Puppy Dog Tales

Posted by diana
rescue dog
Bruno

I never told you about Bruno, did I? Bruno was our second foster dog from Copper’s Dream. Look at him. How could anyone not love that face?

When he came to us, he was terrified. Cowering when you tried to pet him.

He mostly ignored the cats. Began to relax after a few days. If you crouched down to face level with him, he’d let you pet him without wincing.

Then, one morning, he made a play bow at Tabby: the only one of our cats who actively dislikes dogs. She began to trot, and then to run to get away from him. He thought she was playing chase, so he ran after her. Poor Tabby was cornered and terrified (and lost control of certain bodily functions).

Jason and I yelled, without even thinking. We ran into the dining room (where Tabby was cornered) and separated the two. Bruno very clearly was confused. He just wanted to play and had no intention of hurting her.

We put him outside while we cleaned up after Tabby, and he whimpered. He cried. He pawed at the door, desperately trying to get back inside. For the rest of the day he was back to being that terrified dog who cowered when we came near. We thought it was because of the yelling. But it wasn’t. It was because we had left him alone outside.

He probably was locked outside a lot before we got him. And hit or kicked if he tried to get into the house. Poor guy was terrified of door ways…

He just shut down.

Luckily, I knew someone who had a magic touch with dogs. She came over, had a toy Bruno actually liked and treats he would actually eat. She figured out he had issues around food. His prior owner had probably taken his food or hit him when he was at his food bowl. So we gave him his food and went into the other room, and once he realized we didn’t want it, he ate.

Happy Dog Face

She and I spent the next three or four hours sitting on the floor of my kitchen with Bruno. We just pet him. His body relaxed. He made that whuffling exhalation dogs make when they’re happy. And he got  happy dog face, you know, the expression where their mouths are wide open and their lips are relaxed and they look almost like they’re grinning? That.

I’d been so careful not to invade his space, not wanting him to feel threatened, which had been completely counter-productive. He needed contact.

After that, he was a completely different dog. He was happy and playful. It was so amazing to watch him bound after a toy and pounce. Utterly amazing.

By the time the adoption fair rolled around, he was willing to be around a crowd of people. He’d been terrified of that on walks with me around the neighborhood. But he was great.

At the adoption fair.

A man who reminded me a lot of my dad fell in love with Bruno. I told him about the history of abuse. Told him about Bruno’s health issues (Bruno limped and had something wrong with his hip, and we didn’t know how serious it was). And the family just said, Well, then we know we’re getting a disabled dog and that’s okay.

He got along with their other dog. He licked their son’s face. He walked on leash with the father and trotted happily after their dog. And they loved him.

So now, he lives with a family in Cupertino, with another dog he gets along with. She’s not so interested in playing with him, but he keeps trying. And the family adores him. Turns out his hip problem was from a fracture from when he was a puppy, probably a result of being kicked.

This — this is why fostering is wonderful. Because you can take an abused and frightened dog and make him feel safe again. And you can find him a family that adores him.

Spring and Fall: To a Young Child

Posted by diana

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

 – Gerard Manley Hopkins

It’s been a hard year. A hard few years. Mom’s cancer, Jay’s cancer, Donna Marie dying… And now one of Jason’s closest friends dying of adrenal cancer at 34. It’s not fair, but fair hardly matters outside of kindergarten and the constitution.

 

The Perception of Writer’s Block

Posted by diana

Up until, oh, this week, I would have said I’ve had writer’s block for five years. And then I put together my portfolio and realized that I was actually writing a lot.

Somewhere I have a book on hypergraphia, the compulsion to write. Not the passion or the inspiration, but the compulsion. I never did finish reading it. The most memorable  idea from what I read was that writer’s block is a matter of perception.  Here I am, definitely suffering from writer’s block; I’ve got all the neurotic worry and self recrimination going at full bore, even though I was churning out thousands of words every week.

(Let’s pretend this is a bulleted list of everything I’d been writing during that time, which is of interest only to me. You should pretend to be suitably impressed.)

The satisfying and redemptive way to frame this would be by saying the block was all in my head. And all in your head, by extension, since the redemptive way to frame this would also attempt to generalize this to everyone. Writer’s block isn’t real and all you have to do is just believe in yourself, and another fairy gets it wings, clap-clap!

I’ve got this sneaking suspicion it doesn’t work that way.

Perception does not mean it’s all in your head. Perception is about context: how you understand the situation. The situation exists. I’m certain there was something I should have been writing that I wasn’t, and I knew it. It doesn’t matter how many thousands of words you churn out if they’re not the words you need.

There are more than two types of fiction writers, but I’m simplifying down to the extremes here for proof of concept.

1. Emotional

We’re not talking angst and mood swings. The fiction comes from an emotional place. Is driven and controlled by it. For most folks, it’s subconscious. These are the writers who will say, “I was trying to get my character to train with communist monks, but instead she decided she wanted to go wine tasting.” The stories are in charge. The subconscious is in charge.

Emotional writers don’t outline. Emotional writers have conversations with their characters in their heads. When they successfully tap into a vein, their stories have powerful emotional resonance with their readers.

In some ways, this is great. Writing can become this almost trance state. It can flow and feel good and when you’re done you’re surprised at all of the things you put in here, Hey, neat foreshadowing the wine tasting in Chapter 1! However, it’s really easy to write yourself into a corner when you haven’t planned ahead.

 

2. Deliberate

Deliberate writers plan. They know where they’re going. Their characters show up for work on time. They can write intricate concept driven stories. They know exactly why they mentioned the character prefers chardonnay to beer in Chapter 1, and she goes wine tasting because that was always the plan.

Deliberate writers still use emotion in their fiction, but it isn’t the driving force.

 

Most writers are not purely emotional nor purely deliberate. Most are combinations. I am primarily an emotional writer. I can be deliberate, but that’s not where my stories come from.

I can’t say what writer’s block is like for a deliberate writer; I have no idea. But for me, for an emotional writer, it means there’s something wrong. Inside. Maybe it’s a truth you can’t let yourself face, a hurt you’re not willing to tap into. Maybe those stories that you think of but then can’t write for years, until suddenly one day you can – maybe that’s because you hadn’t experienced what you needed to in order to write that story.

That’s why I’ve felt like I had writer’s block. Have writer’s block. Even though I’ve been writing. I haven’t been tapping into my subconscious. I’ve been trying to drown it out. Actually, no, I have it tied up in a closet with a sock stuffed in its mouth, and still I can’t get the damn thing to be quiet. And you know, when it eventually gets out, it’s totally going to kick my ass.

 

 

 

Meet Addie

Posted by diana
Addie in the backyard

She’s absofrickinlutely adorable. And incredibly well behaved. Nine months old; we think she’s some mix of Chow and German Shepherd. Poor girl had ear infections and an allergic rash when she came to us, both of which are doing much better now.

We’ve had her all of five days, and tomorrow we’ll be sending her off with a very nice college student who adopted her. We’ll also be picking up another dog to foster. Who, hopefully, will get along as well with our cats as Addie does (which is to say, she wants to play with them but not hunt them, and they completely ignore her).

So far, absolutely worthwhile. Yes, it will be sad to let her go. But she’s going to someone who adores her. It will probably be harder for us in future, when we’ve fostered a dog for longer than five days.

 

In the meantime, have some more Addie photos.

J with Addie; actually petting a dog!
Addie in the late afternoon

And an Addie video.

 

Waiting for a dog

Posted by diana

So, I’m in a bit of a quandary. I contacted one rescue group and applied to foster with them a few weeks ago. I said no toy dogs and noted that we had an 18 pound cat. They immediately offered me a 3 pound yorkie.

*blink*

I then told them that I was traveling at the end of the month, so didn’t want to take a dog before then. Considering that their website says they go through phone interviews and home visits and such, I just wanted to get the ball rolling so we could hit the ground running when we got back (although Mythbusters have proved you can’t really hit the ground running).

They said, let us know when you’re back. So I did. Sunday night. And I said, very clearly this time, that we could only take a dog who weighed 20 pounds or more. And asked if they had any that matched our living situation. They didn’t. But said they would have more dogs by end of week. And that they’d have a foster councilor contact me and schedule a home visit.

*blink*

This is why I contacted you guys two weeks ago. To get the home visit done. Okay. Fine. Whatever.

But, I notice, looking at their website, that they seem to only rescue small dogs. Mostly chihuahua or poodle mixes. Neither of which I like (Sorry to you poodle lovers, I get that they’re nice dogs, just not for me. No apologies to chihuahua lovers, you’re just nuts.). So I’m a little worried. And I haven’t heard from that councilor. And I am bad at waiting.

So… I’m not sure if I should stick with this group. There’s another rescue organization nearby that seems to rescue larger dogs (lab mixes and shepherd mixes and border collie mixes, oh my!). And they seem a tad more organized. So I’m wondering if I should have gone with them. Honestly, right now I wish I had.

But… I don’t want to be a flake. I would feel guilty for applying with Group 1 and then not working with them. J points out that we’re doing a service, and if they don’t listen to basic requests (no toy dogs, yo, we have a ginormous cat who would eat them for dinner) we might not want to work with them. He thinks there’s no need for me to feel guilty. I remind him I’m descended of both Catholics and Jews, feeling guilty is what I do. It’s in my bone marrow.

Meh. I want to foster a dog. A dog larger than my cats. A dog that J finds acceptable (he is anti-poofy and very anti-ankle biters). Since much of the point of this is giving him a chance to live with a dog and see if he can tolerate it long term, I really don’t want him to have this experience be negative.

Please. A lab mix. Or a shepherd mix. Or a larger spaniel. Or a golden mix. Something sizable and chill around other animals.

Edited to add: the second group has a dog I would love to foster who just went up on their site…

Puppy Dog Dreams

Posted by diana

After a steady campaign of significantly less than six months, I’ve convinced J that fostering a dog is a good idea. Fostering, mind you, which isn’t the same thing as adopting.

I’ve already gone and talked to some folks at one of the local rescue groups about signing up to foster. Picked up a book on dog training (and wow, it’s come a long way from the dominance theory my father went by – and I’m so glad it has!). Talked to the landlord today, and he okayed it on the condition that, should the carpet be damaged, we will replace it. I love my landlords. They are by far the most laid back and logical of the landlords I’ve ever had.

I have no idea of what kind of dog we’re going to get, other than small to medium. And I have no idea of how long we’ll have the dog. It could be a week or two, or it could be months. And I expect it will be hard to say goodbye to a dog I’ve fostered. But right now I’m thinking about it a lot the way I thought about my students when I was teaching. They were mine for a finite period of time, and I did my best to make sure they were better off when they left me.

Hopefully this will work out well for all involved.

 

 

How to Buy a Waterbed

Posted by diana

First, convince your boyfriend that his free flow waterbed of 20 years is not the ideal sleeping arrangement for two full grown adults who are light sleepers. This may take several years.

Second, compromise on buying a new waterbed with waveless technology instead of a conventional mattress.

Third, do research.

Fourth, briefly mourn the loss of Consumer Reports as your guide when you realize their mattress reviews do not include waterbeds.

Fifth, discover that most waterbed mattress review sites look like they were made in the 70s, although you’re pretty sure that the internet did not exist then. Contemplate the felicity of such color combinations as pink, yellow and orange all within the same comforter.

Sixth, learn that waterbed tech has indeed changed a great deal. There are now softside and hardside waterbeds. Realize that you want a hardside waterbed, even though the name for it is completely counter-intuitive. Because hardside waterbeds have no sides, they’re just the water filled bladders so they are in fact rather soft. Whereas softside waterbeds are actually within the frame of a rigid mattress. So they have firm sides.

Softside

Hardside

Seventh, marvel at the variations available. You have your free flow, semi-waveless, waveless, and ultrawaveless.You have your hydraulic, your fiber layers, your foam layers, your coils, your lumbar support, and your tubes all lined up in a row.

A Plethora of Mattress Types

Free Flow

Semi-waveless

Waveless

Hydraulic Ultra Waveless

Inner Coils
Tubes

Eighth, you go to a Waterbed Store. These are hard to find. The first place you go used to be a waterbed store, but now is just a bed store, and while they have hardside waterbeds, they don’t have any you could try. You wander the store in desperation and find a Boyd softside. So you try it. You lie down on one side, your SO on the other, and take turns trying to make the bed slosh. And you discover that it is possible, hallelujah, to have a waterbed and not disrupt your partner when you move. The kindly salesman unzips the softside for you at which point you see a dual for the first time. Choirs of angels sing. But don’t relax just yet,  your quest has just begun.

Not actually this cheesy.

Ninth, you call the one other store in a hundred mile radius that was once listed as a waterbed store and ask if they have any on display. “We sure do,” they tell you, “come on down!” So you drive an hour in the opposite direction and discover they have three waterbeds on display, but all by the same brand (Land and Sky). Well, try them all you say. The 95% waveless, you discover as you try to bounce and make waves, feels an awful lot like a blanket on a concrete slab. But no waves. The 90% feels good, but when you move, it does jostle your partner. Only for a second. Not the violent slosh-slosh  motion of your current bed. But still. You don’t know why, but you still try the 80% waveless. Slosh-slosh. The salesman nearly convinces you to buy the 90%, he’s got a discounted floor model after all and this, he says, is the best brand. In spite of your skepticism, he’s starting to win you over. But then you learn that he has softsides of other brands. Great! you say.

1980s girl not included.

Tenth, you spend the next two hours hopping from bed to bed. Softside to softside and back to the hardsides. And you like the Boyd softsides better than any of the hardsides. Aside from the squeaking noise. Because it does squeak, with all the passion of vinyl against vinyl. Does this, you ask the salesman, come in a hardside? He does his best to steer you back to the Land and Sky, and so you spend some more time lying on beds in indecision. But then you remember, Aha! People are bad at knowing what they want in the moment. But given time, it’s easier to look back and see. So you’ll sleep on it, you say, back at home on your very own slosh-slosh. You buy fancy sheets, since after all, you did just spend hours in their store lying on their beds.

Eleventh, you go home and you fire up Google. And you don’t much like what you’re reading about the Land and Sky customer service. And you relearn that, really, there are no good review sites for any of these beds, although you do read them all. And each manufacturer has both positive and negative reviews, so it’s about to be a toss up. But then, hallelujah, you see a Boyd hardside dual. It does exist! Twelfth, you ponder for several days. Because while the internal components (the water bed bladder itself) are the same as the softside, the softside does have extra padding on top.

Thirteenth, you order the hardside dual from ABC Waterbed Outlet: 90% waveless, four layers of foam. You figure you’ll find a nice cushiony mattress pad, possibly even one more cushiony for your half than your beloved might prefer because, after all, it’s a dual, and you shall be happy on your side of the bed. And he shall be happy on his. And when you move, you will neither of you wake the other with slosh. All that remains is waiting for the bed to arrive.

Congratulations, you have bought a waterbed.

Aftermath: Dealing With Mom’s Cancer

Posted by diana
Mom and me, Spring 2011

I wanted to write an entry all about our family’s experience with my mom’s breast cancer. I wanted to write something positive and hopeful. And I find that it’s just too painful to dive into right now. Nothing bad has happened – no need to worry – I’m just not ready to deal with it.

I don’t think that’s ever happened before. That I wasn’t willing to dive into an emotional place and figure things out. I guess that’s the difference between grief and fear. I’ve dealt with grief before, but there… the worst has happened. There’s no anticipation or uncertainty. With fear… it’s all in front of you. It hasn’t happened yet. It may not happen. But you don’t know.

When I was a kid I had this nightmare of being at my mom’s funeral. I woke up crying, and my mom was there and holding me and I was still terrified. I don’t know if I ever told her what the dream was.

Dad once told her that, in a disaster, if he had to choose between saving the kids and saving her, he knew he would have to save us and not her, even though he’d want to save her. Because she would never forgive him if he didn’t protect us.

She’s the heart of his life. The heart of our family. And in some ways she is so very fragile. She’s had a hell of a life, and I wish I could protect her. Actually, I wish I could go back in time to when she was a kid and protect her. I’ve always wished that, so I guess I always knew, on some level, that she’d been badly hurt when she was a child.

I remember when I was a kid her being sick, at home, on an IV and throwing up every 20 minutes. Rocking back and forth in bed and crying. And I would pet her hair and pretend I was her mother and try to make her feel better. And wish I could time travel.

My mom is the heart of my life. And I realize she probably shouldn’t be. It’s like that line from Cordelia in King Lear, about how it’s inappropriate to love your parent all, more than anything else in the world.

You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.

I told Jason, when we got back from LA after finding out she had cancer, that my mother was the person I loved most in the world. It’s true. And it’s terrifying. Because I know some day I will lose her. And I’m pretty sure Jason didn’t like hearing all of that, either.

Oy.

 

 

 

Puppy love

Posted by diana

I desperately want a dog.

J is not so sure about this.

In fact, J is sure he *doesn’t* want a dog. But he realizes that being with me may mean he has to have a dog. So we began talking about it last night. I brought it up (of course). I asked what things would have to happen or change within the next six months in order for him to be comfortable with me getting a dog. He’s not very good at articulating it; all he can really say is what he doesn’t want, which isn’t the same thing. But I’ve got him thinking along the right lines, I hope.

I pointed out that he could use it as incentive to get me cleaning more. My messiness drives him batshit, and we’ve been working on it since before we moved in together. “However,” I said, “if you do use it that way, that means we really do have to get a dog.”

“I know,” he said. “No bait and switch.”

And I’ve been looking up dog breeds. And today I looked up the local shelters. And I have, of course, already fallen in love with half a dozen puppies. None of which we’ll get. But this guy, this guy is the one I keep coming back to:

Isn’t he lovely? He’s at a shelter in San Jose.