Kari Neumeyer

Early criticism

Trains of thought are funny things. I was driving home from book club, thinking about a caption I wrote under a photo of Leo on Facebook. I wrote, “Leo smiles more ever since Mia joined the family.” I wondered if maybe I should delete the “ever.” Yes, I actually copy edit myself after I’ve posted things online, and think about diction while driving. When I catch errors in old FB posts that I cannot change, I cringe and worry that people will think less of me. I think less of me.

The phrase “ever since” triggered a memory. I want to say I was in second or third grade when I was assigned my first book report. I’d heard of book reports, of course; I have an older brother. And I’d read books about kids who had to write book reports, like Anastasia Krupnick and Ramona Quimby. I don’t remember who the teacher was, or what the book was. Looking back, I don’t think we were even assigned to do “real” book reports. We were given half-pages of paper and were supposed to write back cover summaries. I read a lot, so I knew from back cover summaries. I wrote something like, “Ever since Susie Q started her new school, she suspected her classmates were really witches.” I was pretty proud of myself. It read just like the back covers of my books.

The teacher (might have been a teacher’s aide) was displeased with many of our book reports. She read an example of one that was especially egregious. Mine.

She didn’t name names, but I was really embarrassed and had no idea why mine was an example of what not to do. We weren’t supposed to start with “Ever since”? Was I supposed to write, “I read a book called Blah Blah. The main character’s name is Susie Q. Blah blah blah.”

This happened nearly 30 years ago, and I’m still scarred. What a shitty teacher. Sadly this wasn’t the last time I was told by a teacher at a fancy private school (who ought to know better) that I didn’t know how to write. Which reminds me of the time Anastasia Krupnick wrote a poem that she thought was wonderful, but got a bad grade because it didn’t rhyme. Her poet father disagreed with the teacher and changed the F to Fabulous.

Rescuing a senior dog

I get it now.

I used to wonder how anyone could adopt a senior dog. How can you invest your emotions in a dog you know you won’t have very long?

I saw a woman on an episode of Pit Bulls and Parolees who had a soft spot for senior dogs and could always be counted on to take them. What a saint. How much heartbreak!

After losing Isis way too soon, why would we want to adopt a dog that we probably wouldn’t even have for as long as we had her?

Then Mia came into our lives. We think she’s seven. Rob says he’ll be happy if we have her for four years (since that’s how long we had Isis). I said I doubted we’d have her that long. And she’s only been with us two weeks, so maybe it’s too soon for me to make such declarations about understanding why people rescue senior dogs.

We adopted Mia knowing that she’s already lived a long life, so we’re not expecting to spend 10 years with her, like we did with Isis. We don’t have a dog-lifetime of memories of getting her as an itty bitty puppy. Behavior-wise, she’s an angel. She doesn’t require the constant attention, exercise and stimulation that a puppy needs. She doesn’t destroy stuff. She’s an absolute pleasure.

So, yes, rescuing a senior dog is totally worth it. You know how they say people with pets have lower stress levels? I can’t say that was ever the case with Isis, Isis and Leo combined, or Leo on his own. But Mia brought peace with her. She relaxes me.

Unfortunately, there is something stressful on the horizon, I fear. Something that comes with the territory of rescuing a senior dog. She’s going to have health problems. I’m having her teeth cleaned next week. She might need to have a tooth pulled. What if they tell me she needs a root canal (or three or four, like Isis had)? How much should we do to preserve the teeth of a dog who might not live more than a couple of more years?

I do feel anxious about how much money it will cost to keep Mia healthy and free of pain for the rest of her life. But no matter what we do, I know it’s more than anyone else was going to do for her. And I won’t regret it, no matter the cost, because of what she’s given us already.

From zero to Mia in five days

Last Tuesday, Rob’s mom called me and said, “There’s a four-and-a-half-year-old female German shepherd whose owners moved away and abandoned it.”

Naturally, because Isis was four-and-a-half when she died, she thought we’d want this one. I was stunned, because while I did want to rescue another shepherd someday, I thought Rob’s parents would be the least receptive to the idea, considering it would be more work for them. They’re damn dutiful dog grandparents, not only staying at our house when we’re out of town, but also coming over every day if we ask them, to let the dog(s) out while we’re at work. The situation with Isis and Leo was so stressful, I thought Rob’s parents would say “Noooooooo,” if I told them we were getting another dog.

So this was an unexpected turn. When Rob got home from work, I opened with that same line his mom gave me. He said, “I don’t want to hear about it,” which actually, may have been because he thought I was telling him about a sad tale, rather than a potentially happy opportunity. Or maybe it was just that his first reaction, like mine, was, “Oh, it’s too soon. Leo’s still so much trouble. SO much trouble.” But I’d already told the woman who had the abandoned dog she should text me a photo. Thinking of Isis, I’d decided the first condition was that she be really, really beautiful.

I couldn’t tell much about her face from this picture, but the text that accompanied it said, “This is Mia. She is sweet, but sad. Needs a good home.” I showed it to Rob. He said he’d go with me to meet her. Which was HUGE, because long ago, when I first started pining for a puppy, he wouldn’t even go with me “just to look” at dogs. Then he said he was looking forward to meeting her.

Then we both started getting our hopes up.

We took Leo with us to meet her Saturday. We planned what we would say, how we would know whether the other had decided definitely no. We said we weren’t necessarily bringing her home that day, but it was a possibility.

The people who were fostering her lived on a reservation. I knew there was a strong possibility there would be loose dogs around, which would agitate Leo, but not to the extent it would have agitated Isis. I was right. As soon as we pulled in the driveway, a German shepherd who looked a lot older than four-and-a-half ran up to the car along with several other dogs of all sizes. Leo went berserker. We got out of the car and moved closer to the house to get the dogs out of Leo’s field of vision. A small pitbull mix lifted his leg and peed on my front tire.

My first thought at seeing Mia was, “Oh, she’s too old. Rob’s not going to want her, because Isis was so puppy-like. He wants a dog who will be more like Isis.” The cell phone photo had been framed conveniently to not show how gray Mia’s muzzle is. We introduced ourselves and spent a few minutes watching Mia interact with the other dogs. I asked her foster mom some questions, but I didn’t learn much. Her neighbors got Mia from some people in Mount Vernon. Then they couldn’t take care of her. Leo was barking the whole time.

We decided to see what Leo thought of her so I went to the car to get him. Despite the fact that he did not for one second stop barking the entire time we had been there, and it had been at most 10 minutes, he’d managed to get a hold of the squishy head pillow I’d attached to my headrest. Little white beads were all over the back of my car. “Oh, Leo,” I thought. “You little rascal.” Then I realized that he’d not only torn apart the little pillow, but had taken a huge chunk out of the seat itself! He was so revved up by the other dogs running around outside that he took it out on my car seat! And this is a dog who is not remotely reactive or dog aggressive. Evidently, he was really freaked out.

Rattled, but undeterred, I took Leo over to Mia, and they introduced themselves to each other in what I believe to be the customary way among German shepherds. Some sniffing, a bark or two. They didn’t immediately start romping together, but you could tell they weren’t going to be mortal enemies.

Something about her. She was older than we expected. Gray around the muzzle. Leo didn’t immediately say, “Hey, wanna be my new best friend?” But she wagged her tail when we spoke to her. And she ran around with a soccer ball in her mouth.

Her foster mom clearly did not want to keep her. If we took her home and it wasn’t a perfect fit, neither one of us would be willing to take her back.

We said, let’s do it.

With the windows down on the drive home, we felt like we were inside a snow globe. Those little white beads flew all over the place, getting in our dogs’ eyes, in my Diet Pepsi. Everywhere. (Later I went through two cycles at the car wash vacuum and still didn’t get them all.) At least it distracted me from the more permanent damage to the car seat.

In the two days since, Leo and Mia have been getting to know each other. She does resource-guard food and toys from him, and will lift her upper lip and snarl if she thinks he’s going to take them. But she’ll let me take a toy from her, and walk close to her while she’s eating, and that’s more important anyway. He pestered her a lot that first day, walking up to her and trying to engage her by barking in her face. She’d tell him a harsh word or two, and they seem to be working things out and are doing that less now.

The first night, they fell asleep on our bedroom floor, nose to nose. It made me so happy I could cry.

Mia hasn’t done anything naughty like chew on anything she’s not supposed to. She’s housebroken and even seems to be trained not to get on the furniture, which of course is a habit we hope to break. This morning she jumped on the bed for the first time and rolled on her back happily to let us snuggle with her. We were thrilled.

Leo, who is not Mr. Affectionate, gets jealous when we talk to her and pet her, so I take those opportunities to smother him with kisses, which he allows. Leo’s also been pestering us less. Now he bites Mia’s ankles when he wants to play, not Rob’s.

I took her to the vet today and learned that she is microchipped, but the chip is not registered, which, to me, means she’s ours for good. The vet also thinks she’s closer to seven years old, but that she has the teeth of a younger dog. (German shepherds are like that, because they have normal-shaped mouths, she said.) Everything about her looked healthy…except…she has some kind of mass around the bone of her hind leg.

While she was being X-rayed to see if it was a broken bone healed wrong (it was not) and aspirated to see if it’s a tumor, I thought, “Oh, shit. 2011, you bastard. You’re going to take away another dog and break my heart again.” I’m not going to spend thousands of dollars on MRIs and aggressive treatment for this dog, although we love her already. The best we can do is pay for whatever medical care to make her comfortable and give her a loving home.

The vet came back and said when she aspirated it, only fat tissue came out, so she thinks it’s a lipoma. It’s not causing Mia any noticeable discomfort, but could if it gets bigger. I can deal with that. We’ll keep an eye on it and treat it later if it starts to hurt.

Since we didn’t have to pay an adoption fee, I was perfectly happy to pay the $200 vet bill that included the X-ray and aspiration.

When we pulled back into the driveway, I said, “Welcome home, Mia. You’re going to live here for the rest of your life.”

Is my dog the annoying kid on the playground?

Leo’s been going to the most wonderful doggie daycare. They have webcams where I can watch him romp. He is under constant human supervision and gets naps and snacks, has his teeth brushed and practices his manners. He even gets report cards.

He was going once a week at first, because I like bringing him to work when I can take him with me in the field or at least take a break to throw him a tennis ball. In the office, I tether him to my desk and he sleeps on the floor and/or chews a bone. Sometimes, though, he’s super bratty, and I “crate” him in the car, which is parked right outside my office window.

A couple of weeks ago, I may have left him out there too long while I was in the conference room for a meeting, because he chewed off the end of my parking brake.

So I decided it was better (and cheaper) for him to go to daycare twice a week than to spend that much time in the car.

He seems to be getting along very well and all his teachers have nice things to say about him. The head mistress even told me last week that he was her favorite, which surprised me, but I think she meant it!

He’s getting low scores in naptime, though. Apparently, when he is crated for his nap, he cries, which is disruptive to the other dogs who are trying to rest. We were told to work on this, by crating him for short periods when we are home (so he doesn’t associate it with being abandoned). Last week, his score improved … to a B-. I know he can do better.

I’m troubled when I check the webcam throughout the day and he’s not in the playroom for extended periods of time. Has he been given a time out? Is he being so disruptive in his crate that they are waiting for him to calm down before they let him come out and play again? Or is he just enjoying some outdoor time?

When I do see him on the webcam, he’s having the best time, usually chasing and/or chewing on the head of another dog. He plays rough, although his teachers haven’t mentioned that being a problem. If he gets too rambunctious, they call him away and have him sit. One time, he grabbed another dog’s collar and they gave him a time out.

Sometimes, I see the other dogs lying down, but Leo’s still pacing around the room, looking for someone to play with him. He’s like the dorky kid who tries to hang with the cool kids and doesn’t realize that they don’t want him around. Is that why he disappears from the playroom? Do the other dogs say to the teacher, “Look, you gotta do something with this kid, he’s driving us nuts!”?

Donald Trump is a big fat idiot

For the past several episodes, I have been falling asleep as soon as the Celebrity Apprentice candidates get to the boardroom. Clearly, I was onto something, because when I replayed the ending of the most recent episode, I got pissed off enough to blog about it.

I’ve found Trump to be intolerable during the previous seasons of the Celebrity Apprentice. (We don’t watch the regular Apprentice, but I assume he’s the same). He interrupts the contestants with his own inane opinions and sometimes doesn’t even let them answer his questions. Unless he does and that part just gets edited out. I have had very little patience and zero respect for him since he corrected Cyndi Lauper’s grammar when she used the correct pronoun. (She said “me,” he told her it should be “I.” He was wrong. Thanks, Donald, for perpetuating the misuse of pronouns. You’re fired.)

This season, I was briefly on Team Nene (although I have never seen an episode of any Real Housewife show — see how postmodern my television viewing is?), in her battle against Star Jones. I’m no fan of Star Jones and think she deserved to be fired weeks ago. However, Donald’s treatment of her during her final boardroom was highly offensive.

Star gave a very reasoned explanation for why she was offended that Meat Loaf called her “Sweetie.” She said something like, “If you call me Sweetie when we’re ordering lunch, it’s one thing, but to call me Sweetie when we’re having an argument is to try to diminish me rather than treat me as an equal.” She’s a lawyer, you know, so she made a good case.

Instead of focusing on how badly Star had performed, Donald spent way too much time rattling on about how silly she was to be insulted by the diminutive. He cut her off a number of times as she explained herself, which diminished her further. She deserved to be fired because her brand messaging was off base, but the footage that aired showed a boss more annoyed at his employee for standing up for herself than for screwing up the task.

Climate change

This is some real end-of-days shit.

First of all, North Carolina. And of course, Japan.

Closer to home, we’ve had such unpredictable weather the last few days. On both Saturday and Sunday, the sun came out long enough for me to sit outside and read while Leo romped. He doesn’t do Isis’ springtime bug trot, but that probably would have just bummed me out.

Also on both Saturday and Sunday, it got cold enough for me to wear my North Face parka, which is supposed to be retired for the season by now.

It’s April 18, and I don’t know even know which color tulips are blooming in my yard, because they’re still buds.

tulip isis — This picture was taken in early April last year.

This morning, I saw a few minutes of hail that turned to rain. On my drive south from Bellingham to Mount Vernon, it snowed. Really snowed. I don’t want to oversell it, but the phrase “whiteout conditions” came to mind as I drove through it. Snow flocked the trees and iced the bumps between lanes and stuck to the ground on either side of the freeway.

No snow in Mount Vernon, just rain. Enough rain that I left a ream of recycled paper in the car rather than get it wet.

And now? It’s sunny. I had to take off my jacket because I was too warm when I drove to the co-op for lunch and I’m worried about the produce I left in the hot car.

Reverse psychology

When I suffered from excruciating TMJ pain about 6 years ago, I tried everything I could think of, and nothing really made it go away but time. I’d read that eventually the nerves deaden and it stops hurting. That was on the right side of my face and it did stop bothering me for a few years. A year or so ago, the clicking started on the left side and developed into near constant aching.

I’m trying acupuncture again and this time am seeing some results. After three sessions, I’ve had a few hours of relief lasting longer each time, but so far the results haven’t lasted through the end of the day. I also started getting headaches again last week. That may be related to having a sore neck from getting thrown around on a boat on Monday. I’ve been stretching and using my pneumatic cervical traction device. (Love that thing.)

I have a night guard, but feel like I clench my teeth harder when I have something to bite in between them. So I’ve been trying to fall asleep to some relaxing meditation CDs. (OK, they’re on my iPod, but they started out as CDs). Deepak Chopra’s is my favorite, but you get sick of anything listening to it night after night. I have another called Just Relax, which is a little annoying, but has in the past helped me fall asleep.

Unfortunately, my iPod was set on “repeat” and was still playing when I woke up in the middle of the night from an anxiety dream. Yeah, that’s right. Anxiety dream WHILE a relaxation track is playing. The dream where I’m packing up an entire apartment and don’t have enough suitcase space or time. And when I woke up, I was drenched in sweat. So, uh, not much of an endorsement for that particular track. Unless the effect of listening to it repeatedly for hours had something to do with it having the reverse effect.

What a stereotype

I didn’t realize that dogs actually bury bones in the backyard. I thought it was a stereotype kind of thing, like barking at the moon or being named Rover.

But Leo does it. I’ve let him dig next to the house because he does it in a contained area, near the fenced patch of earth designated as his bathroom. I don’t care as long as he’s not digging any place I’ve actually landscaped. Months ago, I noticed that he buried balls and planting pots in the hole there. (I also let him run around with plastic planting pots in his mouth. I had the fantasy that I would teach him to stack the pots, but that hasn’t come to fruition just yet. I take them away from him once he really starts to chew them apart, and I stick my hand down his throat to remove any bits of plastic he attempts to swallow.)

Another amusing discovery is that he likes to hide bones under pillows. I first noticed this on the guest bed. He was so looking forward to my mom’s next visit that he thought he’d leave her a little treat under the pillow. Since then, he’s left them on and under the pillows in our room, as well as beneath some throw pillows beside the fireplace.

Earlier today, I discovered a rawhide bone at the bottom of a toy box. I gave it to him and he ran from room to room with it in his mouth, crying – literally, crying – because the doors to the bedrooms were closed and he didn’t know where to hide it.

“Dude, you can just eat it,” I told him.

He worked on it for a while, gnawing off the knots on each end, before trying again to find a place to hide it. He pulled a couch cushion to the floor, creating a fort, and worked on the rawhide for a few more minutes, hidden from my view. Then he went to the back door, so I let him outside, where he dug a hole and buried it. Now he’s back inside, wet and muddy, with no rawhide to chew on and expecting me to entertain him.

I dream of Isis

It was only a matter of time before I started dreaming that Isis wasn’t dead. I have a feeling last night’s dream will become a recurring one, but at least in this dream, I knew she was supposed to be dead, so I didn’t have that enormous letdown to wake up and realize she was gone.

In the dream, I let Leo out back and was surprised to see that Isis was already out there. We’d let her out and forgotten to bring her back in. For a very long time. I wondered where she had been sleeping, since Leo had been sleeping in our room. I tried to let one dog in but not the other, but they didn’t seem to be fighting anymore. I wondered how we were going to manage both dogs in the house. How had we been managing both dogs in the house?

I let Isis in and snuggled up to her. It was nice to see her again. But then I looked at her and she was Leo. I must have been confused. It had been Leo all along. Then there was another Leo. Two Leos and Isis also was there. Leo was there as a little puppy too. Isis jumped up on the bed with Leo and just sniffed him. Didn’t snarl or anything. Which of course was my dream around Christmas time. All I wanted was for my two dogs to get along.

Alas.

Twice in the last couple of days, two different people who don’t know us very well made comments that sounded like they thought we got Leo after Isis died. It made me uncomfortable. I don’t want anyone thinking we got Leo as a replacement for her. Because of course, there will never be another Isis.

Remembering my snow dog

My work closed all branches of its offices today just after noon, because of inclement weather. I was working at home, where it didn’t start snowing until after 5 p.m.

The last time we had any snow to speak of, it snowed very heavily starting at 8 p.m., and the weather guys told us it would all be gone by morning.

I let Isis out that night, hoping to see her romp around in the snow like she loved to do. She used to race from one end of the yard to the other. Rob’s dad said she was trying to put her feet in every inch of it. She’s always loved the snow. It snowed the first week she was with us, and despite being born in Southern California, she was a snow dog at heart.

She didn’t race around in it that January night, but I got out my camera to take her picture in it, because I knew I wouldn’t have another chance in the morning.