Sandy Hook, Connecticutt. Another name to add to the list of horrors. Oddly enough, according to those who have studied the matter, these events tend to take place in small towns or rural environments, not because there is something inherently amiss in these places, but because the opportunity to be different and to find a group of people who share your oddness is remote. Who knows why the shooter developed such a profound mental illness; since he killed members of his family, we will probably never know for sure.
What is clear, however, is that the specious, self-serving arguments of anti-gun-control people carry part of the responsibility. People who hunt have hunting rifles; people who have a gun at home for self-protection don't usually choose assault weapons unless they are part of the crazies who think the government is going to invade their space and snatch up their precious freedoms. I come from a military family, and although we had rifles at home, you never really saw them or cared where they were. They were used for hunting.
All this bullshit about people killing people, not guns, is just that--bovine excrement. You don't read about a disturbed kid or man entering a shopping mall and killing 30 people with a dagger. Ex-mayor Mario Cuomo, who apparently is an idiot, stated that if someone had had a gun in the movie theater, that person would have shot and killed the shooter who cut loose during the showing of the latest Batman movie. Oh, what an intelligent solution, what depth of analysis, what almost mythical stupidity. Do you want to go to the movies knowing that several people there have entered the theater armed, perhaps with assault weapons?
But there is no penetrating the concrete skulls of the people who don't want any kind of weapons banned, because they refuse to read studies, view statistics, understand the complexities of crime control and rates, or compromise. Their motives are not constitutional, they are psychological. They are the gun equivalents of screwball religious sects and other groups motivated by something on the boil in the depths of their brains.
It must really be miserable to live a life so invaded by fear or the need to make yourself big and important that you need assault weapons, bazookas, hand grenades.
Not to mention that sociopath in Arizona who bought weapons for the drug cartels in Mexico and shipped them here! He claims he is so, so sorry, wished he hadn't done it, but that is what any sociopath says once he gets caught. Well, he should have thought of all this before he did it, not after the fact. He has blood on his hands.
sábado, 15 de diciembre de 2012
lunes, 10 de diciembre de 2012
Dog people
There are dog people, and then there are the rest. My brother, my son-in-law, and my daughter are dog people. We can easily be distinguished from the rest of the world by our homes, and I don't mean the rousing greeting offered by our hairy pals.
Our houses are different. From the minute you step into my house via the front door, you notice two dog beds placed around the entrance, one of which is in a huge dog crate--Lusso and TootSweet vie for crate space, since TootSweet loves a crate. It doesn't matter to me that these are the first things people notice. The beds are only moved if we are having some kind of major event with a cast of thousands, such as Beto's birthday party, mainly to protect the dogs, not the guests.
Sometimes our houses smell, too, although not often--usually only when a wet dog has come in from outdoors.
In the kitchen, under the bar/countertop, two sets of raised bowls for food and water and two bins for dogfood grace the area. As a dog person, I don't find anything repulsive in sharing my kitchen with my four-legged friends. The bowls and the bins are kept clean (no mean feat with a Spinone) and the dogs like to eat breakfast when we are having coffee.
And of course, the permanent presence of four-footed friends who are thrilled to see you.
I have come to understand how some people in my family, whose names will forever remain unmentioned because I love them in spite of their failings, have difficulty dealing with a Spinone puppy that drools occasionally; I can understand that it isn't the greatest experience to get soaked even if the puppy is looking at you with adoration. But it irritates me anyway. I am willing to crate the puppy under these circumstances (although I am going to use a trainer to see if I can get him to calm down when visitors come and obey in spite of being mindlessly ecstatic), but it irritates me. I was a dog in a former life (some would say I still am...) and somehow can't imagine life in an empty house--empty, as in occupied solely by humans.
Dog people are not elegant. Those pictures you may have seen showing a highly fashionable lovely young woman walking down a Paris street with a show-clipped, perfectly groomed poodle at the end of a leash are a sham. No one like that would ever go on poop patrol in the back yard, recovering Tootsie Rolls with two plastic bags, one for your hand and the other as a receptacle. Dog people have dirty back seats in their vehicles, we wear jeans and grungy hats, and our clothes are often covered with dog hair seconds after putting them on. Only a dog person, in fact, would take a shower with her dog in order to relieve his itching skin.
And it isn't thinking a dog is a person that is so entrancing; that is just neurosis and people like that need professional help or perhaps they should just get a life. It is sharing one's days with a different species that is so much fun, a species that retains the ability to have fun and to play, to feel, to communicate.
Maybe it isn't true that there are dog people and then the others; there are animal people and the others. Even though my very dearest and most beloved friend is one of those "others", I don't understand her when it comes to animals. Doubtless she feels the same way about me when she sees me dash around the back yard with Lusso and TootSweet, when she sees them eat in my kitchen or sleep inside my house. Hey, my immune system can take it! So can yours, that isn't really the problem or the difference.
If I am to be totally honest, I think non-animal people have a part of their souls missing. But then, that's just my opinion.
Our houses are different. From the minute you step into my house via the front door, you notice two dog beds placed around the entrance, one of which is in a huge dog crate--Lusso and TootSweet vie for crate space, since TootSweet loves a crate. It doesn't matter to me that these are the first things people notice. The beds are only moved if we are having some kind of major event with a cast of thousands, such as Beto's birthday party, mainly to protect the dogs, not the guests.
Sometimes our houses smell, too, although not often--usually only when a wet dog has come in from outdoors.
In the kitchen, under the bar/countertop, two sets of raised bowls for food and water and two bins for dogfood grace the area. As a dog person, I don't find anything repulsive in sharing my kitchen with my four-legged friends. The bowls and the bins are kept clean (no mean feat with a Spinone) and the dogs like to eat breakfast when we are having coffee.
And of course, the permanent presence of four-footed friends who are thrilled to see you.
I have come to understand how some people in my family, whose names will forever remain unmentioned because I love them in spite of their failings, have difficulty dealing with a Spinone puppy that drools occasionally; I can understand that it isn't the greatest experience to get soaked even if the puppy is looking at you with adoration. But it irritates me anyway. I am willing to crate the puppy under these circumstances (although I am going to use a trainer to see if I can get him to calm down when visitors come and obey in spite of being mindlessly ecstatic), but it irritates me. I was a dog in a former life (some would say I still am...) and somehow can't imagine life in an empty house--empty, as in occupied solely by humans.
Dog people are not elegant. Those pictures you may have seen showing a highly fashionable lovely young woman walking down a Paris street with a show-clipped, perfectly groomed poodle at the end of a leash are a sham. No one like that would ever go on poop patrol in the back yard, recovering Tootsie Rolls with two plastic bags, one for your hand and the other as a receptacle. Dog people have dirty back seats in their vehicles, we wear jeans and grungy hats, and our clothes are often covered with dog hair seconds after putting them on. Only a dog person, in fact, would take a shower with her dog in order to relieve his itching skin.
And it isn't thinking a dog is a person that is so entrancing; that is just neurosis and people like that need professional help or perhaps they should just get a life. It is sharing one's days with a different species that is so much fun, a species that retains the ability to have fun and to play, to feel, to communicate.
Maybe it isn't true that there are dog people and then the others; there are animal people and the others. Even though my very dearest and most beloved friend is one of those "others", I don't understand her when it comes to animals. Doubtless she feels the same way about me when she sees me dash around the back yard with Lusso and TootSweet, when she sees them eat in my kitchen or sleep inside my house. Hey, my immune system can take it! So can yours, that isn't really the problem or the difference.
If I am to be totally honest, I think non-animal people have a part of their souls missing. But then, that's just my opinion.
Kind of a red-letter day...
After weeks and weeks of a tiredness seeped into the bone, and after months of being sick to the point of vomiting at the idea of going back yet again to see my rheumatologist (supposedly every three months, but I hadn't seen him in almost a year), I went. Told him I got up in the morning wishing it was night and time to go back to bed, so he gave me a muscle relaxant that has enabled me to sleep and not feel like the aftermath of some kind of train wreck when I get up.
The upshot is that I can now take both dogs out most mornings for a nice 5k walk/trot (I walk, they trot), and we manage to trot, all of us, about two kilometers.
Lusso is growing up to be the sweetest dog on the face of the earth, although not everyone enjoys his worshipful, pink-nosed, drooling attention. He doesn't drool all the time, but his beard soaks up water when he drinks and spreads it around the floor, your lap, legs, and shoes.
The only problem we have with him is his allergy to flea bites. Systemic flea treatment for both dogs means fleas don't reproduce in the house, but it can't keep fleas off the dog if they are picked up from the birds, 'possums, and stray cats that enter the yard.
It has been an incredible amount of work; Lusso needs to be bathed with a soothing shampoo that reduces his need to scratch. Otherwise he might have to have cortisone, which has potentially severe side effects over time. So I opt for the bath deal. Lusso finally will get into the tub I have in the laundry room with a modicum of cooperation, but once in, he is resigned. I have a telephone-type shower head that makes things easier, but this weekend we were at the quinta, which has no tub of any kind at all, not even a tin washtub. The dogs adore the quinta because they can run and run forever, find fascinating smells, hunt to their hearts' content--and Lusso gets dirtier than any dog I have ever seen or heard of.
Not only that, after his bath and before he hits the hunting trail at the quinta, he has to be sprinkled with flea powder in an effort to keep fleas off him, or sprayed with cedar oil which acts as a repellent.
When we were ready to think about coming back to town, Lusso was so dirty that it was unthinkable getting him into the car. So, in a definite first for me, I took a shower with my dog. Lusso is a water retriever, and he doesn't hate the water even though I have yet to get him into the swimming pool, so the shower was a success and I managed to get him thoroughly clean with his special shampoo. Not only that, it was SO much easier getting him into the shower than over the edge of the laundry room tub. Nevertheless, it isn't something I plan to do routinely. There is something slightly disconcerting about standing naked under the shower with a wet dog watching you. Makes you feel kinda fat, flabby, drooping, and very out of shape...
The upshot is that I can now take both dogs out most mornings for a nice 5k walk/trot (I walk, they trot), and we manage to trot, all of us, about two kilometers.
Lusso is growing up to be the sweetest dog on the face of the earth, although not everyone enjoys his worshipful, pink-nosed, drooling attention. He doesn't drool all the time, but his beard soaks up water when he drinks and spreads it around the floor, your lap, legs, and shoes.
The only problem we have with him is his allergy to flea bites. Systemic flea treatment for both dogs means fleas don't reproduce in the house, but it can't keep fleas off the dog if they are picked up from the birds, 'possums, and stray cats that enter the yard.
It has been an incredible amount of work; Lusso needs to be bathed with a soothing shampoo that reduces his need to scratch. Otherwise he might have to have cortisone, which has potentially severe side effects over time. So I opt for the bath deal. Lusso finally will get into the tub I have in the laundry room with a modicum of cooperation, but once in, he is resigned. I have a telephone-type shower head that makes things easier, but this weekend we were at the quinta, which has no tub of any kind at all, not even a tin washtub. The dogs adore the quinta because they can run and run forever, find fascinating smells, hunt to their hearts' content--and Lusso gets dirtier than any dog I have ever seen or heard of.
Not only that, after his bath and before he hits the hunting trail at the quinta, he has to be sprinkled with flea powder in an effort to keep fleas off him, or sprayed with cedar oil which acts as a repellent.
When we were ready to think about coming back to town, Lusso was so dirty that it was unthinkable getting him into the car. So, in a definite first for me, I took a shower with my dog. Lusso is a water retriever, and he doesn't hate the water even though I have yet to get him into the swimming pool, so the shower was a success and I managed to get him thoroughly clean with his special shampoo. Not only that, it was SO much easier getting him into the shower than over the edge of the laundry room tub. Nevertheless, it isn't something I plan to do routinely. There is something slightly disconcerting about standing naked under the shower with a wet dog watching you. Makes you feel kinda fat, flabby, drooping, and very out of shape...
sábado, 29 de septiembre de 2012
The long, long road back to 5K
The last four months or so have been terribly stressful. My mom's fading health, the rollercoaster ride of her being well enough to go the beauty shop one day, and unable to get out of bed the next, plus the necessity of picking up a puppy and driving him back to Monterrey, and finally Mom's death on the very day I was driving home with Karina and the puppy in tow, all have combined to set my running perhaps not to square one, but certainly square two. All my conditioning has been lost, and somehow I am going to have to get my fat derriere out there and begin regaining all the lost ground.
It may not be as difficult now that the summer is gently leaving us, since I can't run in the heat--period. And I am also going to have to let the dogs run and play in the back yard until my condition improves, because I can't jog with both of them in the security that all of a sudden Lusso may not jig when I jog and trip me up big-time. He seems to do fine, and TootSweet is superb, but I need to concentrate on my own physical condition right now.
If it rains today, I am going out to trot in it. Otherwise...well, it may be too hot. We'll see.
It may not be as difficult now that the summer is gently leaving us, since I can't run in the heat--period. And I am also going to have to let the dogs run and play in the back yard until my condition improves, because I can't jog with both of them in the security that all of a sudden Lusso may not jig when I jog and trip me up big-time. He seems to do fine, and TootSweet is superb, but I need to concentrate on my own physical condition right now.
If it rains today, I am going out to trot in it. Otherwise...well, it may be too hot. We'll see.
jueves, 27 de septiembre de 2012
Dog Tails
Lusso has been here now since August 1, and there is hope for both him and me. He gains over two pounds a week, and I am beginning to wonder what I have gotten myself in for when it comes to size, but in the civilization area, he is doing great.
Every morning he and TootSweet either go for a long walk/trot with me, or they play in the back yard. Lusso has learned all the commands by watching what TootSweet does when I say "stop", "heel", or "sit". The most fun for me is to watch them in the yard: They chase each other, try to head each other off at the pass, steal dog toys from one another, and basically expend energy that may not be surprising for a six-month-old puppy, but an 11 year-old poodle?? They charge at each other full speed, Lusso galumping ahead on his long adolescent legs with their none-too-reliable braking system, TootSweet with a lightning stride he doesn't even try to control when he meets up with Lusso--he just jumps over the puppy, avoiding a collision.
People are finally beginning to wonder what kind of dog Lusso is when we go for walks. Everyone initially oohs and ahhs over TootSweet with his elegant prancing gait and nifty haircut, but now that Lusso is getting so big, they notice his marvelous eyes and magnificent pink nose. There is nothing elegant about Lusso's trot, however. He kind of swings along, looking like a teenager who isn't in complete command of his feet.
TootSweet is a unique dog, smarter than many people I know, especially politicians, but he has a certain aloofness too. He is basically a one or two-man dog, but Lusso never saw a stranger and thinks his owners represent the culmination of human evolution. He doesn't sit still tolerating being brushed; he collapses into your lap with a groan of pleasure, putting his head on your leg. If anyone comes to the door, he dashes to pick up a dog toy and hotfoots it to the door, making a sound that can be mistaken for growling but in reality is a kind of excited greeting. If in a bind there is no dog toy close by, he might grab one of my sandals to present to the arriving guest, or even one of my doormice--woolen mice filled with heavy pebbles and designed to hold the door open on windy days. The doormice are a big no-no because if he ever gets one open, it will take hours to sweep up its innards.
TootSweet, on the other hand, will dash to check out who is ringing the doorbell, and if it is someone known, he will do a few excited turns and then head off to whatever he was doing earlier. He will bark, too, and so far Lusso hasn't done that. Thank God! They both have huge barks, and if they start off together, it will trigger one of my migraines.
Soon as I figure out how my iPhone works, I'll post a picture or two.
Every morning he and TootSweet either go for a long walk/trot with me, or they play in the back yard. Lusso has learned all the commands by watching what TootSweet does when I say "stop", "heel", or "sit". The most fun for me is to watch them in the yard: They chase each other, try to head each other off at the pass, steal dog toys from one another, and basically expend energy that may not be surprising for a six-month-old puppy, but an 11 year-old poodle?? They charge at each other full speed, Lusso galumping ahead on his long adolescent legs with their none-too-reliable braking system, TootSweet with a lightning stride he doesn't even try to control when he meets up with Lusso--he just jumps over the puppy, avoiding a collision.
People are finally beginning to wonder what kind of dog Lusso is when we go for walks. Everyone initially oohs and ahhs over TootSweet with his elegant prancing gait and nifty haircut, but now that Lusso is getting so big, they notice his marvelous eyes and magnificent pink nose. There is nothing elegant about Lusso's trot, however. He kind of swings along, looking like a teenager who isn't in complete command of his feet.
TootSweet is a unique dog, smarter than many people I know, especially politicians, but he has a certain aloofness too. He is basically a one or two-man dog, but Lusso never saw a stranger and thinks his owners represent the culmination of human evolution. He doesn't sit still tolerating being brushed; he collapses into your lap with a groan of pleasure, putting his head on your leg. If anyone comes to the door, he dashes to pick up a dog toy and hotfoots it to the door, making a sound that can be mistaken for growling but in reality is a kind of excited greeting. If in a bind there is no dog toy close by, he might grab one of my sandals to present to the arriving guest, or even one of my doormice--woolen mice filled with heavy pebbles and designed to hold the door open on windy days. The doormice are a big no-no because if he ever gets one open, it will take hours to sweep up its innards.
TootSweet, on the other hand, will dash to check out who is ringing the doorbell, and if it is someone known, he will do a few excited turns and then head off to whatever he was doing earlier. He will bark, too, and so far Lusso hasn't done that. Thank God! They both have huge barks, and if they start off together, it will trigger one of my migraines.
Soon as I figure out how my iPhone works, I'll post a picture or two.
miércoles, 5 de septiembre de 2012
Puppyhood
Well, Mom would have had a good, long laugh over Lusso, the new puppy, and our trials and tribulations with him.
It has been a long time since I had a puppy--eleven years, in fact. And the one I had was a standard poodle, so easy to train that I really got spoiled.
Lusso is smart and sweet, filled with energy and longing to chew on the nearest item; it has been an uphill task to get him to distinguish between approved chew items and the rest. He has caught on, but once in a while he can't resist testing me, just to make sure I am going to stick to my guns.
All in all, he has been great. He is not very destructive, he stays in his lane when on the leash and walking with TootSweet, and TootSweet is teaching him the commands too. Lusso watches the Toots to see what is expected of him.
Lusso is a Spinone Italiano, a hunting dog--pointer/retriever, and a strong swimmer. However, so far Lusso has only gotten his feet wet in the shallow area of the pool, the steps. I keep a large clay bowl of water in the yard for the dogs, since they spend quite a while running, playing, and horsing around. Lusso has stuck his entire head into the water, blowing bubbles under the surface with his pink nose. The desire to be in the water is there, it just needs to be developed.
Yesterday, having made a momumental effort to get Lusso to try the steps, to my amazement it was TootSweet who jumped in and had to be rescued by me--he had never before been in water over his head, and I had to grab him and point him toward the steps. Ah, the joys of a wet poodle! They are only matched by the joys of a Spinone who gets into the waterfall in the backyard and then rolls in the nearest dirt.
It may be months before I know what color Lusso really is. I have an old dishtowel I keep handy in order to clean his face and feet, since half the time he wouldn't be able to enter the house in his usual condition after being outdoors. This is worse than little kids. Last night we went out to dinner with friends, and the woman mentioned that she is out of the house almost all morning; I told her I almost never left the house except to go to the store and the vet, but I wasn't about to tell her most of my morning was spent managing dogs.
And it doesn't matter, either. You've heard that old saw: "The more I get to know people, the more I love my dog."
It has been a long time since I had a puppy--eleven years, in fact. And the one I had was a standard poodle, so easy to train that I really got spoiled.
Lusso is smart and sweet, filled with energy and longing to chew on the nearest item; it has been an uphill task to get him to distinguish between approved chew items and the rest. He has caught on, but once in a while he can't resist testing me, just to make sure I am going to stick to my guns.
All in all, he has been great. He is not very destructive, he stays in his lane when on the leash and walking with TootSweet, and TootSweet is teaching him the commands too. Lusso watches the Toots to see what is expected of him.
Lusso is a Spinone Italiano, a hunting dog--pointer/retriever, and a strong swimmer. However, so far Lusso has only gotten his feet wet in the shallow area of the pool, the steps. I keep a large clay bowl of water in the yard for the dogs, since they spend quite a while running, playing, and horsing around. Lusso has stuck his entire head into the water, blowing bubbles under the surface with his pink nose. The desire to be in the water is there, it just needs to be developed.
Yesterday, having made a momumental effort to get Lusso to try the steps, to my amazement it was TootSweet who jumped in and had to be rescued by me--he had never before been in water over his head, and I had to grab him and point him toward the steps. Ah, the joys of a wet poodle! They are only matched by the joys of a Spinone who gets into the waterfall in the backyard and then rolls in the nearest dirt.
It may be months before I know what color Lusso really is. I have an old dishtowel I keep handy in order to clean his face and feet, since half the time he wouldn't be able to enter the house in his usual condition after being outdoors. This is worse than little kids. Last night we went out to dinner with friends, and the woman mentioned that she is out of the house almost all morning; I told her I almost never left the house except to go to the store and the vet, but I wasn't about to tell her most of my morning was spent managing dogs.
And it doesn't matter, either. You've heard that old saw: "The more I get to know people, the more I love my dog."
miércoles, 22 de agosto de 2012
Devil in the Details
Today I thought, "I have to write Mom about that recipe...", and "I want to write Mom about the new puppy's first bath..."
The devil really is in the details, the small, reliable details that make up days and lives, more important than one knows until one of the links is gone. Mom was always interested in the funny, quirky details of each day--the recipe that was great or that flopped hugely, the antics of two dogs climbing over the waterfall in the back yard and then rolling in the dirt, what her great-grandchildren were doing, all the emails with pictures. She wanted to know everything. I wish she still could.
The devil really is in the details, the small, reliable details that make up days and lives, more important than one knows until one of the links is gone. Mom was always interested in the funny, quirky details of each day--the recipe that was great or that flopped hugely, the antics of two dogs climbing over the waterfall in the back yard and then rolling in the dirt, what her great-grandchildren were doing, all the emails with pictures. She wanted to know everything. I wish she still could.
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