Please help me find a Forever Home!


My name is Pucci (Poochie). I’m a one-owner neutered 4-year-old 10-pound Chihuahua-dachshund mix in need of a home, as my elderly owner is no longer able to care for me. (But I like to tell people I’m a rare, brindle Italian terrier.)

In September (2013) I had my teeth cleaned, had all my shots, blood work (I’m very healthy), and my microchip is paid for life. Dr. Jered Johnston at South Bosque clinic in Waco can vouch for me.

 I’m friendly with everyone I meet, get along well with other dogs, and love to play with my toys. If you’re looking for a lapdog, I’m your boy. I can also “sit,” “come,” and “stay” on command. I go to the door  when I need out. I come with 6 months of Heartgard meds, Frontline (for fleas and ticks), toys, crate, food, leashes, treats.

I’m a good boy in need of a person or family who’ll give me love and attention.

 Please help me find my forever home. Write for more information.





Filed under Animal Birth Control Clinic, dogs, mother-in-law, Rescue, veterinarian, Waco

Rest in Peace, Angel Jolie

Ruidoso, NM, October 2012

Ruidoso, NM, October 2012

Jolie Blon Whitaker died November 6, 2012, after complications from a rare form of cancer.

Born March 7, 2012, in Abilene, Texas, Jolie (who was named after a Cajun waltz) became the beloved companion of Bill and Ann Whitaker seven weeks later.

 As a young pup, she spent many after-school hours in the classroom at Abilene High, chasing a ball while her mistress prepared the next day’s lessons. Jolie excelled at obedience training, as well as learning tricks such as “find it,” “sad,” “give me five,” and “wave bye-bye,” which once prompted a young boy to ask if she could recite her ABC’s.

 “Not yet, but she’s working on it,” her mistress told him.

000_0040Though Jolie failed to qualify as a pet therapy dog, she attended many social events, including the Albany Fandangle Sampler and parades in downtown Abilene and Waco. She also had the distinction of being the only dog ever to be evicted from Tommy’s Burgers in Fort Worth and was proud to be the only dog to be a member of Friends of the Abilene Public Library.

 Jolie died peacefully in her master’s arms at the local doggie hospital, a few months shy of her 17th birthday. Survivors include her immediate family and an uncle, Pucci Whitaker. The family is deeply indebted to the physician whose care, love, and devotion added greatly to Jolie’s life in all respects, Dr. Jered Johnston of South Bosque Veterinary Clinic.



Jolie 2002


Filed under dogs, Jolie Blon Whitaker, memorial, pet, poodles, rainbow bridge

Where Were You in…a Long, Long, Long Time Ago?

Here’s a picture of me in my new Spanx. They really do work.

One of those high school reunions ending in a zero was fast approaching, and no way was I close to my goal of losing ten pounds and getting a facelift.

 A classmate told me not to worry, that it was just “a bunch of old people,” but I do have my pride. So I bought a pair of Spanx. In case you’ve never watched Oprah, Spanx resemble what we called a “girdle” back in high school, a device I swore I’d never wear again after the invention of pantyhose. Then, a few years ago, I renounced pantyhose. So wearing Spanx would be a real devolution for me, though they promised to smooth out unwanted rolls, lumps, and whatnot.

I probably burned a few calories squeezing into them the week before the reunion and wearing them around the house for practice. But, in the end, I opted for the ability to breathe unassisted.

But to the reunion:

The Food: Since I still hoped to lose a few pounds, it was fine with me there was no dessert at Friday night’s $17 hotel dinner, but I did hear some grousing. At the next day’s luncheon, one woman eyed the red and white peppermint in our hamburger carton and drolly remarked, “Great, we got dessert this time.”

The Reading of the Dead: Good news for one classmate—as the reading of names began, someone pointed out that one person on the list was not only still alive, but was also eating his lunch at a nearby table. I think he stood up and someone congratulated him. The woman faced with the task of reading the names, obviously flustered, said in all seriousness, “If I call out your name, raise your hand.”

A REAL reunion story: I’ll call them Bob and Peggy Sue. Bob and Peggy Sue split up during high school. Seems Bob got another girl pregnant and did the honorable thing and married the girl without bothering to explain the situation to Peggy Sue. Peggy Sue—heartbroken—eventually married someone else. Then, after decades of marriage, Bob and Peggy Sue both divorced their respective partners.

Bob immediately began looking for Peggy Sue, found her, married her, and now both are living happily ever after. I told him he was lucky she took him back.

By the time I’d heard the same version of this story from each of them, I was missing my own husband and my dog, who were three hours away. Besides that, my hotel room was too hot, and the wind had whipped my hair into what looked like half-eaten cotton candy, so I cut out early and headed home.

As a result, I missed Elvis, who was set to perform that night, but since I’d seen him in concert years ago when he was alive, I’ll hang on to that memory.

I do regret missing out on the barbecue dinner, but I’m thinking of it as the equivalent of losing five pounds and avoiding Spanx again when the next reunion rolls around.


Filed under Abilene, dogs, fat, friends, High School Reunions, home, husbands

Higher Maintenance

I’ve simply become too high maintenance to travel.

For years I’ve blamed my husband and two dogs for all the “stuff” I’ve loaded for trips. But the other day, packing solo, reality hit me.

I’ve never been what you’d call “low-maintenance,” but over the years I’ve come to need more and more creature comforts when I leave home, even for a mere two nights. Granted, on this particularly trip, I’d be attending three separate events, but as I loaded the car, even I was beginning to think my needs were a little excessive.

Here’s the inventory:
—tote bag for three pairs of sandals and one pair of houseshoes (tried them in small suitcase, but they took up all the space)

—a grocery bag with my breakfast needs (oatmeal, raisins, walnuts, Splenda, milk)—even my breakfast is high maintenance!

—small fan in case the motel room is too hot (sweat turns my flat-ironed bangs into Cheetos look-alikes)

—white noise machine

—Caboodle for makeup

—kit for toiletries

—bag with adapters and chargers for Kindle, iPod touch, cell phone, netbook computer, camera, mp3 player

—bag for all the above electronics

—thermal bag for milk, yogurt, and Dr Peppers

—hang-up clothes (a last minute item almost overlooked)

—large purse

By the time I got all this packed, I thought I didn’t have much left for the small suitcase I’d intended to take, so I threw in a few magazines, my pill box (if it gets any bigger it will need its own bag), hair equipment (round brush, flat brush, curling iron, flat iron), and the usual unmentionables. In minutes, it was filled it to capacity.

What will I do the next time I fly? I’ll be broke by the time I pay for the extra luggage.

Please help me become the minimalist I secretly long to be by sharing your packing tips.

Either that or assure me I’m not alone.


Filed under travel

A Rose by Any Other Name?

Alas. Alack.

I have failed miserably in selecting a pen name. That is, I’m using my real name as my author name.

I just read an article that says your first name should have two syllables and your last name, one. Like Stephen King. And here I am with a one-syllable first name and a verboten three-syllable last-name. What to do?

Shall I henceforth become Anna Whit? I think not.

I do think saint names are cool. I once contemplated Anna Saint Whitaker.

My writer friend Cara Marsi’s maiden name was Palmarella, but she chose not to use it because she said it was too easy to misspell and mispronounce. I think she made a big mistake to ditch such a beautiful Italian name. It has character and flow, unlike the Germanic sound of “Whitaker.”

Anna Saint Whitakerella just doesn’t have the quite the same ring to it.

Anna La Whitakerella? Nay, again.

How about my maiden name “Howard”? Also Germanic.

Below are a couple of name generator sites I’ve been playing around with.

Following the two-syllable/one-syllable rule I came up with “Kimi Kind” and “Zoucka Stale,” which have a nice ring to them. Or maybe my favorite author and the street I grew up on—“Bronte Sammons.”

 On second thought, I’ll stick with my real name for now.

1 Comment

Filed under authors, Cara Marsi, ideas, pen names, rules

The Red Shoes

You know how you look at something online or buy something online and then every time you open your browser, there it is, staring back at you? Lately it’s been a pair of red Crocs. Not the reptiles, but those plastic shoes people either love or hate.

Two years ago my mother had a stroke, which meant she needed skilled nursing care near me, almost 200 miles from her home in West Texas. You’re probably thinking, “Is this story going somewhere?” Yes, there is a Croc connection.

I soon learned that even in the best health care establishments, personal items sometimes get misplaced. For example, my mother’s eyeglasses—the kind with the huge frames—the kind identical to those of almost every other little old lady over 80. She’d take them off and leave them in out-of-the-way places only to have them appear a few hours or days later. Once when I visited, my mother’s roommate was wearing my mother’s glasses. I didn’t have the heart to tell her.  

Thanks to an online company that sells inexpensive eyewear, I solved the dilemma by getting my mother a pair of glasses with trendy, bright red frames. That way, if they got misplaced, everyone would know they were hers.

Then, a few weeks ago when her shoes disappeared (I later learned they were being cleaned), I realized she needed shoes easy to put on, easy to clean, and recognizable as hers. So I ordered a pair of red Crocs. Afterwards, I thought about Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz,” wishing Mama could click her heels together and find herself back home and healthy once more. 

The Crocs arrived in two days, but my mother never got to wear them. She died in the hospital a week later, three days after her 90th birthday.

Now, when the red Crocs pop up on the browser, I imagine my mother laughing and clicking her heels together. And then I see her on the front porch of her house with her beloved black Lab, B.J., beside her. He’s wagging his tail and licking her hand, so excited to see her that he’s like a young pup again.

She didn’t know he’d been waiting for her since summer on Rainbow Bridge.


Ava Mae Powell Howard (March 30, 1922-April 2, 2012) 

 Ava Mae Powell Howard, 90, a colorful, boisterous presence throughout West Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico for nearly a century who epitomized the rugged spirit of her forebears, died Monday, April 2, 2012, in Waco, Texas, after a brief illness. Strong-willed, outspoken, yet compassionate with those who took the time to know her, she was noted for her broad sense of humor and keen perseverance during a lifetime that saw her do everything from work in a once-famous hamburger hangout, to charming hotel guests such as fellow Oklahoman Ben Johnson, the famous stunt rider and Academy Award-winning actor.

Born March 30, 1922, in Snyder, Oklahoma, the daughter of Herbert Joseph Powell and Bertha Francis Van Buskirk, she moved to Abilene, Texas, in 1959, where she spent most of her life. Even so, she never failed to acknowledge her Sooner roots. A relative once remarked that Ava was typical of the resolute, enduring Okies who stayed and toughed out dust storms, drought, and economic devastation in the Great Depression when John Steinbeck’s famous Joad family instead loaded up and abandoned the region for California. Often vocal, opinionated, and hard-headed, Ava once claimed she sat quietly in the proverbial corner till she was age 21, listening to others opine and argue and spin tales, then resolved to make up for lost time herself. She was quick to make friends and had no qualms about striking up conversations with strangers. She could also strike faster than a rattlesnake if she thought she, a friend, or family member had been wronged.

Her curiosity knew few limits. Her obvious aptitude in school and early success in college only hinted at her real scholastic potential. After a year at Kiowa County Junior College, she spent a semester at the University of Oklahoma but quit to marry James Lowell Howard in January 1943 in the midst of World War II. After his return from war (including involvement in the Battle of the Bulge), the small family—by now including a daughter—followed his checkered career as an unusually talented, much sought-after, but wildly erratic baker across much of the American Southwest. Even as they moved frequently from one town to another, Ava Mae voraciously read library books and instilled in her daughter an early respect for education.

In Abilene, Ava worked at Lion Hardware, Thornton’s department store, and Baum’s Broiled Burgers during its late 1950s and early ’60s heyday. Later in life, Ava often recalled how her years as night desk clerk at LaQuinta Inn along windswept Interstate 20 in Abilene were among the happiest of her life, even though she was once robbed at gunpoint and often locked horns with management. Customers came from a wide range of backgrounds and included occasional celebrities such as country-western crooner Eddy Raven, who alternated between staying there and a fancier, high-dollar motel in town, dependent (she claimed) on how his career was faring. Through it all, she made a strong, lasting impression on both customers and co-workers. “She always listened and then always gave me her two cents’ worth,” a former colleague recalled. “I can still see her squinting up her sweet face and then saying, ‘Well, that SOB.’ She was a good friend through thick and thin. Everyone needs a friend like her. Her customers dearly loved her.”

Even during most of her retirement and decline in later years, she remained full of energy and curiosity, long after most her age had dismissed any new marvels of technology for the rocking chair. At one point, she acquired a fascination with anything electrical: VCRs, DVD players, TVs, tape players, CD players, and a camcorder she couldn’t afford (and tried to return to Montgomery Ward after six months on the grounds she’d charged it on their charge card). One family member concluded Ava was the reason many stores now have entire departments devoted to exchanges and returns. Her concept of credit reflected her Depression-era past. She once dismissed any concern about paying off her credit card bills because, she believed, “it all goes away after you die.”

Even in her final years in a retirement home in Waco, far from her beloved West Texas, she maintained a certain vigor and hearty sense of humor. “She wanted her newspaper every morning so she could read (her son-in-law’s) article,” one nurse recalled. “She would sit behind the desk with me while I got my morning stuff together, drinking Dr Pepper and eating honey buns. What a ham she was, always wanting us to take her picture. She posed for every one of them. She is one of the ones who remind me of why I love working with the elderly.”

Ava was preceded in death by her husband, James Lowell Howard, in 1981.

Survivors include daughter Ann Whitaker and husband Bill of Waco; brother Joe Powell and wife Irma of Snyder, Oklahoma; and grandson Michael Davis of Abilene.

The family deeply appreciates the staff at Ridgecrest Retirement and Health Care in Waco for their care of Ava during her last two years of life and for their ability to see past her speech difficulties-the result of a stroke in 2010-and their appreciation of her sense of humor and unique personality. The family also thanks the staff of Providence Health Center and Providence Hospice who tended to Ava during the last week of her life, working to ensure she was as comfortable as possible and poised to be just as vital in the next stage of her long existence.

In lieu of a New Orleans jazz funeral procession led by Al Hirt, as she once requested, Ava will be put to rest quietly at the Fairlawn Cemetery in Snyder, Oklahoma, near other kin.

Memorials in Ava’s name may be made to Waco’s Animal Birth Control Clinic or Rescue the Animals, SPCA, Abilene.


Filed under Abilene, dogs, eyeglasses, memorial, mothers, nursing homes, pet, rainbow bridge, shoes

When Fast Food Isn’t

There I was, just sitting in the drive-through line at Taco Bell, minding my own business,  when I spotted my friend Mary in the car in front of me. I could tell it was Mary because her eyes and her glasses were reflected in her drivers’ side mirror.

She was laughing and waving her arm, while carrying on a spirited conversation with the boy working the window. So spirited, in fact, that after a while I began to wonder if she was ever going to finish her business so I could pick up my order. I was in a bit of a hurry because I really needed to get the tacos to my mother, who’s in a local nursing home, before she ate her regular meal.

But Mary was determined not to leave. She continued laughing and waving her arm out the window of her car. That’s when I got the bright idea to call Mary on her cell phone. So I did. But when it went straight to voicemail, I knew Mary had left the house without turning on her phone. I decided to leave her a message anyway, telling her I was behind her and why wasn’t she moving and was she flirting with the boy at the window or what? Mary, I said, quit flirting with the boy and move on so I can get my tacos. But, of course, Mary didn’t hear me because her phone was turned off.

That’s when I decided I would change tactics. You see, Mary has a penchant for getting into little spats with people in grocery store lines. Wouldn’t it be funny if I made Mary angry, only to have her realize I was the person behind her? So I honked my horn and frowned at her and motioned her to move on. I was pleased when Mary frowned back at me in the mirror.

Except that’s when I noticed Mary’s arm looked a little larger than I remembered it. And Mary’s eyes and glasses suddenly didn’t look like Mary’s eyes and glasses at all. And this not-Mary was now glaring at me.

 Oops, I thought.

I quickly pasted a huge smile on my face and waved enthusiastically at not-Mary as if she and I were long-lost friends.

 Not-Mary looked a bit puzzled, but I breathed a sigh of relief when she drove off without beating me up.


Filed under embarassing moments, fast food, friends