Writer, dog mom, living with low-grade serous ovarian cancer
Can Wordless Wednesday be a video? If I were to capture a new picture of the dogs today, they’d just be sitting here in the backyard with their Jolly Balls. Instead, I’ll show you what happened the other day when Mia’s Jolly Ball landed in the center of the tire.
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When you have a strong belief about something controversial, and you know you’re unlikely to change someone’s mind, do you keep quiet or speak your mind?
During a visit to a dog rescue, I found myself on the other end of an elaborate defense of pinch collars. “A lot of trainers are starting to realize the benefits of pinch collars,” the dog rescue lady told me.
Really? Because I haven’t heard of a single positive reinforcement trainer defecting to the use of an antiquated pinch collar, saying, “Yeah, my force-free methods have failed and I now realize aversive training is the way to go.” Quite the opposite. My understanding is that the most current research has shown force-free methods to be the preference.
Rob and I were walking beside this woman as a powerful pit bull pulled ahead of her on his leash, demonstrating certainly that it is possible for a collar to constrict against a dog’s neck without causing it pain, but not really making a case for training loose leash walking.
She’s telling us that they have to use pinch collars because a lot of her volunteers aren’t very experienced, so they need to be able to control the dog in case it tries to bolt after a rabbit. She adds that Haltis would cause more damage to the vertebrae than a pinch collar if a dog raced to the end of its leash.
I’m thinking, These aren’t acceptable defenses of a pinch collar. Don’t let inexperienced volunteers walk your dogs. Don’t let a dog bolt to the end of its leash. But I’m also thinking, She’s so sold on this device, what’s the point of telling her I think she’s wrong? It’s not like I’m going to change her mind.
Still, I couldn’t stay quiet. Trying hard not to be overly bitchy, I offered, “With our first German shepherd, we used a pinch collar for more than a year, and it didn’t stop her from pulling. The only thing that solved the problem was a Halti and clicker training.”
I knew I wouldn’t convert her on the spot, but at least she didn’t say, “You’re wrong!” I feel better that I at least put that information out there.
I can’t prove that using a pinch collar made Isis neurotic. What I know is that we had an anxious dog who got progressively worse while we were using aversive training methods. What I know is that everything I tried failed to stop her pulling on the leash, until I tried a Halti and a clicker.
My first misgivings about this rescue came when they sent me an email with a list of helpful videos for socializing puppies. Among them were videos from Leerburg, one of the websites I consulted when trying to figure out what I was doing wrong with Isis’s pinch collar. I don’t object to the information in their video about bringing home a new puppy. I think it’s a good idea to use an X-pen to keep a puppy separate from adult dogs, so the puppy can watch and learn the proper way to behave inside. (Though the crazy dog mom in me can’t imagine not letting the dogs play with toys in the house.)
Another video was labeled “This is what you will end up with if you think just love alone will be enough. Do not be fooled by positive only and harness programs. All dogs need discipline.” It shows how a pinch collar is used to mellow out a rambunctious pit bull. Nice demonstration, but I’ve seen the same exact thing happen with a Halti and a clicker.
The list of videos and ignorant comment about “positive only” programs didn’t deter me from my primary goal of visiting a litter of puppies at this rescue.
Once there, in separate conversations, I told both the rescue owner and her trainer that my original intention was to get an older dog, but I found the photos of the puppies hard to resist. The trainer said that with two adult dogs in the house, we’d be better bringing in a puppy. The owner said that with two adult dogs in the house, we’d be better bringing in another adult dog. That’s how we wound up on the walk with the pit pulling on the pinch collar.
This dog would need a strong leader, the rescue owner told me, then asked a series of damning questions about our current dogs. Yes, they sleep on the bed. Yes, they walk slightly in front of us on the leash. “Then your dogs don’t see you as the leader,” she pronounced.
Busted. But allow me to again quote Victoria Stilwell’s book, Train Your Dog Positively:
The irony is that to believe dogs see us as their pack leaders actually requires that we first anthropomorphize dogs by assuming they share our human concern regarding rank and what others think of us.
… the entire concept that we must assert our claim to the throne of pack leader before our dogs is based on a mirage. For the sake of argument, though, let’s say that dogs are completely motivated by a burning desire to become pack leader over their human counterparts. At some point in this theoretical exercise we must necessarily decide to disregard the simple truth – that dogs are well aware that we are not, in fact, dogs.
…It is time, therefore, to finally retire the term pack leader – especially when it refers to humans interacting with dogs. Domestic dogs don’t live in true packs, and even if they did, we, as a different species, wouldn’t be a part of them.
I didn’t expect to leave the dog rescue today with a puppy in hand. We weren’t 100 percent ready to get a third dog at this time anyway. But I really didn’t expect to leave feeling so discouraged and disgruntled. I can’t believe anyone still endorses these training methods.
Even more surprising was that the rescue owner badmouthed force-free training. The most offensive thing she said was that positive reinforcement is a problem because when that training fails, dogs wind up in shelters, and a pit bull in a shelter has only a 1 percent chance of survival. As if the only dogs being given up are those for whom positive reinforcement has failed!
That riled me up on the way home. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to say something at the time, but what would I have said? “Have you looked at the percentage of unadoptable dogs that get euthanized after pinch collars and dominance methods resulted in aggressive behavior?”
No, it’s probably better that I said nothing and left on pleasant terms.
How about you? When was the last time you found yourself torn between being polite and being honest about your opinion?
While in Atlanta for BarkWorld, I missed my doggies like crazy. More than usual, probably because I was thinking about dogs and surrounded by dog-lovers all weekend.
The highlight of the social “petworking” conference for me was meeting Victoria Stilwell. As a fan of her television show, I already knew that she is a champion of positive reinforcement training, but I did not realize the depth of her passion for educating dog owners and old-school trainers that force-free methods are the only humane way to work with animals. Her talk at BarkWorld was inspirational.
On the flight home, I began reading her book, Train Your Dog Positively, appreciating its well-written, scientifically backed explanation of dog psychology mixed with anecdotes about her own dogs and client dogs.
On page 51, I had to nudge Rob to take off his earphones and listen to this:
When we pet a dog lovingly, for example, the warmth and happiness we feel comes from a release into the bloodstream of oxytocin — a “bonding” hormone that has a powerful effect on dogs and humans. Dr. Kerstin Uvnas-Moberg, a doctor and professor of physiology and a pioneer in the study of oxytocin, studied this hormone release by taking blood samples from dogs and their owners before and during a petting session. When owners stroked their dogs, they had a release of oxytocin similar to what mothers experience while nursing babies.
Interestingly, petting also triggered a burst of oxytocin in the dogs themselves. Miho Nagasawah, of the Department of Animal Science and Biotechnology at Azabu University in Japan, showed that even eye contact between a dog and human causes an increase in oxytocin. This interaction between our two species has a powerful physiological effect on both of us, promoting feelings of love and attachment while lowering blood pressure and heart rate, soothing pain, and lessening stress.
Oh my god, yes. Forget eye contact, I feel releases of oxytocin just by saying my dogs’ names.
Here’s a scenario that played out in about a dozen variations throughout the weekend: Rob would mention one of the dogs, let’s say Mia. I would moan, “Meeeeeeyaa. I miss her so muuuuch.” Then I might chant her name, “Mia, Mia, Mia,” or sing the song Rob made up about her resemblance to a bear, then autotuned and used as the soundtrack to this montage of photos:
The Leo version often included some form of his nickname: Leo Bug or DJ Leo Bug, which I then abbreviated to DJ LB, realizing that LB also stands for Little Boy. Little Boy Leo Bug.
I know. I’m completely insane.
But saying their names, thinking about them, looking at their pictures in my Facebook albums — all of these fill me with a warmth and happiness reminiscent of petting them and kissing their soft heads.
Naturally since we’ve been home, I’ve been on an oxytocin bender. Every time I leave the house, I look forward to my next opportunity to revel in our scientifically proven bonding ritual.
Our dog sitters (Grandma and Grandpa) reported that Mia seemed anxious while we were gone, but Leo was his normal self. Maybe he wasn’t distraught by our absence, but I can tell by the smile on his face that he’s sure happy we’re back.
I am queen of the convention circuit this year. Whether for fun (Emerald City ComiCon, Power-Con), work (Tribal Habitat Conference), enhancing my craft (Wild Mountain Memoir Retreat), or a blend of market-strategizing and craft-enhancing (PNWA).
Next up is the social petworking conference BarkWorld! Sadly, Mia and Leo will not be joining us, but based on the realization in my last post, perhaps that’s for the best. They need to guard the house anyway. Still, I know I’ll miss them all weekend as I watch other attendees accompanied by their furry friends.
Meanwhile, I’ll be passing out business cards and Bark and Lunge stickers, and I even have a couple of Advance Readers Copies of my book to seduce potential endorsers.
We planned to wear our various Dog is Good T-shirts. Rob’s got “I like big mutts and I cannot lie” and the “Hundhaus Hefeweizen” version of “Never Drink Alone.” I’ve got the aforementioned “Promise to my Dog” shirt, along with “Never Walk Alone” and “Dog is patient, dog is kind…”
In today’s inbox, I had a message from BarkWorld telling me, among other things, that the attire is “business casual.”
Now, I may have a somewhat skewed idea of appropriate attire, having lived in the Pacific Northwest for 10 years, but I really thought our doggie T-shirts would fit right in. Then I watched a video of last year’s BarkWorld, and indeed, there are a lot of men in button-down white shirts. Plus, I’ve been warned that the conference rooms will be heavily air-conditioned. So now I’m tasked with accessorizing my Dog is Good shirts with a little cardigan or something that will dress me up to at least business casual.
The magic of Mia is that I can take her anywhere. Truly. She doesn’t even need a leash; she sticks right by me. Even on a leash, she doesn’t bark and lunge at any of the usual suspects.
My original plan for the Festival of the River was to take Mia with me both days, but then I decided to leave her at home the first day while I set up the booth and got a feel for things. As last year, I watched dogs walk by all day long and looked forward to having my buddy with me the next day.
When Rob and the doggies joined me that evening, we left Leo in the car while we picked up a few items I’d left at my booth. After we set up our tent in the woods, I took Mia on a second trip into the crowd to get a slice of pizza. Both times, she was an exemplary ambassador for the German shepherd breed, accepting oohs and aahs of admirers with a quiet grace and politely greeting other leashed canines large and small.
The next morning, as we walked Leo and Rob back to their car, I said, “I’m so proud of Leo. I consider this weekend to be a complete success. Of course, now that I said that, probably Mia will have a complete meltdown. Ha ha ha.”
At the booth, I tethered Mia’s leash to a table as I rearranged my display boards and put out brochures, stickers and temporary tattoos. I set out a bowl of food and water. Early arrivals strolled between the booths, and before I even noticed the white pit bull and its owner, Mia barked at it.
Oh, no. No no no.
A few minutes later, another pair of dogs sparked the same reaction. A biologist working a booth across from me called out, “Kari, I don’t think your dog likes pit bulls.”
True, one of the pair was a pit bull, but I knew this wasn’t a breed-specific reaction.
“If she’s going to bark at every dog that passes by, this is going to be a long day. Ha ha ha,” I said. But I was thinking, If Mia barks at every dog that passes by, no one with a dog is going to stop at my booth, and people who are afraid of German shepherds aren’t going to stop here either. This was a really bad idea.
What am I going to do now? I can’t leave her in the car. I can’t just leave the festival. I have no cell phone reception, so it’s not like I can easily call Rob to come get her.
I had these thoughts because I have a history of owning reactive dogs. Leo’s barrier frustration makes him bark at passing dogs. If he were off leash and allowed to run up to every dog he saw, he would be perfectly friendly. I think. But because he is a redirected biter, I will not test this hypothesis.
Mia is not reactive. I knew she didn’t mean any harm by her barks, but her intent was irrelevant. I could not have a barking German shepherd at my booth.
Mia was unconcerned about other dogs on leash the night before, so what was the difference? Being tethered to a table?
Maybe I’ll just undo her leash and let her roam around my booth. Mia walked to the edge of the booth, nearly touching a vendor of geode wind chimes, and peered behind my vinyl curtain. The geode vendor gave me the stink-eye, so I leashed her back up.
I kicked myself for leaving Mia’s rubber Chuck-It ball in the car that Rob drove home. I tossed her an apple-shaped stress ball in hopes that she’d occupy herself with tearing it up for the next twenty minutes. She sniffed and ignored it.
Think, Kari, think. You know how to solve this problem.
Positive reinforcement. I filled a poop bag with treats and stuck it in my pocket. The next time I saw a dog approach, I gave Mia treats. My initial strategy was to get her to associate treats with the passing dogs, but Mia is so food-motivated that she was distracted enough to seem not even to notice the other dog.
An airedale, the same one we saw tethered to an RV earlier that day, lingered with its owner at a neighboring booth. Mia noticed her and barked a few times. I redirected her gaze in the other direction and wondered, Am I going to have to do this all day?
As it turned out, no, I didn’t have to do it all day. Either the positive reinforcement worked, or Mia just got used to the idea that other dogs were going to walk by. (Or both.) I gave her treats every time I saw another dog coming, but I also worked my booth, meaning I put temporary tattoo application and fish consumption rate explaining above Mia management. One guy entered my booth as I was treating Mia and I thought she might bark at the approaching dog as soon as I took my attention away from her, but she didn’t make a sound, and when I finished with the other guy, the dog was long gone.
While Mia may have driven off a dog-fearing festival-goer or two, she was a major attraction for many, many more people. Far more people asked, “Can I pet your dog?” than asked me to explain the importance of raising the state’s fish consumption rate, although you can bet I used Mia as an opening.
Here, Mia proved to be the bomb-proof dog I know her to be. At one point, I was concerned briefly she might frighten a toddler mid-pet by barking at a passing dog, but she did not. Perhaps strokes from a toddler are as positively reinforcing (and/or distracting) as a handful of treats. Other children cuddled her, rolled on top of her, and even put their sunglasses on her. (I wish I’d gotten a photo of that one.)
Mia and I both relaxed and I was so happy to have her with me. Her presence brightened my day. Gave me someone to talk to during the slow stretches in the afternoon.
As much joy as she brought me, and as much as I know she loves being by my side, it occurred to me that Mia might not actually be having the best time ever.
I had a similar feeling the night before, blissfully snuggled with Rob and the doggies in our tent. Rob had gotten stuck in horrible traffic on the way into the festival, and nettles scraped his legs as we set up camp.
“Are you having fun?” I asked.
“I’m just trying to get through it,” he said, perfectly amiably. I love that about Rob. The outing didn’t meet his expectations, but he didn’t punish me for it. Like Mia, he was there for me, making sure that I had a better time than I would have alone, but not getting all that much out of it himself.
That’s what our dogs do for us. If you asked Mia, she’d tell you she’d rather go with me anywhere than get left at home. But as the responsible adult, I recognize that bringing Mia to the festival was more fun for me than it was for her.
She was bored, lying on the grass beside me for hours on end, with the occasional break to walk to the port-a-potties. Worse, the constant assaults from strangers took a toll. Late in the day, a man asked if he could pet her and Mia barely raised her head to him before letting out an exhausted sigh. Sure, whatever, I’m here for your amusement.
My last post illuminated what I learned last weekend about managing my barrier-frustrated dog, Leo. I also learned a lesson about my perfect, normal, senior dog, Mia. Next year, I won’t force her to work the festival with me. (And Rob doesn’t have to drive down to camp out with me. Unless he changes his mind.)
Sleep tight, Mia Bear, you worked hard.
This post is part of a Senior Pet Awareness blog hop, brought to you by BlogPaws.
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I have a T-shirt from Dog is Good that reads: “To my dog, this I promise you: I will love you unconditionally; for who you are, not who I’d like you to be. I will protect you and keep you safe. Always.”
I love this sentiment so much that I bought the shirt despite the who/whom error. It beautifully expresses the takeaway from my memoir about Isis.
This promise nagged at me when I couldn’t fall asleep Friday night. I was scheduled to work all day Saturday and Sunday at the NWIFC booth at the Stillaguamish Festival of the River in Arlington. The festival is awesome for a variety of reasons, not least being that dogs are allowed. Last year, they paraded past me for two days, and a couple of enormous Great Danes even stopped for a spell in the shade of my booth. Next year, I thought at the time, if it’s not too hot, I’ll bring Mia.
We planned for Rob and the doggies to drive down Saturday night and take advantage of my vendor’s perk: overnight camping. We like to sleep in a tent exactly one night a year, usually after a strenuous hike. This year’s lack of a strenuous hike was what I most looked forward to.
As I lay in bed on Friday, eyes wide open and mind racing, I worried about Leo. Barrier frustrated Leo. He gets along with everyone at the dog park, barely noticing the people. A bike can ride past and he doesn’t care. If he’s off leash. But, like Isis before him, he barks and lunges at so many things while on leash. Which causes him to turn his head and bite whatever’s closest. Usually Mia’s head or Rob’s thigh. Mia can handle these redirected bites, but human skin is more sensitive. His redirected bites have broken the skin. By accident of course. He’d never bite a person. Oh no, he’s friendly. But if I’ve learned nothing else, I recognize that Leo is not reliable in uncontrolled situations.
So what was I thinking, bringing Leo to a festival that attracts 6,000 people a day, where he would have to be on a leash around other dogs? I was thinking that he did just fine on-leash at Dog Days of Summer last year. I was thinking, worse case scenario, he sleeps in the car.
I was thinking that I wanted a dog I could take camping. It wouldn’t be fair to leave Leo at home while Mia went to the festival. I wanted Leo to be able to do fun things too.
I couldn’t sleep Friday night because of that promise I’d made Leo. I will protect you and keep you safe. Always.
Was I breaking that promise to put him in a situation where he might not feel safe? Where he might bark and lunge and scare people, or worse, hurt someone?
(I also might have been feeling some social anxiety about having to set up and staff a booth by myself for eight hours two days in a row.)
When I got to the festival Saturday morning, I found a shaded parking spot near an available tent site removed from the festival grounds. See? It’s going to be fine, I told myself. We’ll just keep Leo away from the crowds.
Unfortunately, someone else stole our tent spot during the day, so when Rob and the dogs arrived, we headed deeper into the woods, scratching our legs on nettles to get to a secluded spot for the four of us to snuggle into our three-person tent. We tethered Leo to a tree when he wasn’t inside our tent. Mia, of course, was allowed to wander free, since she never went far.
I was so proud of my boy. Sure he barked at a couple of people who passed by, but we kept him safe by setting up camp far enough away from the trail. I had my best night of sleep yet in that tent. I think Leo did too.
In the morning, we fed the dogs their breakfast beside the car. We didn’t push Leo over threshold by forcing him to encounter hundreds of people, but we did expose him to a dozen or so strangers in the parking area. He blithely ignored an Airedale tethered to an RV about a hundred feet away, and walked parallel to a couple of yippy dogs without incident.
Before Rob and Leo left for the day, we took the dogs down to a little river nook, where we let him off leash. Yes, we ran the risk that he would get the zoomies and escape from us, as Isis did once at the Port Townsend ferry terminal, but here at least Leo was far from vehicle traffic, and we assured ourselves that he’s perfectly friendly off leash.
My pulse quickened when he raced up the steep stairs carved into the bank, but he came right back, and I was happy to give him those few minutes of freedom to romp and splash in the river. You can see on his face how much he enjoyed it.
With Leo, I have to strike a balance. The back of my shirt says, “We will do enjoyable things together every day. I will guide you through this world. But above all, we are a team. I will do my best to be worthy of your love and trust.”
This weekend reminded me that my guidance and his trust in me are absolutely the key to doing enjoyable things together every day.
In my next post, I’ll tell you how Mia enjoyed working the booth with me all day Sunday.
While Rob and I were in Seattle on Saturday, Leo and Mia committed unprecedented destruction.
We were warned by Rob’s dad, Jerry, when I called to tell him we were on our way home. “You’ll never guess what your dogs did.”
“Did they tear up the couch?” (This would not have surprised nor particularly troubled me.)
“No. They chewed up the door between the bathroom and your bedroom, including some drywall.”
Even with that description, we were not prepared for the sight. Jerry tried to show us the dog hair all over his shirt, from where Mia tried to crawl into his lap, as though a hair-covered shirt could compete with this:
They had gnawed at the door frames of four closed doors, pulling off the trim and chunks of drywall.
I’d been gone since 6 a.m. the day before, but Rob had been gone only a few hours. Had the dogs been so distraught about my 36-hour absence that they’d started eating the house?
This was not the idle chewing of a bored dog. Not like the time Leo ate my parking brake. This destruction was the work of frantic dogs trying desperately to get through the closed doors.
Had they thought they would find me or Rob behind those doors? Had someone been trying to break into the house?
Normally we blame Leo for everything, since Mia can do no wrong. Except that one time when she was in the kitchen while Rob mowed the lawn, and she pawed the trim off the back door. Similar to Saturday’s damage. On a much smaller scale.
Had someone been mowing the lawn next door?
We conducted a little crime scene investigation. Both dogs’ teeth appeared intact. Leo had some drywall smudge on his paw pads and Rob’s mom, Alice, reported that Leo had “chalk on his nose” when she first came in. But that could have been from sniffing the mess. Mia’s claws were slightly worn with white, evidence that she’d scratched the walls.
Beep.
Rob’s car alarm keychain, low on batteries, chirped from the foyer table.
Oh god.
Mia had crawled onto Jerry’s lap. That’s what she does when she hears beeping.
Alice had said she wanted us to know about the damage before we got home, so we wouldn’t yell at the dogs. As if we ever yell at the dogs.
Neither of us is angry. I’m tormented with guilt knowing they spent hours frantically trying to get through those doors, being driven mad by a beeping keychain.
During a recent martial arts class, Rob asked his students whether they saw the world as a dangerous place with moments of wonder, or a wondrous place with moments of danger.
Definitely a wondrous place, I thought. Then I considered my writing and realized that to move the action forward in my novel, I need more moments of danger. Nobody wants to read a book about a happy well-adjusted young woman in a great relationship who loves her dogs. That’s why I didn’t have a memoir until Isis died. Pain equals conflict equals drama.
A few days later, I made one of my fictional doggie characters viciously bite someone.
I didn’t stay in the dangerous world long. Last weekend, I participated in Stephanie Renee Dos Santos’ Saraswati writing and yoga workshop.
Saraswati is the Hindu goddess of knowledge, music, arts and science… depicted as a beautiful woman to embody the concept of knowledge as supremely alluring… Saraswati is the goddess of learning, and not a god; the feminine aspect signifies creativity. … Saraswati is known as a guardian deity in Buddhism who upholds the teachings of Gautama Buddha by offering protection and assistance to practitioners
I’ve dabbled in yoga for many years, but never connected it to my writing practice before. We met on the labyrinth at Fairhaven Park, a perfect setting for outdoor yoga. After an hour of poses targeting our hips, back, neck and shoulders, opening ourselves to creativity and culminating in Tibetan meditation, we sat down to write.
Stephanie guided us through writing prompts focusing our attention on the natural world. The yoga gave my writing an awareness of my physical surroundings that I sometimes neglect. We returned to our mats for a few more vinyasas before a final writing exercise to bring it all together. I was quite surprised to find that the stream-of-consciousness observations from the earlier prompts fit perfectly into my novel, and I wrote a short scene that I didn’t even know my story needed.
After that infusion of wonder and beauty, I went to a dark place. Literally. I pulled Gillian Flynn’s Dark Places off my shelf. I tried to start it a few months ago, but wasn’t in mood for dark that day. I read the first line (I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ), and thought “Not today.” Can’t remember what I read instead, but since then I’ve read some Chuck Palahniuk, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and I Am Forbidden, the latter being this month’s book club selection.
Without any sense that this book could help me with my novel, Dark Places looked good to me on Monday. I don’t write violent psychological thrillers, but I sure do enjoy reading them. Once again, my inner reader knew what I needed even when my conscious mind didn’t. The main character in Dark Places is a damaged young woman with a violent past. She is angry and stunted, rather like my main character in Fight Like a Lady.
You find inspiration where you least expect it.
After Kurt Cobain killed himself, one of my mom’s college students said she was so distraught that she couldn’t turn in her assignment.
As a college student myself at the time, I thought that was a pretty shoddy excuse. I mean, light a candle outside your local record store, listen to Heart-Shaped Box on repeat, but do your damn homework. It’s not like you knew the guy. He was a tortured artist after all. His untimely death was sad, yes, but hardly a shock.
Heath Ledger’s death a few years ago, on the other hand, was shocking. Like Cobain, he left behind a young daughter. He wasn’t a known drug addict, but if the stories are to be believed, I can see how he could have accidentally overdosed on prescription drugs.
I learned of Michael Jackson’s death while checking my email in the Tokyo airport. I may have said, “Oh my god” out loud. Unexpected, but not beyond belief.
Brittany Murphy. Corey Haim. Lots of stars die suddenly.
Last Saturday night, I got into bed feeling bummed out about the state of a world where a young man can be killed legally for wearing a hoodie (Even if Trayvon Martin did pummel George Zimmerman and smash his head on the sidewalk, didn’t he have a right to stand his ground?). Another news alert popped up on my iPod: Glee actor Cory Monteith found dead in a Vancouver hotel room.
I actually gasped. I know I said “Oh my god” out loud. Just a few days earlier, out of nowhere, I told Rob about Monteith.
“He checked into rehab for substance abuse. What kind of drugs could he possibly be taking? Why would he need to go to rehab? Couldn’t he just kick it on his own, Charlie Sheen style?”
Obviously, I didn’t know what I was talking about. My ignorant assumption was based on his squeaky clean appearance. The fact that he was dating costar Lea Michele, and she was standing by him, proud of him for taking this step. I had googled him to see what he was being treated for. Vicodin? Maybe cocaine? I couldn’t exactly picture him shooting heroin at a Glee cast party. Or smoking meth while Lea warms up her vocal chords. I couldn’t imagine him being a serious enough alcoholic to warrant a stint in rehab.
Is that why I’m particularly broken up about his death? Is that why, when I saw the news alert yesterday that the cause of death was a lethal combination of heroin and alcohol, my insides clenched from the tragedy of it all?
I’m a Glee fan, yes, but Finn Hudson was never my favorite character. If they’d written him off the show for other reasons, I wouldn’t have cared. I am a Lea Michele fan, though. That girl can sing anything.
I found myself hoping the couple had been having serious problems, as though that might make the loss easier for her. My heart breaks to think that at the time of his death, she thought everything was going great, that her boyfriend was clean, and she’d talk to him later that day. I guess it would be worse if they’d had a terrible fight, and that’s why he decided to get some heroin.
Either way, how does a person begin to get over it?
At one of the lowest points in my life, after Isis died, Glee made me smile. Lea Michele specifically. Her performance of Firework, which I later downloaded, filled me with just enough optimism to know that I would feel whole again.
FIREWORK – RACHEL | GLEE from christianjn on Vimeo.
Here she is singing with Monteith. Probably not a song that will cheer anyone up.
The Weekly Photo Challenge theme is almost too easy: Companionable.
My precious Mia has a very annoying habit of barking incessantly in the backyard. We think she’s just saying, “Hey, look at me! I’m over here!” Because she doesn’t want you to throw her the ball, or even come near her. If you try to get the ball, she runs away with it in her mouth, which is a plus, because at least that stops her from barking.
For this reason, it’s very hard to get a picture of her flashing her beautiful smile. I have lots of pictures of her barking, and many of her lifting her upper lip at Leo. In a show of affection, of course.
Lately, she hasn’t been wanting to come in the house when I need to leave for work. I solve this problem by letting her drag a leash around the yard, but today I wasn’t in a hurry, so I just set her free.
When I was ready to go, I sat down on an Adirondack chair in front of our backyard studio. My plan was to grab her ball when she wasn’t looking and lure her back to the house with it. Mia sat down on one side of the young maple tree and Leo sat on the other side. My smiling, happy dogs looked so beautiful (and companionable, although I didn’t yet know that was this week’s theme), I needed to take a picture.
By the time I walked back inside the house and got my camera, the tableau had moved. I sat down again, waiting for the dogs to settle in exactly that same position, but instead, Mia barked and barked and barked. Her high-pitched attention getting squawk. The one that drives Rob insane when he’s trying to mow the lawn.
Eventually she closed her mouth for enough consecutive seconds that I was able to get a few pictures that don’t make her look like a monster. And a few that do.
Kari Neumeyer 