Day 27: The Questions for My Future Self

 I feel like I’ve written about this topic before, but since I can’t find that other hypothetical post I think I’m clear to use it tonight.

My 5th graders, distance learners or not, are now in the single digits as far as days remaining in their elementary school careers. An activity our social worker has done with 5th graders toward the end of many past school years has been to get each of them to write a letter to their future self, in a time capsule sort of way. It gets them thinking about the person they are right now, and who they might become by the end of middle school, or high school, or later in life -- whenever they choose to read the letter they wrote. He gives them a list of ten questions to write about, then has them choose four. This year I wrote down the ten questions. I’ll be answering them tonight, thinking ahead to the day that will come in ten years or so, when all of this school business will finally reach an end for me. So here we go. Just remember these were originally questions for children, so I may go outside the lines on a few of them.

#1: List three words to describe yourself. 

The best description I’ve ever heard about myself actually came from a former principal. I don’t remember the context, but she said, “I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone so willing to take too much credit for things and not enough credit at the same time.” I heard that and thought: Wow. That is entirely fair, and I like how complex it makes me seem.

#2: What are your hobbies?

Hobbies are interests you pursue during your idle time, so it doesn’t seem like they can have anything to do with professional pursuits. Unfortunately, that doesn’t leave too much for me once teaching and writing are taken off the table. I like playing games and solving puzzles. Relaxing in front of the TV with some shows or movies to watch is pretty cool. I have a few favorite podcasts I listen to, often in the middle of the night if I wake up and want to try and lull myself back to sleep.

Other than that…walking the dog? Self-doubt? Anxiety? Do any of those count?

#3: Who are your friends?

This is kind of complicated, so I’ll explain a few things about my perspective. First off, as far as honest to goodness friends go, I only have a small circle of them — it’s an introvert thing. Beyond that, I think of friendship in three wider circles. The next closest would be those you have the most proximity with, like, in my case, people I work with and see every day and have connected with on some level. Outside of that would be the people that I still have some degree of relationship with, even if our paths have gone in different directions and I don’t see them very often (the Covid Year being an exception in the time length here). If we stay in touch at all in some real way instead of some pretend crap like social media "friendships," I would still think of you as a friend, and very likely I miss not having you as directly in my life as you once were. If you’re someone I know but haven’t even really spoken to in, say, the last three years? Well…Circle 3, aka Acquaintance Town. It should also go without saying that everyone, with a few exceptions in that tightest, smallest circle, will have to line up behind Freddie in terms of importance.

#4. What do you want to be when you grow up? 

I’m unconditionally grown up. But keeping in mind I wouldn’t open this time capsule letter until after I retire, the only ambition I’d have at that point would be to have achieved the level of working author.

#5. What technology do you think will exist?

Human augmentation, which will include direct mental connections to some new organic form of the internet once the Singularity is reached and surpassed.

#6. Who do you look up to? 

Outside of the obvious answers that practically everyone would list (parents, sister, John Petrucci), I’d rethink this one as people I admire: The musicians and writers who can bring magic moments into being and make it seem effortless when the truth is far from that; the colleagues I work with who have so much more patience than I do and display boundless compassion so easily because it’s a part of who they are, and/or keep showing up in their classroom even when it feels like the world around them has been temporarily engineered to kick their ass. People who get vaccinated.

#7. What are your hopes and dreams?

For the people in my family to have long, happy, and healthy lives. To be able to retire as a working writer, and have a happy and healthy life that stretches out long enough for me to enjoy that. To not be alone.

#8. What positive skill could you develop or behavior you could change that would help you reach those dreams?

Once the pandemic has faded into relative obscurity and my brain is no longer caving in, I really want to get back into a regular writing routine. I know I can do it. I have before, for long stretches of time. This past year though, and all the baggage that came with it between Covid and distance learning? It was too much. I allowed it to be enough that I was developing an idea instead of actively writing a story. 

#9. What are places you hope to visit? 

Top, top of the list is to get back out to the PNW. Other than that? Iceland would be interesting. So would New Zealand, I think. Really though, I’ve always felt that travel is less about the destination and more about who is with you on the journey.

#10. What advice would you give your future self?

If you haven’t yet learned to live with the idea that people don’t necessarily define you by your flaws and failings and might see worth in you that you don't always recognize yourself, you should probably start wrapping your head around that idea. You’re an old man, dude. It's seriously time to get over yourself.

Day 11: Freddie’s Pandemic

The following routine settled into semi-permanence around mid-October last year….

5:44 AM: He’s moving. He’s groaning and stretching! Those are the signals I’ve been waiting for! It’s time to jump off this recliner I’ve claimed as my own and jump on the bed to stretch out over his chest and demand pets and scratches while my tail creates a light breeze near his head that goes unappreciated during the colder seasons of the year! 

6:02 AM: I’ve received an appropriate amount of pets and scratches, so I will go lie down beside him and start playing with his fingers as if they are Snausages.

6:13 AM: The TV weatherperson who reminds me so much of a golden retriever is talking now, so he’s getting up!

6:14 AM: WHERE IS MY YELLOW DINOSAUR I MUST RUN SEVERAL LAPS AROUND THE LIVING ROOM WITH HIM IN MY MOUTH

6:15 AM: Okay, his shoes are on now so we can go outside! I love outside so dearly! So many smells for me to smell!

6:30 AM: I am incapable of describing the perfection that is breakfast. Why would anyone ever want to eat anything other than breakfast food?

6:30:24: I wonder if there’s any peanut butter to be found in the kitchen this morning. I should probably stand here and stare up at him as he works the Sudoku just in case.

6:45 AM: Okay. TV is fine. But I will stretch out on his lap instead of watch.

7:00 AM: He’s getting ready for the day! I must follow him to the bedroom while he cleans up and gets dressed in case there is guarding to be done.

7:04 AM: Guarding is not exciting, and he seems okay. Perhaps there is a patch of sunlight waiting for me somewhere.

8:00 AM: Goodness, that was warm. Perhaps I’ll go back to bed.

10:30 AM: It’s outside time again! Outside! All the smells!

10:35 AM: My time in bed feels incomplete somehow. I need more time to achieve closure.

12:00 Noon: AHHH IT’S TIME TO WALK WE’RE GOING TO THE PARK AND MOLLY MIGHT BE THERE AND WAGS MIGHT BE THERE AND AHHHH THE PARK

1:00 PM: Hmm, it seems that tricky sunshine is trying to outwit me for some reason and has conveniently migrated to my blanket fort. Perhaps I will go lie there for hours.

4:00 PM: WALK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

4:30 PM: I need a drink and a very short nap, because….

5:00 PM: SUPPER!!!! MY OTHER FAVORITE WORD OF ALL THE WORDS!!!!!

6:00 PM: Hmm. He hasn’t eaten his supper yet. I believe this situation requires vigilance. I will quietly growl at the door just in case someone carrying a bag of food tries to break into MY house. If they do, I can usually scare them away so completely they set the food down to make a more efficient escape.

6:30 PM: Oh, sweet. These pillows on the living room couch are still here in the same spot where I’ve kept them for these nearly three years.

9:00 PM: Hmm…? Was that… I swore I heard my… yep, he’s got my leash. *Yawn/Stretch/Yawn* Okay, yeah, yeah, sure. Outside. Woo-hoo. Let’s get this done.

9:30 PM: I know it’s dark, and his demeanor gives away precisely how tired he is right now, but I feel strongly that I’m owed a bedtime snack before I will even consider settling in for the evening. 

9:38 PM: Okay. Blanket 1, check. Blanket 2, check. Bear, bird, and taco — all present. Now I can sleep.

5:44 AM: He’s moving. He’s groaning and stretching! Those are the signals I’ve been waiting for....

Day 3: Building a Mini-Bucket List

During an early morning Target run this past weekend, I bought a new package of Post-It Notes to use on my fridge this summer. If you’re new to the idea, I’ve spent most of the past few summers turning the front of my refrigerator into a massive To-Do list of summertime activities, with each note listing something else to do, which I peel off and throw out as I complete them. Hopefully by the time school starts again in the fall I’ve finished off at least most of the things I had listed. It’s a good cure for the days when you can’t think of anything to do.

I didn’t do it last year, because the options of what to do seemed so severely pandemic-limited and the only thing really on my list was stay home and not die. However, the world seems to be regaining some of its equilibrium. Even though Covid is hardly resolved (and seriously, if you think it’s gone or will end anytime soon you have some real self-searching to do), life does feel slightly less dangerous than it did a year ago. I’ve gotten pretty good at managing a safe lifestyle, and I’ve had both of my shots. Maybe the occasional measured or controlled risk wouldn’t be completely inappropriate? After all, as I mentioned in the previous paragraph — I did actually go inside a Target store, and buy things. Clearly I’m ready to live on the edge.

In all seriousness I have no plans on going crazy with the “open world” idea. But I love my vaccines and the increased security I’ve learned to feel with their 95% efficacy. I think getting out and doing a few things might not be so bad under the right conditions. After a year of isolation, there are a lot of things I’ve always enjoyed, particularly in the summer, that I missed after holding back from doing them.

There are things I’d like to do that I’m not ready to yet, and even some bigger, more adventurous things that I’d like to try someday. But in the short term? There are the things I’ve missed being able to do. There’s stuff I’d like to try, projects I’d like to attempt, things about my life I’d like to work on trying to change, for real. People to see. Skills to develop. The kind of unremarkable but still unusual and potentially memorable experiences to be collected that would be worth the investments of time and effort. 

I think a lot of people might see life this way now, divided between Before Covid and After. Speaking for myself, living through an existential threat (shut up, science deniers) gives you a watered-down version of the perspective that I imagine people who’ve experienced near misses with illnesses or injuries probably feel. They survived, and come out the other side with an appreciation of the opportunities, the potential, and the promise life still holds.

I’ve never really had an official Bucket List so much as some things I hoped I’d get to do or see someday. I’m not thinking in terms like that here, at least not exactly. Instead of putting together a checklist of things like exotic places to visit, I’m thinking of smaller things, sort of like the things that really I could have done at almost any point but never took advantage of the opportunities to do. The smaller things. It seems to me as I start thinking about another summer with my fridge hidden beneath a layer of Post-It Notes, this might be a summer to try and accomplish some of those things.

For example: I’ve never been big on spending a lot of time in the city. Really, it’s just not my thing. I was brought up in small towns, and I’m relatively comfortable here in the blandness of the suburbs. But I’ll admit I can enjoy the energy of the city when I’m there, at least if I'm not trying to steer a grade level through a field trip. Maybe taking the commuter train downtown to meet up with a friend for lunch sometime could be a nice little fun-sized adventure. Of course I’d have to feel comfortable about riding the train, which is far from a lock right now, but we’re really just throwing around hypothetical spitballs here, so why not consider it for the list.

I’d like to give my dog a chance to see more of the world around him than he has; he likes exploring the neighborhood, so he might like getting out a little further. I have friends with dogs he could meet. It could make for a fun evening to go visit with some of them some summer evening, and maybe sit outside for dinner. I’ve been a writer for so long, and my best friend is a professional musician. We’ve talked for decades now, literally, about trying to collaborate on writing at least one song. I know he’s game for it and is just waiting for me to have an idea. Maybe this could be the summer to really try. A few years ago a friend of mine and I joked about making a day trip up North to visit a mutual friend with an alpaca farm and shop. That could be fun. I'm almost certain it would be.

The way I see it right now, I have a little over a month to really zero in on what would be the things that could both enhance my summer and help me fill in some of the overall life gaps I’d like to close while I still have the chance. Even if I only managed to address some of them in the end, I think it'd be worth the attempt.

If She Were Here

Last year when I wrote my annual memorial post to mark the date we lost my sister Erin — 16 years ago now — I listed things about everyday life for all of us that she had never been alive to know about. It put a cold perspective on how long we’ve been without her now. Here in 20-frickin’-20, everything comes back to all the forms of disaster that have manifested during this calendar year. There are more than 7 million cases of Covid-19 around the world, and more than 200,000 deaths (and counting) in America alone. As of the past few days, one of those millions of cases even includes our esteemed president and several of his best administration pals. I’ll refrain from going beyond that other than to say the problem has been with us for a long time and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere any time soon. It got me thinking: What would it have been like if Erin had still been around to get through this with the rest of us?

She would have been the one driving out to deliver things to her friends and family confined to home to keep them safe. She liked knowing she was able to help people. She enjoyed being relied on. She once held up a shuttle bus at the state fair parking lot from leaving so she could help an older woman with a walker get on the bus. 

She would have taken mitigation very seriously since she worked with seniors, and wouldn’t have wanted to be unavailable to them.

She wouldn’t have been following the politics of the election too deeply, but she would have known enough about what was going on to hate the president as much as she had hated any other bully she’d ever encountered, and she would have been taken over by the personality combination of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

The cousins in our family who live locally and have small children would have had her coming over occasionally, probably bringing some simple new toys to leave behind, and playing with them in some socially distant way she had thought up on her own. The kids would just see this as a fun new game, and would probably refer to it as something like “The Erin game.”

She’d be unhappy about the Vikings and their 1-3 record, and would have opinions about Kirk Cousins. 

She’d visit Jenny and me on occasion, but primarily to spend time with our dogs. 

When our family would have some kind of event coming up like a birthday or holiday, she would figure out where and when we were going to celebrate and then give each of us our directions, and possibly tell us which of our masks were expected to wear.

She’d be on Facebook because so many of our cousins are, and her timeline would be dominated by memes. Half of them would be critical of the job the president has done (and likely based around jokes related to poop or farts) while the other half would be inspirational sayings and poems with calming nature backgrounds.

When she would come to my house (to see Freddie), she would occasionally bring me some kind of gift she had noticed in a previous visit that I needed. This would be indicative of both her wanting to show kindness to people, but also a way to keep the fires of sibling rivalry burning brightly, something like “The last time I was here I noticed that all of you kitchen towels are completely worn out and suck, so I got you some new ones.” This would be her way of showing she was aware of me and my surroundings, but also her way of sticking it to me to highlight how incapable I would be of having nice towels without her help. Like I said, sibling rivalry. 

The thing about reimagining what the present would be like with her as a part of it was something I didn’t even realize until I was nearly done thinking my way through it: Every moment of my picturing her with us now saw her as she had been before she was sick. I didn’t see the Erin with the incessant cough or the crippling fatigue or the heavy knowledge of her fate. I saw the person she’d been at her peak, healthy and strong, living the life in front of her and struggling to figure out what was going to come next, like so many of us do each day. 

It was good to have some time with that version of her again. 

May 31: Pandemic Summer

I’ve started past summers by covering my refrigerator door in a colorful array of sticky notes, creating a massive list of goals, hobbies, and adventures meant to fill my summer break with experiences and accomplishments. This summer I’m leaving it blank. 

This coming Friday would be Track and Field Day at my school. In a lot of ways, that day is the emotional starting point for the end of the school year. However, because of the coronavirus and distance learning, our Track and Field Day is virtual this year. No sweaty day out in the sun. No kids dumping out their water bottles on each other. No Tug of War, or Fifth Grade All-Stars competition, or dunk tank, or subsequent happy hour which I probably would have gone to this year.

The beginning of summer break is a wonderful time, the launch pad of so much possibility, and so many things to do. Go see a movie in the middle of the afternoon, if you want. Meet up with a few friends for lunch somewhere you usually wouldn’t go and catch up. Enjoy the open time without any immediate responsibility, or at least less of it.

This year though, I don’t know how much it will even feel like a break, at least for me. I haven’t seen my students in nearly three months, and I won’t see them as a group ever again. I’m sure it will feel like summer, with the pounding afternoon sun and the humid air and the occasional storm rolling through. So summer, sure. But a break from what? My work day for the third trimester has meant sitting in front of my computer screen each day, which is what a good chunk of each day will be like as I work (and yeah, it really is WORK) to write one new manuscript and revise another. That was always going to happen. Anything I would have had on the Sticky Note To Do List would have been distractions around it.

But this year, what’s going to happen in the outside world? For the second time in 2020, the world has gone through remarkable change for the worst almost overnight just this past week. George Floyd was killed not even a week ago, and not for the first time we’re finding so much of our lives affected by the actions of one violent ex-cop. Tragically there’s no way everything that followed that won’t lead to a second wave of COVID-19 by July, and my guess is that by then one community demanding justice and another wanting to go up North every weekend won’t eagerly welcome another shelter-in-place order.

So in my little world, there are a lot of things that either I really can’t, or shouldn’t, do, as well as things that would be pointless. There won’t be the traditional countdown to the first day back to school in the fall, because there’s really no telling what the fall will look like. There won’t be any boiling afternoons spent in a dark movie theater to retreat from the excessive heat and the storm watches, because even if the theaters were open there aren’t exactly any movies out for them to show. There won’t be afternoons or evenings, or sometimes even mornings, wandering the aisles of Cub or Target for an hour, only to arrive at the check-out with a cartful of things I don't really need. Live music is pretty much dead at the moment, so the one concert I was excited about attending has been postponed for at least a year, to say nothing of how there wasn’t even a Summer Concert Series at the MN Zoo amphitheater announced. I didn’t even bother trying to pick an Official Driving With the Windows Rolled Down Album of the Summer, both because friggin’ 2020 doesn’t deserve one and because the last time I filled my gas tank was mid-March and it isn’t even half empty yet.

On top of all this — no State Fair. Maybe at least on the Fourth of July I can try to watch the fireworks from that show near my house …maybe they’ll allow that with social distancing…at least on the fourth I can watch the Hot Dog eating con…nope, that’s getting shut down for sure.

I don’t know. I mean, I fully expect the Second Wave to hit like a tsunami, but maybe before it does I’m being too cautious. A lot of people are getting sick, but a lot aren’t. NO, that’s the kind of magical thinking that ends up with people in the ICU. I’m not taking any risks I don’t have to, and if that means more time in the designated pick up spots in the Target parking lot instead of in the store, so be it. I’m walking around with an underlying condition or two here. I’m not taking any risks I absolutely don’t have to. 

Besides, there are still a lot of things I can do. There are dozens of books to read in my house, along with the two of my own I’ll be working on. In fact, I’m halfway through the new Stephen King right now and have an older John Sandford mystery I still haven’t read on deck. I’ve got miles and miles of summer dog walks ahead of me, along with sunny afternoons we’ll spend in our chairs on the patio. There are all of those shows on Netflix people talk about, and I’ll probably take the final technology dive into Disney+ at some point, to anesthetize myself with Marvel movies. I’m also taking on the summer project of catching up on classic movies I’ve never seen; I think “From Here to Eternity” is actually recording as I sit here and write this. I have a well-worn copy of Fallout: New Vegas at the ready for any night I can’t fall asleep, now that I don’t have to worry so much about waking up to “go to work” anymore. And as far as shopping? I can get pretty much whatever I need delivered to my house. To paraphrase one of my students from an assignment they wrote about living through a pandemic, there’s a difference between the things you want and the things you need.

Whatever happens, the summer of 2020 promises to be both quiet (personally) and dramatic (publicly). Let’s just hope there’s still a world left out there when it’s time to start school again in the fall. 

May 9: The Post-Pandemic Perfect Day

I think that at one time or another, most people have indulged the daydream of imagining what a perfect day would be like. I don’t necessarily mean a day filled with lottery wins or wildest dreams coming true, or magically being able to correct mistakes and erase regrets. I think of a day when everything would go as well as it possibly could. 

A few months ago, I would have had a dramatically different idea of what a perfect day would be like. The day of the week wouldn’t have mattered, but it would have started with me getting a text from my agent soon after waking, asking when we could talk later that day since an offer had come through on the manuscript we have on submission. I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about it, but carrying that secret all day would color everything else that happened in the best possible way. The day would be full of good meals, with me probably seeing a movie I’d been looking forward to for a long time, lots of laughter, and good songs on every station on the radio when I was driving. I’m sure there would be details beyond that if I was able to specifically plan out a perfect day, but that’s the basic outline. 

Not anymore, though. 

The pandemic has become a driving force of everyday life here in my state, and consequently a lot of our priorities have changed. Because I understand and respect the risks involved with Covid-19, I have been taking the idea of shelter-in-place very seriously. This means that, since the last day of school before this seemingly eternal spring break began two months ago, I have probably spent 98% of this time, literally, inside my house with no one but my dog. In all this time, I have not had a live, in-person face to face conversation with anyone that lasted more than three minutes, and mostly with people living in my neighborhood I only kind of know, if they happen to be outside while my dog and are out for a walk. The only way I can keep in touch with the people important to me is through some virtual electronic medium. The same students I couldn’t pay to stay quiet in the classroom stare blankly into their cameras during our video conferences, without questions to ask or anything to say. If I have to leave the house to pick up something essential, or if I have something delivered, I don’t feel completely secure about even that superficial level of interaction with the outside world until I’ve wiped down any exposed surfaces, washed my hands to a level that would make them acceptable for performing surgery, and, if necessary, even changed clothes. Am I taking all of this a little far? Probably. But I’m also not infected. So far. That I know of. 

Because of all this, my vision of a perfect day has changed. Now, I feel a perfect day would be 24 hours spent basking in the former normalcy that we all had probably taken for granted in some way, and may not see again in the same way for years. I think my perfect day would go a little something like this: 

5:45 AM - It’s a Friday. I’d wake up just a little before my alarm, feeling fully rested. I’d turn on the morning news. My dog would hop up in the bed and say good morning by straddling my chest and throat, snorting in my face, and wagging his tail so enthusiastically it actually creates a small breeze. (This describes the first 10 minutes of practically every day anyway.) After a walk, breakfast, finishing the Sudoku in the paper, and a shower, I’d be ready to go to school. Because yes, going to school would now be a part of my perfect day. 

8:00 - I’d arrive at school early enough to get a decent parking space. There wouldn't be any meetings in the morning. All of my materials for the day are ready to go because I had enough time the night before to prepare them. As people arrive and enter the building through the door near my classroom, they’d all say a quick good morning to me as they walked past my door, and the ones I’m closer with would stop to talk for a few minutes before they went to start their days. 

9:15 - The first bell would ring, signaling what will be a successful day at school. The kids will be engaged and productive. We’ll all be in good moods, contributing to a happy and comfortably classroom environment. Everyone will be getting along so well that no one will drag any toxic drama back to the classroom after recess or lunch, and the day ends successfully. I’m happy about having another good day with a class I really enjoy. (This is true about this year, at least as far as I how I enjoyed them back when we were spending our days together.)

4:00 - The day ends well and the kids go home. I don’t have much school work to do over the weekend, and the little that I have is already pretty much packed and ready. I’m not feeling any rush to leave, so I allow myself to get pulled into three or four of the conversation pockets that always pop up in the hallway after school. This ends up taking close to an hour, if not longer. It’s wonderful to see these people right in front of me, and hear their voices in person instead of over the internet, and to just be present in the moment with so many of them. I had a good day with my students, and I get to end it with some quality time with my friends and colleagues.

4:45 - I finally leave. I stop at Target on the way home, and enjoy walking through the aisles in no particular rush, unconcerned with the number of people in the store, whether or not they’re six feet away from me, or if they’re wearing masks. None of that is necessary anymore. I pick up the things I need and even a few I don’t. I run into a person or two from school while there, and get into more end-of-the-day depressurizing conversations. I’m feeling happy and relaxed.

5:15 - I’m home, a little later than my dog would prefer, but he’s very happy to see me and to take a walk through the neighborhood during a comfortable and sunny evening before he has his supper.

6:00 - I’m at my sister’s for dinner. For whatever reason, her whole family is there, along with our parents and even a few local cousins. My brother-in-law is outside grilling. Dinner is good, and we have a good time talking and eating and joking around. After dinner people spread around, some in the living room, some on the porch, some outside on the deck, because it’s still a comfortably warm evening. We spend the rest of the evening just being with each other until the sky begins darkening and it’s time for everyone to return home. 

9:00 - After getting home and taking the dog out for one last walk, the two of us spend a little time sitting in our patio chairs to enjoy the cooling evening until the bugs come out. After that, it’s back inside for a little TV or reading until I grow peacefully tired and know it’s time for bed. 

It strikes me that my idea of a perfect day now isn’t so different from what a fairly normal day would have been like before. I hope the time comes when I can have another day like that.

May 8: The Napping House

It’s taken the better part of two years, but my dog Freddie has completely acclimated himself to his new home. He was comfortable here after a couple of months, but for the longest time he always had his favorite locations. Knowing what I do about his background and being able to fill in the blanks about the rest of it based on his behavior patterns, I’m measuring whether or not he feels comfortable somewhere as whether or not he feels safe there. The way I figure it, the best way to judge how safe a dog feels in any space is how easily they can be there and fall asleep. So here’s a small tour of my house, from the point of view of Freddie’s favorite spots to nap.

1 - The sun room love seat. 

He loves lying in the sunshine. He’d prefer it if there was sun, but he still likes to hop up here and lean into a pillow. As you see, he often brings his favorite toy, Friend, with him when he settles in for some napping. 

2 - The sun room floor. 

See how relaxed he looks, stretched out in the sunshine? And yes, he’s tucked his head right up against Friend. 

3 - The bedroom recliner.

I have an old beaten-up recliner in my bedroom that used to be a comfortable place to sit until Freddie took it over and decided it would be where he sleeps most nights. He usually keeps his toys Bear and Bird (clearly I don’t put a lot of effort into naming dog toys) in the bedroom, but on that night they were up on the recliner with him. 

4 - My bed. 

That small blanket he's snuggled on came with him from foster care. It stays on the corner of the mattress, because that’s always the spot he goes to whenever he jumps up onto the bed.

5 - The futon in the home office. 

This doubles as my guest room. The futon pulls out to a double bed, and as far as futons go it’s actually pretty nice. If I’m working in the office and there isn’t a sunny patch somewhere in the house for him to lie in, he’s probably going to be there.

6 - His crate. 

This is his safe place, where he goes to lie down if he feels insecure about something, like if we see something outside that leaves him feeling unsettled, or, for some reason, whenever I turn on the XBox. The door is always open so he can come and go as he pleases. He has a little burrow molded in toward the back that fits him perfectly. The heart-shaped pillow was another thing he brought with from foster care when he moved in.

7 - The pillows on the living room sofa.

He discovered that lying on pillows is even better than lying on blankets. These were great pillows once, but I haven’t been able to use them for well over a year. When he curls up like this and tucks his nose behind his knee, it’s definitely time for some napping. 

8 - The arm rest of the living room love seat. 

This is a good central part of the house, and gives him a good perspective of whatever else might be going on. 

9 - His dog bed.

I bought this when he first moved in. It took him a good long time to figure out it was meant to be his. This is where he’ll lie and wait for me if he goes to bed early, and occasionally spend the night. It’s very, very soft.

10 - My lap.

Probably my favorite choice, unless I neglect to give him the pets and scratches to which he feels entitled, and he starts swatting at my hand to get me back on track. 

Pandemic Narrative, Part 7: The New Normal

Since I’ve started each of these narrative posts the same way, let’s continue with that and get the stats down for the benchmarks: Over 2.2 million cases confirmed worldwide now, with 45’s America owning about one-third of those. Over 36,000 in the United States have died. There are people on the forefront of this nightmare, putting their lives in legitimate danger out of necessity or the deep responsibility that accompanies a calling. Any negative feelings I allow myself during this time seem petty and self-indulgent by comparison.

I understand that “a new normal” will become one of the pandemic-inspired catch phrases that we’ll all eventually tire of, if we haven’t already. However, I’ve seen evidence of this idea being truth reflected in how my dog’s behavior has changed during the quarantine. He has seen enough emerging and repeated habits from me that he’s assigned his own meanings to them. If I put shoes on, or pick up my keys, or a roll of poop bags, he’s always known we’re going for a walk. Now he’s added me walking out of my home office in the late morning (11:00) after I’ve finished my morning distance learning office hours, or putting on my mask as other walk triggers. I think he waits for me at the end of the hall in the morning, and on high alert, since he’s so sure we’re walking. 

Between the time spent home and the days growing warmer, we’ve been walking a lot more, usually out at least two times each day, if not three. I’ve noticed my walking pace has quickened so I can keep up with Freddie and his speedy little legs, and my endurance has improved. Getting out for walks on the sidewalk and the pavement help keep Freddie’s little black nails trimmed, and gives him something to sleep about when I have to finish working in the afternoons. I’d lost two pounds during quarantine until I started using one of those food delivery services — it’s just too freakin’ easy to have the app right there on the phone, and a half hour later, there’s the food!

It seems like there are more squirrels and birds outside than usual springs, but maybe after all the reports of air pollution going down while the polluters are indoors and at home, that’s something I’m just looking for. Our neighborhood isn’t exactly party central, but it’s noticeably more quiet than usual. In the rare moments when a familiar car drives past while we’re out walking, I’ll still smile and wave, even if it feels kind of pointless to smile when they can’t see behind my mask. 

I’ve been taking the shelter-in-place order a lot more seriously than a lot of people, judging by the number of cars that pass my backyard on the county road behind the house each day. If memory serves, I’ve only left the house twice in the past month, other than to go for walks or get the mail. I’ve heard of people comparing quarantine to being in prison, but I don’t see it that way. To me, it feels more like what I’d imagine living on a space station would be like. You have some room to move around, you’ve got things to keep your mind occupied, you have enough food and water, but you’re hyper-aware that leaving your confinement is a really, really bad idea. 

I’m mostly okay with this, though. This kind of extended confinement would bother me during the summer; if I were on break and went through a couple of days not doing much or going anywhere I’d feel guilty about it, but during quarantine I don’t mind at all. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say I have some fine-tuned introvert super powers. As my sister said at the beginning of this, “You’re good at staying away from people.” Which isn’t about being anti-social, but about being comfortable while alone when the alternative isn’t a choice. I’d explain it by paraphrasing Bruce Banner in the first Avengers movie, right before he turned into the Hulk to join the fight in New York: “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always lonely.”

But in a forced isolation like this, there are ways to manage it. Last night some of the staff from my school had an online trivia night, figuring since we’re all doing distance learning now we might as well take advantage of the technology at our disposal for some virtual social time. And it was great. We played and talked and laughed for three hours. By the time it was finished I felt like I was returning home after being out all night. 

An event like that is more of an occasional thing though (at least for most of us), and we still need ways to survive what can feel like an unending overlap of carbon-copied days. It turns out that distance learning has been a big help with that. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying the experience is all rainbows, Skittles, and Lisa Frank stickers. There are still a lot of the same frustrations I have to deal with as a teacher, and this only amplifies them since I’m removed from being able to directly address them by a few more degrees. I have noticed that maintaining a routine in the day helps make it more palatable. Instead of thinking of quarantine as a trial with no end date in sight (because I certainly don’t expect to be going back to my actual school this year), I take the day in chunks. These two hours? Office hours. These two? A movie. Or several episodes of Community on Netflix. One more hour until bed. Listening to one album or podcast and setting that as the length of doing a specific chore. 

There isn’t much choice to it really, but for now, my solitary nature and circumstance are keeping me happily and blessedly uninfected. Knowing what the alternative to that could be like? I don’t really mind. 

The First Year Home

I had a seven year gap between dogs. Part of that came from the leftover pain following Spencer’s prolonged death, while part of it was being accustomed to a life that was so much easier. No trips to the vet had to be made. No accidents or vomit ever needed cleaning up. I could go to school early and state late if I needed to, without feeling any guilt. I didn’t have to worry about who was going to watch the dog whenever I left town. It was an easier life, but an emptier one. 

Last summer was a long one after Freddie came home. It’s hard for me to explain exactly how frightened and withdrawn he was when he first moved in; only the people who saw him in his first days could fully appreciate that. His trust came slow but he got used to me, and he got used to his surroundings, and after several weeks he settled in comfortably. He’s now as happy as he’s ever been. He has plenty of favorite napping spots, and often will go to bed on his own before I do. He’ll attack his toys first thing in the morning, burning off excitement about knowing he's about to go for a walk. He knows our neighborhood well, including many of his dog neighbors and their human companions. He has all of our walk routes memorized, knowing where his favorite sniffing spots are, where he’s supposed to turn, and where house is his, regardless of which direction we approach it from. He’ll happily dance when he knows it’s time for breakfast or supper, and recognizes the sound of me opening the door of the cabinet where his treats are kept. When we settle in for the evening, he’ll always watch to see where I’m going to sit, then races over and jumps up to lie down beside me. If I don’t give him enough pets and scratches, he isn’t shy about swatting at my hand to remind me what my job is. 

I’m not sure anyone else will ever see the happy and bouncy little guy I know him to be. Whatever bad things happened to him earlier in life have left him extremely cautious and shy, and I don’t know if that’s something he’ll ever get over. He does open up, though. It has to be on his timetable, and it takes a long time to happen, but after awhile they get a glimpse at the loving little dog he is. 

After our first year together, I have a better understanding of why dogs such as him are called rescues. It isn’t necessarily because they’re taken from a pound or a shelter and get to move into better home, but also because they get another chance at a better, happier life. When I see him run to his safe places when visitors come or curl up to hide himself if he thinks he’s done something wrong, it almost makes me wish I knew exactly what had happened to him before he entered foster care, so I could understand those behaviors better. Since that won’t happen though, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. Instead I’ll do the only thing I can, and redouble my efforts to make his home and his life as happy and comfortable and loving as possible. 

Day 21: Guest Writer -- What A Good Boy

I am Freddie. I am a good boy. I live at home. I live with my person. Today is person’s birthday. He doesn’t want to write. I will write. I will help person. He gave me home.

I love home. I have had different homes. Many homes were bad. They scared me. They hurt me. I was very sick. I was sad. I thought I would be scared forever.

I found home last summer. I was scared. All was different. I didn’t know person. He pet me. He held me. He opened a door. Door scared me. I pulled away. I pulled off my collar. I ran away.

I ran everywhere. I ran over neighborhood. People tried helping. I was scared. I would run. I saw last person, Annemarie. She had my treats. She gave me some. She was nice. She took me home. New home. I was scared.

I didn’t eat. I didn’t drink. I was too scared. Person gave me small foods. Person put water on fingers. I would lick, then got thirsty again. Person let me sit. I had my blanket. I had my friend Pillow. Person had treats.

I learned home. It was safe. I felt better. I had safe bed. I could sleep. We did walks. I love walks. We did lots. I made friends. Wags and Molly and Stella and Diego. I felt better at home. I felt better with person. He gave pets and scratches. I had toys. Bear and Fox and Chicken and Bird and Hamburger and Raccoon. And my best friend Pillow. I love Pillow. Sometimes Pillow is in bed.

I met other persons. Persons were nice, but I was scared. I knew sometimes persons are bad. I don’t like bad persons. They scare and hurt. My person won’t. His persons don’t either. Sometimes they give me toys. And treats. I love treats. I love bones. And apples too.

Now we wake early. We walk. I eat breakfast and bone. I drink water. I play with toys. I lie in morning sun. Then I go in bed. I sleep and dream. With Pillow and Bear and Fox. Sometimes Bird. Sometimes Hamburger.

Person leaves, then comes home. Always comes home. I’m so happy. I run and dance. We walk. So many sniffs outside. I eat supper and drink water. I rest in blankets and pillows. They are soft. I like soft things. I like being soft so I get pets and scratches.

It gets dark. Time to sleep. I run to bed. Jump to my corner. Curl up in sweatshirts. Sometimes I bring Pillow. Or Bear. Or Fox. Not bone. Person doesn’t like to step on bone in dark. I like person. I don’t bring bone.

I sleep. Sometimes snore. Warm and safe. Dream of my tomorrows.

I like home. Home is mine.

All dogs should have home. Clicking on person’s Facebook birthday Fundraiser for Good Karma  Animal Rescue will help other good dogs find homes they will like, and will make me a very happy good boy.

Fourteen Years and All the Dogs

Let's see if I can remember the whole list....

When we were very young, in the days before and the earliest days of going to school, Erin, Jenny, and I lived in a house filled with corgis. We each had our "own," even though our ages ranged between zero and seven during these years. Jenny had Misty. Mine, for reasons of which I remain unaware, was named Dingo Fritz. Erin's was Barky. Even at such a young age, Erin felt such a bond with the dogs that more than once she would be caught snacking on handfuls of their food. (She was barely old enough to walk though, so we're not taking about large hands.)

We moved a few years later, and sold off all the corgis except Lady, the original. Even though she had been kind of scary when we were little kids because she did not suffer foolishness from any of the other dogs lightly, she became the friendly family dog once the competition for attention had been removed. We had her for a good number of years. 

When Erin was at the upper end of elementary school, our dad brought Arthur home one day. A complete surprise for everyone but him, and suddenly we had a westie puppy exploring our house and settling into our lives. He was our family dog and we all loved him dearly, but Erin, who never in her life met a dog she didn't become friends with, had feelings beyond that. One of my enduring memories of her is how hard she cried the day we moved her up to college, because it had been so hard for her to leave him behind. 

The three of us were adults by the time Arthur's days were finished. Jenny's family had brought in their own gigantic bundle of golden retriever, Molly, and not long after her came Erin's Jack Russell, Milo, who was brought in to the family to immediately fill the hole that Arthur's passing had left behind. About a year after that, I brought my boy Spencer home. The day I picked him up, Erin drove me there so I could hold him in my lap on the drive home and start bonding with him. Erin was also partially responsible for his name: When I told her the short list of names I was considering and got to Spencer (saving it for last, since that's the one I was already leaning toward) she said, "Well, it doesn't matter what you name him now because that's what I'm going to call him!" Decision made. 

The years sped up, as they tend to do when you and your siblings advance through adulthood. Spencer and Milo became the best of friends, since Milo was a regular dog sitting guest at my house. Molly grew old and passed on, and was eventually replaced with Willow -- once the puppy of the family and now the old man. It's been enough years that I can't say with certainty whether or not Erin ever had the chance to know Willow, but of course if she hadn't she would have loved his quiet little unassuming self as much as they rest of us. Mac came in not long after and became the other half of Willow's pack -- Mac was definitely in charge of things, mostly because Willow didn't care much. 

Milo was living with our parents until his time came. Tiny puppies Shamus and Butch came to their house next; Butch the little black and white Swiffer pad, and Shamus the furry potato with legs. They got along with all the other dogs well enough, and we had a general sense of truce between the five dogs in the family for many years. Erin didn't know them all, but it was impossible to imagine them not loving her back as much as she would have loved them. 

Then it was Spencer's time. He died such a slow and horrifying death that it broke me, and scared me away from getting a new dog for seven years. The day I brought him to the vet to put him to sleep, his doctor let me have the exam room to myself after his quick and peaceful end. While I stood there trying to wrap my head around how hopelessly lonely I was going to be, I remembered something I had heard at a book reading once, about how some people believed that sometimes the spirits or energies of dogs will remain with their masters after the pass. I didn't exactly believe that to be true but in that heightened emotional state I knew I didn't want that for him, so I looked at his body and at the floor by my feet, and, just in case, repeated over and over and over: "Go find Erin. Go find Erin. It's okay. Go find Erin now."

Years later Toby came to Jenny's family, sixty pounds of muscle and enthusiasm stuffed into the body of a boxer. Not long ago little Mac reached his end, and in less than a year equally little Riley moved in with Toby and Willow, and, in his own mind, took over the house. 

Then there was Freddie.

The shy and frightened little boy coming off a mysteriously hard life, who spent a summer's worth of days and reruns of The Office playing in the background to learn how to accept and welcome and eventually embrace his new home. Literally nobody in the world can understand how happy he is here except me, since he's still shy around other people. He's getting so much better, though. Every day he opens up a little more is a small triumph. 

But maybe, if she's ever able in whatever existence she's found now, maybe Erin's able to check in on us and see what we're doing. If so, I know she'd be so interested in everything Freddie has been up to. For all I know, she could have had a hand in steering him back into the arms of his foster mom on the day he came to live here and immediately ran away. She'd see his naps, she'd laugh with delight when he grabs his chicken or his fox out of his crate in the morning and trot into the sun room with them, and she'd smile when he curls up like a little football as he's getting ready to sleep. 

There are so many things I don't know about what life would be like with Erin now if she had been with us all this time. One thing I do know though, with absolute surety, is exactly how desperately she would love my little boy. Knowing that makes me happy and sad at the same time. 

Freddie and the Little Things

I’m not a person with a lot of needs. I’m more concerned about my clothes being comfortable and practical than looking impressive. I enjoy a good meal, but usually l just need something that will get my hunger to back off for a few hours. I typically think of travel as an adventure, but I don’t take a lot of trips. I don’t need a lot of fancy furniture or beautiful home furnishings; I’m good enough with a comfortable place to sit and a warm blanket to rest beneath in the winter. These things are enough for me to be content, and content is great. But they would be considered extravagant compared to what it takes to make my dog Freddie wildly, enthusiastically happy. 

He’s lived here for three months now. In that time he has gone through a revelatory personality transformation unlike anything I would have thought possible. He came here with no trust in anything, fear of all that was new and different, expecting that this chapter in his dog life would likely be the same threatening trial that so much of his young dog life had been before. 

Now that he’s settled in and realizes he’s safe and comfortable and cared for, he’s a completely different dog. Literally everything about his day seems to be better than it was five minutes earlier. I would imagine his internal monologue for a typical day would be very much like this: 

MORNING: 

You’re moving! You’re waking up! I know you aren’t completely awake yet, but it’s close enough for me and I’m so happy! I know I fell asleep in my crate, but I climbed up on the bed with you in the middle of the night and tried so hard to sleep down on the corner of the mattress while I waited for you to wake up, and you’re waking up! I’m so happy about this I have to come and stretch out and lie across your throat and wag my tail furiously so you know that I’m awake too and we can start the day now! Hooray! And now you’re up, and you’re walking down the hallway, and…are we going OUTSIDE? I LOVE outside! It’s my harness! I will sit here on this mat and patiently wait for you to put my harness on because I know it means I can go outside! And we’re outside now! There’s that newspaper I’m not afraid of anymore! There’s the driveway and it’s going to take us to the road and…yes! The road still has all the smells! And new ones! I have to investigate them all because they’re so wonderful! Hey, this is the grass! This is the where all of my neighborhood pals visit so we can leave each other messages! It feels so good for me to go potty in the morning and then I get treats, and then we get to go home and…BREAKFAST!!!! Hurry up, there’s breakfast back in our house and I LOVE breakfast you need to walk faster so I can have delicious breakfast!!!”

Oh my goodness, that was the greatest breakfast in the history of breakfast! It had small pieces of apple on it and I’m just AAAAHHH I’m so happy!!! Here you are on the couch and now I get pets and scratches after breakfast and this is just the best day of my life even if we’ve only been up for 25 minutes! Oh, you’re going to get ready for school now? Hooray! This is a perfect time to get all my favorite toys from my crate and scatter them all over the house! They love being scattered and I love them so much! They’re my best friends!! Wait, you’re leaving to go to school now? I’m sad about that and I’ll miss you but I know if I go wait in my crate you’ll fill my Kong with treats and I LOVE TREATS THEY ARE THE GREATEST EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!! I guess now that you’re gone I’ll just listen to the people on the radio talk, and enjoy this wonderfully soft and perfect blanket, and…zzzzzzzzz….

EVENING:

OH MY GOSH THE GARAGE DOOR IS RUMBLING!!!!! YOU’RE HOME AGAIN!!!! Let me out of my crate there’s not enough room in here for me to run and jump and climb and dance!!! Pets and rubs and scratches and pets and hugs and we get to go outside again!!! Oh, as soon as we get outside I’m going potty again because I’m not done welcoming you home yet and plus I know I get more treats!!! It’s so nice and sunny out here, and I know that means it’s sunny on my favorite blanket on the love seat! Yay! We’re back inside! I’m going to grab this here bone and bring it to my favorite blanket so I can play and toss and chew and love my bone!!! Whew, that was fun, but the sun is so warm and I’m getting kind of sleepy again already….SUPPER!!!!!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!?! I GET SUPPER AGAIN?!? SUPPER IS THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME! First you come home, then you let me out, then you give me supper! I am the luckiest dog in all the land! I’m going to sit right here with you so you can pet me some more. Wait, what? You stopped petting me? That’s okay. I’ll just swat you with my front paws a few times to remind you how much you want to be petting me right now. There you go, just keep that up. I’ll wander off to take a nap when I feel there’s been enough pets and scratches for the time being.

Hey, there isn’t as much sun. It’s a little darker!! I know what that means….WALK!!!!!!!!!!!

What in the name of all the dogs that have ever been could be greater than a walk? More chances to go potty, more treats, more smells, more outside, more sunshine! There are so many people out here, and, while I’m not entirely comfortable with that, I’m not afraid of them as much as long as you keep standing close by. Hold on: IS THAT WAGS?????? Wagswagswagswagswagswags!!! Hurry up we have to see Wags! That’s Wags coming this way we have to go see Wags right now Dave is bringing Wags to come and see us we HAVE TO SEE WAGS it’s been almost two days since me and Wags had time to sniff each other and there’s so much to catch up on I have to tell her all about how great breakfast and supper are!!!! Hey, and now we’re by Molly’s house! Where’s Molly? Molly??? I hear you barking but I don’t see you. I see Max watering his flowers but where are you Molly you should come and play with me we could play and sniff while the people are standing and talking about I don’t even care what because you’re inside! Oh well, maybe tomorrow. Wait: TOMORROW!!! I GET TO DO ALL OF THIS AGAIN TOMORROW!!! Oh life, you are pure magnificence!!!

That was a wonderful walk. The best one…yawn…ever…..wha…? It’s so dark in here…do I have to go to bed? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my crate and blanket and toys, but this pile of blankets is so warm and comfortable I really would be fine just sleeping here tonight instead…no, really, it’s fine…Okay, I guess if you’re going to pick me up and bring me into the bedroom it’s out of my paws…hey! There’s my crate! I’ll go in there and curl up again!

NIGHT: 

It’s dark. I smell crate smells. It must be night! I should probably hop up on the bed and see if you're awake yet. Hmm. Nope. Okay. I’ll just curl up here and wait….

He’s home now, and he knows it. And nothing could make him happier. 

One Month Later

It’s now been a month since Freddie moved in. His online adoption profile said “he’ll be shy at first, but with enough time he’ll become your best friend!” This was why I waited until summer break to adopt, knowing that concentrated amount of bonding time would help a new dog become comfortable with me and his new surroundings before I had to start back to school. 

The first time we met, he growled at me when I reached to pet him, and he would only grudgingly accept any treats I offered. Otherwise he sat cautious and unmoving in the grass, leaning hard into his foster mom’s hip to put every millimeter of distance between him and me that he could. Now, if I sit down to watch TV or read, he’ll jump up beside me and either snuggle in or start tapping me with his paw if I don’t begin to pet him quickly enough. 

The first times I took him outside meant gently slipping the harness over his head while he sat on the love seat. Our first walks were explorations of our small yard; one lap around the house would take at least ten minutes. He’d cautiously watch me and I’d carefully make sure I wasn’t stepping too fast, since he’d jump in surprise if my foot ever did anything he didn’t expect. When he felt safe he’d sniff the grass to gradually learn about his new home. Now he’ll race to the front door when it’s time for our morning walk. He’ll sit on a floor mat and wag his tail while I put him in his harness and then we’re off, heading down to the stretch of sidewalk where all the neighborhood dogs seem to stop and visit. He’ll happily trot for the half-mile or so of the walk, only occasionally stopping to when he picks up a scent, which he’ll sniff and follow with the tenaciousness of a cartoon dog detective. At first he leads me with all six feet of his leash but will settle in to walking at my side, matching my pace closely enough for the leash to hang loose and drag on the sidewalk between us.

When he first moved in, he spent nearly every waking moment curled up on the one section of the love seat close enough to his crate for him to decide was a safe place. Now when we return from our walks, he’ll wait patiently for me to take off the harness then he’ll zoom into the living room and hop up on that same love seat, standing on his hind legs and wagging his tail so he can have his good morning scratches. Then he’ll race into the kitchen for his breakfast. He’ll scarf it down so quickly I barely have time to put the food bag away, turn on the news, and sit down before he bounces back into the living room and demands more petting. 

He brought two favorite toys from foster care — a half-chewed rawhide bone and a heart-shaped squeak toy pillow. He ignored them both for at least two weeks, even when I put the pillow in his crate at night, thinking it probably had familiar smells. Eventually he started playing with the rawhide, enough that big pieces started falling off and I eventually had to throw it away before he swallowed one. I offered him one of the bone toys that my parents’ dogs, Shamus and Butch, will play with when I’m dog sitting. He wasn’t interested at first, but soon started gnawing away at one, and then another, and then began carrying his pillow around. I also bought him a Kong, which I fill with treats when I leave the house. When he sees me filling it he climbs into his crate, then starts working out the treats out as soon as I set it in and close the door. He’s recently realized the Kong also works as a toy, and will sometimes toss it up in the air to see where it will land. Sooner or later all of his toys end up in the sun room, where he likes to keep them clustered together all within a foot of each other.

After he eats his supper and takes his evening walk, right around sunset, he settles down to relax in one of his favorite napping spots. He’ll usually take a big drink after walking; in his first days he would barely eat or drink, and I would almost choke up with relief at the sound of his tags bouncing against the water dish while he slurped away. Now it’s normal enough I’m only aware of it. I turn off the lights and bring his crate back to the bedroom at bedtime. He’ll follow in not a minute behind me, stepping in and nesting down in his crate blanket, usually with his squeak pillow close by. It’s not a bad life.

A lot of this description might be surprising for some who have met him, since he still reverts back to nervous and cautious when unfamiliar people are around. He’s making progress, though; people who were here to see him in his first days and have visited more recently have commented on how much more relaxed he seems. I don’t know for sure since there are big gaps in his pre-foster history, but it seems pretty clear from so many of his cautious and nervous behaviors that he probably endured some form of abuse before going into foster care. His foster mom suspected the same thing, as did the other people who saw the fear he carried in his first days here. I feel happy knowing he’s overcoming whatever dog nightmares there are in his past, both from his time in Texas Animal Control and whatever led him there in the first place.

After so much time spent in so many shelters, he now has his pick of comfortable and sunny places to nap. He has an entire shelf of my kitchen cabinet devoted to dog food and treats. He gets all the petting and scratching he can stand, and still gets time to himself when that’s what he wants. He feels safe and happy. Knowing how difficult of a transition it was for him when he first arrived, I feel both proud of myself and relieved for helping him settle in as quickly as he has.

Week One

It took me seven years to decide to get a new dog. Most of that delay came from the lifestyle I’d gotten used to, since it’s really easy to live a life when you aren’t responsible for anyone or anything other than yourself. In the end the decision to finally adopt was almost arbitrary; after spending nearly two years halfway thinking about it, I realized that there wasn’t going to be any ideal time. I had brought Spencer home after telling myself I’d get a dog if I wasn’t married by the time I turned thirty, so getting a new dog at fifty seemed like as good of a time as any.

Thursday
Move in day for my newly adopted dog, Freddie Mercury, was not smooth, but it was memorable. I had one of those moments of thinking, “Oh man, this is really happening,” and felt like the biggest failure imaginable. Long story short — he spent the first two hours as my dog running loose around the neighborhood after pulling out of his collar the very moment I opened the front door to let him in. Luckily for me, his foster mom was close enough to turn around and come back to walk the neighborhood. Freddie knew her when he saw her and we got him back. He spent the rest of the day sleeping in his crate, the only place in his world that felt relatively safe.

Friday
It had been a day and a night, and all Freddie wanted to do was lie still and stay safe. He took the bold step of hopping out of his crate and lying on the love seat in the living room, which has since become his home base. I’d take him outside to go to the bathroom, but he hadn’t eaten or drank much yet, so he didn’t have much interest or need. He would eat if I put a small handful of his food on the cushion in front of him, and finally started to drink when I’d swish my finger in his water bowl and wipe it on the outside of his mouth so he’d lick it off. The day before I felt like a failure after he ran off. Friday I felt like a complete load as I did nothing but sit on the adjacent couch and watch TV. After awhile I realized that wasn’t true though, because I was helping him get used to having me around and feeling safe in his new house.

My mother stopped by to see him in the afternoon. She was wearing some scented lotion that got him interested, but only enough to get him standing and sniffing in her direction. 

Saturday
I woke to find him lying on the corner of my bed, which warmed my heart some. We walked around one end of the neighborhood so he could sniff his new surroundings (in a harness this time), but he still didn’t go to the bathroom. I was growing concerned about this since even though he hadn’t eaten or drank much since moving in, and that seemed like a long time. I only left the house to get some dinner and give him a chance to see that sometimes I’d be leaving the house and he’d be in his crate when that happened. I turned the radio on for him before I left, because who wouldn’t like to be taking a nap in a nice cool house with the radio on? When he ate all of his dinner that night, he finally took a big drink. 

Sunday
I woke to find him lying on the bed up by my pillows this time, and found two messes on the bedroom floor; he hadn’t taken much water yet, but he was NOT dehydrated. I was so relieved he finally went that I didn’t even care, and just happily wheeled out the carpet shampooer and got to work. 

During the day he walked out into the kitchen on his own when he began to recognize the sound of my opening a bag of treats. He eventually came out to his food and water dish, though he’d only eat or drink if I was sitting at the dining room table where he could keep an eye on me. 

My dad came over to see him in the afternoon. Since he wasn’t wearing any scented lotion, Freddie decided to observe him from the safety and comfort of his crate for the few minutes of the visit. As soon as my dad got up and walked out the front door, Freddie hopped back up to the love seat. The best part of the day was when he started wagging his tail for the first time. 

Monday
We were going on a couple days of indoor accidents, which wasn't ideal, but I knew that could be a part of bringing home a rescue. Freddie had a fenced yard at his foster home so he wasn’t used to being outside on a leash, at least not regularly. He was getting better at it as we took time to wander around the yard and the close end of the neighborhood, and the areas he returned to for sniffing became more familiar.

Tuesday
We finally got him to pee outside when my mom stopped over with Shamus and Butch in the car. Freddie stayed inside while the other two sniffed the yard and peed a little. Five minutes later Freddie was outside and found their scent, and finally took his first big outdoor pee. I sighed in tremendous relief. Later that evening he migrated over from the love seat to share the couch with me. 

Wednesday
His seventh day in his new home, bringing us to the end of Week One. I set up an appointment at the same vet my sister brings her dogs to see. I was feeling I had spent too much time around the house with him and had to get him used to more time when I wasn’t around, so I turned the radio back on and went to a movie. It wasn’t great, and I was anxious to see how he would be doing when I got home. I walked in the house and called out to him. He was still secured in his crate, lying curled up in the big soft blanket that came with him from his adoption agency. He tentatively began to bounce his head when he saw me, then wagged his tail.

Thursday
It was an adventurous day for both of us since it was our first trip to the vet. He anxiously shed while we were there but didn’t even flinch when he got his nails clipped. He pooped in the lobby (twice) as we waited for the paperwork, and panted nervously during the ride home. Once we got back and I convinced him to walk inside from the garage, he recognized the house immediately. His ears perked up, he zoomed around the rooms he knew best, he grabbed a quick drink then jumped back to his love seat home base. I sat down on the couch. After a few minutes he hopped over to sit beside me, then lied down on his side and nudged my hand until I scratched his tummy. After a few minutes of that, he closed his eyes. 

It had taken him nearly two years to get there, but he was finally home.  

Day 31: Somebody to Love

We’ve reached the end of another May, the sixth consecutive one I’ve written daily posts. As I’ve mentioned earlier, I chose this month way back when I started this since it’s so close to what can feel like the longest and most stressful month of the school year. I figured forcing myself to write something new each day would both distract me from anything unpleasant I had going on that would be better off left at school, and would add just enough positive pressure as I struggled to keep up with the pace to keep it moving along. 

I’m happy with how this month turned out. First, some statistics: Over the course of these 31 posts, including the carefully-worded one I’m composing right now, I will have written a total of 25,000 words. Not yet including anything that happens with today’s post, the May blog posts have had a total of 2,866 page views. By comparison, the first month I did this had a total of 681 page views, which was less than my four most popular posts from this month combined. In fact, the top three posts from this month made it into the top 10 most read posts, for a blog that has existed since 2009. 

I’m happy to see the month as successful as it was. After all, one of the reasons I spend as much time writing these posts is the hope that people will read them. In a lot of cases though, the motivation for doing this is to get something out of them myself. I’ve got one of these weird writer brains going on, where the words and ideas never seem to completely find a way to shut themselves off. It can become bothersome at times, so writing a blog has been a useful outlet when it comes to unloading and sorting through all of that. Sometimes you just need to clean house a bit, you know? If it works out that doing that ever gives someone else something to consider, all the better. 

And all of this is said without mentioning the primary reason I started the blog in the first place — to practice my writing. Looking back and comparing some of the earliest posts to the most recent ones, I think it was a good idea.

A lot of what I’ve written here this month has been birthday centered, which probably makes it difficult to convince people that I truly don’t get wrapped up in my birthday all that much. I do, however, spend a lot of time reflecting on my place in the world and where I am in life, and reaching a landmark birthday like fifty seemed like a natural time to do that. This doesn’t mean I necessarily figured anything out or reached any grand conclusions, or even have any better idea of what I’m supposed to do with life after fifty than I did with life before. It does make retirement start to seem real. And it makes me wonder a little about how much time I have left, and what the time will be like, and what I’ll be able to accomplish with it. 

Starting with June though? I’ll probably just start looking for a new dog. 

Day 3: Dog

I can remember a day at school about twenty years ago when I had the kids out on the playground following some kind of special event. I was walking with one of the moms from that year, as we followed the kids while they completed what they felt was a death march of an obligatory lap around the track before running off to play. For some reason, this mom had their family dog at school. It walked with us, leashed because our school playground technically doubles as a city park. As we walked, I commented how I had always told myself if I hadn’t gotten married by the time I turned 30, I was going to get myself a dog.

“So how old are you now?” she asked. 

“Twenty-nine,” I answered. “For about another week.” 

Getting a dog is one of the few things I remember clearly about that year. I waited to find him until school was out before because I wanted to be home all day to bond with him (and I knew it would be a him), and I knew I wanted a Westie puppy. I’d had a Westie growing up and figured since they didn’t shed I wouldn’t be allergic. When I found him and the day had come to pick him up, Erin drove me so I could kickstart the bonding process by holding him in my lap on the way home. In a way, Erin had named him. When I told her the names I was considering, I told the first choice, which I don’t remember, then the second, then held out dramatically for the third, the one I was leaning toward the hardest: Spencer. As soon as I said it, she replied, “It doesn’t matter what you name him now, because that’s what I’m going to call him!”  

And now excuse me as I go cry for about ten minutes after remembering all of this….

Anyway. 

When I brought Spencer home, I was very clinical about making sure I had everything he would need. I had the crate, the toys, the treats, food, dishes, collar, leash, and even a book about dogs from the famed “For Idiots” series, which turned out to be surprisingly informative. I figured since I grew up with dogs I probably had most things figured out, but soon discovered how steep the learning curve is for the human in the first year of a puppy’s life. Since 30 years old is barely a hazy memory for me now, I can say with complete certainty that if (I know, I’m still hedging on this) I get a dog this summer, it will be an adoption, and most definitely not a puppy. This time around I have a better idea of what to expect, but I’m finding myself stuck on one problem, and it’s a big enough problem, at least in my head, that it’s probably one of the final hurdles preventing me from committing all the way to getting a new dog. 

I can’t think of a name. 

Speaking as someone who has agonized over naming dozens of characters in just the past ten years, names are not small things for me, and there are absolutely right and wrong names in just about every situation. I really don’t think I’d get lucky enough to find a dog to adopt who already had a good name — my sister sent me a link a few weeks ago of a dog she found while internet window shopping that was named Fuzzy, for crying out loud. I mean, FUZZY. Clearly the family that had to give up Fuzzy had given his naming rights to the two-year-old who most likely was in charge of the house.

First, to stop anyone from bringing up this point, I don’t subscribe to the idea that you need to see the dog’s face and know it’s personality before you give it a name. So there’s that. If I’m going to name a dog that will hopefully be with me somewhere between ten and twenty years, the name should either be meaningful or at least have a good amount of character. It could be named after someone or something. It could be a tribute to someone. It shouldn’t be too many syllables long. It shouldn’t be something that lends itself to insipid attempts at clever abbreviations. It can’t be a name that references anything too easily dated; five years ago “Jesse Pinkman” might have been a good name for a dog (not really), but now it would just feel out of touch.

I’m not entirely sure I can make this decision until I have that perfect name figured out. This is a tough nut to crack, and I don’t know if I’m getting any closer. It could take some time.