I rode both boys on Saturday evening and the differences between them are just stark.  Archie is a smooth operator, psychic in his ability to know exactly what I want, but with a streak of mischievousness a mile wide.  The guy has never had a problem telling me to go fuck myself.


I wouldn't necessarily say that Whiskey is confused about what I'm asking, but he's such a fresh slate.  I'm having to figure out what buttons exist, what buttons I've already installed, and how many huge gaping holes we've got left to fill.  Like, seriously, dude, how hard is it to walk straight?

So riding Archie was just easy and a no-brainer, but I've also had to reevaluate recently what exactly I've been investing in him.  It's so easy to think that I'm doing more than I am, but depression is a liar and I have to acknowledge to myself that I am probably spending more nights sitting on the couch, or, at the most, feeding them treats, than I am actively trying to get both boys fit.  I'll blame it on the weather.

Just some beer with my boys. 😍

A post shared by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Aug 18, 2017 at 4:52pm PDT

Anyways, it was easy on Saturday, but the little ass was still salty when I asked for transitions.  He does this stuff no problem on the trail (gallop, you say?), but seemingly takes offense when we're "working".  I don't care.  It's fun.



And then, finally, what really has been months in the making:  I cantered Whiskey.  For the first time undersaddle.  I know some of y'all will completely support the WTF in this scenario, but I wanted to wait to canter him until I had some better steering and some idea of how to keep him balanced enough for it.  He still wasn't balanced enough to pick up his right lead, but he did give me some great counter-canter.

Size doesn't matter. Haha.

• Size doesn't matter as much as:
• Location
• Blood supply
• Synovial structure involvement

• Temperature
• Is there still a blood supply around and below the wound?
• Is the distal limb ice cold?  Very concerning.
• Is there deeper damage?
• Location
• Is it over a ligament or a tendon?
• Is is over a synovial capsule?

(exact photo he used)

(comparable to the second injury he showed)

(actual slide)

Thursday morning, the hubs and I loaded the dogs in his car and headed off.  The first stop was to drop the big girls off at boarding - their first time without their neurotic leader - and the second stop, after two hours of cuddling in the front seat, was to drop the little girl off at the in-law's.


My in-laws were pretty excited to meet her, but not nearly as excited as their own GSD.  I'm trying to talk them into getting her brother now.

After watching the introductions and making sure they had everything they needed, we stopped for lunch at my favorite hometown Italian restaurant, Guiseppe's.

And then it was off to Atlanta, where we had some time to kill but not enough time to kill.  We stopped at a brewery to fill the void and I researched Atlanta's Mount Patrol, which was housed across the street (smartly behind an electrical fence with barbed wire).

Stalking.

My palate is refined enough that I enjoy nitros.

Then it was off to the John Mayer concert.  D said it wasn't likely that he would play my high school/college favorites, but I squealed and slapped D's shoulder when "Wonderland" and "Neon" started.  I don't even really like music, but it was awesome.


We were hungry afterwards, but getting back to the hotel took forever.  Wife stepped up to the plate and called a pizza place four minutes before they closed to ask very kindly if they would deliver two pies to us.  They did and I showered them with thanks (and money).

This was really weird - behind the first curtain was the shower and behind the second was the toilet.

The next morning we slept in before packing everything up.  We'd only planned a night in Atlanta.  D heard about a breakfast place called Flying Biscuit Cafe.  The wait was forever, but food, oh my god, the food.  We ordered a little bit of everything and just gorged ourselves.

I thought I hated all of Atlanta and then we discovered Midtown.  <3

After breakfast, I spent too much money at my favorite why-the-fuck-isn't-this-in-Savannah store:  Ikea.  Planters and frames and dog food containers (repurposed recycle bins).  Then we wandered at Ponce City Market, which looks like the Highline in NYC, but doesn't have any of the cool niche sellers.  And after that, it was off to Athens.



We stopped off at a grocery store to get munchies and found nine cases of my favorite beer.  It's been discontinued, and that was nine more cases than I've seen in the last six months.  Then checking in and naps before going to our favorite Athens restaurant, the Trappeze Pub.  They make a vegetarian reuben and it is to die for.



The next morning had us up early - breakfast at Mama's Boy (another Athens favorite) before the hubs dropped me off for the UGA Horse Owner's Seminar.  I'm not going to go into details about that, but I did win an adorable saddle pad through silent auction.  I'll write the lectures up and post them every week or so - only six.

Goat cheese and spinach.

He picked me up at five (when I was perfectly burnt out on surrounding myself with other crazy horsewomen) and we headed off to our favorite brewery, Terrapin.  Then off to a place called White Tiger Gourmet, that was featured on some travel show at some point, and had the epitome of Athens charm, with the bathroom around back (this happens a lot, I think).  I had a BBQ tofu sandwich and inhaled both pimento cheese and macaroni sides.  It was phenomenal.  I don't remember talking or breathing while shoving food into my face.




A shower and a nap later, we ran to a little cinnamon roll shop before calling it a night.  Early up the next morning, we were headed back home.

Hed-vig.  Think it in German, guys.

On that note, I think I've mentioned this before, but it isn't Becca.  It's Bee-ka.  Thank my older brother and his speech impediment.

If you follow me on Instagram, you've already seen photos of the little monster that has won our collective hearts.



I'd planned on Savannah and Birgette being only dogs for a while after losing Scarlette, but my heart just couldn't take it.  I started applying at local rescues, either specific for GSDs or those that currently had available GSDs.  For two of the rescues, the dogs that we were interested in were adopted before the ink was dry on our applications.  Then, late one night, D found New Beginnings Shepherd Rescue.




He'd tried to show me the available adults, but they also had a litter of puppies.  PUPPIES.  I'm all for adult dog adoption, but goddammit, I wanted a puppy.  So much of my life lately has been things that I can't control, but I could fight for a puppy.  I could struggle with a puppy - midnight potty breaks and chewing my feet and convincing the hubs that this was a good idea.  (This is very similar to my logic behind the Whisk.)  There's also this difference - a rescue adult dog is appreciative of the ample treats, the affection, the continuous regular feedings.  They show their joy for the things they've lacked.  A puppy just shows joy for everything - I'm equal to the string she found on the floor, the kibble hitting her dish, the grass she rolls in.  Her joy is infectious and has nothing to do with what she's missed in life.




I filled out the application the next day and was approved within a couple of days.  They asked me which puppy I was interested in and I tried to find one that I didn't think would look like Birgette, so I picked Butterfinger.  I also really, really love Butterfingers.  And Heath bars.  And Snickers.

On Sunday, the hubs and I drove about two hours to a city outside of Charleston (I use "city" loosely) to meet and finalize the paperwork on our new puppy.

I found an obscure BBQ restaurant in the middle of nowhere that had phenomenal reviews and a buffet.

She's nine weeks old and was born with the rescue.  Her mom was an owner-surrender, and the owner was evidently upset that she'd gotten herself knocked up, but not enough to invest in having her spayed.  The sire was another GSD from down the road (I'm just hoping they weren't kin).  Black and tan and sable, respectively.







There were thirteen puppies originally and only seven survived.  The rescue said that they supplemented normal feedings with bottle feedings, because mom just wasn't in the best condition.  People suck.  So they were well-handled, well-socialized and really seem to have gotten the best care.  A little ribby, but none of my other animals have been accused of being skinny, so we'll fix that.

Roughly eleven years' difference - also, from mine and D's first date.  :)

I knew something was missing in my life and I've been desperately trying to fill that void (hello, alcohol?), and she's doing a damn good job.