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.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Monday, January 7, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Puppy Hater
It has come to my attention that Bela...um, er....hates...puppies.
This is not easy for me to admit. This is not what anyone wants. This is just the truth. Cold, hard facts.
Puppies. Love, squared. Jesus incarnate. The breath of life.
I have tried to place my finger on what it is about them that repels her. And it's a lot. The way they throw their paws around with little visible control is the first thing that ticks her off. And they go right for the face, you know? Paw her tail! That likely won't do a thing. But no -- they claw her eyes out upon introduction.
The way they lick her face, that is another turn-off for her. She licks MY face. No one licks her face.
The jumping about really throws her off, too. Jumping six feet in the air, to retrieve a ball -- that, she understands. Jumping in place on the sidewalk, for no apparent reason? She can't get down with that.
So it would appear that she doesn't really care so much for their general aura of....JOY.
Now, let's be clear: Bela isn't tearing out of the house, looking for dogs, aged one and under, to put the smack on. But there have been a couple instances lately that have left me embarrassed. We went into a shop where the owner had their tiny black female pug, poised on the counter. 'Can she meet your dog?', the shopkeeper asked. 'Why, of course!,' I replied. Bela was cool for about a whole 60 seconds. Then, a low, garbled growl, that told of deathwishes and threats, began to come from her. The tiny pug seemed taken aback. As it well should have been! We were in her home! And she had done nothing! The owner retrieved her dog and placed her back on the counter. She didn't seem angry with me, but I would have understood if she would have been. Thing is, I had not: a) realized how far Bela was taking this puppy hate thing and b) not known the pug was a puppy, for it was super laid-back.
The fact that I hadn't noticed this hatred until recently suggests it wasn't ever as strong as it is now. Could it be that she's much older (at least on the inside) than approximated? Is she just a cranky ass old woman in the body of a lithe, athletic canine?
I found a chart that attempted to explain dog years vs. human years. It stated that a dog's lifespan is but a fraction of the average human's lifespan, meaning that dogs age more quickly in the same amount of time. It also stated that aging in dogs 'slows down', meaning they age a ton in their first year, and then average out to about 4 years for every 1 human year afterward. It approximated a 6-month-old puppy's age comparable to that of a 5-year-old human, an 8-month-old puppy to a 9-year- old, and a 1-year-old puppy that of a 15-year-old teen.
At 4 dog years, Bela comes out at age 32, human years.
(Hey!, that's my age! - I mean, I'm older by 1 year, but we're basically twin sisters! )
You know what? No wonder she hates them. They're just....too. damn. young.
This is not easy for me to admit. This is not what anyone wants. This is just the truth. Cold, hard facts.
Puppies. Love, squared. Jesus incarnate. The breath of life.
I have tried to place my finger on what it is about them that repels her. And it's a lot. The way they throw their paws around with little visible control is the first thing that ticks her off. And they go right for the face, you know? Paw her tail! That likely won't do a thing. But no -- they claw her eyes out upon introduction.
The way they lick her face, that is another turn-off for her. She licks MY face. No one licks her face.
The jumping about really throws her off, too. Jumping six feet in the air, to retrieve a ball -- that, she understands. Jumping in place on the sidewalk, for no apparent reason? She can't get down with that.
So it would appear that she doesn't really care so much for their general aura of....JOY.
Now, let's be clear: Bela isn't tearing out of the house, looking for dogs, aged one and under, to put the smack on. But there have been a couple instances lately that have left me embarrassed. We went into a shop where the owner had their tiny black female pug, poised on the counter. 'Can she meet your dog?', the shopkeeper asked. 'Why, of course!,' I replied. Bela was cool for about a whole 60 seconds. Then, a low, garbled growl, that told of deathwishes and threats, began to come from her. The tiny pug seemed taken aback. As it well should have been! We were in her home! And she had done nothing! The owner retrieved her dog and placed her back on the counter. She didn't seem angry with me, but I would have understood if she would have been. Thing is, I had not: a) realized how far Bela was taking this puppy hate thing and b) not known the pug was a puppy, for it was super laid-back.
The fact that I hadn't noticed this hatred until recently suggests it wasn't ever as strong as it is now. Could it be that she's much older (at least on the inside) than approximated? Is she just a cranky ass old woman in the body of a lithe, athletic canine?
I found a chart that attempted to explain dog years vs. human years. It stated that a dog's lifespan is but a fraction of the average human's lifespan, meaning that dogs age more quickly in the same amount of time. It also stated that aging in dogs 'slows down', meaning they age a ton in their first year, and then average out to about 4 years for every 1 human year afterward. It approximated a 6-month-old puppy's age comparable to that of a 5-year-old human, an 8-month-old puppy to a 9-year- old, and a 1-year-old puppy that of a 15-year-old teen.
At 4 dog years, Bela comes out at age 32, human years.
(Hey!, that's my age! - I mean, I'm older by 1 year, but we're basically twin sisters! )
You know what? No wonder she hates them. They're just....too. damn. young.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
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.)
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.)
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