God, Dog, the Connection

It's now Sunday. We've had Tasha since Thursday night. I have been looking for another dog for a few weeks now.  We have had several tragedies since we've moved to "the Phoenix".  I didn't realize what a wild place this is under it's thin veneer of civilization.  Years ago, when I visited I could almost hear the land saying to humans, "Try and tame me, I dare you". Apparently I didn't listen too deeply, otherwise maybe I would have thought twice.  However, we had no family left in the beautiful place called Kansas City, so it was time to move on. Our childrne chose to move to  the west, so the west it was.  I sort of half jokingly say that this place is nothing but pain and sharpness. The plants have thorns, the coyotes eat small domestic animals and the whole place cries out "I WILL CUT YOU"....(said in ghetto talk)



 
But I digress.

We have had Tasha for only a little while and already I am deeply in love. When my husband brought her home I was on the phone with my best friend and little sister.  It was a Thursday night and I was ready for a four day weekend.  I had been looking at rescue dogs for a while, almost obsessively.  Nothing seemed to work out and I was honestly, becoming a little overwhelmed.




 Yet my husband came through.  As I was talking on the phone, having a great time with my sis, I headr him come in. But before I saw him, I saw this longish, mutt, with a sort of smashed in face and a body that seemed a bit too long for her face with a curled tail .  She was  sort of odd looking, but in a cute way. Now of course, I think she's stunning. Even as I write, I feel the love that I have for her deep in my heart. She is lying on the doggie bed in the living room, sleeping peacefully.  I can't tell you how content that makes me feel.





 She is an eight month old baby who is half pug, half Aussie.   I think she looks like she has a bit of pit in her too. She is so respectful of Lexy, our queen dog.  Lexy acts like she just tolerates her, but I know she loves the company.

 I know my Lexy.  Lexy is a beautiful American Eskimo with perhaps a bit of Pomeranian in her, but mostly American Eskimo.

We've had her 12 years now.  When I brought her home from the church where I attended and had a school, my husband said that it was either her or him.  I chose her, and he chose to stay. We already had two male dogs.  One was the alpha dog, Mike, who had lots of chow in him and lots of Benji.  The other, our gentle giant, was part Chow, part Retriever. Mike lived for at least 14 years.  I dreamed of his death a year before he died.  He died almost exactly how I dreamed he would.  It was, needless to say, extremely painful for my husband and myself. Murray, our gentle giant, was euthanized this last June.  It was the most difficlult thing I've ever done in my life.





 And lexy, our little white princess, who is now Queen, was left.  She was actually depressed when Murray was euthanized.  The vet came to our home for the 'act'. Murray hated to go to the vet, so our amazing vet came to us.  He had a good last day with a huge roast beef sandwich with a milk shake to wash it down.  Lexy watched everything from the bottom of the dining room table.  She even watched the vet carry his body out to the van.  Don't even try to tell me dogs aren't affected.  She was. She seemed lethargic after that.  I, in the meantime, acquired a great, much needed,  full time job and wasn't able to be home all the time.  So, the search began. 

This brings me back to last Thursday night. The Thursday after Valentine's Day.  I told my husband I wanted a dog for Valentine's Day, and as I said before, he wonderfully came through.  So, here I am, on this beautiful Sunday night writing about our new family member and I tell you, I'm in love.  So in love!  I didn't know it was possible. What is it with age that a person, me at least, feels so much more?  We named this beautiful creature Tasha.  It fits her perfectly.  Actually my husband named her.  She was a stray so they told him. He bought her from the community shelter where they were having an adoption marathon at the local Petsmart.  It was, of course, a 'special'.  For $34 we got her, she was spayed, cleaned up and recent on all her shots.  PLUS she came with a free vet check up which I have already used. 

Back to Tasha.  Her personality is of course, young.  She's only eight months.  However, she seemed to bond immediately. She sort of knew that we would give her a home that she had always wanted. Well, that she has wanted for maybe eight months.  She was a stray and her left eye looked damaged. It was extremely red,  blood red and there was this sort of halo at the bottom.  At her check up, the vet confirmed it was a "blow" to the head or maybe a "scratch".  She is NOT potty trained, let me repeat that, she is NOT potty trianed, so that is a challenge.  (Ug!)  Yet she is worth all the challenges for sure. 

I think that in my life, I have found that the loss of a pet is about as painful as the loss of a human.






 It becomes more painful as I age.  I get the sense that Tasha is immensely grateful to us for rescuing her from her cage.  I get the sense that she  believes she is now in doggie heaven.  I think it's me who has struck it rich.  The fact that little Tasha and Lexy are waiting for me when I get home, are there for me when I wake and love me unconditionally? I think it's me who is experiencing a bit of heaven. 




"I look up and I see God
I look down and see my dog
Simple spelling G.O.D
Same words backwards D.O.G

They would stay with me all day
I'm the one who walks away
But both of them just wait for me
and dance at my return with glee

Both love me no matter what
Divine God and  canine mutt
I take it hard each time I fail
But God forgives, Dog wags his tail

God showed up  and made the dog
Dog reflects a part of God
I've seen love from both sides now
It's everywhere, amen, bow wow

I look up and I see God
I look down and see my dog
And in my human frailty
I can't match their love for me

Wendy Francisico

I Enjoy Being a Girl........The Fear

  Last night I had my hair done.  The more I looked into the mirror, the worse I felt about myself; and not just physically.  I'm sixty years old and still dealing with the juvinile battle of what beauty is and trying to be skinny. All we have really, here in the US, are hollywood people telling us how beauty is defined.  Now, to be honest, they have a point.  It's been said that facial beauty has a lot to do with facial symmetry.  That makes sense to me, but not so sure I totally believe it all.  And of course we know about body image and weight. 

However, I think it's time to redefine beauty, at least in my life.  I can't keep up.  Even Joan Rivers can't keep up no matter how hard she tries. She must know, as I think shes's an intelligent woman, that she lives behind a self inflicted mask.




I remember in my forties, it was then I began, yet again, to be militant with myself.  I realized that men actually did put beauty as a number one priority when searching for women.  By now, my kids were almost grown and all that I had left to deal with was me.   I noticed that I didn't like me very much.  I was overweight by quite a lot and lost inside of a body that wasn't serving me well.  I felt lost.  It wasn't just the beauty factor either.  It was much more complicated than that.  Lucky me though, when I am upset, I can't eat.  Although I had already been on regime to take care of myself, lose the weight and get healthy, I had some upsets in my life, beginning with losing my father,  ten years later my mother, and to top it all off, some major issues in my marrige of twenty five years. I lost my appetite for food.  No, I didn't get anorexic and skinny,  I just lost about sixy pounds over ten years and was at my goal weight. By now I was in my fifties and  weighed what I did in high school.  It actually felt pretty darn good. 

I made up for my 'large' years in my forties. It was fun buying most any kind of outfit and having it fit wonderfully.  But all things pass, and although I didn't gain all of the weight back, I did gain some.  And now, at sixty, I still want to be that tiny.  Yet, my thinking is far different in this stage of my life.  I'm not so sure I totally care enough to do a lot about it. My body is rebelling against the idea of working out; working out hard for an hour five times a week.  It's telling me it might do three times a week.....just maybe.








I think that I'm writing this because I'm wondering what life will be like for my granddaughter when she's older. 



She's this happy little eight year old, dancing to WII, jumping on the trampoline, hates having her hair combed and could care less about what she wears as long as it's comfortable.  Oh..Did I mention she's beautiful? Totally beautiful!  And no, I'm not saying that because she's my granddaughter. I know, however, that soon, she'll be made aware of what all the money makers want her to be aware of;  "If you don't buy OUR products", you may wind up looking like a goat, or a pig, or (gasp gasp)  an individual with a sense of ownership and pride of her own beauty!!!

Okay, I'm absolutely not saying that being overweight is just fine and beautiful.  Because it's really not.  Health is beautiful!  Weighing in a little over or under what some health professionals say is a healthy weight could be the best thing. As long as one is taking care of one's body.  At least that's my opinion.  Yet the most high profile people who set trends, they are stick thin and whether they are conscious of it or not, they promote being skinny. 











Another thing that the money powers that be define as beauty are fake breasts, (they don't move...they stay plastered to one spot on the chest), hair that is long and sort of curled back, thick lips, and of course a perfect body.  And don't even think of having a nose with a bump....


There are so many girls and women that have a messed up body image.  They look at themselves in the mirror and see a skinny person if they are fat, or a fat person if they are skinny. 







W


Who do we blame for introducing us to this obsession?  Some women blame men but I think that's a cop out.  Men actually have pressures to be a certain way too. Whether it's having money, or looking a certain way, men feel the pressure too. 








Maybe if we woke up and thought for ourselves that would take care of the outside pressure and lead the way to a brand new trend of acceptance.  Maybe if we thought about our talents and worked on bringing those out and using those to our fullest advantage, just maybe that would change this mega force that is focused on physical looks. 

I believe  Adele is one of those women who has done just that.  God bless you Adele!




My father always used to say, "You're the pretty one."  That was it.  I was beautiful.  Not intelligent.  Not talented.  Not a good singer.  I was the "pretty" one.  I was also a daddy's girl, I loved my daddy.  He was a very talented singer and actor.  He had a day job; he chose to be married and have a family rather than pursue his dream of acting and singing for a living. He did however, sing in a band, and act locally.  I remember when he would  be getting ready for a gig, He was in the bathroom shaving, doing voice exercises to prepare.  I'd sit on the lid of the toilet just watching him  He was my hero....and I was the pretty one.  hmmmmmmm Maybe that's why, at my age, I so love and relate to Lily Allen's song,    "The Fear".....................


The Fear"

I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don't care about clever I don't care about funny
I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they are trying to find them

And I'll take my clothes off and it will be shameless
'Cause everyone knows that's how you get famous.

I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror
I'm on the right track, yeah I'm on to a winner.

I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cause I'm being taking over by The Fear

Life's about film stars and less about mothers
It's all about fast cars and cussing each other
But it doesn't matter cause I'm packing plastic
And that's what makes my life so fucking fantastic

And I am a weapon of massive consumption
And it's not my fault it's how I'm programmed to function

Forget about guns and forget ammunition
'Cause I'm killing them all on my own little mission
Now I'm not a saint but I'm not a sinner
Now everything's cool as long as I'm getting thinner

Thanks Lily, this says it all.......when we gonna change girls???

The Little Girl Who Loses Things......

So, my son and I were having a very deep conversation about God, Jesus and confessing your sins.  I confess this: I should have kept my little cat indoors.  I shouldn't have let her outside.  But I did because I have a dog door for my dog and didn't close it; I didn't want my dog to pee in the house.  Thus, I lost my cat to probably a coyote. Or, I lost her to my laziness. This has all just come about in the last 24 hours so I will just vent.  I feel like &^%$!  I feel very negative right now...thinking things like Arizona is a crappy, wild place, unlike the soft midwest where all you have to think about is taking cover when tornado seasons happen.

I didn't have Berbie, our cat, but a a few weeks really, as she was a Christmas gift from my husband.  Now she is gone, I have lost her. Since I was a teenager there has been this theme of losing things in my life.  I had said the poem "The Little Girl Who Lost Things" by George MacDonald was MY poem.  My husband poo-pooed me about it and thought how juvenile the poem seemed.  I resented him for thinking that way.  Still, I think that the poem is about me.

There was a girl that lost things—
Nor only from her hand;
She lost, indeed—why, most things,
As if they had been sand!

She said, "But I must use them,
And can't look after all!
Indeed I did not lose them,
I only let them fall!"

That's how she lost her thimble,
It fell upon the floor:
Her eyes were very nimble
But she never saw it more.

And then she lost her dolly,
Her very doll of all!
That loss was far from jolly,
But worse things did befall.

She lost a ring of pearls
With a ruby in them set;
But the dearest girl of girls
Cried only, did not fret.

And then she lost her robin;
Ah, that was sorrow dire!
He hopped along, and—bob in—
Hopped bob into the fire!

And once she lost a kiss
As she came down the stair;
But that she did not miss,
For sure it was somewhere!

Just then she lost her heart too,
But did so well without it
She took that in good part too,
And said—not much about it.

But when she lost her health
She did feel rather poor,
Till in came loads of wealth
By quite another door!

And soon she lost a dimple
That was upon her cheek,
But that was very simple—
She was so thin and weak!

And then she lost her mother,
And thought that she was dead;
Sure there was not another
On whom to lay her head!

And then she lost her self—
But that she threw away;
And God upon his shelf
It carefully did lay.

And then she lost her sight,
And lost all hope to find it;
But a fountain-well of light
Came flashing up behind it.

At last she lost the world:
In a black and stormy wind
Away from her it whirled—
But the loss how could she mind?

For with it she lost her losses,
Her aching and her weeping,
Her pains and griefs and crosses,
And all things not worth keeping;

It left her with the lost things
Her heart had still been craving;
'Mong them she found—why, most things,
And all things worth the saving.

She found her precious mother,
Who not the least had died;
And then she found that other
Whose heart had hers inside.

And next she found the kiss
She lost upon the stair;
'Twas sweeter far, I guess,
For ripening in that air.

She found her self, all mended,
New-drest, and strong, and white;
She found her health, new-blended
With a radiant delight.

She found her little robin:
He made his wings go flap,
Came fluttering, and went bob in,
Went bob into her lap.

So, girls that cannot keep things,
Be patient till to-morrow;
And mind you don't beweep things
That are not worth such sorrow;

For the Father great of fathers,
Of mothers, girls, and boys,
In his arms his children gathers,
And sees to all their toys.

By George MacDonald, © 2004, All rights reserved.







I'm waiting for to-morrow.