I feel like I am being punished. Sometimes.
Punished, not by God (who I am told has a particular liking for me), but
by my circumstances of life that are beyond my control. Last year I had a moment of enlightenment
where I realized what it means when they say, “Into every life a little rain
must fall.” It seemed that with every
experience that I hoped would be at least a moment of pure and lasting joy,
something less-than-stellar was happening at the same time. Initially I resented the intrusion on my moment
of happiness. Then I wondered if I got
it backwards – maybe it was really a moment of joy that was happening in the
middle of a life that is, unfortunately, periodically challenging for all of
us.
Anyone who knows me knows that raising puppies has brought
me the greatest joy. It is an immense
amount of work, but I am confident that I am raising awesome family dogs and
bringing so much happiness to many people.
Last night I held Mariette Joy in my hands – she is barely over 4 pounds
– and she smiled and blinked at me. It
was a golden moment. I watched Bandit
and Gordie grab a small white towel that had been on the floor and tug, tumble,
and bunch it up. Sebastian was pestering
his doggy grammie Bethany Pearl by head-butting her as she situated herself
calmly on the floor to watch all the antics.
I think even Grammies of dogs have gained the perspective that Mommies do
not have. Namely, you don’t have to
correct everything, sometimes you can
just watch as things sort themselves out.
Having the puppies means eventually “not-having” them. Which, even when you keep one, it grows up
and is a different kind of experience than 5-week-old doggy babies are. A forgetful friend keeps asking me, “Now when
can they go to their new homes?” And I
keep replying: “thanks for asking that painful question.” After living through the vigilant state of
the first four weeks, the joys of weeks 5-8 are a reward indeed. The last four weeks before they go to new
homes are lots of fun. Well, yes, and
lots of poo and potty, too.
“When you’re raising dogs, that’s ALL you’re doing is
raising dogs,” I once said. I reference
the amount of attention and care I pay toward keeping them warm, well fed, and
growing. I weigh them twice a day. I feed their mother 4 times a day. If you do the math, that includes a 4 a.m. or
thereabouts feeding. The first week I
take off from work because normal human sleep is just not possible.
But this litter experience was different. First of all, I was rewarded by God with GOOD
BABIES. I mean it. This litter is quieter at night and sweeter
during the day than I ever could have dreamed.
That is a reward, because sometimes it might not have been easy…. Not that
I remember any other thing. Here’s the
counter-point: all of the Other Things
that kept happening relentlessly through these past five weeks are
noteworthy. In fact, they seemed at
times to be the short road to the insane asylum.
Ø
A week before they were due to be whelped
(born), my furnace began to make this incredible noise like a monster in the basement. I knew to jump on that immediately because I
would in short order be SLEEPING in the basement on the other side of the wall
from the monster soon enough. I had one
guy come and quote me $770 for the new part.
He charged me $150 for a two minute diagnosis. I asked him, “Are you going to do a cleaning
today? He said, Nah, I’ll do it when I
come back with the part.” Reeling from
sticker-shock, I did not call him back to do that. I had another guy come and give me a re-purposed
part for $40 plus labor charge. THAT is
the guy I will call back to do the cleaning and any other maintenance in the
future. AND I will give referrals to him
as well. I like helping nice people move
their business forward.
Ø
I’m sarcastically lifting my glass to toast the
end of online dating. I’m not ending it
because of success, mind you. I’m ending
because I didn’t go online for a few months to see that they had locked me into
a monthly renewal fee and just kept pulling it out of a rarely-used checkbook. You find that out when the bank sends
you a letter telling you that a check bounced but they put it through for you
anyways. I had authorized a charge for one
period of dating service access (which gained me a few friends and no dates). The company had a revolving clause. So I had to actually “fight” the online
dating people to give back money for a service I had not USED in months. THEN they actually wanted to know if I was
satisfied with their customer service?! It
was a charitable act on my part that I did NOT fill out the survey.
Ø
Six months ago, I stepped on something. I didn’t want to deal with it. I thought it was a splinter and I hoped it
would go away. Six months ago was wintertime. I didn’t have the slightest desire to be
pulling a pained foot in and out of a winter boot that wasn’t pulling on easy
as it was by design. I do not know why I
thought it would be more painful to remove the thing than to keep walking on it
and getting that more-than-occasional pinching sensation. Sometimes I would look
at my foot – which required the flexibility of a circus contortionist to get it
bent up to my other knee – and choose again to do nothing. Week one after the new dogs were on board all
of a sudden I had a window of time to sit at my kitchen table with: my reading glasses, a magnifying glass, a
flashlight for increased, increased, increased visibility, and a sterilized
needle. I could not move the thing
embedded in the pad of my foot. Finally,
I broke down and went to a podiatrist who removed …. a teeny, tiny WIRE from my
foot. It was thinner than a wire from a
Brillo pad or staple and heaven only knows where I stepped on it … or why I
could walk on it for six months.
Ø
His name was Rustle. He was a snake that decided he would hang out
near my back doorway just to freak me out any time he could. And, no, he wasn’t a gardener snake. I don’t
know what he did for a living; I didn’t ask.
I do know he was a PITA snake. (PITA= Pain in the you-get-the-idea). Saturday morning, Rustle met Mr. Shovel in the
backyard as I channeled all my rage, frustration, and disgust into his
core. I told him twice not to hang
around near where my dogs would be. I
meant it.
Ø
Laundry.
Man, is there ever laundry when you are raising pups. The first two weeks all the old towels your
friends and your mother gave you come into play… that, and when the mother dog jumps on your
bed and hurls her breakfast on the comforter, you now have more laundry.
Ø
The rains from Spain did NOT stay mainly on the
plain. In the last decade, the springtime in Central New York has become
increasingly rainy – to a fault. The first deluge during this litter, I stood
at the doorway to the back yard and watched the water pooling around the
drain. It should not have been
pooling. It needed to be swirling. Pooling, if left long enough, becomes
flowing-towards … the back door. I
waited for a break in the rain and walked out there to see an easy fix: remove
grass clippings so that the water would drain away. It did. Ahhh.
Ø
The strange types of ground cover, three
exactly, that began to spread around the perimeter of my house all of a sudden
went wild. The rains did nothing for the
hanging pot of petunias, but the stupid ground cover was giving critters like
Rustle and Mini Mouse places to hang out.
This is unacceptable. Finally,
after work yesterday, I had a brief window of opportunity to weed-whack so that
my house no longer appeared ram shackled.
Ø
All of a sudden my perfectly good deck has two
boards that have unacceptable “give” in them.
That will be next on the fix-it list.
Ø
Then one of my friends told me she "has" six
months. Yeah, that kind of six months.
If you think about the concept of “emotional load,” and read
these things all at once, you understand why it is not just people in 12-step
programs have to live ONE DAY AT A TIME.
If you manage what you have immediately in front of you, you survive it. If you absorb it all simultaneously, you don’t. I am now thinking that the bad stuff doesn’t
happen because the good stuff is
present. The good stuff happens so that
you have some inner joy, albeit momentary, to survive the bad stuff that would
have happened anyways.
Will I raise puppies again? I sure hope so. I wouldn’t trade those kisses at 4 am for
anything in the world!
#########
*Subsequent litter, perhaps in 4 years? I need to scout a new female for the job in a year or so.
