Speaking To The Dogs...

Alright. I admit that I fancy myself somewhat of a dog whisperer. My secret is to remember to think like a dog and not assume the dog is thinking like a person. It sounds simple, but those little critters are so dang smart it is easy to start assuming they think like you and I do. What we forget is that we think within a very broad cultural human context. We react to our environment and process things according to our past, our expected future, and all the meanings that we have ascribed to things along the way. Dogs are much more simple in how they think.

I am blogging on this topic tonight because there is an interesting drama unfolding on Facebook concerning Skittles and her temporary stay at my parents' house. In the end, my dad offered to meet Marci and her family in Battle Creek and bring her home until he can bring her up here himself. We discussed the benefits of this plan - primarily it saved me from a long twelve hour drive late at night last weekend - but we also decided it would be good for Ms. Skittles. She could decompress in a nice quiet home with only one other dog, a very quiet and gentle Airedale, also a rescue.

Skittles has responded very well to this plan. Once in my dad's vehicle, he let her roam free as she chose. She migrated back and forth between her crate and the area between the seats sniffing my dad's dangling hand. Eventually she jumped up on the passenger seat.

Once in Western Springs, my mom met them in the front yard with Winston. The neighbor across the street came running over - mind you this was around midnight - she was so excited to see Skittles. All went well and they moved into the house. They placed Skittles' crate in their bedroom and settled in to sleep. It wasn't long before Skittles decided to join them all in their kingsized bed where she slept at my dad's side.

I will let my dad words speak for himself:

"As I sat on the edge of the bed, Skit jumped up onto the bed behind me. As I lay down and put my hands behind my head, she cuddled into my right arm pit and made herself comfortable. She then burrowed under the covers until only her butt was out. I think I need to get her North soon before she steals our hearts." (Facebook Status Update 2/28/11 07:00 AM EST)

"At about 5:45 am, I headed down to the garage door to leave for my bus routes. Skit followed me down to the door as if she were going with me. I told her to stay, that she couldn't come along. When Lee got up around 8:15 am, she began to look for Skit. She found her patiently sitting by the garage door. I REALLY think I need to get her North soon before she steals our hearts." (Facebook Status Update 2/28/11 12:00 PM EST)

I shared those posts a little while ago and the comments have been very interesting. Some people are saying it's too late, she's bonded with my dad and clearly loves him and she must stay down there. My dad called me all worried too and suggested he meet me in Green Bay tomorrow to hand her off - he too was worried that she was getting too attached.

All of this is evidence of projecting human ways of thinking onto a smart and well adjusted dog. I told my dad that I wanted them to keep her down there a little while if it was ok with my mom and him both. I also requested that when he does bring her up, either as planned in three weeks or sooner, that he be able to stay for a few days.

Olga and Fran were forced to board Skittles at her vet's for about two weeks before her rescue. No doubt she was well cared for physically, but emotionally it had to be a challenge. She was separated from her Olga and placed in a restricted area for most of the time. I'm sure they let her run around when they could, but it was all very chaotic with no one person that Skittles could look to as Olga-substitute.

Dogs are happiest when they can please their caregiver/Alpha. They also thrive on routine. Bill Maher who I normally love went off on dogs and dog owners one night. His comment was that we think our dogs love us so much but if you took a dog away and gave it to someone else the dog would bond to that next person - thereby disproving the love we claim. Once again, this is ascribing human values and thoughts to a dog.

I have heard that the average German Shepherd has the intelligence of a human five year old minus the language skills. Think about how intelligent that is - so I drop it down a notch and say most dogs are as intelligent as a human three year old minus the verbal skills. If we took a three year old away from his or her parents and gave him or her to a new set of parents who met all the child's needs guess what? He or she would transfer her love to the new parents. So, Bill, does that mean that a toddler's love isn't valid?

Anyway. Skittles' behavior with my dad is very normal. She has been starved for her Olga and my dad is serving that role for now. My mom commented on how much she has bonded and I suggested that perhaps Olga was a large woman with a mustache (sorry, Dad). Honestly though, my mom and Winston have the primary bond in the house so it is very appropriate that Skittles would gravitate to my dad - as her first contact to the family and logically where she senses there's an open slot in the household.

She needs this time with my dad to decompress from her weeks in the vet without her Alpha. Winston will be a lovely playmate to get her used to not being the only dog in the house. They have a nice back yard to chase squirrels and rabbits together. My dad told me she has found the basket of dog toys and is starting to play.

In three weeks, they will travel together to her forever home and meet her new siblings. It is important that my dad bring her and stay for awhile to make the best transition. Yes, we could do a quick hand off in Green Bay and she would do fine no doubt. However, the best answer is to have a gradual transition where she can sleep with my pop and get to know me and the pack.

I have no doubt she will whine and be confused when he leaves. This will last as long as it takes her to understand that I am her new Alpha and I will make sure she is fed and warm and safe and loved.

For me the bond that exists between our two species is as close to God love as I am able to get, so you can imagine how ecstatic I get when I'm lying in bed with the dogs AND the cats and they are "kissing" each other and taking turns getting love and cuddles from me. Three species all trusting and being with each other!

The love that has been heaped upon this little dog over the past week and throughout the day on Saturday - literally global in scope - is astounding. More than one person commented on how it was such a bad news week that Skittles' story was uplifting.

I decided to post information about White Paws German Shepherd Rescue so that those of you who had desired to help but were hampered geographically can make a small donation of thanks. According to Kathy S. who coordinated the GSR chain that Skittles was able to piggy back onto, there is a rescue shepherd in need of surgery and she suggested that donations could be made to that fund. Here is the link.

I will also attempt to post a few photos below this post of Skittles' adventure. Many, many thanks to Annette, Marci, Mark, Riley, Evan, and my mom and dad. Peace.

Skittles And Her Heroes...

These are pictures of Skittles with her heroes. The top two are my friend Marci's awesome boys - Evan and Riley. Thanks guys - you rock! I can't wait to meet you soon downstate. The other picture is Annette who was the person who got Skittles from Binghamton to the Rescue Ride in Pennsylvania. Annette - you are the best!

Skittles' Amazing Journey

Introducing, Skittles The Wonder Dog!

This is my new baby. Grandpa should be picking up the latest grandpuppy in about 3 1/2 hours from now in Battle Creek, MI. She started out the day a bit on the grumpy side (read: WTF is going on here!!!) but eventually calmed down and enjoyed her ride across Pennsylvania and Ohio. As I write this I believe she is somewhere between Sandusky and Toledo. I am so excited! She looks like an absolute love bug and those of you who know my Frankie can see that this one will be a kissing cousin to him (he's a Welsh Terrier down there on the left at the side bar). Thanks again to all. I will be posting information where individuals who weren't able to help today because they were geographically hampered can make a small monetary donation to the White Paws German Shepherd Rescue that played a major role in the transport today. According to Kathy who coordinated the GSR portion of the day, there is a rescue dog in need of surgery and our donations will help pay defray the costs. Peace!

Man's Best Friend

In a little over twelve hours, the rescue operation will begin. Skittles will be picked up at her home of many years that she has shared with her human companion, Olga, tomorrow morning. Fortunately dogs see and understand things very differently than we do. We understand how sad her leaving will be. In the coming months, when she dreams - yes, dogs dream, ask anyone who has a dog - I believe she will continue to romp with Olga in her dreams.

As the day progresses she will no doubt have moments of anxiety. However, she will be traveling in her own crate, lying on a blanket that is saturated with smells of Olga and home. She will be in the company of loving human companions and another lucky dog, Max, on his way to his forever home.

In Ypsilanti she will say goodbye to Max, but will be blessed with the company of Marci's two boys, Riley and Evan, who are so excited to be involved in this rescue. They will keep her company on the drive to Battle Creek.

The earlier plan was for them to bring Skittles to Saginaw. However, that would have required me to drive six hours, pick up the dog, and drive six more hours back - across the Upper Peninsula, exhausted, on two lane in the middle of no where. Not to mention the incredible frustration of finally getting to see one of my best friends from high school for the first time in nearly thirty years, as well as her family, for only a matter of minutes. (I hope to get myself down state for a proper visit in the coming months.)

I was fully prepared to do this when my dad suggested that he and my mom get involved. Not only did this save me the potentially dangerous twelve hour drive, but it allowed for Skittles to interact with another rescue dog in a nice quiet home with a large yard to romp in before coming up north to join my pack. Skittles will say good bye to the boys then in Battle Creek and say hello to Winston, my folks' beautiful rescued Airedale terrier for the last leg of Saturday's journey ending outside of Chicago.

Fran just posted a comment below in which she learned that Annette went to high school with another blogger friend of hers. She comments eloquently on how small the world is in many ways when we begin to look for the connections. The miracle of Skittles is working it's power. I posted a few weeks ago about joy and commented on how long it had been since I experienced true joy - well, I'm experiencing it now, all for the love heaped upon one little dog.

As I say every day at the top of the blog, the world is not a place but the vastness of the soul.

Peace.

I Believe In Angels...

These are my paternal grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Shell. He was orphaned along with an infant brother in Poland around 1920 and brought to this country to live with a bachelor uncle. She was best friends with his cousin. They met and married in 1937. He passed away in 1995 and she passed away in 1999. Most of the furniture in my home is their furniture. I sleep in the bed that they bought when they were married. Perhaps they are the angels in this story.

If you have been following my activities on Facebook or have read the post below you know that I am involved in a rescue operation. My friend, Fran, who's blog is linked there on the left, There Will Be Bread, put up a post this past weekend and I knew I had to act.

It is no big secret that I love my critters, especially my dogs. Fran's sister-in-law is dying from cancer. I believe she was initially diagnosed in 2006 and almost gave up her dog back then, but for encouragement from Fran. In the end, she was very glad she kept her and it gave her motivation to fight back these past few years. Now, however, her time has come and one of Fran's responsibilities was to find a home for Skittles, the 8 year old Jack Russell terrier.

As it happens this woman's name is Olga and she is Ukrainian, an immigrant like my grandfather and, yes, my grandmother's name was Olga. Fran reports that in her delirium she had reverted back to the language of her youth and old country home. Fran has been spending many hours at her bedside and she had no idea how she would find this lovely little dog a good home.

Fran and I have met through a church focused blogging network. We have had discussions. We partied together on line on New Year's Eve at another long distance friend's Virtual New Year's Eve party, Maria plays a part in this story too. Fran and I have never spoken directly to each other until today, yet we know each other enough via social networking/internet to consider each other friends.

I contacted Fran and suggested I could take in the little dog if there weren't other options. As I waited for her reply I began to piece together a rescue plan. My parents are active participants in Airedale rescue. They frequently volunteer to transport rescued dogs to help get them to their "forever homes." I modeled my plan on this.

Through the help of volunteers I had pieced together a fairly good train of folks with some gaps in Ohio. We hadn't yet set on a day when I contacted Jack Russell rescue as suggested by my dad and my friend Kate. Within an hour or so of sending my e-mail, I learned of a German Shepherd rescue occurring this weekend that would take the dogs from Pennsylvania all the way to Ypsilanti, MI.

Unfortunately, Fran wasn't able to do this on Saturday morning so we needed to find someone who could pick up Skittles in New York and meet up with the rescue run in Pennsylvania. Once again the crew started putting the word out. As it happens a rather new cyber friend of mine, Annette, announced she could do this important initial leg.

See that pic of my grandfather, Stanley Shell? When he came to this country as a boy he still had the family name, Skorupa. When he turned 21 he decided to translate it to Shell. A few months ago I noticed this gal who had commented on another old friend of mine's facebook page. Her name was Annette Skorupa and I wanted to see if we were related. We're not, but we stayed connected. Do you see my point about angels?

The final stretch of the transport will involve one of my bestest friends from high school. We moved to Michigan and ended up great friends with this wild and crazy gal, Marci. Through Facebook we have reconnected and when I put out the initial request for help Marci was there volunteering herself and her husband.

I feel so much God Spirit in all of this my heart is ready to burst. Peace.

Help Me Rescue Skittles

This is not Skittles. It is simply a representative picture of a Jack Russell. My cyber friend, Fran, has posted the following at her blog and she and I have been in communication about this.

On her blog she posts:

"One of my tasks is to find a home for Skittles, Olga's Jack Russell Terrier. Skittles is 8 and very cute, but she is also a Jack Russell Terrier. Read: She is highly energetic. In the good days, she had Olga out and walking, getting regular exercise. When Olga had her first bout with the stupid cancer in 2009, she wanted Skittles to go. I persuaded her otherwise and she was later grateful. That dog helped fuel a recovery.

Now I know that persuasion has no point. If you live within 3 hours of Albany or Binghamton and you even remotely think that you know someone who would consider this dog, it would be a mercy that is much required."

I have agreed to adopt the dog if we can find a way to get her from Albany to the U.P. I am looking for drivers in a sort of "underground railroad" between there and here. If you would be able to take a leg please contact me and let me know.

We need drivers in the following areas and in between: Albany, Ithica, Erie, Cleveland, Toledo, Detroit, and along the I75 interstate up to the Mackinac Bridge where I can retrieve her and bring her to her new home. Peace.

PS - Someone has already "helpfully" suggested to Fran that they simply euthanize the dog as "that will happen anyway." grrrrrrrrrr!

Weekend Company

This past weekend was the annual U.P. 200 & Midnight Run sled dog races. Teams take off from downtown Marquette and follow the Lake Superior shoreline east to Grand Marais, Michigan, and back over the three day weekend.

My sister and my friend, Lisa, both came to town to watch this wonderful event. Sadly our weather hit sixty degrees last Wednesday so we had an enormous melt off of the snow. In the end, the organizers cut the race short due to a lack of snow on the trail.

Fortunately we were able to view the start on Friday night and had a front window table at the Irish pub where we chowed down on some great food and watched the teams go by.

The picture at right is of my vet, Tim Hunt, from a number of years ago. He raced again this year but I don't know how he did. He has also raced in the Iditarod and served as a race vet as well.

The remainder of the weekend was spent hanging out in front of a raging fire in the wood stove/fireplace. Eating lots and lots of local good food and getting caught up on rest.

Today I went to the neurology appointment ready to push for a referral to Mayo Clinic. I was heard and for starters will be having a large battery of blood tests this week and we will take it from there. They are not against the idea of referring me though, which is good.

I continue to have incrementally worsening neuropathy symptoms in my hands/arms & feet/legs. The NP started talking about aqua therapy but then said she'd like to know what was going on first before initiating that. My response was "exactly." I don't know if I should be pushing aggressive exercise or what. When I walk, the stiffness and pain worsens.

I am continuing to look for a change in jobs and think I have made a decision. I will share more when and if it becomes official. Eliminating job stress can only help my overall health.

"There Are Places I Remember..."

(taken from my porch today)

I have blogged before in my belief that we are constantly creating our image. That the various consumer choices we make are mainly concerned with an image we hold in our mind’s eye of who we are, who we wish to be, how we wish to be seen by the world. I have suggested that even in an attempt to not be brand conscious or image conscious we are still polishing a projected image.

And so I sit here sipping my coffee in my home on a sunny cold February day, pondering the image that I cherish and wondering what it says about my self.

It is a glorious day. The sun is shining brightly casting a new look on the snow worn landscape. This is a second day of rest following a rather grueling week at work. I actually feel rested. I sit here on the sleeper loveseat in my back parlor, sunshine lounging over my shoulder. Abby Cat has taken up residence in my Lazy Boy recliner thus forcing this new perspective on the room.

I am wearing lounge pants, a gift from my mom for Christmas, a t-shirt, and my Mr. Rogers, smoky blue, lambs wool cardigan with missing button and cat fur. My pain isn’t so bad today - it really seems to correlate with how damp it is outside and today must be rather dry at 9 degrees F. The computer is on my lap and I examine my foot resting across my knee. The foot is calloused with numerous small varicose veins between the ankle bone and heel. It is no longer the foot of a young man, looking more and more like my father’s worn aged feet. The skin on my hands is clearly losing its youthful elasticity, liver spots are forming.

The house itself, this log cabin in the woods, is very quiet. The dogs make their grunts and whines, their nails clicking on the tile. The furnace fan quietly whirs in the background. The silence is medicinal.

This is an image that I craft for myself. Portly middle aged intellectual wannabe. Mussed hair. Tortoise shell glasses with a retro feel. Books everywhere. Animals in abundance. Sipping coffee and catching up on my back issues of The Nation. Unvacuumed carpet. Unwashed dishes. Unmade bed. Undusted furniture. As I putter today I feel nothing so much as contentment.

I will have company in another week or so for the U.P. 200 Sled Dog Race weekend. That requires me to periodically interject chores into my routine. Wash some dishes, clean the toilet, sweep the floor. With a purpose to motivate me these chores are also part of the contentment. I will have visitors to my milieu, witnesses to my carefully crafted image, an acknowledgement by the world of who I am.

In the midst of all this was a recognition that I might lose it all one day and that thought gave me a moment’s pause. Like most of middle America I am but a few paychecks away from financial ruin. As a single individual, a devastating illness will leave me homeless. I have no spouse’s income to fall back on. In this brave new world we live in even a hospital will terminate you after you have used up your twelve weeks of protected medical leave. At that point we are “protected” by COBRA - yet how is an unemployed individual to make those payments? And so in a matter of months, all this could disappear.

For many of us it already has disappeared. Millions more are facing foreclosure. I fear that what we are calling a “Recession” as if eventually we will get back to normal, is in fact a “Correction” and The Corporate States of America has just cut out a large chunk of us saying, “We don’t need you any more as cash cows - we’re looking to China. Good luck.” For many Americans, their images have been permanently shattered and destroyed.

I do not know if I will be able to afford this log home when I retire, if I am able to retire. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to sell for a profit if I wait long enough and move myself into a small bungalow in town and my image will alter slightly rather than catastrophically. One can hope. Peace.

And What About A Triangle?

If I say to you, “A rectangle is not always a square.” do you understand the logic in that statement? One can say that a square is always a rectangle. However, it is wrong to flip the logic and make the claim that a rectangle is always a square. It is imperative you understand this bit of logic before moving on.

This is a picture of me dressed to the nines for Halloween in third or fourth grade, I believe. That would make me eight or nine years old. I was always very envious of my sister’s chest of dress up clothes. I loved that black dress. It was a cocktail dress of my grandmother’s and had a silky lining and lots of crinolines. The wig was one of my mother’s from an age where women wore wigs in order to have different looks. I remember thinking that this would be an awesome excuse to dress up and show off.

Studies have shown that a significant percentage of gay men incorporate cross dressing into their play as children. However, just as with the squares and rectangles, one should not flip the concepts and assume the logic holds. There isn’t a similar strong link showing that boys who’s play includes cross dressing grow up to be gay men-not that there’s anything wrong with that. (sorry, Seinfeld humor)

Mad Priest shared a link on his blog today concerning this little boy who last Halloween chose to dress up as Daphne from Scooby Doo. I encourage you to follow the links and read this kid’s story before continuing.

For the moment I am most concerned with the reactions of the mothers.

I have no memory of my mom’s reaction to my decision to dress up for Halloween that year. I do have a wonderful memory of her greatly enjoying helping me get dressed up. If she had any reservations or concerns up front, she did a wonderful job of keeping them to herself and helping her little boy with his costume.

I don’t recollect how it happened that my sister and I ended up trick or treating with my friend John. Some how or other we ended up back at his house and there was a delay in getting picked up to go home. I have a vivid memory of goofing around in the living room of their house doing somersaults in that black dress. I also have a very vivid memory of the intense disapproval radiating from John’s parents. They never said a word as far as I can remember, but I will never forget that feeling and the shame it generated in me.

This was not long after we had moved a mile or so away and it seems that my friendship to John waned about the same time. In hindsight I wonder now if he was soon forbidden to play with me after the Halloween incident. If that is what happened, such was the intense fear of any expression of effeminate behavior expressed in boys at that time.

However, as Boo’s story shows, such feelings are still very much alive even now.

There are important exceptions, however. I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Hockey is the sport of choice over Little League. Many, many of the residents own guns and look forward to hunting season. Our stereotypes of rural America would lead you to believe that gender roles are strictly enforced here.

Yet I worked with this wonderful nurse at the hospital. She has two daughters and her youngest is the only boy. This little guy grew up emulating his sisters and went through a very long dress up period in which he was fascinated with princess costumes, dresses, tutus, sparkly tiaras, etc. Michelle just let him play and did her best to keep her husband from freaking out entirely. We would have conversations about this at work and I strongly commended her on her instincts as a mother.

Now he is older and his fascination with girly attire has subsided. He plays hockey with the best of them. It would seem that once he entered school and expanded his social network to include other boys he transitioned to more conventional boy play. Is he gay? Only he will know the answer to that question for the present time. If he is, than it is likely that the cross dressing was an early expression of his sexuality. In any case, it most certainly was not the cause.

I am also reminded of a story about another nurse I worked with. She was moving and came to the house to collect some boxes. She had with her in the car her two boys and a nephew. Not long after leaving my house, she heard one of the boys call someone a fag. She stopped their conversation and challenged them with the question, “Do you know what that word means?” The boys were taken aback and replied rather quietly that it meant someone was gay. She pointed out to them that the friend of hers they had just met was gay so what was their point in using that word? It was an awesome teaching moment for those boys.

It’s not an easy job being a mom. Starting with Dr. Spock, we began to lump all the responsibility for how children turn out at the mother’s feet. That’s quite a load to carry. The truth is we are already very much shaped by the genetic code we carry. More and more we are finding that major aspects of our personalities are as much due to our genetics as to our environment. Further, our mothers are only one portion of our environment.

These moms - Boo’s mom, my mom, Michelle, and Lydia - represent to me the best of motherhood. Examples of mom’s who by their acceptance and love have shaped their children’s lives and guided them towards a better way of being. Kudos are likely due to the silent partners in these stories, the dad’s, who by keeping their reservations about their kids to themselves also played an important role in our development.

Peace.

I Am A Slav

This post is about joy. However, at the risk of sounding like a Bergman film, I will put out that I miss feeling joy and today I cannot remember the last time that I experienced unadulterated joy. This makes me sound like a depressed person in seek of a medication boost. We are, as a culture, getting to be far too dependent on happy pills. Further, there is a significant difference between joyful and happy.

In any case, I come from Slavs. I have that Eastern European blood (possibly spiced with Mongolian genes courtesy of the descendants of Genghis Khan) roaring through my body. My genetic soul traces itself back to a land of long cold winters. I am already having mixed emotions over the longer days as we pass midwinter. I crave the cold, dark nights and will no doubt mourn their passing, even as I delight in the coming Spring.

All of this is to try and cut off now the tsk tsk tongue clicking that will only read this post as more depressive moaning. In my work, as a nurse, I read many many History & Physicals. This is a dictated document by physicians so that there is a summary in a patient's chart for all who are providing care. Essential to a complete H&P is a list of current diagnoses. The percentage of these which list the diagnosis "depression" is astounding.

Why do you suppose there is so much depression all around us? I bristle when I read articles that suggest we are over prescribing medication, no doubt because in my case I feel the medication truly works and keeps my "depression" at bay. For me, however, that does not mean that the pills make me happy. Without my medication, my life would deteriorate into a frayed ball of jangled nerves and out of control anxiety. This would also lead to the profound sadness that is most often associated with depression. However, it is not about eliminating sadness.

I would suggest that sadness is the flip side of joy. Well, perhaps "flip side" is not the right image, suggesting the presence of one or the other emotion. Better to think of the too as a continuum with emotional dysfunction at the far extremes of either end - out of control joy becoming mania, for example.

A healthy life swings back and forth over this continuum. Perhaps it is natural even this time of year to hover more towards the sadness end of the spectrum. This should not be classified as depression.

It seems to me that so many of us desire a constant fix of whatever we are lacking. Let's start with climate, for example. Why do so many of us desire to live in a non-stop warm climate - perfect 80 degree weather, day in and day out? Think about that. What so many of us is wishing for is a kind of stasis. This has lead to massive shifts in the population to places that do not have the water resources to support that population.

Appetite is another area where we have trouble. We have a constant desire to be satiated. We want that piece of pie and we want it now. However, halfway through the pie we are wanting something else. We have learned to hate feeling hungry. We reject the sensation and reach for whatever we can put into our mouths. Our waistlines are testament to this one.

I could think of other examples to what I am trying to say, but the key one concerns sadness and joy. In our craving for a non-stop feeling of joy, first off we confuse happy with joyful, and then we completely reject anything remotely resembling sadness. When we see it in others, we immediately label it depression.

Sadness is such a key emotion to our humanity. Just as our conscious mind is dependent on dream sleep to remain functional, our emotional mind, I believe, is dependent on a varied palette of emotions. It is unhealthy to bury sadness.

I'll leave you with a musical clip.

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