That Time of Year

I'm doing taxes today.

I'm not feeling particularly creative or wordy.  Numbers are running around my head in loops, screaming their importance to an uncaring world.  Z. keeps wanting to sniff and disrupt my piles of receipts, taking keen interest in the milage record book.

Now that she spent 40 minutes running at the dog park she'll be less intrusive.  It's hard to eat paper when you're sleeping in the sunny patch on the floor.

Taking a break was good for me too.  A mild refreshment for my brain so it doesn't get overloaded and shut down.

But now the break is over and it's time to get back to the screaming, racing numbers.

11 Things

11 things I don't need. 11 things I'll try to eliminate in 2011.

1. I don't need One World Governance. Individual countries need to keep their freedom.

2. I don't need higher taxes. The economy won't improve unless people have money to spend, after all.

3. I don't need my freedoms being restricted in the name of security.

These three, all I can do about them is to protest the bills being passed that pave the way for these things to happen; and to use my voting power wisely; and to be aware, informed and unafraid. Keep my eyes open. Look for the light.

4. I don't need the procrastination I exude towards my writing. This is probably the easiest, and hardest, to eliminate...just by sitting down and making myself write.

5. I don't need poverty, and I don't need riches. However, I also don't have riches so I can't get rid of that one...and I've been trying to get rid of poverty for a long time. Perhaps I need to reevaluate my definition of poverty.

6. I don't need stress. I am learning to manage the things I find stressful and I am getting better at not internalizing things I don't need to.

7. I don't need meaningless anger. With learning what to internalize and what to shut out, I am getting better at eliminating this one too.

8. I don't need hatred. I am letting go of resentment, and with it goes the hatred and the anger.

9. I don't need censorship. From myself or from others. And this is solved by learning to hear myself, to allow myself to use my true voice, and to fight to be heard.

10. I don't need to be given smurf bites by my dog. This one is going to take some time and training. Possibly professional help.

11. I don't need my furniture to be destroyed by said dog. Again. Professional help may be required.

Insular

I've been sick with - well, with something, for four days. I never know what to call these things. I'm pretty sure anything with aches and fever is a flu, but I rarely get sick to my stomach. Probably because I just lose my appetite altogether. Anyway. It's settled down to a chest cough so hopefully that means it's on it's way out.

It did mean that I had to miss a friend's show. That made me sad. I love the play she was in, and I've never gotten to see it up on its feet. A coughing audience member, particularly a contagious one, isn't well loved however, so I chose to miss out and hope that I'll get another chance to see it someday.

The dog has been a little angel through all of the aches and lethargy and coughing. S. went to his hometown for his brother's bachelor party (which was an epic weekend, from the stories I've been getting) so I've been home alone with the pooch. Which has been fine. I haven't had the energy to do anything, and she's been most accommodating instead of turning into an under-exercized demon. Right now she's sleeping on the floor, sucking in air like it's going out of style - she has nursing dreams that seem quite intense. She'll be a farting machine later.

So I've watched a lot of television and I've done a lot of sleeping. I finished reading a book and I've checked up on a lot of blogs.

Not much of anything else. I tried to write but my brain hasn't been cooperating. I tried to memorize a monologue for an audition coming up - also not much success, but at least I've got some of it down. I hope I have a singing voice by then since I need to sing for it too. I also tried to do some Arbonne stuff but when every sentence is punctuated by a wracking cough it's a little hard to speak. Plus people are too worried about your health to believe that you can improve theirs.

A friend came over yesterday which was nice. No, it was great. I haven't seen her all summer and I've missed her. We had such a great conversation. We're kind of in a similar place, with our semi-jobless states and both dating non-religious men; it was nice to chat about our lives. I'm glad to have at least a few friends in the city.

S. and I have talked about the disconnect we feel sometimes living in the city when a lot of our friends live in a small town nearby. Nearby meaning about 90 minutes away by car. We try to make an effort to go out and see people. A few of those friends make an effort to come in and see us. A lot of them don't. It's tough for me not to internalize that and assume that they don't actually want to be my friends anymore - I have to remind myself that life in a small town - and that small town in particular - gets insular and it's almost impossible to avoid it and see beyond the valley walls.

Almost impossible, a small voice says. Because some people manage just fine. And those are the people I get to see more often.

Ah well. That's life, they say in France.

It's not that different from my life the last few days, after all. I've been living in a self-imposed insular state for half a week. If my friend hadn't made an effort to come over I wouldn't have seen another human being in that entire time. And those outside my walls wouldn't necessarily know why.

So I guess there might be other aspects to the lives of others that I don't see either.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to walk the dog. That is, if I don't cough up a lung first.

Social Skilz

I wish I had them.

I mean, I think I have some. I do have friends. I seem to participate in social events without making S. want to crawl under a rock. I appear to be capable of making a good impression on people.

But in some situations, the natural thing to do doesn't occur to me.

I just took the dog for a walk. We met an adorable little black pug. I have learned that when two dog walkers intersect, if they stop to let their dogs visit, only the dogs get introduced. It's a strange little phenomenon but it's just how it is.

We also met two people who were dogless. They were standing outside their houses, chatting. They introduced themselves, I introduced myself. And the dog. And then didn't really ask them any other questions. Half way down the block, after we'd left, I realized I should have inquired as to their jobs and lives, since they were obviously willing to chat with me and I felt that initial interested spark that indicates possible friendship. And since I'm trying to meet people right now since I haven't got many friends in Calgary, that would have been good to follow up on.

But I didn't. And now I may never see them again and have missed an opportunity to make new friends.

Sigh.

Maybe that wasn't an abnormal thing not to think of though.

Or maybe I've been spending too much time with the dog.

My Life This Past Month

I haven't posted anything here in almost a month.

It's not like I've been terribly busy this past month or anything.

This past month I've:

written
procrastinated
fought the darkness
fought the light
spent time with friends
isolated myself
cut my hair - bad, bad idea
been frustrated with and in love with puppy Z at the same time
gone and house/pug sat for my parents
become an Arbonne consultant

My life in a nutshell.

The last few days, since becoming a consultant, I've had an excuse for business. Huh. I meant to spell 'busyness' but I guess business works too. Steep learning curve but it's good for me. I'm already meeting some really cool people and getting out of my head - I had no idea how much I needed that until I started.

The last month for puppy Z has involved learning a few new tricks (she rolls over now, and we're starting her on a military routine - she sits, lays down, crawls a few paces and rolls over before sitting back up - you never know when you're going to need a puppy marine) and chewing on EVERYTHING. Hence the 'in love' and 'frustrated with'. She eats, literally eats, wood, whether that be baseboards or stair edges. And paint. And bits of the carpet. Argh. Just chew on your bully stick, you dumb animal. And then she sits there, all cuteness and little jowls, and how can I stay mad at that?

Lots of learning, on many levels and to many purposes. Life, I guess.

In a nutshell.

The People Whisperer, or How My Dog is Teaching Me To Breathe

I took four years of training to become an actor. A self-aware, emotionally intelligent, physically in-tune person. I know it's a journey, I'm not 'there' yet, etc., etc.

But I certainly thought I had an edge on everyone else.

Apparently I am not immune to arrogance. And apparently it took an 8 week old puppy to show me that.

Yes, we recently got a puppy. Zoey, the adorable Boston Terrier. She's smart. She's stubborn and feisty and a bit of a suck. It's a lethal combination. We've had her a week and she's already housebroken (for the most part). She knows if she whines in the direction of the door she can go out to do her business (she's very concerned about her stock portfolio). Looking downstairs gets her to her food. Pitiful whining at the bottom of the staircase (that she can actually climb on her own) gets her carried up to the living room for playtime.

We're training her using Cesar Millan's Dog Whisperer techniques. It's surprisingly effective. We 'claimed' the kitchen and bathrooms and she stays out of those rooms. We reward calm behaviour and correct un-asked for excitement. We maintain calm, assertive energy and she recognizes us as pack leaders.

Oh, alright. S. maintains calm, assertive energy and she recognizes him as a pack leader. When I'm calm and assertive, she responds to me that way. Most of the time though? I think I rank somewhere as a littermate.

Why? I get frustrated with her puppy behaviours. I get upset when she doesn't listen to me instantly. I kind of forgot how puppies were. The last time I had one was 10 years ago. She's like a toddler, and I am not the patient person I thought I was.

Prided myself on being.

Cesar says you don't get the dog you want. You get the dog you need.

I thought, watching his show "The Dog Whisperer" before Zoey arrived, that I would nail this whole calm assertive energy thing. Oh, I'm a professional actor, I'm trained, emotions are my friend, blah blah blah. I've had animals my whole life, I know how to deal with them, I'm so patient, this will be a breeze and we'll have the calmest dog in the city. No. The world.

Pride cometh before a fall.

And boy, what a fall! Instead of being patient, I get frustrated. Instead of calmly correcting, I get angry when she bites in play and punctures the skin (she has razor sharp puppy teeth). Instead of living in a calm, assertive state, I constantly have to stop and reevaluate my energy, breathe, and bring myself back from a tense, aggressive, stressful place to a calm and breathing one. Calm and assertive. Calm and assertive. Stop fixating. Relax. Let her be a dog, a baby, and teach her to obey. Calmly. Be. Just be the authority figure, the pack leader.

It's exhausting. Not to be calm, but to constantly bring myself back from stress.

Upon reflection I'm not sure why my behaviour, my state of mind, is so surprising to me. I worked at a day-care for a month and I got frustrated with the kids there. Granted, they were deliberately pushing buttons (seven year olds rarely call you a bitch otherwise); but they were also babies. Little kids. Not adults.

The difference with Zoey is that I can see her reading and reflecting my energy. It's uncanny. Right away, right there. I get angry, she gets insecure and excited. I get frustrated, she gets persistent and excited. I calm down and breathe and stop taking it all so personally, and she sits down and looks to me for direction. Like she's supposed to.

I'm sure kids read and reflect too. Looking back I can see that. But I see it so much clearer with Zoey. Maybe because I grew up with animals, surrounded by them, and my experience with kids is much more limited. Or maybe it's just because I'm more focused on my puppy than I am on someone else's kid. After all, I can look forward to 10 - 15 years of life with Zoey. The kids I got to leave behind every night.

I am forced to be more aware of myself in every aspect of my life in order to present authority to my dog.

I didn't expect that.

I didn't expect Zoey to show me that I have a short fuse. I am selfish and want to get my own way, instantly. I have high, unreasonable expectations of the other life forms I interact with. When I am upset I want the world to stop until my tantrum is over and I'm ready to continue.

(I knew that last one already. I realized that a few weeks ago when I was driving along a busy road in the city and Scott and I got into a fight. What did I want to do? Slam on the brakes until we'd had it out and he'd seen things my way. I think that would have gotten us in an accident, injured for sure and possibly killed, but damn, I almost did it before I realized the consequences. That scared me into non-rage in a hurry. And the same process happened again yesterday, although I thought I'd learned better. I guess I'm not super human in my learning curve after all. Fuck.)

So I can't stop the world as long as there are others in it. I should have figured that one out, sharing my world with people like I do, but for some reason it didn't click until the potential accident and the introduction of a puppy who is watching my every move, my every wave of energy and emotion and physicalization for cues on how to behave. On what's allowed. On where she can go and what she can do.

Somewhat like having a baby, I guess. Only I think it's less pressure. Dear God, what would I be like with a toddler of my own?

Well. I think Zoey will have taught me much more about myself before that happens.

And the funniest thing about all of this? I think I'll be a better actor, not just a better person, for it.

Requiem for a Good Dog

My dog Emma died yesterday after a few days of violent illness. We think it was poison. She was 10.

I got her when she was a puppy. My brother’s dog had babies unexpectedly – how we never once noticed she was pregnant, ever, until two days before she gave birth was something I’ll never understand but it happened every time. I really liked the little blonde one with the retriever’s nose but I didn’t expect to be allowed to keep her. It was always my dad and my brother who got to keep pups against all logic. Dogs and cats weren’t something I got to keep when it didn’t make sense.

When my parents told me I could keep her, if I wanted, I was shocked and deeply moved. That they had even noticed how much I liked her meant a lot to me. More than I could really express. That my dad was willing to give up the puppy he liked so that I could keep mine touched me too. I gave it a few days of serious thought because having a dog is a big decision, and then I said that if the offer still stood I would like to keep her, thanks.

I took a few days to name her too. The name came from a Jane Austen book that I had actually not read. The tag line – a beautiful meddler – was what inspired me to name her Emma. She was beautiful. Somehow the vagaries of Golden Lab, Chow, Terrier and Poodle had combined to create a 30lb white blonde retriever. Right from the beginning she was my dog. She looked to me first for everything. She didn’t like children because she’d been briefly tormented by a visiting child and she had a good memory. She was extremely protective of anything she deemed to be our property, to the point of biting our landlord’s brother in the butt when he came to borrow some tools. When she killed a chicken at the age of six months, she took the scolding with a confused expression – but she remembered it (until she was about a year old and killed another one…but that’s an impressive memory for a puppy, and she never killed another one after that). When she realized I didn’t like something she did her best to fight instinct and obey my inscrutable whims. I could put an egg on the ground in front of her and she’d do everything in her power to not even look at it, though I could see the hunger for it in her face.

She went nuts when I first put a collar and leash on her. She was so frightened, being restrained. But when she got used to it and realized that the leash meant quality time with me, she’d go nuts for a different reason. I had to walk her at heel for at least ten minutes before I could get her to listen to any other commands. But once she learned to stay I could make her lay on the lawn while I herded sheep or dealt with other animals that were spooked by the presence of an overly helpful dog.

When I went away to school she moped around and stopped eating for a while. I think she thought I had died, because eventually she moved from sleeping below my bedroom window to sleeping outside my parents’. They didn’t appreciate being woken up by her barking in the night but it meant she was eating again so I didn’t mind. When I came home for Christmas she treated me with disdain for a day before deciding I had been punished enough and whole-heartedly welcoming me back into her life. After a few trips away and back home she had figured out the routine and no longer withdrew, although she no longer greeted me with the same enthusiasm either. I wasn’t the reliable pack leader I had once been. I think instead of transferring that role to another human she took it on herself, bossing the other dogs around with aggression and the attitude of a much larger dog. Even though her pack mate Phoebe was at least twice her size it didn’t seem to phase either of them that Emma was the leader. It was the accepted order of their world.

It doesn’t surprise me that Emma was the one to die. When she and Phoebe were out wandering the fields and forests, if they had come across some piece of rotten or poisoned meat, Emma would have never allowed Phoebe, or the pugs, to eat any of it. Instead she would have claimed it all for herself. She protected the other dogs lives with her firm belief that as leader, she should have all the best things in life. It was an accidental act of nobility which caused her death.

I just wish that I could have been there to take care of her as she died. She suffered a lot as she went, more than any animal deserves. If there is an afterlife for our pets I hope she’s got a good one – a place in rabbit hell would be perfect for her, as that was the only animal on our farm that I never succeeded in training her to not chase. And maybe someday I’ll get one last chance to let her know that she was, indeed, a good dog.