There are times when life seems more like something out of a soap opera. One day is as boring as the one before and the next you are knocked out while snooping around a women's prison, your heart is cut out in the prison infirmary, harvested for black market organ sale, and you are left to die, hooked up to a bi-pass machine.... but before your heart can be sold, your renegade heart surgeons are caught, your heart intercepted and then re-implanted by some hot doctor who just happened to be stopping by. Ok, so that's actually a story line from Days of Our Lives and maybe real life isn't quite so dramatic, but sometimes it can feel that way.
A few years ago I got a call from my mom telling me my aunt had a baby. At the time my aunt was in her early 60's, so imagine my surprise when I heard the news. She went on to tell me that 40 years ago my aunt had gotten pregnant and given the baby up for adoption, only she didn't tell anyone. Years later he decided to search for his birth mother and found her in a little southern town.
I met my long lost cousin just a couple of years ago. He lives not too far from me. Looks just like my aunt. Their story really seems more like it should be on a soap opera... scandalous pregnancy, mom-to-be sent away to hide her secret, returning with an empty heart and empty arms... Her life having been lived out with that secret until one day she gets a knock on her door... "Mom? Is that you? It's me... your son". Dramatic music would begin to play and through tearful apologies she would explain why she had to give him up... she had no choice, but he is here now... and that is all that matters. And if life is like a soap opera they would live somewhat happily ever after.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Cheap Beauty or Pure Torture?
One of favorite websites is Stumbleupon. You choose categories that you are interested in and then you Stumble and random websites are brought up that match your interests. It has opened a whole new world of Internet browsing for me since I have been stuck looking at the same few websites every day when my mind needs a break/distraction at work (I love you People.com but I need to broaden my horizens).
One of my favorite topics is beauty. I love all things make up. I have since I was a little girl and I would watch Days of Our Lives and then lock myself in the bathroom and try to replicate Jennifer Horton's look with my mother's make up. So, I get inspired by new looks and tips that I may Stumble across. The category also brings up skin care and hair ideas as well.
Speaking of skin care, I have come across a cheap alternative to those pore strips you see advertised, the ones that you wet and then put across your nose and let it dry and then rips all the nastiness out of your pores. Twice I have come across this cheap and easy alternative so I decided to give it a try.
It sounds easy enough. All you need is unflavored gelatin and milk, mixed together and heated in the microwave. Once heated you put it on your nose or forehead or wherever you may need it, let it dry and essentially rip it off as it grabs on to any impurities and yanks them right out like those pore strips do. I decided to go the extra mile and put it on my entire face. Could also be a good form of exfoliation?
I mixed the concoction, slathered it all over my face and let it sit for about 15 minutes, until it hardened. Then it was time to remove. I started at the jaw line, and began ripping as gently as I could.... but there is no way to gently rip the top layer of skin off of your face. It was literally one of the most painful things I have ever experienced, and I have experienced a lot of random, excruciating pain.
When it was all said and done the top layer of skin was gone and my face was bright red, but it was also as soft as a baby's butt. The entire reason for the experiment was to clean out the pores on my nose, which didn't happen, but I think I found a great alternative to a chemical peel, without the chemicals.
If you want to clean out your pores, I say go for the strips you buy in the store. If you want to experience a little bit of torture, but have some super soft skin, go with the "homemade" concoction. Even better, go to a spa and get a facial... same results, a lot less painful.
One of my favorite topics is beauty. I love all things make up. I have since I was a little girl and I would watch Days of Our Lives and then lock myself in the bathroom and try to replicate Jennifer Horton's look with my mother's make up. So, I get inspired by new looks and tips that I may Stumble across. The category also brings up skin care and hair ideas as well.
Speaking of skin care, I have come across a cheap alternative to those pore strips you see advertised, the ones that you wet and then put across your nose and let it dry and then rips all the nastiness out of your pores. Twice I have come across this cheap and easy alternative so I decided to give it a try.
It sounds easy enough. All you need is unflavored gelatin and milk, mixed together and heated in the microwave. Once heated you put it on your nose or forehead or wherever you may need it, let it dry and essentially rip it off as it grabs on to any impurities and yanks them right out like those pore strips do. I decided to go the extra mile and put it on my entire face. Could also be a good form of exfoliation?
I mixed the concoction, slathered it all over my face and let it sit for about 15 minutes, until it hardened. Then it was time to remove. I started at the jaw line, and began ripping as gently as I could.... but there is no way to gently rip the top layer of skin off of your face. It was literally one of the most painful things I have ever experienced, and I have experienced a lot of random, excruciating pain.
When it was all said and done the top layer of skin was gone and my face was bright red, but it was also as soft as a baby's butt. The entire reason for the experiment was to clean out the pores on my nose, which didn't happen, but I think I found a great alternative to a chemical peel, without the chemicals.
If you want to clean out your pores, I say go for the strips you buy in the store. If you want to experience a little bit of torture, but have some super soft skin, go with the "homemade" concoction. Even better, go to a spa and get a facial... same results, a lot less painful.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Camp Joy
"Where counselors die daily"
That's the most remembered quote from Camp Joy. Camp Joy was a free summer camp for kids living in the inner city. I gave up four summers of my life to work there. It was definitely a once in a life time sort of experience. Anyone who has ever traded their summer vacations for a summer of hot humid weather, screaming kids and a paycheck that might buy a few necessities if you were lucky knows exactly what I'm talking about. It is deeply rewarding and trying at the same time.
I wore many different hats during those four summers. My jobs ranged from counselor to kitchen help with first aid thrown in for good measure. Bleach became my favorite cleaning aid and bug spray was my perfume of choice. There was no air conditioning in the remodeled cabins (though they were eventually installed), so we slept with box fans and an open door. I put my box fan in front of the door, my attempt in keeping racoons out.
The kids, for the most part, were fun. Many of them came from foster homes or had stories of the tough life they were leading. It was truly a priveledge to show them love and attention for a week, something they rarely, if ever, saw at home. There were other kids though who led a more priveleged life. They came to camp because their parents had come to camp years before and it was tradition. The first week of camp, however, was set aside for the church kids. Church kids often meant campers with a sense of entitlement. Always fun to hear the threat "I'm going to tell 'so and so' if 'such and such' doesn't happen". They weren't all that bad. My first week of camp (ever) I was given the joy of having an angel placed in my cabin, an angel in the sense that she was an angel from my own personal hell. I am pretty sure God was trying to test my patience and make me question my decision about working at camp in the first place. To give you an idea of what I was up against, most kids are sent to camp with any medications they may have for allergies or ADHD, but this angel's parents decided that this particular week was the perfect time to see how she did without her medication. Lucky me.
There was no indoor plumbing in the cabins. Bathrooms were in the process of being installed, but at the time the only thing in those extra little rooms was linoleum flooring. The cabins themselves stood at the top of an enormous hill, a small mountain if you will... so tall that the thought of going back up the hill because you forgot something would make you cry. The only available bathrooms were in the gym. In the morning the campers were woken up and we would all go down the mountain and wait for the campers to have their turn in the bathrooms. The biggest rule at camp was for campers and counselors to stay together so a camper wasn't allowed to just go down the mountain and to the restroom by themselves (they had more than one camper try to run away...)
My angel did not understand or care about this rule. Every morning she would wake up and try to come up with a reason why she should go ahead of everyone else.... "Miss Bethany, I need to brush my teeth", "Miss Bethany my parents told me to tell you to let me go to the bathroom by myself", "Miss Bethany, I hate you". Always a ray of sunshine. By the end of the week we had both had enough of each other. When Friday morning came she got up and told me she was going to the bathroom. I told her she was, as soon as everyone else was ready to go too. She turned and walked out the door. "Oh, Angel," I said as sugary sweet as I can, "get back in this cabin until I say it is time to go." "But Miss Bethany" she says, "I really need to brush my teeth." "Your teeth can wait 5 minutes." With an evil scowl she walked to her bunk and sat, plotting her revenge.
Five minutes later, when all the beds were made and clothes changed I tell the girls to line up outside. Everyone is there, except the little angel. We wait and wait and she finally emerges, with an evil grin on her face. I wonder what she has done, but I figure the faster we get down the mountain the quicker the day will be over and she will go home. We descend the mountain for the morning rituals of bathroom and breakfast and then go back up the mountain to get everything ready to go home later. Campers would always beat the counselors up the mountain, and when I get to my cabin I am bombarded with exclamations of "Miss Bethany, Miss Bethany... Someone peed in the floor!" Many things start running through my mind... maybe a construction worker couldn't hold it and decided that my cabin was the place to go... maybe a raccoon got in and decided to make use of the unfinished bathroom... maybe all the cups that held the frogs that had been caught and stored in the unfinished bathroom for the upcoming frog race had tipped over, simultaneously, and spilled in the floor. All of these things could have made sense, until I noticed that everyone was up in arms about the puddle except the sweet little angel. She was just sitting on her bunk, with a little smirk on her face that made me want to smack it off. I survey the damage and ask the obvious, "Who peed in the floor?" Every single child in that cabin would deny the allegations except the angel. Her response before I even had a chance to ask her?? "Why is everyone blaming me? I didn't do it. Quit blaming me." Telling?
I asked another counselor to watch my cabin and I walked down the mountain before I had a chance to do anything I might get in trouble for later and told one of the directors about it. They sent someone up to clean the mess and told me they were surprised that I actually got through an entire week with her... she is typically sent home... a triumph I guess but a small consolation considering the week I had endured. She had gotten her revenge I guess... but the jokes on her because I get to blog about her... and if you ask, I may just tell you who she is. :)
That's the most remembered quote from Camp Joy. Camp Joy was a free summer camp for kids living in the inner city. I gave up four summers of my life to work there. It was definitely a once in a life time sort of experience. Anyone who has ever traded their summer vacations for a summer of hot humid weather, screaming kids and a paycheck that might buy a few necessities if you were lucky knows exactly what I'm talking about. It is deeply rewarding and trying at the same time.
I wore many different hats during those four summers. My jobs ranged from counselor to kitchen help with first aid thrown in for good measure. Bleach became my favorite cleaning aid and bug spray was my perfume of choice. There was no air conditioning in the remodeled cabins (though they were eventually installed), so we slept with box fans and an open door. I put my box fan in front of the door, my attempt in keeping racoons out.
The kids, for the most part, were fun. Many of them came from foster homes or had stories of the tough life they were leading. It was truly a priveledge to show them love and attention for a week, something they rarely, if ever, saw at home. There were other kids though who led a more priveleged life. They came to camp because their parents had come to camp years before and it was tradition. The first week of camp, however, was set aside for the church kids. Church kids often meant campers with a sense of entitlement. Always fun to hear the threat "I'm going to tell 'so and so' if 'such and such' doesn't happen". They weren't all that bad. My first week of camp (ever) I was given the joy of having an angel placed in my cabin, an angel in the sense that she was an angel from my own personal hell. I am pretty sure God was trying to test my patience and make me question my decision about working at camp in the first place. To give you an idea of what I was up against, most kids are sent to camp with any medications they may have for allergies or ADHD, but this angel's parents decided that this particular week was the perfect time to see how she did without her medication. Lucky me.
There was no indoor plumbing in the cabins. Bathrooms were in the process of being installed, but at the time the only thing in those extra little rooms was linoleum flooring. The cabins themselves stood at the top of an enormous hill, a small mountain if you will... so tall that the thought of going back up the hill because you forgot something would make you cry. The only available bathrooms were in the gym. In the morning the campers were woken up and we would all go down the mountain and wait for the campers to have their turn in the bathrooms. The biggest rule at camp was for campers and counselors to stay together so a camper wasn't allowed to just go down the mountain and to the restroom by themselves (they had more than one camper try to run away...)
My angel did not understand or care about this rule. Every morning she would wake up and try to come up with a reason why she should go ahead of everyone else.... "Miss Bethany, I need to brush my teeth", "Miss Bethany my parents told me to tell you to let me go to the bathroom by myself", "Miss Bethany, I hate you". Always a ray of sunshine. By the end of the week we had both had enough of each other. When Friday morning came she got up and told me she was going to the bathroom. I told her she was, as soon as everyone else was ready to go too. She turned and walked out the door. "Oh, Angel," I said as sugary sweet as I can, "get back in this cabin until I say it is time to go." "But Miss Bethany" she says, "I really need to brush my teeth." "Your teeth can wait 5 minutes." With an evil scowl she walked to her bunk and sat, plotting her revenge.
Five minutes later, when all the beds were made and clothes changed I tell the girls to line up outside. Everyone is there, except the little angel. We wait and wait and she finally emerges, with an evil grin on her face. I wonder what she has done, but I figure the faster we get down the mountain the quicker the day will be over and she will go home. We descend the mountain for the morning rituals of bathroom and breakfast and then go back up the mountain to get everything ready to go home later. Campers would always beat the counselors up the mountain, and when I get to my cabin I am bombarded with exclamations of "Miss Bethany, Miss Bethany... Someone peed in the floor!" Many things start running through my mind... maybe a construction worker couldn't hold it and decided that my cabin was the place to go... maybe a raccoon got in and decided to make use of the unfinished bathroom... maybe all the cups that held the frogs that had been caught and stored in the unfinished bathroom for the upcoming frog race had tipped over, simultaneously, and spilled in the floor. All of these things could have made sense, until I noticed that everyone was up in arms about the puddle except the sweet little angel. She was just sitting on her bunk, with a little smirk on her face that made me want to smack it off. I survey the damage and ask the obvious, "Who peed in the floor?" Every single child in that cabin would deny the allegations except the angel. Her response before I even had a chance to ask her?? "Why is everyone blaming me? I didn't do it. Quit blaming me." Telling?
I asked another counselor to watch my cabin and I walked down the mountain before I had a chance to do anything I might get in trouble for later and told one of the directors about it. They sent someone up to clean the mess and told me they were surprised that I actually got through an entire week with her... she is typically sent home... a triumph I guess but a small consolation considering the week I had endured. She had gotten her revenge I guess... but the jokes on her because I get to blog about her... and if you ask, I may just tell you who she is. :)
30 things by 30
My friend Ashley told me a few years ago that she had a list of random things she wanted to do before she turned 30. She was in her early 20's at the time and had made her list some time before that. I thought it was brilliant. I decided, at 28, that I would make the same sort of list.
Two years doesn't really give one ample time to accomplish 30 random things, things that may otherwise never be done, like swimming with sharks, but I have been fortunate enough to have experienced a few random things on my own that I gathered activities from the past to help pad my list.
To be clear, this isn't a bucket list. I hoped that I would live well beyond my thirtieth birthday. It is more of a list of goals to meet before my next milestone birthday, not before I kick the bucket. Granted, some things on the list could cause me to kick the bucket (swimming with sharks).
Surprisingly, I was able to complete 30 things. Some of them (swimming with sharks) were not accomplished and moved to the list of 10 more things to accomplish before I turn 40. Some of them sounded easy enough, like making the perfect buttermilk biscuit, but in actuality were harder than they seemed.
My list, in no particular order:
1. Go to a NASCAR race
2. Zip line
3. Learn how to knit
4. Visit a foreign country by myself
5. Visit the Statue of Liberty
6. Visit Ellis Island
7. Visit the Empire State Building
8. Go to a Major League Baseball game
9. Play Black Jack in Vegas
10. Attempt to Snow Ski
11. Work at a summer camp
12. Carve a pumpkin
13. Go to a rodeo
14. Go to a county fair
15. Make the perfect buttermilk biscuit
16. Read Gone With the Wind
17. Learn to Water Ski
18. Spend the night in a zoo
19. Learn to play golf
20. Paint a picture
21. Eat a cookie from Neiman Marcus
22. Graduate from college
23. Buy a car
24. Live on my own
25. Eat dinner out by myself
26. Visit Graceland
27. Eat some type of wild game (antelope in this case)
28. Attend the Cornbread Festival
29. Go to a mountain top spa overlooking the sea
30. Become lifeguard certified
The hardest thing on this list was eating dinner out by myself. The easiest was eating a Neiman Marcus chocolate chip cookie. Some of these deserve their own blog posts, so I will be posting them randomly. Make a list! It's fun and trying to accomplish everything before a big birthday is so much less depressing than trying to do them before you die.
Two years doesn't really give one ample time to accomplish 30 random things, things that may otherwise never be done, like swimming with sharks, but I have been fortunate enough to have experienced a few random things on my own that I gathered activities from the past to help pad my list.
To be clear, this isn't a bucket list. I hoped that I would live well beyond my thirtieth birthday. It is more of a list of goals to meet before my next milestone birthday, not before I kick the bucket. Granted, some things on the list could cause me to kick the bucket (swimming with sharks).
Surprisingly, I was able to complete 30 things. Some of them (swimming with sharks) were not accomplished and moved to the list of 10 more things to accomplish before I turn 40. Some of them sounded easy enough, like making the perfect buttermilk biscuit, but in actuality were harder than they seemed.
My list, in no particular order:
1. Go to a NASCAR race
2. Zip line
3. Learn how to knit
4. Visit a foreign country by myself
5. Visit the Statue of Liberty
6. Visit Ellis Island
7. Visit the Empire State Building
8. Go to a Major League Baseball game
9. Play Black Jack in Vegas
10. Attempt to Snow Ski
11. Work at a summer camp
12. Carve a pumpkin
13. Go to a rodeo
14. Go to a county fair
15. Make the perfect buttermilk biscuit
16. Read Gone With the Wind
17. Learn to Water Ski
18. Spend the night in a zoo
19. Learn to play golf
20. Paint a picture
21. Eat a cookie from Neiman Marcus
22. Graduate from college
23. Buy a car
24. Live on my own
25. Eat dinner out by myself
26. Visit Graceland
27. Eat some type of wild game (antelope in this case)
28. Attend the Cornbread Festival
29. Go to a mountain top spa overlooking the sea
30. Become lifeguard certified
The hardest thing on this list was eating dinner out by myself. The easiest was eating a Neiman Marcus chocolate chip cookie. Some of these deserve their own blog posts, so I will be posting them randomly. Make a list! It's fun and trying to accomplish everything before a big birthday is so much less depressing than trying to do them before you die.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Help from Beyond
I have this friend named Catie. Catie isn't the brightest girl in the world. She's gullible and very flighty, the combination of the two often gets her into situations that make me laugh (at her).
One day a girl crashed into Catie's car as they were both leaving her neighborhood. There was no damage to either car, but the police were called and reports were written and at some point someone gave Catie a towel. She didn't really say why, so I am not sure if it was raining or maybe so hot that they thought it would be nice to help her wipe away the sweat, but a few weeks later she decided she should return the towel and maybe bake some cookies as a way to say thank you.
She went to the house, knocked on the door and a man answered. She asks for his wife and he says, "My wife has been dead for three years". Catie doesn't know how to practice the art of active listening, so she replies, "but I have her towel". He says again "my wife has been dead for three years". As she is recounting the story to me I am wondering if maybe the good Samaritan with the towel was in fact this man's wife. She seems so convinced that the towel came from this house. My only response was, "So, a ghost gave you a towel?" to which she replies, "Oh. No. I was at the wrong house"
One day a girl crashed into Catie's car as they were both leaving her neighborhood. There was no damage to either car, but the police were called and reports were written and at some point someone gave Catie a towel. She didn't really say why, so I am not sure if it was raining or maybe so hot that they thought it would be nice to help her wipe away the sweat, but a few weeks later she decided she should return the towel and maybe bake some cookies as a way to say thank you.
She went to the house, knocked on the door and a man answered. She asks for his wife and he says, "My wife has been dead for three years". Catie doesn't know how to practice the art of active listening, so she replies, "but I have her towel". He says again "my wife has been dead for three years". As she is recounting the story to me I am wondering if maybe the good Samaritan with the towel was in fact this man's wife. She seems so convinced that the towel came from this house. My only response was, "So, a ghost gave you a towel?" to which she replies, "Oh. No. I was at the wrong house"
Monday, November 7, 2011
That Neighbor
I once lived in this nice, but smaller apartment complex (smaller in comparison to other apartment complexes in Atlanta that is). My building was one of two at the bottom of a hill. Parking was hard to come by, the developers didn't plan to actually rent out those two buildings apparently. There were so many complaints that they gave parking stickers to the residents and if your car didn't have one they would tow it.
There were a bunch of kids who lived down there as well, probably between the ages of 6 and 9. They would ride their bikes and scooters and tricycles around... no parents in sight... and they would just leave them out... in the parking lot, in parking spaces, on the side walk. It was annoying. My parents always had us put our toys up to begin with, so I just couldn't understand why the parents of these kids would not have them bring their toys inside when they were finished playing outside. It is SHARED property after all, not their own private yard.
One evening, after a long day at work and a horrible commute and rude service at a restaurant I was not in the best of moods.I made it home well after dark, and I could tell there were two spaces available. When I pulled closer I noticed that there was a plastic tricycle in the middle of one of the spaces. I had reached my limit. I parked in the only open space, which happend to be beside the horrid toy, opened my trunk and threw it in.
I drove around with that thing in my trunk for a few days, feeling a little guilty about stealing some kid's toy, but I eventually took it to the dumpster. I didn't throw it in, but rather placed it to the side because I figured 1. they would see it and get it back and maybe realize that if they leave their things out someone could take it, 2. they would see some other kid on it and think, again, "I shouldn't have left it outside and no one would have taken it.", or 3. it would get thrown into the dumpster by the garbage men and they would NEVER see it again and realize they shouldn't leave their crap out!
I'm pretty sure that my point was missed, but it made me feel better at least.
Yes, I am that neighbor.
There were a bunch of kids who lived down there as well, probably between the ages of 6 and 9. They would ride their bikes and scooters and tricycles around... no parents in sight... and they would just leave them out... in the parking lot, in parking spaces, on the side walk. It was annoying. My parents always had us put our toys up to begin with, so I just couldn't understand why the parents of these kids would not have them bring their toys inside when they were finished playing outside. It is SHARED property after all, not their own private yard.
One evening, after a long day at work and a horrible commute and rude service at a restaurant I was not in the best of moods.I made it home well after dark, and I could tell there were two spaces available. When I pulled closer I noticed that there was a plastic tricycle in the middle of one of the spaces. I had reached my limit. I parked in the only open space, which happend to be beside the horrid toy, opened my trunk and threw it in.
I drove around with that thing in my trunk for a few days, feeling a little guilty about stealing some kid's toy, but I eventually took it to the dumpster. I didn't throw it in, but rather placed it to the side because I figured 1. they would see it and get it back and maybe realize that if they leave their things out someone could take it, 2. they would see some other kid on it and think, again, "I shouldn't have left it outside and no one would have taken it.", or 3. it would get thrown into the dumpster by the garbage men and they would NEVER see it again and realize they shouldn't leave their crap out!
I'm pretty sure that my point was missed, but it made me feel better at least.
Yes, I am that neighbor.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Bonnie Blue
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| Day One |
I'm pretty sure that after all of my failed attempts at pet ownership I should have just given up. But once I make my mind up about something it takes more than a little heart break and disappointment to stop me. I decide the way to go is through a pet store. There are horrible stories about puppy mills and animal cruelty associated with pet stores, but those puppies need homes too. I found a store that had a good reputation. They also give health guarantees and, with my track record, I thought was a plus. They had a mini schnauzer that I wanted. He would grow to be a medium size and that would fit well in my apartment. I did not want a small dog. I walked past a window of Yorkies and there was one that caught my eye because she was super cute and different than the others, but I kept walking... a Yorkie would be on that list of dogs I don't want along with a Chihuahua. My friend Kelly was with me and she finally convinced me to just hold the Yorkie (she had noticed the same one). She was sweet and alert and already full of personality. She was 4 months old and 1.8 pounds, and I was in love. It didn't matter to me that she was the most expensive dog in the store.
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| Bonnie's favorite place |
I named her Bonnie Blue, one of my favorite names from Gone with the Wind. She is spunky and smart and if my love for her is anything like the love a mother has for a child I am scared to actually have a kid of my own. She is so cute that when we are out I get offers from people who want to buy her from me.
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| Halloween 2011 |
More Pet Failures
After my failed attempt of rabbit ownership I was determined to have a pet. I decided I would get a dog after all. I didn't want a small dog. I had a roommate who had yapping little Chihuahua's and that was the last thing I wanted. I preferred big dogs, like Great Danes. A Great Dane would probably be too big for a one bedroom apartment, but it could be done.
I liked the idea of rescuing a dog. I filled out online applications and searched through multiple websites trying to find a suitable dog. I found that one rescue group would have their adoptable dogs outside of a store on a Saturday morning, so I decided to go and visit. There was a medium sized wired hair terrier that was sweet and adorable and available for adoption. For a $150 fee I could take him home. If only it were that easy. There was a 3 page application to fill out and an interview process. I was deemed unfit to adopt from them. It turns out if you want to adopt from a rescue agency you need to lie on the application. I was asked what I would do if I lost my job, and given some choices "a. keep the dog no matter what, b. send him back to the rescue center, c. take him to the pound or d. give him to a friend who could take care of him." I chose d. I would find him a suitable home. They were looking for a. keep him no matter what. I told them that made sense. After all, I see many homeless people on the streets with their dogs and I if I were to lose my job and couldn't pay my bills or my rent or buy food for myself much less an animal it would definitely make sense to KEEP the dog with me on the street than find him a suitable home. They thought I would be a great pet owner, but not for one of their dogs. They told me to try the pound.
The pound was just down the road, and I had my mind made up that I was bringing a dog home, so I decided I would go to the pound. I found the most beautiful Siberian husky. She was black and white with the gorgeous blue eyes and she was so sweet and calm. She was perfect. Even better, it was only $40 to adopt her and I didn't have to fill out 3 pages worth of ridiculous questions. I named her Layla.
My happy bubble would soon pop, though. I kept Layla in the kitchen until I knew she was house broken. I would take her for a walk and she would always go the bathroom and never had any accidents in the kitchen, but the next morning as I tried to put her leash on she darted past me into my living room and dropped a load... a liquidy mix with live worms squirming around. The most horrible smell in the world. I was trying not to vomit on top of it. It was disgusting. It made sense for her to have some stomach issues since she was in the pound and I had to take her to the vet anyway to get her shots. I was responsible for getting her rabies vaccine. The pound was kind enough to send me home with a dog that may or may not have rabies. When I got to the vet for her shots and for some de-worming medications I asked for them to check for heartworms too. The vet came in and told me that she did have heartworms. In fact, a pretty advanced case. She could be treated, but with no guarantee it would work. Heartworm treatment is also pretty expensive and time consuming. He told me I needed to make a decision in the next day or two if they wanted to have a chance of helping her, otherwise she had maybe 2 weeks left to live. I had only had her for 2 days, but I was already attached and now crushed. It was like killing Smokey all over again, but this time I knew what I was doing, having to make a decision between life and death for this poor dog.
I couldn't keep her. I didn't have the money or the time to treat heartworms. I was so mad at the pound. She was sick and they didn't even test her or treat her for anything. I couldn't believe they would send me home with such a sick dog, but I had to take her back. I decided to go to a different county, one that was considered "no-kill". They would try to treat her and if they couldn't they would put her down peacefully instead of letting her die a slow painful death in a cage.
Defeated again, I started to wonder if having a pet was really something for me. It seemed like the cards were stacked against me. I really did want one, but at the same time I couldn't handle a loss or another disappointment.
I liked the idea of rescuing a dog. I filled out online applications and searched through multiple websites trying to find a suitable dog. I found that one rescue group would have their adoptable dogs outside of a store on a Saturday morning, so I decided to go and visit. There was a medium sized wired hair terrier that was sweet and adorable and available for adoption. For a $150 fee I could take him home. If only it were that easy. There was a 3 page application to fill out and an interview process. I was deemed unfit to adopt from them. It turns out if you want to adopt from a rescue agency you need to lie on the application. I was asked what I would do if I lost my job, and given some choices "a. keep the dog no matter what, b. send him back to the rescue center, c. take him to the pound or d. give him to a friend who could take care of him." I chose d. I would find him a suitable home. They were looking for a. keep him no matter what. I told them that made sense. After all, I see many homeless people on the streets with their dogs and I if I were to lose my job and couldn't pay my bills or my rent or buy food for myself much less an animal it would definitely make sense to KEEP the dog with me on the street than find him a suitable home. They thought I would be a great pet owner, but not for one of their dogs. They told me to try the pound.
The pound was just down the road, and I had my mind made up that I was bringing a dog home, so I decided I would go to the pound. I found the most beautiful Siberian husky. She was black and white with the gorgeous blue eyes and she was so sweet and calm. She was perfect. Even better, it was only $40 to adopt her and I didn't have to fill out 3 pages worth of ridiculous questions. I named her Layla.
My happy bubble would soon pop, though. I kept Layla in the kitchen until I knew she was house broken. I would take her for a walk and she would always go the bathroom and never had any accidents in the kitchen, but the next morning as I tried to put her leash on she darted past me into my living room and dropped a load... a liquidy mix with live worms squirming around. The most horrible smell in the world. I was trying not to vomit on top of it. It was disgusting. It made sense for her to have some stomach issues since she was in the pound and I had to take her to the vet anyway to get her shots. I was responsible for getting her rabies vaccine. The pound was kind enough to send me home with a dog that may or may not have rabies. When I got to the vet for her shots and for some de-worming medications I asked for them to check for heartworms too. The vet came in and told me that she did have heartworms. In fact, a pretty advanced case. She could be treated, but with no guarantee it would work. Heartworm treatment is also pretty expensive and time consuming. He told me I needed to make a decision in the next day or two if they wanted to have a chance of helping her, otherwise she had maybe 2 weeks left to live. I had only had her for 2 days, but I was already attached and now crushed. It was like killing Smokey all over again, but this time I knew what I was doing, having to make a decision between life and death for this poor dog.
I couldn't keep her. I didn't have the money or the time to treat heartworms. I was so mad at the pound. She was sick and they didn't even test her or treat her for anything. I couldn't believe they would send me home with such a sick dog, but I had to take her back. I decided to go to a different county, one that was considered "no-kill". They would try to treat her and if they couldn't they would put her down peacefully instead of letting her die a slow painful death in a cage.
Defeated again, I started to wonder if having a pet was really something for me. It seemed like the cards were stacked against me. I really did want one, but at the same time I couldn't handle a loss or another disappointment.
A tale of three rabbits
When I was a little girl I had a pet rabbit. His name was Smokey. My dad built a rabbit hutch in the backyard and every day after school I would go to the hutch to see Smokey and he would hop around with excitement when he saw me coming. I would bring him inside and he would sit with me and watch tv.
One day, after my dad trimmed some hedges, I thought about how much Smokey would enjoy the treat of a few leaves. I got a wheel barrow, filled with every last leaf and limb, and took it to Smokey stuffing his cage to the point that he would have to eat his way out. What a treat! The next day when I came home from school and took my usual trip to the backyard I noticed that Smokey wasn't hopping around with excitement. He wasn't moving at all. Perhaps he's napping? The closer I get I call his name and nothing happens. My rabbit was dead. I had poisoned him with hedge trimmings and love.
I was so upset when Smokey died that I never wanted another pet again. It would obviously not end well. It took 20 years for me to get over the trauma of killing Smokey, but I finally decided I should get a pet. I didn't really want a dog or cat, and after some research I decided that I should get another rabbit. What better way to build my confidence than to get one of the most difficult animals to take care of? I found a rabbit rescue society and was surprised at how many people have indoor rabbits. They are actually quite passionate about it I would find out. I had to fill out paperwork and go through an interview process and was told that most of the time they don't send someone home with a rabbit on their first meeting, but they had a good feeling about me. I didn't tell them about Smokey so they had no reason to doubt my abilities. They packed my car full of hay, a pen and TWO rabbits. One, a flemish giant, called Gigantor (he was enormous and would grow to be the size of a medium size dog but looked just like Thumper, from Bambi) and another smaller one that I named Belina. They were both cute and sweet and what I thought would be my perfect pets. I had lost my mind. I set them up in the sun room of my one bedroom apartment with plenty of hay and water and wondered what in the world I was thinking.
Rabbits poop, a lot. All they do is eat and poop. I'm a bit of neat freak, so I was constantly sweeping up poop and hay and also cleaning up urine. Gigantor would jump in the air and spin around and pee, spraying it every where. The walls, the carpet, the curtains and poor little Belina. Nothing was safe. It also turns out that there is a protein in rabbit urine that becomes airborne and can cause allergies. Who knew? Turns out I was one of the lucky ones with such an allergy. The same weekend I adopted them Atlanta went through a crazy snow storm and the city was shut down for a week. I couldn't get out of my apartment if I wanted to. So, I was stuck with 2 rabbits, a bale of hay and a constant asthma attack.
I didn't want to fail at my attempt of being a pet owner but I wanted to be able to breathe. I reasoned that if I took the giant rabbit back that there wouldn't be urine sprayed around and maybe that would help bring the allergy under control. I told the rescue group that 2 rabbits were too much and I needed to bring him back and after some of the roads thawed a little bit I was able to return him. Belina had grown attached to him, however. She turned into a mean psycho rabbit after he left. Rabbits thump their back legs when they feel threatened or when they are mad. Belina was constantly thumping that back leg (not a quiet thing) and avoiding me when I came close to her. I still couldn't breathe in my own home and she hated me, so I had to return her too.
I had them a total of 7 days. It took me 2 days to clean up the damage. I had failed again, but I didn't kill them. That was progress in my book.
One day, after my dad trimmed some hedges, I thought about how much Smokey would enjoy the treat of a few leaves. I got a wheel barrow, filled with every last leaf and limb, and took it to Smokey stuffing his cage to the point that he would have to eat his way out. What a treat! The next day when I came home from school and took my usual trip to the backyard I noticed that Smokey wasn't hopping around with excitement. He wasn't moving at all. Perhaps he's napping? The closer I get I call his name and nothing happens. My rabbit was dead. I had poisoned him with hedge trimmings and love.
I was so upset when Smokey died that I never wanted another pet again. It would obviously not end well. It took 20 years for me to get over the trauma of killing Smokey, but I finally decided I should get a pet. I didn't really want a dog or cat, and after some research I decided that I should get another rabbit. What better way to build my confidence than to get one of the most difficult animals to take care of? I found a rabbit rescue society and was surprised at how many people have indoor rabbits. They are actually quite passionate about it I would find out. I had to fill out paperwork and go through an interview process and was told that most of the time they don't send someone home with a rabbit on their first meeting, but they had a good feeling about me. I didn't tell them about Smokey so they had no reason to doubt my abilities. They packed my car full of hay, a pen and TWO rabbits. One, a flemish giant, called Gigantor (he was enormous and would grow to be the size of a medium size dog but looked just like Thumper, from Bambi) and another smaller one that I named Belina. They were both cute and sweet and what I thought would be my perfect pets. I had lost my mind. I set them up in the sun room of my one bedroom apartment with plenty of hay and water and wondered what in the world I was thinking.
Rabbits poop, a lot. All they do is eat and poop. I'm a bit of neat freak, so I was constantly sweeping up poop and hay and also cleaning up urine. Gigantor would jump in the air and spin around and pee, spraying it every where. The walls, the carpet, the curtains and poor little Belina. Nothing was safe. It also turns out that there is a protein in rabbit urine that becomes airborne and can cause allergies. Who knew? Turns out I was one of the lucky ones with such an allergy. The same weekend I adopted them Atlanta went through a crazy snow storm and the city was shut down for a week. I couldn't get out of my apartment if I wanted to. So, I was stuck with 2 rabbits, a bale of hay and a constant asthma attack.
I didn't want to fail at my attempt of being a pet owner but I wanted to be able to breathe. I reasoned that if I took the giant rabbit back that there wouldn't be urine sprayed around and maybe that would help bring the allergy under control. I told the rescue group that 2 rabbits were too much and I needed to bring him back and after some of the roads thawed a little bit I was able to return him. Belina had grown attached to him, however. She turned into a mean psycho rabbit after he left. Rabbits thump their back legs when they feel threatened or when they are mad. Belina was constantly thumping that back leg (not a quiet thing) and avoiding me when I came close to her. I still couldn't breathe in my own home and she hated me, so I had to return her too.
I had them a total of 7 days. It took me 2 days to clean up the damage. I had failed again, but I didn't kill them. That was progress in my book.
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