A thoughtful reply

By now I think everyone has heard about President Obama's careless compliments to the Philadelphia Eagles and their decision to offer Michael Vick an opportunity to use his talents for legal entertainment purposes (as opposed to the vicious, sadistic, sociopathic purposes he lent them to during his tenure as Bad Newz Kennel's owner, financier and Director of Torture and Death Operations). 

It can be hard to know where to direct complaints or voice concerns in these instances of appalling misjudgment. We could ring the White House directly, but I don't imagine there is much satisfaction in leaving an irate message with an operator or intern. We can post to our blogs, knowing that we have a like-minded audience in our readers. We can rant over cocktails to our friends or the bartender at our favorite local. We can bring it up with an Eagles fan over lunch, savoring the opportunity to jab our fingers and raise our voices to someone who simply, for whatever reason, doesn't get it. But none of these efforts really addresses the issue with the person who matters the most in this particular instance. None of these efforts bends the ear and enlightens the mind of the man who made these thoughtless comments, a man whose comments receive more attention and publicity globally than anyone else alive. Which is why, when I read Bad Rap's blog post on the subject (A Worthy White House Literacy Project), I felt a sense of relief at finding a practical, satisfying outlet for my feelings on the subject. 

At Bad Rap's suggestion, we've sent a copy of Jim Gorant's The Lost Dogs to the White House. We included photos and a brief introduction to Toni and Téa. And while I do know that it is unlikely that my note and photos will make it to the President's desk, I also know that the receipt of hundreds of copies of the same book will be noticed and that some of the notes and photos will make their way up the chain of command. And if someone in the White House (ideally its most powerful resident) takes the time to educate himself on what Michael Vick is really capable of, when the cameras aren't flashing, when the cheering has quieted (which someday it will, as his arm and his legs age and his talent fades), when the stadium is quiet and he needs to make himself feel like a big man at the expense of other living creatures; if someone learns what dog fighting is really about and the brutality that men and women visit on these dogs who are so eager to please them that they will sacrifice their lives in that effort; if someone can remember that athletic prowess is no synonym for heroism and no substitute for morality; if someone takes a moment to tap into their own humanity and compassion, then perhaps the President will think more carefully about where he directs his compliments and why. 

If you want to make your voice heard, you can send a letter and/or a copy of The Lost Dogs to: 

   Mr. President and First Lady Obama
   The White House
   1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
   Washington, DC 20500

Photo from http://badrap-blog.blogspot.com/.

It's up to us to speak for the victims who cannot speak for themselves. I hope you'll take a moment to make yourself heard.

This last is taken directly from the Bad Rap blog: "More people than we ever imagined sent books to the White House after this blog post went live. A casual count tallied a minimum of 200 books sent. It seems that the large number reached critical mass a few days ago, and while the first few arrivals were signed for and accepted by WH staff (we're not sure how many), they are now turning others away. Mission Accomplished! Now what to do with all the books that are returning to their purchasers? We have a few ideas and will post asap. Thank you ALL for jumping both feet into this action."

Hopefully, at least one more mind has been enlightened.

The holiday pilgrimage in photos

"This is insanely early. We're going to pretend we're still in bed. No photos, please."

"Holy cats! They're handing food out of a window to everyone!"

"And yet, none for us. What the hell, lady?!"

T2's chauffeur..in my sparkly sunglasses.

Téa's turn in the front of the back.

Toni, sweets, your head is much, much too big to jam in there.

Proof that I went on the trip as well.

Playing couch to pass the time.

Prepping for the holiday pilgrimage

Like many people, we're preparing for the holiday pilgrimage across the country to spend a few days feasting, connecting with family and feasting a little more. This includes T2, as we'll be driving.

The first time Toni made the trek, it was just the two of us. Chris flew in a few days later. We had only had Toni for a few short months, so we didn't know what to expect.  

As I got onto the expressway, it occurred to me that we had no idea at all if she got carsick. We'd taken her an hour-long drives up to that point, but that's nothing compared to 14 hours. What would I do if she spent the whole 14 hours heaving down the back of my t-shirt? Worse—what if she spent 14 hours heaving on my suitcase, full as it was with many of my favorite clothes (which were also all I had to wear for the next week)?! As it turns out, I had nothing to worry about. A car on the expressway works for Toni the same way it works for a baby: like a giant sleep machine. No heaving transpired.

When we pulled up to our first rest stop, I realized there was another issue or two that we hadn't thought about. First, Toni is petrified of new situations. When she's frightened, even enticing treats that normally make her salivate become suspicious and dangerous treats in her fear-addled brain. Toni at that time weighed around 70 pounds. I weigh more than that...but not much. What would I do if, predictably, she refused to get out of the car? As it turns out, I did the obvious: I lifted her. (But if some day I write that I am posting from bed because my back has finally given out and I am bedridden for life, know that I blame it in part on this trip and all of the heavy lifting.)


I also realized that I had absolutely no one to guard her while I went inside to take care of my own business. Being from Chicago, we are sadly aware of what can happen to an unattended dog who gets snatched by someone with an interest in dog fighting. And although Toni does look intimidating to strangers, an experienced dog handler would assess that she's a gentle soul. And then he would snatch her. I had visions of my trip turning into some bizarre I-turn-all-Laura-Croft-in-order-to-rescue-Toni scenario. There was no way I could make it 14 hours without going inside somewhere to use the facilities. So I became the fastest facility user I could possibly be. No primping, no tucking, no dawdling under the hand drier. Hell, no hand drier at all—my jeans were as good a place as any to dry my hands on. Not that it mattered, after all of my worrying. No one probably even noticed us; I was just some lady filling up her gas tank like everyone else.

We've made the drive several times now, sometimes with Chris and sometimes just T2 and me. We've learned that Toni is more likely to hop out of the car on her own now that she has Téa to lead the way. We know that for some reason, storms, thunder and lightening are not scary when viewed from a car. We've learned that no one is stalking us in order to snatch our dogs while I'm honing my fast facilities use technique. We've also learned that Téa is more than happy to take her turn behind the wheel.

Wishing you and yours (the human ones and the furry ones) happy holidays and safe travels.

Decorating: Not impressed

We purchased a fixer-upper this past summer. I'm glad there is a cute name for it—it's less depressing than saying we purchased a complete wreck of a house which will need virtually everything except the studs (and maybe even some of those) updated and/or repaired.

I'm also glad that there is a multi-million dollar industry in place to support people like us. There are books, magazines, big box stores, videos and  disastrous reality TV shows to show us what to do, what not to do and to remind us that we are not alone.

We are not making progress as quickly as a Type A like me would prefer, though this is not unexpected. So currently I focus on celebrating the little things: "One electrical outlet in the kitchen was replaced today! We now have one outlet that may not kill me when I use it! Let's whip out the hand mixer!" "One of the weeds in the weed garden turned out to be Greek oregano—hooray!" "Some day way in the future when we get around to addressing the dining room, I have bookmarked the perfect chandelier that we will purchase and install!" It's a bit pathetic, but it keeps me going. 

One of my latest "Hooray!" moments came when I realized we had made enough progress on the bathroom that I could warrant purchasing a small rug for it (trust me, it was not rug-worthy for the first several months we were here). I brought our new rug home, carefully cut off the tags, patted myself on the back when I noticed it didn't get stuck under the door when the door was opened or closed, placed it this way and that until I had it just right and then I wandered off to make myself a celebratory cup of tea.

On my way past the bathroom a few minutes later, this is what I found:

"I'll help you hide this hideous rug until you come to your senses."

Apparently, Téa has decided that the new rug fails miserably as a rug and is trying to spare me the embarrassment. I know this because she has taken to wadding it up into a tiny ball every day and then tries to make it disappear by flinging herself on it so there is barely a bit of fluff visible to confirm its existence.

Maybe next time I'll just take her shopping with me so I can get her opinion up front...

It's officially winter coat season!

So much more cozy than this morning when we forgot to put them on!

Guarding the corner.

Testing out the bench—not particularly comfy.

The strange conversations we have - Part III

When I'm out with T2, I try to be conscious of the fact that to many people they look big and scary, and I look small and kind of girly (which can translate into: unable to handle the beasts should they decide to unleash mass destruction on Chicago pedestrians). Unless the person approaching looks scary himself, I make eye contact, smile and occasionally throw out a "hi." Although I tend naturally to avoid chatting up strangers or even appearing to be the sort of person with whom strangers may want to chat, I'm happy to put my own social preferences aside in the interest of positive pit bull PR. This is probably the second largest contributor to the many strange conversations I've had over the past couple of years with people (the first being the pit bulls at my side).

As I exited the park one day, a big, burly man was headed in our direction. He eyed the dogs and then eyed me. I could see he was a little concerned, so when he opted not to cross the street to avoid us, I silently applauded. As we were just about to pass each other, he smiled and said, "Those sure are some big teeth those dogs got." It sounded very nearly like what Little Red Riding Hood must have sounded like as she said much the same thing to the Big Bad Wolf.

The better to eat you with, my dear.

All I could think to say, using my best Pollyanna cheerful voice, was, "No bigger than other dogs' teeth!" 

He started a big belly laugh. "Well said, sister, well said."

Téa demonstrates how easily her mighty teeth destroy dead leaves.

Indulge your inner monkey while you can

We have a number of pet names for T2, which I think is not uncommon among those of us who are dog obsessed. I will not share here most of those little terms of endearment in the event that you actually know us. The next time we meet for dinner, I don't want you to have to think of the ridiculous things we call our dogs in the privacy of our home. (You're welcome.)

One pet name that is not the least bit embarrassing, though, is Little Monkey. Though occasionally we use the term with Toni, it really doesn't suit her in the least. She's just not really the monkey sort. For one thing, she's far too large to be monkey-ish. (The Giant Bull might be closer to it.) Her lack of playfulness is also ill-suited to the name. To be honest, she's really more the straight man to Téa's monkey. This is just fine with Toni, whose sense of humor tends to be quite dry, at any rate. 

Téa is also not shy

Téa, on the other hand, is ridiculously monkey-ish. Téa will treat a de-stuffed squeaky toy as if it is still struggling for its life—tossing, shaking and chasing it across the hardwood as if it may yet escape. When there are no toys available (because Toni is not always a very good sharer), Téa will grab a blanket from her bed and barrel hell-bent from end to end of our condo, blanket stuck between her legs like an antelope carcass, tripping her up every third step. When Toni has had enough of the nonsense, Toni simply steps on the blanket as it goes by, leaving Téa tearing her way across the condo by herself...not that losing the blanket slows her down or even registers with her. Téa is the one who invented couch. She is the one who will fling herself on every smelly spot along the boulevard we walk to roll in its ecstasy-inducing stench. She is the one whose eyes roll back in her head from sheer happiness when given a chance to stretch her legs in a full-out run.

So it was both surprising and kind of heart-breaking when we went to the vet recently to investigate a little limp and soreness that Téa had developed. I figured we would be there for 15 minutes, pick up a prescription to help a strained muscle and promise to stick to a low energy schedule for the week. But when she actually cowered as the doctor tried to stretch out the troublesome leg, we decided to take it a little further. "Just to be sure," we decided to do an x-ray...probably nothing. When they sent Toni and me home so they could sedate Téa, whose leg was too sore to properly stretch out for an x-ray, I had a hard time telling who was more upset that we went home without her: Toni or me. 

About five hours later I was looking at an x-ray of her little hips. They're bad. Given her age (three-ish), her size (around 50 pounds) and the fact that I almost thought I was imagining the limp that got us to the vet in the first place, I was shocked at how nasty the dysplasia looks already. I'm no expert (yet), but when I compared the handout they gave me (and later the 9,000 images I found online) to Téa's actual hips...well, they're bad. I'd rather the have hips in the handout than the ones in the x-ray. 

We know this is not uncommon. We know we didn't do anything that allowed this to happen. We even know that the irritatingly irresponsible person who had Téa before dumping her at Animal Control didn't actually contribute to this particular issue. We know our options and know that we'll have good advice when it's time to consider them. All in all, we're in pretty good shape considering the unfortunate news we were given about the little monkey.

Still. We're a little less rough and tumble with her now. We take things in the yard and on the stairs more slowly. When T2 play couch, we make sure that Toni is always "it," though that's her preferred role anyway. But it makes me sad that we do—I don't want to take the monkey out of her in the hopes of keeping her hips in shape. Téa with no monkey in her...well, it would practically not be Téa at all.

I guess that's where I need to learn to take my cue from Téa: enjoy whatever it is 100 percent—a blanket, a run across the yard, a bit of smelly grass. Indulge your inner monkey while you can.