The (fat) Girl Within

Our lives shape us. We become a product of our experiences. This is true of most every living creature to some extent.  We do have the capacity to change, but do we … really change, I mean?  I had a wonderful exchange with a client, and more importantly friend, this morning which got me off on this tangent.  I can’t claim horrific trauma in my life, I’ve had my share…  and to some, what I have overcome may have been insurmountable.  But to me, I did it… I’m still here.  And I’m still “me”-- Sometimes to my detriment.

Growing up I battled my entire life being fat (AKA “husky, big boned, large framed, pleasantly plump”)  Not 400 lbs fat, but fat nonetheless.  I gained, I lost, I pretended it didn’t bother me, and I cried myself through many a day alone in the Girl’s Locker Room in Junior High.  I had, in so many words or less, a “normal” teenage experience.  Except if this was “normal”, how come the young girls who tormented me had such a charmed life? How come they always rose to the top and no one made them feel like they had no reason to live?  All I wanted was to BE one of “those girls”.  I told myself I didn’t, but we all know that was not true.  And no amount of my family telling me I was beautiful would ever make it so.  

When I was brought back to thinking about “those girls” this morning, I realized that whoever made the rules in 1978 clearly had a sense of humor.  My tormentors,  four of the worst, in fact were the following:  one with dark circles under her eyes (permanently) with a face that would be referred to today as “Old Glory”, calves the size of tree trunks; one with buck teeth and a combined total of about 12 hairs on her head, not to mention a case of scorching herpes simplex that meant rarely a day passed where she didn’t have a cold sore crawling across her face; one that looked  (quite literally) like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz; and one who was, indeed, actually a beautiful girl but had the unfortunate intelligence level of a can of tennis balls.

I won’t say that I don’t wish I could secretly find these four girls and see who they are today, but I don’t allow it to consume me anymore.  I imagine they are four women, living with choices they made in their lives, and sometimes thinking back to their youth and perhaps their glory days… wondering where they went. 

What I will never know, is if they ever think of me.  I will never know if perhaps they too, had a tormentor that shaped a portion of their life in some way.  What I do know, is that I am smart. I am pretty. I am strong. I am mindful. I am exactly what I was intended to be. And I also know that inside, that little girl who was angry and scared every day of her life is now a solace and a comfort to me and I will embrace her and love her because she stuck it out and let me emerge.

Lessons from Dead Dogs

Yes. The title is crass. It seems disrespectful.  It is not intended to be.  I am crass.  I seem disrespectful. Most times I do not intend to be.  I am a collective work.  All the creatures that have entered my life have an impact on me; whether they belonged to another, were fostered by me, or graced my personal space and life.  The lessons and impacts from these creatures seem more profound to me than the humans that are supposed to mold and change me.

FIONA.  I needed your grace to find my own. I learned that despite my outsides, my insides are more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine.  When I imagined my life, I never saw it this way.  When you imagined your life, you always saw me—even before you met me.  In your death I found strength to move forward.  I found there can be beauty even in death; if only we can accept that we are not finished and we are yet to “be”.

BRUIN.  There is hatred and terrible, gripping, fear within this World. I feel your strength daily sweet bear, but often forget to acknowledge it. I must never, ever, be caught up with the hatred that swirls around me as there are those who thrive on consuming me.  When I feel oppression and depression, I must push out bad energy with heavy paws.  When in doubt, always trust a Bumble.

ABBY.  The World is filled with discarded beauty.  That which is faded is still beautiful. I might need to polish it.  I might need to clean the dust off of it.  And I might need to make decisions for someone else that they cannot make. Those who cross my path were meant to cross my path.  If I can let each of those beings feel love or contentment at my hands, I can leave this World.  Your presence was a source of immense comfort to me, just as I know my arms around you in death were to you.

TUCKER.  Just as I realized my purpose in this life you left me.  And you left me JUST AS I REALIZED MY PURPOSE IN THIS LIFE. You taught me that I can still give and not give all that is inside of me.  If I give all that is inside of me I can have nothing left for myself.  You were not “aggressive”—you merely understood the critical nature of saving something for those who needed it.  You loved without restriction, but respect was earned.  I am here to bridge.  I am here to transition.  I am here because there are those souls that will need me before they can move on—for some that will be way too short of a time.  Every part of my body and mind misses you.  But I am forever awed that you chose me to share your truths.  I will never disappoint you.

This list will continue to grow.  I will, therefore, continue to grow.  If I am to honor my teachers, I must move onward.  One day I will be part of someone else's blog.

We all need a hero...

With things in the World today, everyone needs something to hold on to... something that doesn't suck. Working in rescue I see horrible things every day and even less than so many of my counterparts who are actually running the rescues and going on the dog raids.  When a tragic little creature entered my life over 3 1/2 years ago I never knew what journey we would embark upon.  I used to cry myself to sleep at night wondering what would ever become of Tucker.  Wondering how I would ever find him a home. Wondering whether it was fair for him to be confined to life in the daycare because he deserved so much more than I could offer him.  Because of our own dog pack and heirarchy, he could never live in our home-- we tried, the results were disastrous and our alpha female refused entry of another dog to the pack.

Over time, it became normal for Tucker to live here-- in fact, if he could talk, he would tell you it doesn't suck being a permanent resident. From 7AM until about 3PM he is surrounded by dog and human companions, then dinner and bed and blankey time in his 15 x 15 suite with floor to ceiling windows.  How many dogs do you know who have that amount of "time" with their families? Never does a night pass that I do not slip into his room to kiss him goodnight and tell him he is loved.  It became apparent that Tucker was instrumental in calming other dogs-- he has a tranquility about him that is therapeutic.  He can grind a human's last bean getting his way, but with dogs it's a different level of communication.  Dogs never hurt Tucker, and he trusts a dog over a human to this very day.  It became a natural progression that other fosters would room with Tucker-- and not a one ever showed any separation anxiety.  It has become his job to socialize and acclimate the foster dogs who travel across our path on their way to their forever homes.

Over the past several weeks we have been raising funds for Tucker's orthopedic surgery.  A community got on board and rallied for this one deaf, maladjusted, crazy little white pit bull.  The doorbell has rung at least 15 times over the past two weeks with total strangers stopping to make a donation. I am moved to tears with each display of giving. Maybe this is his 15 minutes of fame, I don't know.  His story had to be told, it was not for the pity factor or to guilt people into giving money-- but I had to tell people why he needed surgery, and why it was so important to me.  It's a story of ugliness. But it's his story, and it wasn't until today that it dawned on me that this IS his purpose, this is his legacy, and this is why he is with me and not somewhere else at this exact moment in time. Maybe I am just the mouthpiece and a better typist, but everybody needs something good in the life to believe in, to hold on to, and to fight for, including me.  When we are faced with such ugliness and hatred in our daily lives, it feels good to know that one deaf, maladjusted, crazy little white pit bull made us feel human and good if only for a moment.

It's not you, it's me... no wait... It's you

Many things make me sad. But nothing truly crushes me more than telling someone their dog has begun to show aggressive behavior to other dogs and can no longer come to daycare.  I take that back-- one thing does crush me more... telling someone that for a second time.  Why does this happen? Multiple reasons actually-- and far too many that I am not qualified to detail here.  But the most frequent cause is most typically your dog simply reached maturity and with maturity comes their true temperament.  What I mean by dog aggressive is that a dog is not in control of their behavior in a group setting of multiple dogs-- this means places like daycare or the dog park.  Where it's possible you may live in a multi-dog home and everyone knows their place and gets along-- I guarantee that somewhere along the way you saw an inkling of your dog's behavior. 

Dogs are dogs and they don't sit down and necessarily weigh out the consequences of their behavior.  So of course there will be snits and little spats, this is normal-- just as the snits and spats you might have had with a sibling or best friend growing up.  But the important thing is that it is controllable.  When some dogs reach maturity and can not deal with chaotic environments they are NOT in control or capable of drawing that line and a simple "NO" can morph into a flat out dog fight.

Daycares and dog parks represent chaos-- no matter how well run, no matter how well staffed or policed, it is a chaotic environment.  Many dogs simply cannot manage this level of chaos and it can come out in aggressive or severe anxiety reactions.  Let's face it, many humans cannot handle chaotic environments and steer clear.  And sadly, still many humans cannot handle this level of chaos but continue to put themselves into this type of environment which doesn't end well for anyone.  If you have one dog who shows this behavior and a second dog who does not, it's pretty critical to not just cut off the second dog from any form of social activity. When you do this, you can alter a dog's social ability dramatically.  It crushed me initially when my oldest starting showing signs of dog aggression.  We always knew she was a dominant female, but as she matured this became a very heavy issue both at home and obviously at daycare.  I worked some heavy behavioral plans, but to no avail-- she would never be "safe" to have at daycare again.  Initially I was heartbroken, but the thing I refused to do was to isolate her and stop socializing my other dogs.

The most critical thing we ever did was maintain a severely high level of obedience and compliance and ACKNOWLEDGED that group activity outside the home and her siblings would never be a viable option. But we go out, we do things, we don't isolate.  The second bigger portion of acknowledging her behavior style was to not isolate the other dogs in our home.  I understand the feeling of "failure" and the feeling that you won't ever feel comfortable taking your dog out-- but committing everyone to a life of solitude is not the answer.  I can promise you further heartache and frustration.  I'm not trying be the one to say "I told you so" either-- I never truly derive that much pleasure out of that.  But it is never, ever, ever, too late to start over.

A White Girl's Prejudice

I'm a college educated (and for waaaaaay too long), middle-aged, Republican (most people I know will be offended by this more than anything), White, American female.  I'm about as milk toast as they come.  If the job of Marcia Brady hadn't already been filled I could have been her.  I haven't personally been denied anything because of these statistics, but to say I have not experienced prejudice is an unfair statement. 

When I walk my Great Pyrenees people openly gawk and smile, run up and want to snuggle them, come out of the woodwork to ask what they are.  When I walk my pit bulls people steer clear.  No one comes up to me to ask if they can pet my dogs. The majority of the time, people openly stare (especially if it is summer and the tatts are hanging out)-- frequently with disgust, as I parade my marauding flesh eating monsters down the street.  Never mind that Emma is just about the cutest thing you will ever see sporting her humongous chest, tiny little rear, pointy face and Moo Cow pattern.  The fact that she is walking next to a cold, hard looking black bitch is enough.

Today someone stopped to inquire about daycare for their dog.  The first question out of the mouth was, "Do pit bulls come here?"  I responded with a question, versus an answer.  "Are you wanting to adopt?! OMG that's fabulous! I work with local shelters!"  Instead of letting her interrupt, I explained how many wonderful pit bulls were my clients.  I continued to explain that the only dogs I had thrown out of daycare happened to be a number of mixes, a chocolate lab, and a golden retriever.  "What kind of dog do you have!!!?" ... I excitedly asked.  "A chocolate lab" said the woman with a frown.  I said with a deflated sigh.... "Ohhhhhh.  Have you been turned down by other daycares and that's why you're here!?"


"Why would anyone turn us down?!" she indignantly demanded.  I said, "Haven't there been a number of situations with labs recently with attacks and biting and stuff!?   I totally saw it in the paper, I think!"  To which she responded, "That's just crazy! That's the media! That's biased sensationalism!!! Do you mean to tell me you don't let labs in here!!?"

I responded by telling her, "I let all breeds of dog pass through these gates.  Most are ready but some are not.  Sometimes some dogs need more support to make it in a large group of dogs-- we can offer that.  I don't believe in discrimination.  Do you?"

When she said she felt discrimination was an "ugly, ugly thing" I had to say that I agreed with her.  I never saw that "spark" that let's you know someone just understood you... that they totally and unequivocally "got" you.  So whether or not she even heard me is beyond me as I write.  She took information, thanked me and left.  Will she call? Who knows.  Will she suddenly realize that SHE was practicing discrimination, that "ugly, ugly thing", when she is driving down the road? Who knows.  But if a chocolate lab shows up I'll be sure to whisper in the pit bulls ears that they need to be as nice as possible to our newest guest.

It's True. I Never Liked you Much...

I'm an ageist. I've never disguised that fact. Ever.  I don't like most young people.  Hell-- I don't like a lot of old people either.  I was a train wreck when I was a young adult.  But I DID learn from each derailment and crash.  I learned that you can sit around and bitch and moan all you want but it never seems to change anything except put you in a worse mood.  I learned that you have to take chances if you ever want to be happy.  I don't mean idiocy like drinking and driving, having unprotected sex, or other moronic choices.  I mean chances in life that could yield a complete and total flop of an outcome. So the next time I hear some 20-something bitching about how awful their job is, how they hate the drama, how this is wrong and that is wrong and the Man just battin' ya down-- steer clear.  I'm liable to take your snotty little ass over my knee. 

If you think it's so damn easy to be the boss, then why aren't you?  If you think it's a cake walk to own your own business, why don't you? It's because it takes motivation, courage, and a shitload of conviction.  If I had the money, I would open up a "business" for every person that wanted one.  And I would sit back and watch their reaction when their employees treated them like shit, didn't bother to show up for work on time more than 3 times in over 4 years, wasted their resources, treated their customers like pariahs, or couldn't be bothered to even stay awake long enough to perform the minimum requirements of the job. 

I imagine we would have a lot to talk about after this.  I also imagine you would probably not make the connection that you were dealing with "yourself" just a few short years ago and most likely not much has changed.  So when you start railing on your employer and what a shithole you work in and how you can't stand the "drama"-- ask yourself... Why the hell are you still there?  If you have no other choices in life, why is that... and what are you doing about it?  If my business goes down in flames and I drown in the sea of debt I am treading water in I will go down having had the best damn run of my life and a lot of wonderful memories.

So.  What's your excuse for today?

What is the price, please?

Maybe it was lack of sleep, maybe it's just a day to be pessimistic, I don't know...  I'm finding that most things have a price.  I do not simply mean a service or a tangible.  An orange or a loaf of bread have a price. I can afford it, or I can't. I can decide I need it, or not.  I can purchase it, or leave it on the shelf at the store.  I don't expect feelings or niceties to have a price.  I never considered them a tangible... I never considered them something that would have a due date or an expiration date.  I was wrong.  Apparently when someone performs an unsolicited act, they are writing it down on an imaginary list and in some prescribed amount of time, your payment will come due.

So how do you go about determining who to accept a "random" act of kindness from? The gurus dangle things but in my opinion never truly deliver.  You have to begin by loving yourself. By being open to cosmic forces. By practicing random acts of kindness..... I know there are more, I just can't think of them now. I do accept and believe these things though.  But what I cannot for the life of me understand is what do I do when someone with ill intent performs a kindness for ME?  I was wrong to believe that a heartfelt thank you was enough.  Do I just write it off as bad debt as I do when a client runs up a tab and then refuses to pay me? When the emotional receipt shows up, what do I do?  Do I even acknowledge that they shouldn't perform a kindness with the expectation of a return or payback-- would they even understand...

It comes as no surprise that those who run the "tab" are those that are truly not close to me.  I do not confide in them, I do not try to stay close, I do not even try anymore to keep in contact.  But somehow, I keep ending up being the bad person because I have no desire to have drama in my life.  And by drama I mean essentially the people who create the caustic environment and cannot seem to live without an oppressive haze of chaos surrounding them.  So how do you break this funk?  Do I continue to simply accept a kindness and disregard the bill that inevitably shows up?  Or do I politely say "No Thank You." and put an end to it once and for all?