and get yourself a hound, 'cause that's what it's all abowowout

Friday I took my wee girl to be spayed. And it's a routine surgery and it's one I've taken all my dogs to and not once have I ever worried about it. Until Friday.

Her blood work was abnormal and they did an extra liver test to ensure it would be ok and that test came back totally normal. And yet I worried.

While she was at the vet for surgery and recovery, I decided to deep clean my house. And that involved getting my file cabinet in order.

I got rid of a lot of paper. A lot of stuff that was more than ten years old!

In that paper were files on each of the dogs I've had since I could totally consider the dogs mine. Fred's file. Phoebe's file. Cody's file.

Each time a dog of mine has died I've had people console me. They know how deeply I love my dogs and they reach out and they use words of comfort and they tell me I gave that dog a happy, full life. And, inevitably, at least one of the consolers will point out that this is the reason why they cannot have dogs. They don't live long enough. The pain of their eventual demise is far too much. No dog can live up to the memory of the dog that came before them and made them know that pain. All of those things. And I listen and I nod and I say "uh huh" and things of that sort because I'm too tired and sad to argue.

I have loved each of my dogs deeply and completely. My heart, without question, has a dog shaped area that is only happy when it is filled with a dog. When they die, that dog shaped area is empty and I grieve and I am sad and I miss them and my life feels, and is, quieter because they are no longer in it.

And then? The day arrives that the dog shaped hole in my heart needs to be filled. And the only thing that can fill it is a dog. It's a dog shaped hole. That's how that works.

I am a person that finds it absolutely vital to have a dog. I just do. I don't know why but it's the case. I can't stop bringing those little fuzzy balls of happiness into my life simply because they will die some day. And I can absolutely have one without the memory of the ones that came before tainting anything. And it's not because I've not had awesome dogs. I absolutely have.

Fred was the gentlest soul I have ever known. He was so gentle and kind that the rabbits could sense it. Wild rabbits learned that Fred was no threat to them and they would happily stay in the yard as he lounged in the Sun and enjoyed their company. My boy and the wild rabbits, living in unity. And if I was sick? He was right there. He was an excellent dog. He was dramatic and funny and sweet.

Then I disrupted his life by bringing home Phoebe. And my goodness what a handful she was right out of the gate. But she feel in love with Fred immediately. Why wouldn't she? When you are around kindness of that sort, you are drawn to it. My girl had some issues. But I believed in her and I was responsible for her and I take that very seriously. I worked with her and earned her trust and she matured into just the best girl. So mature and lovely. And funny! And just, spunky! Good lord her personality was amazingly fun. She would bounce when she was happy. Literally bounce as she walked. And smile. And it was hard to not smile along with her when you saw it.

Then Fred died. And we mourned his loss. That was felt deep in my soul.

But then we brought Cody into our lives. And he and Phoebe became the best of friends. Brother and sister. He was the one and only dog that Phoebe loved, tolerated, and trusted completely. Because he was calm. He had such a calm spirit. Calm and goofy. And they would run and chase each other and lay all intertwined on the floor or a bed or the couch and right at my feet and wherever I was. They were my companions and they were each others companions and we were a family filled with love. Those two guys were with me during the divorce, my new found independence, my move across the country. All of it. They were there. And they trusted me. And I loved them.

Phoebe died. And, once again, my soul was so sad. But I had to be strong because Cody's grief over losing his friend eclipsed anything I felt. It was now my mission to make him happy and to help him transition into being the only dog.

That was not easy and it took some time and I truly do not think he ever fully recovered. But he tried. And I tried to make being the only dog, my boy, OK.

And then he started having seizures. And then he, too, died.

I didn't have much time to really mourn him. I left for Russia a few days after he died so distractions and life got in the way of that. But once I did, once I finally sat down and realized my boy was gone...my sweet, Beagle trained to be stubborn, Golden boy of love was gone.

Once again there was a dog shaped hole in my heart.

I tried to ignore it. I did. I tried to tell myself it was ok to just be me and a cat. I love the cat, after all. But she's not dog shaped. And my heart knew I was lying. I didn't. Not yet.

But then I went home for Thanksgiving and I hung out with Charlie. He was my Gramma's dog but by that point he was already living with my Mom and Dad. And he was funny and fun and all of a sudden that dog shaped hole in my heart started to throb a bit more noticeably.

May to November 2013. The longest I'd been without a dog since I was a child and we got our first family dog.

I didn't get Gladys until January. And it happened unexpectedly, as I already explained, but she filled that hole so quickly. For such a wee girl, she is filling the dog shaped hole in my heart and then some.

I got rid of Fred's file. And Phoebe's file. And Cody's file. There are a few key things from each dog I still have. But the bulk of it is gone. Because they are gone...but not forgotten. And I don't need their medical files to remind me that I had them.

So when people talk to me about not being able to have a dog because of the grief they feel when they die, I just cannot relate. Because I cannot imagine trading the years of joy and love that they bring for never feeling that loss. I just cannot.

And all of that is what I thought about as I cleaned up my house and waited to hear that my new wee girl that lives in the dog shaped spot in my heart had made it through surgery. Which she did. And she's been doing great all weekend.

Gladys fills my life with so much humor. She is funny and happy and just, simply, loves being alive. She loves the sunshine. She loves to chase birds. She loves to just lay in the grass. She loves a good stick. She loves getting into things if she feels I'm ignoring her. She loves to follow me around. She truly seems to be a fuzzy embodiment of happiness. And that's pretty great. She's six months old now. I hope I have many, many, many more years ahead of us to enjoy.

person suddenly calling my name

Today I woke up like I do most days and got ready for work in my usual fashion and everything seemed to be in order.

Instead of the radio I listened to "Welcome to Night Vale" which I am finding quite delightful, absurd, and slightly off-putting when it jumps into my head as I'm crawling into my bed at night.

When I arrived to work the very first thing I saw on the Facebook was the big announcement that Nathan Fillion will be at the Phoenix ComiCon. That was QUITE exciting for me. Seriously. I got all giddy. It was cute.

Then it just kinda hit me that I was in a good mood. And not just because of the guy from "Two Guys, a Girl, and Pizza Place" coming to the 'con. No. I just was. Because I am. In a good mood, that is.

Later as I was standing outside on this marvelous, lovely, blue skied day to get food from a local food truck it hit me all over again. How I just feel good. How I was feeling happy and in a good mood. A girl asked if I could be interviewed for a radio spot and I agreed. I didn't roll my eyes or act like I was put out. Nope. I said "Sure!" and answered her questions. Because of good mood.

I'm going hiking today after work with some co-workers. And we've talked aobut it a lot throughout the day and I'm just really looking forward to it. It has great views. I'm outside moving aobut. I'm interacting with people. I'm getting encouragement. And I'm working on my fear of walking down uneven terrains. It's all good! And I'm happy about it and looking forward to it!

I don't know if this is all because I'm working out and I have endorphins or if it's because I'm on a new medication regime to keep my allergies at bay so maybe I have more oxygen feeding my brain or what. I just know that I feel pretty grand. I feel so grand that it makes me hope that everyone feels as grand as I do.

So, there you go. I'm not always an emo little shit. Hooray!

the sound of classical piano and a fan

If you don't like angsty, introspective, or inspirational type things you should likely just stop reading. Because I'm going to be gross. And, likely, dead horse beaty, too. But that's me. I'm who I am, dammit.

I got a divorce because our paths had gone in different directions. But part of that involved my path even taking me away from myself. The closer I got to me, the more apparent it was that neither of us was happy. So, divorce, then I was all me again and life was grand. I was walking the dogs, taking trips, doing goofy photography stuff, meeting new people. I was living my life, see.

Then I was laid off and I got super motivated and I moved across the country and found a new job and that was good.

But wrapped up in all of that was a dude. And it seems that I was more wrapped up than I realized. And I did a lot of waiting. I did a lot of putting me on hold. I'd go through periods where I realized I had put me on hold and I'd snap out of it but it didn't last long.

Yadda yadda yadda, I got depressed over the whole thing.

I became attached to my couch. I became attached to being safe in my quiet home. I made the argument that it was what I wanted. I wanted to just be alone all the time in my home with my dog and my books and my Netflix. I was doing what I wanted to do.

But I was still on hold. I was still waiting.

Then I met a new dude and he was fun and all of that. But that ended in a blaze of ridiculousness of dick putting into other people and boom! there I was, again, realizing that I was still just on hold. Being a waiter. And still sad over the whole other thing. I can admit that and I no longer feel like I'm ridiculous for being sad over it. It's a sad thing to lose someone who was an important presence in your life.

So, one day I was on the book of face and a friend was all "what should I train for next!?!" and the conversation that ensued hit something deep inside of my person. It hit it and grabbed it by the collar and shook it around and yelled in its face to wake up! And by god, wake up it did. And that it, I'm pretty sure, is me. I'm the it. And now I'm awake.

I immediately contacted a friend that hikes and talked to him. He took me on a starter hike. He told me about his trainer. I set a goal.

I've never really been in what anyone would consider "in shape." But because of all of the depressed waiting around it's worse than it's ever been. Like, being technically an obese person level of out of shape. I'm not large, no. People are having a real issue with this whole me being obese thing because of the images we have in our mind of what that means. But what it actually means is that your body contains more fat than muscle. And that is me. Because I didn't take care of myself. I didn't live my life.

But, that's all changed. In just a week and a half I've seen my personal trainer three times and been on four hikes. Hikes that are rougher than I even though I would be comfortable doing. But I've done them. And I've enjoyed them.

I'm pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I'm pushing myself physically. And I'm pushing myself emotionally because I'm making myself count on other people, which is not something I've ever enjoyed doing. I have to count on my trainer to be there when I feel unsteady. And I have to grab his hand when I need it. I have to accept it when he offers it. And it's good. I have to talk to people that hike and see if I can go with them. I have to trust myself on those hikes that I can do this. I can push myself up inclines and rough terrain that scares me. I can and I have and I'm going to continue to do just that.

I have spent a good part of the last ten days just being really angry at myself for letting things get to this point. Letting myself become so lazy and unhealthy. But that is a waste of time. I'd rather use that energy to feel proud of myself that I was inspired and ran with it. I didn't think it to death. I didn't talk myself out of it based on fear. I talked myself INTO it. Because I'm worth it. And this is my life and I have to live it, dammit. I have to live my fucking life and stop with all of the waiting and being sad on my couch.

Above all else, I have to just always be me. I have to stop apologizing for who I am. I'm pretty grand. I have to be because I have grand people in my life. Birds of a feather and all of that, right?

I'm making my way back. Who knows what else will happen along the way!

giving up on you

I took my doggie girl to her second training class over the weekend. As we were walking and learning the trainer kinda looked at her and then said "And somebody just gave her away on Facebook! What a shame..." but then we went on to say how it really worked out for the best because now I have just a great little girl doggie and it worked out for her because now she has me.

She's very smart. She really is. She is very trainable and it is totally up to me to screw up. Which I suspect I totally will. Because sometimes I'm tired and I just want to eat my dinner so I let her tear up all the paper she wants. And then when she's in the yard and I'm all "Come!" and she's all "Nope, I have a stick and you can't get me!" I will sometimes be "Oh, fine, I'm tired and will just go in the house and eat a brownie in peace, sucka!" and then that is how you get a bad mannered puppy. I know this. I do.

So, there you go. I have a really good girl and I'm gonna fuck her up.

Back when I started thinking it was time for me to get a doggie I just knew I was going to get a Beagle because I love them. But then blamo! I have a tiny little terrier mix of some sort that just completely melts my dumb heart when she sits and looks up at me. She's ridiculously, absurdly cute and has a large personality and I'm smitten and she has me totally wrapped. And she is not a Beagle. And that is more than OK.

My life has become all about her. Which is fine. It was all about sitting on the couch so this is a step in the right direction. And I'm going to take her out to socialize and meet people and be in new situations and sit on patios and eat food and sip on drinks because that is a thing you can do with your dog here. And I may meet new people. But I may not. And either way is fine. Because I'm not just sitting on my couch.

I just don't want to mess it up. Because this is the first dog that has been 100% all my responsibility. And if she matures into a jerky little dog I can't sit and say "well, blah blah wasn't consistent with what I was doing and now she's a jerk." It's all on me.

It's a lot of pressure.

don't listen to me from now

A few days ago a subject popped into my head as is prone to do while I'm in the shower and I had many thoughts on that subject and it was funny and great and I was all "Oh, man! This reminds me of way back in the day when I had that one blog and I would do funny observational type posts or comment on the events of the time or talk about my life and how amusing it was just simply being me and it was great! I am so totally going to blog this!" and I was happy and fairly smug that I was being so clever and witty again.

But, you know. I'm in my 40s now and I don't have sticky notes in my shower.

You would have really liked that blog post, too.

so selfish baby

I've really been avoiding talking about this. I really have. But it just will not go away. And it's affecting my dreams.

But, I totally feel like a pathetic, obsessive, stalkery, losery type for not being able to let this go. It makes me feel like one of those delusional people that has taken some small relationship and turned into something that it never was. Like a crazy person.

There's this person that has made it abundantly clear that they simply do not want me in their life at all any longer. So I'm not. I finally found my dignity and stopped trying. Because I'm not pathetic.

But my heart is.

I'd been doing great with this, too. But then there was a birthday.

For the past lots of years there's been a to do over the birthday. Videos and photos and songs and muffins and massages and just a to do, man. Because birthdays are my thing and I cared about this person so I made a to do.

Until this year. This year my heart was all "You know what today is." But my head was all "Shut up. I have my pride and no thank you."

It just felt wrong. So wrong. It really did. Like I was just not doing the right thing.

But...acknowledging it felt wrong, too. Because I am not going to continue to insert myself into a person's life that has no desire for me to be there. I'm not putting myself through that any longer. I'm not. Not to me and not to them. Done.

So. Angst ensued. And bad dreams. With this person. Being all rejecty of me and making me cry in bathrooms while party people continued to be joyous.

My heart. It is stupid. This Post Secret postcard represents me entirely too well...

So dumb.

see a thousand people just like me

I've made it fairly known that I'm a jeans and t-shirt girl. And, yes, I do also like to wear my girly dresses and tights, too. But in my off time? Jeans and a t-shirt is who I am.

I have a Tony the Tiger shirt that says "They're Great!" And it says it really close to the boob area because of course it does.

Every time I wear this shirt I notice dudes noticing it. And some of those dudes give a slight nod of "yeah, they are" and I laugh in my mind because of dudes.

Every so often a dude will just not be able to contain himself. He didn't learn the lesson from Seinfeld about treating boobs like the Sun.

This happened at the golf fun times on Sunday. This dude noticed the shirt and did the "yeah, they are" nod with a nice smirk. But then he kept looking. And looking. And looking some more. And then he finally had looked so much that he burst out with "Great shirt, by the way. Great shirt." as he continued to not really make eye contact with my eyes. He was more making contact with Tony. He was totally talking to Tony.

What makes this extra special creepy fun? My Dad was right there. And the dude knew it was my Dad. Poor dude. So overwhelmed by boobs. So sad.

At this PGA fun times most of the girls that go dress up. If you can call what they are wearing as being dressed, that is. But, again, they are all dressed up with heels and hair and makeup and they're being all the what they think is sexy that they think they need to be.

Then there I am. With my jeans, t-shirt, and dorky hat. And yet I notice some dudes check me out. And if I'm actually noticing these dudes checking me out that likely means there are others I don't notice. And that, my friends, makes me feel a tiny bit better about this area of the world in which I live. That there are, actually, dudes that will make note of an adorable nerd. I like being able to have a few positive vibes when I'm out in the world.

And that is the dudes are dudes even at PGA fun times recap.