Tomorrow, I have tenatively designated as a free day for myself. Not a "day off" but a "day on" - tuned in and turned on to my creative self, to my inner poet, to my creature comforts.
If I plan too much then something will happen and it will all go to hell. But I envision myself sitting in a glade or on a windswept hill, with my sweet collie at my side, being all emo, scenting emergent spring on the wind, spending some quality time getting dirt on our paws.
It doesn't have to be much, but it does need to be some time outside, not thinking about the dust bunnies, the back log of bills or the laundry.
Studying some Italian would be good, or perhaps pretending to be Italian when I order some coffee at Starbuck's? I'm rusty, though, so I content myself these days with simply saying "grazie" instead of "thaink yew."
Time to check the weather report and look at a topo map of the county. I need to find the highest point and see if there will be wind.
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
February 17, 2011
December 11, 2010
Dog Stories: Betsy
George was my first Border collie, but his story can wait.
Betsy is the first BC puppy that I really got to know and love, and whom I ultimately failed through apathy and naivete. And hormones. Mine.
In high school, I was friends with a large family with five kids, ranging in ages from two older and ten years younger than me. Two of the kids were in my high school: one of my best friends Amy and her brother Wyatt. I would have to say that Amy probably didn't consider me her best friend. I was that kind of teenager. All fangirl but no fans. I loved her and that family like none other. They were close and raucous and gauche and godly - everything my family was not. Well-churched, with extended family all over the state, Amy's family had a big open door for "the lost" and I suppose I qualified. I spent lots of time over there, and it helped that the house was two blocks from high school.
After Amy went off to college (she was a year older than me), I still maintained ties with them, and specifically, had a massive crush on her little brother. He is two years younger, so it felt rather taboo, and I kept my feelings hidden.
For Christmas (I think this dog story has one of those typical elements to it), they got a puppy. A very very attractive and cute-as-a-button Border collie puppy. Any Border collie owner knows the upshot of this story, right?
At my house, I had just lost Suzy the beagle and Red the outdoor dog, and was left with Thomas who was around 7 or 8 at this time. I was looking for a project dog. And along came Betsy.
Betsy was a little terror, as most Border collie puppies will be if left to their own devices. No one in the family had ever thought of dog training. All the previous dogs in their network were retrievers or poodles or chihuahuas. Yes, these breeds can be a handful but less likely than BCs.
When she was little, Betsy was a cute little roly-poly with shark teeth, but her antics could be tolerated. As she grew taller, she spent more and more time in the backyard, and by the time my senior spring semester rolled around, I was feeling so sorry for Betsy. She spent hours in the back yard, destroying things. I piped up. "Betsy needs training. I can do that."
It was arranged that my two free periods after lunch could be devoted to coming to their house and letting myself in during the day (no one was home, except maybe for their maid). I could walk her, work her and turn her into a decent family pet.
For a month, I did just that. I enjoyed her, loved on her, taught her to sit/stay, and not to jump up.
What I didn't know (and I do now) is that it's not about training the dog, it's about training the people. I also didn't know that Border collies require a high level of exercise and action - they need jobs. Betsy had no job. I was her only highpoint of the day, and it was killing her. Idle Border collies are the Devil's playground.
Add to the mix the fact that Wyatt started coming home after his 5th period for some reason, and he and I overlapped at the house for about 30 minutes. The flirting was epic, and while no contact was ever made, I began spending more of my 75 minutes at their house hanging out with him. (Yes, this really is the truth. I was quite innocent in those days and never understood that that kind of unsupervised free time between teens is exactly how we get teen parents.)
In any event, as my interest in Betsy's training waned and in Wyatt increased, her behavior got worse, and eventually, the family decided to give her to an aunt or mawmaw "in the country" where she could "run free."
My guilt soared. Not only was my crush on Wyatt taboo (in my mind) but I had also failed to rescue this dog. I hadn't followed through on my promise and the lofty goal in my head to make her into the perfect family pet.
God only knows what happened to Betsy, and I hope something that I did served her in the future. As far as I know, everyone in the family and mawmaw loved Betsy a lot. No one was abusive or hateful towards her. It was just another case of a misplaced pet, and I truly hope Betsy found a good home at last.
I've made up for that over the years, to other dogs and specifically other Border collies. But Betsy was the first puppy I had long hours with. I can still feel her little cat feet and those baby shark teeth, and see her crazy eyes laser-punching holes in me from the other side of the glass, when I would sit on the couch and watch Wyatt play Simon (or some other electronic game that was emergent at the time).
What the family thought of me, I'll never know, and frankly, I don't want to know. I can sorta guess. Eventually, I was the stray that they gave away to someone else. After so many years of me looking into their lives, just as Betsy would stand at the sliding glass door in the backyard, I finally stopped my efforts to fit in, to be liked by them. I recall a conversation with Wyatt when we were both in college, where he was cruelly dismissive. In the same way that Betsy had been offloaded, so was I.
There's the catch phrase "You teach people how to treat you," and a subclause of this could be "Observe how people treat their dogs for clues as to how they will treat you."
Betsy, you deserved better and I'm sorry I couldn't make it happen. I hope you got the love, space and work you needed. I did, eventually.
Betsy is the first BC puppy that I really got to know and love, and whom I ultimately failed through apathy and naivete. And hormones. Mine.
In high school, I was friends with a large family with five kids, ranging in ages from two older and ten years younger than me. Two of the kids were in my high school: one of my best friends Amy and her brother Wyatt. I would have to say that Amy probably didn't consider me her best friend. I was that kind of teenager. All fangirl but no fans. I loved her and that family like none other. They were close and raucous and gauche and godly - everything my family was not. Well-churched, with extended family all over the state, Amy's family had a big open door for "the lost" and I suppose I qualified. I spent lots of time over there, and it helped that the house was two blocks from high school.
After Amy went off to college (she was a year older than me), I still maintained ties with them, and specifically, had a massive crush on her little brother. He is two years younger, so it felt rather taboo, and I kept my feelings hidden.
For Christmas (I think this dog story has one of those typical elements to it), they got a puppy. A very very attractive and cute-as-a-button Border collie puppy. Any Border collie owner knows the upshot of this story, right?
At my house, I had just lost Suzy the beagle and Red the outdoor dog, and was left with Thomas who was around 7 or 8 at this time. I was looking for a project dog. And along came Betsy.
Betsy was a little terror, as most Border collie puppies will be if left to their own devices. No one in the family had ever thought of dog training. All the previous dogs in their network were retrievers or poodles or chihuahuas. Yes, these breeds can be a handful but less likely than BCs.
When she was little, Betsy was a cute little roly-poly with shark teeth, but her antics could be tolerated. As she grew taller, she spent more and more time in the backyard, and by the time my senior spring semester rolled around, I was feeling so sorry for Betsy. She spent hours in the back yard, destroying things. I piped up. "Betsy needs training. I can do that."
It was arranged that my two free periods after lunch could be devoted to coming to their house and letting myself in during the day (no one was home, except maybe for their maid). I could walk her, work her and turn her into a decent family pet.
For a month, I did just that. I enjoyed her, loved on her, taught her to sit/stay, and not to jump up.
What I didn't know (and I do now) is that it's not about training the dog, it's about training the people. I also didn't know that Border collies require a high level of exercise and action - they need jobs. Betsy had no job. I was her only highpoint of the day, and it was killing her. Idle Border collies are the Devil's playground.
Add to the mix the fact that Wyatt started coming home after his 5th period for some reason, and he and I overlapped at the house for about 30 minutes. The flirting was epic, and while no contact was ever made, I began spending more of my 75 minutes at their house hanging out with him. (Yes, this really is the truth. I was quite innocent in those days and never understood that that kind of unsupervised free time between teens is exactly how we get teen parents.)
In any event, as my interest in Betsy's training waned and in Wyatt increased, her behavior got worse, and eventually, the family decided to give her to an aunt or mawmaw "in the country" where she could "run free."
My guilt soared. Not only was my crush on Wyatt taboo (in my mind) but I had also failed to rescue this dog. I hadn't followed through on my promise and the lofty goal in my head to make her into the perfect family pet.
God only knows what happened to Betsy, and I hope something that I did served her in the future. As far as I know, everyone in the family and mawmaw loved Betsy a lot. No one was abusive or hateful towards her. It was just another case of a misplaced pet, and I truly hope Betsy found a good home at last.
I've made up for that over the years, to other dogs and specifically other Border collies. But Betsy was the first puppy I had long hours with. I can still feel her little cat feet and those baby shark teeth, and see her crazy eyes laser-punching holes in me from the other side of the glass, when I would sit on the couch and watch Wyatt play Simon (or some other electronic game that was emergent at the time).
What the family thought of me, I'll never know, and frankly, I don't want to know. I can sorta guess. Eventually, I was the stray that they gave away to someone else. After so many years of me looking into their lives, just as Betsy would stand at the sliding glass door in the backyard, I finally stopped my efforts to fit in, to be liked by them. I recall a conversation with Wyatt when we were both in college, where he was cruelly dismissive. In the same way that Betsy had been offloaded, so was I.
There's the catch phrase "You teach people how to treat you," and a subclause of this could be "Observe how people treat their dogs for clues as to how they will treat you."
Betsy, you deserved better and I'm sorry I couldn't make it happen. I hope you got the love, space and work you needed. I did, eventually.
July 22, 2010
My New Constant Companion
Based on the title you probably thought this would be about my new dog. While I have a new dog, my new constant companion is not the dog.
It's pain.
Back pain usually from early in the morning, while still in bed, until about 30 min. after I get up and move around. The stiffness hits me in my sleep, and wakes me up between 5 and 7 hours after I fall asleep.
Hip pain from misalignment, from walking too much, from sitting too long, from standing too long, from crossing my legs at the ankles too much.
Muscular pain but only after fatigue, and accompanied by twitching.
Emotional pain, imagining that this will never get better and I have to live with this for the next 48 years (because I have always planned to be 100 at the very least before I die). Also because no doctor offers me relief anymore, because no one in my life really gets it or helps. Because all I want is to move, work, dance, and feel NORMAL. Or at least pain-free.
Also painful is admitting any of this, talking about it. It does NOT make it better. Helpful comments do NOT help, despite the intention of the commenter. Reading websites for support is NOT supportive. I haven't yet found a doctor who understands it in a professional way. (There was the one doctor a while back, but he's in another city now, probably retired. And he wasn't exactly encouraging.)
A final element of pain is the public opinion that I didn't have a "full case" of polio and therefore, I won't suffer as much. And hey, look at FDR! He was president four times, and moved mountains. Look at that poet guy! What determination! Such great examples! NOT helping, folks.
At this point, I'm looking for a guru or wizard to make sense of it all, someone who won't blame me. The tiny bit of hope I find is in two things: my dogs are oblivious but loving, and researchers have found fragments of the polio virus in the spinal fluid of post-polio syndrome patients. This might provide answers to the cause, but in the end, it's not cancer. It's very low-end research, not sexy at all, and therefore, no one really cares or will fund anything remotely near a "breakthrough."
Negativity, fatigue, depression and degeneration are also part of the syndrome. Yay! Non-prescription solutions for depression involve.... EXERCISE. Which I am told is not indicated. Screw that. Yesterday, I could hardly get off the couch, but when I was out watching my dogs run around like idiots, I was not in pain.
Not a lot of writing gets done when pain is present. If I could figure out a way to run my dogs and write at the same time, then I'd be golden. And I may have done just exactly that. Stay tuned.
And yes I do have a new dog. He's quite silly and waggy. He is over the top optimistic and unapologetic about it. I like that. I am unapologetic about starting sentences with And. We have that lack of apology in common.
It's pain.
Also painful is admitting any of this, talking about it. It does NOT make it better. Helpful comments do NOT help, despite the intention of the commenter. Reading websites for support is NOT supportive. I haven't yet found a doctor who understands it in a professional way. (There was the one doctor a while back, but he's in another city now, probably retired. And he wasn't exactly encouraging.)
A final element of pain is the public opinion that I didn't have a "full case" of polio and therefore, I won't suffer as much. And hey, look at FDR! He was president four times, and moved mountains. Look at that poet guy! What determination! Such great examples! NOT helping, folks.
At this point, I'm looking for a guru or wizard to make sense of it all, someone who won't blame me. The tiny bit of hope I find is in two things: my dogs are oblivious but loving, and researchers have found fragments of the polio virus in the spinal fluid of post-polio syndrome patients. This might provide answers to the cause, but in the end, it's not cancer. It's very low-end research, not sexy at all, and therefore, no one really cares or will fund anything remotely near a "breakthrough."
Negativity, fatigue, depression and degeneration are also part of the syndrome. Yay! Non-prescription solutions for depression involve.... EXERCISE. Which I am told is not indicated. Screw that. Yesterday, I could hardly get off the couch, but when I was out watching my dogs run around like idiots, I was not in pain.
Not a lot of writing gets done when pain is present. If I could figure out a way to run my dogs and write at the same time, then I'd be golden. And I may have done just exactly that. Stay tuned.
And yes I do have a new dog. He's quite silly and waggy. He is over the top optimistic and unapologetic about it. I like that. I am unapologetic about starting sentences with And. We have that lack of apology in common.
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