Spring Sweeps

Bela hit it kinda big this spring. She gained a part-time mother, known for short as a PTM. My dear friend Amber is living between two cities, and the days she's here, she sleeps on my couch. With her own dog a painstaking 800 miles away, she has adopted mine.

About 48 hours after her arrival, Amber asked if Bela knew how to spin. Well, she naturally does a little happy spin when I am putting her food down, but beyond that, no. Two days later, while I was out, I received a video on my phone. Bela spinning. Over and over and over again. On command.

One morning I awoke to find them both gone. It was 5:30 a.m. Still dark outside. I rose, noted that there was no dog in my bed and no girl on the couch -- and immediately figured that they'd been abducted. (Abduction implies alien, yes.) Where else could they be?; I racked my damn brain. Now, while the hour was early enough to call things into question, the answer was really quite obvious. They were on a walk. Amber took Bela on a walk. That's it. That's all, folks. No show to see here.

Dance parties are commonplace, and Bela's participation is required. We lift her Dirty Dancing-style, hold her paws, and have successfully manipulated her into 'backing that ass up'. She doesn't even seem that annoyed (anymore). She seems to understand that 'when they run into the kitchen and pull out a coffee mug to insert their Iphones (thereby creating a really shitty but awesome speaker), they're going to start gyrating and within minutes I will be hoisted into the air while being told that "all we all do is win win win no matter what"

We're a good group with an intrinsic joy. My Two Dads became My Two Mothers and it works just as well.

And oh, does B love her. The creature that hates to be confined by walls shortened a walk and ran up the stairs when I mentioned her name near our return. On an Amber-less evening, Bela entered the apartment giddy, ran immediately to the bedroom, found her not there, ran to the bathroom, then did a repeat of those same rooms just to make sure. Nowhere. She was no where. And so dejected, she sat. No spinning. Just the hollow silence of missing a momma.

Feline v. Fido

I nearly idolized the cat of my youth, Cricket. She was seriously SO cool. She was freaking clawless (not our doing) - and still ran through the woods like a jaguar. She'd return when she was ready. She would choose the windowsill instead of my bed, and I would sit there longing for her.

I am extremely attracted to independence, which is why the cat so appeals to me. The cat doesn't need you. Occasionally likes you, but doesn't need you. Doesn't need your input, your approval, to be who they are. The more a cat runs from room to room, the more I follow. I've missed entire parties, my time spent trying to trap a host's cat in a corner.

The cat seems more refined. Cleans itself. Keeps its excrement assigned to one area. And is a famously finicky eater. I used to say, 'My god, maybe I could looove a dog, but who could ever RESPECT a dog?!! They EAT POOP! They. eat. poop.  A cat would never eat poop. Wouldn't be caught dead. Wouldn't sink to that level. 

My dad said (disturbingly, not too long ago), "Women are too much like cats. They have a mind of their own." Yes. Strong minds, strong personalities. Which I found the dog to be lacking. But this was before I had a dog. And now I can see things I couldn't see before. For it is not a lack of a personality that a dog has, it is that they are so personable. Friendship is not just possible with a dog, but indisputable. They want to do everything with you. They want to please you. Good luck not becoming friends with a being that lives to make you happy.

Dog is no dumber than the cat. The dog's smarts are simply attuned to people. They have figured out how to work with us, in order to not be eradicated from evolution's outstretched hand. The poop-eating thing? Well....as hard as it is for me to say it, it's just plain smart. Animal instinct = get calories where calories are good for the getting.

I find dogpeople creepier than catpeople, in general. (Though some would vehemently argue the opposite of this). Dogpeople feel they are filling a hole in a dog's life. Hell- they are a dog's life. If you disappear, he likely prefers to die, as well. Will sit by the door you used to walk through in silent vigil, may refuse to eat. Your cat? Next available applicant, please. I like my food wet and my water tepid.

Dogs care so much. Bela is squeaking the shit out of a toy and she thinks I care. She's coming over here to show me because she thinks I care. Maybe that's the grandest difference in cats and dogs. Not only do cats not think you care, they don't care. It's awesome. You are held in high respect without being held to be anything. But there is a beauty in the easier acquisition of affection. The simplicity in garnering a dog's love. Feed them, walk them, let them near you on the couch. It feels good to have a magic equation. When pleasing others can be so tough, this one you've got in the can.

I like a dog who's a bit unruly. Because our ability to command them bothers me. It bothers me that an animal will listen to what I tell it to do.  No one likes a mindless order-taker. I want to be questioned, so that I can further question myself.

So then...it would seem that my preference lies in outliers. I like the cats who will act like I'm their bitch (but come round and love on me endlessly, every now and then) - and the dogs who will live up to their reputation, with an occasional wrestling of the wills.

Alterations we love to make in life. 'If I could just tweak this', we say. 'If I could just change that.'

With animals, we can't. We can do our damndest, but the results are out of our hands. So we attempt to love them as they are. Which is the greatest battle of all.

Turn, Turn, Turn

To everything, there is a season.

The summer gave us sun, sweat and saliva.

The fall, a heavenly breeze.

And the one in which we're currently knee-deep? The one so many fear, lament and loathe?

Well, winter brings the joy of the snow romp. The frisk from the brisk.

Dogs in snow. It is a FABULOUS thing. Their bodies bounce in the fluff. Bela buries balls, just to snowplow them out. Snow angels are made. And when it's just a walk we're taking, the quiet white surrounds us, and offers a background like no other.

The seasons give me so much. They give me chapters and bookmarks, certainty of change, neverending new beginnings.

I am so grateful for them. For their constant coming and going. For the chance to see the impermanence of things and to appreciate it.

It's a lesson, not just an occurence.
It's a gift; not a disturbance.

If This Dog Could Talk

Last night, I asked Béla if she had a bobby pin.

This morning, I told her to 'Take care' as I walked out the door for work.

A friend recently asked if I talk to Béla while I'm walking her. "What do you mean?", I responded. At first, I didn't know to what she was referring...like, of course I tell her to move it along, give it up, leave it, and so on, but...besides that?

Later I realized the extent of my one-way verbal communication. I excuse myself when I burp and she's the only one around to hear it. I commiserate over the general state of society. I occasionally ask for outfit critique. Being sick recently clued to me into how very much I talk to her. I literally begged her to make me a cup of tea and pass me a cough drop. Nothing.

I don't stop with requests or lamentations. I like to fill the space with my voice....and so....I spoke to her in FAKE FRENCH (and by this I don't mean with a Pepe Le Pew-like 'French' accent -- I mean I spoke in non-English words that had no meaning behind them)  for about 4 minutes straight one night. She had her head cocked in a nearly 90-degree angle the entire time.

While I do not speak French, I do speak Italian. And so it has come to be that Bela does a little bit, too. She knows the basic commands in Italian as thoroughly as she does in English. "Come here" isn't so much the sound of the words as it is the command in my voice. I could say any combination of syllables; if she's found a piece of meat on the street, she's not coming. Period. That said - I do like to think of her as bilingual. To imagine ourselves in Florence someday, and how effortlessly she'll blend with the locals.

While on some level, I think it's healthy - for her, for me -- hell, she's more alive than a plant!, and we're supposed to talk to them!...I do wonder what this discourse has done to my brain. I think I may think that she's more a capable person than a...you know.....a...a...(I just don't want to say it. ok?....) Because: I actually had the thought one day while my family was in town, 'Maybe Bela could babysit Olivia while Kori and I go to the gym.' I did manage to catch myself before I PRESENTED MY SISTER WITH THE THOUGHT THAT MY DOG COULD BABYSIT HER DAUGHTER. But let's just say I'm a little uncomfortable with how long it took me to reach the conclusion that this was not an appropriate course of action.

And so it seems talking to her both keeps me sane and lends itself to insanity. I'll continue to tread that fine line.

Wild Ones

I was nuzzling Bela's face recently, just cooing...when I realized a rather large part of the reason nuzzling her means so much to me. Because: it shouldn't be.

A canine...curled up in my bed, looking more like a teddy bear than a beast...that allows me total control?

Yes; it means so much to me because it shouldn't be.

Avid animal lovers often acquire many types of animals in their home, though there are limitations on what we can own. Bela is your run-of-the-mill pet, 1 of the 2 most commonly cared for.
I have often pondered what it would be like to own a ferret, a monkey, a sugarglider. Things that don't seem to belong in a home. Things that seem like a bit more of a challenge. Let's take the big cats, for instance. I'd MUCH rather own a lion than a dog. Why? Because it shouldn't be.

There is certain appeal in loving something you shouldn't. My God -- it's the stuff on which books are written, and lives torn apart. It's the reason for potions and poems, polygamy and prison.

We love to tame the wild. We love to fight rationale, and forge ahead, emotions running deep, into the abyss of the uknown. It is an escapade, a ride - we're guaranteed more.

What feels better than something/or someone loving you against all odds?? Nothing. You are the exception to the rule, the straw that broke the camel's back.

The dog, though now known as 'man's best friend', certainly didn't start out that way. I occasionally feel overwhelming sympathy for them. We domesticated them, pushed their natural instincts down and demanded they be our butlers -- and bouncers.

They don't complain, instead, give back exactly what we commanded. Love unabridged. Loyalty unending.

A pitbull and its owner passed me by today. The pit was glaringly strong, muscles rippled underneath taut, taupe skin. It wasn't walking so much as kicking, one leg at a time. Pulling it's owner from the lead, desperately trying to get somewhere. Where? Sad was the leash that ran behind it, and the muzzle on its face. What was this animal meant for? It resembled a circus act more than a sidewalk convention. It pained me. 

When I got home, I did kiss Bela on the head and sing her a little song, but I also made a concerted effort the rest of the evening to allow her her space. To let her jump on me. To give her the raw meat dinner without adding flax seed oil. To try not to quelch every last ounce of [wild]life           she has in her.