So I know this guy who went on a long trip out of town to Thailand or somewhere. He gave his mother a key to his house so she could check on things while he was gone. He also gave her the garage door opener. The key was for the front door, but since he gave her the opener she misunderstood and thought the key was for the door between the garage and basement. She never actually went into the house while he was gone, just walked around it every few days to make sure the doors were still locked and no windows had been opened and she never used the key. Eventually she forgot she had it.
Flash forward to recently. The mother is fostering a dog. Granted, she didn't think it through real well because she'd agreed to keep her son's dogs for the weekend, but with plenty of crates and a kennel, it would be fine.
The son brings the dogs over (late, so there's no time to take them for a walk together). The son's female thinks she is the Grand High Imperial Poobah of Dogs and any dog who disagrees must die. The foster dog, a little pitbull, says, "you're not the boss of me!" In the course of the son's dog proving that she is, indeed, the boss of her, the son's dog gets a bite in her eye that requires a vet visit. (she's fine). Since the son had to leave on his appointed trip, the mom takes his dog to the vet.
She calls the son to let him know his dog is alright and suggests that they keep his dog at his house and she'll go there to take care of her. He keeps telling her that she has his key and she vaguely remembers putting one on her keychain but doesn't remember which one it is.
The son is still up inside the house packing for his trip when she gets there, but the garage door and basement door are open. She lets the dog inside and starts trying keys to see which one opens the door. Since every key turns the lock when it isn't in locked position, she locks the door. None of the keys work, so she goes back to the car to get her phone and call her husband to see if he has the key. He isn't answering. Just then, her son comes out to the garage, shutting the door behind him and locking them both out.
All of his stuff is inside the house. He doesn't have time to wait for a locksmith. The mom tries not to laugh but doesn't quite succeed. She thinks about it and starts to suggest that he break the door knob and she'll replace it that night and that's when the husband calls back. She gets as far as "maybe you can break..." when the phone rings and she wants to find out if there is a key somewhere before they do any breaking. The son, who is royally pissed off by now, hears "break" and breaks in his own door and the frame with it, pissing him off even more.
Once inside, he asks her why she locked the door in the first place. She explains that it was to figure out which key opened it. He then tells her that there is no key to that door and the key he gave her was for the front door. They look at each other a minute and she hands him her keychain, with the key to the front door on it.
He thinks the broken door is her fault. She disagrees. What do you think?
Monday, November 14, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Bear and His Emerging Role
I could just be imagining things, but I think that Bear has been acting protective over Aki. It's unexpected, since aside from their mutual barking hobby and the twisted mind games they play over treats and lap privileges, they don't really pay much attention to each other.
Aki, an 8 pound maltese, is fascinating to other dogs. They can't seem to figure out what he is. A puppy? A toy? a snack? wtf?
Shimmie, our foster dog, is no exception. Much to his discomfort, she stares at him constantly. On top of his normal distaste for other dogs, he's afraid of her, so he goes out of his way to avoid her attention. Yesterday as I was letting him back in from going outside, she started messing with him, trapping him between herself and the couch and moving in front of him every time he tried to get away, staring the whole time. That's when Bear came over and barked and nudged her. Twice. I'm not positive whether he wanted her attention in order to give Aki a break or if he was jealous that it wasn't focused on him, but he was clearly trying to get her away from Aki.
My son's dog, Bonzai, has been fascinated with Aki from the beginning. The first time he was here, he was the smaller of the two, and he spent the entire visit chasing him and trying to play. Exasperated, Aki finally jumped on the back of the couch, and Bonzai kept bouncing up and down unsuccessfully trying to reach him. A year later, Bonzai has stretched into a tall, lanky animal with greyhound-length legs. He is able to jump over the back of the couch without touching it. People ask what kind of dog he is and we have no idea. He looks nothing like his mother, who appeared to be part boxer. He's at that awkward dog age with the body of an adult and the mind of a puppy. He's driving my son nuts.
Today he was following Aki around, pushing him with his nose and trying to engage him in play like he does the other dogs. One nudge could send Aki flying so I told him to lay off, but he didn't listen. Then Bear walked over and interrupted, quietly barking and pushing Bonzai in the other direction. I'm pretty sure he was intentionally trying to distract him so Aki could get away. It was fascinating.
Bear's helpful in other ways, too. Any time I try to use a door knob or tie my shoes or do anything with my hands, he very gently puts his mouth on my hand. When I get home from work, he leads me to Aki's crate and puts his face first by the top latch and then by the lower one and then, when I've unhooked them, uses his nose to open the door. Yesterday I had Shimmie in a crate in the basement and he led me to the door and then ran down the stairs to help me let her out, too.
I can't figure out whether he thinks I need his help or if, like the other males in the family, thinks I am incapable of completing tasks like this without his supervision.
If he wasn't so hyper I'd train him to be one of those dogs that visits sick kids or lonely, elderly people. But I'd hate so see a kid trampled by Bear's enthusiasm.
Aki, an 8 pound maltese, is fascinating to other dogs. They can't seem to figure out what he is. A puppy? A toy? a snack? wtf?
Shimmie, our foster dog, is no exception. Much to his discomfort, she stares at him constantly. On top of his normal distaste for other dogs, he's afraid of her, so he goes out of his way to avoid her attention. Yesterday as I was letting him back in from going outside, she started messing with him, trapping him between herself and the couch and moving in front of him every time he tried to get away, staring the whole time. That's when Bear came over and barked and nudged her. Twice. I'm not positive whether he wanted her attention in order to give Aki a break or if he was jealous that it wasn't focused on him, but he was clearly trying to get her away from Aki.
My son's dog, Bonzai, has been fascinated with Aki from the beginning. The first time he was here, he was the smaller of the two, and he spent the entire visit chasing him and trying to play. Exasperated, Aki finally jumped on the back of the couch, and Bonzai kept bouncing up and down unsuccessfully trying to reach him. A year later, Bonzai has stretched into a tall, lanky animal with greyhound-length legs. He is able to jump over the back of the couch without touching it. People ask what kind of dog he is and we have no idea. He looks nothing like his mother, who appeared to be part boxer. He's at that awkward dog age with the body of an adult and the mind of a puppy. He's driving my son nuts.
Today he was following Aki around, pushing him with his nose and trying to engage him in play like he does the other dogs. One nudge could send Aki flying so I told him to lay off, but he didn't listen. Then Bear walked over and interrupted, quietly barking and pushing Bonzai in the other direction. I'm pretty sure he was intentionally trying to distract him so Aki could get away. It was fascinating.
Bear's helpful in other ways, too. Any time I try to use a door knob or tie my shoes or do anything with my hands, he very gently puts his mouth on my hand. When I get home from work, he leads me to Aki's crate and puts his face first by the top latch and then by the lower one and then, when I've unhooked them, uses his nose to open the door. Yesterday I had Shimmie in a crate in the basement and he led me to the door and then ran down the stairs to help me let her out, too.
I can't figure out whether he thinks I need his help or if, like the other males in the family, thinks I am incapable of completing tasks like this without his supervision.
If he wasn't so hyper I'd train him to be one of those dogs that visits sick kids or lonely, elderly people. But I'd hate so see a kid trampled by Bear's enthusiasm.
Shimmie Day 2
I feel like Marlin Perkins of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, except instead of studying animals in the wilds of Africa, I'm observing them in my house.
A full stomach and a good night's sleep made a world of difference. Shimmie woke up as a different dog.
The first thing she did was engage Bear in play. I watched closely for any signs that it was going to turn into a fight, but the tails were wagging and they kept stopping to re-set so it was all good. That seemed to tire her out.
We went to the office, Aki got on my lap and Bear went to his customary spot by the doorway. Shimmie tried to get on my lap as well and Aki growled at her. I just looked him and asked, "really???" She didn't react. Just went over to Bear and sat next to him.
I had to take her to the vet. She has some residual bleeding from being spayed. It turns out she's heavier than I thought...over 30 pounds! I've never seen a dog so happy to go to the vet. She was really excited to see them there. They obviously took good care of her.
Aki and Bear enjoy barking at certain things like squirrels, chipmunks, joggers, the fedex truck, and the ups truck. They give each other a heads up when one is approaching and then race to the windows to bark wildly. This startles Shimmie every time. She jumps up in a doggie karate stance and then looks confused when they attack the window and not her. The UPS truck actually had to make a delivery yesterday, which always sends Bear and Aki into a crazed bark fest. Shimmie joined in, giving one hoarse bark and then just stood at the window to watch. It's like she's trying to learn how to be a dog. or maybe she's just too cool for these shenanigans.
She's much better about letting Bear eat. I keep hearing we shouldn't do it like this, but we've always kept bowls filled with food so they can eat whenever they're hungry. This way they eat several small meals throughout the day, like we're supposed to do and they learn that food is available to them when they need it. Now when Bear eats, Shimmie runs to the kitchen to make sure there's still some left and then she leaves him alone.
They are pretty inseparable now. I found them on the couch, her lying down and him sitting behind her, watching out the window. The big test came when I took them out before I left for work. Bear gets REALLY excited when he sees a leash. He leaps up in the air, about my shoulder height, with his front and back legs about even. He comes down hard. Yesterday, he landed on Shimmie. She didn't even growl. And then he continued to trample her. All she did was try to get out of his way. Even Aki isn't that tolerant.
She was kind of stand-offish with me most of the day. She seemed to really like my husband, but I had to call her to me and then she'd only let me pet her head a couple of times before she moved away. That changed after the bath.
I gave her a bath and I have a feeling it was her first. She didn't protest at all when I picked her up or put her in the tub. She just looked around in that cooperative way she has, like, "hmmmm. nice box you have here." Then I turned the water on and she panicked. She seemed to feel that getting wet was not part of the deal. I gave her treats and encouragement, though, and we got through it quickly. She was having none of the blow dryer, however.
I don't know whether the bath proved something to her or if she was just cold, but afterward she jumped on the couch to cuddle with me. She prefers to be on my right. Bear found his spot on the left. Aki wanted in on the action but didn't want to be too close to her teeth so he ended up on the back of the couch, behind my head.
I really love dogs and Shimmie is easy to love.
A full stomach and a good night's sleep made a world of difference. Shimmie woke up as a different dog.
The first thing she did was engage Bear in play. I watched closely for any signs that it was going to turn into a fight, but the tails were wagging and they kept stopping to re-set so it was all good. That seemed to tire her out.
We went to the office, Aki got on my lap and Bear went to his customary spot by the doorway. Shimmie tried to get on my lap as well and Aki growled at her. I just looked him and asked, "really???" She didn't react. Just went over to Bear and sat next to him.
I had to take her to the vet. She has some residual bleeding from being spayed. It turns out she's heavier than I thought...over 30 pounds! I've never seen a dog so happy to go to the vet. She was really excited to see them there. They obviously took good care of her.
Aki and Bear enjoy barking at certain things like squirrels, chipmunks, joggers, the fedex truck, and the ups truck. They give each other a heads up when one is approaching and then race to the windows to bark wildly. This startles Shimmie every time. She jumps up in a doggie karate stance and then looks confused when they attack the window and not her. The UPS truck actually had to make a delivery yesterday, which always sends Bear and Aki into a crazed bark fest. Shimmie joined in, giving one hoarse bark and then just stood at the window to watch. It's like she's trying to learn how to be a dog. or maybe she's just too cool for these shenanigans.
She's much better about letting Bear eat. I keep hearing we shouldn't do it like this, but we've always kept bowls filled with food so they can eat whenever they're hungry. This way they eat several small meals throughout the day, like we're supposed to do and they learn that food is available to them when they need it. Now when Bear eats, Shimmie runs to the kitchen to make sure there's still some left and then she leaves him alone.
They are pretty inseparable now. I found them on the couch, her lying down and him sitting behind her, watching out the window. The big test came when I took them out before I left for work. Bear gets REALLY excited when he sees a leash. He leaps up in the air, about my shoulder height, with his front and back legs about even. He comes down hard. Yesterday, he landed on Shimmie. She didn't even growl. And then he continued to trample her. All she did was try to get out of his way. Even Aki isn't that tolerant.
She was kind of stand-offish with me most of the day. She seemed to really like my husband, but I had to call her to me and then she'd only let me pet her head a couple of times before she moved away. That changed after the bath.
I gave her a bath and I have a feeling it was her first. She didn't protest at all when I picked her up or put her in the tub. She just looked around in that cooperative way she has, like, "hmmmm. nice box you have here." Then I turned the water on and she panicked. She seemed to feel that getting wet was not part of the deal. I gave her treats and encouragement, though, and we got through it quickly. She was having none of the blow dryer, however.
I don't know whether the bath proved something to her or if she was just cold, but afterward she jumped on the couch to cuddle with me. She prefers to be on my right. Bear found his spot on the left. Aki wanted in on the action but didn't want to be too close to her teeth so he ended up on the back of the couch, behind my head.
I really love dogs and Shimmie is easy to love.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
New (temporary) addition to the family
She's somewhere between 12 and 18 months and she's already had at least two litters. She just weaned the last one, which produced 9 puppies, 8 of which survived. She was set to be euthanized even though she was pregnant and at the last minute a rescue group rescued her. She spent some time in a temporary foster home and then went to the vet and had nowhere to go after that. So she came to me to foster until they find her a permanent home.
Her name is Shimmie and she's a tiny thing. She might be 20 pounds at full weight. Right now she's skin and bones. Taking care of her babies took everything she had.
She has a haunted look about her. Do mother dogs get sad when their pups are taken away? I know they grieve when their humans or other dogs in the house leave or pass away. Do they bond with their babies? Or are they relieved when they're gone?
Shimmie is the "P" word. She's a breed that strikes fear into the hearts of many and is apparently scarier to the Ohio state legislatures then a yard full of tigers. She's a pitbull, so small that they call her a pocket pittie.
Pitbulls came from English bulldogs, who were bred to fight bulls in a horrible "sport" called bull-baiting. The bulldogs were bred with terriers to give them other qualities, including a respect for humans so deep that they wouldn't turn on their owners when being pulled away from the fight. When bull-baiting was outlawed, their douchebag humans started fighting them with each other. They were the most popular breed in the 1920's and 30's and were known as "nanny dogs" because they were so protective of children. Did you know that Petey from "Our Gang" was a pitbull?
Her first day was interesting.
Danny from the rescue brought her over. She got out of the car and greeted us enthusiastically as if we were old friends. The plan was to have her meet Bear outside and then take them for a long walk together, but it started raining. They met in the house and were less than enamored of each other. Rain or not, we had to walk them and dissipate some of that energy.
Things were calmer when we got back, but Bear and Aki needed reassurance that they weren't being replaced in our hearts or laps.
Two things about pitbulls that make them a little scary - they have sharp teeth and a really nasty growl. Bear plays rough with my son's Bonzai. They sound like someone is being murdered and it doesn't alarm us at all. But when a strange pitbull starts growling? It makes me a little nervous. I don't know whether they are playing or having a power struggle, but we stopped them right away each time.
She doesn't like being sniffed. Today I wonder if she was in pain. She was half on my lap and Aki tried to sniff her from behind and she snarled and lunged at him. I caught her but she scared the hell out of him. He ran behind my chair and started yelping, making me think she bit him. I put him on my lap and he was so upset that he started hyperventillating. He was ok, just scared. It was kind of funny once I knew he wasn't hurt. And it's not unusual. Every dog wants to eat Aki at first. He either looks delicious or obnoxious. or both.
She's protective of food. Every time she heard Bear eating in the kitchen she'd run over and chase him out. I had to keep her barricaded so he could eat.
One time after she chased him out of the kitchen, he came to sit by us. She walked over as well and started giving him the stink eye. He didn't move, but apparently he gave her that look I know all so well and she lunged at him. He was chastened to say the least. Later, he barked at her, inviting her to play (or so it looked to me). She walked up to him, stuck her face right by his, and started growling until he walked away. It was exactly like a street punk getting in someone's face, yelling "Yea? You want a piece of this? Let's see what you got!"
Later, we were all hanging out in our usual spots - my husband on his couch and me on mine with Bear on my lap and Aki on the armrest next to me. Shimmie settled on the blanket my husband was using, in between his legs. She looked comfortable and content and was snoring in no time. I was struck by how this dog could be in a strange house with people and dogs she'd never met and a sad and terrible past but could take full pleasure in the moment. There was a life lesson there.
Her name is Shimmie and she's a tiny thing. She might be 20 pounds at full weight. Right now she's skin and bones. Taking care of her babies took everything she had.
She has a haunted look about her. Do mother dogs get sad when their pups are taken away? I know they grieve when their humans or other dogs in the house leave or pass away. Do they bond with their babies? Or are they relieved when they're gone?
Shimmie is the "P" word. She's a breed that strikes fear into the hearts of many and is apparently scarier to the Ohio state legislatures then a yard full of tigers. She's a pitbull, so small that they call her a pocket pittie.
Pitbulls came from English bulldogs, who were bred to fight bulls in a horrible "sport" called bull-baiting. The bulldogs were bred with terriers to give them other qualities, including a respect for humans so deep that they wouldn't turn on their owners when being pulled away from the fight. When bull-baiting was outlawed, their douchebag humans started fighting them with each other. They were the most popular breed in the 1920's and 30's and were known as "nanny dogs" because they were so protective of children. Did you know that Petey from "Our Gang" was a pitbull?
Her first day was interesting.
Danny from the rescue brought her over. She got out of the car and greeted us enthusiastically as if we were old friends. The plan was to have her meet Bear outside and then take them for a long walk together, but it started raining. They met in the house and were less than enamored of each other. Rain or not, we had to walk them and dissipate some of that energy.
Things were calmer when we got back, but Bear and Aki needed reassurance that they weren't being replaced in our hearts or laps.
Two things about pitbulls that make them a little scary - they have sharp teeth and a really nasty growl. Bear plays rough with my son's Bonzai. They sound like someone is being murdered and it doesn't alarm us at all. But when a strange pitbull starts growling? It makes me a little nervous. I don't know whether they are playing or having a power struggle, but we stopped them right away each time.
She doesn't like being sniffed. Today I wonder if she was in pain. She was half on my lap and Aki tried to sniff her from behind and she snarled and lunged at him. I caught her but she scared the hell out of him. He ran behind my chair and started yelping, making me think she bit him. I put him on my lap and he was so upset that he started hyperventillating. He was ok, just scared. It was kind of funny once I knew he wasn't hurt. And it's not unusual. Every dog wants to eat Aki at first. He either looks delicious or obnoxious. or both.
She's protective of food. Every time she heard Bear eating in the kitchen she'd run over and chase him out. I had to keep her barricaded so he could eat.
One time after she chased him out of the kitchen, he came to sit by us. She walked over as well and started giving him the stink eye. He didn't move, but apparently he gave her that look I know all so well and she lunged at him. He was chastened to say the least. Later, he barked at her, inviting her to play (or so it looked to me). She walked up to him, stuck her face right by his, and started growling until he walked away. It was exactly like a street punk getting in someone's face, yelling "Yea? You want a piece of this? Let's see what you got!"
Later, we were all hanging out in our usual spots - my husband on his couch and me on mine with Bear on my lap and Aki on the armrest next to me. Shimmie settled on the blanket my husband was using, in between his legs. She looked comfortable and content and was snoring in no time. I was struck by how this dog could be in a strange house with people and dogs she'd never met and a sad and terrible past but could take full pleasure in the moment. There was a life lesson there.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
dog sitting
My son went out of town for the weekend and I'm watching his dogs, Josie and Bonzai. Observing their personalities and the dynamics between the 4 dogs is interesting.
Josie is a 3 year-old beagle mix that my son got at a rescue shelter. She has to be the most well-mannered dog I've ever seen. My Bear loves fruit and any time I make a smoothie, he's at my side, waiting for his share of strawberries and bananas. Josie was near us on the floor, just looking at us. She didn't beg, just watched us with interest. I offered her a banana, which she sniffed, took delicately in her teeth, and dropped on the floor next to her as if to say, "thanks. I don't really like these but it was nice of you to offer."
Josie is a mopey animal. They should call her Eyeore. She likes to sit close to you on the floor or couch and press hard against you. She also has a tendency to sigh, with a long, indrawn breath through her nose and then a loud exhale through her mouth. She sounds like my mother just before she'd raise her eyes to the sky and say, "God give me patience!" Josie pretty much uses it in the same context. My son tells me that if he and his girlfriend are talking too long at night when Josie wants to sleep, she'll sigh at them.
She likes to sleep with her legs rigid, sticking stiffly straight out, eyes half closed. The first time she spent the night I thought she died. I was freaking out wondering how I was going to break it to my son that his dog passed away in my care. Luckily, she moved.
Bonzai isn't a year old yet but he's the tallest of the group. His mother was part boxer but we don't see any boxer in him. He's brindle and white and built like a greyhound but with a bigger head. He likes to wrap himself around your back and lick the back of your neck. When he plays he makes sounds like a woman yelling. Yesterday I ran out of the shower thinking there was someone in my house. In retrospect, wet and naked probably isn't the best way to confront an intruder.
He's very submissive, which is just as hard to deal with as a dominant dog. Yesterday he slipped past me out the door. I called his name and he dropped to the ground and showed me his stomach. He got up, I grabbed for his collar, and he dropped again. I let go, he took a step towards me, I reached for him and down he went again. It took us four tries to go the 3 feet back into the house. Meanwhile, the other dogs were watching through the window. I think they were laughing.
The three big dogs really like each other. Aki, the maltese, hates them all. He spends most of his time in my lap, trying not to get trampled or knocked off of the couch by wagging tails. Bonzai chases him around like he's a toy.
The coolest thing about dogs is how they want to be with us all the time. (It's also the most annoying thing about them). I love watching tv with a dog on my lap, another by my side and still another next to us. Night time when everyone is relaxed and sleepy is the best. What other creature loves us that much?
Josie is a 3 year-old beagle mix that my son got at a rescue shelter. She has to be the most well-mannered dog I've ever seen. My Bear loves fruit and any time I make a smoothie, he's at my side, waiting for his share of strawberries and bananas. Josie was near us on the floor, just looking at us. She didn't beg, just watched us with interest. I offered her a banana, which she sniffed, took delicately in her teeth, and dropped on the floor next to her as if to say, "thanks. I don't really like these but it was nice of you to offer."
Josie is a mopey animal. They should call her Eyeore. She likes to sit close to you on the floor or couch and press hard against you. She also has a tendency to sigh, with a long, indrawn breath through her nose and then a loud exhale through her mouth. She sounds like my mother just before she'd raise her eyes to the sky and say, "God give me patience!" Josie pretty much uses it in the same context. My son tells me that if he and his girlfriend are talking too long at night when Josie wants to sleep, she'll sigh at them.
She likes to sleep with her legs rigid, sticking stiffly straight out, eyes half closed. The first time she spent the night I thought she died. I was freaking out wondering how I was going to break it to my son that his dog passed away in my care. Luckily, she moved.
Bonzai isn't a year old yet but he's the tallest of the group. His mother was part boxer but we don't see any boxer in him. He's brindle and white and built like a greyhound but with a bigger head. He likes to wrap himself around your back and lick the back of your neck. When he plays he makes sounds like a woman yelling. Yesterday I ran out of the shower thinking there was someone in my house. In retrospect, wet and naked probably isn't the best way to confront an intruder.
He's very submissive, which is just as hard to deal with as a dominant dog. Yesterday he slipped past me out the door. I called his name and he dropped to the ground and showed me his stomach. He got up, I grabbed for his collar, and he dropped again. I let go, he took a step towards me, I reached for him and down he went again. It took us four tries to go the 3 feet back into the house. Meanwhile, the other dogs were watching through the window. I think they were laughing.
The three big dogs really like each other. Aki, the maltese, hates them all. He spends most of his time in my lap, trying not to get trampled or knocked off of the couch by wagging tails. Bonzai chases him around like he's a toy.
The coolest thing about dogs is how they want to be with us all the time. (It's also the most annoying thing about them). I love watching tv with a dog on my lap, another by my side and still another next to us. Night time when everyone is relaxed and sleepy is the best. What other creature loves us that much?
Friday, September 9, 2011
My Dogs Are My Kids part 1, Ode to Lucky
I'm reading a book called, "30 Days to a Well Mannered Dog" by Tamar Geller. It's an interesting book about canine and human behavior, although I think 30 days is kind of ambitious unless you are an expert dog-trainer or have nothing else to do for a month or have smarter dogs than mine. Anyway, she says that research shows dogs have the emotional maturity and reasoning skills of a human toddler. That's so funny, because my husband and I have always said that Bear acts a lot like our youngest grandson.
When you live with a dog you really get to see its personality. We had a rescued greyhound that was just like a teenager; sulky, demanding, and moody.
My husband and I had been talking about getting a watchdog and then I read an article in Reader's Digest about the dog racing industry that turned my stomach. Yes, I'm a sucker for dogs. We decided to kill two birds with one stone and rescue a retired racer.
When I told the foster about our reasons for wanting a dog, she gave me a look and told me not to expect too much watching from a greyhound. As it turns out, they almost never bark, something I appreciate much more now that I have a small, yappy dog and a big dog with a loud, booming bark.
As a breed, greyhounds are extremely intelligent and retired racers are amazingly forgiving to humans for the misery they've had to endure. They are also highly anxious and sensitive, both emotionally and physically. Some day, when I don't travel as much, I'd like another one.
We named ours Lucky because we were conceited enough to believe he was lucky to find a home with us.
When you get a retired racer, they are like a clean slate. They know nothing about living in a human home and can't even do basic dog things. Keep in mind most rescues are at least 2 years old and more successful racers can be as old as 3 or 4 before they are no longer considered useful, so these are not young dogs. It's really dismaying to take one home and realize they don't know even how to eat solid food. The dogs are kept muzzled most of the time and are fed a kind of gruel that they can slurp up without opening their mouths enough to bite. We had to soak his food in water for weeks before he learned how to chew.
When we first got him, I took him to my parents' house so they could meet him. My dad was eating a sandwhich when we arrived. He draped a slice of lunch meat over the dog's muzzle and Lucky just stood there, drooling, not realizing he could eat it.
Everything scared him at first: the t.v., the blow-dryer, the doorbell. He was very tall; I could pet his head without bending over. Most of his height was legs and he looked like he was on stilts. When someone would come to the door, including when my husband came home from work, he'd run and hide behind the dining room table. You could see his back over the table and his legs under it, but since he had his head hanging underneath and couldn't see us, he thought he was invisible to us as well. Some watch dog.
He didn't know how to navigate steps. I pulled my back out in the first few days because I was trying to take him to the basement with me and he fell through the railing. I had to hold 80 pounds of dangling, squirming weight with one arm while I held on to the railing and eased us down far enough that it was safe to let him drop. He never really did get the hang of stairs. He'd walk his front legs down as far as he could and then jump the rest of the way. In the basement that meant running into the wall each time but he seemed satisfied enough with the results.
The rescue warned us that greyhounds have blood vessels close to their very thin skin so they are very sensitive to hot and cold. I found out just how sensitive the first time I gave him a bath. I used warm, not hot, water. As I was rinsing the soap off of him, he started getting a glazed look in his eyes. Then his head started wobbling a bit and the next thing I knew, he'd fainted. I had to spray him with cold water to revive him. From then on I'd use water just warm enough to prevent my fingers from going numb and sometimes he'd get that look and I'd have to switch to cold water to bring him out of it.
Watching him after he took a bath was hilarious. Like many dogs, he'd get super excited when he got out of the tub and would run around the house shaking off the water. He wasn't very good at shaking, though. He'd start his shake in the front and by the time the shake got to his butt, his back legs would leave the floor and flail along with the rest of him. He looked brain damaged.
I never had to train this dog. He just picked up words from listening to me talk to him. "Sit" wasn't something we worked on because with their long legs and heavy fronts compared to their behinds, greyhounds aren't built to sit very well. It was interesting to learn about some of our own habits just by watching him respond to them. At night when we'd turn off the t.v., he'd run to the back door, knowing it was time to go out before bed.
Everyone who has ever lived with me knows that I do not get woken up well. Before I'm fully awake I'm kind of mean. Lucky learned this about me quickly. If he had to go outside at night, he'd whisper/whine in my husband's ear and then walk quietly out of the bedroom. Once he got to the hallway, though, he'd usually wake me up anyway from the sound of his toenails clicking on the hard wood while he did his happy dance. But he really did try to be considerate and let me sleep.
Once he felt comfortable, he was a very affectionate dog. He'd stand over my husband's legs while he sat in a chair, leaning the top of his head on my husband's chest. He seemed to think he was sitting on daddy's lap. He understood who "mommy", "daddy", and "Jason" were. He also knew what stuff belonged to whom.
Once time my husband decided to tease the dog by sitting Jason on his lap and patting him and saying "good, Jason, good Jason." While at the time it was cute and funny to watch the dog whine in distress and try to nudge Jason off of his dad's lap, Lucky got his revenge later on. That night, he found Jason's favorite book and tore out individual pages and scattered them around the living room. It took about 25 or so pages before he'd spent his anger.
He did the same to me. If I did something to upset him, like leave the house without him, I'd come home to find (unused) tampons scattered all over the living room. Each would have just a couple of puncture marks, so I knew he'd spent his evening walking from the master bath to the living room with just one at a time, biting down on it just for added benefit.
He had some major anxiety issues. Any time he was confronted with a new situation or change to his routine, he'd shed. And I don't mean a few hairs would fall off of his body. Years ago there was a commercial for a vacuum cleaner that showed a cat standing on a carpet and then you'd see a kind of explosion of hair and then a naked cat standing in the middle of a hair pile. With Lucky, it was kind of like that.
He'd also chew at his back until he had a huge, oozing sore, which was gross and scary at the same time. He'd lick off any ointment we'd put on it and we couldn't bandage it. I forget now how we solved the problem. He probably just found another way to work off his neurosis.
Many racers are trained on live "bait", aka other small animals. A rabbit could run right under Lucky's nose without him reacting in any way, but if he saw a cat or small, fluffy dog watch out. One year we took a trip to Okinawa and left Lucky and our other two dogs with some customers who operated an unofficial kennel. They would have 20 or more dogs staying loose at their house (which was amazingly clean with no dog odor. I wish I knew how they did it). I brought a crate to keep him away from any small, fluffy dogs that might be there, but when I arrived, I saw a cat walking around. As it turned out, they had five.
"Ummm, I didn't know you had cats," I said.
"The cats will be fine. They know how to stay away from the dogs," they answered.
Unfortunately, this was not the case. One day while they were taking Lucky out, one of the cats decided to come out and watch. Lucky snatched it and reportedly shook it in an incredibly vicious manner, killing it. We had two other dogs there at the time as well, a pair of rott-shepherd mixes who were big but still not even a year old yet. The female saw the murder and apparently thought, "so that's what those things are for!" and killed another one. A third ran away, traumatized by the death of the other two.
I found all of this out when I called home to see how things were going. Luckily, the sitters had my parents' number because they were going to take them all to the pound if no one picked them up. While I understood that they were upset by the loss of their pets, I was a bit affronted by this because it wasn't like I could just leave Japan to fix the problem.
I still find it unfair that they blamed me for this situation. In my eyes, they accepted responsibility for the care of their own and other people's animals for compensation and should have taken into account that dogs and cats are natural enemies.
Of course, when I point this out to them, I was told that it is a learned behavior for dogs to want to kill cats.
I disagree.
Every dog I have ever had, including those I've raised from puppyhood, have wanted to kick some serious cat ass. And I have never once grabbed a cat by the throat, throttled it in front of my dog, and said, "Watch this! Kill! Maim! Destroy!"
When you adopt a racer, the rescue checks to make sure you have a fenced yard. Greyhounds don't spend a lot of time running; mostly they spend their day sleeping. The problem is that if they do get loose and run, say to chase a squirrel or something, they go so fast and so far that by the time they stop, they are lost. Lucky got loose a couple of times. We'd find him when he finally got hungry and tried to go into someone's house. When we'd get him home, he'd act pissed at us for a couple of days, presumably for not finding him faster.
At one point he started messing in the house while we were gone so we put him in a crate. Unfortunately, racing dogs aren't let out of their sleeping areas when they have to eliminate so it didn't bother him to lay in his own excrement.
All these behaviors came to a head when we moved. The private school my son was attending was less than nurturing and the public school in the area was out of the question, so I started house-shopping. I spent months looking at houses in the school district we wanted and probably looked at 30 or more. Compromises needed to be made. My husband didn't get his garage and Lucky didn't get his fenced yard. And since we'd just poured all of our disposable income into buying the house, we didn't have extra money to put a fence around over an acre of property.
Lucky did not take well to his new home. He started having diarrhea every time we left the house. It got to the point where he'd hear the car and just get in the bathtub. We couldn't tie him outside because he knew how to slip out of his halter, plus he couldn't take the heat or the cold and Cincinnati has only about two weeks of that perfect spring and autumn weather.
The only back door to the house went through the white-carpeted living room, so I'd take the dogs out through the front. Lucky ran past me more than once and nearly into the traffic on the busy road in front. I was frustrated and worried for his safety and made a decision I regret to this day. We decided to find him a new home.
I found someone who worked for the vet who had a small farm and had rescued several greyhounds. It seemed like the perfect solution, until a week later when we got a call to pick him up at the vet where he was being sewn up after a fight with the other dogs.
I called the rescue where we got him and explained the problems and that we couldn't keep him any longer. They were less than sympathetic. Basically they told us we shouldn't have moved, which was pretty unreasonable of them but now I wish we'd tried longer. Where was the Dog Whisperer when we needed him?
I'll never forget the day we gave him up. We agreed to meet the volunteer in a parking lot. Lucky was so excited to be going bye-bye. He did his happy dance all over the place. He got out of the van and happily sniffed around the parking lot. Then he saw the man come up to us and his tail immediately went between his legs and his head drooped. He knew.
I cried all the way home and I'm crying as I write this. He was around 2 when we got him, he lived at our old house for at least 3 or 4 years and it's been 13 years since we moved. Greyhounds live a long time, but I'm pretty sure he's passed on by now.
I hope some day I see him at that rainbow bridge so I can tell him I'm sorry.
When you live with a dog you really get to see its personality. We had a rescued greyhound that was just like a teenager; sulky, demanding, and moody.
My husband and I had been talking about getting a watchdog and then I read an article in Reader's Digest about the dog racing industry that turned my stomach. Yes, I'm a sucker for dogs. We decided to kill two birds with one stone and rescue a retired racer.
When I told the foster about our reasons for wanting a dog, she gave me a look and told me not to expect too much watching from a greyhound. As it turns out, they almost never bark, something I appreciate much more now that I have a small, yappy dog and a big dog with a loud, booming bark.
As a breed, greyhounds are extremely intelligent and retired racers are amazingly forgiving to humans for the misery they've had to endure. They are also highly anxious and sensitive, both emotionally and physically. Some day, when I don't travel as much, I'd like another one.
We named ours Lucky because we were conceited enough to believe he was lucky to find a home with us.
When you get a retired racer, they are like a clean slate. They know nothing about living in a human home and can't even do basic dog things. Keep in mind most rescues are at least 2 years old and more successful racers can be as old as 3 or 4 before they are no longer considered useful, so these are not young dogs. It's really dismaying to take one home and realize they don't know even how to eat solid food. The dogs are kept muzzled most of the time and are fed a kind of gruel that they can slurp up without opening their mouths enough to bite. We had to soak his food in water for weeks before he learned how to chew.
When we first got him, I took him to my parents' house so they could meet him. My dad was eating a sandwhich when we arrived. He draped a slice of lunch meat over the dog's muzzle and Lucky just stood there, drooling, not realizing he could eat it.
Everything scared him at first: the t.v., the blow-dryer, the doorbell. He was very tall; I could pet his head without bending over. Most of his height was legs and he looked like he was on stilts. When someone would come to the door, including when my husband came home from work, he'd run and hide behind the dining room table. You could see his back over the table and his legs under it, but since he had his head hanging underneath and couldn't see us, he thought he was invisible to us as well. Some watch dog.
He didn't know how to navigate steps. I pulled my back out in the first few days because I was trying to take him to the basement with me and he fell through the railing. I had to hold 80 pounds of dangling, squirming weight with one arm while I held on to the railing and eased us down far enough that it was safe to let him drop. He never really did get the hang of stairs. He'd walk his front legs down as far as he could and then jump the rest of the way. In the basement that meant running into the wall each time but he seemed satisfied enough with the results.
The rescue warned us that greyhounds have blood vessels close to their very thin skin so they are very sensitive to hot and cold. I found out just how sensitive the first time I gave him a bath. I used warm, not hot, water. As I was rinsing the soap off of him, he started getting a glazed look in his eyes. Then his head started wobbling a bit and the next thing I knew, he'd fainted. I had to spray him with cold water to revive him. From then on I'd use water just warm enough to prevent my fingers from going numb and sometimes he'd get that look and I'd have to switch to cold water to bring him out of it.
Watching him after he took a bath was hilarious. Like many dogs, he'd get super excited when he got out of the tub and would run around the house shaking off the water. He wasn't very good at shaking, though. He'd start his shake in the front and by the time the shake got to his butt, his back legs would leave the floor and flail along with the rest of him. He looked brain damaged.
I never had to train this dog. He just picked up words from listening to me talk to him. "Sit" wasn't something we worked on because with their long legs and heavy fronts compared to their behinds, greyhounds aren't built to sit very well. It was interesting to learn about some of our own habits just by watching him respond to them. At night when we'd turn off the t.v., he'd run to the back door, knowing it was time to go out before bed.
Everyone who has ever lived with me knows that I do not get woken up well. Before I'm fully awake I'm kind of mean. Lucky learned this about me quickly. If he had to go outside at night, he'd whisper/whine in my husband's ear and then walk quietly out of the bedroom. Once he got to the hallway, though, he'd usually wake me up anyway from the sound of his toenails clicking on the hard wood while he did his happy dance. But he really did try to be considerate and let me sleep.
Once he felt comfortable, he was a very affectionate dog. He'd stand over my husband's legs while he sat in a chair, leaning the top of his head on my husband's chest. He seemed to think he was sitting on daddy's lap. He understood who "mommy", "daddy", and "Jason" were. He also knew what stuff belonged to whom.
Once time my husband decided to tease the dog by sitting Jason on his lap and patting him and saying "good, Jason, good Jason." While at the time it was cute and funny to watch the dog whine in distress and try to nudge Jason off of his dad's lap, Lucky got his revenge later on. That night, he found Jason's favorite book and tore out individual pages and scattered them around the living room. It took about 25 or so pages before he'd spent his anger.
He did the same to me. If I did something to upset him, like leave the house without him, I'd come home to find (unused) tampons scattered all over the living room. Each would have just a couple of puncture marks, so I knew he'd spent his evening walking from the master bath to the living room with just one at a time, biting down on it just for added benefit.
He had some major anxiety issues. Any time he was confronted with a new situation or change to his routine, he'd shed. And I don't mean a few hairs would fall off of his body. Years ago there was a commercial for a vacuum cleaner that showed a cat standing on a carpet and then you'd see a kind of explosion of hair and then a naked cat standing in the middle of a hair pile. With Lucky, it was kind of like that.
He'd also chew at his back until he had a huge, oozing sore, which was gross and scary at the same time. He'd lick off any ointment we'd put on it and we couldn't bandage it. I forget now how we solved the problem. He probably just found another way to work off his neurosis.
Many racers are trained on live "bait", aka other small animals. A rabbit could run right under Lucky's nose without him reacting in any way, but if he saw a cat or small, fluffy dog watch out. One year we took a trip to Okinawa and left Lucky and our other two dogs with some customers who operated an unofficial kennel. They would have 20 or more dogs staying loose at their house (which was amazingly clean with no dog odor. I wish I knew how they did it). I brought a crate to keep him away from any small, fluffy dogs that might be there, but when I arrived, I saw a cat walking around. As it turned out, they had five.
"Ummm, I didn't know you had cats," I said.
"The cats will be fine. They know how to stay away from the dogs," they answered.
Unfortunately, this was not the case. One day while they were taking Lucky out, one of the cats decided to come out and watch. Lucky snatched it and reportedly shook it in an incredibly vicious manner, killing it. We had two other dogs there at the time as well, a pair of rott-shepherd mixes who were big but still not even a year old yet. The female saw the murder and apparently thought, "so that's what those things are for!" and killed another one. A third ran away, traumatized by the death of the other two.
I found all of this out when I called home to see how things were going. Luckily, the sitters had my parents' number because they were going to take them all to the pound if no one picked them up. While I understood that they were upset by the loss of their pets, I was a bit affronted by this because it wasn't like I could just leave Japan to fix the problem.
I still find it unfair that they blamed me for this situation. In my eyes, they accepted responsibility for the care of their own and other people's animals for compensation and should have taken into account that dogs and cats are natural enemies.
Of course, when I point this out to them, I was told that it is a learned behavior for dogs to want to kill cats.
I disagree.
Every dog I have ever had, including those I've raised from puppyhood, have wanted to kick some serious cat ass. And I have never once grabbed a cat by the throat, throttled it in front of my dog, and said, "Watch this! Kill! Maim! Destroy!"
When you adopt a racer, the rescue checks to make sure you have a fenced yard. Greyhounds don't spend a lot of time running; mostly they spend their day sleeping. The problem is that if they do get loose and run, say to chase a squirrel or something, they go so fast and so far that by the time they stop, they are lost. Lucky got loose a couple of times. We'd find him when he finally got hungry and tried to go into someone's house. When we'd get him home, he'd act pissed at us for a couple of days, presumably for not finding him faster.
At one point he started messing in the house while we were gone so we put him in a crate. Unfortunately, racing dogs aren't let out of their sleeping areas when they have to eliminate so it didn't bother him to lay in his own excrement.
All these behaviors came to a head when we moved. The private school my son was attending was less than nurturing and the public school in the area was out of the question, so I started house-shopping. I spent months looking at houses in the school district we wanted and probably looked at 30 or more. Compromises needed to be made. My husband didn't get his garage and Lucky didn't get his fenced yard. And since we'd just poured all of our disposable income into buying the house, we didn't have extra money to put a fence around over an acre of property.
Lucky did not take well to his new home. He started having diarrhea every time we left the house. It got to the point where he'd hear the car and just get in the bathtub. We couldn't tie him outside because he knew how to slip out of his halter, plus he couldn't take the heat or the cold and Cincinnati has only about two weeks of that perfect spring and autumn weather.
The only back door to the house went through the white-carpeted living room, so I'd take the dogs out through the front. Lucky ran past me more than once and nearly into the traffic on the busy road in front. I was frustrated and worried for his safety and made a decision I regret to this day. We decided to find him a new home.
I found someone who worked for the vet who had a small farm and had rescued several greyhounds. It seemed like the perfect solution, until a week later when we got a call to pick him up at the vet where he was being sewn up after a fight with the other dogs.
I called the rescue where we got him and explained the problems and that we couldn't keep him any longer. They were less than sympathetic. Basically they told us we shouldn't have moved, which was pretty unreasonable of them but now I wish we'd tried longer. Where was the Dog Whisperer when we needed him?
I'll never forget the day we gave him up. We agreed to meet the volunteer in a parking lot. Lucky was so excited to be going bye-bye. He did his happy dance all over the place. He got out of the van and happily sniffed around the parking lot. Then he saw the man come up to us and his tail immediately went between his legs and his head drooped. He knew.
I cried all the way home and I'm crying as I write this. He was around 2 when we got him, he lived at our old house for at least 3 or 4 years and it's been 13 years since we moved. Greyhounds live a long time, but I'm pretty sure he's passed on by now.
I hope some day I see him at that rainbow bridge so I can tell him I'm sorry.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
sometimes I just need to bitch
There are some nights when people annoy me so much that I can't sleep from the unsatisfied urge to slap them upside the head.
For example, I had a woman bring her two children to the dojo. The little girl really wants to do karate, but that doesn't seem to matter. The mom wants it for the son, who is a rude smartass. She wants him to learn the discipline that she is failing to teach. He, on the other hand, doesn't want to learn either karate or discipline.
She came to us because of our 30 day free special. OK, if you are reading this and don't know yet, I'm going to let you in on an insider marketing secret - there is no company that offers free products or services just for the joy of giving away free products or services. The freebies are an enticement for customers to try what the company is offering. While we will cheerfully and absolutely give someone free classes for a month, we offer it with the hope that the person will like what they see enough to trade it in for a discount on a regular program. shhhhhh
I explained the program and discount to her slowly, using graphics to illustrate. English is her second language, so I had my husband explain it again in Japanese, despite his and her protests that her English is fine. After several explanations, she decided that she wanted to think about it and let the kids try another class. Perfectly fine. Sometimes people need to see a little more. Sometimes that's their polite way of stopping the conversation because they aren't interested. I don't push it. In fact, I'm a terrible salesperson because if they don't come back I don't contact them again. I want students who love us, not who I've bullied into joining.
She came back. The kids took class. Afterward I asked her if she wanted to sign up. She had to think about it some more. Sure, no problem. She came back again. I again asked her if she'd made a decision. She said she'd sign up after the month free. I reminded her that she either got 30 days free or the discount, but not both. She acted surprised. She said she'd sign up at the end of class. Except, at the end of class I had to teach, so I told her I'd catch her next time. By now she's had over a week to think about it.
She came back, ready to sign up. I got the paperwork together, she looked at it, pointed to the price, and asked, "what's this?" I told her it was the monthly tuition. She looked shocked. "Oh!" she said, "I thought that was the price for 6 months" which came $31/month. for a family. or $7.50 per month per person.
I felt the words "are you fucking stupid or what?" rise to my lips but luckily I was able to bite them back. I couldn't stop the "we wouldn't be able to stay open if that's all we charged" from coming out. I'm sure it showed on my face because she said, "I just thought it was a really good deal." I had to walk away. It's been 24 hours and I'm still incredulous. And the kicker is - it took her a week and a half to decide that even that ridiculously good deal was worth it. At this point, if she changed her mind and did want to sign up, I'd probably tell her no because every transaction ever with this woman will turn into a headache. (SLAP UPSIDE THE HEAD)
Another example - about once a week some Zumba instructor gets on the message board to complain about how greedy their bosses are. They take a job getting paid the same hourly wage as board-certified, college-degreed nurses in my area and think they are doing great. But then one day, they realize the class has a lot of people, they multiply the numbers times the class fee and decide it equals them being cheated.
I never hear someone flipping burgers at McDonald's saying, "Man, I sure am making a lot of burgers. I should get a percentage of those profits." or the mechanic at the dealership saying, "I fix a lot of cars. This dealership is taking advantage of me for not giving me a piece of each one I fix."
Instructors feel that they are getting cheated because the boss is making "x" amount of money, yet they don't seem to take into account things like rent, utilities, and risk. I have yet to hear an instructor say, "I didn't have many people in my class tonight so I told my boss to pay me less." (SMACK UPSIDE THE HEAD)
And then there's this week's favorite. I got a message from a random instructor on facebook who wants to "co-teach" my class and even gave me a date that works for her. I love when other instructors come to my class and I always invite them to teach a song or two. But I really feel that they should wait until they are invited, especially if I don't know them and have never seen them teach.
I explained that I already co-teach with someone on a regular basis and have another instructor in training that also does a song or two but that she was welcome to do 2 songs. I also explained that I needed them in advance since we use a cd for that class. She told me she'd just bring her own sound system and when I said no to that, she said she'd send me a list. ummm...a list of 2?
So I'm sitting here wondering how often this happens with other professions. "Hey Mr. Lawyer! I'm a lawyer too and thought I'd come out and work a trial with you!" "Hi Doc! I'm a surgeon too and thought I'd show up and help you out with a surgery some day." or "Hello, there, Chef! I like to cook so I'm going to come whip some stuff up in your kitchen for your customers."
When you think about it like that it sounds really weird, doesn't it? (SLAP UPSIDE THE HEAD)
I feel slightly better.
For example, I had a woman bring her two children to the dojo. The little girl really wants to do karate, but that doesn't seem to matter. The mom wants it for the son, who is a rude smartass. She wants him to learn the discipline that she is failing to teach. He, on the other hand, doesn't want to learn either karate or discipline.
She came to us because of our 30 day free special. OK, if you are reading this and don't know yet, I'm going to let you in on an insider marketing secret - there is no company that offers free products or services just for the joy of giving away free products or services. The freebies are an enticement for customers to try what the company is offering. While we will cheerfully and absolutely give someone free classes for a month, we offer it with the hope that the person will like what they see enough to trade it in for a discount on a regular program. shhhhhh
I explained the program and discount to her slowly, using graphics to illustrate. English is her second language, so I had my husband explain it again in Japanese, despite his and her protests that her English is fine. After several explanations, she decided that she wanted to think about it and let the kids try another class. Perfectly fine. Sometimes people need to see a little more. Sometimes that's their polite way of stopping the conversation because they aren't interested. I don't push it. In fact, I'm a terrible salesperson because if they don't come back I don't contact them again. I want students who love us, not who I've bullied into joining.
She came back. The kids took class. Afterward I asked her if she wanted to sign up. She had to think about it some more. Sure, no problem. She came back again. I again asked her if she'd made a decision. She said she'd sign up after the month free. I reminded her that she either got 30 days free or the discount, but not both. She acted surprised. She said she'd sign up at the end of class. Except, at the end of class I had to teach, so I told her I'd catch her next time. By now she's had over a week to think about it.
She came back, ready to sign up. I got the paperwork together, she looked at it, pointed to the price, and asked, "what's this?" I told her it was the monthly tuition. She looked shocked. "Oh!" she said, "I thought that was the price for 6 months" which came $31/month. for a family. or $7.50 per month per person.
I felt the words "are you fucking stupid or what?" rise to my lips but luckily I was able to bite them back. I couldn't stop the "we wouldn't be able to stay open if that's all we charged" from coming out. I'm sure it showed on my face because she said, "I just thought it was a really good deal." I had to walk away. It's been 24 hours and I'm still incredulous. And the kicker is - it took her a week and a half to decide that even that ridiculously good deal was worth it. At this point, if she changed her mind and did want to sign up, I'd probably tell her no because every transaction ever with this woman will turn into a headache. (SLAP UPSIDE THE HEAD)
Another example - about once a week some Zumba instructor gets on the message board to complain about how greedy their bosses are. They take a job getting paid the same hourly wage as board-certified, college-degreed nurses in my area and think they are doing great. But then one day, they realize the class has a lot of people, they multiply the numbers times the class fee and decide it equals them being cheated.
I never hear someone flipping burgers at McDonald's saying, "Man, I sure am making a lot of burgers. I should get a percentage of those profits." or the mechanic at the dealership saying, "I fix a lot of cars. This dealership is taking advantage of me for not giving me a piece of each one I fix."
Instructors feel that they are getting cheated because the boss is making "x" amount of money, yet they don't seem to take into account things like rent, utilities, and risk. I have yet to hear an instructor say, "I didn't have many people in my class tonight so I told my boss to pay me less." (SMACK UPSIDE THE HEAD)
And then there's this week's favorite. I got a message from a random instructor on facebook who wants to "co-teach" my class and even gave me a date that works for her. I love when other instructors come to my class and I always invite them to teach a song or two. But I really feel that they should wait until they are invited, especially if I don't know them and have never seen them teach.
I explained that I already co-teach with someone on a regular basis and have another instructor in training that also does a song or two but that she was welcome to do 2 songs. I also explained that I needed them in advance since we use a cd for that class. She told me she'd just bring her own sound system and when I said no to that, she said she'd send me a list. ummm...a list of 2?
So I'm sitting here wondering how often this happens with other professions. "Hey Mr. Lawyer! I'm a lawyer too and thought I'd come out and work a trial with you!" "Hi Doc! I'm a surgeon too and thought I'd show up and help you out with a surgery some day." or "Hello, there, Chef! I like to cook so I'm going to come whip some stuff up in your kitchen for your customers."
When you think about it like that it sounds really weird, doesn't it? (SLAP UPSIDE THE HEAD)
I feel slightly better.
Monday, September 5, 2011
confessions of the meanest mom on the world....part 2
In part one I confessed the Draconian measures I used to punish my son. errrr...the kid who would have been my son if I was allowed to talk about him.
I can't leave out how hard we made him work all his life.
When I was a child, my dad owned a meat shop in Findlay Market down in Over-the-Rhine. As soon as my brothers, sister, and I were tall enough to see over the counter, we were put to work. We stood on concrete all day, waiting on customers, wrapping packages, preparing meat for display, and cleaning pans and equipment. On Saturdays, "all day" meant 5:00 a.m. until 7:00 p.m. My dad was the kind of boss you'd see on a reality t.v. show called "Demon Bosses from the Bowels of Hell". He wasn't actually nice to any of his employees but he felt especially free to scream criticisms at his family. After all. we couldn't quit.
I believe that chores are an important part of growing up and becoming a responsible adult. I also believe that children should contribute to the overall welfare of the family as much as they are able. But since my son only spent about two non-sleeping hours per day during the week and Saturday afternoons and Sundays at home, I didn't think it was fair to expect him to do housework and yard work. Instead, in the tradition of helping out with the family business that I was raised with, once he got his black belt, he had to help with karate classes.
He didn't help all night long, just with certain classes that needed more staff or to help out a student who was struggling or learning something new. In other words, it didn't take up a significant amount of his week. I didn't pay him like an instructor. I paid him like a child doing chores. He claims he got $1/class. I'm pretty sure it was more than that, but it wasn't a whole lot more. Unlike when I worked for my family, he got to keep it all. I didn't expect him to buy his own toys or clothes or pay for his own entertainment.
His indignation over this forced labor at slave wages became apparent recently when my 8 year old grandson started "working" for us. This came about because said grandson wanted and ipod touch or something and his mother insisted he earn it. He came up with the brilliant plan of helping Oji (grandpa) at the dojo.
Knowing that both his daughter and his wife would strenuously and painfully object if he simply gave the kid the money or went out and bought him the device, he hired him to help with our classes for 4-6 year olds for $3/class. While this doesn't sound like much, the classes are only a half hour and in his case, "helping" involves watching the kids and pointing to the proper foot if they were standing the wrong way, holding bags for them to hit, and helping them put their pads on for sparring. My husband was so tickled at how hard he was working that at week two he gave him a $2/class raise.
My stepdaughter just rolled her eyes and shook her head but my son was outraged. I had to explain to him that he was doing chores back then. That we don't make grandchildren do chores because they don't live with us and aren't paying for their upkeep. And that his father wasn't allowed to just give the grandson the money straight out, so at least he made him do something semi-responsible for it. I think he was mollified but I'm not sure. He still doesn't think it's fair but I assured him that his father will ridiculously indulge his kids, too when he has them. I call it incentive.
I've had to have this conversation with him a few times. When he was 18, graduated from high school, and still living at home, he still didn't have a job outside of the family business. We paid him significantly more than when he was a child, but in his view it wasn't enough. I had to make a list of all the household expenses - mortgage, utilities, insurance, food, etc. and told him that as an adult roommate, he should be paying 1/3. When I added it all up with what I was paying him in cash, I realized I was paying him too much. I considered asking for a refund, but he was already offended enough.
Eventually we helped him open up his own business. He has worked hard and made it grow every year, even during one of the worst recessions in the country's history. He bought his own house before he turned 23 and has started a retirement fund. I'm super proud of him.
Maybe I did something right.
I can't leave out how hard we made him work all his life.
When I was a child, my dad owned a meat shop in Findlay Market down in Over-the-Rhine. As soon as my brothers, sister, and I were tall enough to see over the counter, we were put to work. We stood on concrete all day, waiting on customers, wrapping packages, preparing meat for display, and cleaning pans and equipment. On Saturdays, "all day" meant 5:00 a.m. until 7:00 p.m. My dad was the kind of boss you'd see on a reality t.v. show called "Demon Bosses from the Bowels of Hell". He wasn't actually nice to any of his employees but he felt especially free to scream criticisms at his family. After all. we couldn't quit.
I believe that chores are an important part of growing up and becoming a responsible adult. I also believe that children should contribute to the overall welfare of the family as much as they are able. But since my son only spent about two non-sleeping hours per day during the week and Saturday afternoons and Sundays at home, I didn't think it was fair to expect him to do housework and yard work. Instead, in the tradition of helping out with the family business that I was raised with, once he got his black belt, he had to help with karate classes.
He didn't help all night long, just with certain classes that needed more staff or to help out a student who was struggling or learning something new. In other words, it didn't take up a significant amount of his week. I didn't pay him like an instructor. I paid him like a child doing chores. He claims he got $1/class. I'm pretty sure it was more than that, but it wasn't a whole lot more. Unlike when I worked for my family, he got to keep it all. I didn't expect him to buy his own toys or clothes or pay for his own entertainment.
His indignation over this forced labor at slave wages became apparent recently when my 8 year old grandson started "working" for us. This came about because said grandson wanted and ipod touch or something and his mother insisted he earn it. He came up with the brilliant plan of helping Oji (grandpa) at the dojo.
Knowing that both his daughter and his wife would strenuously and painfully object if he simply gave the kid the money or went out and bought him the device, he hired him to help with our classes for 4-6 year olds for $3/class. While this doesn't sound like much, the classes are only a half hour and in his case, "helping" involves watching the kids and pointing to the proper foot if they were standing the wrong way, holding bags for them to hit, and helping them put their pads on for sparring. My husband was so tickled at how hard he was working that at week two he gave him a $2/class raise.
My stepdaughter just rolled her eyes and shook her head but my son was outraged. I had to explain to him that he was doing chores back then. That we don't make grandchildren do chores because they don't live with us and aren't paying for their upkeep. And that his father wasn't allowed to just give the grandson the money straight out, so at least he made him do something semi-responsible for it. I think he was mollified but I'm not sure. He still doesn't think it's fair but I assured him that his father will ridiculously indulge his kids, too when he has them. I call it incentive.
I've had to have this conversation with him a few times. When he was 18, graduated from high school, and still living at home, he still didn't have a job outside of the family business. We paid him significantly more than when he was a child, but in his view it wasn't enough. I had to make a list of all the household expenses - mortgage, utilities, insurance, food, etc. and told him that as an adult roommate, he should be paying 1/3. When I added it all up with what I was paying him in cash, I realized I was paying him too much. I considered asking for a refund, but he was already offended enough.
Eventually we helped him open up his own business. He has worked hard and made it grow every year, even during one of the worst recessions in the country's history. He bought his own house before he turned 23 and has started a retirement fund. I'm super proud of him.
Maybe I did something right.
Friday, September 2, 2011
confessions of the meanest mom in the WORLD part 1
My favorite commercial right now is for a car. A dad is standing by the passenger's side window, giving driving directions to his daughter, shown as a tiny little girl of about 4 who is fidgeting with impatience. The camera shows him holding out the keys and cuts back to a teenager snatching them away, nodding her head, ready to go on her own adventures. This commercial brings a tear to my eyes every time I see it.
I'm not allowed to talk about my son anymore on facebook but hypothetical situations about random, unidentified people are ok. So as the hypothetical parent of an imaginary son (from now on referred to as IS), I can totally relate to that weird time warp that happens when the eyes in your head see an adult but the eyes in your heart still see a child. I've been warning him since he was an infant that he'd always be my baby. He doesn't get it. He rolled his eyes at me a few weeks ago and explained that he was an adult which disqualified him from still being my baby and proceeded to remind me of his age and give me his resume of accomplishments to prove that he's grown up. I pinched his cheek and told him how cute he was.
It's interesting to hear how remembers his childhood. His memories are so different from mine. I remember him as an active, noisy kid who loved attention and got to do pretty much what he wanted. He, on the other hand recalls a Dickensian existence where he was punished for everything and forced to work hard labor for menial wages.
When he sees a child acting up at a restaurant, or grocery store, or even at the dojo he'll wax nostalgic about how in the good old days when HE was growing up, he'd have been beaten over such behavior. How he lived in fear... fear that the wrath of his parents would rain down upon him if he was ever disrespectful or misbehaved. Not that he's overly-dramatic or anything, but really?
Yes, I did believe in corporal punishment, but beaten? When he was 2 and still in diapers, and threats, counting to three, and time out didn't work, I'd swat his butt. He would turn and look at me and ask, "are you serious?" He'd only cry if I said yes. I tried saying no once to see what would happen and he laughed at the joke and ran away to play. Clearly the swats didn't hurt anything except his pride.
About once every 6-12 months as he was growing up, I'd have to haul him to the bathroom when we were out in public and smack his behind until my hand hurt. If someone tried that with a kid today the kid would probably be taken away and placed in foster care, but back then you were still allowed to decide how to discipline your child. It worked like an exorcism. For months, his inner demon disappeared and I was left with a sweet, cooperative child most of the time.
I don't remember his father ever striking him. At least not as punishment. Every couple of years as he got bigger and a little stronger, he'd try to challenge his dad while sparring at the dojo, much like how the male students who have grown up with us try to challenge our sons now. I'd see feet fly past the window and hear a crash and the building would shake. The same thing used to happen with his brother. It usually took a couple of times getting knocked down before they'd be convinced it wasn't just a fluke and their dad could do that to them all day if he wanted to. Then they'd nurse their bruises and go train harder in anticipation of the next time, when they'd beat him for sure. Sometime around their 20's they got smarter and quit trying. They still don't fear their dad as much as they fear their sister, but they have a pretty healthy respect for him these days.
By the time I.S. was 7 or 8, I stopped the physical punishment all together. First, I wasn't strong enough for it to have much effect. Second he was intelligent and I could reason with him about consequences. Third, he was used to sparring in the dojo and was getting pretty tough. New measures were needed.
As a kid, he basically lived at the dojo. He'd come home from school, eat a snack, change his clothes, and then we'd head over. When we moved to our second studio, part of the build-out included a private room of his own where he could watch t.v., do homework, play with friends, play video games, or just hang out.
Punishment took creativity. We couldn't ground him because he didn't go anywhere. I didn't want to take away his tv or games because that's what kept him out of our hair while we were working. I became a big proponent of killing two birds with one stone and combining punishment with things he needed to do anyway.
Talking back, Mr. 7-year-old Mouth? That'll be 200 push-ups. The first time I tried this tactic it became a contest of wills. He was so pissed at me that he kept losing count, and since stubborn is his middle name, he'd start over. I eventually relented and told him he could stop, but he only grunted a "nope" and kept going. I think the plan was to show the world what a mean mother he had. A couple of instructors from another school stopped by, watched him awhile, and asked me what awful thing he did to deserve that many pushups. While eavesdropping on the conversation he lost count and had to start over for about the 4th time. I told him he'd probably done well over the 200, but he was determined to count from 1 to 200 in order or die trying. Our guests gave me a pitying look.
Acting up in grade school? That'll be Seisan (his routine for competition) 20 times a day until Nationals. He still complains that I made him do that but he got so good at it that he hasn't practiced it since and can still win tournaments with it.
Cursing? Spitting? that will cost $1 each time. It 's amazing how quickly he could break a habit when he had to pay cash.
He recalls getting in trouble at school in second grade for writing "fuck" on the blackboard while he was in line to leave for the day. I made him write something like, "I will not write bad words" one hundred times. As he relived the experience during one of his rants, he was shocked to learn that I thought it was kind of funny at the time. "I thought you were really pissed!" he told me. I just shook my head and answered, "you have nephews. What happens when they see you laugh at that stuff?"
During his teen years, the big threat was that if he got in serious trouble we'd send him to stay with his grandmother in Okinawa. She lived in Kumejima, an island so small that you can drive completely around the perimeter in a couple of hours. When we visited one year it was big news that they got a traffic light. Imagine a town the size of Bright, IN and stick it in the middle of the ocean with one ferry a day going in and out. You don't need a car because there's nowhere to go and it seems like everyone who lives there is either over 70 or under 10. Pure teenage hell.
The worst punishment he ever got was with the Steak'n'Shake incident. I won't go into details, even though I think the scare I got that night should give me a free pass to tell the story as often as I want. When the phone rings in the middle of the night and you hear, "this is the Colerain Township police department. Are you the mother of I.S.?" your heart stops and the blood rushes to your head at the same time.
He was fine, at least until he got home. The adventure ended when he burned rubber right in front of a police car. and with a certain type of beverage right in the front seat of his car. They believed him when he said it wasn't his, so they left the discipline to me.
This time he was grounded. For a very long time. But the most amazing thing happened after that...my mother called me to beg for mercy on his behalf and yell at me for being too hard on him after just ONE WEEK!!!! This is the woman who wanted to send me to rehab (I wasn't even doing drugs) because I was dating a guy she didn't like . Who WAS that woman and what did she do with my mother? For the record, he didn't remain grounded for the entire 3 months. Once I felt he'd gotten the message and I could trust him he got to drive and go out again. He never did anything stupid like that again. or, at least, I never got a call in the middle of the night from the police again.
I'm not allowed to talk about my son anymore on facebook but hypothetical situations about random, unidentified people are ok. So as the hypothetical parent of an imaginary son (from now on referred to as IS), I can totally relate to that weird time warp that happens when the eyes in your head see an adult but the eyes in your heart still see a child. I've been warning him since he was an infant that he'd always be my baby. He doesn't get it. He rolled his eyes at me a few weeks ago and explained that he was an adult which disqualified him from still being my baby and proceeded to remind me of his age and give me his resume of accomplishments to prove that he's grown up. I pinched his cheek and told him how cute he was.
It's interesting to hear how remembers his childhood. His memories are so different from mine. I remember him as an active, noisy kid who loved attention and got to do pretty much what he wanted. He, on the other hand recalls a Dickensian existence where he was punished for everything and forced to work hard labor for menial wages.
When he sees a child acting up at a restaurant, or grocery store, or even at the dojo he'll wax nostalgic about how in the good old days when HE was growing up, he'd have been beaten over such behavior. How he lived in fear... fear that the wrath of his parents would rain down upon him if he was ever disrespectful or misbehaved. Not that he's overly-dramatic or anything, but really?
Yes, I did believe in corporal punishment, but beaten? When he was 2 and still in diapers, and threats, counting to three, and time out didn't work, I'd swat his butt. He would turn and look at me and ask, "are you serious?" He'd only cry if I said yes. I tried saying no once to see what would happen and he laughed at the joke and ran away to play. Clearly the swats didn't hurt anything except his pride.
About once every 6-12 months as he was growing up, I'd have to haul him to the bathroom when we were out in public and smack his behind until my hand hurt. If someone tried that with a kid today the kid would probably be taken away and placed in foster care, but back then you were still allowed to decide how to discipline your child. It worked like an exorcism. For months, his inner demon disappeared and I was left with a sweet, cooperative child most of the time.
I don't remember his father ever striking him. At least not as punishment. Every couple of years as he got bigger and a little stronger, he'd try to challenge his dad while sparring at the dojo, much like how the male students who have grown up with us try to challenge our sons now. I'd see feet fly past the window and hear a crash and the building would shake. The same thing used to happen with his brother. It usually took a couple of times getting knocked down before they'd be convinced it wasn't just a fluke and their dad could do that to them all day if he wanted to. Then they'd nurse their bruises and go train harder in anticipation of the next time, when they'd beat him for sure. Sometime around their 20's they got smarter and quit trying. They still don't fear their dad as much as they fear their sister, but they have a pretty healthy respect for him these days.
By the time I.S. was 7 or 8, I stopped the physical punishment all together. First, I wasn't strong enough for it to have much effect. Second he was intelligent and I could reason with him about consequences. Third, he was used to sparring in the dojo and was getting pretty tough. New measures were needed.
As a kid, he basically lived at the dojo. He'd come home from school, eat a snack, change his clothes, and then we'd head over. When we moved to our second studio, part of the build-out included a private room of his own where he could watch t.v., do homework, play with friends, play video games, or just hang out.
Punishment took creativity. We couldn't ground him because he didn't go anywhere. I didn't want to take away his tv or games because that's what kept him out of our hair while we were working. I became a big proponent of killing two birds with one stone and combining punishment with things he needed to do anyway.
Talking back, Mr. 7-year-old Mouth? That'll be 200 push-ups. The first time I tried this tactic it became a contest of wills. He was so pissed at me that he kept losing count, and since stubborn is his middle name, he'd start over. I eventually relented and told him he could stop, but he only grunted a "nope" and kept going. I think the plan was to show the world what a mean mother he had. A couple of instructors from another school stopped by, watched him awhile, and asked me what awful thing he did to deserve that many pushups. While eavesdropping on the conversation he lost count and had to start over for about the 4th time. I told him he'd probably done well over the 200, but he was determined to count from 1 to 200 in order or die trying. Our guests gave me a pitying look.
Acting up in grade school? That'll be Seisan (his routine for competition) 20 times a day until Nationals. He still complains that I made him do that but he got so good at it that he hasn't practiced it since and can still win tournaments with it.
Cursing? Spitting? that will cost $1 each time. It 's amazing how quickly he could break a habit when he had to pay cash.
He recalls getting in trouble at school in second grade for writing "fuck" on the blackboard while he was in line to leave for the day. I made him write something like, "I will not write bad words" one hundred times. As he relived the experience during one of his rants, he was shocked to learn that I thought it was kind of funny at the time. "I thought you were really pissed!" he told me. I just shook my head and answered, "you have nephews. What happens when they see you laugh at that stuff?"
During his teen years, the big threat was that if he got in serious trouble we'd send him to stay with his grandmother in Okinawa. She lived in Kumejima, an island so small that you can drive completely around the perimeter in a couple of hours. When we visited one year it was big news that they got a traffic light. Imagine a town the size of Bright, IN and stick it in the middle of the ocean with one ferry a day going in and out. You don't need a car because there's nowhere to go and it seems like everyone who lives there is either over 70 or under 10. Pure teenage hell.
The worst punishment he ever got was with the Steak'n'Shake incident. I won't go into details, even though I think the scare I got that night should give me a free pass to tell the story as often as I want. When the phone rings in the middle of the night and you hear, "this is the Colerain Township police department. Are you the mother of I.S.?" your heart stops and the blood rushes to your head at the same time.
He was fine, at least until he got home. The adventure ended when he burned rubber right in front of a police car. and with a certain type of beverage right in the front seat of his car. They believed him when he said it wasn't his, so they left the discipline to me.
This time he was grounded. For a very long time. But the most amazing thing happened after that...my mother called me to beg for mercy on his behalf and yell at me for being too hard on him after just ONE WEEK!!!! This is the woman who wanted to send me to rehab (I wasn't even doing drugs) because I was dating a guy she didn't like . Who WAS that woman and what did she do with my mother? For the record, he didn't remain grounded for the entire 3 months. Once I felt he'd gotten the message and I could trust him he got to drive and go out again. He never did anything stupid like that again. or, at least, I never got a call in the middle of the night from the police again.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
It's worse when it's your kids
Remember when we were first learning about sex and realized that our parents must have had sex at least often enough for us to be born? And how grossed out we were at the idea?
As bad as the idea and resulting visual of our parents doing it was, there is something far worse....the idea of our kids doing it.
I first realized just how disturbing this thought can be when my stepson was ranting about his sister's boyfriend. I don't even remember the situation. I just remember putting two and two together and coming up with EWWWWW! You mean this sweet, innocent child is having...EWWWWWW!!!!!
It was even worse with my own. He'll be 26 on Saturday. It's not that I wanted him to be a 40 year old virgin. And despite my Catholic upbringing, I've never been particularly anti-premarital sex. Until it came to him. When he was in the 5th grade and taking sex ed, I carefully explained to him that if he had sex before he was married he would go to jail. He believed me for awhile. I don't know who gave him the real scoop but I had to wonder at the time why he was researching the topic. I mean, was he trying to find out how long he'd end up in jail? Was he trying to see if it was worth the risk, or what?
As a mom who was a teen in the late 70's/early 80's (nuff said), it was hard to know how much info about my experiences to share as I was trying to prepare him for life and help him avoid heartache. I didn't want to be like my parents (don't do it ever or you will burn in hell for eternity!) nor did I want to give him too much unnecessary info lest he feel like he had to outdo me. Was there a middle ground? Did I do a Bill Clinton? (I WAS around marijuana, but I never inhaled.) or did I just pretend to be naive about such things and avoid the topic all together?
If you know me at all, you are probably thinking already that the last was not an option.
I settled for the speech - "I'm totally not saying you should have sex before you get married. or even after, but if you do, make sure to use a condom." I told him this so often that one day he looked at me in exasperation and said, "Mom! How often do you have to tell me this???" I looked back at him and answered, "I've been telling you to wear a seatbelt for 18 years and you still don't always do it." He thought about that for a second, conceded that I was right, and just rolled his eyes at me when I'd start up again.
I don't know when my son lost his virginity or who it was with. All I know is that one day my brother, sister, and I were making a joke about relationships, forgetting that my son was in the room, and he laughed knowingly. We all three looked at him and I asked, "how do you know?" When he just shrugged I knew the truth - and immediately suppressed it.
He has been living with his girlfriend for over 4 years now. Three years in his house, one in their apartment, and an unknown amount of time when he had her hidden in our basement. I suspect that their relationship is a physical one, but I don't really want to know for sure.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in his old room. He told me there was nothing important in there and to just throw everything away. We have different ideas of important. There were pictures of him, his old medals from when he won Nationals in Karate, a couple of tools, and lot's of loose change.
And a condom. It was still wrapped, so perhaps he was saving it "just in case". But it was in a drawer, so in case of what? Was he doing it in our very house? ok, I just felt the blood rush to my head.
It's just an odd feeling. I look at him and see a man, but I also see the infant I held in my arms, the toddler walking behind the toy lawnmower, the 4 year old hiding behind me at the dinosaur exhibit, and the young kid competing in his first National competition. I only had a few short years to teach him everything I knew to help him be safe, happy, and successful.
I guess a condom in a drawer is a sign he got at least some of the message.
As bad as the idea and resulting visual of our parents doing it was, there is something far worse....the idea of our kids doing it.
I first realized just how disturbing this thought can be when my stepson was ranting about his sister's boyfriend. I don't even remember the situation. I just remember putting two and two together and coming up with EWWWWW! You mean this sweet, innocent child is having...EWWWWWW!!!!!
It was even worse with my own. He'll be 26 on Saturday. It's not that I wanted him to be a 40 year old virgin. And despite my Catholic upbringing, I've never been particularly anti-premarital sex. Until it came to him. When he was in the 5th grade and taking sex ed, I carefully explained to him that if he had sex before he was married he would go to jail. He believed me for awhile. I don't know who gave him the real scoop but I had to wonder at the time why he was researching the topic. I mean, was he trying to find out how long he'd end up in jail? Was he trying to see if it was worth the risk, or what?
As a mom who was a teen in the late 70's/early 80's (nuff said), it was hard to know how much info about my experiences to share as I was trying to prepare him for life and help him avoid heartache. I didn't want to be like my parents (don't do it ever or you will burn in hell for eternity!) nor did I want to give him too much unnecessary info lest he feel like he had to outdo me. Was there a middle ground? Did I do a Bill Clinton? (I WAS around marijuana, but I never inhaled.) or did I just pretend to be naive about such things and avoid the topic all together?
If you know me at all, you are probably thinking already that the last was not an option.
I settled for the speech - "I'm totally not saying you should have sex before you get married. or even after, but if you do, make sure to use a condom." I told him this so often that one day he looked at me in exasperation and said, "Mom! How often do you have to tell me this???" I looked back at him and answered, "I've been telling you to wear a seatbelt for 18 years and you still don't always do it." He thought about that for a second, conceded that I was right, and just rolled his eyes at me when I'd start up again.
I don't know when my son lost his virginity or who it was with. All I know is that one day my brother, sister, and I were making a joke about relationships, forgetting that my son was in the room, and he laughed knowingly. We all three looked at him and I asked, "how do you know?" When he just shrugged I knew the truth - and immediately suppressed it.
He has been living with his girlfriend for over 4 years now. Three years in his house, one in their apartment, and an unknown amount of time when he had her hidden in our basement. I suspect that their relationship is a physical one, but I don't really want to know for sure.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in his old room. He told me there was nothing important in there and to just throw everything away. We have different ideas of important. There were pictures of him, his old medals from when he won Nationals in Karate, a couple of tools, and lot's of loose change.
And a condom. It was still wrapped, so perhaps he was saving it "just in case". But it was in a drawer, so in case of what? Was he doing it in our very house? ok, I just felt the blood rush to my head.
It's just an odd feeling. I look at him and see a man, but I also see the infant I held in my arms, the toddler walking behind the toy lawnmower, the 4 year old hiding behind me at the dinosaur exhibit, and the young kid competing in his first National competition. I only had a few short years to teach him everything I knew to help him be safe, happy, and successful.
I guess a condom in a drawer is a sign he got at least some of the message.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
There are some things you have to keep
I am between rehab projects and out of $ so I decided this would be the perfect time to redo the basement and last two un-remodeled rooms in the house. One used to be my son's bedroom and the other is my working office. Both are filled with ridiculous amounts of stuff, some useful and most not. Cleaning it out is tougher than I thought.
The first, and most obvious, plan was to just toss out anything I don't use. Since I haven't used almost any of it in a couple of years I that would take care of it. As a bonus, we live on a well-traveled road so instead of contributing to the landfill, I was able to just set things out by my driveway and they'd magically disappear.
But there are some things that I will never use and, if I'm totally honest, don't even like, but I am stuck with for the rest of my life. My challenge is figuring out what to do with them.
For example, the geese. My mother-in-law made these origami geese, complete with goose stand (maybe it's an origami nest?) out of magazine pages and gave me several of them on one of our visits to Okinawa. They're really cool in the sense of "wow! I had no idea you could do that with magazine paper!" but in a purely aesthetic sense, I'd rate them as moderately hideous.
So the question becomes, what do I do with these? I can't throw them away because she made them, and to make the guilt even worse, she recently passed away. I can't pawn them off on the kids because they already have some. I can't display them in my house because...well, technically I could display them in my house but I really don't want to. So I'll keep them and bequeath them to my kids in my will and then they will be stuck with them because Grandma made them and they knew Grandma and, well, she made them. I figure they can bequeath them to their kids, too, and so on until we either hit a generation that isn't sentimental about them or magazine paper becomes so rare that they are considered priceless works of art and sold for millions.
Then there's the other thing. I don't even know what to call it. My husband got it in Okinawa from his karate teacher's wife, a woman who was like a second mother to him. She made it and wanted him to give it to me. Or so he says. I sent her a purse so I suspect she felt a need to reciprocate and as she was scanning the room the first thing her eyes fell on was this creation. He says she felt he and his American wife needed one of these. Which is why his friend didn't get one. Because his wife is Okinawan. I think that's racist.
This object is a display for the Doll Festival, or Girls Day. It has tiny figures made from q-tips and colored paper arranged to look like they are having some kind of ceremony on top of a festively-decorated shoe box. The dolls are supposed to harbor bad spirits and originally part of the festival was sending similar doll displays down the river or into the ocean to take the badness with them.
I've looked this festival up on Wikipedia and this thing does, indeed, look much like a mini version of the traditional doll display. It's bright red and made out of a shoebox, paper, and q-tips, all covered with cellophane that is uncleanable and has collected about a half inch of dust . I think it's the q-tips that are the deal-breaker for me, and even though I do look at it and think, "wow! what a creative thing to do with colored paper and q-tips!" right after that I think, "I wonder if this was a craft project at the senior care center."
My husband was really excited about this thing. He called me all the way from Okinawa just to tell me he was bringing it home for me. And he reports that when his sisters saw it they expressed envy and wished they could have it. I was getting pretty excited about it too until I saw it. And then I really wished he'd left it with my sister-in-law because I knew that unlike me, she could truly appreciate it.
But again, this woman, who is a very important part of my husband's history, made it. I can't throw it out.
I think I've found a solution, though. Before we redid our kitchen we had a bulkhead going across 3 walls. We tore it out and put in really tall replacement cabinets. The top shelves of those cabinets don't get a lot of use, so I can put the geese and the q-tip display on the top shelve in the cabinet I use for spices and cooking stuff. This way they'll be protected and mostly invisible, yet I'll see them every day when I cook and think of my mom-in-law and husband's teacher's wife.
Craft project gifts are not limited to the Japanese side of my family. My American family is just as creative and well-meaning. I have a ceramic gnome, lovingly painted by my grandmother, that matches nothing in my home in either color or context, but that will always have a place there. Not necessarily a visible place, but a place nonetheless. It's current place is a spot on the dresser in the guest room. Hopefully our future guests don't get freaked out by gnomes staring at them while they sleep. or by gnomes sitting in the middle of what is mostly Asian art.
But I'm as guilty as they are, I suppose. People all over the country have been gifted with my handmade pottery chip'n'dips. And my really good friend has a set of 4 bowls I made for her which she likes to praise as "really heavy", apparently not realizing that's not actually a compliment in the pottery world. I think she keeps them because I made them for her.
The first, and most obvious, plan was to just toss out anything I don't use. Since I haven't used almost any of it in a couple of years I that would take care of it. As a bonus, we live on a well-traveled road so instead of contributing to the landfill, I was able to just set things out by my driveway and they'd magically disappear.
But there are some things that I will never use and, if I'm totally honest, don't even like, but I am stuck with for the rest of my life. My challenge is figuring out what to do with them.
For example, the geese. My mother-in-law made these origami geese, complete with goose stand (maybe it's an origami nest?) out of magazine pages and gave me several of them on one of our visits to Okinawa. They're really cool in the sense of "wow! I had no idea you could do that with magazine paper!" but in a purely aesthetic sense, I'd rate them as moderately hideous.
So the question becomes, what do I do with these? I can't throw them away because she made them, and to make the guilt even worse, she recently passed away. I can't pawn them off on the kids because they already have some. I can't display them in my house because...well, technically I could display them in my house but I really don't want to. So I'll keep them and bequeath them to my kids in my will and then they will be stuck with them because Grandma made them and they knew Grandma and, well, she made them. I figure they can bequeath them to their kids, too, and so on until we either hit a generation that isn't sentimental about them or magazine paper becomes so rare that they are considered priceless works of art and sold for millions.
 |
| They look even worse in pictures than they do in my head. |
Then there's the other thing. I don't even know what to call it. My husband got it in Okinawa from his karate teacher's wife, a woman who was like a second mother to him. She made it and wanted him to give it to me. Or so he says. I sent her a purse so I suspect she felt a need to reciprocate and as she was scanning the room the first thing her eyes fell on was this creation. He says she felt he and his American wife needed one of these. Which is why his friend didn't get one. Because his wife is Okinawan. I think that's racist.
This object is a display for the Doll Festival, or Girls Day. It has tiny figures made from q-tips and colored paper arranged to look like they are having some kind of ceremony on top of a festively-decorated shoe box. The dolls are supposed to harbor bad spirits and originally part of the festival was sending similar doll displays down the river or into the ocean to take the badness with them.
I've looked this festival up on Wikipedia and this thing does, indeed, look much like a mini version of the traditional doll display. It's bright red and made out of a shoebox, paper, and q-tips, all covered with cellophane that is uncleanable and has collected about a half inch of dust . I think it's the q-tips that are the deal-breaker for me, and even though I do look at it and think, "wow! what a creative thing to do with colored paper and q-tips!" right after that I think, "I wonder if this was a craft project at the senior care center."
My husband was really excited about this thing. He called me all the way from Okinawa just to tell me he was bringing it home for me. And he reports that when his sisters saw it they expressed envy and wished they could have it. I was getting pretty excited about it too until I saw it. And then I really wished he'd left it with my sister-in-law because I knew that unlike me, she could truly appreciate it.
But again, this woman, who is a very important part of my husband's history, made it. I can't throw it out.
 |
| I couldn't get a good picture through the layer of dust |
I think I've found a solution, though. Before we redid our kitchen we had a bulkhead going across 3 walls. We tore it out and put in really tall replacement cabinets. The top shelves of those cabinets don't get a lot of use, so I can put the geese and the q-tip display on the top shelve in the cabinet I use for spices and cooking stuff. This way they'll be protected and mostly invisible, yet I'll see them every day when I cook and think of my mom-in-law and husband's teacher's wife.
Craft project gifts are not limited to the Japanese side of my family. My American family is just as creative and well-meaning. I have a ceramic gnome, lovingly painted by my grandmother, that matches nothing in my home in either color or context, but that will always have a place there. Not necessarily a visible place, but a place nonetheless. It's current place is a spot on the dresser in the guest room. Hopefully our future guests don't get freaked out by gnomes staring at them while they sleep. or by gnomes sitting in the middle of what is mostly Asian art.
 |
| My father-in-law made the hat - but I think it's pretty cool. And my son wore it all the way home from Japan when he was 7. |
But I'm as guilty as they are, I suppose. People all over the country have been gifted with my handmade pottery chip'n'dips. And my really good friend has a set of 4 bowls I made for her which she likes to praise as "really heavy", apparently not realizing that's not actually a compliment in the pottery world. I think she keeps them because I made them for her.
 |
| A chip-n-dip |
Thursday, August 25, 2011
It can't be me
I keep reading that nothing ever goes away on facebook, but if that's true, why can I only go back a couple of pages? I decided to start a blog because I want to be able to look back with fond memories at those entertaining moments from my family, job and dogs.
Take today, for instance. I have 2 dogs - Bear, a 2 year old, 70 lb. boxer/lab/hound/? mix that we rescued from a shelter last August and Aki, my 9 year old, 7 lb. Maltese. They are like my children, especially in the way they annoy each other like human siblings.
Today Aki spent the entire day teasing Bear. We give them treats sometimes when we leave the house because we usually crate them while we are gone. (Aki has a marking problem.) Bear devours his right away, but Aki prefers to fondle his and then sprint to the office with it when we get home and spend his time guarding it.
I wondered why Bear kept barking at me and crying. I thought he had to go out. But no, he wanted Aki's treat which Aki had placed on the floor and then moved about a foot away from it to lay down (or do dogs lie? I can never remember). Every time Bear would whine, Aki would wag his tail in what is apparently the canine version of nyah nyah nyah.
I tried giving Bear a treat of his own but he wolfed it down and then stared longingly back at Aki's, causing Aki to again wag his tail in glee.
I moved to the couch and of course the dogs moved with me. Aki placed the treat reverently on a blanket on the other couch and came to sit by me. Every time Bear moved a muscle, Aki sprinted back to his treat. When he saw Bear look at me, he'd sprint back to my lap, effectively blocking Bear from both me and the treat.
I wanted to snatch the stupid thing up and just throw it away, but I didn't want to get in the middle of dog politics. I have no idea how such an action could tilt the delicate balance of who dominates whom and when. I am mindful of these things since the beginning of Bear's life with us when I'd yell at him for something and give him the stink eye and he'd give me a stupid look for a long time and I'd get bored and go back to my office. As it turned out he thought I was submitting to him and decided that meant he could eat my shoes. It took about a month of daily stare-downs for him to realize I was just going to win and I don't want to have to do that again. The one thing he has an attention span of more than 5 seconds for is staring. I, on the other hand, find that it gets old quickly. And it usually happens when there is something really interesting on t.v.
Since the guy doing our gardening pulled out the vine-tree monster earlier this week and got attacked by the family of chipmunks living in it, there hasn't been much wildlife for the dogs to bark at. The guarding game seems to be their substitute entertainment.
Take today, for instance. I have 2 dogs - Bear, a 2 year old, 70 lb. boxer/lab/hound/? mix that we rescued from a shelter last August and Aki, my 9 year old, 7 lb. Maltese. They are like my children, especially in the way they annoy each other like human siblings.
Today Aki spent the entire day teasing Bear. We give them treats sometimes when we leave the house because we usually crate them while we are gone. (Aki has a marking problem.) Bear devours his right away, but Aki prefers to fondle his and then sprint to the office with it when we get home and spend his time guarding it.
I wondered why Bear kept barking at me and crying. I thought he had to go out. But no, he wanted Aki's treat which Aki had placed on the floor and then moved about a foot away from it to lay down (or do dogs lie? I can never remember). Every time Bear would whine, Aki would wag his tail in what is apparently the canine version of nyah nyah nyah.
I tried giving Bear a treat of his own but he wolfed it down and then stared longingly back at Aki's, causing Aki to again wag his tail in glee.
I moved to the couch and of course the dogs moved with me. Aki placed the treat reverently on a blanket on the other couch and came to sit by me. Every time Bear moved a muscle, Aki sprinted back to his treat. When he saw Bear look at me, he'd sprint back to my lap, effectively blocking Bear from both me and the treat.
I wanted to snatch the stupid thing up and just throw it away, but I didn't want to get in the middle of dog politics. I have no idea how such an action could tilt the delicate balance of who dominates whom and when. I am mindful of these things since the beginning of Bear's life with us when I'd yell at him for something and give him the stink eye and he'd give me a stupid look for a long time and I'd get bored and go back to my office. As it turned out he thought I was submitting to him and decided that meant he could eat my shoes. It took about a month of daily stare-downs for him to realize I was just going to win and I don't want to have to do that again. The one thing he has an attention span of more than 5 seconds for is staring. I, on the other hand, find that it gets old quickly. And it usually happens when there is something really interesting on t.v.
Since the guy doing our gardening pulled out the vine-tree monster earlier this week and got attacked by the family of chipmunks living in it, there hasn't been much wildlife for the dogs to bark at. The guarding game seems to be their substitute entertainment.
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