She Was Waiting at the Gate

I never wanted to have a male and female dog at the same time. I read Where the Red Fern Grows in the fourth or fifth grade. I knew what happened when a pair of dogs bonded, and one of the dogs passed, and I was having none of that.

But...within a two year span at the start of high school, we rescued JJ (we didn't realize it was a rescue at the time, but it turned out to be a life saver for her), and my mom finally let my dad have a German Shepherd. And that Shepherd we named George Bailey.

Bailey, like his fictional counterpart, had some worries and fears about his family, but he always patrolled the backyard each night and protected us all as best he could.

I worried, as the two dogs got older, about what would happen when JJ passed, because she was older and had more obvious health problems. How would Bailey handle it?

Bailey was ever the devoted "husband." JJ wants to eat his food? Okay, go ahead sweetie. Bailey has done something that displeases JJ? Alright, Bailey will stand while JJ lifts her mouth to his ear and growls right into it.

If JJ went out for a walk, or to the vet, when we returned Bailey was waiting at the gate. He would investigate JJ's entire body, smelling, licking where necessary, and then come over to the humans and butt his head against our legs, as if to say, "Thanks for bringing her back...I might trust you to take her out again."



As JJ aged, her legs began to fail her. Her eyes are saggy and unfocused. She spends her days resting in the sun, wagging her tail and getting frequent pets on the head.



As Bailey aged, his once athletic body, one he used both to chase rabbits and once to protect my father against a pack of dogs roving the streets, began to turn against him. His hips ached. His nose, the source of much of his knowledge, became clogged and useless. During the mornings and the evenings, his pains were the worst. He stayed on the side of the house, away from the other dogs, out of sight of the humans. When his body warmed up, he moved to the grass and would smile and allow us to pet his proud head.

Several months ago, Tosh joined the family. Bailey perked up. He had someone new in his life! He needed to teach! And chase! And play! All when his weary body would allow him.



JJ exists simply to growl at him when the humans are around and to snuggle with him when she thinks we can't see.



Over the past seven months, Bailey has bestowed his knowledge onto Tosh.



Tosh would walk the yard with Bailey. He learned that JJ requires special attention and that she may always eat any of the food, not just her own. He took on the JJ habit of cleaning Bailey's ears.



They made a wonderful little family.

With a thirteen year old German Shepherd, though, the future is short, and Bailey has failed fast in the last month. His clogged nose? Probably sinus cancer. His aching hips? Hardly supporting his weight at all. After a terrifying moment last week that involved an unstoppable bloody nose, it became clear that our hero, our proud German Shepherd had reached the end of his life.

JJ took to sleeping by his dog house, something she's never done. Tosh cleaned Bailey's entire face, not just his hears, and took over the nightly patrols.

The opposite of what I had always worried about came true, and it would be JJ who would be left behind.

My dad made that final call.

Sunday morning, we walked beside our Bailey as he stumbled into the vet's office one last time. My dad and I went into the little room to be with Bailey. My mom and WG (what a superstar) waited outside. Bailey's passing was peaceful, just what he deserved after all of his hard work to protect and love our family for more than thirteen years.

And when my parents returned home, with an empty backseat, JJ was waiting at the gate, hoping to welcome home her Bailey.



George Bailey - 1995-2008

Top Five Reasons I Am Not Attending My High School Reunion

5. It's today, and we were all told about it a whopping three weeks ago.

4. It's in the high school gym. Seriously? Ten years out of high school, and we're relegated to the "don't you dare scratch that precious floor" gym where we circulated around in P.E. clothes? Couldn't get a restaurant reservation for 165 on three weeks notice? Fancy that.

3. Facebook. I know what's up with everyone I need to know about already.

2. My mom's best friend's daughter, a girl I've known since the fourth grade, is getting married today. The reunion starts when the reception will just be getting good.

1. I'm over high school, and, amazingly, I'm over it enough that I have no need to parade my boyfriend and my master's degree around the high school gym, introducing them both to the people who made fun of me, the ones who dropped books on my head, the popular girls who are planning the reunion (who have, in fact, planned everything that ever happened with my class at the high school), groveling for approval.

Cheers, though, to the class of 1998. We've made it to adulthood, fairly unscathed. Congratulations to us all!

Anyone Have Any Ideas...

on how to cure a cat of wheezing? My vet is threatening with this.



And considering that when I give my cat medicine, he turns into this:



I'd really like to avoid having to stick a mask on his face...

Real World Wednesday

From now until November, each week's Real World Wednesday will include a challenge.

Challenge 1:
Go register to vote, or, if you're already registered (good for you!), get one person you know and love to register.

You're the Only You You've Got

I'll be the first to admit that my parents did a bang-up job. Sure, I've got issues, but I'm convinced not all of said issues are the fault of my parents.

But there are others who spend most of their lives trying to overcome their childhoods, often at the expense of properly taking care of themselves.

My mom, whom I love more than words can possibly express, is one such person. She had a tumble recently, and she's having trouble sitting still and letting her body heal. I know exactly why my mom thinks she's not worth taking care of: Her mother.

My grandmother has more issues than can be contained in a single blog post, but suffice it to say she made a wreck out of anyone who ever believed they deserved anything. And so, my mother thinks she deserves exactly nothing.

Over the years, she's improved at this dramatically -- but it took a severing of ties with my grandmother for that to really start happening, and it's all to easy to regress. My mom thinks that she needs to clean the house, make dinner and give herself no time whatsoever, because why does she deserve to take a break? Who is she to sit down and relax? Isn't it her responsiblity to keep a nice house and have dinner on the table? I must insert here that my father has given her no such idea...he loves her cooking, but he loves eating out and also wants to have the love of his life around for many more decades.

She's learned to buy herself a Coach purse without guilt (but of course, it has to be at the outlet, on sale and with a coupon), but she hasn't learned how to care for her body.

Growing up with chronic illness, I've learned that if I don't take care of my body, it won't take care of me. I simply have to get myself to bed at a reasonable hour. I simply have to skip the housecleaning if I'm sick. My mother will read this and say, "You do it, too! You work yourself to the bone!" That's true. I also know better, and when I'm working myself silly, I'm thinking, "This is ridiculous. I need to sit down and have a snack before bad things start to happen."

Mama just works herself silly and doesn't get that little voice in her head telling her to take care of herself. The voice in her head tells her to keep working, because she's a nothing of a person and doesn't deserve a break.

I worry that she'll never learn what she needs to do for her body. I worry that she'll age before her time, because she's not allowing herself to be treated well.

It's not only that she deserves to be taken care of but that she has a responsibility to take care of herself.

I know she reads my blog, and I know these are all words she's heard before, but I really want her to understand that taking care of herself now is not just something she owes herself but something she owes her family and friends and pets and God, you know, because of that whole temple of the Holy Spirit thing.

Yeah, that's right, I brought out the Jesus. I am not above guilt tripping with Bible verses to get my mom to stay off her feet and stay away from cleaning the kitchen floor.

I want her to take care of herself for the sheer love of the body and life God gave her, but if I have to come out swinging guilt, oh, I'm all over it.

So, here I am, guns blazing, insisting that she immediately start taking better care of herself, before I have to go over there and kick some booty...and seriously, who wants to have to kick their mother?

Real World Wednesday

Five Things You Can Do This Weekend to Change the World

1) Finally, and I do mean, finally, commit to using your own bags when you're out shopping. I brought in a tacky cloth bag to fancy clothing store, and the saleswoman looked at me like I was nuts for not accepting the pretty paper back she offered, but I'm over it.

2) Drive less. The weather (in some places) is still holding steady. So, walk for your hit of Starbucks or Peets or Tim Horton's or Tapioca Express...whatever your poison.

3) Bring your own cup.

4) Cook your own dinner, using local products.

5) Call someone you love...it'll make the world a brighter place.

Real World Wednesday

The Problem with "Choice."

Yes, I'm going to talk about abortion.

If you don't want to read about it, then feel free to turn away, but let me warn you that this isn't a glorious song about how one side is right and the other is wrong. This is actually about how both sides have a little bit in the right column and quite a bit in the wrong.

This is about the fact that Barack Obama said of his daughters, "But, if they make a mistake I don't want them punished with a baby."

This is about the fact that this week's Newsweek includes an article with the following statement: If you do not allow teenage girls who accidentally become pregnant to have abortions, you are demanding that they either raise their children as single mothers or that they marry in shotgun weddings.

Something is wrong, people. Something is very, very wrong.

I became a member of Feminists for Life after years, and I mean more than a decade, of volunteering with a pro-life non-profit organization.

When I volunteered only at annual events or participated in a prayer group, I didn't see the gaping holes in what this local non-profit could provide to women facing unexpected pregnancies. This particular non-profit could provide pregnancy tests and counseling and offered support for the needs of children up to two years old (clothes, food, etc.). What they couldn't do was encourage the mothers to move forward with their lives and finish high school or college or find a way to rejoin the work force. These women were, if not punished, at the least saddled with raising a child. Obama got that right.

But the reason Obama got that right is not because of non-profits that encourage women to carry their pregnancies to term. Instead, Obama got this right because both liberals and conservatives alike have failed women.

Many women are left without the community and institutional support required to raise a child. Whether they're in a stable relationship or facing a pregnancy as the result of a one-night stand, women who have not planned on a particular pregnancy are left with few options.

Not enough has changed since the Women's Rights Movement.

In fact, I would venture to say that although contraception and abortion rights have shed light on the shady business of back alley abortions, the legalization of abortion prevented any progress towards society offering emotional, financial and/or physical support to women unprepared to raise a child.

Instead, the general attitude in the US, and in other parts of the world, is that if a woman doesn't want a child, she should have an abortion. If the woman "chooses" to have the child, well, then, she must face the consequences of their decision.

Liberals preach "choice," as though the option to end an innocent life solves our problems. What about women who choose to not have an abortion? What measures have liberals put into place to protect them?

A woman's right to choose is a politically spun term. We all know that, for many politicians, "choice" means the right to an abortion, and those abortions will be provided at tax payer cost.

Why do we offer so little support to the woman who chooses to have and raise the child?

Another question: Why do women who choose to give up their children for adoption face a stigma?

Surrogate mothers will tell a willing audience about their decision to carry a child for a fertility-challenged couple, but women carrying a child to term so that a (possibly) unknown couple can benefit rarely have the same courage to stand and speak. Giving up a child of one's own is stigmatized.

Women may stand by a friend when she chooses abortion but will scoff at a decision to carry through a pregnancy and then hand over a child. Why is the decision to give a child up for adoption so much harder to accept than the decision to abort a child?

I encourage proponents of choice to offer adoption as an option in place of abortion. Yes, a woman would need to put her body through the physical strain of pregnancy, but think of the joy that strain would bring to parents who are ready and willing to provide for the well-being of a child.

I not only stand on my soap box. I carry it around with me and actually do soemthing about the injustice of society treating pregnancy as a punishment.

I have done my own small part to make a change. Well, I have done two small things.

The smallest is that I pay for my membership in Feminists for Life. I support an organization that wants to get affordable day cares on college campuses. Feminists for Life is a non-partisan group, and they're trying very hard to fill a gap in service that has existed since long before abortion was legalized.

The larger of my two contributions is an outreach program I coordinate with the teen mothers program at a local continuation high school. Each month, I do a storytime session for both pregnant and parenting teens. Following the story time, I talk to the moms about topics including interview skills, going to college, paying for college and remembering to take personal time for themselves.

I don't want scared and confused women to abort their children. I won't insist that they raise them on their own, but if they do decide to raise their children, then I want to be part of a system that that saves them from dropping out of society. I want to keep mothers in high school, in college, in graduate school and in the work force. I don't want anyone to ever feel punished by pregnancy.

I wish that more of our leaders felt the same way.

In closing, I urge Barack Obama to consider strengthening the rights of women not through guaranteeing that abortion will remain easy and legal but by offering free, state-sponsored daycare and pre-school. I urge John McCain to propose a career program that assists young and/or single mothers in getting into meaningful jobs, rather than low-paying jobs that offer survival as the only benefit.

And I encourage all women to support the rights of all women and to truly embrace the choices women have.

Real World Wednesday

A moment of silence for Matt Garcia, a 22-year old city councilman, elected at age 21 and shot down at age 22, after trying for nearly a year to clean up his hometown.

I Like the Planes That Go BOOM!

This Labor Day weekend, I had to work not one, but two days. I had Monday off, and looked forward to that glorious day outside of the library, spent with none other than WG and a couple of his friends from the Corral who know live in the Bay Area.

Still, I had two work days to get through, two work days while I watched everyone enjoying the gorgeous weather, soaking up the rays and otherwise not working.

And get through those days, I did, and you want to know how? Because I actually let myself enjoy them.

I let myself enjoy the special feeling that occurs only on early Saturday morning at work, when we're paid to work without our bosses around. At 8:30 on a Saturday morning, there is a strange giddiness that permeates the staff: we've been left to our own devices, alone, in an empty library. By 10, when the doors open and the public pours in, it's pretty much the same as any other day, but those first couple of hours are unique, and I have to admit that I enjoy them.

Saturday, I fled from work later than expected, because we had to move all the furniture to get ready for a carpet cleaning, but still got home and had time to spend with WG. We made pizza dough and indulged in the silliness that was Mad Money. The dough was ready, and we gently covered it with tasty toppings. One pizza was graced with tomato paste, chicken, feta cheese and sun dried tomatoes -- this one had a wheat crust. The other, with a regular crust, was decorated with a tomato-pesto sauce, feta, garlic and chicken. Both were quite delightful and went well with the caesar salad I whipped up. We enjoyed the pizza with a special beer WG has taken a shine to, a trappist with some special bits that make him happy. Of course, I can't remember the name at all, but I do appreciate that it's meant to be drunk out of a wine glass.

The clear blue sky on Sunday, yet another work day, amazingly, failed to make me shake my fist to the heavens and bemoan the fact that I would waste this glorious day indoors. We scurried around getting ready for church (this time, an attempt at a local Methodist church, as WG is a Methodist by birth), and arrived to find an all white, almost all old, congregation being led by an enthusiastic African American minister. We were regularly tapped on the shoulders and made to introduce ourselves, and everyone seemed quite pleased to have some fresh blood wandering into their midst. The service was nice and vaguely familiar for this Catholic girl, since this was a traditional service with a bit more order and form, and WG thought the pianist really rocked it out (which he did, as much as a pianist can rock it out to old school hymns.

I sat through church somewhat anxiously, waiting and waiting to go to the Air Expo, the first to be held on our local air force base since 2001. I had only found out about it in a helpful e-mail from my mom (and then gone and bounced around the apartment for ten minutes, waiting for WG to get out of the shower so I could share the news with him), but I was still itching to get out of church. I had to keep reminding myself how happy I'd been about going to church for the first time in weeks (I'm full of excuses about that, but I won't bore you with them), but the anxiousness to get out and see the big planes and listen to them go "boom" was quickly overtaking my ability to listen to the sermon or sit still for that matter. This should come as no surprise to anyone, since I am eternally a nine year old waiting for the excitement to start.

The expo did not disappoint me, and the familiarity of my annual summer haunt was comforting. The heat and light steaming up from the concrete ground, the smell of diesel fuel, the roar of engines. Sigh. I was at one of my all-time favorite locations.

I made the most of the mere hour and a half to spare before showing up to my time at work. I munched on a yummy cheesburger cooked by yummy Air Force guys. I watched, with my mouth hanging open, as an aerobatic pilot flew his plane into all kinds of twisty situations and then came down a little lower to race, a, wait for it, jet-engine car. The car measured 0-300 mph like we measure 0-60 mph. This was, perhaps, the coolest car I have ever seen, and it pretty much just looked like a jet engine on wheels. WG and I managed to meet up with my parents, and my mom and I were happy as clams waving when the cheesy announcer told us to wave at the pilot. WG and my dad wandered off to look at planes under closer inspection.

We meandered through a cargo plane and then, with only moments to spare, stared in awe at the KC-135 and the spot on the belly where men, like my grandfather did in his heyday, lay on their bellies and operate the "boom" out of the back of the plane. That's a bad-ass job, I tell you what. And I'm guessing those men would win any kind of hand-eye coordination competition -- I mean, operating a fuel pump in mid-air? I can hardly get the thing to my on-the-ground gas tank let alone in mid-air during a friggin' war!

And then I went to work.

And you know what? It didn't suck. I didn't feel like work had eaten up every last bit of my day, and when WG came to pick me up (a special treat that happens on Sundays when we've gone to church, and he drops me off and, thus, must pick me up), I was in a happy mood. I didn't feel gyped out of my day, out of my weekend, and that makes all the difference.

Then on Monday, we finally made it to the Exploratorium (it's been on an unwritten list for the entirety of WG's time in California). As the carload of us watched a woman finish her jog, slowing to a walk as she came out of Fort Mason, I said, "You know, there are those who take advantage of a day off to get in a work out or take care of chores, but I prefer to spend my holidays eating junk food and playing with toys."

And with that, we went to eat pizza and play Mario Kart.