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.

Box in the Road

/ still a dreamer

What’s better than spending a weekend with your oldest friend in the world? Spending a weekend with your oldest friend in the world AND helping an animal survive!
The day was getting late, and our plan to head on over to the local farmstand looked like it might not happen. Then I remembered they had that wonderful little deal that you can actually still find in places like this – a secure lock box! A testimony to faith in human nature, a secured box for payment of roadside fruit and veggies so customers can come at odd hours to purchase them still amazes me. Customers are trusted to pay the right amount for the produce they choose and to not steal whatever cash is currently in the box, (or the box itself), until the farm owners come out and remove it. That’s one of the reasons why I like living in the country. But that’s not the box I’m writing about.

BoxInThe Road

We left for the farm – about a 3 or 4 mile drive, and about what it takes to get to any decent thing you want to get to out here. As we drove down the two-lane blacktop, I noticed something in the opposite lane. It looked like a large rock, but not really. When animals occupy such a large portion of one’s brain, red flags go up fairly often. `Did you see that?’ I asked, already wondering at its odd shape. Kathy, on the passenger side, hadn’t gotten any better look, so we agreed to check on the way back.
After getting a small stash of seasonal goodies, we turned back to go home and whoosh! we watched the car ahead of us whiz down the lane, straddling the not-so-likely rock. Shortly after, we did the same, and I wasn’t convinced a rock had gotten in exactly that spot. So finding a safe area, I turned the car around once again.

On the return trip, I pulled alongside and rolled down my window for a better look, and my suspicions were correct – the `rock’ was a box turtle. Probably had a big idea to cross the road, and with just enough cars, became petrified to go further. Luckily, there’s not a whole lot of traffic on that road and he was smack in the middle of the lane. I pulled over.
My partner in rescue jumped out and picked up the stranded box turtle, who peeked out at her briefly before slamming his shell and plastron shut. But she’d noted which way he was headed, and walked him into the brush a good 10 feet and far enough away from danger. Hopefully, that was his direction and he continued on into the woods to his home.

One of the best feelings there is … whether the beneficiary be animal or human … is saving a life. And we both smiled a good long time after our turtle rescue. Good luck, little guy!

Need professional illustration? I can help!

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.

 

Changing A Planet …

/ still a dreamer

Tonight, I share just one thought of my own, and one great quote.

I believe that we are each immensely powerful, and what we do in even the seemingly most unimportant way can affect others in so many positive ways. One of the most beneficial things we can do is simply to be our highest and best, and that is a way to change a whole planet.

“Every time a (person) stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others … he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest wall of oppression and resistance.” – Robert F. Kennedy