Underwater Shenanigans

 For as long as I can remember...

That is how I've always begun the story of what I always thought of as a very strange, unique phobia I've had for, well, as long as I can remember. I've shared my fear quirk so many times over the years I have my spiel pretty well memorized: "For as long as I can remember I've had a nearly paralytic fear of being in the water next to anything larger or taller than I am. Bridge pylons, boats, floating lake platforms, docks..."

A favorite anecdote to illustrate this fear is the time we were at a family lake house and during our inner tubing adventures I was the ONLY person who would refuse to just hop out of the tube and swim back to the rear ladder of the motor boat when it was time to switch riders. I insisted on hand-over-hand pulling myself to the boat so I could step directly from the tube to the ladder without having to get into the water at all. No one else really got what my issue was and I had a hard time explaining it. 

As I got older I got better at identifying specific, vivid memories from my youth that I thought may have contributed to this fear: the sinking ship scene in the movie The Black Stallion - there's a water surface shot looking up to a transatlantic-size passenger ship on fire with it's MASSIVE PROP spinning slowly and the distinctive, ominous 'thwump-thwump' sound it makes playing loud and oppressive - it's pretty intense for all the reasons and you can watch it here: Bing Videos. Another movie scene that really got me was courtesy of The Last Flight of Noah's Ark (another Disney contribution, you may discover a theme here...) in which survivors of a plane crash convert their 4-engine plane into a makeshift boat to get home from a tropical island. At one point the young girl is sitting alone, quietly minding her business in front of the huge glass pilot window that is now submerged in the water from turning the plane upside down, when outside of the window a great white shark ominously swims by, then directly AT her. That scenario was also a whole lot of nope. That said, they are very nostalgia-heavy movies for me and I recommend a viewing.

Then there was the family trip to Disney World (seeing the theme??) when I was 3 years old. Now, I know the common belief is that ages 3 and under are thought of as too young to have any substantial memories, but boy howdy, do I have a couple! One is of going on the Dumbo ride with my sister - the sunshine yellow 'dashboard' with buttons that make the arm holding your Dumbo seat raise and lower to adjust the rider's experience, being too short to see much of anything except over the short side entry where I would search the waiting crowd below to catch a glimpse of Mom and Dad watching us. This one has nothing to do with water like the next two, but still very distinct.  

As for the other two experiences on this Florida adventure when I was 3, one was riding the retired 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea ride (fun fact: this ride still operates in Tokyo!). If you are unfamiliar, this one took place in an absolutely massive lagoon with boats designed to look like the Nautilus submarine from the movie it was named for. As I look at pictures now, even the boats themselves freak me out. On the ride passengers loaded into the boat from the top and sat below the surface of the water to provide the diving experience. Along the way there were many things to look at: old timey deep sea divers trapping sea creatures, sea serpents being lassoed by mermaids, sunken temple type replicas, and finally a trip through a dark cave that ended with the scene of another Nautilus submarine ensnared by the long tentacles of a huge nautilus/giant squid creature, complete with alarming sounds, a flashing red light, and SO MANY BUBBLES. My personal memory of the ride is not incredibly clear, detailed, or accurate, but I remembered the 'back corner' of it was dark, there was red light action, and lots of tentacles - close, but not exact. Let me be clear: as absolutely terrifying as this ride was/would be to me today, if I had the chance to ride it again tomorrow I would in a heartbeat! (witness this crazy trip here: Bing Videos)

Surprisingly this wasn't the sea creature that really got me, but looking at this picture and imaging being the person who went in there to take it gives me fits! No thank you, don't care what you're paying.

The other traumatic water experience was actually in Weeki Wachee Springs when we went to a theater to watch an underwater mermaid show in which a mermaid in all black (tail, hair, headdress, everything), caught a mermaid dressed in green and put her in a huge clam shell, only to reveal she had disappeared completely when the shell reopened moments later. Where did the green mermaid go?!? It was apparently a lot for 3-year old me.

My fear of being in the water next to larger/taller things is pretty extensive and completely illogical. When walking around the Tidal Basin in DC, I would feel the skin-tingling anxiety just thinking about if I accidentally fell off the sidewalk into the basin next to the sheer stone wall around it and would look for egress ladders so I could have an escape plan in mind. At the Baltimore Harbor I had to walk down the very center of the deck of the submarine docked there for the same reason - I could not handle getting close to either side for fear of falling off and being in the water next to the large vessel and having to tread water for longer than 0.5 seconds while waiting for rescue, or worse have to swim along and around it to find a dock ladder to climb up - double No No! 

Interestingly, I have been able to become an advanced open water certified scuba diver with a deep water shipwreck dive under my belt, but I think clear water visibility and being more concerned about looking out for potential mana rays or hammerhead sharks overshadowed the looming ship next to me - I was also swimming more next to and above the ship than having it loom over me. Imagining, however, utilizing my diving certification to do something like maintaining mechanics of a large fountain like the Bellagio or the animatronics of a water ride (even one as tame and friendly as It's A Small World) sends me into that same skin-crawling fear that grips my heart. That kind of job might be cool, but to me it would be an absolute horror show.

Just this past week I learned my fear that I thought was a 'just me' thing, is not at all just me and actually has a name! Submechanophobia. Don't Google it, unless you want to give yourself nightmares you never knew possible, in which case have at it, and if you do make sure you look for an Italian water ride called Corsair, there's a sea creature situation in there that makes 20,000 Leagues look tame. I find that even though these underwater things freak me right the heck out, I am also impossibly fascinated by them and will sometimes look up videos or images of creepy underwater things because apparently, I make no sense. 

Another Goodbye

6/12/2022

It's been a while since my last blog post.  So much life (and loss) has happened since I last wrote that if I tried to write down all of the rambling monologues that have gone on in my frantic mind it would be... well, a very, very long post.

There is so much in my head and heart that I want to share about countless topics, but right now the most important words I want to put to paper are about the lost of my sweet cat, Thayer.

Years and years ago an online friend of mine was telling about his search for a cat companion at his local shelters.  I felt inspired to check shelters in my area, mostly out of curiosity to see what kind of cats where looking for their forever homes.  As I scrolled through pictures of sweet feline faces I was blind-sided by the biggest, roundest, greenest, most curious eyes I'd ever seen, Eyes that seemed too big and too bright for the precious kitten face they belonged to.  I was HOOKED, line and sinker.  Instantly I thought, "surely this absolutely adorable little baby has already been spoken for, it won't hurt to send an inquiry of interest because I'm certain the response is that he's already going to his new family - they probably just haven't had a chance to update the website yet."  Kittens are in high demand, especially at shelters where they are often outnumbered by middle-aged, senior-aged, or special-needs cats. I was shocked when I got a reply asking when I wanted to meet this potential adoptee.

I already had Zen and she was a very happy only child (we had lost my little Min Pin puppy, Spud, not long before).  I did not need, or had much business wanting, another pet of any kind.  Still, I needed to meet the kitten with the huge leaf-green eyes.  I arranged to meet him at his foster mother's home within the week.  I sat in this woman's living room and she brought out a tiny ball of fluff to meet me.  As you can imagine most kittens to be, he was ADORABLE!  Sweet, soft, and spunky, but the most memorable part of meeting him was his stuffed monkey.  One of those electric green, gangly things with the droopy limbs and paws that you could velcro around your neck in a hug.  The toy was almost twice the size as he was but he carried it with him everywhere - in his mouth with all four lanky limbs dragging along under his tummy for him to trip over every other step.

He was too young to come home with me right away but I told his foster mom that I was ready to take him whenever she said it was time.  A couple of weeks later the green-eyed kitten and his green stuffed monkey came home with me.  We did not keep that stuffed monkey forever, but it did inspire his myriad of nicknames: Monkey, Monkey Face, Monks... most of which were used at least twice as often as the name I kept for him from the shelter, Thayer. 

Thayer very quickly learned exactly how to push the buttons of his older fur-sibling, Zen.  He knew every precise way to drive her crazy, but she was still the master of the house and was not above putting him in his place.  They eventually learned how to tolerate sharing my lap peacefully: Zen curled on my thighs while Thayer settled for my boney shins.  

From day one and tripping over that ridiculous monkey, Thayer was... special.  He could -see- things.  Few things were as disconcerting as being alone at home at night only to have Thayer suddenly startle awake in my lap then STARE, with those massive green eyes, at an empty space above my head.  I was so certain he saw something that I would turn to look at the seemingly empty wall behind me. 

He never did anything partially.  Even when he would jump from the floor to a surface, like my desk, he would do so with such force and flair he always landed with his rear feet.  It was like watching a barely controlled explosion of energy that propelled him through the air.  He always ended up looking so surprised at his arrival, like he forgot he had decided to jump, or that he had made it successfully. This cat must have been part kangaroo in another life, he could clear a baby gate with several inches to spare. 

Thayer was also what one of my dearest friends, and veterinarian, might call 'touched'.  She would definitely call him crazy.  He would suddenly, and seemingly without provocation, get absolutely wild-eyed then tear around the house as if the devil himself had grabbed his tail.  On more than one occasion I witnessed him tear off as if launched from a canon, plow face-first into an immovable object, then bounce off and redirect himself without slowing down.  He also had a few times where he channeled his inner Garfield and stuck himself to my rear end (remember those Garfield window suction cup toys in the 80s/90s?).  Yeah that, but with cat claws into flesh instead of suction on glass.  

He scared me a year or two ago when he pulled a Zen and suddenly stopped.  Stopped moving, didn't want to eat, just so lethargic and not himself.  He reminded me so much of Zen's sudden decline in her last days that I was sure then we were losing him.  Another very dear veterinary friend agreed to see him for me very late one night, and my mother rode with me on a long, scary drive to Maryland, holding Thayer in her lap and giving him comfort while I drove.  Turns out he must have tweaked something in his back and was down due to injury and discomfort, rather than sudden illness.  I had been prepared to say goodbye to Thayer that night, but my friend was able to give us much happier news, some pain management, and a lot more time together.  

Sadly this past week his sudden decline was ever so slightly less sudden.  His age had been starting to show much more, especially after that late-night injury ride.  He was slower, not as hungry, less interested in doing much more than curling up in a sunny corner to snooze.  In the last couple of days he just quit.  Quit moving, eating, drinking, couldn't make it to the litterbox.  The one time I did witness him walking he looked like he was drunk on a small cruise ship during a very aggressive storm.  He dropped weight like it was a hot pot.  I scooped up his tiny frail frame and we spent one last night together, curled up in a toasty blanket it my lap for maximum loving head scratches.

On Wednesday morning Clif and Kaileigh drove me with Thayer in my lap to the vet hospital to say our thankful goodbyes.  It was as calm and smooth and loving as it could possibly be for such a difficult situation.  No matter how many times I've stood in that room with other families while they say goodbye to their own beloved pets, sometimes even in place of those families who couldn't stand to stay for the final moment (which I more than understand), it never gets easier, especially when it's your own loved fur-kid.  

The staff at the hospital took paw print impressions for me and stamped Thayer's name across the top of the clay disk, which I've baked and hardened.  They also placed a small tuft of his fur in a tiny glass globe pendent.  Kenya and Teva were buried together in our yard, but Thayer will have a private cremation with a return of ashes in a small wooden box and I will place him lovingly in a secret, safe place, alongside his sister, Zen, and my tiny Spud. 

Thayer had been a part of my life longer than Clif and part of all of our kids' lives.  They miss him, we all do, but we talk about how he has joined our other pets before him and will be waiting for us in Heaven.  We are thankful for all of the time and love we had with such a special, funny, awesome creature and will treasure his memories. 

Our very dear friend offered to take some final morning photos and I'm so glad she convinced me to let her.  

Soul Sister Playlist

Every so often I meet someone that I feel an instant, deep connection with and we become fast friends.  I felt that connection with this particular friend just from exchanging messages through an online forum website.  When we finally met in person it felt like we'd known each other forever and decided we were Soul Sisters.  She is both a lot like me and all the  things I wish I was more like.

We love music and music played a big roll in a road trip we took together.  Sometimes a song plays that makes me wish she were in the passenger seat next to me because we would be belting it out at the top of our lungs and others it's the lyrics that remind me of her.  Some of them make me think of her for no good reason at all.

This is Shayla's Playlist:

1) Soul Sister (by Train)
2) I'm Into You (by Jennifer Lopez)
3) Play My Music (by Jonas Brothers)
4) Ain't It Fun (by Paramour)
5) Neon Lights (by Natasha Bedingfield)
6) Right As Rain (by Adele)
7) Oh! (by Eric Hutchinson)
8) Same Love (by Macklemore)
9) Keep Your Head Up (by Andy Grammar)
10) Virtual Insanity (by Jamiroquai)
11) You Are The Sunshine In My Life (by Stevie Wonder)
12) Lean On Me (by Bill Withers)
13) A Lot Like Magic (by Josh Rouse)
14) Walkin' On Sunshine (by Katrina)
15) Human Nature (by Michael Jackson)
16) Don't Stop Believing (by Journey)
17) Can't Hold Us (by Macklemore)
18) Move On Up (by Lettuce)
19) Point of No Return (from Phantom of the Opera)
20) Cameo Lover (by Kimbra)
21) One Less Problem (by Ariana Grande) - this would make one killer stiletto stompin' dance routine. ;)
22) Will I Find (by Cas Haley)
23) All About The Bass (by Meghan Trainor)
24) Let It Go (from Frozen)
25) For Good (from Wicked)
26) Happy (by Pharrel)

Saying Goodbye

There are so many things I want to write down so I can remember all the best things about being Zen's lucky human for the last 12 years, it's just hard to know where exactly to start.

I spent the better part of more than 7 hours off and on in varying stages of crying, today my face feels like someone took a cheese grater to it.  I think there was a part of me that knew the day was going to end the way it did but I was in denial, hoping as hard as I could that we would be able to have more time with her.

About 3 weeks ago she suddenly started showing signs of a UTI, easy enough to treat and not too concerning.  She'd always been so healthy and hadn't even seen a vet in years.  At the end of 2 weeks of antibiotics we took her back for a recheck and I opted to drop her off for a dental cleaning.  It was included basically for free in the health care package we signed her up for.  I figured she'd never had one before and given her age it was a now or never decision.  She was fine for a few days then her usually voracious appetite started waning.  Clif and I went out of town for the weekend, when we came home we learned she'd barely been eating and had thrown up what little she had gotten down.  She went back to the vet where they discovered an unbalance in her digestive flora (overgrowth of cocci).  She went back on a different antibiotic for a week.  At first it looked like she might start improving a little.  She'd lost a bit of weight, wasn't eating more than a few bites of tuna at a time and started looking like she'd aged 5 years overnight.  I kept thinking it must be the antibiotics making her feel unwell and her not eating was just making her weak.  After all, her blood work and everything else we'd checked had been perfect, I was sure we'd get past this once the antibiotics were finished.

Earlier this week I resorted to syringe feeding her baby food as she'd pretty much stopped eating anything on her own.  Even table offerings of pork or chicken, which she usually inhaled the second it hit the floor, wasn't enough to entice her.  She felt so fragile when I held her, just skin and bones.  Her eyes were cloudy and her inner eyelid wasn't fully retracting any more the way it should.  She'd struggle to adjust herself, to change position or get up to walk.  Her entire body would sway when she stood and she'd drift towards the wall or stumble as she moved.  Night before last Clif brought her to bed to lay with me.  A little while later she went to jump off and fell.  When I looked over the bed she was just laying there, sprawled where she'd fallen.  That was the hardest thing to see.  Sometime in the middle of the night she tried to come back, went to her little foot stool and tried to make the short hop up onto the mattress but she fell again.  She righted herself and went to come up a second time, that time I caught her and set her at the foot of the bed.  On a trip to the bathroom not long after that I saw she hadn't moved an inch and I thought I'd already lost her.  When I came back to bed I pulled her up to sleep on my body pillow by my stomach so I could feel her and pet her for the rest of the night.  Yesterday morning I begged Clif to take her back to the vet.

Around 2:30 in the afternoon I got the dreaded call: Zen's kidney values had been perfect two weeks ago but were now through the roof.  Not only was she in acute renal failure, it was so sudden and severe.  She also had a heart murmur that, while not impacting her other health concerns, would make it incredibly difficult to give her the type of fluid therapy she would need, and even then it was just a temporary solution to try to make her feel better, possibly enough that she'd be interested in eating.  In other words it was risky, it might not work and if it did it would probably only buy a little bit of time.  I knew that it would be a selfish, unfair choice to make.  Two of my closest, dearest friends are also veterinarians, so I called them for emotional support and their advice on my decision.  While mine and Clif's choice to make, sometimes it helps to have someone else's support that you're doing the right thing.

I drove home to meet Clif and Jed who were coming along to the clinic.  Clif opted not to come in to say goodbye, which I understood and respect.  Jed came to sit with me and spend some time with her as he'd been living with her almost as long as I have.  Zen could hardly pick her head up off the table and she'd meow every now and then.  She seemed so tired and not at all the same cat she'd been a few weeks ago.  Her discomfort was clear and I kept telling myself we were doing the right thing for her and she'd be thankful.  it came time for the drugs and I asked Jed if I could be with her for that alone.  He didn't want to be there for that part anyway.  I'd been with my fair share of other people's beloved pets for their last stage, it didn't seem right for me not to be there for my own girl.  I think that was one of the hardest things I've done, but she'd always been there for me so I would be there for her until the end.

She will come home to me in a small wooden box in a few weeks and I'll keep her somewhere that Clif won't freak out about.  It will bring me some peace and comfort still having her near.

For a lot of people a pet is just an animal.  They live shorter lives, come and go, sometimes in multiples, over several years and can be somewhat of a flash in the pan.  For me Zen was my first child.  She brought me peace, comfort, joy and unconditional, unquestioning love.  She was a true member of the family and as much as me bringing her home may have seemed like I was the one saving her, it was really the other way around.

Tidbits:

-Zen came to me as Fen, the name she'd gotten from her previous owner's ex-wife.  He brought her into the clinic I was working at wanting to put her down because she belonged to his ex-wife.  The clinic was a bit of a powerhouse when it came to their revolving door of treating patients and I was worried the doctor would concede to his request.  I knew I couldn't take her for a month, when I'd be moving out of my sister's house, but I could take her and foster her if he could just wait that long.  He agreed and almost threw her in my car before peeling out of the parking lot, never even signing over her medical records.  As a result we never knew exactly how old she was.

-She had originally been free-fed and had the extra weight to show for it.  I decided to feed her twice a day but the morning she started meowing and throwing herself at my bedroom door at 4:30 in the morning was the last day she got breakfast and her food doubled up at dinner time.

-A few hours before dinner time Zen would start making the rounds, looking for plastic bags to lick incessantly, knowing it drove us crazy and hoping it meant we would get up to feed her earlier.  Some days it was a serious battle of wills.

-She would always sit on her haunches with her right back foot poking out to the side.

-It never failed, whenever I'd sit at my computer she'd come up from under my desk, jump on the CPU and make her way to sit between my hands.  Sometimes it was annoying and I'd have to move her, most of the time I was glad for her company, though it made it harder to type.

-She purr-meowed and I'd respond.  It was one of my favorite sounds in the world, especially the abridged murmur version she gave when I'd wake her up from napping by touching her.

-Zen was Alpha of the house.  She could sit in the middle of the doorway from the kitchen to the sun room and the dogs would refuse to come through to go outside.

-Thayer loved to mess with her and they would do this kitty-drama posturing act, often throughout the house.  He would squat his hind end and raise a paw, meowing as if saying "I'm going to swat at you, ok?" and she would crouch, facing sideways to him and hiss.  They would move at a snails pace in these exact positions, once I saw them go all the way from our bedroom to the kitchen.

-She loooooooved having her face and head scratched, usually the harder or rougher the better.

-Some nights at bedtime she would jump up in bed with me and I'd pick her up and position her on my chest.  She would settle down with drowsy eyes, purring like crazy.  I'd rub her face with my thumbs and she'd lick them alternately then use them to wash her own face.  That was one of my favorite bedtime habits.

-I called her Hoogie, almost more often than I called her Zen.  I don't know why.

-She was a Siamese/muted calico mix (as best as we could figure) so she had these amazing blue eyes and incredible coloring that included a near perfect stripe of patter difference from the center of her face down to the middle of her back.  She was one of the most beautiful cats I'd ever seen.

-Zen LOVED the wood fire.  We tried to always keep one of her beds in front of it, even if we didn't she'd be there.  Sometimes she'd sit right against the screen, cooking herself in ecstasy.

-One of the things I will miss the most is a warm lap, she could spend hours there with me and I was more than happy to let her.

I feel like there is so much that I'm missing.  If and as I remember things I'll come back and add them here so I can always remember the best parts of her.

-Our very large dog bed has a perfect Zen-sized dip right in the center of it, she loved and shamelessly commandeered it.  Many times Kenya and Teva napped on the floor while Zen dozed happily in their spot.

-As she lost weight from a healthier diet her apron (extra tummy skin) grew.  Whenever she ran down the hall it would wag back and form like a living floor Swifter.

Friday Groove

One of my co-workers is borrowing a bit from his home-town radio station where every Friday the station receptionist hosts a segment called Friday Funk, highlighting a different 70s funk song each week.  He's asked a handful of us if we'd be interested in playing along, and while my repotire of 70s funk is far from extensive I was certainly game to participate, especially since alphabetically I got to go first so I wouldn't have to worry about finding something new if my first pick was already taken.

Behold my contribution to our first office installment of Friday Funk:

Get your Friday (Funky) Groove on!

Friday Groove

What?  Two Friday Grooves in a row?!  Shocking!!! To celebrate today is a double groove kind of day to share two of my current favorites.

I never expected I'd be enjoying Macklemore as much as I am but dude really owns some word action.  I'm loving this beat and it's been my pick me up this week, inspiring me greatly when I'm feeling defeated.  Also, who can argue with wolves, men riding camels, kilt-wearing brass players, pirate ship parties and more?

It is also as good a time as any to admit it: I like country music.  I've only just started watching Nashville out of curiosity and am not only enjoying it, I'm LOVING the music, this one in particular.  It's a great calm-down counter after breaking through the roof.

Realistic Expectations

I am one of those people that sometimes has dreams that are a touch on the vivid/detail-oriented side.  Oh, here, allow me to hand back the eyeballs that rolled clean out of the heads of those of you who know my dreaming tendencies at that slight understatement.  If it were possible to smell colors in dreamland I'd win the gold medal.

A couple of weeks ago I woke with a striking memory of my dream.  This is not uncommon for me, I can remember dreams I had in grade school, but more often than not I lay in bed thinking about the dream with absolutely no earthly idea what was going on in my subconscious to have conjured the often epic levels of crazy.  This one, however, I understood completely and spent the rest of my day, and several days since, analyzing.

It started with some kind of shenannigans about stepping in to chaperone a youth trip to an amusement park.  I was happy to go, of course, but the last minute nature of the request made me feel unprepared and confused.  I became more confused when I learned that before we could leave we needed to wait until the end of a dance workshop I was urged to attend.  I found myself in a giant ballroom packed with women in various work out and dance attire and hip scarves.  About half of the women were sitting at tables placed around the back of the room while the other half were up in the front participating in a beginner belly dance work shop.  I found myself with that group, feeling like I was quite easily understanding and performing the simple, basic movements.  Soon it was time for the groups to switch and I quickly noticed the second group was for more advanced students, working on combinations and routine embellishments.  I felt a bit confused and oddly hurt, thinking I must have been accidentally put in the wrong group.  I noticed some friends that were in the second group, but none of them spoke up for me to join them.  I moved to the very back of the room where I could watch the lesson going on and try it quietly.  I got consumed with the movements and found myself practicing a spinning skill I had discovered.  I did it over and over, pushing myself to keep the spin for longer and longer, trying to perfect the foundation and control.  Suddenly the instructor of the workshop noticed me and stopped her class, bringing everyone's attention to me in my quiet corner.  She came to stand in front of me and lectured the entire room about how their dancing should never be about a one-trick pony, how they needed to learn variety and emotion to become excellent dancers.  I was mortified at being unfairly chastised and tried to tell her I could do what she was teaching, even following the moves she was demonstrating as she used me to prove some point, but she wouldn't see me, and no one spoke up...

The little title under my profile for this blog is "Jill of all Trades", which is sort of accurate, but not exactly.  To me calling someone a Jack of all trades is implying they are proficient or experts at a number of skills.  I am not much of an expert on anything, though I my range of skills, interests, and hobbies is vast and varied.  Capoeira, swing dancing, belly dancing, photography, gaming, knitting, crafting, scuba diving, ren fair-ing, first aiding, garden/landscaping, etc... I love all of the hobbies I participate in and can't imagine having to give any of them up.  The problem is in many ways they all suffer as a result.  To completely excel at a task I think you have to be completely committed, give time and dedication to honing a specific set of skills.  I don't have to the time, energy or will to sacrifice other things I love to pursue just one, and so in that regard I'll never perfect any of them.

I used to feel more frustration about this than I do now.  Getting older, that "maturity" business, helps keep things in perspective and understand the hows and whys of life.  Obviously if you don't focus on perfecting something, you won't perfect it.  I've come to that place of understanding and I'm thankful for it, though I still have my moments of struggle.

In addition to not having the refined physical skill to excel in most of these activities, the social interactions that are associated with them also suffer.  It's harder to be as close to a group of friends that are dedicated to one activity when you're constantly flitting from one to another.  I think that is the most difficult for me to handle.  I'm built the way I'm built and too far gone to come around to some star-quality physicality for any of these activities, but feeling like I'm on the outside of all the social groups I frequent still hurts, and I fear always will.  I'm present enough to join in the festivities but not enough to notice when I'm missing.  Glad to be a part of the activities I can be, but disheartened when I miss out on the opportunity to join more, even if I can't make it all the time.  Sad at discovering a group of friends has gone out to have a good time and I missed getting an invitation.

Now, this is NOT a pity party.  Several years ago it may very well have been, but today I can write these feelings from a much stronger, more level headed and understanding place.  It's been an incredible exercise to break myself down, look at all the places I excel and fail and try to think of ways to change the things I don't like.  One of those is my horrible ability to reach out to those I love.  Between a phone-centric day job, an ever rotating list of things that keep my busier than a one-armed paper hanger and that 50% Introvert part of me that needs alone time to recharge I have a hard time doing my part to work against feeling left out.  I realize that as my flaw and know that it is a fairly engrained part of me that will possibly always be difficult for me to try to overcome, but I'll never not want to try.

The physical perfection I will never have, but the efforts to build and support my structure of friends and loved ones, to be more involved and less lazy, I will always strive to maintain and improve.  I'm thankful for the personal growth I've had to be able to be in this place and glad for a dream that truly opened my eyes.

Friday Groove

Brought to you by multiple levels of awesomeness:

Yes.

Liebster Award

I just noticed this link in a comment to my last blog here and while I don't know anything about it except what I read on the nominator Trish's blog (This Girl's Messy Head), I thought it would be a fun exercise and wave back of thanks.   Sorry, Trish, TOTALLY stealing your formatting b/c I'm lazy like that. ;)

Here is a little rundown in case you're wondering what receiving the Liebster Award entails:

• Thank the blogger who presented you with the Liebster Award, and link back to his or her blog.
• Answer the 11 questions from the nominator; list 11 random facts about yourself, and create 11 questions for your nominees.
• Present the Liebster Award to 11 bloggers, who have blogs with 200 followers or less, whom you feel deserve to be noticed.  Leave a comment on the blogs letting the owners know they have been chosen. (No tag backs.)
• Upload the Liebster Award image to your blog.
  
  
  
  
  
  Here are my answers for Trish's 11 questions:
  
  
  1.  What motivated you to start a blog? The blog started as a place for me to log all the crazy dreams and sleep walking stories I've gathered through the years.  I've yet to spend much time posting about them yet, I got distracted by other ramblings.
  
  
  2.  Where would you go if you could travel anywhere for a week? Ireland, Scotland, Australia, Bora Bora, Germany... I have a fairly long wish list.
  
  
  3.  What is your favorite time of day and why? Bed time because it's often the most peaceful part of my day, curled up in bed with a book, my hubby and often times any number of our 4 fur children.  That much love and contentment in one place is pretty wonderful.
  
  
  4.  Do you have pets? If so, what kind? I do!  I've even dedicated an entire post to our babies.
  
  
  5.  Do you regularly clean under your couch or do you only clean it when you realize how disgusting it is underneath? Oh, goodness... Every so often it gets moved and I am horrified by the creatures that are trying to spawn underneath it, and every time I SWEAR I will clean under it more often but I never seem to remember.
  
  
  6.  What is your least favorite thing about getting older? Aches, pains, pops, cracks; basically my body putting up more of a fight (or less, depending on how you look at it).
  
  
  7.  What is your most favorite thing about getting older? Confidence, for sure.
  
  
  8.  What is your favorite expletive to use?  If you don't curse, what is your favorite alternate word to use in place of an expletive? I try to maintain clean language, but toss in a 'shiz' or 'frack' when 'golly gee' just doesn't cut it.
  
  
  9.  What is your favorite charity and why? I don't think I have one in particular, there are so many great causes.  Certainly anything that benefits animals, children or abused women who need a chance to get their feet back on solid ground are top contenders.
  
  
  10.  What is the best advice you've ever been given? Any that comes with a finishing line of, "but I'll love and support you, whatever your decision is".
  
  
  11.  What is the worst advice you've ever been given? Any that is contrary to who I am and what I wish to accomplish: in other words advice given by someone who doesn't know me at all.
  Here are the 11 bloggers I've nominated for the Liebster Award:
  
  
  1. Butterflies on Mars
  2. Chic Cottage Charm
  3. Gnats, Knuckles and Nicotine
  4. Lally Broch Farms
  5. My Child is Very Advanced
  6. Our Humble Garden
  7. Parenting Misadventures
  
  8. The Manny
  9. The One Lisa
  10. Trinity Ane
  11. Obviously I need to read more blogs...
  
  

  Here are my 11 questions for the nominees:

  
  

  1. If you won the lottery, what would you do with the winnings?

  
  

  2. Describe your ultimate dream home.

  
  

  3. Do you garden, if so what do you plant?

  
  

  4. If you could pick any person in the world to have dinner with, who would it be?

  
  

  5. You've won a $100,000 shopping spree at the store of your choice.  Where is it going to be?

  
  

  6. What is your favorite holiday and why?

  
  

  7. What are your best traits?

  
  

  8. Which traits would you most like to improve?  

  
  

  9. What would your ideal job be?

  
  

  10. Favorite book or movie?

  
  

  11. What is your favorite way to unwind and relax?

Meeting a Marine

*bushes off the layer of dust*

First, my lack of posting has had far less to do with desire than it has to do with laziness and lack of any of my half-formed writing ideas coming together the way I want them to.  I explained to my mom the other day why I chose the name Rambling Inner Monologue for this blog; it's a very true description of the way my brain functions.  Let's say you have a confrontation with someone and hours later you are replaying the whole thing, word for word, then editing it to have gone exactly the way you wanted, as if scripted to perfection.  I feel like I'm always doing that for a dozen situations every day, like I'm my own sitcom voice over, and it has transferred into how I write.  As I think about these things and create elaborate dialogues and situations in my mind some will start to solidify and a sentence or several will stick firmly in my head.  I'll use those sentences to build an entire post around, thus sharing my mind with you.

See what I mean about rambling?  On to today's show...

Thanks to a long chain of fateful events that will, one day, get their own post, I had the opportunity to travel to upstate New York to be an extra in a low budget video game parody movie.  I'd only met a few of the people involved in the project but many reputations proceeded the members and friends of X-Strike Studios, one of the most predominant, the reputation of one Matthew Mahoney.

The first two things I ever learned about Mahoney were that he was a marine and he was awesome.  Many a story I heard revolved around some crazy, off the wall antics and a friendly-but-don't-mess-with-him attitude.  It was easy to see everyone loved him but as I was already nervous and intimidated to be meeting such a large gaggle of people, his stories came across to me as much more concerning than they should have been.

Mahoney showed up late to our long-weekend video shoot party.  I'd already met a LOT of people, many whom, to me, had a level of celebrity status, was working hard to remember everyone's name and start relaxing.  Mahoney arrived and I watched him from a calculated distance, fascinated to put a face to the already infamous name.  He seemed nice enough, but definitely tough, to me further evident when he spent the night (read: passed out) in a lawn chair on the driveway.  I don't think of myself as a girlie girl who can't handle less than comfortable arrangements, but anyone who was happy and able to sleep wherever they landed when there was an option of couch crashing indoors was definitely someone I wasn't inclined to mess with.

Early the next morning we started with make up for the just under a dozen extras who needed to become zombies for the day's shoot.  While the rest of us were waiting our turn, Mahoney, in his BDUs, military-issued combat boots and vest and black Under Armor, gave us mini stunt lessons on how to properly break-fall as we'd be needing to do a fair bit of it, mostly at his hands.  I tried, and failed, to not feel incredibly nervous.

 We filled several cars and hoofed it out to an abandoned Boy Scout camp in the woods, stopping to grab one or two plastic covered camp mattresses out of a cabin to use as cushioning, a kind gesture to the newly trained, inexperienced zombie stunt team.  On the schedule for the day was an intense zombie attack scene where Mahoney's character, I think more similar to the man playing him than not, would stay behind to try to fend off the attack and buy his companions time to escape.  This meant Mahoney would be taking down roughly six zombie extras in very loosely choreographed succession.

The plan was to shoot one attack at a time.  The first take we would see how it went when Mahoney attacked the first zombie in the pre-determined method.  I stood behind the camera in my assigned place in line as zombie number four, anxiously waiting my turn.  Action was called and Mahoney's game face came on full force.  He took out the first zombie and without a moment's hesitation grabbed the second zombie, much to everyone's surprise.  The scene worked out alright as the second zombie played along incredibly well, especially considering they weren't expecting to be part of the first take.  Take two was to try it again, this time with the first and second zombie only.  Again action was called and Mahoney nearly growled as he took out zombie number one, number two... and grabbed number three, throwing him to the ground!  This scene will forever be etched in my memory as I stood behind zombie number three, who was in a cast having recently broken his arm, and watched in shock as Mahoney grabbed him and threw him unexpectedly and unprepared to the ground.

My entire body shook.  Being the next in line was scary enough when your Marine-trained assailant is getting all excited and jumping the gun on the take downs, worse when you realized the way you were scripted to be taken out was by means of broken neck.  Now, there was never any real pressure or application of force in the acting of the neck breaking, but Mahoney's very recent history showed he seemed to be acting more on instinct than careful awareness and I was a tad bit worried.

The third take was intentional with all three zombies and I took a large, deliberate step back from the scene.  Luckily Mahoney remembered to stop at three and they got the shot they wanted.  Then my take came and for the first time I squarely faced Mahoney, one on one, eye to eye.  I stared at him, trying to will him with my eyes to not accidentally end me, my jaw set in determination to make sure it was a good shot, no matter how scared I felt.  I worried it would be rough and painful but was surprised by how gentle he was.  He reached for my head but most of the whipping action came from me and I would fall onto the flimsy camp mat then immediately roll away as a moment later Mahoney would come crashing down to the exact same spot with 3 more zombies on top of him.  We did it several times.  My body protested but I survived.

I've had the pleasure of spending time with Mahoney several times since that weekend.  Once we ended up in the basement of the Alexandria Hilton, completely by accident, and for me it was a far more entertaining experience than it would have if I'd shared it with anyone else.  Watching him immediately flip into action mode and sneak down the hall to explore while I laughed and fought the urge to run away will forever be one of my favorite Mahoney Moments.

I'm privileged to call him a friend.  He is a joy to spend time with, hysterical and fun, certainly adventurous. My reaction to him now is to give him a giant hug then sit somewhere I can hang on his every spectacular story-telling word.  I'm always thrilled to hear about his beautiful wife and children and find comfort knowing he supports my similar endeavors.  My initial fear of him now seems absurd but it helped defined the meeting of a person I am blessed to know and will never forget.

Nesting

Yesterday I told a friend his wife had made a cameo in my dream the night before but I only remembered a few flashes of images.  He, naturally, thought I was an odd cookie which sparked a discussion of how my vivid dream history could well be an indicator of my mental stability or lack there of.  In turn I was motivated to update the blog, a blog that was originally created to be a place to share my crazy dream memories that I have collected since I was a wee thing. Today's memory is less about any particular dream and more of my bizarre sleeping habits when I was a kid and how it relates to me as an adult.

I had a history of kicking off my blankets in the middle of the night.  I would start dreaming about being cold and can remember "feeling too tired" to wake up enough to pull the blankets up.  In my dream state I thought to myself if I could just curl up in a tight enough ball I could stay warm, so I would move up the bed and try to fit my entire body on top of my pillow.  This, naturally, did little to fix my issue, in fact it moved me further away from the warmth-giving bed coverings.  So, the obvious Plan B was to try to fit INSIDE the pillow case.  Inside.  With the pillow.  Imagine that for a moment, if you will.

Eventually I would get fed up with myself and wake up enough to get repositioned where I should be, all nice and tucked under the toasty covers, vowing to myself that next time I would just skip the crazy and go right to fixing-the-issue part.  Let me just say there is a reason this memory is so vivid and it's not because it only happened that one time...

As a grown, logical human being I am able to stay under the covers throughout the night, which is quite an accomplishment given how much I can be prone to thrash about as if in the throes of some horrific affair, but my nesting tendencies are strong.  I am happiest when it is cold and I can cocoon myself in a heaping pile of fleece blankets and my favorite outerwear includes an ankle length wool cloak that feels like wrapping up in pure heaven against the wind.

Now that I have the covers under control you'd think I could resolve the issue of trying to sleep through those urgent midnight Ladies room breaks, it's like boot camp for the bladder.  Same problem, VERY different dreams...

Come back soon and listen to the tale in which I buy a neon yellow rubber gun.

Fall Down

It has been quite a while since I last wrote and I blame a number of causes for that.  Mostly I've been waiting for uplifting inspiration to strike, not wanting share an update of more "woe is me", because overall my life is great and that is what I really want to share here, but I'm trying to shake this suffocating depression that isn't leaving much room for anything else.

Every year when September hits, like clockwork, all I want to do is hunker down and hibernate.  I want to be home, anti social and wear PJs at all times.  This year, however, those desires are much more intense than I remember them. There is a deeply rooted sense of dread that turns my stomach and is sucking me dry.  Dread at the thought of what happens when Clif and I try again to have a baby.  Dread at the outcome of the election, how to get through the campaigning leading up to it and the impact the result will have on my beliefs versus my family's.  Dread at having to figure out a way to afford a replacement sliding glass door and desperately needed tree trimming, having a growing list of house and yard projects that will probably never get done, finding the mental and emotional strength to stand up to the rantings of completely unreasonable customers, getting through each day and still trying to find energy and motivation for chores and after-work activities that have all been suffering in the wake of my apathy.  Dread about finances, responsibilities, failures, eventualities...

I know the things that make me feel better: getting chores done, going to the gym or other physical activity, keeping up with tasks and expectations.  I also know where I've been failing: getting chores done, going to the gym or other physical activity, keeping up with tasks and expectations.

Part of me needs this; large, uninterrupted chunks of time where all I have to do is exist.  I love it to a very large extent, so telling me to suck it up, get out of the house and DO things is not as much help as you would expect.  If anything a lot of that doing comes back around to contributing to the problems and then I get stuck in this circular think-hole that only piles onto my anxieties.

An example of such a process:  I am feeling really down and I've been slacking so I should go to class tonight because I love it, the people I train with and it makes me feel better.  It is also expensive and equates to money that I really should be putting into savings instead, especially now that I have an increased financial responsibility.  Yes, but that can be said about everything money is spent on, and while some things can be cut out, where do I draw the line?  The logical answer is to draw the line where it needs to be drawn: don't spend a penny on anything that isn't absolutely necessary.  So I should expect to cut out every thing that I love and enjoy and save money but be unhappy having to give them up?  Or, do I continue to spend but feel miserable and guilty for not saving?  Then, when I'm nice and worked up about having no clue what decision to make I'll just keep paying the money for the things I love but keep skipping because the waves of depression keep me chained to the living room.  Soon every choice or opportunity to leave the house can be justified away by saying it saves time and money to only walk out the front door to go to work or if the house is on fire.

Is your head spinning?  Try a seat in mine.

My chest hurts more often than not and I'm tired of it.  Fed up and frustrated at myself for knowing better but not having the will power to do something to fix the situation.  This is usually the part where well-intentioned friends and loved ones offer advice on what to do or not do.  Don't get me wrong, advice can be great, but in this case it is largely more frustrating than helpful.  For the most part the advice offered isn't anything I don't already know and the re-hashing of it just makes me feel stupid and weak.  Sometimes all I want to do is feel angry, be allowed to feel down and vent about it.

Part of me needs to kick my own rear and get back to the activities I've been passing on because it makes me feel so much better when I do.  Part of me wants to force myself out of the house and to be more social, even though it wears me out.  Part of me wants to look through the budget and cut every single financial thing out of my life that does not equate to keeping a roof over our head and food on the table.  Part of me wishes I was in a mental and emotional place that would allow me to let someone else just tell me what to do, already, then hold my hand.

A Moment of Solidarity

During my lunch hour I like to read through the archives of blogs like they are a chapter book, my most recent catch-up being with Alice Bradley's Finslippy.  Today I came across a post she wrote a year ago and was floored.  Mainly because I had just lived her story no more than two nights ago with Clif (minus the tweezing part)...

When I shave I do it hip to, and including, toe.  There, I've said it.  Whew!  That feels so much better!  Thing is until right this very moment I've lived in shame of the fact that my lower extremity shaving rituals include my feet.  Why I have felt this way I'm not entirely sure, though I suspect it might have something to do with a girl once looking at me in shock and horror asking me if and why I would do such a thing.  I immediately stuttered a red-faced denial and forever more steered clear of the topic (luckily it doesn't come up very often so I can be lax in my diligence), vowing never to admit my dark secret.

But here's the thing: why on earth is shaving ones toes such an astounding concept?  Is Frodobia a thing? 

Reading the comments on Alice's blog not only made me feel more comfortable about my own Hobbit feet, but showed me how many people I share that boat of shame with.  Stand, we, united in our desire to rid excess body hair, no matter how negligible!

I also adore the smell of Windex.

What about your dark little secrets?

Friday Groove

It returns!  Today's Friday Groove is courtesy of a friend I met online through World of Warcraft.  Yes, I know there are all sorts of eyebrow raising things in that sentence, you'll just have to deal.  The characters in the game each have a distinctive dance and when I commented on one of the new styles reminding me of the Push Me Pull You dance from the original Dr. Doolittle, she said she thought it was actually inspired by this guy:

Are you prepared for awesome?  Are you sure??  Alrighty, carry on.

Fur Kids

Growing up the closest thing I was allowed to have as a pet was a fish.  Now, not to rile the fish lovers out there, I, too, love fish but I have a harder time counting them as pets.  Yes, they must be fed and their environment prettified and cleaned, but that about covers the bases of their needed care.  Leaves little to be desired in the cuddle department, is what I'm saying, and darn it if I don't want pets that can be cuddled!

I believe the combination of my incredible love of nearly all members of the animal kingdom and the inability to own a furry creature of my own helped direct me towards my veterinary technician degree.  Mid-way through my 2-year program I scored an externship at Pender Veterinary Clinic.  If you haven't heard of Pender it's a pretty substantial place, full of lots of doctors and techs and a bazillion appointments per day.  It's busy.

One day one of the vets came back to the treatment room with the most beautiful cat I'd ever seen, I was drawn to her.  I drifted over to hold her while the vet tried to determine a course of action.  The reason for this stunning feline's visit?  The man who brought her in stated it was his ex-wife's cat and it was peeing on his 2-year-old's blanket.  While that might have been true I think her obvious lack of welcome-ness at living trapped in a back bedroom, away from the other house cats that she did not get along with, may have contributed to her displays of displeasure.  This man had not had such considerations, however, and wanted to put her down.

Did I mention Pender is busy?  The vet who was treating Fen (the cat's given name) spoke briefly with the head receptionist about getting her into the clinic's kitten adoption program.  As Fen was 1) overweight 2) peeing inappropriately and 3) not a kitten, the receptionist confirmed the adoption program would not be in her future.  It may have been my immediate magnetic attraction to Fen that colored my perspective, but it looked to me like the vet might have been starting to lean towards the man's wishes to put her down.  My heart shattered and I spoke up, at least three times (each with increasing volume) that I would take the cat and foster her myself.  An impressive offering considering I was still living with my sister in her no-pets-allowed home for another month.  I asked the owner if he could keep Fen for just a few more weeks so I could take her when I moved into my own place.

Right on schedule a month later I met him in the Pender parking lot where he all but thew the cat carrier into my car and sprayed gravel several feet high as he peeled out.  I looked at Fen and took her home wondering how on earth I'd begin trying to find her a forever place to stay.  Turns out that was the easy part.  She and I quickly fell head over heels in love and I realized I was at a position I my life where I didn't need anyone's permission to decide to keep her for myself.  Not long after we booted the F in her name and she became my Zen, in most senses of the word.

Zen was the beginning of a line of animals that would come and go from my life over the next few years.  Turns out I seemed to be good at fostering pets and became a transition for a lot of great animals.  The strangest thing, though, was how each time one came to me it was like they entered a vortex to crazy town!  Wherever I lived the animals I housed displayed quirks and behaviors that baffled me to no end.  Still, I loved all of my fur children, no matter how off the wall their crazy was.  Below are the ones who left the biggest paw prints:

Zen (female muted calico/Siamese mix, age: over 10, not completely sure)

Zen was free fed before she came to me and it was obvious.  Our first change was to establish feeding times, she got breakfast and dinner.  The morning she started crying and clawing at my door for breakfast at 4:30 in the morning, however, was the morning she scored herself dinner only.  She licks plastic hours before her dinner time as an indication that she's hungry because she knows it drives me absolutely insane.  She licks my thumbs and uses them to wash her face and curls up in a little fur ball right next to my ribs at night to sleep.  She'll spend hours napping in my lap but before she settles she walks around in tiny circles, all four of her tiny paws kneeding phantom biscuits right next to each other until my muscles are tender.  She purrs so loud I can feel it and even her meows can't interrupt them.  She issues forth mournful, pleading, skin chilling cries in the middle of the night that sound otherworldly and beyond creepy to announce she has found a slipper or sock and will carry it through the house to some unknown location where we will spend the majority of the next day searching for it.  She is special but she is my first baby.

Berko and Luna (male grey cockatiel, female pearl cockatiel, age: unknown)

I have no idea what possessed me to get birds other than I love birds.  Honestly, I don't even remember how I got Berko but I found Luna at a pet expo as a companion for him.  This proved to be my most brilliant and fatal plan.  Berko lost all interest in me but became Luna's champion.  Luna would perch at the top of the cage and any time I came by to chat with her Berko would run, hissing, from wherever he was in the cage to her defense.  The problem was in an effort to get between her and the "threat" he would inevitably end up shoving her off her perch to land in a heap on the cage bottom.  Luna got pretty familiar with the cage bottom on her own as she would like to hang upside down from her perch, wings spread wide and head swaying back and forth.  I don't know if she would get dizzy or just not have a good enough grip but she'd always end up in the same place.  She was very blonde (I'm allowed to say that, I was once blonde, too.).

Spud (male miniature pincher, age: 2 years; deceased, 5 lbs full grown)

The last clinic I worked at was in a strip shopping center and shared an internal wall with a pet store.  Because Fate can find torture amusing we treated all of their new puppies.  I managed to resist the wide-eyed charm of an incredible number of adorable creatures that I just wanted to gobble up.  Accomplishment!  Until one night I was taking out our trash at the exact time a new batch of puppies was coming off the truck next door.  The owner of the pet store stepped off the truck with a furry potato in his hand and I knew the little fella was meant for me.  I thought about it overnight and next day took home my new little man.  Spud was 1.6 lbs when I got him and fit in the palm of my hand.  He looked like a land strider from Star Wars.  He learned to fight from Zen, who ultimately wanted nothing to do with him, and therefore seemed to think he was a cat.  I fastened little black felt bat wings to his kitten harness when he outgrew the ferret sized one I started him in.  While itty bitty in size he was gargantuan in personality.  One time on a walk around the Tidal Basin to see the cherry blossoms he ran right up to the mouth of the biggest bull mastiff I have ever seen.  That dog could have swallowed Spud like one might accidentally swallow a gnat but I think he knew Spud would make him regret it.  When he wasn't causing mayhem he would shimmy me like a monkey in a tree and settle for a nap in the crook between my neck and office chair.  Spud passed away suddenly when he was 2 years old on the one night I didn't come straight home after work.  I wasn't there and didn't get to say goodbye but I hope he knows how much I loved him and how much I miss him still.

Thayer (male, silver tabby-ish, age: roughly 4-5)

After Spud passed I thought Zen needed a friend, which is an incredibly funny thing to think.  If you know Zen you know she wishes she was an only child.  A friend of mine was sharing his adventures in searching for a cat at various shelters and rescue groups and out of some crazed curiosity I decided to check our local offerings.  There on a rescue website, full of special-need cats I knew I couldn't help, was a massive pair of leaf-green eyes staring up at me from the front of a cage.  They called him Thayer and was only a couple months old at the time and I was certain he was already spoken for (kittens get adopted so fast) but thought I would ask about him anyway.  I was shocked to find out I was the first to inquire and without a second thought said I couldn't wait to meet him and give him his forever home.  I arranged a meeting with his foster mom and we hit it off.  He was precious and "carried" (really tripped) over this gangly bright green stuffed monkey that was bigger than he was.  Thayer was too young to take with me yet but I signed all the paperwork and waited anxiously for him to grow a little bit more.  We now call him Monkey (short for Monkey Face), or Monks, much more often than we do Thayer.  He doesn't know he's a cat.  He steals the dog food and latches onto Kenya's face like an alien face-hugger.  Don't judge, they are in love.  He has almost zero sense of balance, falls over when standing still, runs into things like walls with his face and can jump like no other yet always manages to look surprised by his success.  One of our greatest entertainments is watching him collapse on the ground and attack himself on his back end, bite his hind feet and rabbit kick himself in the face.  Twice he has attacked himself so hard he screamed.  When he isn't being completely mental he sleeps in my lap and follows me around more than the dogs.

Teva (female, black lab, age: around 7-9-ish)

Clif and I hadn't been dating long when he told me he wanted a dog.  His desire for a yellow lab became the hunt for a black lab and before I knew it we were pouring through websites trying to find a perfect fit to our dynamic.  It would be his dog but since I was hoping for a long term relationship I wanted the chance to have a little input in the decision.  We found a listing that sounded perfect and ended up meeting Ms. Tootsie and her foster dad half way between DC and Richmond in a restaurant parking lot.  It was pretty much love at first sight so we transferred her meager belongings to our car and took her home.  The details are fuzzy but I'm pretty sure I had to work that day which meant I was absent for those first crucial bonding hours.  There were several weeks that I resented Teva (Ms. Tootsie had to go) and I'm sure she resented me.  I am convinced she viewed Clif as her mate and me as competition.  This broke my heart as all I wanted was to love and bond with her and she was not having it.  It took time but eventually we settled in.  She is our emo girl, inclined to sit in a corner and watch the world go by from under her eyebrows.  Just about the only time I can actually get her to come to me is if I'm holding cotton balls, she loves it when I clean her ears.  She is sweet and gentle, unless you are feeding her a treat, then make sure you check all your fingers are in tact.  She is a great cuddle buddy and my heart lifts when we let her off leash to run free on our trips to the country.  Her doggy smile is beyond infectious.

Kenya (female, German Shepard/Catahoula Hound mix, age: 4-5-ish)

Kenya was supposed to be a miniature pincher for me.  I came home one day to find Clif exploring listings of dogs up for adoption and asked him what on earth he was thinking.  He said he wanted to surprise me with another min pin, which at first I thought was crazy but Spud had been so great and I was so caught off guard I went along with the idea.  None of the pins that were available looked right for us so when asked what other breeds I like I said Rhodesian Ridgeback.  This somehow managed to lead us to Kenya's listing and let me tell you, Rhodesian she is not.  Before I could fully process what was happening we had an appointment to meet her.  The entire time we were there I kept trying to find a way to say I didn't want a second dog, especially another big dog, and why hadn't we really sat down to discuss this?  Clif loved her but all I could do was nod/shrug in confusion.  We left the foster home with a date for Kenya to come home.  For a week at least she would not. Sit. Still.  She was restless and wandering and I couldn't get her to just calm the heck down!  I am all about the chill, low maintenance animals and she was not fitting the bill.  I figured since she was supposed to be "my" dog I could decide that I didn't want her.  For 6 months I tried to find a new home for her until Clif told (yelled at) me in no uncertain terms that we were keeping the dog.  This is not a decision I was happy with at first but over time she settled.  Her desire to do anything and everything to please us at first was cumbersome and led to chaos, eventually it made her incredibly trainable and well-behaved.  She is the friendliest, most loving, most beautiful dog I've known and I can't wait to climb in bed at night and tell her "ok" so she'll leap up next to me and snuggle down along side me with her head resting on my shoulder.  She is so potently gassy she can clear a room in seconds.  She is sassy and sweet and wants so desperately to please, which she does ever so well.  At first I couldn't imagine life with her, now I can't imagine it without.