Reflections

Birthday Sunset

/ still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Sunset

Today as I began journaling I wrote the date and saw that it was November 28th — my Nana’s birthday.  My Nana passed away in 1972 at the ripe old age of 96.  She was born in London and came “across the pond” in her mid 20’s at the turn of the century. She was already a widow, and came to the United States by herself to start a new life.  How brave she must have been to leave all she knew and come to a new country alone.

Nana was always a big reader, and I remember that she read to me plenty when I was young, always in the green chair in the corner of the living room. I sat on her lap and she read me stories or my books about dogs, horses, birds, or elves and fairies.

I haven’t thought of her in awhile – she’s been gone now 35 years. She was quiet and refined in her British way, with a rather wealthy upbringing as I was told. Her lovely accent rubbed off on me, but I was forced to abandon it as I was ridiculed in grammar school as `talking funny’ by other kids. 

Nana couldn’t cook worth a lick. All I ever saw her cook was a pepper omelette or make a bologna sandwich. When my grandfather was alive and they were together, he did all the cooking. Thinking of her, remembering her, brought a smile to my face. I looked out the window and noticed how the trees are finally almost bare of leaves. From my office window I can see the Delaware again. I’m reading a great novel – Nana would have liked it, I think.

This evening I watched a gorgeous sunset and ran outside with my digital camera to capture it. I think she would have liked that, too. Happy Birthday, Nana.

See more photos on my web site. 

My Very Best Friend

/ still a dreamer

DutchGrowing up in a house with a very anxious mother wasn’t easy. It affected everything and everybody. While I understand as an adult why things were the way they were, it was difficult as a child living with someone who needed to control just about everything. I didn’t consciously know it then, but I longed for someone in the house I could just `be’ with … without intrusion, always accepting, always comforting, and who’d never give up a secret. And my dog became that someone.

When I was 5, my brother 9, our parents decided we were old enough to have a dog, so at Christmas they gave us a beautiful Boxer puppy. I don’t think either of us quite `got’ the concept of having a dog at Christmas when there were still so many other exciting presents to open and play with. But Tinkerbell, as she was named, was not to stay with us very long. Within a few months she developed epilepsy. I don’t remember seeing the seizures my mother described Tink having on the kitchen floor, with blood and foam spewed all over the room, or perhaps I willed myself to forget. But as there were no cures for epilepsy back then, Tinkerbell’s only option was to be returned to spirit. I was so young, and hadn’t become very attached to her yet, I don’t think I really understood what had happened.

Dutch and Me -1Then our parents got another dog. She was sold to them as a Boxer, 6 months old, and I recall my mother being so happy she didn’t drool because her face wasn’t pushed in like other Boxers. There was a reason for that … she wasn’t really a Boxer. At best, she was a Boxer, pit bull terrier mix; my obedience trainer, when he looked at my childhood photos of her, told me that she was pure, and that was how they bred American Pit Bull Terriers back then. It didn’t matter … she quickly became the best friend and confidante I longed for. Her name was Dutchess. Dutchess Von Wiggles was how my mom had `officially’ named her because she had a butt that was constantly in happy motion.

DutchandMe -2Dutch couldn’t sleep with me as she wasn’t allowed on the second floor, so I slept with her downstairs. We watched TV together, me resting my head gently on her side; and we curled up in sleep on the living room floor. She learned all the tricks a dog learns, and loved to go for walks or play outside in the yard. I can honestly say, in a way that only a dog or animal lover would understand, she was everything to me … she was my best friend. I had a human best friend, of course – happily, I always had friends — and I had my big brother to play with and taunt, but Dutchess was different. She was just what I needed – another soul in the house that simply loved me straight out no matter what. And I adored her for that.

DutchandMe-3When I was little, my parents would cover her eyes and ears and I would hide. Then they’d let her go … “Find Jeanne!!” And Dutchess would search every nook and cranny downstairs to see where I was hiding, just bursting into wiggling, wagging joy when she found me. What child doesn’t live for those moments? She made me feel safe in a childhood where feeling emotionally safe wasn’t easy. Dutch was the heart, soul and embodiment of unconditional love. She was both my rock and my wings, my compass and stars; she was my comfort and confidante. She was one little girl’s very best friend.

Throwback

/ still a dreamer / 1 Comment

ThrowbackIs there something terribly odd about my feeling really happy when my kitchen floor is just washed and sparkling clean? That my stovetop doesn’t have a smudge on it? I have to admit, in a way, it seems pretty odd to me.
As a professional woman in one career or another all my life, you’d think this would be the get-it-out-of-the-way kind of chore I’d do so I could get on with the ‘real’ stuff in my life.
But I was raised in the 50’s – when we had stay-at-home moms who cooked 3 meals a day, and whose homes were always immaculately clean. They were the moms who raised us and taught us how to clean, cook, bake and de-frost the fridge. Old habits die hard. I have not one moment’s regret that I know how to make a mean pie-crust, sew any garment of clothing from a pattern, and even iron properly (according to Mom). And not that I actually do the latter – if it has to be ironed, chances are I’m not buying it.
But that clean floor – mind you, not washed nearly as often as my own mom would have done – still brings it’s own little joy. When making a living takes priority, dirty floors and dusty surfaces can be our accusers – telling us we have somehow failed because we can’t do it all. And indeed, many women I know who work for a living and were raised in the 50’s feel exactly the same way – bring home the bacon and have that 50’s squeaky-clean home as well. Oh – and squeaky-clean kids, too.
But when I do get to cleaning it – and it smells fresh, shines bright – just like a TV commercial – I love it. I may be in the 21st Century, but I guess I’m always gonna be a bit of a 50’s throwback, taking some small comfort in there being millions of you out there, just like me.

The Gift

/ still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Not long ago I received a gift. No, it wasn’t John Beresford Tipton with a check for a million dollars and my future security. It was a gift for my heart … two gifts, actually.
DeuceThe first was an e-mail from someone who adopted a rescue dog from me many years ago. Larry wrote that he and his wife Jeannie had searched me out on the web to tell me that Deuce had passed away and to thank me for “the best dog they ever had”. In quiet tears, I responded … to thank them for letting me know, and indeed, what a wonderful dog Deuce had been. I was so grateful that Larry and his family had adopted him.
It wasn’t but three weeks later that the second gift arrived … another e-mail. Jon and Diane also searched me out on the web to let me know that Spike had just passed away at 13, also to thank me for “the best dog they ever had”. Again, I responded in kind.
For ten years I ran a rescue for, I believe, the most difficult dog to place – the American Pit Bull Terrier. I placed Deuce and Spike well over 12 years ago when they were just youngsters, and before e-mail. Although we kept in touch, it wasn’t easy when one’s lives were consumed with multiple jobs and, in my case, a demanding rescue on top of it. But the best thing about placing Deuce, Spike, and all the other `pits’ I placed, was I never had to look back. I knew, through my extensive screening, breed education and adoption requirements, that these pups were now set for life. (Ask any of my adopters – they were grilled!)
SpikeRescuing `pits’ presented tremendous challenges – they are truly misunderstood dogs. Their history, their true temperament, their genuine love of people – what the public needed to know was not what they heard. Instead, they were slammed with horrific, isolated incidents where unstable and undoubtedly abused pit bull terriers attacked humans. As if there were no other news going on in the world.
Pit bull terriers were … and are … horribly abused, tortured, made insane and killed — for not being good enough fighters. Imagine the worst … they suffered much more. Some, still alive, were simply wrapped up in plastic bags and dropped in the garbage. Just not good enough.
My heart was broken more times than I can tell in saving these dogs’ lives. So many were, and are, stable, loving and kind dogs, euthanized nonetheless for simply being born the wrong breed and being bred to excess.
Yet, as a rescue, I received so many gifts. I was truly blessed with people who came forward to help me save this wonderful dog no one wanted. Vets, trainers, foster homes, experienced rescue people to guide me in effectively screening … all appeared. The pit bull terriers I had the fortune to know and help were themselves gifts I will never forget. But perhaps the greatest gifts, for both the dogs and me, were the truly caring and devoted people who took them in.
These rescue dogs lived long, healthy lives, and then I received one more gift.
An e-mail to let me know.

Note: This article was published in the July 2007 issue of The Animal Companion. Although I have not actively operated my APBT rescue for over 7 years, these wonderful people contacting me inspired me to write about one of my many experiences in rescue and with the breed.

 

Try and Relax!

/ still a dreamer

ClaudeHave you ever noticed the positions your animals get into? They make it look as if they invented the word `relax’. They stretch out, especially in the heat, so every potential draft will ease slowly over their languid bodies. They make it look so damn easy.
Now you might think that this is a comment on my own inability to relax, which is far from the truth. In fact, it brings to mind an experience of many moons ago when my then-husband came home to find me lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling or into space. He asked what was I doing?
I said “nothing.”
With an incredulous look on his face, he said, “What do you mean, nothing?”
“I mean nothing. I’m doing nothing. As in, nothing.” Seemed pretty clear to me.
“How could you just be doing nothing,” he asked. “You have to be doing something!”
Now THIS was a man who had a hard time relaxing!
I tried to search for what it was I was doing, and all I came up with was … in trying to satisfy the question … “I guess I’m daydreaming .. or just thinking.”
And then, with the same confused face, he asked, “How can you just lie there and do nothing?”
Well, I thought I had just come up with an answer as to what I was doing, but I let that go, and said, “Here, just lie down, and kind of stare into space and let your mind relax. You know, just drift around a bit.”
He lay down and for all intents and purposes, assumed the position one would take if they were to relax. He looked up at the ceiling.
Then he looked at me.
“I don’t know how you can just do nothing. I can’t do nothing.”
I don’t really remember what happened after that, except that he wasn’t next to me anymore. Probably feeling guilty for now having the audacity to have actually spent a few moments of my life doing nothing, I’m sure I joined him and made it my business to start doing something.
But I think the animals still have the right idea. They have learned the fine art of doing nothing, of just being in the moment. They stretch out … close their eyes … take a deep breath and they’re off into dreamland or wherever animals go when they close their eyes. We have such a lot to learn from them … and this is one of their best lessons.
It’s the weekend – try and relax!