit and write, I feel envious of Bridget, who lingers under the covers still.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“A Quick Walk?”

The temperature dropped last night for the second night in a row. I haven’t checked with the news yet on how “low” we dipped, but this morning’s breeze didn’t slap me in the face with humidity. When David suggested that we take Mom out for a quick walk to the park, I jumped at the idea.

            The moment I pulled out my Skechers, Koi started yipping while Bridget picked up her own momentum by jumping on and off the bed, nudging me with excited joy. David put socks and shoes on Mom while I gathered together her foot rests for the wheelchair, one of her sporty hats she likes to wear outside, and bottled water for all of us. We stalled trying to get out the door because the dogs’ tornado-enthusiasm tangled harnesses and leads.

            “And they’re off! I exclaimed as the dogs bolted across the yard, towing David as though he weighed nothing. I maneuvered Mom over to the driveway, following David and dogs at a more sedate pace. Mom and I wished a walk could become part of our daily routine (sans dogs) once reasonable temperatures return to our area.

            Live Oak Park bustled with energy—relay teams running through the back trails, parents pushing strollers, children mastering new bicycles, families staking out picnic areas. Mom and I saluted every jogger and walker as we wandered our way up to the top of the park where we rendezvoused with David, Bridget and Koi.

            “Do you want to loop around the lake?” I asked Mom, not certain if the mile walk tired her. When she nodded affirmative, we zigzagged down the ramps to loop over to our rain thirsty lake. We paused to mourn the lily pads and wondered if the fish survived by retreating to the depths of the lake’s center. Then we began to retrace our steps.

            We ambled on the journey home. The dogs, tongues scraping the pavement, walked with the demure pacing of the best trained dogs. My legs, screaming from pushing Mom and the wheelchair uphill the entire way home, couldn’t muster a faster clip. By the time we walked up the front door ramp, our hike had turned into a forty minute excursion. Mom quickly kicked off her shoes and tossed her hat aside, David hustled to pour us cold glasses of juice, and both dogs sprawled on the floor, looking more dead than alive. As for me? I’m can’t wait for our next quick walk.  

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman