If Bela wrote about me...

...the things I think she'd say:

1. She builds little forts and comfort 'shelves' out of blankets when I nap. She'll tuck them behind my butt, under my chin, around my head and over my ears....to ensure I am (look) warm and cozy. It does make me warm, and yes, cozy...but it's certainly not needed.

2. Her OCD has gotten pretty bad, especially since we've been living on our own.
She checks the burners and the outlets and the fire alarm like 20,000 times every single time before she walks out the door. Then once she's outside the door, she locks it and re-locks it and checks the lock on it another 20,000 times. Her friends want to know why she's late occasionally? That's WHY.

3. She puts a LOT OF peanut butter in my kong when she goes.
(Yes, I think we're seeing a theme here and it's called: Kelly's guilt. The guilt of my mother.
It really does pay off sometimes, but I guess I feel bad that she feels bad. I'm really just hanging out when she's gone...)

4. She has a weak-ass arm. She pretty much can't excercise me without the aid of a Chuck-it. She looks a little dumb, always standing in the park with it at her side -- her arm extender. But it's necessary. It's just necessary.

5. She sings a lot. That's often soothing but can occasionally be just ridiculous. I think I'm the subject of most of her songs. Which is also soothing but kind of ridiculous.

6. She cries more than what I would say the average human does, but she cries less now than she used to. So there's that.

7. I love her.    Lovelovelovelovelove her. Love, outside the confines of loyalty. Love her.
She doesn't even know how much.

Rats, Cats and Babies -- Oh My!

Bela's inclination to hunt amuses me, exhausts me...and occasionally embarrases me.
The embarrassment is silly; I can't do anything about her natural instinct.  But I'm attempting to live with  her...in a city....around, like a TON of other living things -- things she would like to make extinct.

Rats. Cats. and Babies.

I'm pretty sure Chicago would be cool with Bela eradicating the rat. (If I let her free, this would likely happen sooner than later, as she has twice caught a rat in her mouth while walking.)
And as a race, we are divided on cats. But there ain't a person around that would be comfortable if they knew...that her ears perking up just now, and that shake in her back legs....: that's for your baby, Yo.

While she enjoys catching rats with her teeth, I can't really stomach the thought of one ending up in her stomach....so I have made her release both of her previous catches. I struggle with 'allowing' her to hunt street cats. The cat is often interested in her and/or taunting her, seeing that she is well-restrained by a leash. And I keep thinking that I can convince her through dialogue that...you know, the cat is like a super cool animal that you could even consider respecting....

Her relationship with felines has me straight up baffled. She hunts them like crazy, both outside and in. But I'm committed to letting her know that if she could play it cool, we'd be invited into more homes. My friends could stop feeling conflicted about liking her, because the threat of her eating their cats would be gone. It would just be really nice.
(*It should be noted that there is a cat that she has actually NUZZLED. Face to face. Lovingly. On multiple occasions. I've been able to make no sense of this, thus far.)

I'll address the baby-hunting, I will. But bear in mind, it's not real...as in, she doesn't know it's a baby when her ears perk up and she tries to paw at the door to get out and get. it. In all honesty, she's probably thinking it's a cat or a rat. It's just that the sound of a baby wailing can be quite sharp. High-pitched. Kind of tortuous. Prompting Bela to think of...well...torture?? So while the baby-tracking requires mentioning, my neighbor's babies are in no way in harm's way.

The rat and cat shit is real, though. And one night, while we were out walking, this hate triangle came to a head like I literally could not believe. We were crossing by a school that had a gated area in front, and Bela kept tugging to get closer. I had no reason to not give her this courtesy, so I moved myself in a little and let her sniff about. Her body went rigid, and I saw a gleam in her eyes, so I thought maybe there was a little something in there. It was hard to perceive the picture; it was dark and so silent that my senses were straining to pick up on anything. Then, I saw it. I gasped, then chuckled aloud. It was like Jesus orchestrated the scenario for my sheer delight. Because Bela was hunting a cat that was hunting a rat.

I know for a fact that Bela did not commit murder that night, but I am not at will to speak for that cat.

Viva El Perro; Commemorating Cinco De Mayo

One year ago, I almost lost Bela. And when I say 'lost her', I mean in that big, sweeping sense. As in completely. We were playing fetch in an unfenced area when she got in in her guns to take off.  She first ran to a tree where she'd spotted a squirrel. After the squirrel ran up the tree, Bela ran again --  this time, seemingly for the the sake of running, for the feeling in her legs. It wasn't an accident; it was intentional. She ran into traffic with the wind at her back.

Ever the extremist, she didn't run into the intersection of Hermitage and Haddon, where we live -- or even Division and Paulina -- this death naysayer ran into the 3-way intersection of AUGUSTA, MILWAUKEE AND I-94.

"BelAAAAAAAAAAA! Beeeelllllaaaaaaaa!!, I screamed, running full speed, down a sidewalk, after her. A car stopped and pulled over to the side of the road. A man in his mid-thirties jumped out of the driver seat and ran interference. He put both hands on my shoulders, as if to shake or ground me. "You CAN'T go over there," he said, firmly. My heart was pumping, my mind racing, my dog out of my line of sight and I shook my head at him in wonder. "She's my dog and I'm GOING TO HER," I replied. He put me up against a wall in order to restrain me. The need to protect me then so strong that his pretty young wife got out of her seat, leaving their infant unattended in the back. She tried a more womanly approach, softly saying that I just 'couldn't see that.' That I should 'just stay back.' I remember being called 'honey'. I remember feeling that I was being confined, talked down to and denied my rights as a mother. I got ANGRY. I shook the two of them off with fervor and finished my sprint into the intersection, terrified at what I believed I was to find there. Her body mangled. I had the image already in my mind. They had given that to me. That was what their impositions and so-called allegiances to me had conveyed.

But when I actually arrived at the intersection, there wasn't a lot going on. A car had pulled over to the side and the driver had exited. He was the one who had hit her. I barely looked at him, my eyes searching for her body next to his wheel. He threw his hands up, exasperated, and seemed to be voicing something about her running into his car and where did she go.........????

Once I understood that he truly didn't know, that's when real panic set in. Because if he didn't know where Bela's body was....then how could I sit next to it while it died? How could I offer a sense of calm, a hand for her palm? How could I comfort her in her final (likely scared) moments before she drifted away from this world?   

And so my search began. I ran, screaming her name in a blood-curdling fashion, from block to block, coming back to the scene of the crime and then heading out again. I was wild. I was no longer worried that Bela 'could be hurt' --- I was ONLY intent on holding her face and letting her know I was with her while she passed. I only wanted to be a piece of peace. And I couldn't make it happen. I couldn't find my baby to be with her. There was no 'but Lord, I don't want her to go...' It was only, 'as she goes, Lord, may I PLEASE LORD PLEASE just get to stroke her back and look into her eyes and sing to her.....PLEASE LORD PLEASE. PLEASE. I begged God.

I was standing there as traffic whizzed by me, my plight unimportant to the world around me. And I kept wondering, 'how long do I wait here before I make my feet walk....[away]'? Aware that she could very well be miles from where I now stood, as it is a well-known fact that injured animals often flee and find a place to die in solitude. I did not think I could live, not knowing where she'd gone. Not knowing if she'd died immediately, lived through hellatious moments of suffering, or been spared, and simply moved on to a new chapter in her life.

The driver now gone, I stood near where he had been. I looked up to the skies and cried, my vocal cords still sputtering her name. And then, just like that, as I whimpered...my eyes led my head to a row of bushes, where a little brown dog stood, having just emerged from them.

It was a very quiet moment. She looked shell-shocked. I felt the same. I slowly walked over to her. She was whole. She was standing. She was brown, not red, and had two ears and four legs and a middle body. My dog. Alive. In front of me; not miles down the road or on the side of the highway or in the otherworlds. She was right there for me to lean down and touch. And so I did. I noticed her head was bleeding, so I gently picked her up, unsure of bleeding that I possibly couldn't see.

A boy that had seen me running offered to act as an ambulence. You could see a touch of concern for the interior of his little black sportscar, as we climbed in. "I'll hold her on my lap," I said. We drove up Milwaukee to North Avenue and turned left. Bela was breathing, so we felt relieved enough to talk. He had gone to U of I like myself. His parents lived in the suburbs and he was living in the city now. He couldn't have been more than 22. I think his name was Kyle --- or Kevin -- or Ken. Something with a K. Something that intimated a quietude.

He let me out on the north side of North Avenue and I had to cross the street. There was no crosswalk. Normally crossing without a crosswalk would have me tuned into every bumper in the vicinity, but I just Took The Street. She had ALREADY been hit by a car. What was one of these stop-and-go vehicles going to do to us?

As I neared the front door to the vet's office, I remember thinking, 'Oh shit...I'm not going to be able to open the door. I have my dog here - in my arms - and she's a little big for the hoisting and I'm really worried about her organs right now and I can't risk dropping her by releasing one arm from under her body...so...what the HELLLLLL AM I GOING TO DO ONCE IT'S ME AND THAT DOOR HANDLE, facing off!???'

Well, I suppose my wild-eyes and hair and tear-streaked face and blood-stained jeans walking through a busy street may have called the attention of those inside. Because one vet technician ran to open the doors for me, as another stood behind her, waiting to transport my dog to the emergency room. I spurt out the only thing I knew at that time: "she. got. hit. by. a. car."

My legs shook under my seat. I wanted to call anyone - or everyone -- to make someone live through this with me, because doing it alone felt like too much. Then I looked up. The Boy K was coming through the doors. He came in to sit by me in a cold plastic chair, just to comfort me a minute longer.

Bela later left with some staples in her leg and some bandaging on her head, but besides that -- she was fine. She was going to heal and I needed to give them $800...but she was fine.

She dozed in and out of sleep all afternoon on her fainting couch. It was HOURS after finding her outside those bushes that I saw her actually see me. She woke up, looked over and then seemed to realize who I was and where she was. Her eyes got all fluttery and excited and she waited for me to bring my face to hers so she could lick it.

That's when I realized that even after I found her, she'd been gone. Her mind had heeded her ears when they heard me, but her body didn't know she'd made it until that moment. And it was that same moment, that I truly knew she was home as well. That it was over. I laid back on the couch to relish in watching her recover, and thanked God.

The Caring Game

I remember listening to a lecture in college where the professor outlined the basic human needs. I believe he mentioned only four. Shelter and food were the big ones; the other two have slipped my mind. They focused on the human being itself; nothing was mentioned about a need to care for [other objects].

There are times I muse as to whether this need affects us all, or only certain parties of the human race -- but then my eyes are pried open, so that they can see.

I was in the area known as 1/2 ghetto, 1/2 Gold Coast one afternoon when I spotted something of note. A woman of about 65. She appeared both elegant and deranged at the same time. She was in animal print. Taking up too much of the sidewalk. Wearing shades on a shady day. And when I thought I was passing her and a load of her grandchildren in a sporty stroller, I was really passing her and her 2 teacup chihuauhas. Tiny snouts were behind that soft, plexi-glass like substance used as a safety screen on strollers. She was toting them around. They were free from strain, traffic and possible rain. Kings on a lifted throne. This absurd image was her personal rendition of care.

She may have never had kids, or they may simply have flown the coop. She may have lost a husband -- or 3. The stroller told me these canines were her family. An extension of herself, and an outlet for her love. If there is one thing I have observed, it is that without the chance to care for some other thing, the esssence of being human dies.

And so I have come to life, in caring for Bela. I may not have the stroller (and believe me, she DOES NOT WANT IT) -- but I've bought more dog novelties than I thought I ever would. Each new purchase represents my eagerness to care for her needs. All of the absurd dog products cleverly tap into our need to take care. I'm not exactly sure how this dog-Gatorade is going to enhance her life, but it is my duty and joy to try for that...so....here's my $10 -- thank you for the opportunity to Add More.

We don't all go the same route in our care, for sure. We can choose inanimate objects or ones that breathe, but our paths run a parallel course. Desire, acquire, then obsess, acting as curator.

It would be easy to dismiss that Chihauhua-woman and call her crazed. But she's me. She's you. She's him with-his-fiftythousanddollar-car and her with-her-ornate-jewelry-collection. Our boundaries differ, but always fall just outside the lines we initally drew.

And last night, ((I dreamt)) I booked Bela on a cruise.

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.