Sunday, February 21, 2010


I didn’t sleep last night.

I tried to sleep last night. Really, I did. But after being going to bed around 10:30, I was woken up at 11PM, Midnight, 3AM, 5AM and 7AM.

Really, whats the point of sleeping if someones just going to wake you up?

See, my mother and I are those weird animal people. There’s fur all over the insides of our cars, paw prints and animal rights bumper stickers on the outside. We always have extra leashes, water bowls, food, collars and biscuits packed up with us just in case.

I used to do a lot of dog and cat fostering, before my animal family grew to a large size for a tiny apartment. I started taking more classes and more trips, leaving me less time to socialize or work will neglected, injured, untrained or otherwise skittish dogs.

Anyway, recently I’ve been pushing myself back into the animal rescue community, much to the pride (and dismay) of my poor mother. I work with one rescue called Help Save One ( Marissa, the CEO/founder of the group is a wonderful, dedicated women who would probably save a dog over a human. She rescues all of her dogs from down south, where they still use the torturous gas chambers to euthanize shelter animals.

Most of the dogs are given only two days to find a home. Young, old, cute, normal looking, purebred, mutt, big, small, pregnant, injured. Doesn’t matter. Two days.

So yesterday, she posted a few photos of some dogs she needed foster homes for. Two of them were small Shepherd mix puppies. I ended up taking them off the transport truck 7AM this morning.

My mother and I will pretty much take anything, from Yorki's to Pit bulls, I don't usually like male dogs. Simply because they have penises. So they're usually messier, more excited and more pushy.

However, the two pups are both males. One, Jefferson, is a black 10-12 week old pup, smaller then my ten pound cat.

The other Jelly, has typical Shepherd markings (Very nice ones I may add) and is a little smaller.

They brought a whirl of activity into the house as soon as I carried them in. The cats hadn’t expected visitors, and they ran quickly when they realized puppies had once again been admitted into the household.

Jillian, a tired looking but friendly transporter had told me to feed them and water them as soon as possible, as they hadn’t had much in their 16-20 hour trip up north. I let them run around in abandon as I grabbed them some food bowls.

I can honestly say, I was worried about Uma, my adult female Shepherd. Recently she hasn’t been too friendly to dogs she’s met on walks, I’ve been trying to remedy this, but sadly, none of my friends have dogs, never mind dogs they’d let me use in a training session.

But Uma surprised me, she wasn’t at all aggressive towards the pups, she ran up with her own puppy attitude and wanted to play. She has a good forty pounds on the pups, but they didn’t seem to mind rough housing a bit with her.

It’s been five hours since the pups have arrived. They’ve eaten, messed, chewed, and done everything else a puppy is supposed to do.

Turns out the two of them are pretty smart. Almost as soon as they calmed down I started housebreaking them, and they’re getting it, slowly, and Jelly has already learned sit!

Jefferson is running just a bit behind, but he’s doing wonderful.

They’re both incredibly sweet dogs, their only real goal is having a lap to lay on.

I had a lot planned for the little guys today, but I’m exhausted, and all I want to do it cuddle up and go back to bed. I think they feel the same way. They’re laying on each other in a heap on my floor. Fast asleep.

They’re settling in wonderfully, and I can see they’ll be VERY easy to adopt.

So, my only goal now is getting both of them walking well on a leash and getting them started on all of the basic obedience commands.

Maybe I’ll write a bit more about the two of them later, after a nap.

In the mean time, anyone want a puppy?

They aren't dead. I promise.

"If you eat all your kibble, you can grow up big and strong like me!"

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Ulterior motives

I’m very good at figuring out peoples ulterior motives. I’m one of those quiet people who will sit back and just pick people apart. I’d make a great psychologist.

I’m great at just sitting down and figuring people out. Alcoholic parents? I’ll know about it way before you come out and mention it.

I guess it also helps that I’m that person that people gossip too. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known you, or if I ever know your name, doesn’t matter. I’ll sit there with complete strangers and get their complete life stories in a matter of minutes. I don’t know if it’s because I have the air of already knowing, or if I’m just very easily trusted.

I used to think manipulation would be a great skill to have, but I never put much work into figuring the whole thing out. I learned what questions to ask instead.

Maybe not a psychologist, maybe an interrogator.

I’m a curious person. The people close to me have come to accept the fact that I ask odd questions, and go through their bags (with their permission!).

Most people are boring, normal, uninteresting. There’s no real use getting to know them, because in the end I already do. Their just like every other John, Jane and Sue.

There are other people, who are just creepy. I tread lightly with them. No need to get to deep into that subconscious. I try to stay far away from these people.

Then there are the people who become my friends. They're the people I can never just figure out. Those people interest me. The people with lots of secrets, or scars.

The only problem I have with these people, is seeing as I can’t figure out what they want, what ulterior motive they have, I tend to wonder why they want to spend time with me, or have any sort of relationship with me.

Maybe they’re just like me? Trying to find people they just can’t figure out?

Because of this I never expect anything from anyone. I sit back, and get through whatever I have to get through by myself. It always greatly surprises me when someone actually shows some interest in my life, and then I’m sitting there wondering

“Why....are you here...talking to me?”

Every single one of us has an ulterior motive.

I just need to figure out mine.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Another day

I spent all day trying to rescue a German Shepherd in a gassing shelter down south. I spent hours on the phone, leaving messages for rescues, transporters, vets, volunteers that pull dogs. I sent out email after email, I really wanted that dog.

Finally, after hours of not hearing from anyone a shelter worker called me, and basically tried everything he could think of to talk me out of adopting this dog. I told him I’d call him back, and later I checked my email and a volunteer in the area had contacted me about the pup.

“If there is any blood in the stool at all they put the dog down as soon as possible, I’m sure they just didn’t want to tell you,”

This is what I hate about being in the rescue business. One, you can hardly ever get a straight answer out of anyone. Two (and this is the bigger one) there will always be that dog or cat, who no matter how many phone calls you make, or how many emails you send, or how much money you raise, will just miss the mark on being rescued.

One of the first things people who have been in the business will tell you, is that you can’t save them all.

I’d like to add to that.

“You can’t save them all, but you really fucking want too,”

Because no matter how ugly, dumb, crippled or old a dog is you still want to save them. You don’t want to think about how their last days involved laying on a wet concrete floor terrified and confused, before being dragged out of their kennels and shoved into a box to be pumped with carbon dioxide.

You don’t want to think they suffered or died for no good reason.

So I did the only logical thing I possibly could do. The thing I always do when one of my rescues dies, or when I’ve read the latest animal abuse cases.

I sat on my bathroom floor in the dark and cried my eyes out.

Later on, a friend of mine, Trina called and we talked for a bit. She told me how the other day, when she was walking towards her car downtown after dark, she really wished she’d had my dog Uma with her to deter the three men who were following her.

Uma is my 65 pound personal protection dog, a pure bred German Shepherd who I purchased in early August.

She then started talking about Uma, mentioning things I’d never really thought about.

I had told her earlier in the conversation that, when a good friend of mine had come over earlier in the week, Uma had been surprisingly excited and not-at-all suspicious.

So she made a comment about how, the last time Bunny had come over while our friendship was slowly breaking down, Uma had sat on the couch unmoving barking and growling for a good half an hour before calming.

“I think she just acts however she thinks you want to act,” Trina mentioned, more offhandedly then anything else.

Which got me seriously thinking about Uma. Uma and I bonded immediately on meeting, unlike my other dog Teah, who will bond with anyone if they’ll pat her head.

She follows me everywhere, and usually knows where I’m headed before I do. I realized how quickly I’d forgotten the cardinal rule with dogs taught to me by Kevin Lanouette, a Schutzund trainer and dog handler.

“You must always act the same around your dog, they are very selfish creatures. They don’t think about how your unhappy at work or how you got in a fight with your wife. They immediately think they’ve done something to upset you. It’s all about them,”

No wonder while I’m sitting on the bathroom floor crying, I can hear Uma on the other side of the door crying as well.

So I guess it’s time to get up, dust myself off and get myself back into a better state of mind.

I can worry about other dogs tomorrow.

But right now, I have to take care of my wonderful, safe, loving friend.

It’s time for both of us to stop crying.

Goodnight all,

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Little Things

“Often little things bring back memories that were once very fond” Sunshine tells me over our computers as I tell him about my day.

It’s true. With me it’s scents. One whiff of a scent can bring me back a good five years to a memory that makes me feel completely at ease. This quickly turns to nostalgia.

Like tonight, I was at my local supermarket stocking up for whatever storm we’re supposed to get tomorrow. There I was, waiting for my friend to finish shopping in the *eek* spam section, making sure, of course to stand a good five feet away and pretend I wasn’t with him.

So I’m there, pacing between aisles, pretending to be interested by a sale on cereal when someone walked behind me and I got hit in the face with a strong scent that brought back image after image of one of my ex-boyfriends.

The scent and the images were so strong I stopped pacing and looked around, just in case. Of course, he wasn’t there, I hadn’t expected him to be there. But the idea that he *was* there was so strong I just had to check.

These things happen to me occasionally. The scent of Peach essential oils bring me straight back to a summer day when I was eleven when I got my first official dog.

The scent of chocolate reminds me of my mother, the smell of pine trees bring me back to a winter day a few years ago when my mother and I took forever digging a hole into the frozen ground in our backyard to plant our eco-friendly Christmas tree and the scent of puppies (they all the smell the same) brings me a feeling of great happiness.

I’m so sensitive to scents, that I’ll sometimes make a complete idiot of myself over them. I’ve made the mistake several times of blurting out things about them.

Blurting “You smell nice” while hugging someone without thinking really isn’t something someone should get in the habit of, and trying to explain any of this to someone just makes me seem all the weirder.

I know another girl who can be brought to her knees just by hearing a certain noise, that’s her thing. One noise can bring her five years back to whatever she was doing last time she heard it.

So whats your thing?

What “Little thing” brings back memories for you?

Sunday, February 7, 2010


I took a trip to the barn today, having not seen my pony, Hopi in quite sometime. I grabbed a ride from a friend and quickly shuffled up the driveway to the barn, very much eager from some alone time.

When I got to the farm I was the only one there. The barn is pretty old and dark, with all the creepy noises anyone could ever ask for, which suits me just fine. It’s also unheated and it just happened to be about 18 degrees without the windchill. I dug my feet in and struggled slightly while pushing the massive, solid old door back into place.

Hopi’s a short little fella. He’s shaped very similar to the wild mustangs you can still see
in western Oregon and Nevada. He’s short, but muscled pretty well. He stuck his head over the door of his stall and whinnied at me as I pulled out an apple to share.

Turns out just before I’d arrived he’d beaten up another horse from the herd, a much larger male named Spanky. Spanky’s leg was messed up (again) from a well aimed kick and half a fence post was gone from another.

Hopi had a small wound on his chest, but was relatively unharmed.

I didn’t have the time to ride, but I pulled him out of his stall and brushed him out pretty well. He’s colored like a calico cat, mostly white but with some blotches of black or brown. His winter coat grew in a couple months ago, and to my surprise it’s slowly going blond.

It was nice being there, alone in the silence. I live a pretty hectic life, and finding alone time usually gets pushed onto the back burner. I smashed through a couple of frozen water buckets and refilled them, then grabbed a lunge whip and Hopi followed me out of the barn like a puppy.

I still find it funny that Hopi, being stubborn, strong and very much an Alpha Male has no problem following me around as if I was his mother.

Spanky was screaming angrily as we left the barn, angry whenever any member of the herd was out of his site, even if he’s terrified of said member.

Sydney, a small red chow like dog plotted slowly behind us. She lives in the heated tack room of the barn, living off kibble, stolen grain and whatever left overs people bring for her to snack on. She’s starting to get up in years, and limps slightly from arthritis in the winter.

Only a few patches of ice were left from our last snow fall a last week, so playing a game of chase with Hopi was easy. Sydney waited by the gate over seeing all the goings on, a stray chicken pecked at the frozen dirt, the property across the street were using their frozen pond as an opportunity to throw a party, thankfully the pond was pretty far back from the road, and you couldn’t really hear any of the goings on.

Hopi plotted dutifully after me as I went to close a gate at the far end of the field I was planning on using, knowing I had several carrots stuffed into my pockets.

Again, the farm is pretty old and if you want to open or close a gate you have to jerry-rig it. After some time I got the gate closed, found the fence post Hopi had destroyed and led him to the middle of the field.

I took off at a run, and Hopi took a minute before trotting happily after me as I circled the pen. He knew before I turned and was already right beside me when I finished. I came to a stop and he nudged my shoulder.

One thing I was taught early on when learning about horses was that you always have to be thinking a step ahead of your horse. Horses will do almost anything to avoid working, even fake an injury.

So when I decided to lunge Hopi in a circle, I have to constantly be thinking about what Hopi will do to avoid running.

I spent a good half hour working him, surprising myself in how well I knew him, and how well he knew me. We spent the rest of our time together exploring the fields of the farm, Hopi making me walk over what looked like treacherous ice first, to make sure it was safe.

Theres a stream that runs one side of the place that I never knew existed, there’s one board on a fence in the back that, when the wind hits it makes it sound strangely like a fox cub.

I enjoyed our time together, despite the bitter cold.

Back at the barn I left Hopi in the aisle while I filled my pockets with Horse treats from the tack room, (Mine, which had to be removed from my Tack box once Hopi figured out he could undo the latch). I gave Sydney two, plus part of a carrot, which she took happily and left to gnaw on. Hopi got two, as well as the rest of the horses in the barn.

Peter, the caretaker and should-be owner of the farm showed up from his small apartment in the loft, bundled up and looking a little like a homeless man. We talked about the changes he was in the process of making, fresh paint, insulation, adorable little air fresheners scented with Cinnamon that also killed bugs. Peter lives alone, with a cat and the horses, it’s rare when he receives human company.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he told me about the injured Rooster he had separated into an empty stall. An older bird that had been brutally mauled by his brethren, leaving him with a messed up leg and without most of his feathers.

“I told the owner,” Peter said while leaning against a stall, his voice trailing off with a slight southern drawl “He told me to break it’s neck, but I can’t do it,”

I nod and sneak into Hopi’s stall, stealing a bit of hay and an extra apple. I stuff the hay into the Roosters stall, and he quickly makes as much of a nest as he can with it. I lean against the stall, Hopi right beside me as I bite of pieces of the apple and divide them between the rooster and my horse.

“I’m thinking about going down south,” Peter tells me “Down to Texas maybe, where they have real farms,”

I shrug “If you go work where there are real farms, they’ll probably make you shoot something,”

He shrugs back and his tone drops to an almost childlike tone “Just show me how!”

I laugh at him, “You can’t even kill a chicken,”

His face falls before he shrugs again, murmuring an agreement.

“But they need lots of farm hands down there, free rent,” he tells me “Not like here,”

I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to head down South myself sometime, work a little here and there.

“It’s fucking freezing,” I tell him, hugging Hopi for warmth.

“Yeah,” he drawls, looking up at the insulation his managed to get to stay up above one of the stalls. “I’m cutting a hole right here though,” he smacks the wall above his head “Running the heating line right though here, once I get all the holes patched up,”

“You’re doing a great job,” I reassure, leading Hopi to his stall.

“It’s so dark here,” he says, “Like a prison,”

“I like the paint,” I tell him, “After you put the new lights in it’ll be fine,”

“We’ve got another month of winter, at least,” he grumbles as my ride beeps from outside, Sydney rushes out the door to alert the car of her presence.

I kiss Hopi on the nose and give the last piece of carrot to the rooster, who’s settled in the hay I’ve given it.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday Pete,” I tell him as I leave, he nods.

“Sydney get over here you dumb dog,” he calls as the dog circles the car several times before going to him.

I wave as I settled into the heated car, not realizing how cold I’d been until that moment.

I look back at Peter, who’s waiting until we’re out of sight to close the door, I watch the farm get smaller and smaller until we’re out of site, thinking maybe, just maybe, being alone isn’t as glamourous as I thought it could be.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

L-O-V-E's just another word I'll never learn to pronounce..

A few years ago, a friend of mine broke up with her then boyfriend by telling him,

“You remember how I said I loved you last week? Yeah, I lied,”

While I (along with everyone else) agreed that she was a little harsh, I never quite understood what she meant when she’d said it.

Until recently, I pretty much figured that you either love someone or you don’t. But I’ve figured out that, like every emotion, whatever love is can fade pretty quickly.

But then I stopped loving someone, just like that. Someone who, for almost a year I was wondering why I couldn't love anyone OTHER then him. It was so sudden (and shocking) I had to really sit down and think about what had happened, which led me to think about what love really is.

Love (unfortunately) isn’t concrete, it isn’t permeant. It’s a mental disorder that we cure ourselves of regularly.

Even so, we seek it out almost constantly. We want love, need it even.

Why is that?

Look at all the crazy, embarrassing, stupid, obnoxious things people do for “love”. If it’s not crazy I don’t know what is. Yet we do these things happily.

We enjoy the thought of having someone there for us through thick and thin.

But the truth is, you can fall out of love just as easily as you can fall in it.
So we take all the love we can get. We mourn the love we lost or ignored. We berate ourselves over all of the stupid, crazy, obnoxious things we did.

We pick up the pieces of our shattered hearts and glue them back together.

And then we do it all over again.

In the end, how can it possibly be worth it?

Thursday, February 4, 2010

I need to sleep.

Seriously.... Exercise hurts.

After a mile run with the girls this morning, a full body detox, weight lifting and other exercises, I'm already totally beat.

On top of my goal to get totally flat, buff and tan by summer, I'm also doing all the housework, the pet work, and I'm taking care of my mother who currently can't walk.

It's exhausting.

I have 2 dogs, 5 cats, a bird, a horse and 2 rabbits.

Taking care of them can be an all day affair. Heck, cleaning up all the hair from the house everyday can take a good two hours. Then there's feeding, walking, watering, brushing, cleaning....the list goes on.

Now there's all the household work I'm doing, the dishes, the laundry, the yard work, the sweeping, the vacuuming, the cooking....urg.

I need a hug.

And a maid.

A guess adding to the fact that I'm waking up every couple hours doesn't help much either.

Anyway, I'm pretty much just updating the people I know who stalk this blog what's going on over here and why I'm not writing about anything interesting, which I apologize for.

However, I do have a novel started, a new supernatural romance I think you'll like.

I'll post a bit of it here when I get a chance.

On that note,
I'm going to sleep.



Brianna hated all southerners and, by inference, was standing at the North Pole.


Wednesday, February 3, 2010


Due to my lifestyle, I’m very much capable of going MIA for long periods of time if it suits me. It often does.

In the end I might as well live up in the mountains for the amount of people willing to check on me.

See, even in this high-tech world if people can’t contact you through a computer or a phone actually physically checking on someone can be quite a chore.

Removing yourself from the outside world for periods of time can be a wonderful or terrible thing. If you’re more of a solitary person, being left alone can be one of the best things anyone can do for you.

I’m spending the next nine weeks at home with my dogs. I’m putting myself through a 28 day full-body detox, as well as eight weeks of dieting and working out. Now seems like the perfect time to put myself through my paces.

For awhile now I’ve had this terrible feeling of claustrophobia, my life here is too small, my horizons smaller. I also have this terrible, nagging urge to just go. Go somewhere. Anywhere, anyhow.

Take my chances on truck stops and state lines.

I also need to take a big step back and get away from the people I know here. I dislike being used for whatever reason, and I've found that most of the company I keep I'd much rather cut all ties with.

I’m not a person that does well being stuck in one place for too long, I’d be perfectly happy living in a van.

So I’m preparing for that. I’m selling things, going through things, downsizing.

I want to go on vacation come Spring.

I need to get away from this place.

One thing about Rhode Island I heard long ago is that if you don’t get out early, the place just sucks you right back in.

And I can’t survive like that.