Sonji

I am not myself these days. Normally confident, resilient, and ever-the-optimist, I have morphed into a grumbling, pouting, hypochondrial misery-monger who's convinced she's got some rare disease that will render her limbs useless by the year's end. I ache all over: my neck has areas of pain; my hands tingle with numbness; and my right eye has been red and puffy -- as though bitten by a black widow spider -- for the past week or more. It oozes and has even developed a crust! I went to the doctor a week ago and was told that I have carpal tunnel syndrome -- and to use ibuprofin, wear a wrist splint while I sleep, apply ice, and avoid biking for a while. I've done some of that -- Motrin and the splint -- but have ignored the other advice. I will see another doctor on Thursday to talk about my neck cancer or whatever the fuck it is. I am expecting to be given a battery of tests that will confirm my worst suspicions: that I am a short-timer and will die by Christmastime. My poor family -- what will they do without me? Survive, I am sure. We are a resilient species.

Did I mention that I've been behaving like a raging bitch? I have been feeling really fucked up since Oso died in May. Perhaps all of this pain shit I'm experiencing is psychosomatic -- that my grief over the dead dog has chosen to manifest itself in an assortment of weird physical symptoms. Everybody's always talking about the mind/body connection: there's got to be some truth to it.

If you follow me at all on Facebook, you may have noticed that I've been a bit dog-obsessed lately, since our beloved Akita/Husky dog Oso died. I have been posting dog pictures, updating my status to say "Twizzle is dog crazy!" and other things that would lead one to believe that I am off my rocker. I have also been perusing Akita rescue sites, as well as Akita breeder sites. I've even gone as far as communicating with people in Southern Californa about Akitas who are up for adoption.

One dog in particular, Sonji, won my heart a couple of weeks ago. A three or four year old Akita, Sonji was being kept at the Oakland Animal Shelter, but her adoption was being facilitated by a local Akita Rescue organization. I talked to the Akita Rescue guy (whom I'd met more than five years ago) about Sonji, and even went as far as letting him know that my family would be willing to foster the dog if the Oakland shelter (which is a kill shelter) got too crowded. Akita Rescue guy was grateful for my offer, but didn't seem to think that Sonji's situation would come to that. He did encourage me to go to the dog pound to meet her. So, in preparation for a visit, I printed out Sonji's picture from the internet, hung it on the refrigerator, and talked about her to Honeybee and Papadog incessantly. (I had fallen in dog-love.)

We arrived at the dog pound on Saturday, shortly after it opened at noon, and found Sonji among the dogs in the first row of cells. In contrast to the other hounds, most of whom were loud, barky, jumpy, or pathetic, there sat Sonji: poised, quiet, alert, smiling, wagging, and friendly as all get-out. We stuck our fingers through the bars of the cell to pet Sonji, but they were too close together, making it nearly impossible to touch her fur. After a few minutes, our name was called and we were told to meet the attendant with Sonji outside.

Sonji looked better in person than she had in any of her photos: Fawn colored with white feet; a black muzzle; and a curly tail. She was of a medium build (about 75 lbs) and her eyes looked intelligent, as Akitas eyes generally do. Her triangular ears stood at attention, and her sense of smell seemed to be extra keen. There was wagging.

We followed the attendant and Sonji into the yard, a large fenced area where visitors can take prospective dogs out for a "test run." Because Sonji hadn't peed in almost 24 hours, the first thing she did was squat. Then, she bounded around the yard, collar- and leash-free, expending some of the energy she'd saved up while in her cell for the past several hours. It was almost shocking to see a young dog exhibit so much energy, compared to tired and moribund old Oso, who couldn't even walk at the end of his life. I had forgotten how fast and strong young dogs could be! I trotted Sonji around the yard a couple of times, then Papa Dog did the same. He also made her sit and lie down, which she did when enticed with a dog biscuit. Honeybee excitedly ran after the dog until the attendant said, "Uh, maybe you shouldn't let your child chase the dog like that. Sonji doesn't quite know her own strength." "Yeah," we parents agreed, feeling a bit foolish. Sonji seemed so kid-friendly, it hadn't even occurred to us that there could be any danger.

After we had all taken turns running around with and petting Sonji, we thought we'd better get ready to leave, as other people were waiting to see the dog. The attendant assured us that we should take our time, that we should not hurry at all. "That's okay," I said. "Thank you very much for showing us Sonji." And we walked away.

Today I checked the Akita Rescue website (as I have been doing obsessively since Saturday) and found that Sonji had been adopted. She was probably taken home by the people who had seen her immediately after we did. Even though our family had never seriously considered adopting this dog, my heart sank when I read the update. It was actually a weird mixture of sadness and relief.

Later today, I made the mistake of telling Honeybee that Sonji had been adopted by some other people. "What?!" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. "You mean we're not going to adopt Sonji?" "No," I said, tears forming in my eyes, too. "We had never been serious about adopting her; we just visited her at the Animal Shelter because we wanted to meet her -- in case we got to foster her." Then the floodgates really broke loose, and loud wailing commenced. "I want Sonji!" Honeybee cried. "Why can't we adopt her?" "Because some other people have adopted her, that's why." I explained, feeling like the biggest shit-heel of a mother, ever.

The tears have subsided, but sad feelings about this dog linger, in both Honeybee's and my hearts. It was a dumb thing for me to do -- suggesting that we visit a beautiful, available dog at the pound whom we had no intention of taking home -- and getting the child's hopes up about getting another dog soon. Honeybee often talks about missing Oso and wanting another dog. Lately, because of the picture of Sonji on the 'fridge and my obsessive blathering about this dog, the object of the child's canine desire has been Sonji. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned that the dog was adopted. It's not as though the child needed closure or anything. It was I who needed closure. And now this door is shut.

Unemployment = Creativity

I've been unemployed since January 23, 2009 and have yet to receive an offer. I've come close a couple of times: one nonprofit told me that I was the second-best candidate and the competition was very fierce. Another prospective employer (a major university) told me that I was "GREAT PERSON" and had "so much to offer," but another candidate was slightly more qualified than I and got the offer. I have phone interviewed and interviewed for many other positions, and have usually not been called back afterward, except to hear that I did not get the job. Getting no further than an interview in the job search process does indeed suck; however, there is a silver lining: unemployment has enabled me to exercise my creativity for the first time in more than a decade.

I recently reconnected with an old friend from the mid-eighties through Facebook. This guy, let's call him Bucknell, is a visual artist and musician who has, for as long as I've known him, made "art postcards" for friends, and has encouraged them to do the same. A few months ago, I told Bucknell that I was interested in doing the art postcard exchange with him, so he sent me a postcard. It was a strange painting, on a piece of cardboard, of a close up of an ant's head – focusing on the antennae. It was exceeding well done. Feeling compelled to send something back, I put quickly cobbled together a collage featuring the faces of my favorite two icons: Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and President Richard M. Nixon. Bucknell seemed gratified to receive my card, and sent me another one quickly. I didn't respond to it for a couple of months, feeling constrained by my lack of art supplies. Collage is a fine form, but I wanted to paint.

After much procrastination, I finally bought some acrylic paints. I had never painted with acrylics before -- only water color -- and man, I found out what I had been missing! For one thing, acrylic paint is very versatile: unlike watercolors, you can glob the shit on, or water it down to a watercolor-like consistency. And you can mix colors to your heart's content! I have done a couple of paintings that I really like, and have high hopes that I’ll be cranking out more good work soon.

You may not know this about me, but I play a bunch of different instruments: flute, saxophone, guitar, piano, zither, bass, and ukulele. (I think that's all.) Last month, I volunteered to accompany, on guitar, Honeybee's preschool class's singing of the Irish tune, Molly Malone, at their graduation ceremony. I practiced with them about five times and discovered that I was really looking forward to "performing," even though I was just the accompanist standing in the background. The ceremony went swimmingly!

So, I went and joined my church's bluegrass band, which plays Appalachian bluegrass hymns and gospel music during church services about twice a month. The Angel Band is one of the things that attracted me to my church to begin with, and I had always pined to be a part of the group, but figured that one had to have more bluegrass experience than I did. (My only credential was having been obsessed with the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack since the movie came out.

The band practices Wednesday nights and for an hour on the Sunday mornings when we're performing. Yesterday morning was my first performance with the band. We played Uncloudy Day.

I absolutely love playing in a band again! As you may recall, my beloved dog died a few weeks ago, which has put me in rather a depressive slump as of late. But I have found that picking up my guitar and singing my heart out with other talented musicians makes all the sadness go away. When I am playing, I become completely immersed in the activity and think of nothing but the music. Isn't there a word for the feeling of being so completely engaged in an activity that you forget everything else? Is it "flow" or "Zen?"

So, being unemployed, while not so great for the pocketbook, has paid off in other, more meaningful ways: it was given me the time and mental space to rediscover my creative side, which I thought had pretty much died after going back to work post-childbirth. During my last job, I never had time to do anything other than keep my head afloat and take care of the child's needs. I was barely able to schedule a haircut for myself every six months! While I am still pursuing full-time employment, I have carved out some space in my life to make art and music -- which makes me happy. And I am possibly a better mother because of it.

Uncloudy Day
Lyrics and Music: Rev J Alwood


It is well-known as a hymn and gospel song, as well as being covered by Willie Nelson and others.

They tell me of a home far beyond the skies
And they tell me of a home far away
They tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise
They tell me of an unclouded day

Chorus
The land of cloudless days
The land of an unclouded sky
They tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise
They tell me of an unclouded day

They tell me of a home where my friends have gone
And they tell me of that land far away
Where the tree of life in eternal bloom
Sheds its fragrance through the unclouded day

[chorus]

They tell me of the King in His beauty there
And they tell me that mine eyes shall behold
Where He sits on a throne that is whiter than snow
In the city that is made of gold

[chorus]

They tell me that He smiles on His children there
And His smile drives their sorrows away
And they tell me that no tears ever come again
In that lovely land of unclouded day

[chorus]

Like a Dawg

My apologies to Messieurs Samberg and Rogen for parodying their clever video, "Like a Boss." This is a tribute to my loyal companion, Oso, who passed away on May 23, 2009.

Like a Dawg

Oso, thanks for coming to your Obedience Training review.
No problem.
So you're the canine around here, is that fair to say?
Absolutely, I'm the dawg.
Okay, so take us through a day in the life of the dawg.

Well the first thing I do is...

Stretch and yawn (like a dawg)
Have my head scratched (like a dawg)
Eat some kibble (like a dawg)
Drink some water (like a dawg)
Lick up crumbs (like a dawg)
Whine to go outside (like a dawg)
Lift my leg up (like a dawg)
Take a long piss (like a dawg)
Sniff some dirt (like a dawg)
Take a gnarly dump (like a dawg)
Chase my tail (like a dawg)
Chase a neighbor’s cat (like a dawg)
Too fuckin’ slow (like a dawg)
Be disappointed (like a dawg)
Go inside (like a dawg)
Hang dog expression (like a dawg)
Lick my master’s face (like a dawg)
Lick my own balls (like a dawg)
Get in the car (like a dawg)
Go to the dog park (like a dawg)
Chase a mastiff (like a dawg)
Get in a fight (like a dawg)
Get my ass kicked (like a dawg)
Hang head in shame (like a dawg)
Hump a poodle’s head (like a dawg)
Get yelled at (like a dawg)
Roll in a cow pie (like a dawg)
Get hosed off (like a dawg)
Get the car seats filthy (like a dawg)
Go back home (like a dawg)
Lap up some water (like a dawg)
Snack on biscuits (like a dawg)
Take a nap (like a dawg)
Go to the vet (like a dawg)
Have my balls chopped off (like a dawg)
Now I’m neutered (like a dawg)
Live for twelve years (like a dawg)
Now I'm dead (like a dawg)

Uh huh. So that's an average day for you then?
No doubt.
You have your balls chopped off and die?
Hell yeah.
And I think at one point there you said something about licking your own balls.
Nope!
Actually I'm pretty sure you did.
Nah, that ain't me.
Okay, well this has been eye opening for me.
I'm the dawg.
Yeah, no I got that. You said it about four-hundred times.
I'm the dawg.
Yeah yeah I got it!
I'm the dawg.
No I heard you, see ya later.
LIKE A DAWG!

Oso (1997 - 2009)

Oso (AKA "Doggy Dog") is gone. After spending his last day surrounded by loving friends who had made a special effort to come say good-bye, Papa Dog and I took our beloved canine companion to the vet to be euthanized. It was Saturday, May 23rd, 2009, at about 7:00 pm, when Oso took his last breath. He died peacefully.

After a difficult week of rapidly declining mobility due to severe hip dysplasia, Oso stopped eating on Friday, May 22nd. He refused to swallow his anti-inflammatory and pain medications, even when I tried to shove the pills down his throat, as advised by the vet. He even shunned fresh-cooked chicken, which, in the past he would eat off someone's dinner plate if they weren't looking. Any meat was irresistible to him, and his refusal of food made us realize how dire his condition had become.

For the past few weeks, Oso had been sleeping restlessly, whining intermittently throughout the night when he needed to change position or move from room to room. Papa Dog and I would take turns getting up at 2 am, 4 am, 5 am, to lift up the dog's hindquarters with a towel so that he could get up and move. On Thursday night, the up-and-down routine, along with the whining, had become so regular that Papa Dog and I probably got less than four hours of sleep. On Friday night, I chose to sleep in the basement because I couldn’t bear the thought of another night of sleeplessness. We knew that the end was near… we just didn't know how near.

On Saturday morning, Oso continued to refuse food and showed no signs of wanting to go outside to relieve himself. He just lay there, motionless, on the kitchen floor with his eyes half-closed, breathing softly. It was then when we realized that Saturday would be his last day.

Papa Dog sent an email to our friends whom Oso loved best, telling them our sad news and inviting them to come over to say 'good-bye' to their friend. Two dear friends took us up on our invitation and spent most of the day with us, offering their kind sympathy and support. We all gathered around Oso for several hours that day, first in the kitchen, then we moved him into the back yard. We brushed his luxuriant fur, stroked his head, and picked burrs out of his undercoat. It was a sad day for us, yet Oso seemed content.

Then, evening came and it was time to go to the vet. (I had wanted to wait until the clinic had closed in order to avoid people in the waiting room. They are open 24-hours a day for emergency care.) Papa Dog and one of our visiting friends hoisted Oso up with towels and transported him to the back seat of our car. It would be his last car ride ever.

Upon our arrival at the clinic, a customer service clerk instructed us to take Oso to the exam room at the far end of the hall. Then she explained the procedure and asked us to sign a document authorizing the clinic to euthanize our pet. Also in this document, we were asked to choose our preferred method of disposal for the body. We opted for "communal cremation," meaning that our dog's body would be cremated with other animals, and the combined remains would be scattered somewhere up in Napa. I would like to think that the ash-scattering site is on a beautiful piece of property, with verdant rolling hills and majestic oak trees.

After waiting about fifteen minutes, the vet came into the exam room, introduced herself, and explained the procedure. (Her version was slightly different from what the clerk had told us.) Then she went away to prepare the drugs. When the vet returned, she injected a sedative into Oso's hindquarters, which we were told would take effect in about five minutes. Oso flinched only slightly upon receiving the shot. The vet left the room again, leaving us alone with Oso. During his last minutes awake, Papa Dog and I stroked Oso's head gently, weeping quietly, as we said our last goodbyes.

After a few minutes, the vet came back into the room with a big syringe containing a lethal barbiturate cocktail. It was pink in color. When she injected the drug into a vein in Oso's hind leg, our dog showed no reaction at all: his sleep appeared uninterrupted. I observed Oso's sides moving in and out as he breathed for a couple more minutes; then, he became still. Then the vet checked Oso’s heart with a stethoscope and confirmed quietly, "He's gone."

The vet left the room again, letting us know that we could take as long as we needed to be with Oso for the last time. We petted him for about five more minutes and then it was time to leave. I think I said, "Good-bye, Oso," upon exiting the room. I looked back one last time and saw him lying on the floor. He looked exactly the way he always did when he was asleep, which I found to be both disturbing and comforting.

Now Oso is gone. The house feels empty and eerily quiet without him. Coming home from anywhere is no longer a loud and boisterous occasion where we are greeted exuberantly by the happy barks of our best friend. There is no longer Oso's water bowl on the floor to nearly trip over when we approach the door to the back porch. The rugs appear disturbingly fur-free and clean. The child's spilled food no longer gets eaten up off the floor by our "Roomba," and now I have to sweep up the crumbs.

Since Oso has been gone, I've received three books on grieving, two especially written for children. Honeybee seems to be coping reasonably well with the loss -- better than I am, actually. I had made a point of preparing her for the eventuality of Oso’s death for the past few weeks. In fact, just last week Honeybee and I were walking Oso around the block and he fell down -- splat! -- in his own poo. (This is something that had been happening more and more frequently, due to his weak hips.) Frustrated with the mess, I told Honeybee, "You know, Oso's not going to live forever. His days are numbered. He's probably going to die soon." Upon hearing this -- which was certainly not the first time we'd talked about it -- Honeybee burst into tears, exclaimed, "But I want him to live forever!" She was inconsolable for the next hour and remained hypersensitive and weepy for the rest of that evening.

Since Oso’s death, Honeybee has asked several times where Oso is, and whether or not he has been cremated yet. She asks where his ashes are and I tell her, “In a beautiful place in Napa, with other pets who have died.” Even though I’ve told her the facts many times, she is still trying to make sense of the idea that her beloved dog will never come back, that she’ll never see him again. I’ve reassured her that Oso will live forever in her heart and that in time, his memory will give her great joy and comfort.

I am giving myself lots of space to grieve my loss. Yesterday, I suddenly became so overcome with grief that I sobbed buckets of tears and wailed loudly while clutching Oso's empty collar and dog-tags to my chest. Today is the first day I've not shed a tear since Saturday. Writing this entry has been therapeutic and necessary: I want to document every detail of this important event in my life and remember exactly what happened and how I felt about it.

I wish to close with a beautiful sentiment offered in a thoughtful sympathy card from a dear friend:

They whom we love and lose are no longer where they were before. They are now wherever we are.

--St. John Chrysostom (349-407), Bishop of Constantinople

Oso's biography can be viewed here.

Doggy Dog's Last Day

It is a somber time in the house of Twizzle: Over the past two days, Doggy Dog's condition has taken a turn for the worse and he now refuses to eat food or medicine; can't get up by himself; and pants laboriously on the kitchen floor. When we attempt to move him with the aid of a towel, he cries out in pain. Today will be his last day alive, as we have decided to have him euthanized by our veterinarian this evening.

Papa Dog and I have been talking openly about Doggy Dog's imminent demise with Honeybee for quite some time now; however, today our conversation took on a more urgent and grave tone: "We're going to take Doggy Dog to the vet to help him die peacefully," we told her. "We would like you to come with us to the vet, so that we can all say goodbye, but you don't have to go." We gave her the choice of coming with us, or staying with her grandmother. She chose the latter, after thinking about it for a minute. We told her that she could change her mind, and should feel free to talk to us about her feelings of sadness.

I don't think that Honeybee, at almost five years of age, quite understands the finality of death. Perhaps to comfort herself, Honeybee spent the morning playing her old and familiar Thomas the Tank Engine games on the computer, and is now watching Jesus Christ Superstar on DVD for probably the tenth time in a short while. (This movie has become an obsessive favorite in our household.) She likes to sing along by reading the lyrics, which I printed out for her from the Internet and placed in a red vinyl binder. (She averts her eyes during the 39 Lashes scene.)

How am I dealing with the idea of having my beloved pet killed later today? I am blogging. I took a shower and made beds. I would go on a cleaning spree, but I might as well wait until the dog's gone before doing a thorough vacuuming. I don't know what to do with myself. Papa Dog is at work on this Saturday morning (he's had a brain-crushingly busy week at the office -- more so than ever, he said) and wishes he could be home with us.

I have done a bit of research about ways to grieve the loss of a beloved pet and came up with one good article, here, which brings up a good point: there are no socially acceptable rituals in place for departed pets, the way there are for deceased humans. Animals are not considered important enough to be given proper funerals, and some people who don't much like animals don't understand what the big deal is. So, there's no support infrastructure in place for helping friends grieve the loss of their best friends.

While I think it would be over the top to plan a big dog wake for all of our friends, I do want our family to do something to honor Doggy Dog's passing. Perhaps we'll put together a scrap book and write poems about him. I doubt we'll opt to have a private cremation so that we can keep his ashes; I find that idea rather distasteful.

On Facebook, I've received a touching outpouring of support from friends, which I appreciate greatly. We've also sent out an email to close friends of Doggy Dog, letting them know that today is their last chance to visit and say goodbye.

I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but right now I'm unsettled, on the verge of tears, and at loose ends. The dog lies still on the kitchen floor, breathing softly. His brown eyes gaze up at mine when I look down at him. His life spark is not yet gone; only his body has ceased to work properly. Poor old Doggy Dog.

Today is a very sad day, indeed.

Shabbat Shalom

I know, I've been remiss. When I first became unemployed, I set out to do some serious daily blogging -- because I thought I'd have ample free time, right? Well, it hasn't turned out that way. Or, maybe I have just gotten used to S T R E T C H I N G out my daily tasks so that they fit into an eight-hour day, giving me as little spare time as I had when I was a full-time working mom. Or, maybe I am feeling less motivated to type about my thoughts on random shit for an unknown audience. Whatever the reason, I apologize for boring you with an introductory paragraph about why I have been such a lazy-ass blogger these days and will get to the CONTENT.

I attended a Shabbat service for a neighbor boy's bar mitzvah last Saturday. First time I'd ever set foot in a synagogue. I didn't know what to expect, and was pleasantly surprised. I found myself singing along with the songs (in Hebrew), and later, dancing around the sanctuary, holding hands with strangers. I listened with rapt attention to the boy's lecture on his interpretation of the part of the Torah he studied for the occasion, and found myself moved and inspired. I was impressed with the level of maturity shown by this boy, whose voice had not even changed yet: He showed such wisdom and compassion for all living things (his pet cause is saving river salmon), and expressed himself in a way that was both eloquent and confident.

Later, the rabbi urged the members of the congregation to vote in the upcoming California special election, keeping in mind society's most vulnerable. That is exactly what I did.

While I enjoyed the synagogue experience immensely, I probably won't go back on a regular basis: I am not a Jew and do not wish to convert. As warm and welcoming as the place was, I could not help but feel like an outsider there, even though I participated in the service with much vigor. I don't know if that feeling was caused by my own insecurity, or if it was mutual.

I wonder, how do Jews feel about gentiles attending their Shabbat service? In a Christian church, newcomers are always welcome, are often greeted with great zeal, and are encouraged to come back (and bring friends!). I didn't get that vibe at the synagogue. Perhaps the difference is that Christianity is an intrinsically evangelical religion whereas Judaism is not.

Friday Night

It's the beginning of the weekend, but why should I care? When you're unemployed, Friday is nothing special: you've no soul-sucking job to be relieved from, and there's no reason to feel celebratory. There's no reason to go out for drinks (unless you're drowning your sorrows, which is something I don't do) and the budget's tight, making going out an expensive frivolity, anyway. I am starting to hate being unemployed.

Today I heard back from a potential employer that I had phone-interviewed with earlier in the week. The email said that I was not among the finalists, and "good luck with your search." (They always end with that.) That news stung today, especially because I thought the phone interview had gone fairly well. Then, thinking about it more, I realized that I wouldn't have been happy in that job, anyway. (Sour grapes?) Grant writing is an area of fundraising that I'm trying to get away from, not get back into. I really need to focus on finding a job that is in alignment with my career goals, not just something that I have done in the past. Potential employers have an uncanny knack for knowing if you really want the job, or if you're applying because you need any job right now. Bastards! So, now I can focus more on getting the job that I WANT.