A tale of three dogs.....

                A little over a year ago I brought home Buddy.  Aside from a few minor struggles (he ate money, credit cards and a smart phone) we adapted quickly and fell in love.  He sailed through obedience classes and became a therapy dog. He has never met a stranger and absolutely loves children. As time went on we realized that his quirky and sweet demeanor would be well served with another dog. 

                “I don’t want a five year old dog,” said my husband Greg.  “I don’t want another dog that you picked,” he continued.  “I want my own puppy to raise and love.” Thus began heated debates between us. I felt that we adopted Buddy at a mere 6 months old and owed it to another dog, an older dog to take one home. I pointed out the ease of sleeping, house-breaking and training an older dog. I said this would not be a senior but a dog in the 3-5 year age range, but to no avail. He stood firm in his decision. He had his full of heartache with Carlie. Our shepherd/ collie mix who had been sick for two years before we made the decision to put her to sleep in 2014.

                Carlie had been my dog to begin with. As I have described her in previous blogs my heart, my friend, my child and my soul mate. But, I have a confession to make. I did not bond with Carlie right away.  She was 9 months old when I rescued her, but tested my patience, as if she was a newborn puppy. Timid and scared, she was almost impossible to socialize.  She refused to eat certain things. She would get frustrated and swing her head back, causing me many a swollen nose.  Not to mention the exercise she required. If she didn’t get it, she would escape from the house to run and run and run.

                Somewhere along the line I fell in love with her.  I remember it was she I curled up with when I realized what a mistake my first marriage was.  Carlie was also the only thing I wanted in my divorce.  She was my constant through years of upheaval and my comfort during the good times. As much as I loved her, I always vowed that if I adopted again it would be an even-tempered older puppy or a laid back adult.

                A co-worker posted Zoey (than named Lexi) onto my Facebook page one Saturday morning.  She looked like the sister of the puppy that Greg had attempted to adopt the day before, only to realize he had been third in line to see her and the first family adopted her.  I quickly contacted her foster mom and let her know we were interested. “Babe, babe,” I woke up Greg. “There is another dog for adoption only 7 weeks old. That Rottweiler/Shepherd mix type you love.” He rolled over and took a quick look, “nice,” he managed. “Should we consider her,” I asked and received Greg’s nod of consent.  I wasted no time in becoming the first applicant for the puppy.

                Some reference checks and a home visit later, where Greg picked Zoey up and said simply “I want her,” she is on her way to us this evening.  Am I excited? Absolutely, I would love any dog, especially one rescued from a kill shelter like this sweet girl. Am I scared? No, not really, I know it will all work out in the end. Am I worried? Yes, completely worried. I am worried we won’t bond right away.  I am worried Greg may regret the decision, even just for a day. I am worried that Buddy will be hurt or jealous and I am worried that the cat may retreat even more with two dogs in the house. I am worried that most of my friends think I am insane, as I am close friends with very few animal lovers. I am worried that precious little Zoey will not be happy with us.

I also know that these fears are naught. That after a few months we will all adjust and be a different type, but very happy family.  It is typical to be anxious with any changes, especially those that involve living beings.

So send us well wishes as a new chapter begins. I am sure I will have more to write about soon….

Nobody

A tale of two dogs

My dog Carlie was my soul mate.  Sounds dramatic, but in many ways it was true. She was my companion when the rest of the world turned their back. I could count on her love and loyalty through all the great and not so great moments in life.

We were both outgoing and affectionate at times and at other times cold and aloof. We were friendly with everyone, but friends with a select few.  Both of us had a unique look that came from mixed backgrounds and though we took pride in our appearance, were very low maintenance. We loved playing on the beach or being absolute couch potatoes. Plus we were much happier in the company of one another than anyone else.

We were, quite literally, best friends.

We traveled a long difficult and joyous path together that began when I was 27 and ended when I was 41.

It ended on a dog bed on the floor of our Veterinarian’s office on a warm and sunny June evening.  My body draped across hers. “I love you so much. I love you so much.” I just repeated through tears until she was gone. I swear I knew the moment her soul left. I did not need the Vet to confirm.  I knew because a piece of my soul was gone forever.

I was prepared for the heartache I would feel losing my girl Carlie forever.  I knew she had a tumor on her spleen and I knew it was just a matter of time before it shut her down.  It happened quickly.  Within two weeks she went from the dog still strong enough to pull me when I walked her to a feeble baby who eventually could not hold down food or walk without pain. I slept on the floor with her the night before, petting her and cringing every time she moaned. “I love you sweet girl,” I whispered.  “Taking you home was the best decision I ever made.”

What I was not prepared for was the emptiness.  Walking into a house without her and knowing she was never coming back.  I would wake up each night and walk from room to room remembering her face the silly dance she always did for me.  I would pet the cat and curl up with my husband, but nothing could take away the cloak of silence and sadness Carlie’s departure left in her wake. It was me and her, long before my husband and the cat. It was me and her for the last 14 years.  I could never replace her and what she meant in my life.

I also had no purpose in my days.  I was responsible for her for 14 years and then nothing.  Instead of reveling in the freedom and being able to sleep late, I felt lost. Like a chunk of who I am was gone. That is why 11 days later I am crying on the way to work. I am crying because I a racked with guilt.  I will be adopting a new dog that evening. 

I am crying because I don’t want to replace Carlie and I haven’t even finished mourning her.  I am crying because this dog, although wonderful, could never be her.  I am crying because in a year filled with health issues, job changes, and broken trusts - the loss of Carlie was unbearable. Then I see it. A faded bumper sticker on the Jeep in front of me Save a life. Adopt a shelter dog. I pull myself together and say yes Barney, who will be renamed Buddy, will be coming home with us.  What better honor could I pay to Carlie then to rescue another dog?

I decided it was time to take another dog in the night I received Carlie’s ashes.  I held them and cried for a long time. Then I stood up and decided that our home needed a dog.  I had been looking at the dogs people sent to me all along, but felt like it wasn’t time. It hadn’t been long enough. But, in reality, it would never be long enough.  I would always miss Carlie and what she meant to me. 

Aside being another Shepherd mix, Buddy is different from Carlie in every way. He is long and goofy where she was more compact and dignified.  Buddy gallops from situation to situation (knocking over whatever is in his path). Carlie walked into a room with a purpose, even at nine months old. Buddy loves everyone. Well Carlie, uhm not so much. Buddy plays with toys and Carlie could never be bothered, preferring to sit with me quietly chewing a bone. 

To be fair, Carlie was also abused as a puppy and dumped at a kill shelter. A loud, over-crowded and dirty kill shelter. Buddy was relinquished from a family to a high kill shelter in Georgia (with no signs of abuse), but soon transferred to the Animal Welfare Organization in New Jersey, a wonderful non-kill shelter with a loving and dedicated staff. Where he was bathed and walked and loved. Maybe if Carlie hadn’t experienced the beginning that she did. She too would have been a goofy dog instead of a selective old soul.

There are similarities as well. Their eyes are so much alike that I find myself calling Buddy Car Car, my nickname for Carlie. They both hate it when I work on a computer (see photos) and absolutely adore my dad. They both train easily, love car rides and outdoor adventures and both would do just about any trick for a treat.

 

The biggest thing they have in common is being by my side through heartache. For Buddy is there every day to help grieve Carlie, while still enjoying life.

And grieve Carlie I still do. I am making a shadow box for my office in her memory. I have her ashes on out mantle and a piece of her fur in my bedroom. I also still automatically wake up around 3 am every night to check on her. It also still feels so unreal that I will never pet her again. Like a piece of reality that my heart cannot comprehend. 

Last week I came home at lunch to walk Buddy. I walked in the door and before I even realized it yelled “Carlie, where are you?” I started to cry. I let Buddy out of his crate and snapped his leash on. While we walked outside, I felt something. I can’t explain or describe it, but I knew Carlie was there and she was happy. I watched Buddy jump around and play with all his puppy energy and realized that Carlie is in a good place, a better place. A place where she can jump and run again without pain. A place where her fur is long and shiny again and her eyes are not blurred with cataracts. I know that without a doubt she would want me to be happy and love another unwanted dog. A feeling of peace washes over me as I have been suddenly given permission to love Buddy as much as I do.  “Come on Buddy,” I say. “It’s time to go home.”

An open letter to my husband...

     It is so easy to love each other most of the time. We have a calm home, a similar sense of humor and a large group of friends and family to keep us smiling. It is also easy to grow restless. To question what we have. To realize our family of two is so small and oh so fragile and that there is nothing but our loyalty and love keeping us together. Yet we choose to keep on this path together. Sharing ups and downs, but more often than not sharing the happy, simple life we have built.
      Then the fates change quickly and I am laying in an E.R. hearing words like pulmonary embolism and obstructed airways being thrown. Feeling like a specimen or subject matter not a human being scared and struggling to breathe. But, there is you. Your hand clasped in mine. Your eyes silently telling me “it will all be okay”. You stay there ~never leaving for more than an hour or so. Making sure I eat and drink. You keep me calm, through every needle stuck in my skin and every procedure done too quickly and without much explanation. Not leaving any time open for doubt and fear to creep in and hinder me from getting well.
      Our friends and family rally to call and visit. Brush my hair and bring me flowers. But, they all leave. Go back to their homes and families. Not you. Never you. You sleep on a makeshift hospital bed. You wake up every time I stir. Make me laugh at silly jokes and reassure me though my lifestyle forever changed by this series of events, will go on.
      Then there is me. I watch you through a haze of tubes and medicine, and worry about you. Worry about your back and sleeping on that makeshift hospital bed. Worry about the exhaustion etched into your face. Urging you to take a day to yourself or at least go home and sleep. Although I am scared to be alone, I am more worried about you. I feel sad, because you feel sad. But you will not leave me. Rather, I go through testing and pain, not as a single entity, but as one half of a pair.
     I think of our happier times like our wedding and numerous vacations. I always thought that I could never love you like I did then. How wrong I was. That last night in the hospital when my one of my stressed veins collapsed and there was blood squirting everywhere. Most of the blood was on you. Because, without hesitating, each time the vein burst you clasped your hands around my arm and stopped the blood. How I couldn’t sleep that night for fear it would happen again and I would bleed out. Every single time my eyes snapped open. There you were. Watching over me. In those moments I experienced a love that I did not even know existed outside of parental love. An unconditional love that I will spend the rest of my days trying happily to return.
     When I am finally released and able to go home, you are still beside me. Never critical of the tears I can’t seem to stop whether they are of the happy or fearful variety. My best friend and parents shepherd me home as well, but they aren’t there late at night. Because it is at night, that I am too scared to sleep. Entrenched in a fear that my oxygen supply will dip again or another vein will collapse. It is you again. Rubbing my forehead and promising that nothing will happen to me under your watch. Looking at me like I am the most beautiful woman on earth, not like the bruised and greasy shadow of a person that I know I look like.
      I can never thank you enough for your love. I can never thank God enough for bring us together. What I can do is love you with my whole heart and continue to forage into this world together. Our relationship may be calm and easy, but life is not. And we are strong enough to get through it all together.

That darned kitten...

I have never understood why I like animals more than people. Note I did not say "love" but I defintely like animals more.

That being said, I am not a cat person. I can pick up a pet rat or iguana without flinching, but cats, well lets just say they have never been my favorite. In fact I can remember saying not too long ago "I don't hate cats, for instance I wouldn't run one over with my car."

I mean lets face it. I have danced with, ridden and kissed dolphins. I got to "speak" to a Manatee years and years ago. I have had a constant dog companion since my first dog Buster (who was around WAY before me). I have had a Parakeet named Tweety that not only sang but also talked. Tweety's favorite line was "Cindy is a bad girl, baaadd girl," shrieked to my poodle Cinderella at the time who would (upon hearing those words) growl snap and try to attack the bird through it's cage.

But, a cat? Those aloof creatures who stare at humans in a way that I stare at 20-year-old drunk girls? Not my thing. I can get guarded disdain from humans, I do not need to take an animal into my life, home and heart and get a purr for a thank you. Once again, not my thing.

That all changed one overcast September day. It was about two months before that my husband and I decided that my dog (trust me she is my dog) Carlie would never learn to love another canine friend. We had tried to introduce her to rescues and walk her through those grand dog supermarkets, but my loving mutt would just snarl and show her teeth. My "baby-fail" body had me distressed and we thought another dog would do the trick. Carlie had grown up with other dogs, but at 11 1/2 she was long passed loving canines. So, my husband and I decided to just be thankful for our little family as frail as it was.

But that day, that damned gray day, a kitten came into my life. We found her outside of work. Shivering and shaking in the rain. She was the size of my hand. I rolled my eyes at the "kitten rescue" but some where inside me I knew to grab our promotional golf towels and that the warmth would stop her from hissing and clawing. That being said. I never meant to bring her home.

But holding her in those first few moments, I knew I was sunk. Her heartbeat calmed in my arms. Her big alien eyes locked onto mine in the way only an animal lover can understand. Eyes that scream "I choose you" without making a sound.

I lied to my husband and said we would only have her until she found a home. But, he knew as I did ~ this alien kitten already had one. At only a few ounces, my favorite pictures of her are in my former football player/ Coastguard husband's arms. By week two we (including the dog) were all in love with her.

So Miss "Daisy; Daisy BeJulJay; Daisy Doodle; Doodle Bug; Crackhead Kitten; Skidabeep; or as we all know her "the Doodles" has adjusted well. She is "fixed" and weighs seven pounds. She has none of the cat diseases I feared. Miss Doodles also follows me from room to room. Meows when she wants my affection and refuses to walk down the steps (why walk when you have a mommy like me who wants to carry you). Oh, and those looks of disdain are saved for strangers, because she never shows them around our little fragile family ~ she fits right in.

As an afterthought, I begged God for a child the night before Daisy came home. Now I do believe God always answers our prayers, just not in the way we expect.

And P.S. I think I think actually love animals more than people :)

Life, Stress, a Destination Wedding and the Foo Fighters....

Have you ever wonder how you got where you are? Where the hell the time went? Oh, and most importantly is there enough time left to do what you really want to do?

I mean seriously Fuck has become my favorite word. I live a life much like Ground Hog's Day. Alarm goes off. I hit snooze. One hit on a workout day and many hits on a "Please dear universe let me hit the lottery" day. Once I pull myself from the sliver of a bed where I sleep (Have you ever tried sleeping with a 6'2" 220 lb plus man? I am lucky to have a sliver.)and my feet hit the ground the real world comes at me screaming like a brigade of bitches on the rag.

Before my eyes are even fully opened the dog is whining to get pet, walked or just because she needs "mommy time" at 11 1/2 years old she is more demanding then she was as a puppy. My husband (still sleeping) is muttering off a to do list and my hands are reaching for my Blackberry to see which client is going to die because their Internet didn't work at 3 AM. DAMN WORLD ~ I JUST NEED A SHOWER AND SOME COFFEE!

Once all demands are met and I am showered and somewhat presentable (most likely with no coffee yet- just a hit of left over Pepsi from a party months before) I begin my daily sludge to work. Brightened mostly by the Foo Fighters (or on other days The Beatles (White Album only), Live, Verve Pipe or some random rock band's greatest hits CD) I sit in traffic that anyone in New Jersey has come to know.. the only State in the union where a 20 minute drive takes 90 minutes... due mostly to the fact that no one in Jersey knows how to drive.

When I finally get to work (free coffee YAY) I begin a day of getting my self-esteem trampled. Clients call to say how my company sucks. Bosses (no matter how high my numbers and they have been HIGH this year) complain about my numbers and my co-workers and I complain about our jobs. Actually, I love my co-workers without them I would be a crazy cat (dog) lady by now. This goes on and on either at my desk or on the road until 5,6, and one time on a FRIDAY 10 pm. Then it is off to the gym or home on a good day or happy hour with the beloved co-workers or happy hour at home on a "Dear Universe please let me hit the lottery" day.

That is just the "life" part of my life. The stress comes from job (see above), aging parents, three mortgages, an aging dog, and fertility treatments that leave me feeling slightly abused EVERY SINGLE TIME. I could go on but my hands are tingling (must see heart doctor) and my chest just tightened.

Then as life seems to do, even in the most mundane hours, happy events creep in. A good friend falls in love and gets engaged. Another friend gets pregnant. A sweet co-worker falls for a terrific guy. My husband tells me I am beautiful after I cleaned the house with my glasses on (I either think you are blind or the greatest guy ever...results still pending). Then sometimes there are things that make life and stress roll away. I will always count my "girls night" as one of these but in November I have two AWESOME events.

Event number 1. Two very cool friends getting married in Jamaica!!!!!!! Not only do we get to go and see them and their coolness.. we get to hang with my BF and her husband and a select other totally cool people. Going to paradise with friends to see friends get married???????? I seriously may explode from the joy. Not to mention my handsome honey with at tan??? Well a deeper shade of pink anyway, HOT! I have a countdown going on. Seriously. I NEED THIS! Plus I have a soft spot for these two. I would say I love them, but that would give them a big head..so lets just say "I am so happy for you two super cool people"!

Then just two days after our return, just two days... I see the Foo Fighters live. For 17 years I have wanted to see Dave Grohl in his rock god state and it is happening!!!! YES, the band that has gotten me through almost every morning of my life (not to mention "Times Like These" which may have single handily got me through the end of my first marriage). I am in Foo Fighters obsession mode right now. Watching their documentary non-stop and prancing around in my Dave Grohl shirt. Do I sound like I am sixteen? Probably, but did you read a description of my life above???

OK, I am not all that shallow. A few days ago I woke up on the couch with my geriatric dog's paw around my neck. "Hey girl," I said. Her reply a small lick on the cheek and a growl of contentment. Sometimes it is the small moments combined with the large that make this stupid life worth living.

Who deserves to be a mommy?

Another baby gone. Thankfully I did not know I was pregnant this time.

So I have a question? Who deserves to be a mommy? I love my Godson without hesitation and without pretense. I love my beautiful niece beyond explanation and reason. Yet, I cannot hold onto a pregnancy to save my life.

I have had contractions with no baby to hold afterwards. I have seen my husband cry in pain, but still no child to call his own. My breasts are so damned big they are ridiculous- amazing how every part of my body shrinks back unless it is my face, boobs and belly.

Why not me? Why not my best, wonderful and loving friend.. who can't get pregnant. Why these people who don't even seem to like their kids?????

I am great at my job. I have a husband that is ridicously perfect. My friends and family.. while extended and disfunctional-- are amazing. Why can I not do the one thing women were put on this earth to do?

So I play mommy with my dog and all the wonderful people I am blessed to know. Yet, my body longs for a baby to love. A baby to cuddle and protect.

So once again... I am trying to figure it all out. But, I leave with one question. If I am strong enough to have a miscarriage through a meeting and still keep presenting... Aren't I strong enough to actually have a baby?????

Friends

I have different groups of friends. But, sometimes I have the friends who count. They do not judge. They do not cast blame. Much like my husband - they love me as is.

I know people look at me and think I have a ton of friends - I do not. I have a lot of people I like. In reality, I like everyone. I wish I was as tough as I act, but I am not. I see good in everyone. Lucky for me I am also very aware of the traits that create a good friend. I would like to say I figured this all out on my own, but I have not... my friends have taught me. So here are the guidelines (12 rules)of being a wonderful friend. Thank you girls (and guys) you know who you are...

1)Never judge... just be with each other when bad decisions show their ugly head.
2)Be happy when your friend is happy... it should come pretty easy.
3)Be sad when your friend is sad.
4)Laugh a lot. Cry a little and be ready to pull out a pistol in defense!
5) Never say ANYTHING behind a freind's back- that you would not say to their face.
6) Share each other... you make more friends that way ;)
7) Love your friends weaknesses as much as their strengths... if not they would not be them.
8) Love the men (women) in their life- no matter how hard it is to do so!
9) Realize they will not react to any given situation the way you do - it is what makes them - them and you - you.
10) Abolish the word SELFISH from your dictionary.
11) Don't be jealous - it is needy and ugly
12) Live, laugh and love...............