Walking among my iris

My mother didn't like iris'.  She said they didn't bloom for a long enough time.  A former neighbor didn't care for them either; she called them "old flags", sneering as she dug them up.  
I love my iris.  They ask for so little.  Oh, you can fuss with them if you want; a search on the Internet tells me they must be divided every once in awhile if they are to thrive.  But in the old yard, I never did a thing but enjoy them, and they bloomed faithfully for years.  The sister-in-law who is living in our old house likes to do things right (in other words, she isn't lazy like me), so she moved them and thinned them and treated them properly.  They don't mind that, either.    


The flowers I moved back here from the old yard hold fond memories of the friend who gave me the start of them.    
And then there are the ones I ordered online; they are the ones that continue to surprise me.  Remember a few days ago when I showed you my first iris of the year?  

 It's really showing off now!  

This is my second one to bloom.  

Right next to it will be my third.  See, above the fully-bloomed flower?  It appears to be some sort of yellow.  This is the first year I've gotten to see these particular ones bloom.  The wind broke the only would-be bloom off one last year and my dog broke the other one before it was fully flowered.  So these are surprises to me.  Oh, I'm the one who ordered them, but surely you don't think I would remember what color iris I ordered two years ago?  I do recall that these are supposed to bloom a second time each year, but only if you prune and fuss with them at the proper time.  I probably won't do that.

These, behind the house, are in full bud, but none of the blooms have opened up so I can make a guess as to what color they are.  That's what makes my morning walks around the yard so exciting; eventually I get a surprise, and can tell the color of the next iris to bloom!  

One of these is showing a little color.

This one is farther behind.  

Here's my point:  My mother complained that iris' bloom too brief a time, but I've found that if you have several varieties, the iris season lasts several weeks.  I believe my red one was the last one to bloom, last year.  

And by the time my last iris blooms, the day lilies will have begun showing their colors.  Then the coneflowers and hibiscus will start, and last all summer until frost.  Flowers are one of God's best ideas, and I am exceedingly glad there are so many varieties of flowers that don't make me work too hard.

Why is Iris (the dog) growling?

This is my first iris of the season.  It finally managed to open up that lovely bloom.  
Yesterday evening I saw on the news that there were frost warnings for my area.  My poor flower!
When I went out with Iris (the dog) this morning, she went into the defensive mode:

Growling, hair on her back standing up.  And why?  

Because I had put Walmart bags over any iris (flower) that was even the tiniest bit opened up.  There was a stiff breeze blowing, which made the bags move.  Iris (the dog) thought we were surrounded by aliens.  Of course, the fact that the wind is blowing means there will be no frost, but I'm not removing the bags until the temperature starts going up.  It's thirty-seven degrees as I type this.  

Iris backed off a little, continuing to growl.  

My green beans are up, so Cliff lent me some old blankets from his shop to lay over them.  

I only have one tomato plant out, so I covered it with a milk jug.  My daughter has saved several of them for me; I'll use them in various ways to protect my tomato plants (when I get more) from frost and stupid robins.  Last year robins literally ate the leaves off my tiny tomato plants.  
Most of the vegetables in my garden are able to stand a frost, or even a freeze.  
In another hour or so I'll remove all the protective devices from my flowers and garden.  

Titan and Iris

The grandson has been working on his Jeep in our shop before he goes to work each day, and he brings Titan along.  Iris hates most dogs, but she really does like Titan, even if she has to worry about his huge feet crushing her from time to time.  Here's a video I took of them playing yesterday.  Watch how Iris stands on her head when she is playing with him.  That cracks me up.





My little Crimson King maple tree has been listing toward the east lately, and Cliff decided to put a stake with a rope out there to pull it toward the west.  Titan supervised closely.

Pioneer Woman: My dog's favorite show

I suppose I should apologize for the jumble of wires beside my television.  I realize this would drive most people crazy, but I'm not most people; I've actually grown rather attached to that mess of wires.  
Don't watch too closely, or you'll see my unmade bed in one of the pictures, too.  Cliff's gone for a couple of days; when the cat's away, the mouse will play.  





Yes, Iris is absolutely hypnotized throughout this show.  She loves the cowboys and the kids and Ree and the cooking.  She does, however, have a problem with the dog and all the horses and cows on the show.  Since the sound of the show is running in the background, this video may get pulled off Youtube.  If it doesn't show up for you, you'll know what happened.

In Cliff's shop

Cliff washed the car yesterday.  Today he is waxing it.  

When we were newlyweds, he washed and cleaned out his car every week or two, and waxed it every month or so.  These days tractors get most of his attention, but he still keeps the car looking pretty good.  

Twelve ounces of this stuff costs $34.95.  Cliff says it's worth it; he makes it last quite a while, using it quite sparingly.  That's Glare polish, in case you are interested (and wealthy).

I bought this hair-remover glove at the Walmarts today for three bucks, hoping it might get rid of some of Iris' loose hair.

It got rid of some hair.  I also have a Furminator, but it seems to hurt Iris, so I hate to use it on her often.  

If you click on the above picture to make it larger, you'll see Iris dozing in her favorite spot in the shop, right beside the wood stove.

 See how shiny the car is looking in this picture?  You can see my guitar case in the background; Cliff always has his satellite radio going, and I decided to strum along to the country music on Willie's Roadhouse.  My fingers need to get toughened up.  By the way, this is not where Cliff parks the car; it is kept in the garage next to our home.

On the way back to the house, I noticed the two young cats all snuggled up on the cows' hay.  

Iris finally has a real doggie friend

Shortly after bringing Iris home from the shelter we found out she hates other dogs.  Especially small dogs, although she once attacked Hawkeye, my daughter's dog who is far bigger than she, to the point where he didn't want to come and visit us for a long time.  
It was really frightening when she attacked Cliff's sister's miniature dachshund, Angel, because that sweet little dog always submits to other dogs and loves everybody.  Honestly, it was downright scary when Iris attacked her.  We're not just talking about a grumpy old dog that snaps at others; Iris obviously meant to kill, and we had to tear them apart.  
She finally stopped attacking Angel, although I'd still be hesitant to leave them alone.  She has never accepted the other dog that lives with Angel, and went viciously after her not too long ago; once again, if someone had not been there to intervene, I don't know what might have happened.   
So, my grandson has been working lots of overtime, and he's been having his girl friend bring their Great Dane pup out here to spend the day.  He's no problem at all.  He stays near our house, spending lots of time sleeping on the porch.  I let him in a few times a day and he does well, mostly just following me from room to room; no accidents so far.  
Iris has never shown her usual bad attitude with Titan.  He's big and clumsy, and tries to force her to play; you'd think if she was going to attack anybody, it would be him.  But after two weeks being forced to put up with Titan, the most she has done is snap at him when he stumbles over her.  
Maybe she realizes he's just a puppy.  

Not only that, but I've seen her outside playing with him.  Yes, she likes the big oaf.  

Iris and her shadow

Iris doesn't need us to buy toys for her.  She's perfectly happy watching her shadow.  She will do this for hours if she isn't interrupted.  I tacked on the bit at the end so you could see what it takes to get her to stop obsessing.  Cliff fired up a noisy power tool and Iris was gone.  

Iris-Come-Home

Cliff's St. Louis sister and her husband were here for the weekend; because they had several people to visit while they were in the area, we had our son-in-law do his Labor Day grilling magic on Saturday.  That way Pat and Charlene didn't have to stick to a schedule during the rest of their visit.    Kevin hadn't even gotten started with the cooking when thunder boomed in the distance; before long, he was grilling in the rain.  
My dog, Iris, had safely tucked herself away in the bathtub.  She is terrified of storms, and seems to think it's safer in Cliff's tub than anywhere else.  When Charlene and Pat arrived with their dog, Mindy, I told Iris that Mindy was here.  That bit of news overcame her fear, and she came out of the bathroom, growling and barking, to greet Mindy.  
Iris and Mindy followed all of us out to the shop, which is where we hang out for many of our family get-togethers.  When it thundered, Iris cowered underneath Cliff's desk.  

At one point, she became brave enough to come on out and get on granddaughter Natalie's lap.  Shortly after I took this picture, thunder boomed nearby.  After that, we didn't see Iris for fourteen hours.
Nobody noticed her leaving, but when the festivities ended, I realized my dog wasn't around.  Natalie and I called, Cliff whistled; all to no avail.  
Now I want you to know that I did not shed a single tear during this time, but I did lose some sleep.  Remember, my two previous dogs died young:  One was hit by a car on the highway and killed, the other choked on a splintered pork bone and had to be put to sleep.  But these circumstances, so I felt there was hope for Iris.  
She likes to be at home with her people, and I figured that unless she was so far away that she was totally disoriented, she would come scratching at my door once she had calmed down.  If she happened to be totally lost and far from home, she has tags on her collar, and she is microchipped.  She loves people and wouldn't be hard for a stranger to befriend.  I believe most conscientious folks would track down her owner if they found her.  
Oh sure, there was a devil on my shoulder whispering, "What if she's been hit by a car?"  
I ignored him, prayed some, and vowed not to cry.
We woke up to a sunny Sunday morning; I fixed biscuits and gravy for everybody, and then went for a walk in the pasture with Mindy, who really looks forward to a run in the country when she visits.  While I was gone, my two sisters-in-law went up and down the highway looking for Iris.  
Everybody else went to Cliff's shop to hang out, and after returning from my walk, I picked up my Nook, hoping to distract myself with the excellent book I'm reading at present (The Help).  
You can imagine my joy when I heard my granddaughter yell, "Grandma, Iris is home!"  
We don't know where she spent the night.  She acted somewhat guilty upon her return, but I was so glad to see her I didn't even scold her.  I just let my stinky dog crawl up on my lap and continued with my reading.

  Cliff thought he should take a picture of the grand reunion.

Someday I'll have a normal dog

When Sadie was around, I often blogged about her manic ways.  Then I brought Iris home and found out there are many degrees of "crazy" when it comes to dogs.  The way she attacks animals, police, and people fighting on television, for instance, seems totally demented.  We grew used to having dog-snot on our TV screen.  Because it is possible to mess up a plasma TV screen, we finally figured out that the best way to keep her nose off the television was to tell her, when she charged at the TV, to get her ball.  She then watches the action, all the while growling and biting on her ball.   
She loves balls and frisbees, but left to her own devices she will do her best to destroy them.  I finally found a set of balls at PetSmart that are indestructible; as for the Frisbee, that's a game we just don't play any more.  Iris is only happy if she can destroy the flying object once she catches it.  
And then there's the way she chases shadows or flashlight beams.  She obsesses!     
Years ago, I read in a book that one of the best ways to bond with your dog is to put its bed beside your own so it's sleeping next to you.  I've always done this, and previous dogs have loved the situation; but I've given up with Iris.  Oh, I put forth a lot of effort, even resorting to snapping a leash on her collar, forcing her to sleep on the nice, comfy dog bed in the bedroom.  That was the only way she'd spend the night there.  
Now, if I wanted a heavily-shedding dog in my bed, I'm sure she would gladly have slept with me that way.  When we first got her, she wouldn't stay OFF our bed.  Unfortunately, neither Cliff nor I have a desire to have a dog sharing our bed.  So that's out.  
At one time I had three beds for Iris:  Her favorite, in a tight little corner of my computer room; one in the living room beneath the window, which she used at first but gradually moved away from; and the one I forced her to use in the bedroom.  
I finally decided that if she didn't want to sleep near me, I wasn't going to force her.  Maybe my snoring bothered her, you never know.  Once I stopped forcing the issue she immediately started spending nights in her favorite bed in the computer room, far away from our bedroom.  I put her two unused beds away.  
The closest Iris ever gets to sleeping with me is on stormy nights.  At those times, she sleeps in the bathtub of the bathroom off our bedroom.   
Crazy dog.

Iris

Iris does so many things that baffle me, I could go on all day about her.  Here's just a small thing:  When Cliff goes in to take a shower before he goes to work (or any time, actually) he shuts the door to the bathroom.  Evidently this worries Iris; perhaps she thinks he'll drown in there, or maybe she doesn't like him using the tub where she hides out when there's a storm.  Anyway, here's what she does.

And there she stays until she hears the doorknob turn.  Once Cliff is out of the bathroom, Iris goes back out to one of her beds in the living room or computer room and worries no more.

Well, hello there

I have little to tell about today; no exciting happenings, nothing new.  
OK, here's something:  Cliff said, "If we keep having winters like this, maybe we will start spending winters in Texas like your sister."  
"I can't see you making it a whole winter without your tractors," I said.  "Perhaps we should try it for one month; we could trailer the Gold Wing down and ride all the time we're there.  I'll check on rental prices for some of the park models down there."  
$1,000 a month ended that discussion.  I suggested we just visit my sister for a week.    


Are you tired of snow pictures yet?  

That's Iris, two-thirds of the way up Angina hill; yes, this is the incline that made Cliff have chest pains every day for over a month.  Lord only knows what kept him from having a heart attack right in the middle of that slope. 

 I wonder what she's looking for?  


Here's something I've been studying up on:  Dogs that don't shed, or shed very little.  When Iris croaks, believe me, I'm going to have my head about me enough to get a non-shedding breed.  I'm not fond of poodles, but I wouldn't mind a poodle mix.  Schnauzers seem like a nice breed.  Yorkies are tiny and cute, but from what I've read they're sometimes difficult to house-break, and will take over if you let them.  I'd consider them, though, just because of the cute factor.  
No, I'm not getting rid of Iris; once I get a dog, it's a commitment, like marriage.  She fits in here just fine, hair and all.  I'm getting used to vacuuming every. single. day.  She's happy with us and, except for the shedding, we're happy with her.  
The preceding pictures were from yesterday's walk; the following ones are from today.  

There's my poor, neglected cabin, surrounded by trees covered with hoarfrost.  

It looks like a Christmas card, doesn't it?  Before our walk in the woods was over, the frost was falling on us in flakes, just like snowflakes.   
Walking was harder today because of the little bit of thawing yesterday.  A crust froze back on top of the snow and really made it difficult.  
That's about all I know for today; hopefully inspiration will visit me tomorrow.

Yes, my dog watches television

I've blogged before about Iris' reaction when we watch Dog Whisperer.  She attacks the television any time she sees a dog, a horse, a chicken... well, pretty much any kind of animal.  We have a plasma TV, so the idea of a dog attacking the screen is a little scary.  She could ruin our television.
I still watch Cesar Milan, but these days I put a leash on her.  I let her growl, but if she gets up and lunges at the end of the leash, I make her lay back down.  Hopefully she will learn to lie down beside my chair when Dog Whisperer is on.  She is learning, as you can see in the following video.  Oh, she isn't going to shut up, but at least she's not attacking the television.  Toward the end of our session I removed the leash; she stayed right beside me.

This is how she looked when I decided to stop watching Cesar.  No leash.  She was still watching, but without a leash.  Progress!

Ramblings

I miss all the fun.  Although I'm done with fever and sore throat, the coughing lingers on; therefore, Cliff and the dog have been going on their daily walk without me.  Yesterday they had barely headed off, Cliff tells me, when Iris' tail made contact with the electric fence; she got her first electric shock.  
I had wondered why she was scratching at the front door not five minutes after they left the house.  
So I watched Cliff and Iris heading off for todays walk:  Where Iris normally ducks under the fence and runs a few circles on the neighbors' property, today she would only look in that direction and then look back at Cliff.  She did this repeatedly.  Funny stuff.  I can see them now out on the point, and Iris has finally gotten the courage to get more than ten yards away from Cliff.  
I'll stop here to give a plug to Sparkpeople.com.   Folks, the only way I can lose weight is to keep track of calories, and Sparkpeople helps with that.  You can sign up for free.  You can actually enter your own recipe and put how many servings it makes, and this website will not only calculate calories, but also any nutrients you'd like to track; then the recipe is there any time you use it again.  Thanks to Sparkpeople, I found out Cliff and I were woefully short on calcium intake and began buying supplements.  
Enough about that.  
Summer before last I had a bumper crop of butternut squash.  I learned to make squash fries, squash pies, squash bread, and our favorite, butternut squash soup.  I froze many bags of pureed squash for future use.  Our favorite dish was the soup, but I've been leery of trying to use pureed squash in a recipe that calls for peeled, cubed squash.  However, it does end up pureed after it's cooked, in this recipe, so why have I been so hesitant to try it?  I'll let you know how it turns out.    

Dog chasing shadows

We don't have to buy lots of toys for Iris because her favorite toy is her shadow.  And my shadow, and Cliff's.  While I've been trying to break her of the habit of chasing dogs on the TV (I found out plasma televisions can't take a lot of abuse), this shadow-play seems harmless enough.  If it's too cloudy a day for shadows, I get the flashlight and let her chase a beam of light; she likes that even better.   That's the History channel you'll hear in the background.  We watch it a lot.

Crazy dog

Dog hair

My previous dog, Sadie, was quite a shedder.  I was always telling people, "The next dog I get isn't going to shed this much."    

Then Sadie died; I immediately went looking for another dog, and the last thought on my mind was dog hair.  I just wanted to fill the empty space left by Sadie.  Enter Iris.  

Iris sheds twice as much as Sadie did, I swear.  You can sweep up a cupful of hair in the kitchen twice a day, and my kitchen is tiny.  

Being a person who tries to look on the bright side, I started telling people recently, "At least she doesn't shake herself all the time like Sadie did, and send hair flying up into the air and onto furniture and stuff."  

Now, after six months of no shaking, it's as if she heard me and decided to make me out a liar.  She shakes herself all. the. time.  

Iris is also one of those dogs who has a tendency to smell "doggy".  I can bathe her, but in a day or two she's back to stinking.  I put one of those plug-in perfume-y things here in the computer room, since this is where Iris spends a lot of her time.  I'm not sure I wouldn't rather smell the dog.  

Looking on the bright side, at least she doesn't pass gas.  

Oops, I shouldn't have said that.  

No way can I make her an outside dog; she's spent her life inside.  It's what she expects.  

Am I sorry I have her?  Oh no; she's a lot of fun.  She makes me laugh.  I like her.  

Will I think about what I'm doing, next time I'm looking for a dog?  I hope so.  But if I'm in the throes of grief, who knows what I'll do.  

I can't help but wonder

I'm sure I'm not the only person who has adopted a dog from a shelter and wondered what the dog's previous life was like.  
First off, I wonder why Iris' former owners didn't search for her.  They'd had her microchipped, so they could have checked with the animal shelter that picked her up off the street.  
Maybe the economy caught up with them and they decided they couldn't afford her.
I'm fairly sure Iris was a house dog, and allowed on furniture; she still has a lapse in judgement on that issue occasionally.  Whoever owned her didn't allow her to beg at the table; I know this because when we sit down to eat, Iris disappears.  
Like the dogs before her, Iris has learned to anticipate our morning walks.  She's on high alert when Cliff gets out of his chair.  If he's in the bathroom brushing his teeth and I'm at the computer, she runs back and forth between the two of us.  Dogs do love to walk with their humans.  
In Iris' case, it's more like her running through the woods at the same time we're walking, somewhere within a half-mile of her.  
Now that Iris has lived here for six months, I don't normally keep her on a leash.  Oh, there was a recent spurt of frog-chasing at the pond where she'd come back with muddy feet, legs and belly; while that was going on, I'd snap a leash on her for our walk in order to avoid the cleanup afterward.  She does fine with a leash, no pulling and jerking.  
But the frogs are now in hibernation and I let her run free.  
Here's what confounds me.  Once we're through the gate behind the house, she heads off to parts unknown; with her speed, she's quickly out of sight, and sometimes we don't see her again until the walk is over.  Other times she'll swing by and check on us once or twice, then head off again.  
She's free to do all this running any time she's outside, but she only does it when we're taking our walk.  Since she never heads toward the road, I don't pay a lot of attention to where she goes these days.  Why doesn't she go off on a crazy chase while we're inside?  She certainly isn't worried about our companionship, or she'd stay with us when we're walking. 
How does she feel, I wonder, running as fast and far as she wants, after spending her previous life as a house dog?  From her expression, it must be glorious.  The whole world is hers.  
Cesar Milan makes fun of people who wonder about their dog's past life.  "Dogs live in the present," he says.   
He's probably right, but I have fun delving into my dog's psyche, wondering about her past; it's as good a pastime as any.

A person really has to watch

I have kept a Reader's Digest subscription going for years; the size is perfect for slipping in a purse (or lunchbox, in Cliff's case) so it's handy for those times when we're somewhere waiting, for instance at a doctor's or dentist's office.  The articles are brief, so you're not committing to a lot of time when you start reading.  I've learned a lot from Reader's Digest.
However, my subscription lapsed, and I've decided this is one thing we can easily do without.  I know it's time to renew, because they've been sending me bills for a couple of months.  But I didn't renew, so why are they sending me bills that sound like I re-subscribed?   In fact, they've sent me two magazines that I shouldn't have received, and the tone of their little notes make me feel more like a freeloader with each reminder.
I found a phone number on the bill Thursday and gave them a call.  I explained the problem to the customer service person and gave her my name and address.
"Oh," she said, "you're on automatic renewal."
What?  I never asked for that!
She took me off the plan and graciously told me I could keep the two magazines that I wasn't supposed to receive.
I just wonder how many people renew their subscriptions who otherwise would not, if they hadn't been bullied into "automatically renewal"?
The same day, I received a credit card bill charging me $1.82 in interest; I had made no purchases, so how did I rack up interest?  We're down to three credit cards, and I still have to weed at least one of them out; I just haven't decided which one.  I've gotten rid of Kohl's, Home Depot, Sears, and two gasoline credit cards.  I kept these for years because credit card holders get special deals; it was really hard to destroy my Kohl's card, because that's where I buy shoes, and sometimes I got 30% off a sale price as a card-holder.  Still, we do not need all that plastic filling up our billfolds.
If I get angry with any of my remaining three card providers, they are history.  I was ready to tell somebody that when I called Chase card customer service.
This summer we used that card to excess (the Arkansas trip and lots of diesel fuel for tractors), and in the end it took me three months to pay them off.  We swore never to let that happen again, even if we have to sit at home for the rest of our lives.
The lady explained to me that ours is a revolving charge account and the $1.82 is carried over from the previous month.
Just as I was getting ready to tell her what she could do with my account, she said, "Oh, wait; I think I can take that off your bill.  Yes, I can; it should show up as being removed within a few days."
So I still have a decision to make about which card I get rid of.  I'll wait and see if that $1.82 really is removed before I decide.



Here's a video to show you how my dog, Iris, plays with shadows.  She also plays with beams of light, and chases birds flying overhead.  She's nuts.

crazy dogs, scary rats

My daughter took a picture yesterday of her dog and Iris, lounging in the yard.  Because it's the best picture I've ever seen of Iris, I cut my daughter's dog out of the picture (sorry, Hawkeye) to get this perfect portrait of mine.  
Iris has issues.  I'm fairly certain she could use a dog psychiatrist, but I can't afford one.  She will obsess on some crazy thing and chase it until she's exhausted.  She still attacks dogs, horses, and people fighting one another on television.  For a while she'd chase after birds in the pasture, but I think she finally realized she'd never catch one; so what was once a full-time job for her has become only an occasional, half-hearted effort.  In the house, she chases after reflections and shadows.  Just pick up a flashlight and she's all attention, because she knows once it's turned on there will be a beam of light she can chase.   
It's dark now on the mornings when I milk the cow.  Normally I would feel my way to the barn, then feel my way to the light switch and turn it on.  Now, though, with gigantic rats lurking in the shadows, I don't want to enter the barn in the dark and run the risk of stepping on a half-dead rat.  So I arm myself with a flashlight, and Iris chases the beam of light all the way to the barn.  
Crazy dog.   I wish she'd learn to chase rats.
Friday evening I tossed bar bait and bait packets in places I knew the rats would lurk.  I bought three different kinds of rat poison; if one didn't work, maybe another one would.  Saturday morning, the bait was gone.  Good!  I placed more bait bars in the same spot.
Sunday morning, those were gone.  I put more bait of a different kind there; when Cliff and I went out to go for our walk, I told him, "Let's go see if they've hauled off the bait again."  
While we were looking at the two hunks of poisoned stuff, one moved!  A rat was on the other side of the hole in the tin trying to pull it through.  
Cliff suggested that they might just be hauling the stuff off and stockpiling it, and perhaps I should quit putting out the bait for awhile.  

 Since then, the bait has stopped disappearing.  I'm hoping that means the rats are in the process of dying and are too weak to come back for more.  There were originally two hunks of bait by this rat hole; the remaining one has been gnawed upon.  I think that's good news.   
The only good rat is a dead rat.

Iris has a new bed

Sunday morning in St. Louis, it was awfully chilly for riding motorcycles.  We decided, therefore, to wait until closer to noon before we all took off.  
Charlene showed me a bed she got for her dog, Mindy, at a very reasonable price.  
Iris needs a bed.  When we first adopted her, I got one specifically to fit inside her pet taxi in which she sleeps.  I bought it at Pet Smart and paid far too much for it, but it was something that I needed right then and there.  
The thing sheds.  Believe me, Iris sheds enough on her own, without my having little tufts of cotton laying around.  Every time she'd get up in the morning, she'd drag out a few more pieces of her bed.  
Another thing:  I'd really like to get the pet taxi out of my bedroom.  I think Iris has been with us long enough now that she doesn't need a hidey-hole, and I no longer have to lock her in.  I originally had her sleep in the pet taxi because I didn't want her wandering around in the night, climbing on furniture.  That is no longer a problem.   
So while we were waiting for the day to warm up a little, Charlene and I went to the store where she'd bought Mindy's bed, Old Time Pottery (not Pottery Barn).  I picked up a bed for Iris for a paltry ten bucks.  There are lots of bargains to be had there, and I see by their website they have a store in Kansas City on 40 highway.  I may visit there sometime.  
Yesterday after we brought her home from the kennel, I led her to her new bed.  I'd thrown it down in the living room in one of her favorite spots.  I patted it and told her to lie down, and she complied.  But as soon as I backed away, she got off it.  The only time I saw her voluntarily use it, she had her head on it using it as a pillow.  
Last night I took her old shedding bed out of the pet taxi and replaced it with her fluffy new bed.  When it was time to go to bed, she didn't even hesitate, but scrambled right on in.  This morning I took it out of the taxi and put it in a favorite corner where she got right on it and lay down.  
Now, if she will only accept it beside my bed at night, sans taxi, I'll be very happy.