May I Never Know The Cold

This time of year reminds me of important moments in my dog life.  I have had many teachers, and my dogs have been some of my best.

The first dog that was truly all mine, was Spunky.  I'm not sure if he was genuinely going to be killed the day my mom said I could adopt him, but I remember the day, being on the phone, the pressure that if I didn't say, "Yes," to this English Setter I hadn't even met he would be gone, and the exhilaration of having my very own dog.

Spunky and His Girl

At the time Spunky entered my life, I knew very little about the responsibilities and skills required for caring for a dog.  I was nine years old, had always had a family dog, but had never had a dog solely dependent upon me to meet all of his needs.  Spunky taught me.  I remember going to the library at Decker Elementary and asking if there were any books on dogs.  The librarian directed me to books that were fictional, and I said, "Actually, I need a non-fiction book on how to properly raise a dog."  I recall the response being, "Uuuhhh…," so my mom took me to the Walled Lake Library from which I borrowed a humongous stack of dog training books.  I read them all, and got to work.

One of the things I never considered training out of Spunky was his love of fruits and vegetables.  We lived on a 7-acre island, and had a large garden tended to by my Gram and the rest of us by her direction.  Spunky LOVED green beans. He would not pick them off the vine himself, but would patiently wait for me to pick one off, feed it to him, and move on down the row.  The wild strawberries though were easy for him to pick himself, and since the raccoons and squirrels and deer and other wildlife also ate the wild strawberries, I never corrected Spunky when he would eat them off their vines.

My brother had a different idea.  He thought Spunky should stay away from the wild strawberries, and without my knowledge, shot Spunky with a BB gun to "teach him a lesson."  When I noticed this wound on my dog's left flank, I approached "Dr. Curtin" (my dad) on what to do.  Dr. Curtin seemed to know what to do right away.  He told me to tell Spunky to lie down and stay, and for me to hold this huge flashlight.  With one hand, Dr. Curtin maneuvered Spunky's wound to reveal a BB, and with the other, used a powerful magnet to extract the magnet from the wound.

Once the BB was removed, I lost my marbles and screamed at my brother for shooting my dog, and ranted about how lucky my brother was that Dr. Curtin was always on duty and that Responsible Dog Owner Leanne was aware of her Spunky's health, and that my brother better never come anywhere near my dog again, "No. Joke, Sir.  No. Joke.  Tell him, Dad.  Tell him I'm not joking."  My dad said something like, "We're all lucky you taught that dog to stay still."  Country living, folks.  Country living.

Gram aiming for a snake.  Seriously.

One behavior I hadn't mastered with Spunky was keeping him on The Island, and Spunky was hit by a car on December 2nd, 1980.  I was with him as he took his last breath, and I promised to never let this happen again.  I promised Spunky I would never lose a dog due to my lack of love and devotion to training and safety again.  I thanked him for loving me and being such a wonderful teacher, and then he was gone.  Brutal pain for anyone.  Nearly unbearable for an 11-year-old.

My next great teacher was Woof.  He was a rescued puppy from a litter with some very sick siblings.  Woof was healthy, and I had my first, and only since, experience with raising a dog from almost the very beginning.  Woof was going to be named Sir Lance of Spencer after Lance Parrish and Lady Diana Spencer, but his nickname of Woof just stayed, and I called him nothing else.  Well, Woof was also known as Woofer, Woofie Honey, Woofie Wookiee.

Woof had his own whistle pattern to which he came, and he never went over the bridge crossing the water that made our home The Island.  He would wait at the bridge every day as I walked to the busstop at the end of our 1/4-mile-long driveway, and he would wait there for me after school, knowing when the school bus was arriving or when cheerleading practice was over.

We did everything together from picking up sticks before cutting the grass to ice skating to chopping and stacking wood.  Woof killed woodchucks, but left the snakes and chipmunks for the family cat.  When I would swim out to the raft, he would swim behind me, and if he saw something across the water that he wanted, when I called him, he would turn around and swim back to me.  I never had to look to see where he was, I knew he was right next to me.

I have no pictures with my human Prom date,
just this one with True Love, Woof.

He couldn't come to college with me, and that was one of my biggest heartbreaks.  For the first time in my life, I was without a dog.  It was after grad school that it was obvious Woof was ready to go.  We had had to live apart for several years, and once I was all grown up, and he was about 14 years old, he had to say goodbye.  Letting him go, even while being with him in the moment, was another of those big heartbreaks.  I thanked him for all he had taught me, and apologized for our time apart.  I promised I would never be selfish like that again.  I would never again choose my wants over my dog.  I promised I would always work around my dogs' needs, and I prayed that my dog and I would never know separation again.  In the Winter of 1994, I felt the chill to my bones of being dogless.

Even without snow this December, I feel the Winter.  The Winter of Doglessness.  It is a cold with painful depth.  It is a cold warmed only by my Luna, and my Foster, and my Atticus. It is a cold I pray I never have to know again.

Happiness Is A Dog Heavy Day

I'm not sure I have a point today.  I think I'm just complaining.  Usually, I only tell my dogs, and on many days, there is a lot to tell them.  They listen so sweetly, and are always supportive.  They make a positive attitude not just possible, but a way of life.  Too many of the people I encounter each day challenge my attitudinal way of life.  Maybe that's my point:  Dogs make interacting with people possible.

I find that people really like to complain, compare and compete.  Less than I used to, but far too frequently, I hear from someone some variation of, "You're so lucky, you don't __________."  The _____ can be "have kids," or "have a boss," or "have to worry about anyone but yourself."  I no longer respond to these statements.  Anyone who says them isn't looking to learn anything.  He or she feels I am, and my life is, already figured out.  In my head, I'm saying, "Whatever," and on my face, I hope "Whatever" isn't obvious, but, whatever.

I can't say it has always been thoroughly thought out, but I lead a fairly heavily cultivated life.  I consciously give up some things in order to have others, and I recognize that I have a lot of choice.  Some days, I really want to make another choice, and that's when I talk to my dogs about it.  Instead of focusing on what I haven't brought them, my dogs adore me as I come.  Instead of thinking that I work for them, my dogs appreciate everything I give them, and are happy to simply be in my presence.  Instead of demanding and draining my limited resources of energy and time, my dogs rejuvenate.

I'm so tired after a day with people, attending to their demands and needs.  To so many people, what you give is never enough.  After a day like that, I don't want to talk to anyone or even see another person.  After a day with dogs, my dogs especially, of course, I just want to do it all over again.

Much of my work is as a massage therapist.  I have my own location, and I travel to people's homes as well.  A few days per week, I work with dogs in various capacities for part of the day.  Here is a typical day involving mostly people:

6am - The alarm sounds.  I wake to Depeche Mode singing "Goodnight Lovers."

Luna stretches out of her Barkalounger and says, "Let's go."

Atticus' tail wags, and his eyes say, "Hi, Lady.  I slept on your legs all night so we could be close."

Foster looks at me saying, "Already?"

6:30-7:45am - I walk with my dogs and we have breakfast.

7:45am - I am ready for my 8am client.

8:15am - Client arrives, late, jokes about receiving a discount unless I want to work until 10:15am giving him his full 2 hours.  I tell him I was ready to work at 8am.  He gets it.

As nearly every client seems to need, this client wants to feel special and hear that his muscles are the most overworked I work with, blah blah blah.  Already, I'm over it.

I compliment him for his activity level, and am thankful he's face down and unable to see my eyeroll.

10:10am - Client jokes again about a 15 minute discount.  I say, "Have you ever asked your barber or waitress or doctor for a discount because YOU were late?"

10:11am - I race to put Atticus' seatbelt harness on and get him into the car.

10:15am - Drive to dog walking client's home.

10:30-11:15am - Atticus and I walk with a puppy.  Dreamy, except for the call from the day's 5-6:30pm client who says she has to cancel because she forgot she has to bake for the neighborhood cookie exchange.  I've never come up with a system to charge people for canceling with such little notice.

11:15-11:30am - Drive to another dog walking client's home.

11:30am-12/12:15pm - Atticus and I walk with 2 small breed dogs.  Wonderful, but I'm distracted as I make calls to my cancellation list - people who want to be called whenever I have a cancellation.  I call two people and leave messages.

~12:15pm - Atticus and I walk with one of the sweetest Golden Retrievers ever.  Always fun with him, but I'm distracted by the phone calls.  Cancellation Call List Client #2 calls back faster than CCLC #1 and says yes and that she is so happy.

12:30pm - CCLC #2 calls back, asks if I can come 1/2 hour earlier.  I say I can't.  She says ok.

12:45pm - CCLC #2 calls again, says she can't make the appointment and "Sorry."

1pm - CCLC #1 returns call, asks if the time is still available, I say yes and she says "Yay!"

1:15pm - Atticus and I head for home.

1:30pm - I arrive home, take Luna and Foster Dog out for jaunts around the yard.

1:50-2pm - I grab something to eat, and put my massage supplies in the car.  I packed much of them up last night.  I always have my travel table in the car, but I also bring a bin with an egg crate mattress pad, an electric heated mattress pad, lotions, tshirt material sheets, and a blanket.

I also set up the dogs' dinners, put them in the fridge, and leave a note for J hoping he has time to feed them.

2-2:20pm - Drive to client's home.  Encourage myself to breathe and appreciate having work.  It's going to be a long night, but it doesn't have to feel that way.

2:20-2:30pm - Set up.

2:30-4pm - Client has 3 dogs.  They all hang out with us, napping and making me happy.  Sometimes, they need to go out, so I let them out and let them back in, all while providing a healing massage.

4-4:15pm - Pack up, hug everyone goodbye.

4:15-4:45pm - Drive to CCLC #1's house.  I listen to a book on CD.  I drink some Diet Mountain Dew.  I miss my dogs.

4:45-5pm - Set up, heated mattress pad still slightly warm from last client so it won't take long to heat up.

5-6:30pm - Client starts out very complimentary, appreciating my call and effort to make time for her.  Then she brings the love down saying the heated mattress pad isn't warm enough and I've teased her into thinking she was going to be lulled into relaxation…blah blah blah.

I feel like saying, "If you know another massage therapist who will come to your house, or another who will come with cushioned and heated mattress pads, you should call her or him right now," but I don't.  I ask, "Would you like another blanket?"

7pm - Drive to 7:30-9pm client's home after CCLC #1 takes forever to get off the table to allow me to pack up.

7:30pm - Arrive.  Client says, "I was worried you forgot."  I say, "Have I ever?"

7:32-7:45pm - Set up.  Client's toddler wants to help.  Client leaves Toddler with me.  I'm good with it.  Toddler is adorable.  Client's cat pees on my sheets.  Client doesn't apologize and acts inconvenienced by needing to provide replacement sheets.  I think how tired I'll be when I arrive home and have laundry to do immediately.

7:45-9:15pm - I hear Toddler throughout massage saying he wants to be with me, and I hear Toddler's caregiver tell him I don't want him in the room.  I feel angry to be used to hurt and control Toddler, and I hope he knows the truth, that I would rather hang with him than anyone else in the house.

9:15-9:35pm - Pack up with Toddler's help.  Client says her back still hurts.  Nice.  I feel like saying, "You have a toddler.  That's not going to change in 90 minutes," but I don't.  I say, "With water and rest, you may feel differently in the morning."

9:45pm - Finally on the way home.

10:25pm - Home with My Pack.  I take everyone out for a walk, start laundry, tell J I miss him, set up breakfasts, set out clothes for tomorrow, shower, cuddle up with the puppies all over.  Set Depeche Mode to sing to me at 4:30am.  Feel thankful that tomorrow is a more dog heavy day.

Typical day that is more dog heavy:

4:30am - Depeche Mode wakes me, and My Pack.  We walk and have breakfast together.

5:40am - Leave for the dog kennel.

6am-12pm - Dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs.  Meet dogs' needs of outside time, food, clean and comfortable play and sleeping spaces, snuggles, limits, fun, selfie picture taking, more snuggles, repeat.

12:10pm - Pee for the first time since 5:40am.  Can barely believe I make it since the tie on my pants became knotted.

12:15pm - Leave the kennel after saying my goodbyes to the 50-100 dogs with whom I spent the morning.  Would bring home a couple if necessary.

12:25-12:45pm - Walk with 2 small breed dogs.

1:10pm - Arrive home.  Take each of my puppies out for a jaunt.  They learn all about my day by sniffing my clothes up, down and all around.

2:15-8:30pm - People massage times…

8:30-10pm - Walk with my puppies, prepare breakfasts and set out clothes for tomorrow, shower, cuddle up with My Pack.  Feel thankful for a dog heavy day.