It's my birthday.  It's my birthday! It's my birthday.

I have always loved my birthday - no matter the age I gain. Each year, I say thanks for what I have gained, along with the age. Every year, I am given the chance to become a better version of myself.

I look back at this past year as the year I understood myself to be capable.

I have always hypothesized that I was, and thought it even likely - but in my core, there was serious doubt. That doubt is dead now.

This year, I truly became a mother. (This is where I cringe and fear the wrath of 'real' mothers, i.e., females who have given birth to a human baby...but I forge ahead nonetheless.)

My movements are dictated by another's need. My mornings cut short, my nights extended, my meals interrupted, my pocketbook emptied.

I am repayed with unquestioned trust and unconditional love.

There are, of course, moments when I curse my path. They are the sad moments when I fail to recognize that gratitude is the only feeling I should know. When selfishness temporarily blurs my vision.

My role as this dog's 'mother' has given me purpose. Allowed my life to become truly about someone else. Allowed me to daily, hourly - dedicate myself to something other than....myself. And it is in this, that I have found actual happiness.

When she is anxious, I am anxious. When she is in physical pain, I feel something akin to physical pain myself. And when she is sleeping...when I am witness to her peace - that is the closest thing to peace I have known.

I don't want to freak out the world with my declaration; I only intend to state my truth. This undertaking has defined me in a way I couldn't have guessed, and will never regret. I am so grateful.

Size Matters

I consider Bela to be little. I always tell people, 'She's a little dog!'. What I mean when I say that, however, is that she is a little BIG dog. There are small, medium and large dogs...and then there are little big dogs, or big little dogs. I am referring to the fact that her features are reminscent of a larger breed, but that her size is diminished. In order to help you understand my guidelines, I offer this: I would consider a whippet to be a little big dog, and poodle to be a big little dog.

People are often thrown by my description. I should just state the obvious - she is a medium sized dog. But size can be subjective. Children think she is huge. Owners of Great Danes find her miniscule.

I was trying to cross a high-traffic street one day. The cars were moving quickly in both directions and any give at all on Bela's leash terrified me. I picked her up. When I saw a bit of a break, I ran for it. There were some kids on the other side of the street. They watched me run across, one of the girls exclaiming, "Man, that is a BIG DOG!!". She repeated it, apparently quite taken with how gargantuan my 37-lb. dog was. When I was safely on her side of the street, I said to her, 'You think she's big?' She looked at me, eyes still wide and said..."YOU little. That is a BIG dog for how little you are."

Little dogs are different creatures, and there are many benefits to having one. They can't put their paws on the table, no matter how they try. They don't cost much to feed. Their bark really IS larger than their bite. Most notably, they're portable. And it is this major convenience, for which so many are grateful they do have a small dog - I am grateful I do not.

For I have already taken this 'dog thing' about as far as I can, and still like myself. I build my entire social schedule around her, spend every dime of 'extraneous' (extraneous often being not even so -- forgoing my own meal budget) income on pig ears, talk about her endlessly...and not to state the obvious, but....WRITE A BLOG ABOUT HER.

(And, in a horrific move about 48 hours ago, I subscribed to Modern Dog. When I look in the mirror, I do not know this person anymore.)

If Bela were portable, I would be a most loathesome soul. I'm afraid I would try to take her everywhere. I would enter stores and such with my head held high. I have seen women with dogs in bags take them into bakeries -- even movie theaters, and have thought, 'Such flagrant disregard for the rules!' But these women are no different than me. If I could get Bela into a five-star restaurant (nevermind, myself!), I would try. The challenge appeals to both the dog-obsessed and the rebel sides of me. Life would become a game. Reprimand would mean little. Oh, I will have to leave the store? That's cool -- my best friend here and I will head somewhere else.

So...traveling with her is hard. She's tall enough to take dishes out of the sink. She can accidentally claw me in the face easily if I am bending down. But her medium size has saved what little dignity I still have left. And for that, I am glad.

Bela vs. Olivia

Let's throw the covers off the truth, here, people; let's get honest.

My cute stories, my daily anecdotes -- they used to be about Olivia. Nowadays, she may sneak her way in every once in a while, but for the most part, it's Bela, Bela and more Bela.

My co-workers pretend to perk up when I say, 'You have got to hear this!' and my mom and sister take my status calls as well. But I know that they ask themselves the same question I ask my very self:
Has Bela ousted Olivia??

The answer is not so easy; not so black-and-white.

Olivia used to be my eyebrow-raiser, the tiny friend that I got to play a part in taking care of.

That source is now Bela. I'm with her all the time! Bela is on the couch, next to the table, outside the shower curtain. She is my constant companion. Olivia, on the other hand, is a train or car ride away. I can often get her on the phone, but I have to fight for her attention, as there is usually a riveting episode of
The Smurfs on in the background, that she has seen only four or five times before...

I do try to withhold my stories from those without a child or a pet in their life (because I remember listening to such stories when I was in that place...) That said, Olivia stories may be especially endearing to mothers and Bela's to pet-owners, but they probably suck regardless. I'm going to have to say that the Olivia stories, in general, possibly have more content. Quotes that point out the absurdity of social life or give insight into acquisition of knowledge. Bela's quite often refer to...poop. Or how she's just a 'really really good dog'. Not a lot of substance there. I can turn the events of an average walk into a 15-minute storytime, much to the chagrin of my tortured co-workers and friends.

The obvious truth is that neither is more important then the other. They are my salt and pepper; I need them both in this life. And some of my happiest moments have been when the two beings that have taught me so much about love - are close together, loving each other.

So...these days I talk much more about Bela. But I still call Olivia a couple times a week, in hopes she'll take my call - and give me some substance with which to spin a story.

A Professional Dog

Béla does not know fatigue; it is not compatible with her muscles and bones.

At the first vet visit, she was given a good once-over, and then was declared to be 'the size of dog that cannot get enough exercise'.

That sounded daunting and soon proved to be. I used to take her out for 3-mile runs in the morning before work. I thought they were good enough to put her to sleep for the day. The evening we ran 8 miles showed me what a fool I'd been. We returned - me so tired I could barely find the strength to shower and eat...she, on the other hand, wolfed her dinner, sat on the couch for about 45 min. and then got up, like 'So....what are we going to do tonight?' She insults me.

It is useless to impose my tiredness upon her. A couple walks per day won't do; a jaunt around the block may as well be nothing. So it is back and forth to the park, rain or shine. Run her, jump her, wear her out. Go home and pray that it was enough for her to rest comfortably; and to allow you to do the same.
If you shorted her, you will pay. She will rise from her chair and stand in front of you, staring you down, tail waving wildly! behind her. It actually is intimidating. She looks rabid.

She is always ready for play, always looking just a liiittle tooo alert. My niece decided to re-introduce Bela to me one day. She ushered Bela towards me, and said, much like an emcee: "HERE'S BELA!...YOUR TRUSTY, EXCITED DOG!" She really did nail it with those adjectives.

In order for maximum efficiency in her workout, there is a park programme. Throwing a ball, waiting for her to return it to me and throwing it again would be a waste of time. So: Throw Ball #1 long, prep Ball #2 for pop-fly on return...and if a Ball #3 is available, grab that and give a second pop-fly in opposite direction. Keep her on her toes. If she lays down to rest, allow her that, but remember that rest here means confrontation at home.

No matter how annoyed I am, putting on my shoes to stand in a park and juggle balls like a magician, every time I'm there, I am happy to see her happy. I delight in her dogness.

A passerby in a park paid her her highest compliment one day. He paused, observing her, and then said, "Now THAT is a professional dog.

She is a wonderful dog...a trusty, excited dog -- she is A Professional Dog.

Feeding the Beast

People often remark that Béla is too skinny. I'm not talking strangers, coming up to me on the sidewalk - but close friends and family. "She's too thin!," they exclaim - as if their weighing in on the matter will make me feed her more.

She's not too thin; I think we are just used to seeing a lot of fat dogs. She looks like a fine-tuned athlete. She is the Jillian Michaels of dogs.

When we adopted her, she was apparently 'heavy'. I thought she looked great; but both the adoption center and the vet recommended weight loss. She was at 42 lbs. and she was to lose 'a couple'. After fixing her new food regimen and adding excercise to her daily routine, she did start losing. We realized she had gone too far in the other direction when she stepped on the scale and came up at 34 lbs. So then we upped the food and added even more treats, none of which displeased her in the least.

When she eats, she does seem a little savage. She eats in 30 seconds or less, each and every time. She barely comes up for breath. The proponents of her gaining more say this, too, is an example of her being starved. Nah. She likes food. I can take down a 6-inch sub in like 2 minutes, so I think we're on par. It's exciting to eat; that's that.

The holiday season proved very fruitful this year. She ate her regular meals, along with a plethora of 'special treats for a special day'. She also managed to steal cat food from 3 seperate houses, and a couple lbs. of dog food from a friend's back porch. She had a bit of ham on Christmas Day, and then rounded things out by eating a plastic candy-cane tube filled with foil-covered rolos on New Year's Eve. Her poop has been glittering red and green ever since.

I too, overate - sugar cookies thrown down the hatch so quickly I often couldn't remember if I'd eaten two...or seven?.. But the holidays are over. No more of this one pig ear per night. No more string cheese appetizers. No more entire dog biscuits. (I usually break them in half...hell, sometimes, even into thirds!)

The good news is that she hasn't tipped the scales. She's still at her healthy 37-lb. weight and loving life.