Where The Wild Things Are....They're in My Bed!!

I know a lot of dog gurus are adamant that your dog should not sleep with you. Conventional widsom would state that your dog should not sleep with you, especially when you and your husband share a full sized mattress (I didn't even know that there was anything between "queen" and "twin".) Especially when she is 90lbs of golden retriever love.

Our male golden, Dante, is now 9 years old and really prefers the cool touch of our leather recliners and couches to the hot, cramped bed. With the exceptions of the mornings. He loves to cuddle with you so long as you pet him. Continuously. Once (and IF) you fall back asleep and quit petting, he heads back for one of his recliners.

Shelley, after we rescued her, slept on the floor at the foot of the bed. For maybe two weeks. Then, halfway through the night I'd wake up with back pain, and find her curled into as tiny of a ball as she could manage, tucked away behind my legs. Naturally, I lacked the heart, and the lower body strength, to remove her.

Shelley is my shadow at night--even when my insomnia strikes, she sticks close by and follows me room to room. If I nap on the loveseat, she still tucks herself into a ball behind my legs (see picture, that's my legs her feet are flopped over!)

And so it's gone for the two years we have had her now.

I have not had a day completely off of work since the New Year. So when I found a sub for today's Step and Pilates classes, I was overjoyed. I wasn't just going to sleep in...I was going to sleep ALONE, in the cold, dark guestroom, for as long as I wanted.

It was supposed to be so easy.

I fell asleep on the couch, with Shelley tucked in with me. I snuck out from around her and snuck into the guest bedroom. As I was settling in, I heard the tinkle of her collar roving through the house, and then stopping in front of my door. I waited to see if she'd wander off to bed with my husband, but no.

I couldn't bear the thought of her sleeping at the door, quite obviously locked out. So I let her in.

So much for my plan to sprawl out and sleep alone, not being awoken by hungry dogs and their tickly whiskers in the morning. As we settle in, I hear more tinkling of a collar, and then hear my male Golden push open the door.

And so of course he hops in the bed, and I find myself lovingly flanked by my faithful friends. And when my husband fed and pottyed them this morning, he asked if he should keep them out, since my plan to get uninterrupted sleep was already not going to plan.

And I said no. They reassumed their positions, and I slept like a rock, comforted by their devotion and love.

Puppy Love

So, if you haven’t heard this story, and are not squeamish, you can catch up about the Canadian man who inhumanely slaughtered dozens of sled dogs after the business that used them could no longer afford to keep them, at this link here:

http://ca.news.yahoo.com/b-c-mulls-changes-sled-dog-kill-minister-20110202-010010-583.html

If you’re squeamish like me, I’ve probably told you everything you want and need to know about it.

It’s no secret to my friends and family that I am a “dog person”. My two rescued Golden Retrievers (from the fabulous Golden Retriever Rescue of Houston!) are an exuberant manifestation of pure, uncomplicated love, and I am honored to live and learn in their presence. I truly feel privileged that I get to share my life with these two animals.

Especially when you consider what abuse we, as the most inhumane species of all animals, perpetrate upon our faithful, loving companions. From dogfighting to abandonment, dogs bear the brunt of human sickness and selfishness and become victims of horrible crimes of the human soul.

What a gross disrespect of the animals that chose to throw their lot in with us thousands of years ago! Dogs and humans have evolved symbiotically throughout the millennia and share a special psychological and spiritual bond that humans share with few—if any—other creatures. (Neurobiological Nerd Alert: if you have an interest in learning more about our co-evolution, watch the NOVA special “Dogs Decoded”. Available on Netflix Streaming via Xbox Live. It will absolutely blow your mind!)

So, the aforementioned article really cut to the quick of my soul. I truly lost sleep last night not only thinking of the sadness of the loss of canine life…I was also thinking of the human lives that could have been enriched if those slaughtered dogs had been adopted into loving homes. We all have our favorite breed of dogs, mine obviously being Goldens since I was raised with (and by?) them as a child. But lately, I have developed such an appreciation for the Arctic breeds, such as huskies. This is owing to my participation with Rummy’s Beach Club, a private dog pool where owners can bring their dogs and play in the pool for an hour. In addition to swimming my dogs there, I currently teach aqua pilates/yoga for humans there!

Rummy’s is named after a blind Siberian Husky who was rescued by Houston’s own Husky Haven. With my business partnership with Rummy’s, I have been so lucky to spend time with Rummy and the rest of his pack. Spending time with him allows you to experience the grace of forgiveness and love.

So, in honor of the dogs lost in this incident and countless unreported others, I ask you to please sign the from the Animal Defense Fund petition to take a stand for sled dogs below.

http://org2.democracyinaction.org/o/5154/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=538

I Hate The Olympics. There. I said it.

There, I said it.

I know that it's practically blasphemy to admit that I hate the Olympics. Both winter and summer; every event in it. But I do hate it. I cannot stand it.

That's my gut, visceral reaction to all of the commercials and hype leading up to it--hatred, dread and exasperation. So I really got to thinking about what I hate about the Olympics to try to understand why I dread not only the duration of the Olympics but the leadup and fallout to and from the events.

Upon careful consideration, I have decided that perhaps I should amend my statement to:

I hate the coverage of the Olympics. I don't just hate it. I abhor it.

I don't even hate that normal programming is suspended; I don't watch enough network TV to care.

What I hate the exploitation of the athlete's personal tragedies and biographies. I hate the absolutely incessant searching for the Olympics to be a symbol of world hope and community. (The only community really occurring at the Olympics is the Olympic-sized debauchery that happens in the Olympic village amongst the athletes that would make Caligula blush.)

I hate the search for another national hero that will inevitably fall from grace for reasons deserved or not (Michael Phelps?). I hate that my morning news is spent on puff pieces with the athletes when I want those anchors behind a news desk giving the news, something they struggle with even on a normal day.

I feel manipulated because I get emotionally involved, which is just what the network wants for ratings. If I watch it, I get to wondering what those athletes are thinking and feeling. It makes me uncomfortable and cringe to witness their embarrassment and defeat, as I wonder what their life turns into when they make it home. When the hero wins, I do like that feeling. But that only happens, say, 25% of the time. I don't like thinking of dreams shattered and lives changing as a result of a sport. And more often than not, you see more defeat than victory amongst the people the networks have decided have a story worth telling.

On a side note--this is also why it's hard for me to watch football games when I'm emotionally invested. For example, University of Texas games. I can't help but remembering that those players are just college kids. Those are the kids that lived in the apartments below Chris, who were in my classes, who went to high school with me. The college superstars carry the hopes and dreams of a city (and most of the state, at least the parts of the state that matter) on their 20 year old shoulders.

Back to my Olympic sized hatred. Even worse than the networks scrambling to fill time with the athlete's stories and family dramas is the commercials featuring Olympians. Case in point--the Visa commercial featuring a speedskater. A voice over intones: "2 Olympics ago, hours before he had to skate, he got the news his sister died. He made a promise to his sister to win the gold". As the speaker is explaining this, you see this poor man WIPE OUT on the ice. Naturally, the dude didn't win the gold. But the next Olympics, he did win the gold. What the hell this has to do with Visa no one knows. All I do know is that it made me tear up to think about (much like when I open my Visa bill), but then get furious that a company exploited this man's tragedy to sell a brand image. And that it moved me!

What's interesting is that I absolutely love to watch the biographies and stories of UFC Fighters before watching a bout. I think it is because their tragic stories are not used to sell things (yet, give it time) and it's not 24 hour, inescapable coverage on every network. If I watch the biographies of a fighter, it's completely of my own volition and isn't shoved down my throat or interrupting my need for a REAL news fix. I watch them because I love an underdog, a comeback story. I love to see how they train and what coaches they work with. I love hearing the stories of the fighters who battled injuries, depression, addiction, and who become gods for 3 or 5 rounds. I admire the fighters with the autistic children, or the family back in a third world country. I like hearing of the fighters who walked away from being nurses, cops, or corporate wage slaves to do something they love.

Why these stories intrigue me more than Olympic stories I really cannot figure out. I don't feel remotely as manipulated watching the stories. Part of me thinks it's because the athletes in the Olympics (from rich nations) tend to have been born into privileged lifestyles. You have to be from a family of some sort of means to have been training professionally all of your life with world-renowned coaches. Generally speaking, you aren't the kid that had to be a garbage collector just to have an early morning shift so you could go to the gym and train.

The Olympics make me angry. I may have to move the Xbox into the bedroom, as my husband loves the Olympics. It is a rough time in our house during the Olympics.

And the World Cup. Don't get me started.

How Dog Ownership Can Make You a "People Person"

People who are serious about their pets often (unfairly or not) get a bad wrap for not really liking animals on two legs--you know, fellow people.

But something I've noticed is that watching friends and family interact with dogs often has enhanced my love and respect for that person.

When you see a man engaging in baby talk to a dog, or your friend gets you AND your dog a Christmas present, or you, as an adult, still receive Valentines from your parents--for the dog--you see the depth of the person's capacity for love that you don't normally get to observe in ordinary life.

The presence of a dog has a way of letting someone's guard down. The person is no longer trying to hide the vulnerable chinks in their armor. Their need to express love for the dog overrides the need to keep up any sort of facade. So even the most reserved seeming person will be rolling in the floor playing with a puppy.

There have been instances where witnessing someone with a dog has made me love that person even more. Case in point would be my now husband, then living-in-sin partner. Sorry, my husband-that-shall-remain-nameless, hope I don't embarrass you here...

Our first golden retriever rescue had a horrible case of heartworms when he was rescued from an East Texas shelter and into the amazing local rescue program. As a result, he had to have a very serious treatment (arsenic!) to kill off the worms, and had to remain completely calm so, as the worms died, they would not enter his bloodstream.

After I picked Dante up from the vet after administration of the drug, I could tell he was feeling wretched. He was walking slowly and was relatively unresponsive and I was so worried about him, despite the vet's indication that this was not abnormal given the severity of his illness and strength of his dosage.

When my husband came home from work, he gently picked Dante up out of the kennel, as one would a baby, and placed him in our bed, Dante's head on my pillow.

My husband then refused to leave Dante's side for the rest of the night; even eating dinner in bed while keeping vigil with Dante.

So while I always, always, knew my husband was an exceptionally kind, generous, and thoughtful man, witnessing him in this situation actually made me love him more. I was not aware at this point that I could love him more than I already did. But I did, and I still have moments even now with our dogs where my love grows for him as I watch him interact with the dogs.

But it's not just limited to the people you live with. Any time I see how my husband and I's parents (we consider them the dog's grandparents, and rightfully so) interact with our dogs, I see the love that they have for us reflected in the love they show the dog.

My parents routinely drive 350 miles round trip on a workday evening to meet my husband and I halfway between our home and theirs so that the dogs do not have to go into a kennel when we go out of town. (Even a fancy, expensive kennel is not acceptable to my parents.)










Our dogs mysteriously develop a Cheetos obsession after my in-laws visit.

My sister and sister in law send our dogs Christmas presents and remember the dog's birthdays.

Friends know to ask, after we swap information on how we're doing, how my dogs are.

Seeing the love that your friends and family are capable of for a dog lets you realize the extent of their capacity for empathy, love, understanding, and forgiveness. They are indirectly showing the love for you by the way they treat your animal.

And that, if nothing else, will make you a "people" person.

Guilty Pleasures

I am a big fan of the blog and the book "Stuff White People Like". The book really only addresses what they call the "right kind of white people" like--NPR, the New York Times, wineries, being smug, and David Sedaris.





The book is quick to delinate between those "right sort of white people" and the "wrong sort of white people". The "wrong" sort of white people like things like monster truck rallies and white trash metal like Kid Rock.

I define a guilty pleasure as something the "wrong sort of white people" like. And...I have a lot of these pleasures.

I think it's time to come clean on some of my baser enjoyments. Yes, I consider myself somewhat educated (thank you UT), I get my news from non-mainstream media, and I am reasonably well-travelled for my age. However, having grown up in Texas, and in an uber-conservative, stereotypical, "Texas Cheerleader Mom" sort of neighborhood and participating in dance team...I have some remnants of enjoyments that the "wrong" sort of white people like.

While I consider myself very "blue state" in some ways...I am going to confess pleasures that belie my "red state" upbringing.

It is time for confession. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned against my own better judgment.

1.) Blue Box Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Oh no, this is not organic and is packed not with vitamins and minerals...but chemicals and calories. I think my sister and I subsisted on this alone for many summers of our youth while our parents were working. This is still my ultimate comfort food. I hate that Velveeta upscale macaroni and cheese. It just is not the same. And yes, in the interest of honesty, I eat the whole damn box myself. So there.

2.) VH-1 Reality Television shows. From Rock of Love to Tool Academy, I honestly cannot resist. While stagey and cheesy, these crack me up. And yes, maybe I feel a bit superior while I watch them. But I love them for all their trashiness and DVR them all and get quite upset when the DVR doesn't tape them.

3.) Snapped. This is a show that is on either Oxygen or WE, and it's about women that go apeshit and kill people. What fascinates me is that these stories take one of either two interesting turns--1.) The woman kills someone and the person has been terrorizing them and it truly was in self defense or 2.) The perpetrator is the stupidest, sketchiest, most selfish, and sociopathic criminal in the history of criminals and deserves to be caught and sent to The Big House. I am not proud to admit that I believe I have seen every single one of these shows.

4.) Jon and Kate gossip. This is one I literally cringe to admit and want to hide under my computer desk as I type it. I am NOT interested in celebrities or celebrity gossip, as a rule. Half of the time, I don't know who the hell anyone on the covers of the magazines at the grocery store are or what they're famous for (likely, they're famous for nothing other than being famous). But for some reason, despite NEVER EVER watching the show, beyond the clips that are spoofed on "The Soup" or "The Daily Show", I got obsessed with the gossip that started up a few months ago. My obsession got so bad that I actually started DVR-ing the show. And...I started buying US Weekly. I even...*sigh*....bought an US Weekly to read on the train going from London to Scotland (I hid it behind The Guardian). Oddly enough, I'm over my obsession now that they're divorced. I am proud to say that my home has been US Weekly free for at least 2 months.

And for the record--here are my two cents: Kate may be a controlling bitch, but I think that you have to be when you have 8 children and a stoner/slacker looking husband that doesn't do dick-all but pick up local hussies at bars that are attached to Super 8 Motels. So I suppose she really has 9 children.

5.) Talking about my Dyson vacuum cleaner. Oh yes, when I left my corporate job, I swore not to be a desperate housewife. And I'm still not one, in the conventional understanding of that phrase...I still work 11 aerobics classes a week, so I'm not a true housewife.

But I was desperate about the friggin dog hair tumbleweeds that blew throughout the house from my furry buddies. So I used the remnants of our Macy's gift cards from our wedding to buy a Dyson.

That is not the bad part--that was a helluva smart investment. The bad part...during at least 2 happy hours with my old corporate work friends...I soliliquied on the glory that is the Dyson Animal Ball vacuum. And I thought to myself..."Really...I am talking about household appliances at happy hour...what's next? Am I going to talk about my favorite dishwashing detergent"?

6.) Roseanne reruns. Call it repression, denial, or survival, but I have forgotten a lot of my late elementary school/junior high life. What I do remember is absolutely loving watching Roseanne on I think Tuesday nights....a show real people could actually relate to. Even at age 11.

7.) Jack In the Box Mini Sirloin Burgers and Domino's Pizza Chicken Kickers. Yeah, I may teach aerobics, but I still love me some fast food. The mini-burgers are the perfect size for me and sharing with the dogs (after I scrape off the onions). At first, I did not want to eat these burgers since they exploited my people (midgets) in the advertisement for it. But now...I am hooked. As for the chicken kickers, I have no idea why I am addicted to these. They're glorified chicken nuggets with just a hint of spice. But they can be delivered to the house. With ranch.

8.) Rap Music. Oh, the more raunchy, misogynistic, and controversial the better. When my husband and I first started dating and he'd listen to the mix CDs in my car, he was astounded by the horrible lyrics I would listen to as a bra-burning feminist. And I was horrified myself. Maybe it's because I worked in a music store in college (don't go thinking it was cool, it was the music store in the MALL) and went to Sixth Street a lot that I had to develop a taste for it. I think that the Ludacris "Word of Mouf" CD lasted in my CD player for about a full year.

9.) Lifetime movies. While insipid and formulaic, I can't resist these. They're perfect for turning on in the background as you work around the house or read. It's not like the plot will confuse you--you will have predicted the ending of the movie from just reading the blurb on the DVR.

10.) Conspiracy theories. Picture Dale Gribble from King of the Hill.

That's not quite so far off from me.

While I don't believe everything (or anything, really) that I read, I love a good conspiracy theory. And just when you write off something as a lunatic conspiracy theory, it pops up in the conventional news as being fact. So there.

And for the record, just because I say that it's a guilty pleasure doesn't mean I feel guilty about it. But someone else might. And maybe I should. But I won't. :)

Giving in.

Within the next week, I will know whether or not I have a full-time (salaried!) position at a gym here in Houston. I'm still in disbelief. I was enjoying being the aerobics nomad, teaching at 6 different gyms while I expelled the toxins that were put in my system by the corporate job I had.

So that got me to thinking about what set me off on this path of eschewing that corporate life for a new one. What can make someone give up $55,000 a year (at least) in income? Especially when that person was raised in a family that never had enough money?

The answer is....a confluence of forces. I think that if you have a "good enough" job, where you're pulling down the money to cover your liabilities and you're not emotionally compromised at the end of the day, you're in a good place. But when that "good enough job" turns into the vehicle that is driving you to depression, rage, and malaise...it is time to go.

Had I not left it so long, I could have organized a proper job search and found another corporate job that I would have liked more (at least temporarily). The pseudo-flexibility offered by my old employer, and deep friendships of offshore and onshore associates kept me rooted there.

One day, driving to the office became too much. I actually envisioned driving my car into a tree to keep me from going into the office. As someone who has had accidents eerily similar to that....it is definitely a red flag of warning.

But...ah, the tipping point. Not often are we as people able to identify that turning, that tipping point.

I can.

It was having my husband's wonderful, brilliant aunt and uncle die in a head on automobile collision the day after our wedding. These individuals were the most conscientious and precise people that I have ever met. But no matter how extensive you plan something....some elderly asshole who shouldn't still have a license can always cross the median and end your life.

And alter the lives of anyone that ever loved you. Tragedy like this radiates out like an earthquake, there is an intense epicenter of grief, destruction, and tragedy to those immediately affected, but there are aftershocks that shake the most remote of friends and family.

I hate this stupid corporate phrase. But their death reminded me that "at the end of the day", we have control over nothing.

I have always been really sensitive to random life upheavals. This is because I am a control freak. I think if I can control everything, I can mitigate any potential damage that may come. Despite the fact our home sustained minimal damage from Hurricane Ike, that whole experience jacked with my emotions.

So you can imagine how something like the death of beloved family members the day after our wedding...and considering they'd never have been in Austin if not for Chris and I....can screw with your mind.

However, I cannot credit this death alone with why I left my old job. I think one of the first red flags became apparent when I was writing a shitload of queries and doing a lot of systems testing one evening at work, and my iPod Shuffle chose to play "Dogs" by Pink Floyd.

Talk about timing.

Here are the lyrics to that song:

"You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

And after a while, you can work on points for style
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake
A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
Youll get the chance to put the knife in.

You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
You know its going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older
And in the end you'll pack, fly down south
Hide your head in the sand
Just another sad old man
All alone and dying of cancer.

And when you lose control, youll reap the harvest that you've sown
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone
And its too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around
So have a good drown, as you go down alone
Dragged down by the stone.

I gotta admit that Im a little bit confused
Sometimes it seems to me as if Im just being used
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake of this creeping malaise
If I dont stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?

Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one had a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.

Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a seat in the stand
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone."

I had to pause my iPod to catch my breath. C'mon now. I had spent 4 years at The University of Texas. You really, really think this is the first time I thought deeply about Pink Floyd lyrics??

And yet. Something resonated in me while I pounded away at debugging SQL and updating test plans. I think the part that got me was the final four lines:

"Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone."

I knew I was the "stranger at home". I don't think I was any longer the person my husband met in college. Part of that was the natural progession of life, the other part was that this job had given me this darkness and cynicism I never had in college. Don't get me wrong...I was always cynical about politicians and loved nothing more than a convincing conspiriacy theory back then. But that to me is typical of anyone coming from the suburbs into a "real" city.

I was "ground down". Thank god I had kept up my aerobics teaching jobs. I think that the BDNF (brain derived neurotropic factor) and the empirically proven boost to mood from exercise had kept me active enough to remain moderately functional.

The last part that really resonated me was "dragged down by the stone".

Whatever your "stone" is, it can drag you under. Mine was my current job. And other things. But primarily that job.

So it was time, to cut the rope that adhered the stone to my neck.

I had this bizarre moment of clarity when I was chatting with the night desk attendant at 24 Hour Fitness when I checked in for my 5:30 AM class.

He asked me, as he always does, how I am doing at 5:19 in the morning as I race in to start my 5:30AM class. And I tell him I'm still waking up, and ask him how he is doing.

And he says, "Great. Better 6 feet over than 6 feet under."

I stood there a little bewildered (in part due to the time of day), but then fully processed what he said. You can read that response as hopeful or cynical.

Confucius say..."read it as hopeful".

You know you own a golden retriever when...

1.) You have had to google the following:
--"are frogs poisonous to dogs"
--"are dragonflies poisonous to dogs"
--"best plants for families with dogs"

2.) They have a set play area. We call ours "The Octagon" ala' UFC. If you say "Octagon" and point, they move into that area to play fight. In the fall, they will be outside for any rumbles. Too hot right now.

3.) They have a lot of commands you will not see on "The Dog Whisperer". In my family, these commands include:
--"Bugger off!"
--"No bite pecker!"
--"Head out of ice maker!"

4.) Any toy marketed as "indestructible" is quickly proven not to be.