When KY and I went to the coast last weekend, I dragged him to the Sylvia Beach Hotel's restaurant Tables of Content. I had read about it online and almost all of the reviews raved about it. It has a book theme. The dinners are presented in chapters. It's food. How could I not want to go? How could he say no to something I wanted so badly?
Sylvia Beach Hotel is located in Nye Beach in Newport. The hotel faces the ocean, with steps right down to the beach. Each room has a book theme - there is the Tolkein room, Dr. Seuss, and Steinbeck, among others. One of our dining companions let us in on a little secret that the rooms are left open after they are cleaned and can be toured in the afternoon before the next guests check in. I wanted so badly to do this but we ran out of time.
The restaurant is located on the bottom floor of the hotel, also facing the ocean. We had the most incredible sunset views as we were being seated. The room is small with just a few tables that seat 6-8 people. If you are a party of less than 6-8 people, you are seated at a table with others. We were seated with three other couples. I knew this going in, and was a little worried that we'd have to sit with the balding, purple-haired guy milling around the lobby. Nope, we got the gay couple. Score! We were also the youngest and right next to the most adorable miniature version of Colonel Sanders. Loved him.
The whole idea is to mix and mingle and get to know your fellow diners. Two of the other couples had been previously so they let us in on the little secrets and how it all worked. The third couple at our table were the parents of the chef. She warned us ahead of time not to make any negative comments about the food.
Once we were all seated and served drinks, we were instructed to play Two Truths and a Lie at our respective tables. This is where you tell two true things and one lie about yourself and the others at your table can ask you questions about them in order to guess which is the lie. As I was telling my stories, Chef's mom remarked what an excellent liar I am. This isn't really the thing you want your boyfriend to hear about you. These were my stories -
1. At my fourth birthday party, my cat killed a snake on our back patio.
2. I once owned a tarantula.
3. In my current home, I have found no less than 15 black widows.
I was a good enough liar that there was no consensus on one single story, they were all mixed up. See if you can guess for yourself. If you have read maybe 5% of my blogs, you'll know for sure which one of them is true.
When the first course arrived, I was worried about Chef's mom's warning. It was roasted cauliflower soup. Not a fan of cauliflower. But it was delicious! So smooth and creamy and totally un-cauliflower-like. The bread was perfectly soft and crusted with sesame seeds, adding a nutty flavor. Next came the salad, fresh greens with a grapefruit vinaigrette. Yep, pretty much hate grapefruit. However, the arugula was the freshest I've ever had and the dressing was just light and refreshing, with none of that bitter aftertaste that I don't like.
When making the reservation, I was required to pre-order our entree. Each night there is a choice for meat, chicken, fish, or vegetarian. I chose the rack of lamb and KY opted for the chicken Marsala. My lamb was so soft and flavorful and perfectly cooked. I wanted more than my allotted portion. KY's Marsala was perfect to me, although he found the sherry flavoring a little too strong. I snuck the extra mushrooms left over on the center plate. (All dishes are served family style so they're passed around the table.)
The accompanying sides to the entree were a lentil salad and steamed leeks. Guess what? Yep, don't like either one of them. Or at least I didn't. They were both so much better than anything I'd ever had them in before. I would have had seconds of both if I weren't saving room for dessert.
Oh, dessert. How I love you so. Chef's parents were celebrating their anniversary so she made the dessert especially for them. Lucky, lucky us. We were served a chocolate torte with orange zest and freshly whipped cream. It wasn't light, but the orange zest took away some of the richness and made for a completely perfect ending to our meal.
Our other couples were also completely lovely. We learned about community art projects, life on a military base in Afghanistan, talked about classic cars and books about food, and shared stories about Shaman weddings and cake decorating. We were introduced to Chef, who was absolutely delightful and I didn't have to lie to her one bit about anything presented to our table.
I will definitely visit Tables of Content again. I loved everything about it. The pictures on the walls, the views, the food, the company. It wasn't just a dinner, it was an experience. In all the years I've been going to the coast, it's a shame I've missed this little gem.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
How the Avon Lady Killed Our Cat
When I was in jr. high school, (and my freshman year of high school), we lived in Chino Hills. As the name implies, it was a very hilly area. We lived in the specific area of Carbon Canyon which I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. I was only supposed to say that I lived in Chino so that I wouldn't sound like an over-privileged white girl who came down from her mountaintop to visit with the peasants.
Our driveway had the steepest incline known to the western world. And it was long. Like maybe a quarter of a mile. Sometimes it seemed like half a mile. After walking up and down that driveway to and from the bus stop every day, I was finally able to complete the required running in P.E. tests. If I had that driveway now, well, first it would be impossible where it snows, but second of all I would probably be in the shape of my life. People would stop hiking the butte and just show up at my driveway.
My friends' parents refused to go up it. They would drop me off at the bottom and just let me walk up. I guess they just assumed that I made it to the house okay. I was like 75 pounds, who would worry about a kid like that? Since it was windy, they couldn't even see the end. I could have been attacked by a lizard or a coyote on the way up.
For some reason, there was a gate at the top of the driveway. There was a fence around the whole property instead of just the back yard and the gate could be locked. I seriously worry about the people that lived there before us that they thought they needed an obstacle course and layers of security to get onto the property. I really don't think the peacocks on one side or the 70-year-olds on the other side posed any kind of threat.
The only time we closed the gate was when we were gone to keep the dogs inside. The rest of the time it was open because we had English bulldogs and they're not really highly motivated to wander off if they know their food provider is nearby.
Remember how nobody but us drove up it? Or my parents, since I was 12 and didn't drive, and really, thank goodness I didn't learn to drive on that driveway because I probably would have killed us all. Well, the one person who ever drove up was the Avon lady. She must have really, really wanted that pink Cadillac to risk the Most Treacherous Driveway Known to Man.
Now, our dogs were no longer used to seeing anyone but us since nobody but us ever made the trek. Also, they could probably smell her desperation. So they barked at her. I can imagine she was frightened because most people have an irrational fear of bulldogs, but by golly, she was going to get that pink Cadillac even if she needed an artificial leg to drive it with.
By the time she got to the door the dogs were in a near frenzy. They didn't trust her, they didn't like her, they wanted her to roll herself back down the hill. So when my mom opened the front door and our kitten went darting out, George, the only boy dog, grabbed the kitten in his mouth to defend her from the evil Avon lady who obviously would stop at nothing to get to us with her overrated makeup and cheap perfume.
Bulldogs were originally bred to fight. They were bred to fight bulls, hence the name. They were designed to clamp down on the neck of a bull and hold on until they brought the bull down. It all sounds very violent and ugly and inhumane, but this is the strength that came down on our poor little kitten. And I'm sure it looked very violent. The Avon lady screamed. My mom screamed at her to leave. The Avon lady screamed and said she was sorry (because she knew it was her fault). My mother told her that the best thing she could do would be to vacate our property immediately as she had done enough damage and to never, ever return again.
Of course as soon as she was gone, George released the kitten. He was only protecting it from her. The poor boy didn't realize what he had really done because he didn't realize how strong he was. He just reacted. With the best of intentions, of course. His jaws of steel crushed our poor little kitten and we lost her in a matter of minutes. The damage was too great, there wasn't even time to rush her to the vet.
George was not reprimanded. We cried because it was sad, but we knew he was only trying to protect his family. There was nothing even to forgive him for. Besides, he was never the smart one and it was clear that he was confused by our deep sadness. He was sure that he had done a Good Thing like a Good Boy.
I have never bought anything from Avon. I never will. I've never been friends with anyone affiliated with Avon, as far as I know. We blamed that woman for her stupidity and her insensitivity. We blamed her for the death of our little kitten.
I wasn't sure what the moral of that story was until recently. For the longest time it was just that Avon and stupid Avon ladies aren't to be trusted. But I think if that incident happened today, there would have been far more serious consequences for us and for George. Sure, she ignored a steep driveway and stepped onto a property despite the warning barks of dogs, but I bet today George would be blamed for what happened that day. In today's world he would be seen as a vicious animal and vicious animals are removed from their homes. We would have been devastated had he been taken from us. We loved our dumb George. And we knew that he was only protecting us, his family.
And this is what happens in the vast majority of the cases we hear about. Dogs are being dogs. Protecting their families, their territory, acting out of a sense of responsibility and often fear. We need to remember this. Respect a dog that's barking. Respect his boundaries and pay attention to his body language. Dogs can't talk to us in our language, but they are yelling at us to get our attention in theirs.
Still, I think the second moral of the story is that if you sell Avon, bad things will happen to you.
Our driveway had the steepest incline known to the western world. And it was long. Like maybe a quarter of a mile. Sometimes it seemed like half a mile. After walking up and down that driveway to and from the bus stop every day, I was finally able to complete the required running in P.E. tests. If I had that driveway now, well, first it would be impossible where it snows, but second of all I would probably be in the shape of my life. People would stop hiking the butte and just show up at my driveway.
My friends' parents refused to go up it. They would drop me off at the bottom and just let me walk up. I guess they just assumed that I made it to the house okay. I was like 75 pounds, who would worry about a kid like that? Since it was windy, they couldn't even see the end. I could have been attacked by a lizard or a coyote on the way up.
For some reason, there was a gate at the top of the driveway. There was a fence around the whole property instead of just the back yard and the gate could be locked. I seriously worry about the people that lived there before us that they thought they needed an obstacle course and layers of security to get onto the property. I really don't think the peacocks on one side or the 70-year-olds on the other side posed any kind of threat.
The only time we closed the gate was when we were gone to keep the dogs inside. The rest of the time it was open because we had English bulldogs and they're not really highly motivated to wander off if they know their food provider is nearby.
Remember how nobody but us drove up it? Or my parents, since I was 12 and didn't drive, and really, thank goodness I didn't learn to drive on that driveway because I probably would have killed us all. Well, the one person who ever drove up was the Avon lady. She must have really, really wanted that pink Cadillac to risk the Most Treacherous Driveway Known to Man.
Now, our dogs were no longer used to seeing anyone but us since nobody but us ever made the trek. Also, they could probably smell her desperation. So they barked at her. I can imagine she was frightened because most people have an irrational fear of bulldogs, but by golly, she was going to get that pink Cadillac even if she needed an artificial leg to drive it with.
By the time she got to the door the dogs were in a near frenzy. They didn't trust her, they didn't like her, they wanted her to roll herself back down the hill. So when my mom opened the front door and our kitten went darting out, George, the only boy dog, grabbed the kitten in his mouth to defend her from the evil Avon lady who obviously would stop at nothing to get to us with her overrated makeup and cheap perfume.
Bulldogs were originally bred to fight. They were bred to fight bulls, hence the name. They were designed to clamp down on the neck of a bull and hold on until they brought the bull down. It all sounds very violent and ugly and inhumane, but this is the strength that came down on our poor little kitten. And I'm sure it looked very violent. The Avon lady screamed. My mom screamed at her to leave. The Avon lady screamed and said she was sorry (because she knew it was her fault). My mother told her that the best thing she could do would be to vacate our property immediately as she had done enough damage and to never, ever return again.
Of course as soon as she was gone, George released the kitten. He was only protecting it from her. The poor boy didn't realize what he had really done because he didn't realize how strong he was. He just reacted. With the best of intentions, of course. His jaws of steel crushed our poor little kitten and we lost her in a matter of minutes. The damage was too great, there wasn't even time to rush her to the vet.
George was not reprimanded. We cried because it was sad, but we knew he was only trying to protect his family. There was nothing even to forgive him for. Besides, he was never the smart one and it was clear that he was confused by our deep sadness. He was sure that he had done a Good Thing like a Good Boy.
I have never bought anything from Avon. I never will. I've never been friends with anyone affiliated with Avon, as far as I know. We blamed that woman for her stupidity and her insensitivity. We blamed her for the death of our little kitten.
I wasn't sure what the moral of that story was until recently. For the longest time it was just that Avon and stupid Avon ladies aren't to be trusted. But I think if that incident happened today, there would have been far more serious consequences for us and for George. Sure, she ignored a steep driveway and stepped onto a property despite the warning barks of dogs, but I bet today George would be blamed for what happened that day. In today's world he would be seen as a vicious animal and vicious animals are removed from their homes. We would have been devastated had he been taken from us. We loved our dumb George. And we knew that he was only protecting us, his family.
And this is what happens in the vast majority of the cases we hear about. Dogs are being dogs. Protecting their families, their territory, acting out of a sense of responsibility and often fear. We need to remember this. Respect a dog that's barking. Respect his boundaries and pay attention to his body language. Dogs can't talk to us in our language, but they are yelling at us to get our attention in theirs.
Still, I think the second moral of the story is that if you sell Avon, bad things will happen to you.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
How to Make People Think You Have a Mental Health Issue
You might think the title of this post refers to me. Surprisingly, it doesn't. Except in the respect that I was so disturbed by what I am about to tell you that my mental stability was at risk.
The wife and I went to breakfast yesterday. It's getting to be a regular Saturday routine, which makes me feel like a Sex and the City character, only we don't need four women, just two because the two of us make enough trouble for four people.
I digress.
When I walked to my table I saw a small baby in a high chair right next to us. It was abnormally tiny and not moving. It was also not dressed appropriately for the weather. That's because it wasn't a real baby. Silly me for assuming that restaurant high chairs are reserved for real babies. Duh. Especially in crowded restaurants where there's not enough space to start with. Yeah, let's waste it on a piece of plastic.
So that's not even the weird part. Or the real asshole part. It gets worse.
The dad had to go to the bathroom. The high chair was in his way. He very carefully slid it back so as not to disturb Fake Baby. And then he removed books from the book shelf behind him so that Fake Baby could see over the table. First it was just a few but I guess that wasn't enough. He put a whole freaking stack in the chair. For Fake Baby. And he didn't lift her up by her head, he gently asked his daughter hold her so he could get it just right. Like he didn't want to upset Fake Baby.
Okay. So maybe it was really sweet that he was showing his daughter's doll such tenderness in helping to care for her. But I really think that he believed the doll was real. It was weird. It was disturbing. And distracting. And really just fucking freaky.
I might have nightmares. Chucky has nothing on that Fake Baby bitch.
The wife and I went to breakfast yesterday. It's getting to be a regular Saturday routine, which makes me feel like a Sex and the City character, only we don't need four women, just two because the two of us make enough trouble for four people.
I digress.
When I walked to my table I saw a small baby in a high chair right next to us. It was abnormally tiny and not moving. It was also not dressed appropriately for the weather. That's because it wasn't a real baby. Silly me for assuming that restaurant high chairs are reserved for real babies. Duh. Especially in crowded restaurants where there's not enough space to start with. Yeah, let's waste it on a piece of plastic.
So that's not even the weird part. Or the real asshole part. It gets worse.
The dad had to go to the bathroom. The high chair was in his way. He very carefully slid it back so as not to disturb Fake Baby. And then he removed books from the book shelf behind him so that Fake Baby could see over the table. First it was just a few but I guess that wasn't enough. He put a whole freaking stack in the chair. For Fake Baby. And he didn't lift her up by her head, he gently asked his daughter hold her so he could get it just right. Like he didn't want to upset Fake Baby.
Okay. So maybe it was really sweet that he was showing his daughter's doll such tenderness in helping to care for her. But I really think that he believed the doll was real. It was weird. It was disturbing. And distracting. And really just fucking freaky.
I might have nightmares. Chucky has nothing on that Fake Baby bitch.
Lessons Learned at the Oregon Coast
I went on a little couple's retreat to the coast over the weekend. Actually it was kind of a family retreat since the puppies went along and left little room in the bed for us. Whatever. It's my favorite way to sleep.
Here are a few things I learned while I was there.
1. Rocks can be slippery and it hurts when one falls on them. However, I didn't bruise. Maybe I just don't have anymore blood.
2. Sea lions look like they're all best buddies when they're curled up together but they're constantly growling and biting at each other. They're nasty.
3. An excellent breakfast can't be duplicated when you order a different meal the next day. How are eggs and potatoes supposed to measure up to the best burrito ever? Also, it's good to get the one thing on the menu that sounds weird as a breakfast item. Like ham and asparagus crepes. Yum. With brandy sauce. Extra yum.
4. Ruby cares much more about her brother than she lets on. Remy wasn't feeling well after drinking salt water (duh) and spent the drive home shaking and acting pathetic. We covered him with a blanket but Ruby snuggled right up next to him to help keep him warm and comforted. She wouldn't even leave him to come snuggle with me.
5. Tables of Content is the best place for dinner on the coast. More on that later.
6. Not all clam chowders are created equal. Some of them aren't even any good. At all.
7. Traveling with dogs is awesome. They have the joy of discovery like small children without the whining or dirty diapers.
Here are a few things I learned while I was there.
1. Rocks can be slippery and it hurts when one falls on them. However, I didn't bruise. Maybe I just don't have anymore blood.
2. Sea lions look like they're all best buddies when they're curled up together but they're constantly growling and biting at each other. They're nasty.
3. An excellent breakfast can't be duplicated when you order a different meal the next day. How are eggs and potatoes supposed to measure up to the best burrito ever? Also, it's good to get the one thing on the menu that sounds weird as a breakfast item. Like ham and asparagus crepes. Yum. With brandy sauce. Extra yum.
4. Ruby cares much more about her brother than she lets on. Remy wasn't feeling well after drinking salt water (duh) and spent the drive home shaking and acting pathetic. We covered him with a blanket but Ruby snuggled right up next to him to help keep him warm and comforted. She wouldn't even leave him to come snuggle with me.
5. Tables of Content is the best place for dinner on the coast. More on that later.
6. Not all clam chowders are created equal. Some of them aren't even any good. At all.
7. Traveling with dogs is awesome. They have the joy of discovery like small children without the whining or dirty diapers.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Baby Snuggles and New Beginnings
I told you about a special family in December. I've kept in touch with Mom since then and, even though I am incredibly lame and haven't yet finished Princess's armoir that I started three months ago, she invited me to come visit and see Baby Boy.
You guys, he is the sweetest little boy in the world! He just snuggled and sighed and melted my heart. And he is so healthy! He's a big boy at the 90th percentile. Mom is doing such a good job with him and, by the way, looks incredible. It's funny meeting someone at the height of pregnancy and puffiness and then discovering what they look like under all of that. She's beautiful.
Princess is doing so well. Her room was organized and filled with Barbies and movies and cleaned up so nicely. However, she assured me that it would soon be messy again because "that's what kids do." She is an absolute delight and I was so secretly thrilled to see that she was wearing the shoes that I had bought for her.
They had another reason for me to come over. They'd made up a thank you card for my office, for everyone who had helped them get their new start in life. Princess had colored and decorated it (she showed me specifically what she did) and Mom added pictures she had taken Christmas morning. There is so much happiness and love in that card. And it's huge! It's now hanging on our bulletin board in the hall.
I think a lot of times when we help someone it's in the short-term or it's anonymous or part of a huge effort such as hurricane relief. We don't get to see if our efforts truly matter. We don't know if we've made a difference. Which isn't the point, really. Giving comes from the heart and shouldn't expect anything in return.
Still, it's nice to see the difference for a change. It's heartwarming to see this family settled into their home with all of the things we take for granted. Furniture. A toaster. A bathmat. It's nice to know that a little girl has warm clothes to wear to school and a baby boy who likes to snuggle has soft blankets to cozy into at night. And that a mom can breathe a little easier with some of the burden off of her shoulders. She can take a break and think about her options. Because she has them now. She can think about returning to school because she doesn't have to worry about whether or not her daughter is going to have a bed to sleep in. She's strong and smart and just needed a little bit of help.
I'm grateful to have been a small part of that. If she's inspired to pay it forward, wonderful. If it stops with her and her children, I'm okay with that too. Because she's not out of the clear yet, she needs to figure out how to take care of her children in the long-term. It's not easy to start over and it's especially not easy as a single mom with an infant. I know she can do it. She's come so far already.
You guys, he is the sweetest little boy in the world! He just snuggled and sighed and melted my heart. And he is so healthy! He's a big boy at the 90th percentile. Mom is doing such a good job with him and, by the way, looks incredible. It's funny meeting someone at the height of pregnancy and puffiness and then discovering what they look like under all of that. She's beautiful.
Princess is doing so well. Her room was organized and filled with Barbies and movies and cleaned up so nicely. However, she assured me that it would soon be messy again because "that's what kids do." She is an absolute delight and I was so secretly thrilled to see that she was wearing the shoes that I had bought for her.
They had another reason for me to come over. They'd made up a thank you card for my office, for everyone who had helped them get their new start in life. Princess had colored and decorated it (she showed me specifically what she did) and Mom added pictures she had taken Christmas morning. There is so much happiness and love in that card. And it's huge! It's now hanging on our bulletin board in the hall.
I think a lot of times when we help someone it's in the short-term or it's anonymous or part of a huge effort such as hurricane relief. We don't get to see if our efforts truly matter. We don't know if we've made a difference. Which isn't the point, really. Giving comes from the heart and shouldn't expect anything in return.
Still, it's nice to see the difference for a change. It's heartwarming to see this family settled into their home with all of the things we take for granted. Furniture. A toaster. A bathmat. It's nice to know that a little girl has warm clothes to wear to school and a baby boy who likes to snuggle has soft blankets to cozy into at night. And that a mom can breathe a little easier with some of the burden off of her shoulders. She can take a break and think about her options. Because she has them now. She can think about returning to school because she doesn't have to worry about whether or not her daughter is going to have a bed to sleep in. She's strong and smart and just needed a little bit of help.
I'm grateful to have been a small part of that. If she's inspired to pay it forward, wonderful. If it stops with her and her children, I'm okay with that too. Because she's not out of the clear yet, she needs to figure out how to take care of her children in the long-term. It's not easy to start over and it's especially not easy as a single mom with an infant. I know she can do it. She's come so far already.
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Priorities
Last night D and I went to dinner. She was needing some mom time, I was needing some bread. I really needed to put myself into a coma after the craptastic day I had, but I settled for empty carbs.
When it came time to pay the bill, I had a small heart attack. Actually, it was just another crappy thing to add to my crappy day. See, during the day I had to take my ID out for the life exam lady and when I put my wallet away, I just threw it in the drawer on top of my purse. The stupid thing did not magically put itself away inside of my purse. Of course I forgot until I needed it. On the other end of town. After I had eaten my grilled chicken and D had her fill of shrimp pasta.
While images of washing dishes in shame flashed through my head, D calmly said, "Don't worry Mom, I can drive home. I have my ID." Because that is the first thing she thought of as a teenager who wants desperately to drive everywhere herself and only wishes she could do it alone. She wasn't thinking about doing dishes next to me.
Luckily, I use my debit card enough that I have the number memorized. When I tried to explain this to our waitress, she immediately called a manager over. As if I had grown horns and fangs since the last time she stopped by our table. Her reaction was reflected in her tip.
D did get to drive home. She came within an inch of hitting a camper, took the extra long way out of the parking lot, and nearly parked on top of the bikes in the garage, but didn't kill anyone. At least it was a good reminder to not forget my wallet again.
When it came time to pay the bill, I had a small heart attack. Actually, it was just another crappy thing to add to my crappy day. See, during the day I had to take my ID out for the life exam lady and when I put my wallet away, I just threw it in the drawer on top of my purse. The stupid thing did not magically put itself away inside of my purse. Of course I forgot until I needed it. On the other end of town. After I had eaten my grilled chicken and D had her fill of shrimp pasta.
While images of washing dishes in shame flashed through my head, D calmly said, "Don't worry Mom, I can drive home. I have my ID." Because that is the first thing she thought of as a teenager who wants desperately to drive everywhere herself and only wishes she could do it alone. She wasn't thinking about doing dishes next to me.
Luckily, I use my debit card enough that I have the number memorized. When I tried to explain this to our waitress, she immediately called a manager over. As if I had grown horns and fangs since the last time she stopped by our table. Her reaction was reflected in her tip.
D did get to drive home. She came within an inch of hitting a camper, took the extra long way out of the parking lot, and nearly parked on top of the bikes in the garage, but didn't kill anyone. At least it was a good reminder to not forget my wallet again.
Friday, February 01, 2013
The Story of Kelsha
The first day that I met Kelsha was also the first day that I met KY's mom and his best friend. All of the important women in his life. He said his dog didn't like many people but she immediately ambled up to me on her short little legs and greeted me with a smile.
The second time I saw Kelsha she was having leg problems and was unable to get herself around. Even in her discomfort she wasn't displeased with me. I saw her a handful of times after that when she was outside and I was walking up to the house. Always friendly, always accepting of a pat on the head or scratch behind the ear.
This is not a long story because Kelsha is in her last chapter. She's slowing down and nearing the last few pages. I've been fortunate to be able to spend this last week with her. I didn't know her as a puppy or adult, but I am getting to know her senior self.
Kelsha is wonderful. In the way that only old dogs can be. She's sweet and has mastered the art of looking adorable by laying her head just so. She gently nudges my hand when I stop petting her and tolerates being covered under a blanket. Her head smells like a little cow and so that is what I call her now. Little Cow. I have fallen in love with her.
She no longer wants to eat. She might patiently take a bite or two of what's offered, but no more than that. Her back legs betray her and she often needs help getting back up. Some days she just wants to be carried. She's covered in benign tumors which can't feel good. It takes forever for her to walk anywhere and most of the time she just wants to lie down on her bed and sleep.
KY is endlessly patient with her. If I didn't love him already, this would be the way to my heart. He's so gentle and caring in a way that I haven't seen before. I think dogs have a way of bringing out our best in ways that we can't do for each other.
I may have missed the first 13 years of her life, but I'm grateful for the time I have had to get to know her. I feel privileged that they both have allowed me to spend this time together. There is now a special piece in my heart with Kelsha's name on it and in some way I will be a better person having had this precious experience.
The second time I saw Kelsha she was having leg problems and was unable to get herself around. Even in her discomfort she wasn't displeased with me. I saw her a handful of times after that when she was outside and I was walking up to the house. Always friendly, always accepting of a pat on the head or scratch behind the ear.
This is not a long story because Kelsha is in her last chapter. She's slowing down and nearing the last few pages. I've been fortunate to be able to spend this last week with her. I didn't know her as a puppy or adult, but I am getting to know her senior self.
Kelsha is wonderful. In the way that only old dogs can be. She's sweet and has mastered the art of looking adorable by laying her head just so. She gently nudges my hand when I stop petting her and tolerates being covered under a blanket. Her head smells like a little cow and so that is what I call her now. Little Cow. I have fallen in love with her.
She no longer wants to eat. She might patiently take a bite or two of what's offered, but no more than that. Her back legs betray her and she often needs help getting back up. Some days she just wants to be carried. She's covered in benign tumors which can't feel good. It takes forever for her to walk anywhere and most of the time she just wants to lie down on her bed and sleep.
KY is endlessly patient with her. If I didn't love him already, this would be the way to my heart. He's so gentle and caring in a way that I haven't seen before. I think dogs have a way of bringing out our best in ways that we can't do for each other.
I may have missed the first 13 years of her life, but I'm grateful for the time I have had to get to know her. I feel privileged that they both have allowed me to spend this time together. There is now a special piece in my heart with Kelsha's name on it and in some way I will be a better person having had this precious experience.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Meditating in Downward Dog
I've been sitting at my desk for long periods of time lately. Too long. Plus I'm kinda old so I get stiff really quickly. Tonight I thought I would do a nice, stretching yoga session to help get some of that out. I thought it would be relaxing. I forget that I live with two little Boston Terrors.
I tried to get them in relaxing mode by feeding them and turning on the fireplace. Ruby gravitates to that like a moth to a (literal) flame. Remy is normally the one who tries to distract me.
Full bellies. Warm fire. Dim the lights. Lay down the mat. Breathe.
Get interrupted. Immediately. Because of course the little beasts want to go outside. Fine. Stretch while waiting for them to finish. Let them in. They run through the house like crazy. Fine. They'll settle down. I settle into Downward Dog.
And then. The shit hits the mat. The literal shit hits the mat.
Because Ruby decides to come tearing across it and leaves a brown spot. Right in front of my face. Get up, get a wet paper towel, wipe the mat. She runs across it again thinking she's cute. She's not. Because something smells bad. She stepped in poo and then ran into the house and across my mat. Right where I will put my face in any sort of pose where I'm facing down.
I get the mat cleaned off and start again. I get through the poses and start to relax. Even though Remy is pacing around me. Then comes the meditation part. A nice mantra. How lovely. "Treat all outside noises like thoughts and push them away." Jump out of my skin when the damn dogs start barking and go racing to the front door because they apparently heard an imaginary doorbell. Little fuckers. I'd like to push them off a cliff right now.
Ruby finally curls in front of the fire. Remy finally goes to lay down in another part of the house. It could be the cold floor of the garage for all I care. I finish the last five minutes in peace. Namaste.
And then I turn around and see the poop spots on the carpet and I am conveniently out of carpet cleaner.
I think there's still some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. I'm going to go self-medicate now.
Monday, January 21, 2013
The Name Change
My first name is nine letters long. My last name is also nine letters long. Add in my middle name and we get a grand total of 23 characters. Plus spaces. That's a lot of typing. With many opportunities for error. Not to mention there are roughly 83 ways to spell my first name. There's a Catholic spelling, a Greek spelling, a lazy spelling, phonetic spelling, on and on.
I thought this morning that shortening my name might be nice. People try to shorten it all the time, against my wishes. That or they come up with something completely unrelated. I mean, if you say your name is Barbara, I'm not going to say, "Oh, it's nice to meet you Francis." But people do that to me on a regular basis. Then again, people are basically stupid. (Forget good or evil, the answer is stupid.)
So I came up with Pie. Because you'd remember someone with a name like Pie, right? And everybody likes pie so they'd like me. If someone randomly said, "I love pie", I could say, "I love you too." And that would make me a nicer person. Nobody hates pie. There are too many kinds to like And even if someone did say "I hate blueberry pie" I couldn't take it personally because I'm not Blueberry Pie. I'm just Pie. But if they said "I love okra pie", even though that sounds gross, I could choose to take that personally and feel good about myself.
I think I'm onto something. If we all had nice names, then we'd all be nicer people. Your neighbor could be Chocolate. A co-worker could be Puppy Breath. Name your baby Pajamas and see what happens.
I'm going to start with Pie.
I thought this morning that shortening my name might be nice. People try to shorten it all the time, against my wishes. That or they come up with something completely unrelated. I mean, if you say your name is Barbara, I'm not going to say, "Oh, it's nice to meet you Francis." But people do that to me on a regular basis. Then again, people are basically stupid. (Forget good or evil, the answer is stupid.)
So I came up with Pie. Because you'd remember someone with a name like Pie, right? And everybody likes pie so they'd like me. If someone randomly said, "I love pie", I could say, "I love you too." And that would make me a nicer person. Nobody hates pie. There are too many kinds to like And even if someone did say "I hate blueberry pie" I couldn't take it personally because I'm not Blueberry Pie. I'm just Pie. But if they said "I love okra pie", even though that sounds gross, I could choose to take that personally and feel good about myself.
I think I'm onto something. If we all had nice names, then we'd all be nicer people. Your neighbor could be Chocolate. A co-worker could be Puppy Breath. Name your baby Pajamas and see what happens.
I'm going to start with Pie.
Socially Awkward Dog Is Not Steve Buscemi
I took the Boston Terrors out for an unprecedented, two-days-in-a-row-in-January! walk. Well, I took Ruby twice, Remy just one of those times. And he's the one that was properly socialized as a puppy, but I don't know if I ever want to be seen in public with him again.
Saturday Ruby and I went for a walk with the wife and her pug Shanaenae Laquifah Kwanza Jackson. AKA Gracie. I so want these two to be best friends, but Ruby doesn't get the concept of friendship. When she's not completely ignoring little Gracie, she's trying to kill her. Stealthily. As in no warning, no alarm, just full-on lunging for her throat.
She does, however, get the concept of shopping. After doing half of the Old Mill loop, we took them around the shops in order to get the full effect of their cuteness. Ruby window shops. It's not all stores, just the ones that catch her eye. She'll stop, peek inside, and then continue her booty-shaking strut. Then we came to Victoria's Secret, where she wanted to go inside. She tried to walk into both the Pink side and the regular side. I don't know if it was the lace or the smell that attracted her.
On Sunday KY and I took both Ruby and Remy so that I could lose a few calories before consuming my much-anticipated movie popcorn. Again, Ruby wanted to go into Vicki's. She even sat down in the doorway when I pulled her back. Maybe she's getting inspiration to lose a few pounds. Like mother, like dog.
Afterward, we took Remy to the dog park. Ruby had to sit outside because the sign clearly said "No aggressive dogs." Remy used to be the good one. He used to know how to play. Yesterday it was like he forgot how to be a normal dog.
First of all, he had to pee on the gate before we even got in. A drop of it splashed on my shoe. Gross. Then he sniffed the butts of the three giant Husky-type dogs who had zero interest in him. He looked retarded. Next, he went around trying to get anything bigger than him to chase him. Nobody took the bait. He looked like a socially retarded kid that all the other kids just turn away from. They know better than to be mean to him and they're more embarrassed for him than anything else anyway.
When nobody would play with him, he started barking for their attention. I actually heard some guy say to him, "Shut up, Steve Buscemi!" and then he laughed at him.
The darling little husky puppy wanted to play with him but she must have been too close to his size because he just growled at her to leave him alone. After that I decided I'd had enough humiliation and led him back out. Of course he had to pee on the gate again as a final embarrassment.
I think I'll stick to lunching with Ruby and Shanaenae. I am determined to make them best friends.
Saturday Ruby and I went for a walk with the wife and her pug Shanaenae Laquifah Kwanza Jackson. AKA Gracie. I so want these two to be best friends, but Ruby doesn't get the concept of friendship. When she's not completely ignoring little Gracie, she's trying to kill her. Stealthily. As in no warning, no alarm, just full-on lunging for her throat.
She does, however, get the concept of shopping. After doing half of the Old Mill loop, we took them around the shops in order to get the full effect of their cuteness. Ruby window shops. It's not all stores, just the ones that catch her eye. She'll stop, peek inside, and then continue her booty-shaking strut. Then we came to Victoria's Secret, where she wanted to go inside. She tried to walk into both the Pink side and the regular side. I don't know if it was the lace or the smell that attracted her.
On Sunday KY and I took both Ruby and Remy so that I could lose a few calories before consuming my much-anticipated movie popcorn. Again, Ruby wanted to go into Vicki's. She even sat down in the doorway when I pulled her back. Maybe she's getting inspiration to lose a few pounds. Like mother, like dog.
Afterward, we took Remy to the dog park. Ruby had to sit outside because the sign clearly said "No aggressive dogs." Remy used to be the good one. He used to know how to play. Yesterday it was like he forgot how to be a normal dog.
First of all, he had to pee on the gate before we even got in. A drop of it splashed on my shoe. Gross. Then he sniffed the butts of the three giant Husky-type dogs who had zero interest in him. He looked retarded. Next, he went around trying to get anything bigger than him to chase him. Nobody took the bait. He looked like a socially retarded kid that all the other kids just turn away from. They know better than to be mean to him and they're more embarrassed for him than anything else anyway.
When nobody would play with him, he started barking for their attention. I actually heard some guy say to him, "Shut up, Steve Buscemi!" and then he laughed at him.
The darling little husky puppy wanted to play with him but she must have been too close to his size because he just growled at her to leave him alone. After that I decided I'd had enough humiliation and led him back out. Of course he had to pee on the gate again as a final embarrassment.
I think I'll stick to lunching with Ruby and Shanaenae. I am determined to make them best friends.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Remembering Barbie
When I was little, my favorite toys were my Barbies. I had the three-story Barbie townhouse with the elevator and a pink convertible sports car. My best friend Jenny and I would play with them for hours, when we weren't playing in her mom's high heels. She come home from a summer visit with her dad once and brought a new Barbie which I then coveted until I got one of my own for my birthday. It was the Beauty Secrets Barbie and she had the longest, most beautiful hair we'd ever seen. We loved her long pink gown and braided her hair in as many ways we could think of.
What I loved about Barbie was her tiny little shoes and how you could buy them in any color to match her many outfits. I could spend hours in the Barbie aisle at Toys R' Us looking at all of the clothes and accessories and furniture and jewelry that were available for her. I'd dress her and undress her and brush her hair until she looked perfect. Sometimes I'd make furniture for her out of shoe boxes or blankets out of scraps of material.
My stepbrother visited every summer and added a very dangerous and dark element to Barbie's life. His GI Joe was well-known as a Barbie rapist and assaulted her on a regular basis. Mostly it was date rape. But aside from that, Barbie had a pretty nice life in Southern California. However, this is probably the reason that there was never a Ken in my small collection. My Barbie remained single.
D's first Barbie was actually Mulan and was a reward for potty training. She was two and a half. After that she wanted every Barbie known to man - shopping Barbie, Glinda the Good Witch, Belle, Barbie's sister, whatever was on the shelf in every season. She actually horrified me with her poor care of them. Cutting their hair, throwing them in piles in her toy box, leaving them half-naked everywhere. She loved them, but she didn't care for them the way I did.
As an adult I learned how "unhealthy" Barbie is for little girls' self-esteem. How if she were real, she'd be an Amazon and severely deformed. That she is an unrealistic role model for girls everywhere. But here's the thing. Barbie is a doll. We all knew that. She's a doll and we got to say what she wore and we got to decide what kind of life she had and we decided how she should wear her hair. We used our imaginations to create scenarios for her when we played with her. It was play and it was fun and we sadly outgrew her over the years.
Barbie wasn't real the way "role models" today are. Little girls are now exposed to the Nicki Minaj's and Snookis and Honey Boo Boos of the world. Sexuality is forced on them at too-early ages and the idea of what they "should be" is continuously dumbed down. What must little girls think life is meant to be with all of these images constantly thrust at them? Not to mention the whole phenomenon of Twilight, where a lonely girl changes who she is physically just so she can be with a boy whose family member wants to kill her.
I played quietly with Barbie in my room. She could be a doctor or a mom or as glamorous or plain as I wanted. It was up to me. I made my own choices. It's harder for girls today to make their own choices with all of the surrounding noise and images of women who behave wildly just for the attention.
All of this makes Barbie look as innocent as she is. After all, she was invented as a playmate by a mother for her daughter. As a way for her daughter to act out her own dreams and her own future.
I'd take Barbie over Bella any day.
What I loved about Barbie was her tiny little shoes and how you could buy them in any color to match her many outfits. I could spend hours in the Barbie aisle at Toys R' Us looking at all of the clothes and accessories and furniture and jewelry that were available for her. I'd dress her and undress her and brush her hair until she looked perfect. Sometimes I'd make furniture for her out of shoe boxes or blankets out of scraps of material.
My stepbrother visited every summer and added a very dangerous and dark element to Barbie's life. His GI Joe was well-known as a Barbie rapist and assaulted her on a regular basis. Mostly it was date rape. But aside from that, Barbie had a pretty nice life in Southern California. However, this is probably the reason that there was never a Ken in my small collection. My Barbie remained single.
D's first Barbie was actually Mulan and was a reward for potty training. She was two and a half. After that she wanted every Barbie known to man - shopping Barbie, Glinda the Good Witch, Belle, Barbie's sister, whatever was on the shelf in every season. She actually horrified me with her poor care of them. Cutting their hair, throwing them in piles in her toy box, leaving them half-naked everywhere. She loved them, but she didn't care for them the way I did.
As an adult I learned how "unhealthy" Barbie is for little girls' self-esteem. How if she were real, she'd be an Amazon and severely deformed. That she is an unrealistic role model for girls everywhere. But here's the thing. Barbie is a doll. We all knew that. She's a doll and we got to say what she wore and we got to decide what kind of life she had and we decided how she should wear her hair. We used our imaginations to create scenarios for her when we played with her. It was play and it was fun and we sadly outgrew her over the years.
Barbie wasn't real the way "role models" today are. Little girls are now exposed to the Nicki Minaj's and Snookis and Honey Boo Boos of the world. Sexuality is forced on them at too-early ages and the idea of what they "should be" is continuously dumbed down. What must little girls think life is meant to be with all of these images constantly thrust at them? Not to mention the whole phenomenon of Twilight, where a lonely girl changes who she is physically just so she can be with a boy whose family member wants to kill her.
I played quietly with Barbie in my room. She could be a doctor or a mom or as glamorous or plain as I wanted. It was up to me. I made my own choices. It's harder for girls today to make their own choices with all of the surrounding noise and images of women who behave wildly just for the attention.
All of this makes Barbie look as innocent as she is. After all, she was invented as a playmate by a mother for her daughter. As a way for her daughter to act out her own dreams and her own future.
I'd take Barbie over Bella any day.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
With This Stapler I Thee Wed
How many of you have a work spouse? You know, a member of the opposite sex that you work with, lunch with, and generally spend most of your day with until you go home to your real spouse? They're someone you like and have common interests with and you become dependent on them. And it can get emotional because sometimes you need someone to save your bacon when you're on a deadline and you know you can always count on that person.
My friend Sam has one of these. I think his voice sounds like Michael Jackson, but I think she's attracted to the way he talks about his family. And let's face it, ladies, family men who are truly dedicated to their wife and kids are some of the hottest guys around. So I can't blame her. And they do work together a lot. Very closely. As in he purposely presses a knee against her leg sometimes. He knows that she knows that he's doing it on purpose but they both pretend that neither one of them knows and will never admit that they know. Because if they knew for real, out loud, it would all have to stop since it would then be something less than innocent.
And work spouses can cause a bit of damage for those who don't treat it as what it is. It's a working relationship. It's not a replacement for the relationship you have in your "real" life and it can't come before your "real" relationship. It happens between work hours and then it stops.
The closest thing I have to a work husband is JZ and we're more like an old married couple than newlyweds. In fact we bypassed the whole courting stage and went straight to comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that he complains about the way my coffee smells and has no problem throwing an occasional "bitch" my way. But that's probably because I nag him about picking up cupcakes and force him to be a part of projects he really has no interest in. We came dangerously close to a divorce when we went on the same diet. If we were really married, we would have been sleeping in separate rooms and beginning to divide our assets. As it is, we take separate vacations.
If you don't have a work spouse, I highly recommend getting one. At the very least they're entertaining. You always have someone to sit next to in meetings, they can buy you coffee or lunch, and they can write complicated SQL statements when you need them. If you're lucky they can provide you some innocent flirting. And if you're really lucky, and also not already married or otherwise committed for real, then you don't have to follow any rules at all.
My friend Sam has one of these. I think his voice sounds like Michael Jackson, but I think she's attracted to the way he talks about his family. And let's face it, ladies, family men who are truly dedicated to their wife and kids are some of the hottest guys around. So I can't blame her. And they do work together a lot. Very closely. As in he purposely presses a knee against her leg sometimes. He knows that she knows that he's doing it on purpose but they both pretend that neither one of them knows and will never admit that they know. Because if they knew for real, out loud, it would all have to stop since it would then be something less than innocent.
And work spouses can cause a bit of damage for those who don't treat it as what it is. It's a working relationship. It's not a replacement for the relationship you have in your "real" life and it can't come before your "real" relationship. It happens between work hours and then it stops.
The closest thing I have to a work husband is JZ and we're more like an old married couple than newlyweds. In fact we bypassed the whole courting stage and went straight to comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that he complains about the way my coffee smells and has no problem throwing an occasional "bitch" my way. But that's probably because I nag him about picking up cupcakes and force him to be a part of projects he really has no interest in. We came dangerously close to a divorce when we went on the same diet. If we were really married, we would have been sleeping in separate rooms and beginning to divide our assets. As it is, we take separate vacations.
If you don't have a work spouse, I highly recommend getting one. At the very least they're entertaining. You always have someone to sit next to in meetings, they can buy you coffee or lunch, and they can write complicated SQL statements when you need them. If you're lucky they can provide you some innocent flirting. And if you're really lucky, and also not already married or otherwise committed for real, then you don't have to follow any rules at all.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Cat As Metaphor
My co-worker, JZ, has the seat by the window and alerts me to the interesting things that either enter into or pass by the building. The family of deer, transgenders, dogs for me to molest. Today he remarked that there is a cat that walks by on a regular basis. He is dark gray and kind of stocky and rough-looking.
Me: Oh, that's a street cat.
JZ: He could be a house kitty. At my house.
Me: No, he's definitely a street cat. He's just out there roaming the neighborhood, being a ladies' man.
JZ: Some street kitties can turn into house kitties. They just need a nice warm place to stay.
Me: Are you projecting onto that cat?
JZ: Maybe. Maybe he just wants a warm place to sleep. And food. He can have a kitty door so he can come and go as he pleases.
Me: And that's why you're still single.
Me: Oh, that's a street cat.
JZ: He could be a house kitty. At my house.
Me: No, he's definitely a street cat. He's just out there roaming the neighborhood, being a ladies' man.
JZ: Some street kitties can turn into house kitties. They just need a nice warm place to stay.
Me: Are you projecting onto that cat?
JZ: Maybe. Maybe he just wants a warm place to sleep. And food. He can have a kitty door so he can come and go as he pleases.
Me: And that's why you're still single.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Where My Mind Goes
I left work early yesterday to take D to a couple of appointments and then met up with some work peeps for a drink after. I was having a conversation with JZ, who sits next to me in the office, when the conversation took a turn for the stupid.
JZ: So who left the panties on my desk?
Me: um...... (blushing and stammering and thinking to myself, WTF?!?!?) Who left WHAT?
JZ: Who left the pennies? There was a stack of pennies when I came back from lunch.
Me: OH! I thought you said PANTIES!
JZ: ha ha ha ha.... Of course you did.
Me: Well, of course it's funny that I heard it that way, but I thought it was really pretentious of you to think that I would be the one to leave panties on your desk. I mean. Really.
JZ: ha ha ha ha ha ha......
To my credit, it was very loud in there.
JZ: So who left the panties on my desk?
Me: um...... (blushing and stammering and thinking to myself, WTF?!?!?) Who left WHAT?
JZ: Who left the pennies? There was a stack of pennies when I came back from lunch.
Me: OH! I thought you said PANTIES!
JZ: ha ha ha ha.... Of course you did.
Me: Well, of course it's funny that I heard it that way, but I thought it was really pretentious of you to think that I would be the one to leave panties on your desk. I mean. Really.
JZ: ha ha ha ha ha ha......
To my credit, it was very loud in there.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
It's Not Every Day You Have Lunch with Someone You Haven't Seen in 30 Years
We shared a boyfriend in fourth grade. We roller skated by his house in an early form of stalking. We tricked our fourth grade teacher into letting us watch Days of Our Lives at lunch by telling him it was a new colorized version of The Twilight Zone. We prank-called boys and strangers while teetering around in her mom's high heels. We swam in my pool, at the lake, and at the ocean. She wrote down the wrong lyrics to songs her brother listened to and we giggled long into the night.
The last time I saw her I was 12. It's been 30 years and we are having lunch today.
I was able to find her because I established my stalking skills early. It's been years, off and on, that I've tried to find her. We wrote once in college and lost touch after that. But I found her. Finally.
We've lived parallel lives. After college, we both altered our paths, took a few turns, did different things. We each have a daughter. And for the last 13 years, without knowing it, we have lived in the same town. We've shopped in the same stores, eaten in the same restaurants. She has unknowingly watched D dance in The Nutcracker. I substituted at her daughter's elementary school a lifetime ago.
How is it possible that I've never seen her while running into the same five or six people over and over and over? It seems like we would have at least one friend in common. One. Somewhere.
Today will change all of that. I will see her face-to-face. I will give her a huge hug and we will begin the process of catching up. Of re-establishing a friendship that started at the age of six. We will talk about our families - our parents, our siblings and, now, our children.
Her daughter is nine. The same age we were when we shared that boyfriend and wore bell-bottoms and passed notes in class. We now get to know each other as adults. As women. As moms.
I can't even begin to explain how full my heart is right now.
The last time I saw her I was 12. It's been 30 years and we are having lunch today.
I was able to find her because I established my stalking skills early. It's been years, off and on, that I've tried to find her. We wrote once in college and lost touch after that. But I found her. Finally.
We've lived parallel lives. After college, we both altered our paths, took a few turns, did different things. We each have a daughter. And for the last 13 years, without knowing it, we have lived in the same town. We've shopped in the same stores, eaten in the same restaurants. She has unknowingly watched D dance in The Nutcracker. I substituted at her daughter's elementary school a lifetime ago.
How is it possible that I've never seen her while running into the same five or six people over and over and over? It seems like we would have at least one friend in common. One. Somewhere.
Today will change all of that. I will see her face-to-face. I will give her a huge hug and we will begin the process of catching up. Of re-establishing a friendship that started at the age of six. We will talk about our families - our parents, our siblings and, now, our children.
Her daughter is nine. The same age we were when we shared that boyfriend and wore bell-bottoms and passed notes in class. We now get to know each other as adults. As women. As moms.
I can't even begin to explain how full my heart is right now.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?
If you don't know how much I love dogs, then we have never met. Everyone I know points dogs out to me wherever I am. I almost stole a puppy from a co-worker, which may be the reason he keeps him in the car now. The only reason I don't have more than two is because I don't have the money or the space for them. Otherwise I would have a whole bunch of them of all kinds. But mostly the smooshy-faced, because they're my favorites.
I grew up with bulldogs. My parents got our first, Astarte, when I was four. She was actually a gift to my mom when she was dating my dad. There was a small grassy hill next to our apartment and Astarte and I would roll down that hill over and over together.
Next came George. His brother was the bulldog in the Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry movies. I was mostly mean to him and would push him out of his favorite little hidey hole under the palm trees next to the pool.
George and Astarte produced Aphrodite, who gave birth to Venus and Cassiopeia from different litters. Cassie Gave birth to Taurus. There was also Maggie, who was supposed to be mine, but she drowned in the pool as a puppy.
After they all eventually died of cancer, my parents tried once more with a pair of older dogs from a breeder friend and then switched to a chihuahua and miniature Schnauzer. As of now, I think their pack includes the mini Schnauzer, a boxer, a golden retriever, and a mini dachsund. Whew.
I've loved dogs all my life. I've played with them, been drooled on by them, held them as teeny little puppies, making sure they were clean and well-fed, and slept in beds with them. What I missed most during my college years was having a dog around and I vowed to have another as soon as I could.
Dogs are wonderful. They love us unconditionally and forgive us our flaws. They often forgive far more than any creature should have to. They only live to be loved and to make us happy. Mine have curled up next to me while I cried, kept me warm at night, and are infinitely patient with all of my moods and weirdness.
With all that they give me, I want to give back. And it feels like giving back to just two small Bostons isn't enough. I want to give something to their brothers and sisters and cousins and distant, twice-removed cousins. I want to give by making sure that all waggy-tailed, saggy-skinned, stretched-out, drooling, little kissing machines have homes and families and know what it is to be loved.
I don't make resolutions at the start of the year. They don't stick. For a while I tried calling them goals, but that didn't make them stick either. And I'm not making a resolution this year either. But I am making a commitment. I'm making a commitment to do whatever I can to help animals in need. And I'm asking you to do the same.
How much is that doggy in the window? Too much. The cost that dogs pay when bred from puppy mills is too much. They pay with their lives. Most people today, hopefully, are aware of the tragedies caused by puppy mills. If you're not, I'm not going to go into it, just understand that it is devastating. You can look up the horrors for yourself. Just don't buy a dog from a pet store. End of story.
If you're thinking of getting a dog, think seriously about adopting. I adopted my Dalmatian, but not my Bostons. I will adopt next time. Even if you want a specific breed, there are rescue groups. And they often have puppies. Adopting saves lives.
Shelters are overrun with animals. It is a crime against nature that so many of them are put down daily. That their last days are spent in a cement cell. Do what you can. Adopt, foster, volunteer, donate.
The biggest way to keep animals out of shelters in the first place is to be responsible. There are enough dogs (and cats) in the world already who desperately need homes. Don't breed yours. Unless breeding is your life because you show them or are specifically committed to the integrity of the breed, don't do it. You want to make some extra money? Your dog is not a part-time job. Your dog is not a puppy factory. And you don't know that those puppies are going to loving, forever homes when you put them on Craigslist.
I realize that there are plenty of causes out there. People are homeless. Cancer is still an asshole. Children need protection. I support anyone who feels passionately about any cause and if you already have one, I wish you the best and thank you for what you are doing. My passion just happens to be dogs and if you aren't already doing something for someone, I urge you to join me.
I no longer want to see pictures of starving dogs or abused dogs or hear about dogs being made to fight or dogs being put down unfairly because they exhibit behaviors that have been bred into them by us. We, as people, took dogs into our homes, we taught them to be pets. We taught them to be dependent on us and to need us. Let's not let them down.
“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ”
― Roger Caras
I grew up with bulldogs. My parents got our first, Astarte, when I was four. She was actually a gift to my mom when she was dating my dad. There was a small grassy hill next to our apartment and Astarte and I would roll down that hill over and over together.
Next came George. His brother was the bulldog in the Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry movies. I was mostly mean to him and would push him out of his favorite little hidey hole under the palm trees next to the pool.
George and Astarte produced Aphrodite, who gave birth to Venus and Cassiopeia from different litters. Cassie Gave birth to Taurus. There was also Maggie, who was supposed to be mine, but she drowned in the pool as a puppy.
After they all eventually died of cancer, my parents tried once more with a pair of older dogs from a breeder friend and then switched to a chihuahua and miniature Schnauzer. As of now, I think their pack includes the mini Schnauzer, a boxer, a golden retriever, and a mini dachsund. Whew.
I've loved dogs all my life. I've played with them, been drooled on by them, held them as teeny little puppies, making sure they were clean and well-fed, and slept in beds with them. What I missed most during my college years was having a dog around and I vowed to have another as soon as I could.
Dogs are wonderful. They love us unconditionally and forgive us our flaws. They often forgive far more than any creature should have to. They only live to be loved and to make us happy. Mine have curled up next to me while I cried, kept me warm at night, and are infinitely patient with all of my moods and weirdness.
With all that they give me, I want to give back. And it feels like giving back to just two small Bostons isn't enough. I want to give something to their brothers and sisters and cousins and distant, twice-removed cousins. I want to give by making sure that all waggy-tailed, saggy-skinned, stretched-out, drooling, little kissing machines have homes and families and know what it is to be loved.
I don't make resolutions at the start of the year. They don't stick. For a while I tried calling them goals, but that didn't make them stick either. And I'm not making a resolution this year either. But I am making a commitment. I'm making a commitment to do whatever I can to help animals in need. And I'm asking you to do the same.
How much is that doggy in the window? Too much. The cost that dogs pay when bred from puppy mills is too much. They pay with their lives. Most people today, hopefully, are aware of the tragedies caused by puppy mills. If you're not, I'm not going to go into it, just understand that it is devastating. You can look up the horrors for yourself. Just don't buy a dog from a pet store. End of story.
If you're thinking of getting a dog, think seriously about adopting. I adopted my Dalmatian, but not my Bostons. I will adopt next time. Even if you want a specific breed, there are rescue groups. And they often have puppies. Adopting saves lives.
Shelters are overrun with animals. It is a crime against nature that so many of them are put down daily. That their last days are spent in a cement cell. Do what you can. Adopt, foster, volunteer, donate.
The biggest way to keep animals out of shelters in the first place is to be responsible. There are enough dogs (and cats) in the world already who desperately need homes. Don't breed yours. Unless breeding is your life because you show them or are specifically committed to the integrity of the breed, don't do it. You want to make some extra money? Your dog is not a part-time job. Your dog is not a puppy factory. And you don't know that those puppies are going to loving, forever homes when you put them on Craigslist.
I realize that there are plenty of causes out there. People are homeless. Cancer is still an asshole. Children need protection. I support anyone who feels passionately about any cause and if you already have one, I wish you the best and thank you for what you are doing. My passion just happens to be dogs and if you aren't already doing something for someone, I urge you to join me.
I no longer want to see pictures of starving dogs or abused dogs or hear about dogs being made to fight or dogs being put down unfairly because they exhibit behaviors that have been bred into them by us. We, as people, took dogs into our homes, we taught them to be pets. We taught them to be dependent on us and to need us. Let's not let them down.
“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ”
― Roger Caras
Friday, December 28, 2012
This Is Why I Love Her Sense of Humor
So yesterday I came home to find D alone in the house with a boy. Apparently their ice skating date had been canceled, but he still came over to see her. Huh.
She only smiled when I asked if he's a good kisser and then denied it all, which means something definitely happened. It must mean something if she's not telling me.
Anyway, I commented that I hope she waits to have sex with someone she really cares about. She said of course she's going to and then we had the following conversation.
Me: "I'm not saying I think you'll do it tomorrow, I just don't want you throwing away what could be a nice experience."
D: "Duh, Mom. I know that. Besides, there are plenty of other things to do besides just sex."
Me: "Ugh, I don't want to hear that!"
D: "I was talking about ice skating and bowling!"
Oh, help me......
She only smiled when I asked if he's a good kisser and then denied it all, which means something definitely happened. It must mean something if she's not telling me.
Anyway, I commented that I hope she waits to have sex with someone she really cares about. She said of course she's going to and then we had the following conversation.
Me: "I'm not saying I think you'll do it tomorrow, I just don't want you throwing away what could be a nice experience."
D: "Duh, Mom. I know that. Besides, there are plenty of other things to do besides just sex."
Me: "Ugh, I don't want to hear that!"
D: "I was talking about ice skating and bowling!"
Oh, help me......
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Where Does She Get It?
The other day I picked D up from school and we went Christmas shopping. Her friend Little N came along and the two of them talked about every detail of their day, which mostly had to do with boys.
When we stopped at a light, I saw a man begging with a sign and locked my doors. D thought that was exceptionally rude, but I assured her that he didn't hear me do it.
The car in front of us rolled their window down and it looked like they gave him money. The girls started going through their backpacks to see what they had and came up with a candy cane, a gold chocolate coin, and a strawberry candy.
I rolled my window down and motioned for the man to come to the car, telling him that the girls wanted him to have their candy. He got the biggest smile, said "That's awesome!" and then asked if I had a light, which I didn't. No matter, he seemed genuinely excited to be given candy and waved us off saying, "God bless you! Merry Christmas!"
It was actually really nice and felt good. I told the girls, "You just made that guy's day."
And D replied, "Even if we didn't, he might at least have better breath now."
When we stopped at a light, I saw a man begging with a sign and locked my doors. D thought that was exceptionally rude, but I assured her that he didn't hear me do it.
The car in front of us rolled their window down and it looked like they gave him money. The girls started going through their backpacks to see what they had and came up with a candy cane, a gold chocolate coin, and a strawberry candy.
I rolled my window down and motioned for the man to come to the car, telling him that the girls wanted him to have their candy. He got the biggest smile, said "That's awesome!" and then asked if I had a light, which I didn't. No matter, he seemed genuinely excited to be given candy and waved us off saying, "God bless you! Merry Christmas!"
It was actually really nice and felt good. I told the girls, "You just made that guy's day."
And D replied, "Even if we didn't, he might at least have better breath now."
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Pigs In Blankets
I have a king-sized bed. I also have two Boston Terriers. Because they are small dogs, one would think that a king-sized bed would easily accommodate the three of us. This would be an incorrect assumption.
Even if it's only me, I sleep on one side of the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the light, put my book down, set the alarm, or get a sip of water is just too much exercise to be done in a bed. This habit of mine leaves plenty of room for the dogs. They can stretch out. They can each have their own, separate spaces on the bed.
This doesn't happen.
My Puppy Loves like to sleep right next to me. As in right up against me. Which is kind of nice when I'm really cold, but not so great when I wake up and find myself on the very edge of the bed. With one dog at my torso and one at my legs.
My favorite thing is when they manage to pull the covers over to themselves while laying on top of them so that I'm left with only half covers and I'm cold and can't get their enormous weight to budge.
They also like to sleep under the covers. Especially Remy. If he's not under some type of cover he thinks the world is coming to an end. So several nights a week I am woken by a paw tapping my shoulder, waiting for me to lift the covers so he can find his favorite spot down by my feet.
Oh, wait. My very favorite thing is when Ruby is all snuggled up and I turn over to cuddle with her only to find that it's her butt in my face, not her face. And then she farts.
My sheets are not pretty. They are covered in hair and I know there have been dog butts on my pillows plenty of times. I find eye boogers and other, less-pleasing evidence of dogs if I dare to look closely enough.
You would think that it's time to kick them out. That I would sleep better with them in their own beds. That I would prefer clean sheets to hair and snoring and snorting and farting. You would be wrong, my friend.
Somehow it feels selfish to banish them to crates when I have such a large bed. It's also lonely without them. It's reassuring waking up to their warm bodies, knowing they find as much comfort from my half-covered, frozen, frustrated body. I love their smells and their sighs and their little frito feet. I love opening my eyes to find Ruby's little face next to mine, her look of pure contentment and trust.
Yeah, I pretty much sleep in a giant dog bed.
I wonder if I could teach them how to do laundry.....
Even if it's only me, I sleep on one side of the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the light, put my book down, set the alarm, or get a sip of water is just too much exercise to be done in a bed. This habit of mine leaves plenty of room for the dogs. They can stretch out. They can each have their own, separate spaces on the bed.
This doesn't happen.
My Puppy Loves like to sleep right next to me. As in right up against me. Which is kind of nice when I'm really cold, but not so great when I wake up and find myself on the very edge of the bed. With one dog at my torso and one at my legs.
My favorite thing is when they manage to pull the covers over to themselves while laying on top of them so that I'm left with only half covers and I'm cold and can't get their enormous weight to budge.
They also like to sleep under the covers. Especially Remy. If he's not under some type of cover he thinks the world is coming to an end. So several nights a week I am woken by a paw tapping my shoulder, waiting for me to lift the covers so he can find his favorite spot down by my feet.
Oh, wait. My very favorite thing is when Ruby is all snuggled up and I turn over to cuddle with her only to find that it's her butt in my face, not her face. And then she farts.
My sheets are not pretty. They are covered in hair and I know there have been dog butts on my pillows plenty of times. I find eye boogers and other, less-pleasing evidence of dogs if I dare to look closely enough.
You would think that it's time to kick them out. That I would sleep better with them in their own beds. That I would prefer clean sheets to hair and snoring and snorting and farting. You would be wrong, my friend.
Somehow it feels selfish to banish them to crates when I have such a large bed. It's also lonely without them. It's reassuring waking up to their warm bodies, knowing they find as much comfort from my half-covered, frozen, frustrated body. I love their smells and their sighs and their little frito feet. I love opening my eyes to find Ruby's little face next to mine, her look of pure contentment and trust.
Yeah, I pretty much sleep in a giant dog bed.
I wonder if I could teach them how to do laundry.....
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
He's Here!!
I have news! The baby is here!! Baby Boy has arrived!
I was stuck in a meeting and writing my to-do list after the meeting got completely derailed onto another, even less-interesting subject. Some things were work things, some were not. One of them was to check in with Mom and see if the baby was here because she told me last week that she would be induced on Tuesday of this week.
Got back to my desk to find a voice mail that Baby Boy arrived last night and is perfectly healthy. I am still working on the armoire for Princess so I will be able to see him and report back on how adorably snuggly he is.
In other completely unrelated news, I have discovered the cutest, smallest animal in the world and now I must have one. I want a bumblebee bat. I think he could hang nicely from the top bars in Jellybean's cage and we could let him fly around at night to catch any gross bugs that are in the house. He'd be especially helpful in the summer with mosquitoes.
Hear that, Fat Man? He'd also fit nicely in my stocking.
I was stuck in a meeting and writing my to-do list after the meeting got completely derailed onto another, even less-interesting subject. Some things were work things, some were not. One of them was to check in with Mom and see if the baby was here because she told me last week that she would be induced on Tuesday of this week.
Got back to my desk to find a voice mail that Baby Boy arrived last night and is perfectly healthy. I am still working on the armoire for Princess so I will be able to see him and report back on how adorably snuggly he is.
In other completely unrelated news, I have discovered the cutest, smallest animal in the world and now I must have one. I want a bumblebee bat. I think he could hang nicely from the top bars in Jellybean's cage and we could let him fly around at night to catch any gross bugs that are in the house. He'd be especially helpful in the summer with mosquitoes.
Hear that, Fat Man? He'd also fit nicely in my stocking.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
