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  • Archive for February, 2010

    Honk For Hooping!


    2010 - 02.27

    There are a great many things I love about Nashville, but one of my ‘top three’ is the willingness of residents to support pretty much *anything* and *anyone* who is trying to accomplish a goal.

    This morning, amid gusting wind chills of a finger-numbing 30 degrees, Hooping for Hope trained for a full 7 miles.  Clocking in at about 18mins. per mile, we were quite pleased, especially considering that we had to cross downtown streets and “hoop train” (chugga chugga choo-choo!) on the narrower sidewalks.

    Each of us (and I’m referring to my non-hoop readers, too) draws from an inspiration, something that helps us forget how little we feel our hands (quite a blessing, actually, since they tend to bruise after a mile or so of off-body work) and helps us to push through the niggling voice that whines, “but this is haaaaaard.”  Sometimes, that inner inspiration is all we’ve got to urge our bodies onward…

    … and sometimes, you’re a lucky resident of Nashville.  Cars see us hoopin’ along and they honk, or flash their lights, or lean out the bus window to hollar a few “WHOO-HOO!”s; these are our audience of strangers who, though unsure of what they are witnessing, are nonetheless determined to convey their support.  While passing a church, an entire group of people got out of their bus to clap and cheer us forward — a literal standing ovation!

    As we pass runners on the street (or, to be more precise, they swiftly swoop past us), gifts of encouragement are exchanged, an acknowledgement between would-be marathoners of “you’re flyin’ at an insane speed, whilst I prefer a plastic orbit of pink, but we’re both striving towards a mutual goal.”  Pedestrians chuckle and give us a generous berth as they politely ask for permission to take a picture, or for an explanation of what we’re doing; they nod and smile, wishing us good luck.

    I feel very blessed to be able to participate in a program like Hooping for Hope; I feel even more blessed to participate in such a program with such wonderful women as my fellow hoopers.  Adding such an outpouring of support from the (complete strangers!) of Nashville, what can a gal say..?

    My cup overflows.

    Remember When…?


    2010 - 02.26

    Remember back in November, when I decided to do NaNoWriMo, and we agreed that it was ambitious, considering I was already working on my baby and a new project would just distract me?

    And remember when, after finishing/”winning” NaNo, I was all proud, but felt a lacking of sorts?

    Remember when, just recently, I finished (*cue tooting of horn*  Toot, toot!  Too-oot-toot-toot! Kk, enough tooting—we don’t wanna be annoying) my first draft?  137k words?  Anyone?

    I’ve been staring at the wall (because the paint scheme of my living room holds all life’s answers, of course) and trying to think of what else “needs be doing,” as Mevy would say (see, even when I’m trying to NOT work on my novel, the darned kids try to possess my thoughts — can Mommy have just a week of peace, please?!), before I begin the dreaded revision process.  Then, like a stroke of genius, an off-handed remark from a fellow in the Nashville Writers critique group offered a glorious solution:

    Revise because peer pressure demands you must, else you look like a flaky good-for-naught (read: go participate in NaNoEdMo).

    I encourage all aspiring writers to come join me — I hear Misery made some tasty scones to share.

    Satisfied with the quick post, and in a bit of a rush to meet Jessica for their Zumba date, Dawn opens a new browser window to tap out her last note of the day:

    Dear Sanity,

    Remember when. . .?”

    It’s Only Natural (Part 3)


    2010 - 02.25

    So what’s the number one reason animals end up abandoned, neglected, or ‘put down’?

    Lack of training.

    No joke.

    Animals are intelligent.  Depending on who you ask, the amount of intellect attributed to different species varies, but it’s generally accepted that domesticated animals classified as “pets” can be taught basic rules for behavior.  And yet, so few of us take the time to teach these basic rules–and then punish our pets for not behaving as we’d like.  The more “responsible” people drop their ‘bad’ dog or cat off at a shelter, consoling themselves with the belief that their pet will quickly find a new home.  61-77%* of animals left in shelters are euthanized, many because they pee on the rug, or chew furniture, or no longer looked as cute chewing shoes at 60 lbs. as they did when they were 7 lbs. 3 oz.  I realize that raising a puppy is hard work–I’ve done it (and boy, was it a learning experience!), but they are also living, breathing entities.  How then is it right to drop them off like a donation of used clothing?

    And then there are the extreme cases, the situations that are ultimately caused by human error, but for which the dog often pays with his life.  Last week there were reports of a pit bull attack in Nashville, TN, where the Hubby and I reside.  So many things were done wrong that could have prevented this!  A mother left her little girl alone with a strange dog—who had been moved from its home into a strange environment—already knowing the little girl thought nothing of getting “in the face” of the strange dog to give it kisses.  From the context of Dog, the pit bull was in a strange place, with strange people, and a smaller creature was challenging his space—is anyone really surprised he bit her?  Some people have pointed out that the girl is lucky the dog “missed” her throat—did anyone consider he wasn’t going for a kill, but simply using one of the few tools at his disposal to make the “stranger” back off?

    Neither the child nor the dog are at fault, in my opinion, but the dog is dead and the child is now severely scarred.  And anti-pit bull groups will use this as another example of why, as one person once wrote on Facebook, “(pitbulls) ARE NOT PETS. They should all be put down. Heck, I’m a vegetarian and a pacifist and I’ll sign up to pull the trigger on these beasts. Seriously. Wouldn’t flinch.”

    While dog attacks can be horrible, I try to remember what Bandit has taught me: I cannot define another species’ actions with my personal emotions.  We might see Bandit’s treatment of a spider or a dog’s attack of a stranger as malicious and mean, but *frightened* dogs are the most likely to bite.  And consider this: I was once given the argument that statistically Golden Retrievers don’t bite people with the frequency of pit bulls, and thus pit bulls are obviously more aggressive dogs.  Well, it’s true that pit bulls (and Rotties, and German Shepherds such as my Savvy) are more often used to guard properties because of their naturally protective instinct, so that might paint them as more “aggressive,” but also consider *what type of people seek out pit bulls.*  How often have you seen a Goldie lugging around a thick chain to strengthen its neck, receiving daily injections of steroids?  How frequently do you hear about a chihuahua fighting circle being disbanded?  If a creature is being trained as a weapon, is anyone surprised that it causes damage to a target?  But is the gun at fault for shooting people, or is it the person who bought, loaded, cocked, and aimed it responsible for the injuries caused?

    Caring for another creature can be a very rewarding experience: furry cuddles, a jogging buddy, a purring muse as you type out your blog post–these are all pluses that fill our selfish needs.  In return, our pets ask for little: he needs food, water, shelter, and a guide through this strange world of grinding machines, squealing hairless offspring, bright lights, slick floors, strangers that walk right into his private den and simply expect him to roll over and offer the tender flesh of his belly, trusting—against his instinct—that these strangers will not tear him open, because he trusts his Master.  He has no other protection, as our legal system gives him nearly no right to fight back against a human.

    The Master is the host and, as host, it is the pet owner’s supreme responsibility (not to mention honor, if you believe in the Stewardship given Man by a Higher Power) to protect and guide her guest.

    *The numbers vary, but all are well over the 50% mark.

    It’s Only Natural (Part 2)


    2010 - 02.22

    Prior to purchasing Savvy, I did a lot of research.  I’m not naturally a research-loving person, but I am obsessed with a firm believer in personal responsibility; since we wanted a large breed dog, sifting through the shelves of dog training, canine behavior, and animal psychology books was a must, in my very logical and long-term-consequences mind.

    Of course I watched Cesar Millan whisper to dogs, sat entranced by the wondrous Brit-speak of Victoria Stillwell, and generally came to the conclusion that my dog would not, *could* not, be a little fur person to me.  I adore Savvy, but—as Hubby will attest—”Mommy don’t play that” game with the dog.  She is always “dog” first and my beloved “Savvy” second.

    As with Bandit, when dealing with Savvy I can’t define her actions by my logic.  For one thing, dogs don’t experience “context” the way we do.  (For instance, if Hubby allows her to jump up and lick his face, Savvy would not understand why then it would be dangerous for her to jump on an older woman with shaky hips to lick her face; or, if we were to give Savvy an old shoe as a toy, she would be hard-pressed to understand the difference between the toy shoe and my designer boots because they are, after all, both shoes—what does a dog care for fashion?)

    But more informed/educated/experienced people than I *have* made a study of canine behavior and offer insight into the basic thought processes of our doggy friends, and so it is their teachings I pull from when I try to understand what my actions communicate to Savvy.  In many ways, I’m learning a new language in order to translate Human to Dog.  I can’t expect Savvy to learn every word of English (she can’t even understand context–god help her with our bastardized language).  As her owner–the person who *chose* to pick her out and haul her home–it is always my responsibility to act as her intermediary, her translator, as she navigates the world of a species not her own, one not of her choosing.  Having invited her in, I am her hostess, and I try to remember this in every circumstance.

    Which is why I don’t understand animal cruelty.

    If I invited a friend over, tied her out back, and simply left her there with little more than some muddy water for weeks on end. . . if I were to ignore her cries for food, her whimpers of pain as her metabolism slowly ate the flesh from her bones until she was little more than an animated skeleton. . . if I tried to explain to Mr. Police Officer that I was going to take my guest to a doctor, soon, maybe later this week. . . you see where I’m going here.

    Some cruelties aren’t so easily identified, and I’d argue that many more are often deemed harmless (I should probably point out here, to hopefully save offense, that the legal definition of “cruelty” doesn’t imply malice or intent.  ”Cruelty” simply means a harm was caused).  Allowing a dog to eat chocolate doughnuts, for instance, in quantities that would not quickly kill, is a type of cruelty because of the damage it does to the dog’s liver.  Unchecked obesity, too, causes harm to a dog’s joints and internal systems and is a sort of cruelty.  Yet even these examples are easier to understand and accept for many of us, because we can *see* the negative results of such behaviors with a simple trip to the vet’s office.

    So what’s the one cruelty most often overlooked by well-meaning owners and bad hosts alike?  What’s the number one reason so many of these wonderful creatures are abandoned and legislated against?

    It’s Only Natural (Part 1)


    2010 - 02.17

    This may be a two-parter.  Or even three-, because I have a lot of feelings and opinions on this particular subject.

    Many of us grew up with a natural (or sometimes oddly excessive) affection towards animals.  I adored all things furry, and Zoobook taught me to be fascinated by the ferocious and exotic.  Heck, I even spread the love to the insect kingdom, collecting all matter of winged arthropods (I have a scar on my finger from where a mantis tried to eat me.  No joke–ask my little brother!  Ahhh, memories).

    As I “grew up,” I slowly accepted the “sensible” lessons society taught: that my wonder of the ferocious should be replaced by fear, and my kinship with the furry would be more appropriately viewed as a masterdom over inferior species.  While I do believe that fear of a lion is a healthy thing to have, and we as Human are a steward for Creation, there’s more to the equation than this.

    Bandit has spent years showing me.  ”Showing you what?” you may ask.  Well, it’s hard to explain. . .

    Watching Bandit is a meditation.  She is a quiet creature, rarely voicing more than a warbling purr to question the availability of my lap, but her rounded features speak sharp truths.  Her paws fall with the grace of snowflakes, leaving warm circles of moisture that quickly evaporate from the cool counter as she vanishes from sight without a sound.  Though a bit older and somewhat plump, the only thing that gives Bandit away is the faint popping of her joints, the moan of age you can hear in great forests when the wind gusts strong.  She is a beautiful and mysterious creature, and I love her unflinching acceptance of all that I say or do.

    But she is a terrible huntress, too.  She will spend nearly an hour hunched over a spider, batting with enough force to make a pillowy “flup” noise as her paw hits the carpet.  Tail twitching, she’ll observe the spider’s futile attempts to flee, each effort slower than the last as Bandit’s casual assaults gradually disable all of the creature’s limbs.  And then she’ll walk away.  My beautiful kitty cat will simply wander off to a strip of sunlight and lie down for an afternoon snooze, completely unconcerned for the twitching remains of the spider.  It falls to me or Hubby to dispose of the poor arachnid.  She does this, not as a means of procuring food, not as a means of defending her territory, but because she is practicing what it means to be “cat.”  Bandit is expressing who she innately IS as a species.

    Some would say her behavior is two sides of the same coin, but I would have to disagree.  Bandit’s “personality,”  if you will, cannot be reduced to a binary of contradicting halves.  There is no such thing as contradiction in a creature such as herself –Bandit has taught me this.  She simply IS, and she accepts this, just as she accepts me; whatever I wear, whatever I eat, she considers it in line with what my nature dictates and that, she would say with a flick of her ear, is that.

    To tie this all in, I can’t assume that Bandit’s reasons for doing something have anything to do with my reasons for doing something similar (if I smush a spider, it’s because it was lying in wait at the bottom of my coffee cup).  I can’t define her actions with my emotions; she IS a creature motivated by very different wants and needs, and—oddly enough—those motivations are of a more selfish nature in that she doesn’t kill the spider to be mean, she likely kills the spider to practice her hunting, to see the effect of the blows she causes.  When she walks on the counter, it isn’t to spitefully disobey my desires that she stay off the counter, she is simply exploring an area because she wants to satisfy her curiosity.

    Hold that thought, apply it to your own pets, mayhaps; on Friday, I’ll post a follow-up.