Its so confusing sometimes. I feel like the world is falling apart in so many ways. Terrorism is on the rise all over the world and it makes life so scary. There are threats to peace and safety at every turn, it seems. Our President-Elect is an insane person who is not qualified to lead this country, and while I have largely tuned out from politics, I am still reading enough to know we are on a bad path as he fills his cabinet with loonies. The environment is in complete peril and a whole segment of the population doesn't even believe it, so how can we begin to consider fixing it? And people are so stressed out and mean and only in it for themselves. The level of entitlement people feel is out of control. Everything seems dark to me right now, like is becoming a world I won't even want to live in within the next several years. I feel despondent and full of dark grey space. I often want to just move to the middle of Montana where there is no crime and no traffic and no one there to even be part of my day-to-day existence.
And yet.
I have my daughter. She is a shining light in the world. She is smart, incredibly kind, loving, and thoughtful. When I think about her, I think about all the wonderful things I know she will accomplish. Right now she legit wants to be a rocket scientist, and she is capable of that. Sometimes I think she will be a lawyer, and sometimes I think she will be a doctor. And sometimes I think she will join the peace corps and help refugees. She has so much in her that is good and wise, especially for a 13-year old, and I can't wait to see what she does with all that goodness when she grows up.
But how do I reconcile those two things? How do I think the world is not even going to make it much longer, and even if it does, it's going to be a horrible, ugly, unpleasant place to live...while contemplating what my child is going to be and how she will contribute positively?
I think it comes from knowing that my kid is a bright sun in a dark world, and that her light will be strong enough to keep at least a teeny part of the world illuminated. It comes from faith in good triumphing over evil, even if the struggle between the two takes a long time. It comes from looking into her face and seeing innocence and wonder, and knowing that there are millions of other kids out there with the same innocence and wonder, and in turn, knowing that those children are the bright lights in their parents' hearts.
Somehow, I still find hope.
Showing posts with label sad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sad. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
I Am Angry
I was going to write a long screed on divorce and children from a logical and thoughtful perspective, but I just can't do that today. Maybe on another day, but not today.
Today I am angry. I am angry that one parent can go to court and sully the reputation of the other parent in order to deny him equal custody of their child. I am angry that a schedule that was working so well for the child is now disrupted because of the evilness and vindictiveness of one parent. I am angry that a mother would use her child as a weapon and a pawn. I am angry that one parent would withhold time with the child from the other parent as a punishment. I am angry that a good father is now being denied his due time with his daughter.
As a feminist, I never believed that the system was rigged against fathers. I honestly thought that when mothers got full custody, there were good reasons for it. It wasn't just that women were thought to be caregivers and men weren't - there had to be more to the story that we didn't know about. And now, I can honestly say that that's bullshit. This judge took everything the mother said at face value, no real evidence, no real proof, and took a child from her father. She even said, "you were married for 10 years, the wife would know best."
My heart is breaking for both the dad and the child. He is devastated and doesn't know how he is going to go on. He can't bear to think of seeing his child every other weekend when he had her for a week at a time and got to do homework with her, cook her dinner, put her to bed...all the things a dad wants to be able to do for his daughter. And she is going to miss out on spending all that time with this fun-loving guy who worships the ground his daughter walks on and would do anything for her. As a mom of a daughter (and a daughter of a father), I know just how important fathers are to their daughters. They are the first man we love, and if there is no first man around during your formative years...what do you learn? That men aren't there for you? That men desert you? That men don't care? WHY would any woman want her daughter to have that influence if they didn't have to? WHY would any woman deny her child the right to see her father when he has done nothing to deserve this?
Right now, I am just fucking angry and I have no outlet for my anger. It's so hard to believe that someone you once loved enough to stand up in front of your family and friends and declare that love for could do something so heinous and cruel. I can't help but wonder if the woman is happy. Is she pleased with herself? Does she feel successful? Is she high-fiving her dirtbag lawyer on the way they stole a child from her father today?
Today, I am angry. And I feel helpless that there is nothing I can do to help fix the situation. I am angry at myself for not being even more forceful that he use a serious lawyer on this. I am angry at myself for ever considering this woman a friend and for inviting her into my family and into my circle of friends and into my heart. I am just angry. And I feel like the anger will dissipate with time and just become deep-rooted sadness that will stay with me forever.
Today I am angry. I am angry that one parent can go to court and sully the reputation of the other parent in order to deny him equal custody of their child. I am angry that a schedule that was working so well for the child is now disrupted because of the evilness and vindictiveness of one parent. I am angry that a mother would use her child as a weapon and a pawn. I am angry that one parent would withhold time with the child from the other parent as a punishment. I am angry that a good father is now being denied his due time with his daughter.
As a feminist, I never believed that the system was rigged against fathers. I honestly thought that when mothers got full custody, there were good reasons for it. It wasn't just that women were thought to be caregivers and men weren't - there had to be more to the story that we didn't know about. And now, I can honestly say that that's bullshit. This judge took everything the mother said at face value, no real evidence, no real proof, and took a child from her father. She even said, "you were married for 10 years, the wife would know best."
My heart is breaking for both the dad and the child. He is devastated and doesn't know how he is going to go on. He can't bear to think of seeing his child every other weekend when he had her for a week at a time and got to do homework with her, cook her dinner, put her to bed...all the things a dad wants to be able to do for his daughter. And she is going to miss out on spending all that time with this fun-loving guy who worships the ground his daughter walks on and would do anything for her. As a mom of a daughter (and a daughter of a father), I know just how important fathers are to their daughters. They are the first man we love, and if there is no first man around during your formative years...what do you learn? That men aren't there for you? That men desert you? That men don't care? WHY would any woman want her daughter to have that influence if they didn't have to? WHY would any woman deny her child the right to see her father when he has done nothing to deserve this?
Right now, I am just fucking angry and I have no outlet for my anger. It's so hard to believe that someone you once loved enough to stand up in front of your family and friends and declare that love for could do something so heinous and cruel. I can't help but wonder if the woman is happy. Is she pleased with herself? Does she feel successful? Is she high-fiving her dirtbag lawyer on the way they stole a child from her father today?
Today, I am angry. And I feel helpless that there is nothing I can do to help fix the situation. I am angry at myself for not being even more forceful that he use a serious lawyer on this. I am angry at myself for ever considering this woman a friend and for inviting her into my family and into my circle of friends and into my heart. I am just angry. And I feel like the anger will dissipate with time and just become deep-rooted sadness that will stay with me forever.
Monday, February 15, 2016
Cold Weather Sucks
But first...how badass is Daryl on Walking Dead? Finally he gets to kick some ass and I'm happy to see him being heroic rather than moping.
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I am definitely not a hot weather person. If I were Mother Nature, every day in Jersey would be about 60-65 degrees and sunnyish - not too hot, not too cold. Perfect weather for jeans, a t-shirt, a cardigan or light jacket, and either boots or sandals depending on my mood. So don't think I'm a person who only wants 85 degree days and sun. I like it to be on the chilly side, and even a 40 degree day can make me smile because it means I can wear a cute coat and over the knee boots with a pretty Irish-knit sweater.
But Mother Nature has been messing with us for pretty much the whole winter. I mean, on Christmas Day it was in the 60's and then we had over 2 feet of snow during a recent blizzard, and it's been varying between warmish and coldish through most of the season. Totally inconsistent and wacky. However, now it is just downright cold.
Our thermostats are registering around zero and below, and then when you add the wind to it, it's just a little too North Poley for me. Yesterday, I woke up to find that my house was an ice cube. I felt the radiators and there was heat coming out of them, and the boiler was working as well. WTF? I had someone from PSE&G come out to check things out and they basically told me that everything is working the way it should - it is just so friggin cold that the heat in the house just isn't enough to combat it. JFC.
So then, the bathroom situations happened. Our downstairs bathroom toilet froze - meaning that the water flushed down but then would not refill. Hubby took it apart and tried to fix it, but there was nothing he could do. Last night, I was frozen to the bone so I went to take a shower in the master bathroom. I start the water and then get undressed....and by then, the shower (it's a stall shower) was full and nearly overflowing. Hubby took a look at that as well and found that whatever was in the pipes (I guess just general pipe sludge, ew) had frozen. We tried to defrost it with boiling water to no avail. Finally, after a good hour, the water went down but by then I was hibernating under the covers and the shower had to wait until morning.
Long story short - winter sucks and it needs to be spring now.
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I am definitely not a hot weather person. If I were Mother Nature, every day in Jersey would be about 60-65 degrees and sunnyish - not too hot, not too cold. Perfect weather for jeans, a t-shirt, a cardigan or light jacket, and either boots or sandals depending on my mood. So don't think I'm a person who only wants 85 degree days and sun. I like it to be on the chilly side, and even a 40 degree day can make me smile because it means I can wear a cute coat and over the knee boots with a pretty Irish-knit sweater.
But Mother Nature has been messing with us for pretty much the whole winter. I mean, on Christmas Day it was in the 60's and then we had over 2 feet of snow during a recent blizzard, and it's been varying between warmish and coldish through most of the season. Totally inconsistent and wacky. However, now it is just downright cold.
Our thermostats are registering around zero and below, and then when you add the wind to it, it's just a little too North Poley for me. Yesterday, I woke up to find that my house was an ice cube. I felt the radiators and there was heat coming out of them, and the boiler was working as well. WTF? I had someone from PSE&G come out to check things out and they basically told me that everything is working the way it should - it is just so friggin cold that the heat in the house just isn't enough to combat it. JFC.
So then, the bathroom situations happened. Our downstairs bathroom toilet froze - meaning that the water flushed down but then would not refill. Hubby took it apart and tried to fix it, but there was nothing he could do. Last night, I was frozen to the bone so I went to take a shower in the master bathroom. I start the water and then get undressed....and by then, the shower (it's a stall shower) was full and nearly overflowing. Hubby took a look at that as well and found that whatever was in the pipes (I guess just general pipe sludge, ew) had frozen. We tried to defrost it with boiling water to no avail. Finally, after a good hour, the water went down but by then I was hibernating under the covers and the shower had to wait until morning.
Long story short - winter sucks and it needs to be spring now.
Monday, December 21, 2015
The Only Thing We Have to Fear is Everything
I don't know exactly where this post is going, so Future Me, when you read this, I'm sorry ahead of time for meandering and not really having a point.
Well, actually, I think I do have a point that I can find pretty quickly. The point is that being afraid is kind of just what we do now. It is who we are. It is ingrained in us. We are afraid of terrorism every time we go through the Lincoln Tunnel. We are afraid of being shot up at the movies. We are afraid of random acts of violence at every turn, and no where feels safe anymore.
We went to see the new Star Wars movie yesterday (awesome, and I say that as a decidedly non-geeky person). The truth is though, I couldn't stop worrying. Every time I saw someone get up from their seat, I worried that they were going to get a gun or bomb or who knows what. The guy sitting next to me was alone at the theater, and right as the lights dimmed, he was up and off (I guess to use the men's room?) and I panicked a little. When he came back and vaulted over the seats to get to our row, I couldn't exhale until he was sitting down and nerding out. It didn't used to be like this. There used to be places that could be an escape from worrying and fear.
This morning, I got up to news that a woman had taken her car and repeatedly driven onto the sidewalk outside the Paris casino on the Vegas Strip. She was aiming for people, both hands on the steering wheel, trying to hit as many people as possible. And, to add just another touch of crazy, she had her 3 year old buckled into the backseat. Vegas could not be more of an escape; it could not feel more unreal and over the top escapist. And yet. there was no safety there.
Of course, there was the terrorist action in Paris about a month ago, with a stadium and concert hall as the targets. I've been to Paris twice and am planning to return next year. It is a dream destination, somewhere to get lost in the beauty and elegance of European perfection. And then there was San Bernadino a couple of weeks ago, with another horrific terror attack in a workplace against people who had just thrown the attacker a baby shower a few months earlier. No one feels like work is an escape from reality - in fact, it is reality itself. It is a place where you worry about losing your job and not being able to pay your bills. but it shouldn't be a place where you worry about losing your life. And of course there have been other incidents over the past few years: the church shootings, the school shootings, the mall shootings...the list goes on.
Where do we find logic in any of this? Where do we rest our minds, if we aren't safe anywhere? Where do we escape to, if not the movies or vacation?
As we were trying to decide about vacations for 2016, I thought of Portugal as an ideal choice because I don't think it would be a big terrorism risk. Where do I really want to go this year? Istanbul and Cappadocia. But Turkey is too risky. Morroco has always drawn me in...but no. Too dangerous. African safari? Top of the list, really. But that's being pushed off as well, because perhaps it's not the best time to head to Africa when so much of it is in turmoil. So even as we are planning to escape from it all, it's all still in the front of our minds. When we are saying, "hey, Salt Lake City and Vancouver seem like top destinations right now!" you know something is off.
Is this the reality now? Is this how we live and how we fear? Is that fear something we never escape?
I remember after 9/11, I was thinking of the middle east. I couldn't get out from under the fear of another terrorist attack after watching the smoke billow from downtown NYC from my office window. I thought of the people who live in the middle east, who live every day wondering if their cafe will be bombed, or their bus, or their nightclub. And I thought about my life, pre-9/11, and how I never thought for a second about going to concerts or sporting events or to Shop Rite for cold cuts...and how people in the world lived every day as if it were 9/12.
Then things calmed down some, and we got into the every day politicking of terrorism. And now the fear is back, not necessarily stemming from another 9/11 but from what that every day Joe you see on the bus every day could do to your store or venue or church.
All I know is that I am sick of living in fear and sick of the knowledge that things will most likely never go back to normal.
Well, actually, I think I do have a point that I can find pretty quickly. The point is that being afraid is kind of just what we do now. It is who we are. It is ingrained in us. We are afraid of terrorism every time we go through the Lincoln Tunnel. We are afraid of being shot up at the movies. We are afraid of random acts of violence at every turn, and no where feels safe anymore.
We went to see the new Star Wars movie yesterday (awesome, and I say that as a decidedly non-geeky person). The truth is though, I couldn't stop worrying. Every time I saw someone get up from their seat, I worried that they were going to get a gun or bomb or who knows what. The guy sitting next to me was alone at the theater, and right as the lights dimmed, he was up and off (I guess to use the men's room?) and I panicked a little. When he came back and vaulted over the seats to get to our row, I couldn't exhale until he was sitting down and nerding out. It didn't used to be like this. There used to be places that could be an escape from worrying and fear.
This morning, I got up to news that a woman had taken her car and repeatedly driven onto the sidewalk outside the Paris casino on the Vegas Strip. She was aiming for people, both hands on the steering wheel, trying to hit as many people as possible. And, to add just another touch of crazy, she had her 3 year old buckled into the backseat. Vegas could not be more of an escape; it could not feel more unreal and over the top escapist. And yet. there was no safety there.
Of course, there was the terrorist action in Paris about a month ago, with a stadium and concert hall as the targets. I've been to Paris twice and am planning to return next year. It is a dream destination, somewhere to get lost in the beauty and elegance of European perfection. And then there was San Bernadino a couple of weeks ago, with another horrific terror attack in a workplace against people who had just thrown the attacker a baby shower a few months earlier. No one feels like work is an escape from reality - in fact, it is reality itself. It is a place where you worry about losing your job and not being able to pay your bills. but it shouldn't be a place where you worry about losing your life. And of course there have been other incidents over the past few years: the church shootings, the school shootings, the mall shootings...the list goes on.
Where do we find logic in any of this? Where do we rest our minds, if we aren't safe anywhere? Where do we escape to, if not the movies or vacation?
As we were trying to decide about vacations for 2016, I thought of Portugal as an ideal choice because I don't think it would be a big terrorism risk. Where do I really want to go this year? Istanbul and Cappadocia. But Turkey is too risky. Morroco has always drawn me in...but no. Too dangerous. African safari? Top of the list, really. But that's being pushed off as well, because perhaps it's not the best time to head to Africa when so much of it is in turmoil. So even as we are planning to escape from it all, it's all still in the front of our minds. When we are saying, "hey, Salt Lake City and Vancouver seem like top destinations right now!" you know something is off.
Is this the reality now? Is this how we live and how we fear? Is that fear something we never escape?
I remember after 9/11, I was thinking of the middle east. I couldn't get out from under the fear of another terrorist attack after watching the smoke billow from downtown NYC from my office window. I thought of the people who live in the middle east, who live every day wondering if their cafe will be bombed, or their bus, or their nightclub. And I thought about my life, pre-9/11, and how I never thought for a second about going to concerts or sporting events or to Shop Rite for cold cuts...and how people in the world lived every day as if it were 9/12.
Then things calmed down some, and we got into the every day politicking of terrorism. And now the fear is back, not necessarily stemming from another 9/11 but from what that every day Joe you see on the bus every day could do to your store or venue or church.
All I know is that I am sick of living in fear and sick of the knowledge that things will most likely never go back to normal.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
How Can You Be So Sure?
So let's talk about Paris and terrorism and ISIS and bombing and Syrian refugees and all that fun stuff.
All over Facebook are posts about not letting Syrian refugees into the Unites States because they are a threat to our safety. Or in the converse, letting them in because it's the American Way to welcome refugees with open arms. There are posts about bombing the hell out of ISIS because of what they have done to the West. And there are opposing posts about not bombing because that just perpetrates the Middle Eastern view of the US and attracts even more terrorists to their side. Some posts are insistent that Obama is not doing enough to stop terrorism and should be leading the way, and others are sure he is too involved and should back off and let Muslim countries lead.
No matter which side people are on, the one thing they are sure of is that they are 100% right. Not only are they 100% right, but anyone who doesn't agree with them is SO STUPID!!1!1!!
There are the most brilliant minds - political minds, military minds - trying to solve the crisis in the Middle East. We have had our best minds working on this problem for decades, if not over a century. And they have not been able to solve it. They have ideas, all of which seem logical, and none have worked. Every new party in office tries their brand of solution, but no one has found the way to make peace.
But you, oh you! You have all the answers and are so sure about it. Anyone who can't see that you are right is an idiot! You watched Fox News who told you that Muslims can't be trusted, and you are puking that back up like it's fact. You watched MSNBC who told you that bombing is bad, and you recite it as gospel.
I wonder if any of these people have ever had a thought that was truly their own. When I'm trying to decide what I think is right in these types of cases, I read everything I can. I watch every news channel and hear out every pundit. I take in every bit of information I can, on all sides of the spectrum. And then I make a decision. And then, maybe I will read or hear some new piece of information that shifts my opinion. Or maybe it confirms my opinion. But I take it in and evaluate and create my own opinion...which is just an opinion. And even with all the research and thought I give, I'd never claim my way is the only way.
In a case like this, however, no one know what the right thing to do is. No one. Not Obama, not the presidential candidates, not the military leaders, not the political pundits, and certainly not you or me.
What will the repercussions be if we let refugees in? Will there be an increased chance of a homeland terror attack, with the terrorists sneaking in amongst the refugees? Will we turn the opinions of Muslims around by showing the generosity of spirit of the American people and our way of life?
What will the repercussions be if we don't let them in? Will it drive more Muslims to radicalize because it will be more proof that the US is against them? Will it halt local terror attacks because we have kept a bad element out of our society?
All we can do at this point is make educated guesses. All we can do is trust our leaders are doing all they can to keep us safe and to eliminate the threats that face us. So when I see people who are teachers or stay-at-home moms or cops or accountants who are so sure of the answers that they think the rest of us are stupid, I can't help but be filled with wonder at how they somehow know more than the people actually deeply involved and educated on the details of these issues. And I'm staggered by their arrogance and ignorance.
All over Facebook are posts about not letting Syrian refugees into the Unites States because they are a threat to our safety. Or in the converse, letting them in because it's the American Way to welcome refugees with open arms. There are posts about bombing the hell out of ISIS because of what they have done to the West. And there are opposing posts about not bombing because that just perpetrates the Middle Eastern view of the US and attracts even more terrorists to their side. Some posts are insistent that Obama is not doing enough to stop terrorism and should be leading the way, and others are sure he is too involved and should back off and let Muslim countries lead.
No matter which side people are on, the one thing they are sure of is that they are 100% right. Not only are they 100% right, but anyone who doesn't agree with them is SO STUPID!!1!1!!
There are the most brilliant minds - political minds, military minds - trying to solve the crisis in the Middle East. We have had our best minds working on this problem for decades, if not over a century. And they have not been able to solve it. They have ideas, all of which seem logical, and none have worked. Every new party in office tries their brand of solution, but no one has found the way to make peace.
But you, oh you! You have all the answers and are so sure about it. Anyone who can't see that you are right is an idiot! You watched Fox News who told you that Muslims can't be trusted, and you are puking that back up like it's fact. You watched MSNBC who told you that bombing is bad, and you recite it as gospel.
I wonder if any of these people have ever had a thought that was truly their own. When I'm trying to decide what I think is right in these types of cases, I read everything I can. I watch every news channel and hear out every pundit. I take in every bit of information I can, on all sides of the spectrum. And then I make a decision. And then, maybe I will read or hear some new piece of information that shifts my opinion. Or maybe it confirms my opinion. But I take it in and evaluate and create my own opinion...which is just an opinion. And even with all the research and thought I give, I'd never claim my way is the only way.
In a case like this, however, no one know what the right thing to do is. No one. Not Obama, not the presidential candidates, not the military leaders, not the political pundits, and certainly not you or me.
What will the repercussions be if we let refugees in? Will there be an increased chance of a homeland terror attack, with the terrorists sneaking in amongst the refugees? Will we turn the opinions of Muslims around by showing the generosity of spirit of the American people and our way of life?
What will the repercussions be if we don't let them in? Will it drive more Muslims to radicalize because it will be more proof that the US is against them? Will it halt local terror attacks because we have kept a bad element out of our society?
All we can do at this point is make educated guesses. All we can do is trust our leaders are doing all they can to keep us safe and to eliminate the threats that face us. So when I see people who are teachers or stay-at-home moms or cops or accountants who are so sure of the answers that they think the rest of us are stupid, I can't help but be filled with wonder at how they somehow know more than the people actually deeply involved and educated on the details of these issues. And I'm staggered by their arrogance and ignorance.
Monday, November 02, 2015
Doggie Dilemma
So here's the thing about no longer having a dog.
It has made life so much easier, and yet so much lonelier.
We can now pick up and go out, at any time, for any length of time, without having to worry about coming back to let Gypsy out lest he pee on the floor. We can go away for the weekend (as we are doing this coming weekend - yay!) without having to get someone to stay at the house to watch him, and then have to spend time cleaning the house and changing sheets and doing all the prep work for someone to stay at the house, in addition to packing and prepping to go away. That part of it really kicks ass, because we are very spontaneous and we love to go out. My husband is particularly happy that our lives have changed in this way, and I am enjoying the freedom it has given us.
However.
There is still not a day that I come into my house and don't expect to be nearly licked to death by my dog, even though he has been gone for a couple of months now. There isn't a time when I sit on the couch to watch tv and I don't look to call him up to lay with/on me. There isn't an occasion when I cook and drop crumbs and don't expect the dog to eat them before they hit the floor.
On Saturday night, we were over at a friend's house celebrating Halloween. It was post-trick-or-treating, and the kids were trading candy and playing while the adults sat around and talked and had drinks. My friend's daughter came up and sat on my lap at one point and told me I was her favorite person in my family...then my husband, and then my daughter (probably because my daughter is older and doesn't always want to let her play with the older kids). Then she corrected herself - I was first, followed by Gypsy, and then hubby and then TJK. Ugh, she didn't know Gypsy had died because she hadn't been over in a while. I choked back a sob and didn't even have the heart to tell her that Gypsy was gone.
Everywhere we go, we see dogs. Everyone in our neighborhood has dogs, and we live right next to a huge park so everyone walks their dogs past our house. And I basically want to roll around on the ground and cuddle and/or wrestle with every single one. And then I just want a dog so badly again. I want a boxer. Or maybe a bulldog. Or another pittie, a white one with black markings. Or a little chi-chi dog like a yorkie or shitzu that I can put in my Louis Vuitton bag and carry with me everywhere. Or any dog, really. An ugly dog will do just fine because even the ugly ones are still cute.
And I know my husband would never go for it. At the end of Gypsy's life, he was the one getting up 10 times a night to let him out and still stepping in a puddle of pee the next morning. And honestly, it was really hard for me at the end, too. Gypsy couldn't hear and could barely see. He had accidents every day, usually multiple times per day. He walked sideways because his balance was off. He couldn't walk down the stairs anymore, and our house is full of staircases. He couldn't jump up on the couch by himself so you'd have to hoist him - and he was 65 pounds. And then, of course, there was the very end, which was so difficult and so awful and I never want to go through it again.
And that, honestly, is why I will probably never have a dog again. I love dogs so much and love having them as pets/family members...but they don't live forever and I can't deal with that again.
It has made life so much easier, and yet so much lonelier.
We can now pick up and go out, at any time, for any length of time, without having to worry about coming back to let Gypsy out lest he pee on the floor. We can go away for the weekend (as we are doing this coming weekend - yay!) without having to get someone to stay at the house to watch him, and then have to spend time cleaning the house and changing sheets and doing all the prep work for someone to stay at the house, in addition to packing and prepping to go away. That part of it really kicks ass, because we are very spontaneous and we love to go out. My husband is particularly happy that our lives have changed in this way, and I am enjoying the freedom it has given us.
However.
There is still not a day that I come into my house and don't expect to be nearly licked to death by my dog, even though he has been gone for a couple of months now. There isn't a time when I sit on the couch to watch tv and I don't look to call him up to lay with/on me. There isn't an occasion when I cook and drop crumbs and don't expect the dog to eat them before they hit the floor.
On Saturday night, we were over at a friend's house celebrating Halloween. It was post-trick-or-treating, and the kids were trading candy and playing while the adults sat around and talked and had drinks. My friend's daughter came up and sat on my lap at one point and told me I was her favorite person in my family...then my husband, and then my daughter (probably because my daughter is older and doesn't always want to let her play with the older kids). Then she corrected herself - I was first, followed by Gypsy, and then hubby and then TJK. Ugh, she didn't know Gypsy had died because she hadn't been over in a while. I choked back a sob and didn't even have the heart to tell her that Gypsy was gone.
Everywhere we go, we see dogs. Everyone in our neighborhood has dogs, and we live right next to a huge park so everyone walks their dogs past our house. And I basically want to roll around on the ground and cuddle and/or wrestle with every single one. And then I just want a dog so badly again. I want a boxer. Or maybe a bulldog. Or another pittie, a white one with black markings. Or a little chi-chi dog like a yorkie or shitzu that I can put in my Louis Vuitton bag and carry with me everywhere. Or any dog, really. An ugly dog will do just fine because even the ugly ones are still cute.
And I know my husband would never go for it. At the end of Gypsy's life, he was the one getting up 10 times a night to let him out and still stepping in a puddle of pee the next morning. And honestly, it was really hard for me at the end, too. Gypsy couldn't hear and could barely see. He had accidents every day, usually multiple times per day. He walked sideways because his balance was off. He couldn't walk down the stairs anymore, and our house is full of staircases. He couldn't jump up on the couch by himself so you'd have to hoist him - and he was 65 pounds. And then, of course, there was the very end, which was so difficult and so awful and I never want to go through it again.
And that, honestly, is why I will probably never have a dog again. I love dogs so much and love having them as pets/family members...but they don't live forever and I can't deal with that again.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Tween Friendships
It's hard to know what to do when your daughter is friends with someone, so you became friends with the mom, and now the girls are no longer friends but you are still friends with the mom. It's also really hard to figure out what I'm trying to say in that sentence.
TJK has been friends with Sam since kindergarten. Sam lives right around the corner and they walk and ride bikes to each other's houses and have sleepovers and hang out nearly every day. Well, they used to.
Now, TJK is not so fond of Sam anymore, and from what she told me, I can understand why. Sam is kind of whiny and she cries over everything and overreacts and storms off - basically, she is full of tantrums and that gets old, especially when you are nearly 12. They aren't little kids anymore. They are on the cusp of being teenagers and that kind of behavior can get annoying really quickly.
TJK has lots of other friends. Now, instead of going to Sam's, she is hanging out with any one of 8 or 10 other girls. So while I noticed she was no longer hanging out with Sam, I wasn't too worried because she is still surrounded by friends and isn't longing for her friendship with Sam. But Sam's mom emailed me yesterday, asking for help.
Sam doesn't have a lot of other friends. In fact, last year her mom told me that TJK was her only friend (and TJK acknowledged this and said that was one of the main reasons she hung out with her - she felt bad). So her mom is looking for me to help build a bridge between the girls, which I get because hers is suffering and it sucks to watch your kid suffer.
But TJK is good. She is fine with not hanging out with Sam anymore. She sees her in school and that's enough for her. I talked it all through with her last night and she has actually given it thought and weighed her options and taken the time to look at the entirety of their friendship...and based on what she has experienced, she has decided it's not worth it anymore.
Sam's mom told me that Sam is seeing a therapist. She seems to be a very sensitive kid who has just a small handful of friends who she holds up to nearly impossible standards, and then feels disappointed and angry when they can't meet those standards. TJK feels that she has been a really good friend to Sam - comforting her continuously when she gets sad or has a tantrum - and Sam doesn't seem to appreciate it. I can't blame TJK for saying "that's it, I've had enough."
But, when I'm friends with Sam's mom and I see her struggling and in pain because her daughter is struggling and in pain, it's hard to know how to guide TJK. I want to value and trust her opinions and decisions about who she wants to be friends with (and reinforce the idea that she gets to decide who is in and out of her life - she doesn't have to stay in relationships that make her feel bad or sad). But I also want her to be able to have compassion for her friend who is going through a rough time, and cut her some slack. That balance is not so easy, because tweens can be painfully black-and-white without seeing the many shades of grey.
So I'm going to see Sam's mom tonight, and we will talk and try to come up with a solution that helps her daughter while not hurting mine. And then, if the attempt does not work, we will see if she and I can remain friends when my kid wants nothing to do with hers.
TJK has been friends with Sam since kindergarten. Sam lives right around the corner and they walk and ride bikes to each other's houses and have sleepovers and hang out nearly every day. Well, they used to.
Now, TJK is not so fond of Sam anymore, and from what she told me, I can understand why. Sam is kind of whiny and she cries over everything and overreacts and storms off - basically, she is full of tantrums and that gets old, especially when you are nearly 12. They aren't little kids anymore. They are on the cusp of being teenagers and that kind of behavior can get annoying really quickly.
TJK has lots of other friends. Now, instead of going to Sam's, she is hanging out with any one of 8 or 10 other girls. So while I noticed she was no longer hanging out with Sam, I wasn't too worried because she is still surrounded by friends and isn't longing for her friendship with Sam. But Sam's mom emailed me yesterday, asking for help.
Sam doesn't have a lot of other friends. In fact, last year her mom told me that TJK was her only friend (and TJK acknowledged this and said that was one of the main reasons she hung out with her - she felt bad). So her mom is looking for me to help build a bridge between the girls, which I get because hers is suffering and it sucks to watch your kid suffer.
But TJK is good. She is fine with not hanging out with Sam anymore. She sees her in school and that's enough for her. I talked it all through with her last night and she has actually given it thought and weighed her options and taken the time to look at the entirety of their friendship...and based on what she has experienced, she has decided it's not worth it anymore.
Sam's mom told me that Sam is seeing a therapist. She seems to be a very sensitive kid who has just a small handful of friends who she holds up to nearly impossible standards, and then feels disappointed and angry when they can't meet those standards. TJK feels that she has been a really good friend to Sam - comforting her continuously when she gets sad or has a tantrum - and Sam doesn't seem to appreciate it. I can't blame TJK for saying "that's it, I've had enough."
But, when I'm friends with Sam's mom and I see her struggling and in pain because her daughter is struggling and in pain, it's hard to know how to guide TJK. I want to value and trust her opinions and decisions about who she wants to be friends with (and reinforce the idea that she gets to decide who is in and out of her life - she doesn't have to stay in relationships that make her feel bad or sad). But I also want her to be able to have compassion for her friend who is going through a rough time, and cut her some slack. That balance is not so easy, because tweens can be painfully black-and-white without seeing the many shades of grey.
So I'm going to see Sam's mom tonight, and we will talk and try to come up with a solution that helps her daughter while not hurting mine. And then, if the attempt does not work, we will see if she and I can remain friends when my kid wants nothing to do with hers.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Bad Things Happen In Threes
I am still devastated over the loss of my dog. It's been three weeks, and I am still crying at the drop of a hat. I know three weeks isn't too long, but I thought I would have regained some semblance of composure by now.
My cleaning lady was at my house when I got home from work yesterday, and she started talking about Gypsy and what a good dog he was - that he would follow her around the house and lie down in whatever room she was cleaning, and how quiet the house is now without him. And then I started crying and she teared up too. She said, "This is why I hate them; they break your heart." And I agreed. She hugged me and then I cried a little more, and then when she left, I took out Gypsy's ashes, still in the pretty little shopping bag that they came in. I took the beautifully carved wooden box out of the bag and held it for a minute. I looked around, trying to find the right place to put the box so it would be a memory, but not a morbid memory, for me to see as I walked through the house. I cried again, and said aloud, "I'M NOT READY! I'M NOT READY!" to no one, because I was all alone. I put the ashes back in the pretty bag and put them back on the dining room table.
I am not ready. I am not ready to have the wooden box on display. I'm not ready to see it every day. I am just not ready.
I still expect to see him every day when I come into the house. I still expect to give him scraps while I cook and to have him begging for my meal once it's served. I still want to give him all the shreds of cheese left on the plate when I grate it for dinner. I still shut the door behind me when I answer the door so he won't get out. I still have the constant wonder of where he is because it's been a while since I saw him. I still feel sad when I get up to go to the bathroom and he isn't under my feet, following me and tripping me up because he is so close.
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My best friend called me last Monday. Her dog, Maizey, had taken a turn for the worse. She had been at the vet since the previous Friday, and was not getting better. They were trying one more thing, one hail Mary to try to save her, but if it didn't work, they were going to have to put Maizey to sleep the next day.
The treatment they tried didn't work, and Maizey died last Tuesday.
Talking to my bestie about it, I was just overcome. Completely overcome. I tried to be there for her, and I hope I was, but I was still in my own head about my own dog. We cried together, because that is what best friends do.
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Last night, I got a text from my mom telling me that my sister's cat was very ill and that my sis was taking him to the vet and it wasn't looking good. They think he got a blood clot and he took a sudden and painful decline.
After 16+ years with Connor, they had to put him to sleep. And again, my heart broke...and not just for my sister. I am still struggling with my own loss and having these losses on top of it...it just doesn't seem fair.
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I'm a pragmatic person so I don't believe in any kind of life after death - I think that's something we tell ourselves to make us feel better when we lose someone. Right now, I would give almost anything to be one of those people who says "he's in a better place" or "he's in doggie heaven" or "he went over the rainbow bridge and he's running around with all the other puppies." That would be so nice right now.
My cleaning lady was at my house when I got home from work yesterday, and she started talking about Gypsy and what a good dog he was - that he would follow her around the house and lie down in whatever room she was cleaning, and how quiet the house is now without him. And then I started crying and she teared up too. She said, "This is why I hate them; they break your heart." And I agreed. She hugged me and then I cried a little more, and then when she left, I took out Gypsy's ashes, still in the pretty little shopping bag that they came in. I took the beautifully carved wooden box out of the bag and held it for a minute. I looked around, trying to find the right place to put the box so it would be a memory, but not a morbid memory, for me to see as I walked through the house. I cried again, and said aloud, "I'M NOT READY! I'M NOT READY!" to no one, because I was all alone. I put the ashes back in the pretty bag and put them back on the dining room table.
I am not ready. I am not ready to have the wooden box on display. I'm not ready to see it every day. I am just not ready.
I still expect to see him every day when I come into the house. I still expect to give him scraps while I cook and to have him begging for my meal once it's served. I still want to give him all the shreds of cheese left on the plate when I grate it for dinner. I still shut the door behind me when I answer the door so he won't get out. I still have the constant wonder of where he is because it's been a while since I saw him. I still feel sad when I get up to go to the bathroom and he isn't under my feet, following me and tripping me up because he is so close.
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My best friend called me last Monday. Her dog, Maizey, had taken a turn for the worse. She had been at the vet since the previous Friday, and was not getting better. They were trying one more thing, one hail Mary to try to save her, but if it didn't work, they were going to have to put Maizey to sleep the next day.
The treatment they tried didn't work, and Maizey died last Tuesday.
Talking to my bestie about it, I was just overcome. Completely overcome. I tried to be there for her, and I hope I was, but I was still in my own head about my own dog. We cried together, because that is what best friends do.
----------------------------------------------------------
Last night, I got a text from my mom telling me that my sister's cat was very ill and that my sis was taking him to the vet and it wasn't looking good. They think he got a blood clot and he took a sudden and painful decline.
After 16+ years with Connor, they had to put him to sleep. And again, my heart broke...and not just for my sister. I am still struggling with my own loss and having these losses on top of it...it just doesn't seem fair.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I'm a pragmatic person so I don't believe in any kind of life after death - I think that's something we tell ourselves to make us feel better when we lose someone. Right now, I would give almost anything to be one of those people who says "he's in a better place" or "he's in doggie heaven" or "he went over the rainbow bridge and he's running around with all the other puppies." That would be so nice right now.
Friday, September 04, 2015
The Long Tale of Sir Street Gypsy Louis of Newark
I am having such a hard time.
Most of the day and night, I'm okay. I am a really busy person, so my mind doesn't get caught up in tangles of thought when I need to get stuff done. But I keep having these bursts of remembrance and it is just. so. hard.
People without pets just don't get it. Your dog dies and you move on. You just get another dog. It's not a person dying, after all.
But this was my baby.
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This was the puppy who, almost 16 years ago, I picked out from the Newark Shelter. The weekend after we closed on our house, I NEEDED A DOG. We went to a few places to look at rescues and finally ended up in Newark. Not a pleasant place, and definitely a kill-shelter. When we got there, they were bringing in a passel of pit bulls, one pregnant, and the woman at the desk gave the people holding the leashes the signal - hand across the throat. Put them down.
So when we walked among the cages, with the roar of cooped-up dogs surrounding us, I was looking for someone to save. My first love at the shelter was a 6-week-old German Shepherd. It was tiny and adorable and sick. But it couldn't be adopted for a few more weeks and I couldn't wait. So we kept looking.
We came upon a cage filled with 4 dogs. Three of them were big, and they were aggressively trying to get our attention. The fourth was under the mass of the other dogs, trying to check us out but getting nipped and pushed back at every turn. I made eye contact with the little guy, and that was that. He was mine. We had him taken out of the cage and he was shy and sweet and nervous. He was also full of scars from who-knows-what and he had gum stuck in his matted fur. He was my boy.
The tag on the cage said that he was a "Black Lab Mix" - which, I didn't realize, was code for a pit bull mutt. I just saw his sweet face and kind demeanor and I had to take him home.
My husband was not so sure. He did not grow up with a dog and thought we should get settled in the house for more than 2 days before bringing a dog home. I would hear nothing of it. We took him home that day, after a stop at Petco to have him groomed (he stank) and at my parents's house to show him off. My mom freaked out that I was bringing a pit bull into my house (and, despite her being totally in love with him, she still, to the end, had a hard time telling people he was a pittie).
We name him Gypsy, as we will not conform to your gendered name expectations. Boys are gypsies too, was my answer when people questioned his moniker. He was manly enough to deal with a girly name anyway, haters.
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Day one, day two, day three...all is well. He is not quite as manly as we had expected. He is sweet and all that, but he does not bark. He chirps. Like a bird. Our friends mock us for having the one and only chirping pit bull in the world. I street-fight them to defend Gypsy's honor.
Suddenly, he starts getting mean. I think he got comfortable. He realized he now has a nice house and all the food and treats and toys he can handle. He is not living on the rough and tumble Newark streets any longer. He comes out of his shell, and he is kind of a dick.
But he is only mean to me. Me, the one who saved him from sure death. Me, the one who catered to his every whim. Me, the one who took him running in the park. This dog was trying to eat my face. I didn't know what to do. My mom was in a panic - "you need to get rid of him! He is going to murder you in your sleep!" No. He is my baby and I said I was going to save him and that's exactly what I am going to do, whether I have a face left or not.
I got scared though. This was one strong dog. He was hard to fight off. I counted the minutes till my husband got home so he could control this dogmonster. Finally, I got a trainer, who taught me in 3.5 minutes that it was all my fault and that this was not an evil dog; I was just a bad human.
Dogs are pack animals, and Gypsy thought I was beneath him in the pack. I was basically too nice to him. When he wanted to sit on the couch, I'd move so he could have my spot. When he wanted a treat, I gave him 10. Once I stopped being a dog's doormat, my sweet puppy was back and he never left me after that.
Oh, and she also tried to teach him to walk on the leash, proclaiming it to be a simple thing. He never did learn that trick - he was always just so happy to be outside going for a walk that he didn't care if he walked in circles. He just wanted to be out there.
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For the next 15-and-some-odd years, he was my loyal companion. He was waiting at the window when I pulled up to the house. He sat outside the bathroom door and waited for me every time I peed. He curled up on the couch next to me and chilled. Now don't get me wrong. This was not a lovey-dovey kind of dog. He didn't cuddle. But he was a sweetheart and he loved us.
When True Jersey Kid was born, we were nervous about how he would be with her. I mean, he was a pit bull and they eat babies, right? My mom, in particular, was sure we were going to have to get rid of Gypsy because he was going to murder the baby's face. Well, TJK was born, we brought her home, Gypsy sniffed her and then went and laid down. Did not care about this alien in his house. And the truth was: When people told me that my dog might not get along with my baby, my answer was always that the baby would have to be the one to go because I knew and loved my puppy and this baby was a stranger. Luckily, that decision never had to be made.
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Gypsy loved to go the park and was horrendous on the leash. He would pull me around the park like I was a rag doll, and he would have that pit bull smile on while he did it. This terrified people and when they saw us coming, they would hide their little chi-chi dogs while he dragged me past them. He wouldn't have hurt a fly though. He truly just wanted to play with everyone - dog, cat, bird, human, whatever - and was very exuberant about it. His exuberance came off as aggression, which was really okay with me because no one messed with me when I was with him. His playful craziness came off as homicidal, and that kept me safe. So while he wasn't a protective dog, per se, he did protect me in his own way.
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I was walking Gypsy around the neighborhood when he was maybe 8 months old, just taking a stroll around my development. This man is sitting in his driveway on a lawn chair (do people do that everywhere or just the Italians in Jersey?) and he saw me coming and basically freaked out. Ran at me. Got on the ground. Had my dog all up on him and did not care. Then finally talked to me: Can you wait here a minute? I have to get my wife, she will love this dog so much. He looks like our dog who just passed away.
So this guy runs in the house and he and his wife bolt back out. She ignores me and rolls around on the sidewalk with Gyspy, who is totally cool with it. They tell me all about their dog, with tears in their eyes, and we kind of become besties. Then, a few weeks later, they come to a BBQ at my house. The guy pulls me aside and offers me $1000 for my dog. I look at him like he's insane, for several reasons:
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I am very protective of my dog, and I will not have him disparaged in any way.
So we start hanging out with Diddy, who is a co-worker of my husband's and also Patsy Darling's boyfriend. He is annoying when he drinks and we fight all the time (not any more, but we did back then).
I'm pouring tequila shots for us all and as we are doing the shots, of course Gypsy is right underfoot. Some tequila gets spilled on him. Diddy starts yelling that my dog is 50 Cent. He is all shot up.
I get furious because in my drunken state, I am assuming that because my dog is black and is from Newark, Diddy is calling him a thug. This becomes an ongoing joke, and Gypsy comes upon another of his nicknames: 50 Cent.
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We go to CT every year for Thanksgiving and 4th of July. In 2004, TJK was going up to CT for her first Thanksgiving. She was 11 months old. We leave Gypsy home, with a friend of ours staying at the house to watch him.
We get home on Sunday and of course, Gypsy bounds for the door when we get there and greets us as his long lost family (which we are). As soon as she sees him, TJK says her very first word: Gypsy. She pronounces it "Gypy" which becomes another of his nicknames.
My kid did not say Mama or Dada or No for her first word. She called her dog. For some strange reason, this was always a source of pride for me.
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There are a thousand stories I could tell about Gypsy Lou, and I may come back at times to add them when they come to mind.
This is a dog who was so loved. So loved that for the past 2+ years, he has been peeing in the house due to kidney disease, and we just cleaned up after him every day, sometimes multiple times a day. So loved that again due to kidney disease, he got up 2-3 times a night for the past several years and we had to get up with him and let him out (okay, so Hubby did most of that). So loved that even though he had been sick for a couple of years and wasn't himself and walked sideways and had several strokes...I couldn't let him go. I still saw a spark in him, that spark of a puppy who still wants to run and greet you even though his legs won't take him any more.
I can't talk yet about the whole process of saying good bye. I'm going to leave this here and just say that every word has been typed with tears in my eyes.
Miss and love you, LouLou.
Most of the day and night, I'm okay. I am a really busy person, so my mind doesn't get caught up in tangles of thought when I need to get stuff done. But I keep having these bursts of remembrance and it is just. so. hard.
People without pets just don't get it. Your dog dies and you move on. You just get another dog. It's not a person dying, after all.
But this was my baby.
--------------------------------
This was the puppy who, almost 16 years ago, I picked out from the Newark Shelter. The weekend after we closed on our house, I NEEDED A DOG. We went to a few places to look at rescues and finally ended up in Newark. Not a pleasant place, and definitely a kill-shelter. When we got there, they were bringing in a passel of pit bulls, one pregnant, and the woman at the desk gave the people holding the leashes the signal - hand across the throat. Put them down.
So when we walked among the cages, with the roar of cooped-up dogs surrounding us, I was looking for someone to save. My first love at the shelter was a 6-week-old German Shepherd. It was tiny and adorable and sick. But it couldn't be adopted for a few more weeks and I couldn't wait. So we kept looking.
We came upon a cage filled with 4 dogs. Three of them were big, and they were aggressively trying to get our attention. The fourth was under the mass of the other dogs, trying to check us out but getting nipped and pushed back at every turn. I made eye contact with the little guy, and that was that. He was mine. We had him taken out of the cage and he was shy and sweet and nervous. He was also full of scars from who-knows-what and he had gum stuck in his matted fur. He was my boy.
The tag on the cage said that he was a "Black Lab Mix" - which, I didn't realize, was code for a pit bull mutt. I just saw his sweet face and kind demeanor and I had to take him home.
My husband was not so sure. He did not grow up with a dog and thought we should get settled in the house for more than 2 days before bringing a dog home. I would hear nothing of it. We took him home that day, after a stop at Petco to have him groomed (he stank) and at my parents's house to show him off. My mom freaked out that I was bringing a pit bull into my house (and, despite her being totally in love with him, she still, to the end, had a hard time telling people he was a pittie).
We name him Gypsy, as we will not conform to your gendered name expectations. Boys are gypsies too, was my answer when people questioned his moniker. He was manly enough to deal with a girly name anyway, haters.
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Day one, day two, day three...all is well. He is not quite as manly as we had expected. He is sweet and all that, but he does not bark. He chirps. Like a bird. Our friends mock us for having the one and only chirping pit bull in the world. I street-fight them to defend Gypsy's honor.
Suddenly, he starts getting mean. I think he got comfortable. He realized he now has a nice house and all the food and treats and toys he can handle. He is not living on the rough and tumble Newark streets any longer. He comes out of his shell, and he is kind of a dick.
But he is only mean to me. Me, the one who saved him from sure death. Me, the one who catered to his every whim. Me, the one who took him running in the park. This dog was trying to eat my face. I didn't know what to do. My mom was in a panic - "you need to get rid of him! He is going to murder you in your sleep!" No. He is my baby and I said I was going to save him and that's exactly what I am going to do, whether I have a face left or not.
I got scared though. This was one strong dog. He was hard to fight off. I counted the minutes till my husband got home so he could control this dogmonster. Finally, I got a trainer, who taught me in 3.5 minutes that it was all my fault and that this was not an evil dog; I was just a bad human.
Dogs are pack animals, and Gypsy thought I was beneath him in the pack. I was basically too nice to him. When he wanted to sit on the couch, I'd move so he could have my spot. When he wanted a treat, I gave him 10. Once I stopped being a dog's doormat, my sweet puppy was back and he never left me after that.
Oh, and she also tried to teach him to walk on the leash, proclaiming it to be a simple thing. He never did learn that trick - he was always just so happy to be outside going for a walk that he didn't care if he walked in circles. He just wanted to be out there.
---------------------------------
For the next 15-and-some-odd years, he was my loyal companion. He was waiting at the window when I pulled up to the house. He sat outside the bathroom door and waited for me every time I peed. He curled up on the couch next to me and chilled. Now don't get me wrong. This was not a lovey-dovey kind of dog. He didn't cuddle. But he was a sweetheart and he loved us.
When True Jersey Kid was born, we were nervous about how he would be with her. I mean, he was a pit bull and they eat babies, right? My mom, in particular, was sure we were going to have to get rid of Gypsy because he was going to murder the baby's face. Well, TJK was born, we brought her home, Gypsy sniffed her and then went and laid down. Did not care about this alien in his house. And the truth was: When people told me that my dog might not get along with my baby, my answer was always that the baby would have to be the one to go because I knew and loved my puppy and this baby was a stranger. Luckily, that decision never had to be made.
---------------------------------
Gypsy loved to go the park and was horrendous on the leash. He would pull me around the park like I was a rag doll, and he would have that pit bull smile on while he did it. This terrified people and when they saw us coming, they would hide their little chi-chi dogs while he dragged me past them. He wouldn't have hurt a fly though. He truly just wanted to play with everyone - dog, cat, bird, human, whatever - and was very exuberant about it. His exuberance came off as aggression, which was really okay with me because no one messed with me when I was with him. His playful craziness came off as homicidal, and that kept me safe. So while he wasn't a protective dog, per se, he did protect me in his own way.
---------------------------------
I was walking Gypsy around the neighborhood when he was maybe 8 months old, just taking a stroll around my development. This man is sitting in his driveway on a lawn chair (do people do that everywhere or just the Italians in Jersey?) and he saw me coming and basically freaked out. Ran at me. Got on the ground. Had my dog all up on him and did not care. Then finally talked to me: Can you wait here a minute? I have to get my wife, she will love this dog so much. He looks like our dog who just passed away.
So this guy runs in the house and he and his wife bolt back out. She ignores me and rolls around on the sidewalk with Gyspy, who is totally cool with it. They tell me all about their dog, with tears in their eyes, and we kind of become besties. Then, a few weeks later, they come to a BBQ at my house. The guy pulls me aside and offers me $1000 for my dog. I look at him like he's insane, for several reasons:
- I paid $100 for this dog and got $50 back when I had him fixed. So this is a $50 street dog.
- You can go to the shelter on any given day and get a pit bull for $100 with a $50 rebate for fixing; why do you want to pay $1000 for mine?
- Um, you freak, this is my baby and you know that and do you think for one minute I would sell him to you for any amount?
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I am very protective of my dog, and I will not have him disparaged in any way.
So we start hanging out with Diddy, who is a co-worker of my husband's and also Patsy Darling's boyfriend. He is annoying when he drinks and we fight all the time (not any more, but we did back then).
I'm pouring tequila shots for us all and as we are doing the shots, of course Gypsy is right underfoot. Some tequila gets spilled on him. Diddy starts yelling that my dog is 50 Cent. He is all shot up.
I get furious because in my drunken state, I am assuming that because my dog is black and is from Newark, Diddy is calling him a thug. This becomes an ongoing joke, and Gypsy comes upon another of his nicknames: 50 Cent.
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We go to CT every year for Thanksgiving and 4th of July. In 2004, TJK was going up to CT for her first Thanksgiving. She was 11 months old. We leave Gypsy home, with a friend of ours staying at the house to watch him.
We get home on Sunday and of course, Gypsy bounds for the door when we get there and greets us as his long lost family (which we are). As soon as she sees him, TJK says her very first word: Gypsy. She pronounces it "Gypy" which becomes another of his nicknames.
My kid did not say Mama or Dada or No for her first word. She called her dog. For some strange reason, this was always a source of pride for me.
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There are a thousand stories I could tell about Gypsy Lou, and I may come back at times to add them when they come to mind.
This is a dog who was so loved. So loved that for the past 2+ years, he has been peeing in the house due to kidney disease, and we just cleaned up after him every day, sometimes multiple times a day. So loved that again due to kidney disease, he got up 2-3 times a night for the past several years and we had to get up with him and let him out (okay, so Hubby did most of that). So loved that even though he had been sick for a couple of years and wasn't himself and walked sideways and had several strokes...I couldn't let him go. I still saw a spark in him, that spark of a puppy who still wants to run and greet you even though his legs won't take him any more.
I can't talk yet about the whole process of saying good bye. I'm going to leave this here and just say that every word has been typed with tears in my eyes.
Miss and love you, LouLou.
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