Non-lethal Injection

I could never be a heroin or meth addict.

Needles give me the heebie jeebies.  They don't hurt. I've been poked many times over the years:  vaccinations, blood draws and tests, finger pokes. The injections are less freaky than the blood draws.  The finger pokes generally don't bother me too much either, though I still get a little faint at the sight of that drop of blood welling out of my finger tip.  That and I always dread the results even though I have no reason to.  Muscle shots are the easiest.  I got a steroid shot in my hip once that had me barely batting an eye.

The absolute worst, though, was the time I had to go and get my baseline hormones tested.  My doctor sent me to the lab to have vials of blood pulled so that they could sift through everything and find out just what exactly is wrong with me.  The phlebotomist pulled eight vials of blood.  I felt like he drained my body of a quarter of my blood supply.  I had to keep taking deep breaths because I felt myself sliding out of the chair.  By the time he was on the last vial I started hissing at him and holding up my cross.  Having my blood drawn doesn't hurt, even the initial pinch of the needle.  Blood itself doesn't bother me.  Anyone else's blood, my pets blood, even my own.  I missed the pit of an avocado with a knife one time and sliced my finger almost to the bone.  The resulting geyser of blood hardly fazed me.  It didn't even hurt.

There is something about watching my blood pour out of my vein and into a little glass tube that just makes me want to keel over in a dead faint.  I have to look away whenever I do a blood draw because I can't watch my blood collect into anything.  That combined with the needle just about does me in.

I could never be a vampire.  And interestingly, I'm dating one.

Just kidding.

Well, maybe a little.  He does think he's a vampire sometimes.

Bottom line, I hate needles.

So leave it to my precious Puckett to be the one pet out of four who needs injections.  I've said it before, that cat is going to drive me to drink. 

I don't play favorites with my animals, but Puckett does hold a very special place in my heart.  Ever since I rescued her pathetic hairless butt from the animal shelter I've been in hyper-protective mode over her.  She can't cough, sneeze, or hack up a hairball without me freaking out and whisking her to the vet.  I fall for it every time too.  Nine times out of ten when I whisk Puckett to the vet there is nothing wrong with her, and my vet indulgently assures me that my cat is not going to die. 

That tenth time gets me though.

Last month I had to take Tess in for her shots.  A week before her appointment Puckett started throwing up.  Every morning she would eat her breakfast and then promptly yak it up on the floor.  Once she yakked, she was pretty much done.  She didn't throw up every time she ate and she didn't throw up continuously.  It was just that initial meal.

Of course the little darling always had to make sure she was on the carpet when she barfed.  I have mostly hard floors throughout my house, but Puckett finds the two rooms with carpeting and throws up there.

At first I thought it was just because she was bolting her food.  Since I can no longer leave food out to free feed my beasts, the time between 9 PM and 7 AM is apparently so long that kitties start feeling faint with hunger and reaching paws out to me with weak voices saying, "Feed me!"  By the time I serve breakfast, Puckett and Percy descend on their bowls like ravenous wolves.

By the sixth day in a row of puking after eating, I became concerned and called the vet to ask if I could just bring Puckett along with Tess to her vet appointment.  They had no problem with this. 

My vet is pretty awesome.  I don't know if they treat me with special treatment because I give them roughly half of my yearly salary, or if they are generally just super nice people, but either way, they are the best.

When the vet called to give me the rundown of my pets, he started with Tess.  He sang Tess' praises so highly, spoke so eloquently of how she was in perfect health for her age, that I started to get nervous, knowing the "but" was around the corner.  I wanted to scream, "What's wrong with my kitty??" but I held my composure.  When he got around to Puckett he basically told me that she tested a low positive for pancreatitis.  I didn't understand everything, but "pancreatitis" always gives me a feeling of dread.  My first German shepherd had that.  It developed into pancreatic cancer.  The vet assured me that while it can be devastating in dogs, in cats it's not as serious and especially not in ones where the test is a low positive.  He prescribed a vitamin B12 supplement to help with the vomiting.

Now came the dilemma.  There is no way I can get medicine of any kind down Puckett's throat.  I tried pills once.  She spat them in my face.  The one time I tried liquid medicine it ended up all over her chest fur and my shirt.  Needless to say holding down a twenty pound cat who enjoys ten times my strength is impossible for a woman my size.  I can't hold down precious and force her jaws open at the same time.  She won't take pill pockets and she doesn't eat treats.

The vet suggested injections.  Oh, dear God.  He sent me home with four tiny syringes and instructions to poke kitty once a week with an injection, and we'd see how she feels after a month.  Needles freak me out bad enough when someone is poking me.  When I'm on the other side of poking I damn near pass out.  I pulled out the first syringe and uncapped it, staring at the needle point and wondering how I was going to wrestle Puckett to the ground in order to stab her and push the plunger in less than a second.  I figured that's how long I would have before she beat the shit out of me and disappeared under the couch.  I nearly passed the needle over to California Guy who used to be a vet tech.

I know what you're thinking.  How can I ever consider working with animals full time if I'm such a baby about needles?  Well, my plan there is to grin and bear it.  And grin and bear it I did.  I grabbed a handful of Puckett's scruff while she stared at me with mushy eyes and purred.  She's used to me massaging the nape of her neck while petting her, so she was unaware of anything untoward.  I quickly rammed the needle point into her scruff, pushed the plunger home, and pulled the syringe out. I braced myself for punishment.

Puckett didn't even flinch.  She never stopped purring.  The only evidence that I had assaulted her was the tiny hard knob the needle created in the skin of her neck.  She threw her head back and rubbed her chin against the wall, and continued to give me mushy eyes and purr.  I proceeded to slam back a glass of wine.

The good news is that Puckett has not puked once since she began her injections and switched to ID food.  She is back to her happy, healthy, fat self with the occasional bouts of allergies.  Me, I will need a Valium the next time I need to poke her, but let me tell you, it's so much easier than trying to force a pill down her throat.  I think all cats should be medicated with needles.  They cause much less drama than pills or liquid.

I never thought I'd say this, but I actually like needles now.

Of course, that still doesn't mean I'm starting that heroin or meth addiction.

Why Do We Keep Should-ing on Ourselves?

The funny thing about humans is that we are always "should-ing" all over ourselves. We "should" have the house and the kids and the fenced-in yard. We "should" go to college, get a degree, start a career, get married, have children, all in that order. We "should" go to church on Sundays and pray every night and judge each other's sins to keep each other in line. We "should" go to the gym every day and work out, we "should" eat healthy, and we "should" cut out all sugar, gluten, and presesrvatives. We "should" want to do something great. We "should" want to climb that corporate ladder, write that novel, run that marathon, volunteer, be involved.

And if we don't do what we "should" there is always someone around to make us feel bad about it.

It's exhausting.

Why do we let other people influence us into what we think we should want when it's not really what we want?

I've recently discovered that I "should" be doing or want to be doing a lot of things.  I also discovered that when I sit and think about it, it's ultimately not for me.

I don't want to be the director of a library which is the next logical step given my position.  When I applied for new library jobs in Colorado as a means to move up in my field, I realized, after several interviews that it's not what I really want.  That didn't stop my cat-dumping frenemy from making me feel bad about the fact that I'm not as into libraries and my job as she is. She bragged about all her accomplishments and achievements in her job since she got her Master's degree, and it almost made me feel like I didn't have a Master's degree and she was berating me for my lack of interest.  I do have my Master's degree, I was very proud when I earned that degree, and nobody fussed, made a big deal, or threw me a party.

I like my job and I do my job well. I just don't put a lot of effort into advancing in my "career," and I hate committees and conferences where people in the same field sit around and discuss how they can improve things within said field and then never accomlish any of it.  I find it a waste of time I could be using to actually DO my job.

The one exception is writer's conferences.  I love those.

One "should-er" in particular stood out to me a few years ago. She's a gluten free blogger who went on a rampage about using xanthan gum and eating "bread" at all, even gluten free bread.  It was totally unnecessary, she ranted. There is absolutely no reason to have either of these extremely unhealthy items in our diets - EVER.  I spent a day feeling bad about eating gluten free bread and using xanthan gum in my baking before I decided I was never reading that judgmental bitch's blog again.

I shouldn't have three cats. And I definitely shouldn't have five.  I've been made to feel bad over that as well, in the sense of "You have too many cats, and you might as well be a crazy cat lady if you keep this up!"

I like cats. This shouldn't be a problem. But it is.

I should want to go to church every Sunday, volunteer, help and work within the church, tithe, and become a good Christian citizen.  I've recently discovered that while I do identify with Christianity and I follow Christ to the best of my ability, I am not a "good Christian."  I don't go to church, I don't pray nearly as often as I should, and I don't follow "the Christian path." As I got older, I noticed that within the church I used to go to people started treating me differently because I was still single and childless.  There is something wrong with you if you don't get married, pop out a few kids, and live the Christian dream of being 100% involved in your church. To say nothing of the fact that I fraternize with homosexuals, I'm pro-choice, I've engaged in premarital sex, and I follow animal medicine. I've had Christian friends berate me for the medicine cards in the past.  I felt so bad about it that I put them away for a few years, terrified that I would end up in hell if I kept using them.

You know what I discovered about animal medicine cards? They aren't that different from using the Bible and daily devotionals to guide your thoughts and actions throughout the day.  They are just another avenue of doing so.  God created the animals, after all.  It's not such a stretch that He might use them to help guide us through life.  Of course there are those people who will make you feel bad about believing in anything by calling you intellectually stunted, but that's another story.

As I said, there is always someone around to make you feel bad about the choices they don't agree with.  You're either a moron for believing anything other than science, or you're going to hell for not believing enough.

One thing that really stood out to me this summer is the kind of man I'm ultimately attracted to. I'm not talking about the jerks and losers I've picked up, or my bad taste in men.  I think we all run a streak with that.  What I'm talking about runs deeper.  From my Match and Zoosk escapades I met and dated lots of eligible men, most of whom I didn't date more than twice - not because they were jerks and losers, just because they didn't fit.  I narrowed my field down to two men and for awhile I could not decide which one I liked better.  They were both nice men, not jerks or losers.  They were both sweet, treated me like a lady, took me out on dates, didn't push the sex issue, set up fun dates, and were enjoyable to be with. It's been awhile since I dated someone truly nice who was interested in being with  me and interested in me (and not 23).  Suddenly I had two of them.  I'm not used to nice men. I'm definitely not used to two nice men.

They were polar opposites.  Mr. White Knight was sweet, sexy, safe, hardworking, and a good old ranch boy.  He could dance and cook, he was gentlemanly, came from a good family and was very family-oriented, and he was kind.  Given the jackasses I've dated, kind is no small thing.  I was ready for kind.  Given all of his admirable qualities, Mr. White Knight is what I should want. And I did want him.

Things were going swimmingly there when I went on a date with another guy, and the moment we met at the restaurant I knew he was going to be trouble. I remember thinking as I watched him walk up to the restaurant, "Oh, this is unfortunate.  This is going to complicate things."  It's easier to make a choice when you've got one guy you like above the rest and he's pulling ahead of the pack.  It's a lot harder when you find yourself liking two guys equally for different reasons and you can't pick out which one you want to have a relationship with.

The other guy was what one of my good friends likes to call "Our kind of people." Basically he's a weirdo.  He's a self-proclaimed weirdo. The only thing these two guys have in common is that they are kind and gentlemanly. The weirdo, however, gets me. He's from California.  He likes his rum, has been married before, has the most interesting characters as friends, no relationship with his family, and all kinds of issues generated from his past experiences, to say nothing of his interest in the vampire culture and Marilyn Manson (my friend of the "our kind of people" shares his love for metal and Dungeons and Dragons). He's into nerdy stuff like Star Wars and Comicon and shares my love for all things Disney (he has this thing for Maleficent and Disney villains).  He's zany and goofy and crazy and fun. It turns out as much as I tried to fight against it, I had to admit finally, that yes, he is my kind of people, he gets me, and we just fit.  Mr. White Knight reminds me of the golden boys from high school.  You know those guys, the ones that were handsome and good at everything and nice to everyone.  California Guy is the kind of guy I hung out with in college, and in college I gravitated towards the weird, the strange, and the dark (my best guy friend comes to mind - amazing guy but with the most twisted sense of humor). As a matter of fact he has traits of three of my good guy friends so much that he reminds me of them at different times.  We gel on several levels. There's chemistry and biology. In the beginning he scared me because of his intensity as he is definitely not safe and steady. He and I are like fire and gasoline, but underneath it all he has a heart of gold. I don't have a bad thing to say about Mr. White Knight, but in the end we just didn't quite fit, and even without California Guy in the picture I realized I would have eventually come to that conclusion anyway.  I found myself never quite being able to relax around him because I wasn't quite acting like myself. I think I was trying to be the kind of girl I thought he deserved because he's such a great guy, and I don't always feel like I deserve that. It wasn't anything he did. He was always perfectly lovely. I felt my own inadequacies because ultimately we aren't a match.

As my best friend in Texas pointed out once, there is no escaping the truth that no matter how much I try to live life normally, I seem to attract the strange and the dysfunctional, and that is not necessarily a bad thing.  We might think we should be with sweet, steady, safe, and sexy, but the reality is that might not be who we are at our core. There are some people who are that. I am not that. I am not a perfect little wife, two point three kids, a dog, a cat, a fenced in yard and Sunday dinners with a large family.  I can't be that no matter how hard I try, and people have always tried to make me be that.  It started being a problem when I tried to make myself be that. I kept shoulding on myself. I should want a safe relationship. I should want a linear career and to take the next step. I should want children.  I should want a bigger house. I should get rid of my stuffed animals and stop acting like a child.

I sleep with a giant stuffed Dumbo that California Guy gave me because I told him I always wanted a stuffed Dumbo.  I'm 38 years old and I sleep with a stuffed animal.  I also sleep with two cats, but that's a different story.

Should a 38-year-old woman sleep with a giant stuffed elephant and two cats in a four level town house decorated with shitty chic second hand furniture?

Probably not, but I'm beginning to get to the point of "Who cares?" I'm not safe and steady. I want passion and excitement. I'm not a steady, linear career, I want to try my hand at writing and crash and burn a few times if necessary (of course this terrifies me). Maybe open a chocolate shop or a dog training business. I'm not the perfect wife with two point three kids. I don't want kids at all, I don't think, and I want to be able to make that decision without people telling me, "Of course you want children and you'd better hurry up! You're not getting any younger!" I want to sleep with my stuffed Dumbo and eat ice cream at midnight.  I want to bring home kittens or a German shepherd puppy if the mood hits me. Sometimes I just don't feel like exercising, or eating a salad instead of chips and salsa.  I've eaten chocolate cake for breakfast. And I guess a woman my age shouldn't wear short white shorts anymore, but I love my short white shorts.  And I want someone who will go along with all these shenanigans just as enthusiastically and maybe suggest a few of his own.

Leave it to me to go for the weirdo.

But he's a pretty great weirdo.

Missing Out

My dog is always afraid she is missing out on something.  My cats are too, but they aren't as worried because the pull of sleeping twenty hours a day is more important than actually participating in anything they might be missing out on. 

The cats seem to be the most concerned with missing out when I'm in the bathroom.  For some reason they are absolutely certain that something amazing and exciting is going on in the bathroom.  They could all be asleep in various areas of the house, not having stirred for hours, and as soon as I step into the bathroom and open the toilet lid, at least Percy will bang open the bathroom door and march in purposefully.  Puckett usually follows him, or else she sits just outside the door and glares at me from a safe distance.  Willow has tried to crawl into my lap before, thinking that as long as I'm sitting on the toilet, I'm a trapped audience for her purring, kneading, and meowing like I've ignored her for months.

If she can, Tess will squeeze herself into the bathroom as well, but that is only because everyone is already there and she is so afraid she will miss out on something that she has to be present at all times.

Tess can never truly rest.  Even when she is sound asleep on the floor, as soon as I get up to get myself a cup of tea or a chocolate, she is on her feet and glued to my side, ready to follow me wherever I go.  If I move towards the front door, she is right behind me.  I will go outside to check the mailbox, grab something out of the car that I forgot, or dump the trash, and Tess is absolutely convinced that she must go with me because anything might happen.  When I leave for work in the morning, she almost has apoplexy, staring at me through the back door with wide, sad eyes.  "How can you not take me???" she seems to plead with those eyes as I walk out the door.

And I just want to tell her, "Trust me, dog.  You're not missing anything.  It's just work!"

She might be missing out on a bunch of lunatics, but that's another story.

Surina, our new dog friend, is just as bad.  When I'm cooking, she is right by my side, her nose practically glued to the counter or stove, because she is so afraid that I might drop something she will miss.  In my house, no one's going to pick that up, not the cats or Tess.  Anything that falls to the floor is not fair game.  It will instantly be Surina's because she is the only one interested in it.  And yet, she is still worried she will miss out.  So she makes sure to stay in our proximity at all times, lest she miss extra snacks, or a wayward hand just looking for something to pet.  I keep Tess outside most of the day on nice days because she likes it.  Surina, when she visits, is out there with her.  Tess likes to be outside so she doesn't miss out on anything there.  She can chase birds, snap up wasps, watch the cars go by, bark at strangers walking down the streets.  Surina is more worried about what she's missing inside.  She sits by the door and whines so pitifully one would think she is dying.  I don't know what she thinks we are doing inside without her, but once again, she is really not missing out.  Given her food obsession I can only conclude she's worried about all the food she's missing out on.  I put her outside one time while I was cooking because I was tired of tripping over dogs and cats.  One day I'll end up head first in the oven, so it's just safer to roust everyone from the kitchen.  Surina cried so pitifully I'm sure the neighbors thought we were strangling her.  She was so sure the whole pizza was going to fall on the floor, just waiting for her to snap it up, that she couldn't stand the thought of being outside, missing it.

Tess worries about all the exciting things she's missing.  Surina worries about the food she's missing.

I think Percy just worries that someone is using the bathroom without him to assess the situation.  He's very interested in bathrooms and litter boxes and what goes on in them.

I favor Tess is in this respect.  Not Surina, because I never worry about what food I'm missing out on. Definitely not Percy since I really don't want to know what goes on in bathrooms. As irrational as it is, I worry that people are all out having more fun without me, more fun than I'm having, or living more exciting lives than I am.  I feel left out a lot.  It's not a rational feeling.  I blame in part Facebook and texting.  I know rationally that people who brag about their lives on Facebook are probably not actually having all that much fun, but I still feel left out. I also know when I'm out with friends and they are texting someone else, they aren't having more interesting lives than I am.  They are just being rude. This is not a feeling I get towards strangers.  I'm not a keeping up with the Joneses type, or worrying that I don't live a jet set life like celebrities.  My sense of feeling left out comes from people I used to be close to, or people I used to be friends with.  As I get older, my friends get promotions, move away, get married, have babies, make couple friends or mommy friends or friends they just have more in common with.  I feel like a stepping stone in people's lives sometimes, a phase they went through during a certain time of their lives when they needed something I could provide, and now that things have changed, they've moved on and I am still in the same place I've always been - same house, same job, same town, same single status.  I don't feel like my life is unfulfilled.  I do feel like my social circle is shrinking and shrinking and shrinking, and every time another friend moves away or gets married or has a baby, I feel more isolated and like maybe I should be doing something different with my life.  Then the Facebook posts pop up - "My ultrasound picture!" or "Check out how many pounds I've lost since my family started this new diet!" or "Me and my husband on vacation!"  Or else it's the tagged pictures. One close friend or another smiling into the camera with someone I don't know, tagging them and posting about how much fun they had.

Does anyone else ever feel like this?  We aren't really missing out on anything.  All of us live our lives and do our things and spend time with friends.  They spend time with us and then with other friends. There is no reason to feel left out because no one is leaving us out.  It's hard not to feel that way sometimes, though.  I've been to weddings and bridal showers and baby showers and I look around and realize that my friends have these other lives that I'm not a part of.  I'm only a small part, sometimes an afterthought.  When I made a list of all the people I would invite to my wedding I had a list of eighteen people, half of which are spouses of my actual friends.  Of that list, only half would come.  The other half wouldn't, not because they don't care about me, but because they have their own lives and other obligations and maybe not the funds to travel.  That's what it all really boils down to.  No one is leaving anyone out on purpose.  And their lives are just as mundane with routine as mine, punctuated with a few exciting events here and there.  Everyone gets lonely sometimes and everyone struggles just to get through the days.

Perhaps this perpetual feeling of feeling left out or feeling that everyone else is having more fun than me comes from having such a small family.  I have two parents and a brother.  We've never had huge family events.  We've never had big holiday plans.  It was always just the four of us.  My parents have always been content with their small family circle and mostly each other.  I've never been a social person. We are a small family who is used to being isolated.  My parents like it.  I used to like it too.

I also blame TV shows like Pretty Little Liars, The New Girl, How I Met Your Mother, The Golden Girls, Hot in Cleveland, and the mother of them all, Friends. These shows revere friendship, and they drive home the idea that your friends are the be all end all and that you should be a family together in lieu of any blood family.

Moving a thousand miles away from everyone and everything you've ever known and relying on a support group of friends rather than family can be the scariest loneliest thing one can do.  Things change and people change and friendships don't stay the same.  Every time another friend moves away or has a baby or gets married I feel like Tess, standing at the back door looking in and feeling left out that she doesn't get to go to work with me.

And then I remember, she's not missing out on anything when she doesn't get to go to work with me.  I'm not missing out really either.  Do I want these people's lives? Not really.  I just miss my friends.  Tess just misses me.

I know how Tess feels so I make time for her and try to do things with her to make her feel included.  I try to keep up with my friends as well, and as I get older I make more time for the people who truly matter and truly care about me and try not to care so much about the rest.  Do I still feel like I'm missing out or that I'm left out? Do I still wonder why some friends no longer want to spend as much time with me? I do, but then I remember I've got some fun and interesting things going on in my life too.  I've got a new friend and Tess has a new dog friend.  We enjoy each other's company and have formed our own little unit that includes all of us - three cats, two dogs, and two isolated humans who have trouble making friends and have no family anywhere nearby.

We might feel left out by the rest of the world, but we feel included with each other. Maybe that's the lesson here.  You're pretty rich when you have a few quality people in your inner circle.  We might be one in millions to most people, but we are one in a million to a select few.  And those are the ones who matter.

Don't worry, Tess, I always come home to you.

I Don't Want to Grow Up

They say (whoever "they" are) that owners look like their pets.  The longer one lives with a certain pet, the more that person starts to look like the pet, though I think more factors in to this extremely unscientific theory.  One must not only live a long time with a pet, but also have a very strong attachment and bond with said pet.

I think I'm beginning to look like my dog.  Or maybe she looks like me. When I first adopted Tess, I thought maybe she looked a little like me, mostly because she was small, sleek and thin, and she had a big beak.  At thirty years old, I too was small and thin with a big nose.  Also  my hair was falling out and Tess sheds constantly.  I vacuum up enough fur every week to make a whole new Tess.  When I was thirty I was losing the equivalent of another head of hair.

I also have a tendency to exaggerate, and every movement Tess makes is an exaggeration.

Not only do I look like my dog, I act like my dog.  In the beginning Tess and I had similar energy levels.  Hers was higher of course.  She bounced off walls, launched herself off the top landing of the stairs, crashing into the kitchen cabinets, and she would walk and walk walk and never get tired.  Swimming is her favorite physical activity.  It's one of mine as well, though I prefer dancing over swimming.  Tess likes to dance too.  It's just harder for her on four paws.  I could keep up with her when I was thirty and she was a year old.  We would walk three hours every day, and on weekends we'd cover five miles.  We'd go hiking and swimming, play ball in the back yard, and run around the dog park for a couple of hours.  Then I'd go home and practice my belly dancing.

Ah, those were the days of infinite physical activity.  Now just a ten-minute Pilates session wears me out.

We have similar eating habits.  Tess is not a food motivated dog.  I'm not a food motivated person, though we both really like treats.  She likes her doggie pops and I like my Dove chocolates and wine.  Neither of us eats much and we both eat meals that are low in preservatives, fillers, and grains.  I still eat sugar.  Tess enjoys peanut butter, but most of her diet is made up of limited ingredients high in protein.

Because my dog is a spoiled rotten brat.  She also drinks Dasani water.

I'm kidding about the Dasani, but I am thinking of putting a filter into my faucet because my precious babies don't need impurities and fluoride in their water.

I figure if I'm spending a fortune on healthy eating for myself just so I don't feel like curling up and dying after a meal, I owe my dog the same courtesy.  When I first got her she was eating bowls of Pedigree and the pounds were just falling off her.  I could see her ribs and spine.  The vet informed me that she had an extremely high metabolism and Pedigree, like other commercial dog foods, is full of fillers and grains, stuff that just goes through a dog.  It either makes them fat, or doesn't stick to them at all.  Since I changed Tess' diet to limited ingredients and high protein, she's packed on weight and muscle.

She is not an overweight dog by any means, but she is definitely not that slim, sleek, small German shepherd anymore.

Incidentally neither am I.  I used to be quite small and slight myself.  I weighed ninety pounds in high school.  I managed to gain fifteen pounds in college (for me, the Freshman Fifteen were a good thing) and that was my weight until I hit my thirties.  While I am not overweight by any means, I've definitely noticed an increase in my size.  Not only am I spreading out a bit, I have a tummy now.  I've never had a tummy before.  Also, I'm not thrilled about my tummy.

I spend a fortune on healthy food for me and my dog, and we exercise.  We still gain weight.  Go figure. 

We have reached middle age.

We are similar in personality as well.  She's anxious, I'm anxious.  She has nervous energy, I have nervous energy.  This means I pick at my cuticles and she licks her paws obsessively.  She's a territorial homebody, I'm a territorial homebody.  She's bossy, opinionated, and doesn't take a lot of crap.  I don't know if I'm bossy, but I'm opinionated and do not suffer fools well.  Neither one of us is very social anymore.  She and I used to like to go out and be social. We'd go to the dog park and she loved to play with other dogs.  I liked to run around town and bar hop with my friends.  Now we stay home.  She hates other dogs.  I'm slowly losing my faith in the human race.  Both of us prefer the company of cats over our own kind.

Am I mirroring my dog, or is she mirroring me?

One thing I've noticed lately is that neither of us ever grew up.  This really started to occur to me this past weekend as I watched Tess on our walks.  She kept trying to play with Surina. Surina is a nice dog, but she isn't really a playful dog.  She is four years old, but is more interested in food, birds, or her master.  Tess is nine and a half years old and she still behaves like a puppy.  On the rare occasions I still take her to the dog park, she plays with the puppies, preferring their company to older dogs.  The younger the dog, the more she likes it.  After the initial scrap between Tess and Surina, they have settled into a tolerance of each other in my backyard or in the house. Tess has tried several times to engage Surina in play.  Her invitation is to bound up to another dog, tail up, and a big goofy grin on her face with her tongue hanging out.  At the dog park, puppies will leap at her and either roll across the ground in front of her or allow her to chase them.  Surina puts her nose to the ground and sniffs, ignoring Tess and everything around her.  Surina is a hunting dog, after all, but Tess can't seem to understand this.  The disappointment on her face when her play invitation is rejected is apparent, but she soon gets over it and chases a butterfly or something. Tess is technically a working dog too.  Had I ever bothered to train her in agility or nose work, she probably would have been very good at it.  The problem is Tess wants to play all the time.  Her reward for good behavior isn't doggie treats or food.  She's never cared for doggie treats or food.  A pat on the head or a "Good girl!" work a little better, but what really works is to give her her favorite squeaky toy and engage in a few minutes of play. 

Tess should have lived in a family of little children who would play ball with her all the time.  Tess' idea of playing ball is actually playing keep away because she doesn't fetch, but it's still more fun than herding sheep or doing police work.

Watching Tess it occurred to me that I am just as big of a child.  Tess is a nine-year-old puppy.  Everything is a game to her.  I'm a thirty-eight-year-old child.  I watch cartoons.  My favorites are still old school Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Animaniacs, and Jem.  I love stuffed animals and my house is full of them.  My newest one is the giant stuffed Dumbo my friend gave me.  I once spent $150 dollars on a huge stuffed bear.  In my defense, the bear was a donation from Bank of the West to our annual fundraising library auction, so technically my money went to a very good cause.  I tell myself that, but I still spent $150 on a stuffed animal.  I like toys of all kinds.  I like puzzles and board games, and I still have my collection of 80's My Little Ponies and all my Disney dolls.  I still love things that I loved in my childhood like animated Disney movies, the Monkees, and the Ninja Turtles.  This enthusiasm for all things childlike - particularly the animated Disney movies and Star Wars - is shared by my new friend, Surina's master.  He also loves cartoons, old toys, puzzles, and board games.  We actually had a discussion about our favorite cartoons before and yes, we both buy DVD's of these favorite cartoons so we can watch them whenever we want.

Then there is our immature amusement at bathroom humor.  For some reason, every time either he or I or Surina or Percy passes gas we about die laughing like it's the funniest thing we've heard all week.  I don't know why and he's mentioned before he doesn't know what's wrong with us, but for some reason we can't seem to control ourselves around each other, and then we can't control our laughter.  One night after a particularly musical number of his, I collapsed on the floor unable to breathe for about five minutes thanks to the hilarity that ensued.  Surina left the room with a look of disgust.  Tess does the same thing.  She has freaked herself out before by passing gas and then slinking off, like she's trying to escape her own bodily functions. Percy will clear a room when he lets one go.

It probably doesn't need to be said that Puckett does not do such disgraceful things and Willow is the only one of us who doesn't seem to have digestive issues.

It's no wonder my favorite children's book is The BFG by Roald Dahl.  Whizzpoppers are alive and well and still ridiculously funny even after all these years, and I've never been one to find bathroom humor all that funny.  It really isn't that funny.  For some reason my new friend brings out the child in me worse than anyone else ever has.  In public we are constantly laughing about nothing, just acting like goofballs.  We probably have people glaring at us with disapproving looks when we are out in public and I just know they are thinking "You are in your thirties.  Grow the hell up!"

But we can't, and neither can Tess.  She and I are perpetual children. In the past I've had people who tried to make me feel bad about that.  I have ex-boyfriends who didn't appreciate my nerdy, goofy side, and I've had people ask me when I was going to grow up and stop acting like a kid.  I've noticed, however, that children are quite happy playing all the time and keeping their innocence.  Watching Tess I see that same innocence I've seen in children.  She's an older dog with experience now, but that hasn't robbed her of her playful nature and her happiness when she's engaged in a game.  She's a happy dog and her joy is contagious.  Watching her makes me smile, just like watching little kids play makes me smile.  Playing is fun. Retaining one's innocence battles cynicism and depression.  Ignorance is bliss after all. 

I still like to swing.

Sometimes you have to stop taking yourself and life so seriously and enjoy the silliness and frivolity of it all.

Even if that means laughing at whizzpoppers.

Dating Lessons

I decided in the spring to take Evan Marc Katz's advice and try online dating again, only this time, try it his way. My plan was to spend the summer having fun, dating everyone, and not worry too much about any of it until the fall, provided I actually found anyone interesting on these sites.  Three months isn't very long, but I did learn some things about those crazy animals we call men and what it takes to actually try and have a relationship with them.  Here are some of the things I learned:

1.  There is a difference between chemistry and biology, but you need one or the other at least or a relationship will never work.

Evan Marc Katz talks a lot about chemistry (as in that spark you feel for someone you are sexually/romantically attracted to), but I like to take it a little more in depth thanks to an episode of Parker Lewis Can't Lose (way back from the '90's).  They discuss chemistry AND biology, as in Parker Lewis (played by the adorable Corin Nemec) was debating who he should take to the dance; a larger awkward girl with an amazing personality, or a knockout blonde with a mean streak.  He said he had amazing chemistry with the larger girl and his friend observed "But not much biology."

I found this interesting.  Chemistry, I believe, is when two people gel mentally, emotionally, on all levels, and if they are lucky, physically too.  Biology is just physical.  It's easy enough to have biology with anyone who looks like Chris Evans, but it might be harder to develop biology with someone who looks like Woody Allen.  For me anyway, I don't always have chemistry with someone who looks like Chris Evans. I do think biology can develop from very strong chemistry. Usually chemistry doesn't form out of just strict biology, though.  I dated a hot firefighter for a whole summer once and he looked like Adonis.  We had nothing in common and he was a jackass. Sometimes the chemistry isn't strong enough to build a biological attraction.  Sometimes I wonder if two people have so much chemistry that they might actually be too much of the same person.  This summer I dated someone I had tons of biology with; I dated someone I had tons of chemistry with; I dated a good-looking, fun guy with a motorcycle, who I felt neither chemistry or biology with (I was running away from him physically by the fourth date); and I dated someone with whom I had a nice balance of both chemistry and biology. I guess the lesson here is to find that nice balance.  You don't want to date a great-looking moron who has nothing to say to you. You also don't want to date yourself.

2.  Evan Marc Katz is right - believe the negative, ignore the positive.

This one I find interesting.  Women tend to put up with a lot of crap just because a guy does a few sweet things, or looks good in a burlap bag, or gives the best orgasms in the world (this is a myth, by the way. Sorry, boys, but you can't give a woman an orgasm, she has to help it along on her own).  I have learned along the way that I may have chemistry and biology with someone, but if he's kind of a jackass, none of that matters. Once again, Adonis Firefighter comes to mind.  He was so beautiful I did put up with a lot of shit for a summer, but then when he left for Texas, told me he loved me and wanted me to come with, I said, sorry buddy, no way.  Also, the red flags are going to end up being deal breakers and all the chemistry and biology in the world aren't going to fix that.  I had crazy chemistry and biology with the Drug Dealing Felon, but in the end, well, he was a Drug Dealing Felon.  Sure we could talk all night, finish each other's sentences, read each other's minds, and feel each other's emotions, but I was always going to come second to his addictions.  Chemistry and biology alone do not a relationship make.  There has to be respect, kindness, and loyalty.  I think I could sooner deal with a nice, respectful, loyal guy with lots of biology, than a lot of chemistry but zero attraction, or lots of chemistry and biology but no compatibility.  Bottom line is, I'm no longer in my twenties. I no longer find jackasses and damaged alpha males with attitude problems attractive, and I don't care how many flowers he brings me.

3.  Texting does not create intimacy, no matter how many months and how often during the day one texts.

What is with these guys who just text and text and text and expect a relationship to spring out of that?  Cyber relationships seem to be all the rage.  I'm suspicious of anyone who just wants to text or Facebook little love notes all day long, but never actually wants to get together to meet or go on a date.  Three things go through my mind: What is he hiding, is he already in a relationship, and why does he have so much time to waste online.  Doesn't he have a job?

4.  Looks don't matter.  Neither does size.

I have had crazy attractions to some of the gawkiest, dorkiest looking guys one ever wants to see.  I was ass over teakettle in love with a guy who tattooed naked ladies all over his forearms, had gauged piercings in his ears, and nipple piercings.  I've experienced zero attraction to men who are considered extremely handsome (Brad Pitt does NOTHING for me), and have turned my nose up at the stud in the bar that all the women are drooling over.  Looks don't matter.  It's more about the pheromones.  Those can only be gauged in person, thus attraction can only be gauged in person.  You can't tell from a picture if you are going to be attracted to someone.  It doesn't matter how many cute, clever, fun emails he writes, how many long winded conversations about Star Wars you have, or how much his profile picture looks like Chris Hemsworth.  If you meet in person and he can't generate even an iota of attraction from you, then that relationship isn't going to work.  And on that note, size doesn't matter either.  I'm not a tall lady, so I don't have the struggles tall ladies do, but does it really matter if a guy is everything you wanted and more, but happens to be an inch shorter than you in Monolo Blahniks?  And for the record, I may be short but I've dated guys shorter than me.  I think short is cute.  I just feel like it's unfair to write a guy off for a physical attribute he has zero control over.  I don't want to be written off for wearing a size 32A bra, so I'm not going to write off a guy for his diminutive height.  And speaking of size, there is another size he can't control.  I'm no expert, but I have some experience with a few different sizes here.  If he knows how to use it, it doesn't matter really how big it is.

5.  And yet, it doesn't matter how not shallow one thinks they are, they are always a little shallow.

Even when looks don't matter, they do a little bit.  I'm not going to go so far as to say I'm not a little shallow as a certain gentleman suitor's six-pack abs about drove me over the edge, and that was just what I felt through his shirt.  I immediately became eager to learn more about what was going on underneath that shirt.  He turned bright red and told me to stop tickling him.  No, lacking a set of six-pack abs is not a deal breaker, but you know, I'm going to enjoy them while they are in my face.

6.  Some people are a slow burn.

I found that it takes a couple of dates sometimes for me to develop an attraction towards someone.  This is why I always give someone at least two dates unless he was a complete jackass on the first date and behaved disrespectfully or cruel.  If the person was kind, respectful, and fun I will go out with him again because everyone is nervous on a first date. After all, on a first date you don't really know the person. I went out with one guy three times before I realized that I really liked him, and by the fourth date I was pretty attracted to him.  If I had written him off after the first date because I wasn't quite feeling it yet, I would have missed out on getting to know someone pretty great. Ultimately that one didn't work out, but I don't regret the time I spent with him, and I had fun. I don't have a bad thing to say about him, but we just didn't quite fit.

7.  A guy will say anything to get you into bed.

If a guy really really really wants to sleep with you, he will do and say anything to make that happen, even lie about his true intentions or omit things.  It doesn't matter if you've been friends for years or if you thought you could trust him.  Sometimes that really is just a front and once he's gotten what he wants, he will most likely disappear.  Exercise caution before falling into bed with someone.

8.  Most of the time, getting involved with a friend will ruin the friendship.

I have gone down this road several times and I have lost several friends.  Mostly it's because they really just wanted to sleep with me under the guise of being a friend.  A true friend will stick around even after the fireworks are done.  I've had several guy friends proposition dating or friends with benefits during many a lonely stretch between girlfriends.  Among the ones I weakened and risked this with, only one is still my friend.  He's a true friend. Before getting involved with a friend, make sure you weigh the risks and make peace with the fact that you very well might lose this friend.

9.  Dating more than one person at a time divides your focus and keeps you from getting too obsessed over one person.

I've been a serial monogamist all my life, meaning I tend to start dating one guy, get completely wrapped up in him, and then fixate a little too much on him whether he's right for me or not.  That's when chemistry and biology can get confused with compatibility (Drug Dealing Felon, anyone?). When I finally learned to date several people at once, I didn't get so wrapped up in the chemistry with one guy that I couldn't focus on other guys.  There is something to that saying of don't make someone a priority who is only making you an option.  Spread it around a little, get to know a lot of people and decide what qualities you like or don't like.  It's a lot harder to get blinded by chemistry and biology with someone when you are seeing a few other someones that are fun and cute too.  This way one can make an informed decision about who they want to date exclusively.

10. Dating two people at a time that you like a lot is very complicated.

Unfortunately, for awhile I found myself equally attracted to and liking two guys for completely different reasons.  There was chemistry, there was biology, there were good times and fun to be had by all.  That just gets complicated then.  When you have one who is pulling ahead of the pack, it makes it easier if he asks for an exclusive commitment.  When you have another one who you like just as much, it's a lot harder to make the choice between the two, and no I don't believe that if either one was "the one" you wouldn't have to choose.  I don't think love, relationships, and dating are that simple.

Of course, I do have to point out here, that eventually one does pull ahead of the pack completely and the problem is usually solved.  Sometimes the rose-colored glasses come off for both and the problem is solved as well.

11. A positive attitude about dating really does draw men in.

Once I stopped hating men and feeling cynical, and just started having fun with the whole dating process without expecting anything, men were all over me.  At one point I had a date lined up every night, with a lunch date and a dinner date in the same day.  Men on the street and at the coffee shop responded differently to me.  I had one guy strike up a conversation at the coffee shop while I was writing, just to have a conversation.  I had another guy sit down at the piano at the coffee shop and ask me if I had any requests for him to play.  They were coming out of the woodwork, being friendly and nice, opening doors for me, striking up conversations, and metaphorically picking my handkerchiefs.

12. Scheduling a date every night for a week might be fun and exciting, but it's also exhausting.

Speaking of that, having a date every night of the week definitely opens one up to meeting a larger amount of people, and incidentally removes the need for grocery shopping that week.  However, it can also be exhausting for someone who identifies as an empathic introvert.

13. You are never more popular with the gentlemen than when several of them are vying for your attention.

Good, decent guys don't get crazy stupid jealous, but I have noticed when I have other options they all sort of try a little harder.  Of course, I've also noticed that as soon as I show a decent level of interest they seem to lose it and move on to the next chase.  That didn't happen so much this summer as in the past. But I will say, I have several stuffed animals, and I've gotten several bouquets of flowers from my suitors.

14. Pay attention to what your pets think of a potential date.

My pets are a good barometer of character.  I don't rely on Puckett so much as she hates everyone.  Only special cases get on her good side, and then those people I know are legit.  But if Percy, Willow, and especially Tess get freaked out by anyone, or don't behave with any kind of friendliness, then I am immediately suspicious of that person.  Tess loves everyone and she's only ever growled at two people in her life. If she doesn't like someone there is probably a very good reason, and he is not someone I need to get involved with.

15. Just because someone is a fabulous human being doesn't mean they are a fabulous human being for you.

I dated one guy who is perfectly wonderful on paper.  He was good looking, sweet, had basic tastes.  He worked hard, played hard, he was kind and respectful and he believed in God. I had some fun on his motorcycle. I just couldn't get there.  There was no spark, no magic, no chemistry, no biology.  I couldn't figure out why whenever I was with him, but I'm here to tell you, if you kiss a guy and all you feel is a slight wave of revulsion, that is not a good sign.  If you have a date scheduled and you are not looking forward to it, even dreading it, and you don't even know why because you do sort of like him as a person, that is definitely not a good sign.  End it as quickly and painlessly as possible and move on.  It will never happen.

16. Don't talk so much.

As soon as you mention your date to people everyone has an opinion.  I am way guilty of this.  I talk way too much because when I'm excited over a guy, I tell my friends about him.  This is a mistake.  You gush a little too much, and your friends are planning your wedding.  As soon as you mention any little row or spat with said guy, he is suddenly a loser who is not good enough for you and you should dump him.  Take it from me (and I plan to take my own advice) keep it zipped.  You can talk to one or two very very trusted nonjudgmental friends, but the rest of them don't need to know unless you received a ring the night before. 

17. Don't listen to other people's opinions over your own gut.

This goes hand in hand with don't talk too much.  As soon as you are dating a guy or several guys, your best friend, your mother, your boss, your hairdresser all have an opinion of the relationship, the guy, and why is he wearing those painter pants?  He's too young or you slept with him too soon or he doesn't have a glamorous job or long distance relationships don't work.  I was seeing several guys in the beginning and had different friends on Team This Guy or Team That Guy.  At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what they think.  What do you think?  How do you feel about the guy and what deal breakers can you live with?

18. Evan is pretty awesome and knowledgeable, but he doesn't know everything.

Sometimes underdog relationships do work out, sometimes two people who seem to have the least in common end up being the most in love, and sometimes the concept of soul mates isn't completely dead. These are definitely not the norm and don't count on them, but they can and do happen. It's Evan's job to maximize women's chances in falling in love by helping them get out of their own way, but it is also Evan's job to make money off his blog, his products, and his Love U curriculum. Likewise Match.com wants you to find your perfect match, but in reality if you do, they lose money. Keep in mind that self help books on dating, bloggers on dating, and dating sites are first and foremost out for number one.  Sure they want to help you, but you are going to have to help yourself, too.  Evan's an expert, but even he's admitted to being wrong a few times.  Also I've used a lot of his tips and advice without shelling out a single cent and it's been helpful.  Use the advice that applies to you, ignore the white noise in the background, and don't completely discount your gut.

19. Don't ever lose sight of your dreams.  Dating is fun, but it's very easy to get wrapped up in finding someone that everything else takes a backseat.

It's been several months since I picked up my novel and I'm sort of behind on my freelance writing course.  Enough said.

20. As Blanche Devereaux from The Golden Girls pointed out, most dates are just for the stories.  However, when the right one comes along, he is almost never who you expected (or who your friends expected).

And have I found that right one yet?  Well, I'm taking my own advice and shutting the fuck up.  Stay tuned.

Blending Families

Just when I thought I had my pets figured out, the little beasts go and pull a fast one on me.

Not only do I own codependent pets, I apparently attract people who also own codependent pets.  My new friend has a German Shorthaired Pointer who's as embarrassing as Tess when it comes to getting attention and being spoiled.  She's probably a bit more spoiled than my dog as she is allowed to sleep on the bed and sit on the furniture, and I got the stink eye when she came to my house and learned that this is not acceptable.  She also gave me the stink eye when she realized she was spending most of the day outside with Tess who she tolerates but is not a huge fan of.  Meanwhile I spent all of HER time with her master and she was not pleased.

Basically Surina thinks she's a person. Tess does too, of course, but she lives with cats that humble her at every turn. Surina fit right in with the cats because they think they are people too.  Well, to be fair, my cats believe they are above people and thus get to sit on the furniture, eat whenever they please, and stink up the house with their bodily waste, all the time thinking that their shit don't stink.

Surina and Tess have both been only dogs most of their lives.  Tess has been an only dog longer only because she is older.  When they first met they did get into a scrap because each dog thought the other had the nerve to actually try to touch their respective person.  Surina is not allowed to get pets from me and Tess is not allowed to get pets from my friend.  A dog fight ensued which we managed to tear apart, though not without casualties.  My friend got bit by both dogs, accidentally since they weren't really caring where their teeth went.

After the initial fight everyone was fine, they just sort of avoided each other.  Both still wanted attention from both of us and both of them still didn't want the other dog to get attention from either of us.

It's like trying to blend a family of teenagers.  Each dog is used to being the center of the universe.  Now they have to share their orbit and they are not pleased.  As with teenagers there is usually no reason as to why they don't get along except that they are teenagers.  There is really no reason for Surina and Tess not to get along except that they are both dogs used to being the center of the universe.  Like teenagers, dogs think the world revolves around them.  Dogs get away with it easier because they are cute.

The two dogs met the first time at my friend's house which was good for Surina because she spent the rest of the weekend doing what she loves best - following my friend's flock of guineas around and doing her pointer thing.  Tess couldn't figure out what was wrong with Surina, and amused herself with chasing flies and wasps like she does at home.  Surina is a working dog and my friend got her so he could use her as a hunting dog.  Tess is a perpetual puppy.  In the right hands she could have been a working dog too - a drug sniffer or sheep herder or something. But I babied her and I didn't really have work like that for her to do, so she plays like an overgrown pup. Tess has never been interested in birds, livestock, rabbits, or anything really that most dogs like to chase.  She'll get interested in squirrels for maybe a nanosecond.  Following birds around doesn't appeal to her, though every once in awhile she would follow Surina around the property and try to mimic what she was doing.  My dog has a short attention span and a big nose, so she would soon get bored and wander off to sniff around elsewhere.  When birds are present, Surina is focused and she'll spend all day following birds around. 

Tess, of course, was a nervous wreck spending the weekend at my friend's house because she's a nervous wreck anywhere except in her yard with either me or the Cowboy present.  This past weekend my friend and Surina visited us, and this time Tess had the home front advantage.  Tess is used to spending all day outside on the porch watching the world go by.  Surina is used to being outside too, but she is not used to being outside all day without a doggie door to get inside.  She whined most of the weekend and kept giving us these looks like we were torturing her in the bowels of hell.  I think we were kind of hoping that by the end of the weekend Tess and Surina would be solid buds and that Surina would be fine out in the yard because she had Tess to keep her company. Instead they just kind of pretended like the other one didn't exist.  Surina sat facing the door, wanting to be where the people are, and Tess sat facing the yard like she usually does, as if she thought that if she ignores the other dog long enough she'll magically disappear .  They gelled a bit better when we took them for a walk together.  They got to run loose down by the river, sniff around, and swim in the water, but they still weren't acting like two dogs who intended to bond.  Of course, I'm also expecting too much from two dogs who have only met twice. I don't bond with someone after two meetings.  I'm sure if we give the dogs some time they'll eventually learn to like each other. No one is ripping anyone's face off, so that's a plus.

I was most interested in seeing how the cats would react to Surina.  I always tell people that Percy is not a problem.  He's super chill and he likes dogs.  Sure enough, as soon as Surina came into the house Percy was in her face wanting to introduce himself.  Surina is used to barn cats, but I don't think she was quite prepared for someone as forward as my little black beast.  He behaves like, "Hi. Let's be friends.  Want to be my friend? Hi. Hi. Come on, let's play. Let's be friends."

I also say that Puckett is not a problem either as she's not exactly chill, but she is confident and the queen bee so she lets every newcomer know pretty quickly what the situation is regarding her position in the hierarchy.  Willow is the problem because she is a spaz, and she freaks out over every little thing.

They both surprised me.  Willow came downstairs almost as soon as Surina came into the house on Friday and wanted to satisfy her curiosity.  I expected a fluffy tail and a cat three times her normal size, but while she looked slightly put out and annoyed, Willow didn't hiss or throw a fit and she didn't even rake a paw across Surina's nose when Surina sniffed her.  Willow is usually the height of drama and she doesn't like strange dogs, so I was really surprised.  The rest of the weekend she spent sleeping on Surina's dog bed, and while she wasn't thrilled whenever Surina got her nose too close, she never once hissed or attacked her.

Puckett also did not behave like her normal self.  We took Surina upstairs on Friday to put her outside with Tess, and she walked by my bed where Puckett was sleeping.  She moved her nose towards Puckett.  By then she probably thought, "Hey these cats are cool! They all want to be my friend!" Puckett bunched up and hissed, then shot me a look like I'd just betrayed her. 

It's like Willow became Puckett and Puckett became Willow.  Thank God I can always count on Percy to behave a certain way.  He might trip me when I'm trying to feed him, or try to knock me down the stairs, but I can always count on him.

I spent most of the rest of the weekend kissing Puckett's ass, trying to get her to forgive me.  I tell you, that cat owns all of us and she knows it.  Its like the end of the world if Puckett is mad.  Everyone tiptoes around her, gives her treats and extra snuggles. Once I even let her get away with sitting on my chest and kneading me with her claws. I was wearing my favorite sweatshirt. She even engaged in snuggle time with my friend, and I swear she did it on purpose to punish me because she gave me that smug look the entire time she was letting him cuddle her.  Of course I reacted exactly how she knew I would.  I accused her of being a traitor, then picked her up and whisked her away, telling my friend that she is "MY PUCKETT!" while he laughed and teased me about how she loves him more.

That cat is going to drive me to drink.

By Sunday night Puckett finally emerged from downstairs because she was hungry, and sat a distance away glowering at Surina like I'd let the devil into the house.  By the next morning she was sitting next to Surina while she ate her breakfast.  She was probably trying to drive the message home of, "Hey, new dog. This is my house and I'll let you stay here, but you'd better defer to me so I'm going to intimidate you while you eat."

Surina was not intimidated. That's going to annoy Puckett, and she will not stand down until she has conquered the newcomer.  Of course, by the time Puckett got used to Surina it was time for Surina to leave.

This all leads me to conclude that Puckett was not as horrified at the idea of a new dog in the house as she was at the idea that a new dog came into the house without her permission.  If she had been asked her opinion in the beginning she probably would have been okay. She was taken by surprise on Friday, peacefully minding her own business taking a nap, when suddenly a strange new creature came stampeding into the bedroom.  In Puckett's world, things do not change without her consent.

In the end, all's well that ends well. While Surina and Tess are not solid buds yet, they tolerate each other and at least they will go for walks together. Willow did not explode and burn down the house. Percy just wants everyone to play with him. Puckett is over her little moment of pissiness. I really didn't think it would take too long for her to regain her dignity and power. She was just taken by surprise. Everyone seems to be just fine and no one has to be rehomed. 

I'm just kidding of course. I think my friend and I would probably dissolve our friendship before either of us would consider rehoming a pet.

I'm kidding about that too.  I think.

Animal Medicine

It may sound hokey, but I do put some stock into animal medicine.  I actually have a deck of medicine cards and I sometimes read my cards or other people's cards, and I like to occasionally pull a daily card, just to see what's what in my life.  It works a little like Tarot, or even like reading one's daily devotionals which I also do.  Some may argue that I can't follow Bible teachings and read animal medicine cards, but I find comfort in spirituality, not religion.  I follow Jesus' teachings, and I believe that animals and Native American medicine have some place as well.  The Earth, after all, is our home in a vast universe, so how can it not have some kind of magic and lessons to teach?

My medicine cards have several different spreads I read based on certain specific or even general questions.  One spread is reading one's nine Totem Animals, and I've only done that for one other person.  I've never read my own totem, probably because they are to be read only once and maybe I'm a little nervous about what I might pull.  Also, I'm not exactly an experienced medicine card reader, so I want to make sure I know exactly what I'm doing before I go messing around with that kind of medicine.  The totem spread involves seven animals in each of the seven directions - east, west, north, south, above, below, and within - and the lessons they teach in those directions.  The other two animals are the ones that walk by a person's side at all times, their spirit guides. An interesting point about reading one's totem, or even finding their spirit animals, is to not let one's personal opinions get in the way of the spread.  My two favorite animals are horses and wolves, but neither one of them are my spirit guides. I fought for years against the Spider being one of my spirit animals because I didn't like spiders, but after I pulled the medicine card more than a few times during my own readings, to say nothing of the fact that they follow me around my house and I dream of them often, I finally accepted the Spider as one of my guides.  My other guide is the Fox.  Foxes, like spiders, have haunted me and followed me all my life.  The Spider symbolizes creativity and feminine energy.  The Fox symbolizes camouflage.  That may not make sense to people who know me, or think they know me, but Fox medicine makes complete sense to me and it's very appropriate.

The other day I read my Pathway Spread, mostly because I probably already know my path, I'm just afraid to get started on it and perhaps I want some reassurance.  The Pathway Spread consists of a past; present; future; the pattern or set of life lessons that is moving through your life; a challenge or lesson you have completed or learned; what's working for you; and what is working against you.

My path laid out like this:

Past - I pulled the Rabbit which symbolizes fear, and the lesson is to stop worrying about horrible things that might happen and stop "what-iffing."

Present - the Buffalo. The Buffalo is the energy of prayer and the lesson is that nothing is achieved without the aid of the Great Spirit or God.

Future - The Snake. I pulled the Snake upside down, which means it's a contrary card.  The Contrary Snake is a fear of change and the lesson is to glide beyond a place that has become safe and nonproductive.  Funny how that one keeps popping up in my life.

The pattern or set of life lessons moving through my life - The Eagle. The lesson is to look higher and follow your heart's desire.  Again, funny how that one keeps popping up.

A challenge that has been conquered or a lesson that has just been completed - The Hummingbird. The Hummingbird teaches a renewal of the magic of living.

What is working for me - The Antelope. I pulled the Contrary Antelope which is a signal that I am not listening and not acting on the will of the Great Spirit (or God).  Contrary Antelope could also be telling me that a decision to start is now necessary. Have the desire to do something, make a firm decision to take action, and then do it!  I'm not sure exactly if that's working for me, or I should be allowing the Antelope to work for me, but boy, is that ever the truth.

What is working against me - The Badger. The Badger symbolizes aggressiveness, something I do not have, in spades or otherwise.  The Badger is telling me that I am too meek and the lesson is to get angry in a creative way and declare that I'm not going to take it anymore.

Three of my daily cards in the last few days intrigued me as well.  The first one I pulled was the Raven.  The Raven symbolizes magic.  Raven tells me that magic is in the air and something special is about to happen. Boy, I sure do hope so.  The second card I pulled was the Contrary Lizard.  Lizard symbolizes dreaming, but in the contrary position it could mean a nightmare or simply be telling me to confront my fears and that I don't need to experience nightmarish events in my day-to-day life.  Contrary Lizard can also be teaching me to look to my imagination for new ideas when life becomes dull or boring.  Life is not always as it seems. I've already dabbled with that, thought I wonder about the nightmare thing, and I wasn't completely thrilled with the dream I had last night. It disturbed me. The third card I pulled was the Contrary Lynx.  Lynx symbolizes secrets, but in the contrary position could be telling me to shut my big fat mouth.  I think I liked that one the best, because I sure have been talking a lot, and I'm going to get myself into big trouble if I keep talking.

I've found all of my card readings in the last couple of weeks rather interesting because they all seem to be pointing in the same direction - a direction I am aware of even if I don't want to admit it, a direction that I know is coming even though I'm scared of it, and a direction that I'm going to have to acknowledge soon because the signs are becoming too persistent.

It's time to move on, in every sense of the phrase.

I use the book Medicine Cards, the revised, expanded edition by Jamie Sams and David Carson.

Cited - Sams, J., Carson, D. (1999). Medicine Cards. New York: St. Martin's Press.