Kristal Lee

Today's A-Z Challenge letter is "C."


I suppose cat owners must  be familiar with cats padding on the countertops. But, being a dog owner, I didn't concern myself with canines on the countertops. Until Monster Puppy came along.

Monster Puppy is curious. Monster Puppy likes to eat. Monster Puppy likes to check out what's on the counters, and then eat it.

This morning I lost the top of my breakfast sandwich. I swear. I only turned around for a moment. In a flash--it was gone. So was Monster Puppy.

(c) Kristal Lee Romances

Cutting my losses, I chunked the cootified sandwich down the garbage disposal and obsessively swiped down the counters with Lysol.

Later, Professor X told me that when he wheeled into the kitchen, he found MP standing at the sink with his head bowed over the garbage disposal. I guess he was looking for the rest of his sandwich.


I love my fur-babies, but I could live without their cooties. Until then, I have a ready supply of Lysol.

Last night I contemplated a "B" topic that would coincide with Saturday's Shout-out. By the time I plopped into bed, after midnight, I had come up with Nada.  I had the inkling that my creativity would stall on the second day of the A-Z Challenge. How annoying.

Although not the first thing on my mind when I wake, the letter "B" soon skitters across my mind doing the nana-nana-nana (fingers-in-the-ear, tongue-sticking-out) wave. Considering the taunt, I trudge into the kitchen and set about my Saturday morning routine...

I grab the electric teapot and fill it with water while the fur-babies eager for their morning treat hover at my feet. (Well, Brave Little Basset hovers. With his short legs, he can't reach higher than my calves. Monster Puppy, however, stands at the perfect height to reach the back of my thighs, just below my butt cheeks. He doesn't hover; he sneaks. Waiting for the opportune time when I'm distracted, he gooses me by pressing his cold, wet nose against my skin. So not a good thing, especially when I'm carrying a pot of water.)

After I manage to plug in the teapot, I dole out the dog biscuits and shoo the fur-babies outside, wondering if I should post about Brave Little Basset...two "B's" there. But, Saturdays are about Shout-Outs not musings.

Then, I consider writing something on butt cheeks. Somewhere, I heard about people paying to get butt implants. Looking over my shoulder at my derriere, I shudder to think what would possess someone to consider such a thing. I'd like mine smaller, please. Not bigger. No Shout-Out, there.

Sighing, I reach into the pantry and pull out the tea bags.

I love tea. Hot tea. Iced tea. Any way you brew it, tea. Some writers need coffee; I need tea.

Tea is fairly inexpensive when compared to other beverages. It's easy to prepare and is believed to have many health benefits. My grandmother always had a glass of tea in her hand and a pitcher in the fridge. She was 96 when she passed from this life to the next and she didn't suffer from any major age-related sickness or disease. No diabetes. No heart disease. No arthritis. No dementia. I think tea was the key to her longevity.

I stare at the Bigelow tea bag in my hand.
Inspiration strikes.
The Hallelujah choir sings.
Funny how the angelic host sounds a lot like Evanescence belting out Bring Me to Life.


Then and there I realize today's Shout-Out belongs to  R.C. Bigelow, Inc., a.k.a. the Bigelow Tea Company. Founded in 1945 by Ruth Campbell Bigelow, the company remains 100% family owned. They sell more than 50 varieties of tea world-wide. The Bigelow Tea Company also owns the US's only tea plantation in Charleston, SC.

 A successful, American-owned, family driven business started by a woman, continues under the administration of a woman, and manufactures my favorite beverage-- that definitely deserves a Shout-Out. But, there's more.

Bigelow Tea Company has a Green Mission. They don't use pesticides. That means no herbicides, insecticides, or fungicides. Their irrigation system uses only rain water and pond water so they aren't tapping into the local water reserves. They recycle the stems and fibers extracted from the tea plants during processing and use them in the fields for mulch.

They incorporate ECO-friendly practices not only in the fields, but also in their business offices. Electric hand-dryers are used in the restrooms and double-side printing is encouraged to reduce paper waste.

Pay them a cyber-visit at www.bigelowtea.com and drop a comment below to let me know what's your favorite beverage and why. Hey, if you've been to the tea plantation in Charleston (or any tea plantation), I'd love to hear about your visit, too.

Native (South) Floridian and cold weather don't mesh. Seriously. I wear a sweater when the temperature drops below 72*.  Imagine my utter shock when I woke up yesterday morning to this:

Ok, so it's just a little frost. But, this was at 8:30am. It should've warmed up by then. Since it hadn't, I knew it was going to be a parka day. I don't even own a parka. Sigh!

Reuters/Lucas Jackson: Yahoo News

photo credits: kristal lee romances

Monster puppy is a 90 lb Heinz-57 kind of dog. He's almost 3 and still as playful as when he was truly a pup. Loving, sweet, MP has the best temperament a canine can have. He's a dog parent's dream. But, he has one itsy-bitsy bad habit. A habit so uncouthly human, it's eerie.
Monster puppy likes to burp.

I thought this kinda weird, but I've discovered it's not as uncommon as I would've guessed.  Dogs burp for the same reasons humans do...to expel unwanted air lodged in the stomach. Out of instinct, dogs tend to scarf down their food which can create air bubbles as they swallow. (This can also explain flatulence at the other end, but we won't gasp that topic today.)

So, Monster Puppy's burping isn't strange after all. But the manner in which he does it makes me wonder. You see, MP doesn't just burp after eating. No. He waits until later, giving you this cute, little, please give me some love look that has you bending over to do just that. And still, he waits. Waits until you're eye to eye, nose to nose, and then he lets loose. What escapes from his esophagus could rival a fog horn and the force is strong enough to blow your hair straight back from your head. You're so startled that you forget to breathe. That's a good thing. Monster Puppy breath could lay you out on the floor.

Burping is one thing. His stage production is quite another. I'm still trying to figure out where he learned to do that. Probably the television. It wouldn't be the first time he's picked up a bad habit from watching TV.

What weird or annoying behaviors have you observed in your pets?

NOTE:  If your dog is prone to burping make sure to check for bloating. Although it's natural for dogs to burp, it can be an indication of gastrointestinal problems that require medical attention. Talk to your vet if you have any concerns.

Brave little basset had an eventful day last week. Stalking through the back yard with his investigative nose, he had a run it with a SUO (snake of unknown origin).


I call it a SUO because I didn’t see the darn critter, but brave little basset came trotting in the house with a swollen snout and two tiny pricks on the side of his nostrils. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the incident. Didn’t know what the fuss was about. Only wanted to go back outside and hunt for whatever he could find. Lizards and frogs. Butterflies and dragonflies. He’s not picky. He’ll chase them all with abandon.

After a trip to the vet, a day of observation, and antibiotics, brave little basset was eager to return to his backyard adventure zone. He zipped through the grass, around the hedges, and along the fence until he was convinced no SUO remained in his territory.

And still, he hunts. Ever watchful. Ever diligent.

As aspiring writers, we face many challenges. The sting of rejections and critiques that point out our flaws, our weaknesses, and all the other nit-picky stuff in between, is enough to send us dashing behind any obstacle that puts a barrier between us and our critics. Sometimes we become afraid to go back out and try again.

Watching brave little basset patrol the yard I realized that writers must be fearless in their endeavors. Nothing should slow us down or deter us from our paths. We will get stung along the way, probably many times over, but it doesn’t have to deter us.

~Kristal Lee

Our backyard must be deemed to have the Best Grubs in the Neighborhood. At least, that’s my take on it. Here’s why…

Despite having a fenced yard, wild animals seem to love it. Ergo, the reason for the fence. That, and we have two fur-babies that we don’t want adventuring in the swampy woods behind the house.

Still, a professionally installed barrier is no deterrent for a foraging armadillo. I love the cute little ears. Hate the holes he leaves behind. Especially the huge one that he retreats into when the fur-babies are out.

Monster puppy barks and chases, then looses interest in the armored critter. But, the brave little basset is determined. Determined to do what? I’m not sure. And neither is he.

Wednesday night, he was, literally, standing on top of the grunting armadillo burrowing deep in his hole. Once I pulled the basset off him, I realized this wasn’t the same armadillo that grazed our property several months ago. He is smaller and has different coloring. I imagine he heard through the critter hotline that our grubs were worth the trouble.

I’m hoping he decided that they aren’t. Perhaps the basset’s grand stand on his back was enough to ward off the pesky digger. He hasn’t returned for seconds. Yet.

~kristal lee

“Writing is a dog’s life, but the only one worth living.” ~ Gustave Flaubert


When I came across this quotation, I paused. Then, I googled.

Gustave Flaubert was a 19th century French author, whose only work I recognized in his writing repertoire was Madame Bovary. He is described as a writer who ruthlessly wracked his brain to find just the right word but was never satisfied that he’d found it. The language and construct of his personal letters proved that his literary finesse wasn’t natural, but developed through the sweat and struggle of revisions to meticulously avoid the vague, the ambiguous, the imprecise.

The more I read, the more it seemed that Flaubert was a man tortured by his craft. A further Google search revealed that in the 1800’s, the phrase, “a dog’s life”, referred to a “wretched” one. In the 21st century, even the term “wretched” has become antiquated and in modern tongue, one would simply use the words miserable, crummy, or crappy to describe the sentiment.

A dog’s life equals a crappy life? My how things have changed in three hundred years.

My two fur-babies have posh lifestyles. Nothing crappy about their world, except the spot in the yard where they poo. They are surrounded by people who cater to them 24 hours a day. We feed them when they’re hungry and give them treats throughout the day. Anyone in the house becomes an instant doorman whenever the pooches want to go outside or come in. They are given regular baths with scented soap. (Okay, they probably don’t consider that a perk, but it is a necessity when living in a human pack.) They even get chauffeured to the doggie park for group play dates, followed by a trip to the drive-thru for their favorite kid’s meal. And, of course they get all the love—hugs, pats on the head, belly rubs, and positive affirmations that they want and need.

A dog’s life today is so not like a writer’s.

But I get what Flaubert was expressing.

Writing is a struggle, or at least it should be, even to those born to it. Nothing that comes easy ever satisfies the soul. It is in the wrestling that we find accomplishment.

The writer must pour over every word, honing and tuning it to portray the exact thought or emotion that exists in her mind at the moment of its conception. And, like natural childbirth, only through laborious toil and pain can that creation be pushed from her innermost being into the world. No one can do this for her. She has to do it herself.

I’m not suggesting that as writers we hole up in a closet or a basement, or underneath the stairs to go through this process alone. We should surround ourselves with people who cheer us on, cheer us up, and who are cheery to be around. Be mindful, though, that these same people know when to stop cheering and kick butt. Cheering for the sake of cheering serves no good purpose to a writer.

Despite the challenges and drudge I face, I love being a writer. So, I echo Flaubert’s summation… It is no easy life being a writer, but it is the only one for me.

~Kristal Lee

I’m a Type A personality masquerading as a Type B. Outwardly, I appear laid back, even-tempered, and mellow. And I am, outwardly. On the inside, I’m a rocket ship on steroids firing off to all four corners of the universe and every destination in between. Usually at the same time and faster than ludicrous speed.

And because of this, some times the little things derail my trajectory.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve been dealing with yard issues. A grass jungle in competition with the Amazon. Central Florida, rainy season, and St. Augustine grass are the ingredients you need to build your own. Oh, and a yard man waylaid by a family emergency and his own bout with the summer flu.

Although I’m prone to exaggeration, growing up in a Southern family descended from Irish immigrants who believed story telling was a momentous event and the bolder, the more outrageous, the better, I’m not embellishing when I say that our grass is up to my knees and climbing.

Hear that pop? It’s the sound of my Type B persona cracking.

Home Owners Associations, neighbors, and snakes. Oh crap!

Each day that creeps by without the sounds of a mower fists my stomach tighter than a fishing net caught in a boat motor. I called other lawn services for assistance. If they remember to show up, their quotes are more than my hubby is willing to pay. I, on the other hand, would take a second mortgage on the house just to get the job done.

This week has been especially tough and my stress has rocketed past my intergalactic shuttle blowing my Type B cloak to smithereens. I begin wondering, where in CF could I buy a machete. Soon, I might have to whack out a path to rescue the dogs.

And then something wonderful causes a shift in perspective.

I let the dogs out to play, hoping they won’t get lost in the tangle and drown. While I fear having to traipse after them with nothing but flip flops to protect my feet, they have no qualms about diving in and parting the green sea.

Well, one of them doesn’t.

Brave little basset.

All I can see is the white tip of his tail above the lush blades bending to the slight breeze the same way that the leaves in the trees rustle. He leaps. He stalks. He hunts with the determination of Pooh tracking his honey pot.

For that little basset the mountainous green blob about to swallow the house is a land of adventure. A land of opportunity. A land no longer deemed just the place to do his doody.

Watching him play, and grin—yes, he has this weird dog grin, open mouth, flash of teeth, long, lolling tongue, helps de-escalate my stress and teaches me that when things aren’t perfect maybe it’s because I’m looking at the situation the wrong way. Like a kaleidoscope, when we don’t like what we see, we can shift perspectives for a new outlook. Sometimes that slight modification of attitude sets the universe back on its axle and we move forward once again.

It works.

As I began writing this post the endearing sounds of a weed-eater enchanted my ears. My heart beat a little faster than normal. I race the dogs to the French doors, throw back the sheer curtains, my hand flies to mouth, my fingers fan my lips.

There he is…my yardman…my hero for today. Fighting his way through the backyard wilderness to conquer the monstrous turf eating at my sanity.

Some might think, poor little basset. He’s lost his novel land of exploration.

Not to worry. He’s just as content to chase the lizards and geckos from the back porch. Or bark at the deer meandering behind the fence. He’s happy-go-lucky that way. Amazing that he has such resilience after being abused and abandoned and rescued from a kill shelter before finding his forever home with us.

Reminding me again, we can’t control the challenges we face but we can change the view. After all, life is all about perspectives.
~Kristal Lee

** Some may have wondered why we didn’t cut the grass ourselves. The short answer is that we don’t own a lawn mower. Those who know us understand why.

Today I had anticipated blogging on love and relationships. However, perusing my local online newspaper, I came across a subject that I simply couldn’t get off my mind.

ANIMAL ABUSE

Most, if not all, of us have heard about Michael Vick’s conviction and incarceration for his involvement in a dog-fighting ring that tortured, maimed and killed dogs. And, his subsequent “reformation.”

But, do you know that felony animal-abuse incidents are occurring in your own home-town neighborhoods. Yes, the house next door. Where your kids play with their friends. Where you visit with neighbors, co-workers, and family members.

I was shocked, horrified and disgusted to read about an arrest of a 21 year old man who repeatedly sodomized his dog, a Whippet mix, so viciously that that animal services workers were forced to euthanize her. He pleaded no contest to animal cruelty charges and was sentenced to three years probation and forbidden to own animals.

WTF???!!!

No mandatory counseling? No charges of lewd and lascivious behavior? No charges of a sex crime? Simply because the victim was an animal???

Unbelievable!

According to Kathleen Kennedy, a spokesperson for the Orange County Animal Services Department, perpetrators of animal abuse have a five times higher rate of escalating into committing violent crimes.

Research also demonstrates a correlation between animal abuse and domestic violence.

I applaud The Cruelty Hurts campaign, launched last April by Orange County Animal Services. They have endeavored to develop cooperation between local law enforcement officers and have partnered with Central Florida Crimeline which actively prompts citizens to call their anonymous hotline. One tip lead to the discovery of a cock-fighting ring that was also harboring guns and illicit drugs. Another may have saved the life of a woman who was the victim of domestic violence. When officers arrived in her home to investigate a report of animal abuse, she was able to silently alert them to her own predicament by mouthing, “Help Me.” Which of course, they did. But if someone hadn’t picked up the phone to report suspected animal abuse, who knows what might have eventually happened to her.

I urge everyone to be aware of what’s happening around your home. Take walks through your neighborhood and get to know the people in your community. Check on those abandoned and foreclosed houses in your area to ensure that no animal was left behind. (Believe me, it happens every day. Our shelters are full of abandoned animals whose owners have moved out without them.)

And, please take animal cruelty seriously. Animal-abuse is a crime and can be prosecuted as a felony offense. Keep in mind that animal abusers often escalate to more violent crimes. You and your family could be at risk if an animal-abuser is allowed to continue that behavior unchallenged. Please don’t confront them yourself, as this could put you in harm’s way. Call your local crimeline and/or local law enforcement if you suspect someone of abusing or neglecting an animal.

Encourage community leaders, representative, congressmen, senators, and even our President to develop stronger and better measures for dealing with animal-abusers. Mandatory counseling for anger issues is a good place to start. And in cases where sex acts have been perpetrated upon animals, sexual behavior counseling seems a good idea.

Animals cannot defend themselves against such violence. It’s up to us to stand in the gap. Be an advocate and make your neighborhood a safe haven for all.


**Check out the article “Animal-abuse crackdown helps fight other crimes” by Kate Santich at OrlandoSentinel.com.

Dear Editor,
Sorry I didn't make the deadline. My dog ate the manuscript.