Babies R(n't) Us

I finally got up north to see a friend who had twins in July. I was prepared to hear her gush over the joys of new motherhood. But my friend told the truth. Of course she loved them; that’s a given. But motherhood? It left her dangerously exhausted, seriously bored and all too infrequently thrilled with her decision to have children. “You know why they make those little outfits so cute?” she asked. “It’s to remind you how adorable your babies are when you think you hate them.”

Used or Abused?

A friend sat in on a training session for a dog who would one day hunt birds. She said the trainer showed up a with something that resembled a wooden car antenna. She didn’t the hit dog with it, but would lightly tap it on the back if it didn’t respond to a command. Creepy, okay, but what do I know about training a dog to hunt? Here was the really weird part of my friend’s story: The trainer never rewarded the dog when he did something right. She also emphasized to the dog’s owner that she must never reward him—not with a pat on the head, no treats, nary an “Atta boy,” or “Good dog.”

When Forever Isn't

A frequent hotel guest ended up in the shelter a few weeks ago. It’s easy to judge someone who gets rid of his or her pet until you know the whole story. Chance found his Forever Family a few years ago with a young couple and their children. But the couple divorced, the house was sold and a single, working mother of three who lived in a small apartment could not give Chance the kind of care he needed. Fortunately, we bartered services so she did not have to pay for his visits here.

We Love You, Tex -- R.I.P.

Having a hospice dog means that the end comes sooner rather than later. But still we adopt, slide into denial and open our hearts much too wide. Sweet little Tex was euthanized Tuesday. Though blind, his eyes still gave him problems. We managed to fix one eye without surgery and then the other one went bad. His options were to live in constant pain or to have the eye removed.

Hospice meant that I would provide the ancient Chihuahua comfort and love, not more pain and suffering. We had a good six-month run, Tex and I. He hated all mechanical objects and furiously attacked the lawnmower, paper shredder, dust buster and vacuum cleaner. In order to engage me in play, he’d sometimes stand next to the carpet shampooer and stare angrily at it (Being blind, he could only approximate its location so might just as often stare balefully at the floor lamp or bed post.) He’d look to me, then back to the evil machine, then at me. With a sigh, I’d walk over and plug it in for a second so he could do a little ass-kicking on the noisy invader. I eventually swaddled it in towels so Tex wouldn’t break his teeth on the wheels. 

He marked constantly, humped every new client and bit me more times (accidentally) than I could count. But I still buried a little piece of my heart with him. He’s next to Lacy’s grave, so I figure they can growl and snap at each other for eternity.














My favorite definition of heaven: Where all the dogs you’ve ever loved are waiting for you.

The Air Up There

An unfortunate side effect of having a boarding service for little dogs is little-dog yapping. Neighbors have gotten a little… tense, especially when our hotel guests go off at 5:30 in the morning.

You Got Balls. Why?

The poor, beleaguered pitbull has once again made the news and not in a good way. Today’s San Francisco Chronicle reported that a pit bull attacked its owner, a pregnant woman.   I was shocked, shocked! to discover that the attacker was an unneutered male.

The pitbull breed elicits complicated feelings from me. I pity the pits for their rotten reputation, undeserved or not. I think of them as loaded guns—perfectly safe in the hands of responsible owners and dangerous as hell in those that aren’t. It certainly isn’t their fault and I can usually spot the ones to stay far, far away from on the beach. You may think of this time of year in terms of “beach weather” season. I think of it as “ Young Tattooed Dude in Wife-beater T-shirt with Unneutered Pit Bull” season. Not one to generalize, but I’m pretty sure those owners believe that a visible pair of dog testicles will somehow enhance their own manhood (which is probably really tiny and could use some enhancing).

And that, my friends, is the real problem. Not pit bulls, Rottweilers or Presa Canarios, but males. Specifically, males who own male dogs. Before you write me off as a cranky old feminazi, let me repeat some of the reasons I’ve heard from men about why they chose not to neuter their dogs. One fellow said (and I swear to God this is what he said) that he did not want to take away his best friend’s ‘best friends.’ Others have told me that it’s unnatural, unhealthy, not fair. I just want to scream, “We’re not talking about YOUR balls, nitwit, we’re talking about the dog’s.”

Why do I single out men when it comes to this issue? I know that not all men think this way. But, I have yet to hear a woman spout the same protestations regarding why their dog has not been spayed or neutered. Main reason they don’t? Hubby/boyfriend will not allow it.

My heart goes out to that poor man who discovered his wife’s mauled body. But as tragic as that incident was, perhaps it will serve as a cautionary tale and convince at least one guy out there to neuter his dog. If he’s got the cojones, that is.

Dress for Success

I hit my sartorial zenith around the time ripped sweatshirts and leggings paired with white pumps were considered cutting edge.   As the years ticked by and my passion for fashion faded, I began to envy those totalitarian nations like China and North Korea. They really had it going on, what with those blue pajama outfits everyone seems to wear. Why couldn’t the free world dress as comfortably without being cruelly mocked?