And then there were THREE?!

It’s been over a year since I posted about Jujube coming to join our pack…she’s now nicknamed Tater Tot, because she’s a small potato in comparison to most Bernese Mountain Dogs. She arrived at 100lbs, and I knew she needed to lose weight to protect her joints. We actually were able to slim her down to 75lbs, but then our current vet was like, yeah she needs to put on a few pounds…and that was hella easy! She’s resting now somewhere around 85lbs and I think she’s okay at that weight. She’s still short and stocky, and I constantly remind her how tiny she is, but she’s a good girl. We actually had very little issue housetraining her as she didn’t have any accidents in the house at all. We crate trained her–as we did with Butthead–and she sleeps in her crate on and off at night in our bedroom. The crate door stays open so she has freedom to move about the bedroom all night, which she does.

This is Tater Tot. She’s four years old now and still happy and crazy and attached to Hub like nobody’s business. She has realized that I give good butt scratchies so she does come to me for affection, but mostly she is still Hub’s little baby. She, unfortunately, has some bad habits (poop eating) and she’s very chompy to take treats out of our hands, but we continue to work on these things. She’s also still a pretty nervous dog. If we drop anything on the floor or move our chairs too fast, or someone comes in the house she doesn’t know, she jumps and runs off. These days she’s more likely to come back and investigate whatever scared her, but still she’s a nervous nelly.

So now I said THREE in the title, because about four months after Tater Tot came to us, I accidentally fell in love with another dog. Integrating Tater Tot was actually pretty easy, in that she really didn’t seem to care about Butthead. Butthead really wanted to play, but Tater Tot has no idea how to play with her. So they were able to exist in the same pack without too much issue. Once or twice Butthead may have quietly corrected Tater Tot, but honestly Tater Tot is so happy and kind of dumb that she didn’t take offense. She was like “sure, whatever old lady, I’ll just go over here instead” and that was it. Since Tater Tot fit in so well, with little issue, I was halfway watching the rescue postings on my FB feed. I really didn’t PLAN on a third dog–we have never had three dogs full-time–but I saw a picture.

I saw a picture on my FB feed and read the story about our Golden Girl and I cried. I cried big tears and I sent the story to Hub and I was like “she needs us.” At the time of her listing she was 8 years old, they decided she was a great pyrenees mix because she had the rear dew claws that GP’s have. She had been with her foster for almost a year because she needed several surgeries and had to recover from them before she could be adopted out. They found her in a hoarding situation on a dairy farm with a ton of other dogs at 7 years old. She had horrendous hip dysplasia on both sides, so she had hip surgery on both hips, first one–then recovery-then the other, and recovery. She also had an emergency hysterectomy due to a bad infection–and recovery–and then they removed both mammary chains because they found tumors (that turned out to be benign)–and recovery. Four major surgeries in a year, each requiring somewhat lengthy recoveries. They also found bacteria in her system during one of the surgeries that only COWS get…that’s how terrible the dairy farm hoarding situation was. The vet had never seen anything like it.

Hub, being the sucker that he is, said “sure, go ahead and apply for her.” I told him everyone was going to want her, so it was probably a waste of time. I put in the application on a Thursday, talked to the rescue that evening, and Friday morning they said “she’s loading up on our transport and you can meet the van at about 1am to pick her up.” Seriously, no one else wanted her. We couldn’t imagine, and here we were with a pack that was still getting accustomed to each other, including us with a new routine with Tater Tot. But Golden Girl…something in her just drew me and I felt we were the right home for her. We were told she had some mobility issues from her hip surgeries–which we were well versed in from the last couple of years of Le Moo’s life–and that she was not well socialized to people. Again, another outdoor dog and another dog who wasn’t really sure about people.

We picked her up at the meeting point and Hub had to basically lift her into our van. She was so shut down she didn’t want to move or do anything. She had a blank stare and a frozen body…and she did not seem thrilled about Hub. He’s a big guy and often overwhelms smaller dogs, but Golden Girl was about 95lbs and wasn’t small, but her life had been so small…

I had never met a dog so shut down before in my life. She didn’t want to be touched, she didn’t want to be looked at. She refused treats and refused our affection and refused us. Literally, ran from us. We had to put her on a leash to get her outside in the yard so she could go to the bathroom. Again, another “outdoor” dog who had zero issues being housetrained, but she just seemed to be dead on the inside. We followed her lead and let her be except for taking her outside. We thought, sure, a couple of months and things will calm down…she’s going to love us.

She did not love us. She didn’t interact with the other dogs, she just…existed in her shell of a body. We talked to her all the time but did not touch her unless necessary. We told her again and again that she was going to love us. She did not love us. She kept to herself in another room, one that we kept dark with heavy curtains on the windows. At some point she began following me, but would not really come close. She wouldn’t go near Hub at all, but she started shadowing me inside and outside the house. I started taking more risks with her…touching her as she walked by me, or putting my hand on her when she was nearby. She still skirted away and she still refused treats and any signs of affection. Six months in, we were still in the same standoff. She had no personality, no quirks, no reactions, no emotions. Six months…it was torture for us. We only wanted to love her, but she didn’t want us to. And she didn’t want to love us.

I decided that we had given her plenty of time to realize that we respected her and her needs…and that we were going to love her even if she didn’t love us. I was ready to move forward, so I started touching her every time she was near me. Inside the house, outside the house, nighttime, daytime…touch touch touch touch. We would celebrate every time she let me touch her, or when she didn’t actually run away from me. Another month, I just kept pushing her tiny bits at a time. And I encouraged Hub to start touching her as well. She ran from us a lot, but we didn’t give up. And every accomplishment was celebrated.

And one day, outside on the deck, I announced to her that I was going to hug her. And I did. And she stood there and allowed it. She did not respond, her body was stiff, but she stayed where she was until I let her go…and she ran away from me. I didn’t care because I had hugged her and she had let me. Day by day, I would just do a little more hugging, a little more touching, a little more loving. She was taking treats from me and would occasionally allow Hub to toss a treat in her direction. And again, another day I up and announced that I was going to kiss her, and I pressed a kiss on her big gold noggin. And she let me. It’s been all uphill since then. Well, slow uphill. She’s still stand-offish, still a little resistant, but we keep pressing forward.

She loves to roll in the yard, especially when the grass is wet. She loves to rub along the fence, we have no idea why. She gives us happ face now, and lets us touch her and hug her and kiss her more. She will still skirt away from us sometimes, but it’s okay because we know that she knows she’s going to get loved no matter what. She barks at everyone who comes in the house, and oftentimes won’t stop until they leave. We’re working on that. She doesn’t let other people touch her, but that’s okay…she has her boundaries and we’re okay with that. We just celebrated her one year gotcha day with homemade doggy cake…and she loved it.

The three dogs get along fine. Golden Girl sometimes guards the water bowl, but we just correct her and she moves away. There’s some minor interaction between them, but more often than not they are lying near each other. Golden Girl and Tater Tot seem to do that more often, kind of like they are the two new kids who have kind of bonded over being new kids.

Butthead is old–around 12 or 13 years old–and has been not 100% healthy these last months. She’s lost a ton of hair and her muscles have atrophied. She has weakness in her back end that pain medication has not been able to help. Her mobility is low, and we are sort of hoping that a new medication due out in the fall might help her. Right now she’s cranked up on a ton of pain killers and getting weekly acupuncture treatments, with limited success. We’re trying to keep her quality of life good but some days it is a struggle.

Hub actually kept his job all through COVID–we were extremely lucky. This past December he got a promotion and a raise…and then unceremoniously and shockingly got laid off from his job. He was out of work for about four months and we were lucky to be able to make it through, despite him only being given a month of severance (plus two weeks of leave he had saved up). He has since started a new job that he doesn’t love, but it’s definitely paying the bills. He has to go into the office once a week, which isn’t horrible but it’s basically a three hour round trip in traffic. For now, it will do.

I’m still struggling on and off with migraine attacks. At present I’m in the midst of an attack and it sucks. I’ve been continuing to try new medications and new medical devices with some minor success. Unfortunately, once I get into a migraine attack, I seem stuck there until it lifts on its own…and that’s a royal pain in the ass.

I’m not sure how long I’m going to blog again, but today I felt the need to. Hope everyone here is still doing well.

 

Well, she here…

And already completely attached to Hub.

That’s Hub’s elbow there as he’s napping on the couch since he barely slept last night. Also, 10+ hour drive yesterday to pick her up. So overnight we put her in a crate, but he was paranoid that she was going to chew the plastic crate pan because her owners said she chews and eats everything! (she did not chew or eat the crate pan overnight.)

Good grief, every time he adjusts on the couch her head pops up. Yeesh.

She’s been ok so far, but if we try to confine her out of view of Hub, she breaks out (with the exception of the crate, but we don’t want her confined to a crate except for the time being as we learn her and she learns her boundaries). So at the moment, she’s on a leash–which I am monitoring–as she tries to nap next to Hub napping. Good news is, she’s gentle and sweet, no jumping or barking (yet), and she really has very little interest so far with Butthead.

On the other hand, our goofy and playful Butthead has turned into my grumpy old lady. She’s been kind of growly at Jujube (not her real name) and we haven’t yet figured out why. Twice today outside she tried to do a little bit of a playful pounce, but in the house she’s definitely wary and growly. Jujube doesn’t even respond to the growls yet, so that’s good. But again, everything is VERRRY new for all of us. It’s going to take adjustment, as Hub and I are aware. He’s pretty upset that she won’t really talk to me but I’m okay with it. I am definitely slower to adjust and attach than Hub…he was attached as soon as he met her. It’s both a good thing and a bad thing, but we are committed to this girl so right now it’s all good. I know that change is difficult for me, stresses me out, and already I have had some migraine flares due to all the stress. So I move slowly and I kind of marinate in the changes before I really can take them in.

Plus, she’s not exactly what I expected. She’s short and fat and stubby…not what I understood Bernese Mountain dogs to be. But apparently she’s all kinds of “non-compliant” with the breed standard, so…whatev. Anyway, she’s got short legs, a round body, kind of looks like an inflated cocker spaniel to me…and I expected (and wanted) a big dog like all our previous dogs. So I have some disappointment, which Hub is very upset to hear. Eventually it will be fine, I’ll adjust and find my way and so will she. We’ll be a family unit and all will be well. Based on my blogging of Butthead, that should happen in, oh, about four months. LOL

Aaaanyway, there she is. Did I mention she’s fat? Our vet is going to have a shit-fit when he sees her. And really, she does need to lose some pounds, even I–who like fat dogs–think she’s a big too fat for her frame. I don’t judge, but I do worry about her joints because already at 2 1/2 we know she has some mild elbow dysplasia and I saw that her hips have some “irregularities”. So we’re gonna do our best to trim her down a bit…she has a long life ahead and is starting behind the eight-ball with her joints.

Also you can’t see in the photo above, but she has a really big forehead. What’s UP with that. Here…

Well, there’s the news. More to come, I’m sure. She’s toileting outside appropriately, which was a surprise to us, and really wants to be in the house…also a surprise since she was mostly an outdoor dog with access to a kennel. Hopefully the good housetraining continues!

 

This is why I came back

Y’all, this is Jujube (not her actual name, of course). By the time this post is published, said fruity snack will be here in our home.

Le Moo left us the first week of January. I had real reservations about getting another dog because after Butthead (OMG I read back through my posts about when she arrived and the stress and strain and etc) I wasn’t sure I could go through all that again. I’m old, I’ve turned 50, do I want to have to house train another dog and clean up after it and get acquainted and integrate with Butthead and our lives. And everything changes…schedules, habits, normal life. Ugh. So I really had to give it thought…

But the truth is, part of my purpose here is to love dogs that need love. To take care of dogs who don’t have other options. To save an animal that needs saving. Sure that sounds dramatic, and to that animal it is. So with trepidation, I started looking at petfinder and adoptadog, and I went to the rescues we’ve had success with before and put in applications…and I went to a few breed rescues that are affiliated with certain breeds. I’d love another newfoundland, particularly the landseer (like Butthead), and like her, I have no issues with getting a mixed breed. All of our dogs have been mixed breed dogs and I love them no matter what. The other breed we enjoy are Great Pyrenees, of which Le Moo was a mix. I’m soooo interested in Leonbergers and I signed up for their rescue but, uh, they don’t really get dogs who need rescuing. Leonbergers are pretty rare and their owners are a pretty tight group. And it’s damn hard to even get a purebred Leonberger even if you were willing to pay for a puppy…so I knew a rescue was not likely to happen. The last breed I have wanted for many years is a Bernese Mountain dog. Sweet Pea with a Berner mix, and I’ve always wanted another. Bernese are also relatively rare (in comparison to like, a labrador) and rescues are also rare. One of the most involved Bernese rescues basically says they get 50 dogs for rescue per year…and THOUSANDS of applications a year. UGH. I wasn’t even finding that many Berner mixes (and of course you never know if they guess right on the breed, unless they see momma/poppa dog). I was seeing that most of the Bernese rescues were coming from backyard or puppymill breeders. They use up the poor momma then dump her on the street or in a shelter, and then the breed rescues scoop them up and save them and place them in good, patient homes.

But the idea of looking into a breeder who might be retiring a dog led me down a different path. Very accidentally I found a breeder who was looking to rehome their 2 1/2 year old female because she has birthed 2 litters that both all died. They didn’t want to bother breeding her again because they felt there was something wrong with her. I got in touch with them and while investigating the idea of rescuing a retired or “rejected” breeding dog, I found out this place was a “Doodler”. They basically just breed different breed females with their Poodle studs. They call them “designer dogs”, but in reality they are mixed breed dogs. The person I spoke to at this doodle ranch seemed nice enough, but when I asked about vet records and getting a health certificate (which is required by federal law for crossing state lines so as not to spread disease), the person lied and said it wasn’t necessary. Which sort of told me the dog probably never had actual veterinary care. I already knew they were not a good breeder, and I couldn’t risk moving a dog cross many state lines illegally…and what if she was sick and brought something into my house and infected Butthead? Or Cray Cray Lab? So I told them we had changed our mind and I went back to the search via petfinder, etc.

There are SO MANY DOGS who need homes. Puppies for days. It’s incredibly sad to spend weeks or months looking at websites where you start to recognize pictures. It hurt my heart. I was feeling depressed and full of heartache. I would stop looking for a day or so, but then I would go back because I had major FOMO. I was so worried that the “right” dog would come and I would miss her.

I found a listing by a family looking to rehome their Bernese because they were moving and couldn’t take her. And they were almost local, so I got very excited. I emailed back and forth with them for a week or two, but they were always slow to respond and they were noncommittal. I finally gave up on them and again went back to petfinder and adoptadog. I also joined a local facebook group for the Bernese breed and I asked around about anyone knowing of a dog who needed rescue or rehoming. I had a couple of people respond and one who said she had a dog for me. So I contacted her and we talked via facebook for a day or so. I asked tons of questions about the dog–who was retired and about 4 years old–and Hub and I got very excited. So the breeder said she would send me a questionnaire to make sure we were appropriate for her girl. I got the email, opened it, and found that the woman wanted to sell us her dog for several thousand dollars. I could have spent less and gotten a puppy from a legit breeder…I thought I was rescuing a retired dog who needed her own family to spoil her and love her. The breeder thought we were desperate for a dog so she was willing to consider letting one of hers go. I could see she was trying to be kind, but it wasn’t the situation I wanted. So I said as much, that I wanted a dog who needed us, and her dog had someone to love her.

But the idea of a retired breeding dog was still in the back of my head. I looked around to see if there were any breeders in our state, but oddly there weren’t many for Bernese. On the other hand, Pennsylvania is generally filled with breeders, often in the Amish communities. And generally not the best breeders, though I am sure there are many good ones.

Anyway, I found a breeder who actually was looking to rehome a rejected breeding dog, due to bad joints and bloodwork showing she carried a hereditary disease (but didn’t actually have the disease). I just stumbled onto her site and saw the almost brand-new post about rehoming her dog. I contacted the breeder and we talked in email for quite some time. The dog has some issues–being that she lives in a kennel (and often outdoors), is not house trained, not socialized to people other than the people on the farm, and hasn’t had any training or really any attention. I asked for videos of the dog…she’s a chonky monkey, which is exactly the way Hub and I like our dogs. She’s adorable and seems very happy, even though she has no training and little socialization. So Hub and my brother, B3, are picking her up this weekend (the day before this posting), because I still can’t be in the car for extended periods. And this is a multi-hour trip, one way. We’ve already talked to a trainer to get some suggestions and insight into helping a dog like this, since we’ve not really dealt with an outside and unsocialized dog before.

I hope to blog through this experience like I did with Butthead (and somewhat with Le Moo), so that one day I can come back and see that we managed to live through it. Beforehand it seems so overwhelming and like it’s going to be hell on earth. And probably sometimes during it does feel that way, but looking back I know we were able to manage. And we were able to give this dog–who is basically a stray “feral” dog who had regular access to food, water, and shelter–an amazing life. Like those who came before her. And I’ll be reminded that part of my purposes is just that…to give an animal an amazing life with us. Saving one at a time.

This time, it’s a chonky almost 3 year old Bernese Mountain dog.

 

I don’t know why

I’m not entirely sure why I stopped blogging, besides being sick. Once I started feeling better, I could have come back and resumed my journaling. Part of me knows that since last June we have been dealing with Le Moo’s decline. And I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to admit it, even though I admitted it in my reality. Maybe not writing it made it not as catastrophic as it really was? Or maybe I just needed the time to be with her because I knew the time was running down.

Le Moo is gone. It’s still devastates me to say or write that. We miss her so much I cannot even find words for it. My Sweet Pea, she was my heart dog…she was pretty attached to me and when she passed a piece of my heart tore away and went with her. It was like losing a limb, and I grieved her so hard that for the first time in my life I actually allowed myself to go to therapy. I had wanted to go to therapy but felt that I would be wasting money on myself. But after SP, I needed help and I went for it. Le Moo was my soul dog. I attached with her in a different way, and I felt that connection down in my soul. When we had her humanely euthanized here at home, my soul tore and left a gaping hole so deep inside that it will never be whole again. Le Moo was an old soul.

Le Moo was having many physical and mental issues. She had severe arthritis in her leg joints, her spine, and her hips. We tried to keep her comfortable with medication and laser therapy, but it benefits seemed to wane. She also started having doggie dementia, which is an actual thing (canine cognitive disfunction–CCD), which left her anxious and distressed a lot of the time. The symptoms got worse and worse, and her physical decline continued to the point where we had to help her get up from a laying position even when she had good traction. Our girl was strong and stubborn, and we could see she didn’t want to leave us because she knew how it would hurt us. But we knew it was her time, so we had a vet service who does only at-home euthanasia come in to the house. The vet came in and explained everything (even though we have been through this before) and he was very kind. Hub and I were ready with forbidden fruits for Le Moo–M&Ms and homemade chocolate chocolate chip cookies (my mother’s recipe/specialty)–so when the vet gave her the first sedative, we gave her the treat. She ate FOUR chocolate chocolate chip cookies with gusto, and snatched up every M&M hub had. When she finished the treats, her head began to slowly lower and I held her face in my hands. I told her she was amazing and that we loved her bigger than the sky and deeper than the ocean. And that it was time for her to move to the next world where she wouldn’t have a physical body to slow her down. I just kept talking to her as she fell asleep, and I had my body curled over hers as the vet gave her the last medicine. My beautiful, stubborn, amazing, loving, soulful girl went to the next world with cookie crumbs on her face.

We had her cremated–something I’ve never had done before–because I had seen these glass memorials where they take some of the ashes and create a work of art. We had that done and now this glass memorial, sprinkled with ashes–sits on top of a rotating platform, lit with led lights from below–is here with us. It’s a beautiful handblown piece of art, and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

We had devoted lots of time and energy to Le Moo over the last year. For the last three months of her life, Hub was basically sleeping a couple of hours in bed, then a couple of hours downstairs with Le Moo because her dementia made her restless and need to go outside to pace. We rarely left her alone, and when she became anxious or distressed, one of us went to her to reassure her. We were extremely lucky that she didn’t forget who we were but I have heard that does happen. Doggie dementia is a terrible, heart-breaking disease. There is no rationalizing with your dog, no way to explain anything…and for us there was no medication that made any difference. Nothing to stop or slow the disease, and nothing to alleviate the symptoms. We tried everything available but nothing worked. We couldn’t even help with her anxiety.

So, she’s gone. We thought Butthead would be panicking and looking for Le Moo. We let her see Le Moo after the procedure and before the vet took her body away. Only once that afternoon did Butthead wander in and out of all the rooms looking for Le Moo, but then she seemed resigned. She’s been extra clingy and depressed, but we really thought she would freak out. She used to freak out when Le Moo would leave the house for appointments or to get walkies without Butthead. But none of that happened. I’m grateful, but I see how the loss has changed all three of us.

Our lives will never be the same.

 

No thank you

There are many times when I am very happy that I have an anonymous blog. It’s not that I want to say bad things about other people, it’s that I want to be able to share very personal things when I need to. It often helps me to write things out, and who knows maybe someone else is dealing with something similar…it helps to know you’re not alone.

I’ve been learning to meditate on my younger self. I have few memories of my youth–pre- middle school–and no clue why. I have memories that have been given to me by others, but first-hand in-person memories are few and far between. When my therapist first heard me say this, we have a very long discussion about trauma…she was concerned I had some past trauma that was being blocked. But we were never able to suss it out, and after several different attempts she felt confident that there was no hidden major trauma lurking in my younger years. It’s likely I had “mini” traumas that I had going along (like being bullied in school) that my mind decided wasn’t important for my adult living. But losing those “mini” trauma memories also meant losing a lot of my formative growing up years/lessons. My therapist (“T”) has been using forms of meditation to connect with her own younger selves to work on her own issues, and she has encouraged me to try to do the same. Maybe my younger me can help me deal with some of my present issues.

I have not had much success “speaking” to my younger self. For many years of my therapy I kind of put this idea aside as too “woo-woo” for me. I had no idea what to do or how to do it. My fallback is writing, but even writing didn’t seem to work for me. I have, however, been able to use writing more recently to address some of my on-going issues. I’ll share that another time.

So I started meditating when I’ve been ready to go to sleep. And as I meditated, I’ve tried to build my “safe place” in my younger years, which was my bedroom. I don’t “picture” things the way other people do, but I can bring up the memory of my childhood bedroom. I build the room in my head, writing up the details of the small and very pink space. Then I build a picture of what I looked like at younger ages, and I just start thinking about questions I have about my youth. And as I meditate, I find answers coming to me as if I am actually having a conversation with that young person. I’ve done this a couple of times and I didn’t always get useful/helpful responses.

That younger version of me seemed sullen and uninterested in sharing, but one of the times it seemed like she was telling me that it was more that she more feeling sad and lonely. I spent a lot of my time alone as a child, and my feeling about it was because I didn’t really want to be with other people. But when I asked her why she felt lonely, she said she didn’t want to be alone. So I asked why she didn’t try to be with other people–siblings, friends, cousins–and she said she was afraid to be rejected, so in order to not be hurt by rejection, she chose to be alone. It was easier to reject others before they could reject her.

It was so sad. I always felt like I just hated to be with people. I was incredibly shy as a child, and I figured that the shyness made everything painful and therefore I was really just born an introvert. I still believe I am an introvert–it’s so ingrained in me–and I still am shy and don’t like talking with strangers or being in front of a group. But I also see that I do try to push people away before they can hurt me or push me away themselves. I feel like I’ve spent a lot of my life being hurt by others, just reinforcing the desire to keep others at a distance. People who I love have abandoned me over and over again throughout my life, why then would I trust anyone outside my “love” circle to not abandon or reject me?

Two nights ago, I was having an especially bad night. Every time I managed to fall asleep, I had a terrible nightmare. I woke up at one point, feeling so terrorized that I actually woke Hub and asked him if HE was ok. He was in my nightmare and I thought someone was physically attacking us in our bed. He said he was okay and what was going on? I told him that it was just nightmare after nightmare, every time I closed my eyes. He asked if it would help if he held me for a while–which was very sweet–and the first thing that came into my head was that I didn’t want to be held if he was just going to end up falling asleep and leaving me alone…again. It was 4:30 in the morning, I had woken him from a dead sleep, and I was only thinking about how I would feel rejected and abandoned if he fell asleep while trying to make me feel better by holding me.

On one hand…this is kind of an issue with him. If we’re not talking (and even sometimes if we are) or doing other things while holding each other in bed, he falls asleep. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed he had narcolepsy. He doesn’t, he’s been checked. But I hate when he wants to cuddle and then just…falls asleep. I end up feeling lonely and rejected and like I wasn’t worth his time. So I rejected him before he could potentially (based on past experiences) abandon and therefore reject me.

I was eternally polite when I said “no, but thank you for offering” at 4:30 in the morning. And then I spent the next hour thinking about how I had just performed that “reject them before they reject me” play. I’m not even sure he remembers having the interaction that night…he didn’t bring it up and neither have I.

It’s a conversation I intend to have, because I do think it explains some of my actions a little better. And I intend to work on not doing that, because I don’t want to spend my life running from things because I might be rejected…for whatever the reason.

I have also tried meditating again to contact my younger self. I haven’t had too much success recently, but I will keep trying. Just in case I have something important to learn from me.

 

If you see something…

…say something.

But not in the way you expect.

Recently I wrote a post on my non-anonymous facebook page about seeking to appreciate my body and how it has held and carried me for my whole life. I posed the question to others about when was the last time they thought or spoke harshly about their body…and the last time they said or thought something positive about their body. In a surprise response, one of my younger cousins told me that she had been unhappy with her body since the birth of her last child. I could understand even without being a mother, and I also felt sad for this bright and beautiful woman.

My cousin is a brilliant and compassionate doctor, mother, spouse, child, and cousin. I’m sure she is also an amazing friend. Growing up I remember her always being petite and china-doll like (with amazing curly hair!). I was always the giant overweight kid and I hated standing next to her…I felt even bigger and clumsier. As we both grew up, she matured into a lovely and very slender young woman…and she proved just how bright she is. Her path to being a doctor was a long one–as is the way–and her persistence and drive was clear. I admire the hell out of her and find myself lucky to count her as family. She has helped me and my immediate family many times during medical crises and issues. She always makes herself available to support and counsel and advise us, even though she is not technically a doctor to any of us.

I have seen over the years how she has changed physically–as we all have–and what I have seen is a tall, beautifully proportionate and curvy woman. To my mind, she is not in any way overweight. Period.

In response to her comment on my post, I told her I understood her feelings. I told her I loved her and that I thought she was amazing and beautiful. I know from my own experiences that hearing that from someone else isn’t the same as feeling that way about myself.

Over the weekend we had a family zoom to catch up with our families. Parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, kids of cousins, nieces and nephews…etc. Aged from 79 to newborn. As we were catching up, I saw my cousin attending to her daughter and answering a questions about COVID, and I thought to myself, “Goodness, she looks so beautiful tonight!” I texted her privately and said as much, that in addition to her big beautiful brain she looked so lovely. She had straightened her hair and was wearing a very flattering outfit. I wanted her to know what I thought. I watched her respond to the buzz on her phone and read my text. She made a little face and responded that her daughter had wanted them to have matching “straight” hair for the day, and I told her like mother like daughter, they both looked very pretty.

Prior to COVID, I would be out and about and I tried to offer random acts of kindness by speaking personally to people I came across. I love those shoes! Your nails are so cute! That coat is awesome! Your hair is so pretty! It’s kind of amazing how you can affect someone’s day–even someone you don’t know–with a small compliment.

We have less contact with people these days but the same applies, even over zoom or teams or google meet…if you see something, say something. Reach out, make a connection with a human being. Offer kindness when you are able.

 

Friday Fotos

Look at my happy old lady! #seniordogsrock

 

Come give auntie a kiss!

Does this sound familiar to you? As a kid we were always encouraged to go greet adults (not even just relatives) with hugs and kisses. It was like we were offending them if we didn’t greet close friends and family with exuberant hugs and kisses.

I’ve been slowly making my way through “Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women’s Anger” by Soraya Chemaly. There are a number of parts of the book that have changed the way I think, and changed the way I look at things that have happened in my life. Those moments when you feel something isn’t quite right. As a kid we can’t be expected to understand these feelings, we should be able to trust the adults in our life to watch out for us. I’m not sure that the adults in my life were neglecting me or not watching out for me, I just think it was a different time and we weren’t as aware of the things that can affect a child and/or affect their future life.

I had an uncle–who has since passed over 10 years ago–who always hugged me hard and kissed me on the lips. He wore smelly cologne and I always felt overwhelmed by him and his affection. I don’t have any concerns that he was looking to do anything inappropriate, he was just an old generation that felt that children should show their respect and affection with physical greetings. Today during my therapy I realized out loud that this person (who was married into my family) had left me feeling some distaste of big hugs and being smothered with affection. I often tell my husband that I feel overwhelmed by his affection (also a big man, but in a different way) and now I wonder if this is a result of my relationship with my uncle.

I have several nieces and nephews between Hub’s family and my own. Although I will hug my mother-in-law, I never require or ask that the kids hug me or kiss me hello, or hug or kiss me goodbye. I never require or ask that of any of the children in our families. I always tell the parents not to force their kids to greet me in any way other than what is comfortable for the kids. I have been more than adamant about this with B3 and his daughter, not even 18 months old. I am so close with B3 that I feel so strongly about supporting her and helping her learn to be better than I was. And I feel strongly about wanting more for her than I had. Reading “Rage Becomes Her” has really made me understand that we as a society ask for things from children that we should not. Oftentimes these things are asked disproportionately of girls because girls should be kind and polite and sweet and smile for you and please you and never speak up and never be angry because angry is ugly and no one will want you if you’re ugly. I still find myself falling almost automatically into these categories to the detriment of my mental health.

I mentioned in a previous post that my father made fun of me while I was there helping him and the visiting nurse was checking him over. I nearly left the room, but stopped myself. I was there for a reason and I was staying to make sure he was taken care of. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t speak up. I sat there like a polite young woman, taking notes and seeing to my father’s post-surgery needs. Inside I was angry, but like millions of other girls, I was taught that angry is ugly and I don’t want to be ugly and I don’t want to NOT be wanted. I stifled my anger and did my duty, and only later did I allow myself to feel the anger. Later, when I was alone, when I could be as angry and as ugly as I wanted.

When I was talking about this with my therapist today, she asked me to do a body check (bio-location) when I was thinking about that moment…when my father made fun of me. Immediately I recognized the tightness in my throat. I didn’t speak up for myself. What else, she asked me. My shoulders and my neck, they felt hard as a rock. Tense, taut, like I was pulling a cart behind me with a yoke over my shoulders, lugging the feelings of shame and anger and unfulfilled confrontation. I have been learning to stand up for myself with my brothers and with my husband, and I thought I had been doing the same with my father. I have done it here and there, but still there are times I let myself down and allow him to make me feel small again. I feel like that little girl who never got what she needed from her father. I feel small and insignificant. I hate it.

The good news is, I’m getting better at telling him that what he has done or said is not okay with me. This is hard…T says there are tentacles in this relationship that reach back through my whole life. Following and releasing those tentacles take patience, work, and persistence. I can see and celebrate the times I untangle those tentacles…and I can give myself some compassion for those times that I don’t stand up the way I want to. Sadly, there will be more times for me to do this better…and there is always the comprehension that there won’t always be times to do it better.

Here
I am
compassion.

 

Friday Fotos

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Homemade dog treats for my sweetie-pies. Someone (who shall remain nameless–my Moo-cow) has taken to eating poop. First it was just animal poop (which is bad enough), then she started eating dog poop. This is not a dog who ever ate anything in the yard or off the ground outside. But she’s been changing, and we think anxiety is taking over her. We’ve started her on some anti-anxiety stuff, so we hope that helps her. We’ve also started training her for “leave it”, which Butthead learned early on because she WAS the dog that always ate something off the ground…and then puked it back up.

On top of the training and anti-anxiety stuff, I made dog treats with pineapple in it (among other things) because supposedly pineapple makes poop tasty nasty to dogs. Who knew, right? The dogs are enjoying the treats, they were cheap and easy to make, and Le Moo has stopped eating poop. Was it purely accidental? No clue, but making her homemade is no hardship so I’ll do it for as long as necessary!

 

Friday Fotos

My grandmother’s lace table cloth.