i've been putting off writing this cause i just didn't want to do it.
not sure why but something in me resists self-helpishness...not because i don't believe in it...helping one's self...but because it suggests choosing a direction and it's just not in me to stick to one.
my personal journey has been a little floppy and loose, as opposed to tight and intentional. more wayward than focused. i just sort of get a general idea about a thing and my process, after idea formation, is to see what happens. like when i was a kid, i wanted to be a ballerina/veterinarian/social worker. after i had become wife and mother, after i'd taught school, sold real estate, and had a few other occupations, i got the degree and went into social work. my progress was interrupted by a storm with furious rain and terrible lightening that snapped and tore the sky. my little boat was tossed. when the waters calmed, i started over with alpaca ranching, antiques dealing and non-profit management. seems like the map of my life, at any one point in time, would not have indicated i'd wind up happy in the company of strays, like myself.
i can't tell you how to fix things in your life. flopping around only works for some folks. but i can tell you a few things that are good about dog walkin' at the shelter...why i keep going back. why you might want to give it a try.
1. fresh air and exercise. depending on your pace and the personal trainer on the other end of the leash, it can provide a cardio workout or weight resistance. you'll engage your core and build endurance. it's not quite yoga but there's some bending...and some breath control...during the Downward-to-pick-up-Dog-poo sequence.
2. social networking. not only will you make tons of cold-nosed furry friends, you will meet other two-leggeds who care enough about dogs to brave the heat on their behalf. both types will be a comfort when times are bad.
3. soul restoration. you're doing something kind for a population whose struggles are mostly invisible to the rest of the world...making life better for one dog at a time. it will give you a perspective whereby your own blessings become more apparent - and nothing restores the soul like feeling grateful.
4. you will inevitably find your zen master - the one who teaches you what you thought you knew - if you're into that sort of thing.
5. better sleep. from all the air and the breathing it and the giving of yourself.
6. lots of grateful kisses. which are worth more than you might imagine.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
update on the little stray dog
i visited him today. found him shivering in the corner of his cage. he hadn't eaten or pooped. he was just stuck to that back wall. i coaxed him out and held him for a while. actually, he clung to me and stuck his head under my chin, like he was hiding. his toenails had been trimmed and i was relieved to see that his wee feet looked normal. state law requires that strays be held for 72 hours in case an owner might show up to claim them, regardless of how unlikely that seems. then they become county property, to be put up for adoption or not, as the deciders deem appropriate, so he won't be bathed till his hours are up and his stinky mats are sad to see. he hadn't eaten so i found some canned food and he tucked into it with some interest. he was sleeping when i left.
turned out, he had been dumped at the shelter two days ago, with a parakeet. they were able to get the bird but not the little guy. i'd say we can be pretty sure nobody's going to claim him and if they tried, they'd meet a hostile wall of people between themselves and the little stray cause everyone there knows his story. everyone there...every single person...was celebrating when they found out he was safe. i find that very moving...very telling about the folks who work there...very important about the place.
and just so you know, i did already put my name on his file, to say i'd take him as a foster if he needs care. AND there's another woman - a passerby who tried to help catch him initially - who has said she wants him, regardless of what they find. so maybe there's hope.
turned out, he had been dumped at the shelter two days ago, with a parakeet. they were able to get the bird but not the little guy. i'd say we can be pretty sure nobody's going to claim him and if they tried, they'd meet a hostile wall of people between themselves and the little stray cause everyone there knows his story. everyone there...every single person...was celebrating when they found out he was safe. i find that very moving...very telling about the folks who work there...very important about the place.
and just so you know, i did already put my name on his file, to say i'd take him as a foster if he needs care. AND there's another woman - a passerby who tried to help catch him initially - who has said she wants him, regardless of what they find. so maybe there's hope.
Monday, July 9, 2012
little bit of sweetness, today...
ok, so i went to the shelter early, to avoid the searing heat of afternoon. chose wee Mr. Banks for the first walk cause i'm thinking about getting him for my mother. i worry about her, at 86, living alone and far away. she needs something to obsess over and complain about and Mr. B is just the kind of dog she hates to love...
the shelter shares a wide lawn with the iconic Sunshine Home and Rehab. Most of the trees and therefore most of the shade is on their side, forcing me, as the day goes on, closer to their Sunshiney actual building. Today, i met Walter there. I'd watched him roll up and park and then i'd seen him watching me and Mr Banks as we sniffed our way through the shady grass. Of course i took his looking for longing and marched Mr B right up to the wheelchair and introduced ourselves. Walter seemed pleased to be petting a dog, again and he told me how he used to raise beagles. how he taught them to hunt and how they kept a pack so tight when they were moving that you could throw a blanket and cover 8 of them at once. i promised to return with beagles. but before i left, he pointed out a tiny blonde dog, standing under a car across the parking lot.
for the next 4 hours, i courted the little three pound stray. he was very interested in other dogs but wanted nothing to do with two-leggeds. approaching made him run toward the busy street, so there was no question of trying to chase him and he was too smart for the humane trap they set out, baited with a fragrant bowl of dog food stew. but he was curious about Mr. B and the succession of dogs that followed him. each time i emerged with a new dog he'd appear and march right up and introduce himself. i liked that about him. He met Chipper the chihauhua, Sharon, the beagle (who made Walter wonder if they let folks have dogs there at the Sunshine place), Frank, the other beagle (who Walt felt certain could be taught to hunt) and the exquisite, intimidatingly beautiful Jackson. The little stray liked all of them. and I could tell he was warming to me when he came over and pretend-peed on my shoes.
He wasn't as impressed with Iris or Mazie. Who he loved was Sissy. I brought her out and found a high spot of ground where we could sit and lean against a tree and Sis, who is, i'm sorry, hell on wheels inside the shelter and who, when she gets outside becomes very subdued, threw herself down beside me to gnaw on a stick. Before long, the little guy approached. There was the usual sniffing and wagging and then, in the most casual way, he walked very close to where i sat. i held my hand just above him, letting him decide if he wanted to be touched...which he did. he kept going till he was a few feet away where he found something very interesting that he needed to study for a bit. then he came back, passing close, allowing me to hold my hand above him, barely touching. finally, he lay down beside me and i gently stroked his head.
i waited a respectable time before i picked him up and carried him under one arm, back to the shelter. I told him he'd made a good choice and i believe that. His toe nails, the ones that aren't broken and dangling, curl in tendrils around his feet. His fur is matted and filthy. Something must be wrong with his mouth because he wouldn't eat, though he is barely more than bones. No telling what all might be wrong with such a one. The odds weigh heavily against his ever making it to adoptions because the shelter doesn't have the resources to nurse dogs back to health if they have a serious issue.
So i left him there and headed home. but the overwhelming image i can't shake is of his sweet, round head...the way it fit so well into the cup of my palm. and the feeling i can't ignore is that i was profoundly blessed in that moment when he surrendered...in that moment when nothing else mattered...nothing else existed...in that small and tender moment.
the shelter shares a wide lawn with the iconic Sunshine Home and Rehab. Most of the trees and therefore most of the shade is on their side, forcing me, as the day goes on, closer to their Sunshiney actual building. Today, i met Walter there. I'd watched him roll up and park and then i'd seen him watching me and Mr Banks as we sniffed our way through the shady grass. Of course i took his looking for longing and marched Mr B right up to the wheelchair and introduced ourselves. Walter seemed pleased to be petting a dog, again and he told me how he used to raise beagles. how he taught them to hunt and how they kept a pack so tight when they were moving that you could throw a blanket and cover 8 of them at once. i promised to return with beagles. but before i left, he pointed out a tiny blonde dog, standing under a car across the parking lot.
for the next 4 hours, i courted the little three pound stray. he was very interested in other dogs but wanted nothing to do with two-leggeds. approaching made him run toward the busy street, so there was no question of trying to chase him and he was too smart for the humane trap they set out, baited with a fragrant bowl of dog food stew. but he was curious about Mr. B and the succession of dogs that followed him. each time i emerged with a new dog he'd appear and march right up and introduce himself. i liked that about him. He met Chipper the chihauhua, Sharon, the beagle (who made Walter wonder if they let folks have dogs there at the Sunshine place), Frank, the other beagle (who Walt felt certain could be taught to hunt) and the exquisite, intimidatingly beautiful Jackson. The little stray liked all of them. and I could tell he was warming to me when he came over and pretend-peed on my shoes.
He wasn't as impressed with Iris or Mazie. Who he loved was Sissy. I brought her out and found a high spot of ground where we could sit and lean against a tree and Sis, who is, i'm sorry, hell on wheels inside the shelter and who, when she gets outside becomes very subdued, threw herself down beside me to gnaw on a stick. Before long, the little guy approached. There was the usual sniffing and wagging and then, in the most casual way, he walked very close to where i sat. i held my hand just above him, letting him decide if he wanted to be touched...which he did. he kept going till he was a few feet away where he found something very interesting that he needed to study for a bit. then he came back, passing close, allowing me to hold my hand above him, barely touching. finally, he lay down beside me and i gently stroked his head.
i waited a respectable time before i picked him up and carried him under one arm, back to the shelter. I told him he'd made a good choice and i believe that. His toe nails, the ones that aren't broken and dangling, curl in tendrils around his feet. His fur is matted and filthy. Something must be wrong with his mouth because he wouldn't eat, though he is barely more than bones. No telling what all might be wrong with such a one. The odds weigh heavily against his ever making it to adoptions because the shelter doesn't have the resources to nurse dogs back to health if they have a serious issue.
So i left him there and headed home. but the overwhelming image i can't shake is of his sweet, round head...the way it fit so well into the cup of my palm. and the feeling i can't ignore is that i was profoundly blessed in that moment when he surrendered...in that moment when nothing else mattered...nothing else existed...in that small and tender moment.
i'm not a big fan of guilt
as a motivator but yesterday, when i was too tired to go to the shelter, it finally drove me there. my first reaction, on finding that all the dogs had already been walked, was relief. it was too hot and like i said i was too tired and i had the choice to give them each a cookie and head home. but i chose, instead, the pleasure of surprising them with seconds. most, by then, were badly in need of another potty break. it made me think how many hours, on a normal day, they spend waiting.
it's so easy to get into a minimal mind set, where it feels somehow like a victory if every dog has had one chance to pee outside in a day. but many of these animals come from homes where they've been taught to wait and some of them, like little Jackson and sweet Nellie, will stop eating when they can't get out. once a day feels less than grand when you notice the way they suffer to keep from soiling their little space.
i read about a place called Dog Island where they say the animals are free...uncaged, unfenced to run as they please. they have no masters. there are no rules. they have returned to Eden. according to the website, the dogs come from individuals and from shelters. you apply and once he's accepted, you just slap a stamp on Bowzer and send him along. he will spend a few weeks being socialized with other new arrivals. when that group has bonded, formed a pack, they'll be released together to return to their feral state, spending their days hunting for food (the island has been stocked with a large rabbit population) and their nights sleeping together outside or in caves. in the few photos they share, the dogs look happy and healthy - engaged with one another as they play in the surf or sit side by side in doggie meditation.
there's little information available, a certain vagueness in the details, so i'm not clear what's behind it...how well it works or whether to trust that it is what it claims to be. it's financed by "very rich people." no joke. that's how they account for it's existence. really? it feels almost like some kind of sinister experiment...some Lord of the Flies, Canine Edition, so i'm definitely not recommending it, but i am suggesting that as a concept, there's something worth consideration. as a concept, it sets a few things in sharp relief - like the ways we mold our pets to fit our lives... it raises the question whether our demands are entirely fair or helpful...whether we might want to change a thing or two. i'm not suggesting you stock the back yard with bunnies and lock the dog outside. but maybe there's a middle ground - located between our ears - a place where we simply hold on to the awareness that the animals in our lives, despite generations of domestication, still have instincts and impulses and survival skills they need to exercise...that we might do well to respect them because when we don't, it can lead to those things that make us crazy and that we label as misbehavior.
i quit buying stuffed toys for Nini years ago cause all she did was disembowel them in the first five minutes. i realize now that she actually needed to do that...it's in her DNA, just like gnawing on a bone. if there's no bone, there's always a table leg or a running shoe, which for sure smells like the wild outdoors. up there beside you on the sofa, eating popcorn and watching Jeopardy, that's a hunter...a predator. cat's chase a feather on a string for the same reason dogs chase a tennis ball...cause in their instinctive brain, it's supper, getting away.
i have some uneasiness around the Dog Island idea...but despite my scepticism, the insatiably nosey part of me can't help wanting to go and work there, for the chance to see what happens. i'm curious what dogs are really like, when they're free of our society... when they don't have to wait for either our help or our permission to get on with living.
it's so easy to get into a minimal mind set, where it feels somehow like a victory if every dog has had one chance to pee outside in a day. but many of these animals come from homes where they've been taught to wait and some of them, like little Jackson and sweet Nellie, will stop eating when they can't get out. once a day feels less than grand when you notice the way they suffer to keep from soiling their little space.
i read about a place called Dog Island where they say the animals are free...uncaged, unfenced to run as they please. they have no masters. there are no rules. they have returned to Eden. according to the website, the dogs come from individuals and from shelters. you apply and once he's accepted, you just slap a stamp on Bowzer and send him along. he will spend a few weeks being socialized with other new arrivals. when that group has bonded, formed a pack, they'll be released together to return to their feral state, spending their days hunting for food (the island has been stocked with a large rabbit population) and their nights sleeping together outside or in caves. in the few photos they share, the dogs look happy and healthy - engaged with one another as they play in the surf or sit side by side in doggie meditation.
there's little information available, a certain vagueness in the details, so i'm not clear what's behind it...how well it works or whether to trust that it is what it claims to be. it's financed by "very rich people." no joke. that's how they account for it's existence. really? it feels almost like some kind of sinister experiment...some Lord of the Flies, Canine Edition, so i'm definitely not recommending it, but i am suggesting that as a concept, there's something worth consideration. as a concept, it sets a few things in sharp relief - like the ways we mold our pets to fit our lives... it raises the question whether our demands are entirely fair or helpful...whether we might want to change a thing or two. i'm not suggesting you stock the back yard with bunnies and lock the dog outside. but maybe there's a middle ground - located between our ears - a place where we simply hold on to the awareness that the animals in our lives, despite generations of domestication, still have instincts and impulses and survival skills they need to exercise...that we might do well to respect them because when we don't, it can lead to those things that make us crazy and that we label as misbehavior.
i quit buying stuffed toys for Nini years ago cause all she did was disembowel them in the first five minutes. i realize now that she actually needed to do that...it's in her DNA, just like gnawing on a bone. if there's no bone, there's always a table leg or a running shoe, which for sure smells like the wild outdoors. up there beside you on the sofa, eating popcorn and watching Jeopardy, that's a hunter...a predator. cat's chase a feather on a string for the same reason dogs chase a tennis ball...cause in their instinctive brain, it's supper, getting away.
i have some uneasiness around the Dog Island idea...but despite my scepticism, the insatiably nosey part of me can't help wanting to go and work there, for the chance to see what happens. i'm curious what dogs are really like, when they're free of our society... when they don't have to wait for either our help or our permission to get on with living.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
here's why
i haven't been writing. i've tried and failed cause, while i've continued my work at the shelter, my heart and mind have been tied up with other struggles, unrelated.
my daughter and her sons were in the first group to be evacuated from one of the wildfire areas in Colorado a few weeks ago. they wound up having to re-locate three times in three days, as the destruction moved up the pass...as one sanctuary after another was threatened. they watched the flames roar across the hillside above their little community. they searched for news of where it was headed, of when they'd have to run, again. they listened for the reverse-911 call that would tell them to go.
it scares me, even to consider what that was like...
the pressure of having to decide what to save...what was precious enough to be given space in the little car. so much of meaning in our lives is irreplacable but not necessary for survival and so, is left behind. is remembered with sadness. for people like my daughter, there's the challenge of trying to remain calm for the sake of the children and at the same time, moving with urgency to collect what's needed for an uncertain future.
there's the pervasive fear...for your own family, for your friends and neighbors, for the fire fighters. it fills my heart that in the first moments after she knew they had to pack, before the actual evacuation alert, my child took time to run across the road to warn an elderly neighbor. i couldn't be more proud of the way she handled the entire, extended nightmare...of the strength she found inside herself to deal with a soul chilling reality.
she returned, yesterday, to her home. the fire came within a quarter mile, but skipped over their little town. it surrounded them and so she will not be without grief. for some time, she will face the blackened remains of loss. and so the questions begin, of how you can...whether you can return to life as normal. how do you shake the fear? how do you integrate the experience of helplessness and vulnerability?
in the case of this fire, there is reason to think it was deliberately set, as several smaller ones in the area had recently been started. how do you resolve, in your own heart, the cold indifference of the anonymous other who held the match?
it brings home to me the fragility of the worlds we've created. it resonates with the familiarity of wars and natural disasters that beset us frail humans around the globe. it reminds me, again, of how we are the same in our desires and in our pain.
my daughter and her sons were in the first group to be evacuated from one of the wildfire areas in Colorado a few weeks ago. they wound up having to re-locate three times in three days, as the destruction moved up the pass...as one sanctuary after another was threatened. they watched the flames roar across the hillside above their little community. they searched for news of where it was headed, of when they'd have to run, again. they listened for the reverse-911 call that would tell them to go.
it scares me, even to consider what that was like...
the pressure of having to decide what to save...what was precious enough to be given space in the little car. so much of meaning in our lives is irreplacable but not necessary for survival and so, is left behind. is remembered with sadness. for people like my daughter, there's the challenge of trying to remain calm for the sake of the children and at the same time, moving with urgency to collect what's needed for an uncertain future.
there's the pervasive fear...for your own family, for your friends and neighbors, for the fire fighters. it fills my heart that in the first moments after she knew they had to pack, before the actual evacuation alert, my child took time to run across the road to warn an elderly neighbor. i couldn't be more proud of the way she handled the entire, extended nightmare...of the strength she found inside herself to deal with a soul chilling reality.
she returned, yesterday, to her home. the fire came within a quarter mile, but skipped over their little town. it surrounded them and so she will not be without grief. for some time, she will face the blackened remains of loss. and so the questions begin, of how you can...whether you can return to life as normal. how do you shake the fear? how do you integrate the experience of helplessness and vulnerability?
in the case of this fire, there is reason to think it was deliberately set, as several smaller ones in the area had recently been started. how do you resolve, in your own heart, the cold indifference of the anonymous other who held the match?
it brings home to me the fragility of the worlds we've created. it resonates with the familiarity of wars and natural disasters that beset us frail humans around the globe. it reminds me, again, of how we are the same in our desires and in our pain.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
you know how
when you're in the skid car and they take the traction off all four tires at once and you go whirling helplessly toward the flaming desert sun and it feels like you're on some kind of carney ride so you may as well relax cause there's nothing you can do till it's over, anyway? and you realize you absolutely love that feeling? and then it starts to slow and it's got that sweet, smooth glide to it and you can just hear Lara's Theme and the jingling of harness bells in your head? you slow to a stop. it's quiet except for the engine's tick but your body's still in motion...you're off center and out of balance and you're not sure you can stand, much less walk.
that's how i'm feeling.
can't figure what's happened, how i got here, where to go next.
what more can i say about shelter work? it hurts. every single one of the animals is wonderful. every one. not to say i'd take all of them home....i realize i have a limit and that i simply cannot care for more. at least not in the way that they deserve. i'm down to four dogs now, with Felicia happily homed elsewhere. And it's not the feeding or the vet visits or the meds that make it difficult having four. It's the fact that i fell in love with each of them as individuals...developed a relationship with one at a time. By bringing them together, i've created a writhing pack of creatures in constant motion, in constant competition for that unique relationship we used to have but have no more because their collective emotional demands are infinite and my emotional resources are not.
i always think, about the shelter dogs, if they only had a place to run they'd be so happy, so healthy, so calm. it's what i always wish for them when they're adopted...that they get the chance to run and to behave like dogs again...but my dogs have that and they're not happy.
They're very well cared for, my dogs. They have good food, treats, toys. They have fresh air and the freedom to safely run and explore. They have each other for companions and they sleep in clean beds, just outside my room. We go for walks together, twice a day. And they're not happy. When they're made to stay outside, they suffer, wearing a path around the house from the back step to the doggie door, back and forth on the chance they might squeak inside. If they are inside, they're following me. They tussle outside the bathroom door. No one lies down, ever...they stand in constant attendance, pawing at me, jockeying for position.
And it hurts my heart to say but I'm not happy, either.
I have to question what i've done here. I have to ask if any of us are better off or whether, perhaps, i've just created another unhappy shelter...a different kind of hell where it's the soul caged and starving.
that's how i'm feeling.
can't figure what's happened, how i got here, where to go next.
what more can i say about shelter work? it hurts. every single one of the animals is wonderful. every one. not to say i'd take all of them home....i realize i have a limit and that i simply cannot care for more. at least not in the way that they deserve. i'm down to four dogs now, with Felicia happily homed elsewhere. And it's not the feeding or the vet visits or the meds that make it difficult having four. It's the fact that i fell in love with each of them as individuals...developed a relationship with one at a time. By bringing them together, i've created a writhing pack of creatures in constant motion, in constant competition for that unique relationship we used to have but have no more because their collective emotional demands are infinite and my emotional resources are not.
i always think, about the shelter dogs, if they only had a place to run they'd be so happy, so healthy, so calm. it's what i always wish for them when they're adopted...that they get the chance to run and to behave like dogs again...but my dogs have that and they're not happy.
They're very well cared for, my dogs. They have good food, treats, toys. They have fresh air and the freedom to safely run and explore. They have each other for companions and they sleep in clean beds, just outside my room. We go for walks together, twice a day. And they're not happy. When they're made to stay outside, they suffer, wearing a path around the house from the back step to the doggie door, back and forth on the chance they might squeak inside. If they are inside, they're following me. They tussle outside the bathroom door. No one lies down, ever...they stand in constant attendance, pawing at me, jockeying for position.
And it hurts my heart to say but I'm not happy, either.
I have to question what i've done here. I have to ask if any of us are better off or whether, perhaps, i've just created another unhappy shelter...a different kind of hell where it's the soul caged and starving.
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