No Turkey Required

Bela, so hound-ly

sleeps, so soundly

her quiet the call of cease fire.

The peace of the year

churned itself into cheer

and spills over, out from my heart.

Contentment came slowly,

as I became homely

the cup appeared rather full.

Thus, in gratitude's name,

to the day, says this dame,

I thank Thanksgiving itself for what it gave me.

The Culinary Adventures of Miss Bela Green

She's had tofu.

Meringues.

Curried tuna.

A taste of every Ben & Jerry's on the market.

Don't-matter-that-she-just-ate-hers, my breakfast. That whole "leggo my eggo" phrase don't mean shit around here.

She can hear me chewing RAW ALMONDS from like 50 feet away. They are possibly her favorite snack. (and definitely mine)

In her first training class, we were taught that cheese was a high-value reward -- meaning you could get the dogs to do things for it that they wouldn't do say, for, a Milk Bone. The teacher used Kraft singles and Easy Cheese...not the highest quality cheeses, but yes ,the students loved them. Today, I sliced off a rather large chunk of a $14 per pound cheese I picked up at Whole Foods. I shook my head in shame as I handed it to her.

I have limits, obviously. When I dropped a $3 caramel the other day, she came running. I screeched like a wild animal when I heard it hit the floor! She was so freaked out by my reaction she halted herself from the retrieval. Thank God. I brushed that bitch off and ate it minutes later.

But I do revel in feeding her. Whereas it used to be a rarity that she got a bite of my dinner, it is now the norm.  She doesn't even bother begging anymore. She sits. Quietly, in the vicinity of my eating, and just waits. She knows what's coming.

The first time I noticed my ability to attain selflessness in satiety, I was feeding tiny Olivia some pumpkin ice cream. It was years ago, on a rather warm fall day. We were perched on the porch swing. I had only purchased a SCOOP, people. In a cup. Old lady style. When she climbed up next to me, I felt I was supposed to ask (as an aunt) if she'd like a taste. Well, the little gal liked it. Such that she stayed there, poised, mouth open, just waiting for me to contine spooning it in. She was so polite in her open-mouthed state, that I couldn't even be annoyed with her. She was gentle, my kin, and just really loving the ice cream! So I shoveled bites in my mouth as fast as I could, hoping I'd run out before I had too much more to offer the little darling. As the ice cream melted, though, so did my heart. I began taking smaller bites. I offered her tidbits every 20 seconds instead of 45. And so we sat there, and shared one small scoop of pumpkin ice cream.

Thus, life has taught me how love can be expressed through feeding.

I like to embolden taste buds, to present new textures and tooth-worthy experiences.

For a dog that is as food-obsessed as Bela, it seems only right.

Am I disappointed in myself for this development? Yes; I won't lie. I feel a little bit wierd, a little bit wasteful.

I reflect on a woman who may have inspired my recoil. I used to work at a drive-through coffee shop. We were a tiny hut of coffee creation, and the cars would line up outside tenfold. We could see into entire vehicles from our to-go window, and it seemed pretty personal. Cars are like people's portable homes. There was a lady who drove through with a german sheperd. She got a large mocha each and every day, topped with a mountain of whip. She would take the cup from us and then lose no time. Still in line, whether the cars were backed up or not, she would peel off the lid and offer the top of the mountainous whip to the dog. He would lean over, lap it up, and offer it back to her. She would then take a biiiiggggass sip. I was horrified. Daily.

I try to keep her 'human food' consumption hidden behind the doors of our home. That said, things may derail, for sure. In the present, when I pop over to the bakery and get a croissant for myself, I get dog biscuit for her. If one day, I skip the biscuit and I split the croissant (one bite me, one bite her), then we may have a problem.

(For the record - though - she didn't get any of that cinnamon roll.)

A Letter to B

I'm sorry for any time you feel alone.

I'm sorry for every time you're dreaming of ball-chasing and you're on the couch instead. 

I'm sorry for not letting you chew rawhides around-the-clock.

I'm sorry for making you live indoors.

I'm sorry for adopting you in 2, and reducing you to a 1-parent household.

I'm sorry I haven't written a post in more than two months. I've been obsessed with myself.

I'm so happy you have the disposition you have.

I'm so happy when I wake up and remember you exist!

I'm so happy every single time I walk through the door and find you there.

I'm so happy you trust me.

I'm so grateful to every friend or family member that has babysat you.

I'm so grateful to Jimmy, who runs you with care.

I'm so grateful for a job that provides me with the ability to provide for you.

I'm so grateful for the other dog-mothers I've met because of you.

I'm so grateful for the way you care about me.

I'm so grateful Tennessee shipped you to Chicago, to Anti-Cruelty, and that life found me there when you were.

Women tell me, "When you have a baby, they replace the dog. They just do. The love not only gets transferred, but much bigger."

B -- I don't believe them.

My relationship with you is thus far the most defining of my life. Caring for you is essential to my heart. Buying you things helps. Feeding you, exhibition. Petting you, the payoff.

I get it. I get it. I get it.

I finally get L O V E.

The Sweet Songs of Bela G.

I am a bit of a performer. Always have been. My mom enrolled me in dance at age 4. Recitals were yearly. I would dance my way through class, month after month - but when the curtain came up - that's when I really came alive.

There is a marked difference in the way I feel when the spotlight is on me. I shine. I shine from the inside. My moves may not differ entirely, but the emotion behind them does. I feel completely and utterly alive.

Now, I did not go into a performing profession. I sit at a desk all day. The desk cannot contain me, however. My co-workers would attest to my [work-upsetting] performances throughout each and every day.

When I am home, I perform as well. I make up songs, oodles of songs! I sing, I dance, I create an environment fit for the stage.

Many songs are nothing more than moments in time. I think them up, spat them out - and move on. Occasionally, though, one has sticking power. It's so good that I can't bear to do away with it, so I let it stay on. I keep it alive through repetitive solitary performance.

My songs don't really have a central theme. Cilantro....the weather...the passing of time...a pen. They refer to the object in my vision when the need for creating strikes.

Bela is often in the room when these creative hazes take over. She usually just stares at me, habituated to my voice raising and my feet shuffling. Sometimes she becomes more than the observer; she becomes my inspiration.

After two years with her, I've written enough top hits to fill a Pandora station.

A few of the greats, by name:
LMB (i.e. Little Miss B) [a spoken-word rap]
BDB (i.e. Brown Dog Brigade) [also, a rap]
Come and See Your Mom
Little Brown Dog
Superior Lovin'

My family and friends are privy to private performances, that they may or may not enjoy. And though I tell a lot of Bela stories out and about, I have managed to keep my songs under wraps.
For the most part.

BDB (possibly my fave) has been on the backburner for a bit, as we moved, thereby braking up the brigade. But would that stop me from performing the rap for a group of people I barely knew at a party a couple of months ago? Oh no. I even waited until the birds had quieted until I began. Then I hunched over a bit (I find rapping is done better with the legs in a loose lunge) and let it fly.

I can't say much for the reaction of the observers. They seemed....confused. Amused. And thankfully, most were, at least partially, drunk. (Too bad I can't say the same for myself.)

Their reactions were amost preferable to that of my first performance of the same song. I speak of our old neighbor, the father of the remaining two brigade members. The song was offered up in his very honor!

I certainly caught him off guard, as we would normally run into eachother in the early morning...
When I spotted him on the sidewalk, I practically galloped up to him, eager to share the ode to our brood.

"Hey, I wrote a RAP about our DOGS!!!", I exclaimed.

"Uh............okay......" (Still likely not knowing he was about to HEAR said rap, at 7:45 in the morning.)

Then -- and bear in mind, this was one of the last times I saw him --
I closed my eyes for a split second before letting him into my world.
I rapped, the excitement audible, and then threw my hands up at the finale.

"WOW", he said.

Not 'wow' in the way I wanted; not 'wow' in the way I'd hoped.

I walked away sufficiently embarrassed, from the look on his face.

But about 5 minutes later, as I continued down the street, I replayed the rap in my head...
And I'll be damned if I didn't light up again, thinking just HOW GOOD it was....

Summer Lovin

Sandra B had Danny. Bela has Zico.

They met months back. They were easy acquaintances, if not fast friends. Zico was usually attached at the hip with a small black-and-white creature named Zena. I never actually saw one without the other. Every single evening I ran into a double date: Zico & Zena, Carla & Kathy (the mothers). Bela would 'play' with them, in the sense that she played fetch with me while the two of them romped together, in our vicinity. There was an ease, however, to her with Z & Z. She normally gets possessive when she has a ball in the presence of other dogs. Not with these two. There was a naturalness to the trio.

I enjoyed our 3-man pack and looked forward to running into them, even though Bela never actually played with Zico & Zena. Carla and Kathy knew that I dreamt that Bela would one day run with the Z's, but the odds didn't look good. She's just not the rollicking type, I'd tell them and myself repeatedly, in an attempt to accept it.

I thought Bela had done us in one day when she found smashed birthday cake on the cement. She was lapping it up, happily, when Zico came over to see what it was all about. Bela immediately turned into one of the hyenas from the Lion King. Her head flew up, her teeth bared, and she snarled. Zico (rightly) snapped back at her for a moment and I went ballistic, reprimanding her. The two of them heeded my voice and (seemingly, bregrudgingly on Bela's part) gave up the fight. I totally lost it. In that one greedy move, she had smashed my dreams of the 6 of us playing while the sun set, while the birds sang...hell - on a yacht! I apologized to both Zico and Carla, then grabbed her leash and tore out of the park. I shamed her - first with words ..."Nevermind that Zico is one of your only true dog friends; nevermind that that wasn't your effing cake in the first place!"..., then with silence - all the way home. When I arrived home, I sat in a chair and cried. Well, I didn't cry. I wailed. I wailed for all my lost dreams, all my missed chances, all I'd ever feared I'd fucked up. Bela had done nothing but be a dog. I let her little sass act give rise to all my anxieties, and all my incompetencies.

Needless to say, no relationships were harmed due to the cake. Carla is a rational person -- and Zico is A DOG. He forgot (and/or, forgave) the fight about 15 seconds later. And so we all remained friends.

This summer, Zena has been absent. And in her wake, Bela has given herself to Zico in ways we never thought she would. She plays! She runs, she chases, she rolls and grazes!

Multiple nights a week, Carla and I send off texts, organizing meetups. The location never changes, the time only slightly. We meet in the heat and we chat while our dogs play.

July was so hot, sometimes they would just sit and stare at each other.

Summer has never been a bright spot for me. I'm usually pretty pissed off for the affected months. All activity is deemed unbearable, save the spooning of sherbert into my mouth.

But this summer was different. Bela had Zico, which gave me something I needed. A place to go and sit under the stars, while my dog ran about. A person to talk to. A joy in the summer that I had not previously had.

And while I look forward to the coming of fall, I will always look back to this summer as one of the finest.