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Toby (Tobias)

Can dogs be a preferred substitute for children?

Yes, particularly when the person who makes this decision is a childless forty- something post menopausal woman.

I was ready for a schnauzer during the winter of 2003 and after an extensive research, located a newly opened dog shop in Brooklyn which carried one. The owner was a hyperactive, flamboyant Hispanic male who resembled the lead character from the Almodóvar movie, “Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown…” He was that spastic! His nervous energy, tinged with negativity, for he complained endlessly, was infectious. My heart raced in his company and frankly I could not wait to get away from him but his financially strapped store on Flatbush Avenue had a schnauzer.

Toby was seven months old at the time, longhaired and energetic. When the owner brought him out from the back of store and placed him on the floor, he proceeded to pee and defecate on the display stands in front. A wild dog unleashed! No, not really. He was following the lead of his nose, not interested in my display of cooing and petting or the other end of the hand doing it-me. He was free at last and intended to make full use of his sensory ecstasy. The owner, with his hyperactivity, cornered Toby and placed him on top of a petting stand. Finally, I was able to pet this salt and pepper bundle of not groomed fur as he looked at me through the eyes of a gentle soul.

I did not leave with Toby.

The decision to have a dog was overwhelming.

A second opinion was in need. Was I making the right decision? Was this mini the right one? Was seven months of age still a puppy? I wanted to return the next day with a person whose opinion would cement the deal.

I returned, with mom, my mom.

Toby, again, brought from the back of the store proceeded to mimic his behaviour of yesterday. Mom, my mom said, “No. That dog is crazy. You’re not seriously thinking of bringing IT home? He’s ugly and fat!

Toby left the shop that day.

To say it was an easy transition would be an understatement. Toby’s hidden personality took time to emerge. He left a place where he was confined to the back of a store and possibly kept in a crate most of the time. When we arrived home and brought him out of the car, he was petrified of the outside and refused to move. The traffic noise and feeling the sidewalk on his paws caused him to freeze in place and shake. The owner of the pet store carried Toby to my car when we left the shop so his anxiety was not apparent until later. This also explained his bathroom use in the store-the poor soul never set foot on the sidewalk.

In time, Toby adjusted to the outside world. He began by walking halfway down the block then progressed to a full block walk and eventually crossing streets and continuing on the other side. His nose became accustomed to the marking scents left by other dogs and garbage pick-up days were most exciting and stimulating!  Our first visit to a doggy park brought out his “inner bully” and he refused to submit to bigger dogs, which led to some serious confrontations. In due time, Toby earned his place as the policy maker within the dog pack for he kept dogs in their proper places.

Toby grew into doggy adulthood, went through neutering after humping the leg of a relative and matured into a loving, playful, curious, ratter and backyard squirrel killer (it was accidental on my part-didn’t see the poor thing scourging on the ground before letting Toby out in the yard.

Obviously, another mini was later added to the household who added to the chaos, anarchy, unity and the continuing joy of living with two schnauzers.

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The Best Christmas Present Ever-One year later…

The Best Christmas Present Ever  from last year has evolved into the ‘gift that keeps on giving’.

Although I failed to see it due to my emotional state during last years’ presentation of the gift, a snowball effect of changes was a comin’!

Like a snowball, at the top of a hilltop making its descent towards the bottom. Along the way,  snow gathers to its shape and it transforms into a humongous ball of loosely packed snow. At the bottom, it smashes into the bank and puffs of discombobulated snow suddenly infiltrate the air! That explains the impact of the changes in my life and as each puff anchors itself to the ground so has the change within mi alma (my soul).

This precious gift has changed my personal and emotional outlook towards dealing with toxic people or “emotional vampires” as a Face book friend likes to describe them. The ‘gift that keeps on giving’ is responsible for my refusal to allow toxic people to control my emotions or dictate how I feel about myself.


On Christmas Eve, I attended a midnight mass at the Church celebrating the birth of the messiah. Darkness enveloped the church at the start of the mass as an acolyte walked through the pews lighting parishioners’ hand held candles. When the church was illuminated, the procession towards the altar of acolytes, LEM’s and the Rector began. I carried the baby Jesus (large figurine) held up high, to be placed in the manger when we reached the altar and quietly cited a “Don’t drop the baby…Don’t drop the baby” mantra as I took each step. Prior to the start of the procession the Rector gave me sound advice on walking with baby Jesus, “If you drop the baby, you’re going to hell”. (He was kidding of course, or was he?)

Sunday, Christmas day morning, my nephew who luckily missed the start of last year’s, The Best Christmas Present Ever, came for a visit. We exchanged gifts, ate eggs and nana, my mom’s fry cakes while downing freshly brewed Bustelo. It was a nice gathering and my nephew spending time his nana, my mom was thoughtful.

The rest of Christmas day was spent at the Rectory for brunch that consisted of eggs and biscuits, kielbasa, and other foodstuff as well as Bloody Marys, wine and cheese. The Rector did the cooking while the guests carried food from the kitchen and set the table. After the cooking and setting was completed we sat down to eat in an atmosphere filled with warmth and comfort.

It was pleasant and the conversation included opinions on opera, current events, with jokes and laughter and most importantly freedom of expression on my part. No ridicule or silencing of my words from anyone. Finally, relief and enjoyment with people who accepted me for who I am.

This year opened outlets of socialization and connections I did not see or seek before, because I truly believed holidays are spent with family members. Unfortunately, blood ties do not compel one to adhere to ties that bind. Sometimes family members are not the people to be around especially when emotional pain and abuse are the consequences.

The results of my decision to eliminate toxic family members from my life has transcended into understanding and dealing with toxic people in general. I have learned to accept people for who they are and what they bring to the table in regards to emotional and spiritual support and most importantly I am not disappointed when they fail to meet up to my expectations. If their toxicity is overwhelming, I will not deal with it. I move on.

This Christmas was the year of spirituality and sharing the holidays with those who share my faith. Our shared commonality of faith offered me support and encouragement and I am grateful for having that in my first Christmas alone.

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2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,100 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 18 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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Self-medication or “What’s your vice?”

Self-medication as Wikipedia states “is a term used to describe the use of drugs (including alcohol) or other self-soothing forms of behavior to treat untreated and often undiagnosed mental distress, stress and anxiety.”

At the mental health facility where I work part time, clients who suffer from various mental health issues abuse their antidepressant medications. As the abuse turns to recreational use, the dosage needed to dull the emotional or physical pain exceeds the psychiatrist’s recommendation.  Of course, the term self-medication applies to anyone who abuses prescription meds in order to self soothe. Seroquel, Zoloft, Cymbalta, Wellbutrin, Prozac- whatever-the euphoric high these meds can produce is worth the abuse.

Self-medication does not exclude alcohol or pain killers. The bingers, everydayers, the necessary one drink a day to the one bottle a dayers, the wine or beer consumers to the hard-core whiskey and ryers, gin and tequila without the lime on the siders-alcohol is accessible and cheaper than antidepressant meds. Of course there’s, Vicodin, Codeine, Percocet, Hydrocodone, 10mg, 50mg, 500mg or one tablet or two and taken sometimes with an alcoholic chaser and so readily prescribed when sustaining an injury or as post surgical candy.

Okay. Self-medication is bad.

Is it?

What about self-soothing?

There are those who indulge in self-soothing forms of behaviour without the use of psychotropic drugs. Such as, the super athletes’ addiction to endorphins and the caffeine junky who consumes six cups of coffee a day so their internal body cruise control can fly quickly through time. In addition, let us not forget the foodie who grabs snacks of the most comforting kind during all commercial breaks while chasing it down with Coke a Cola (the carbonated sugar drink not the white powder) because a relationship fizzled (just like the Coke). Or, the female chocoholic who downs a 12 piece assorted box of Godiva’s in fifteen minutes because of PMS. Caffeine, endorphins, sugar-the acceptable kinds of comfort foods or exercise, all, legal, accessible and coveted.

There is harm in overindulgence of the self-soothing kind. Obesity, physical ailments and injuries, diabetes, high blood pressure may arise from too much self-soothing while abuse, self-loathing ,self-medication can come from too little.

Too much of a bad thing is not good and too much of a good thing is bad. The goal of self-medication and self-soothing is to numb the pain, which makes everything that will be, okay. Appearances are misleading with the pain, the stress, the anxiety, the paranoia-yes this can go on-of everyday life which at times are unbearable to handle but can exist comfortably under  grey clouds of distortion infused by the vice (s) of our choice.

So, what’s your vice?

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What was left behind…Greenwood Cemetary Brooklyn NY

On a second visit to Greenwood Cemetary in Brooklyn NY,  the theme of “What was left behind…” was apparent.

         

                                                                    

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What was left behind…

Visited the World Trade Center Memorial Site today and was overwhelmed with the objects left behind. I was a child when the towers were built from the ground up and lived to see them destroyed from the sky down.

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Complainers

I work part time at a homeless women’s’ mental health shelter. It is not the most desirable job but it helps to pay the bills, offers insurance (if it ever kicks in) and allows me to assist a population often neglected and discarded in society. The shelter is a new beginning for most of the clients for many come off the streets, jail and abusive environments. The shelter along with health and mental health services provided, offer the clients a chance at rebuilding their lives. Counseling and treating their mental health issues allows the clients to regain control and responsibilities of their lives. The ultimate goal of the shelter is to provide these women permanent housing and the tools to exist in society with a mental illness.

Some of the obstacles the clients deal with:

Unprotected sex
HIV/AIDS/HEP B
Medical complications-Diabetes,
Hypertension, Anemia
Loneliness
Isolation
Schizophrenia
Bipolar
Depression
Obesity
Hygiene
Socialization
Combativeness
Loss of children and family
Homelessness

I have grown less tolerant of complainers since working in this environment and most especially, complainers consumed with complaining ignoring fortune and gratitude in their lives. The complainers are not grateful for what they have during economic crisis and in comparison to what the clients at this shelter have.

Complainers complain.

I hate my job.
You have a job and have medical insurance.

I do not make enough money.
You have a job, have medical insurance and went to the Met last Monday
night to see an opera.

The job stresses me out.
You have a job, have medical insurance, went to the Met to see an opera
last Monday night and got a pedi/mani on Friday as consolation to the stressed
out work week.

 I am broke.
You make 50,000 a year, live in your own apartment, have a job, have medical
insurance, went to the Met last Monday night to see an opera and got a
pedi/mani on Friday as consolation to the stressed out work week.

This can continue but it stops here.

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My LIL Brother

My lil brother’s name is William and he is twenty-five years younger than I. He lives in San Francisco, sharing a one-bedroom apartment with
two others and has supported himself since his late teens. He aspires to and is well on his way towards reaching the high tier level of fashion photography.

Together we share the same father only, so technically our sibling tie falls under the title of “half”. Half brother or half sister, or ‘agnate’ as Wiki states.  Whatever the label, or the politically correct response to those who inquire, my ‘half brother’ is simply, my lil brother.

I cannot and will not distinguish a half from a whole just as I cannot and will not distinguish between a half-filled glass or its’ opposite. We have an emotional bond, some of the same DNA and a host of other psychological thingies not worth mentioning.

On a recent visit to NYC to explore, meet his network and shoot three days of fashion/beauty photography with models and a crew, I realized this twenty-two year old had allot to teach his much older sis. His positivity towards life and his refusal not to drown in the ‘if only’ is infectious.

My lil brother’s visit taught me:

*Self isolation and self medication is not a good thing

*Routines can be stagnant with no opportunity for growth

*Having one’s own place is a blessing and a luxury

*Remain in motion-sometimes going backwards generates the
inertia needed to move forward

*Laugh, smile and explore

*Making do with what you have at the present may be the only
good option

*Food in moderation is good-mass consumption is
not

*In order to partake in the hobbies you love you have to work to make the money to do so

*Fresh bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese and an assortment of gourmet olives are an exquisite treat when shared with loved ones

*Walk fast to your destination; walk fast from your destination

*Our father had a strong work ethic that we inherited

*One Bloody Mary during Sunday brunch is quite satisfying

*Family high drama is laughable but remember to brush the remnants off one’s shoulder after its half hour shelf life has expired

*It is okay to hug and say I love you

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Park Slope Dogs

There are many types of dog breeds and sizes (owners as well) in Park Slope. One can observe how the two species cohabitate and relate to one another from daily walks throughout the neighbourhood, (Not the ‘hood’but the neighbourhood).

The relationships between the two are complex, dependent and co-dependent, smothering and domineering to name a few, but there are certainly types that stand out throughout Park Slope:

The wrong dog for an athletic owner

Roller-skating with a Yorkie stuffed in a black bag, its head peeking out through a top opening while hung across the back in 90-degree weather. Abuse. Get a pit bull or a greyhound that can keep up with the roller blading and leave the Yorkie at home!

The lazy, multi-tasking, irresponsible owner

The “Oh, I have to pick up milk for my coffee” or the “I have to get my coffee now” or whatever I have to pick up owner, who will take the dog for a walk and on the way home tie it a tree, hydrant, gate, pole, while stopping at a convenience store or supermarket. Left to the elements with no protection and subjected to a possible kidnapping, the dog is defenseless. Would these owners leave their
kids tied to a pole? Neglect. Bring the dog home, than do your errands!

The foodie, whose stomach leads while their poor dog must follow

The restaurant patron sitting in a booth, near the window, in air conditioning while their dog is tied to a nearby  hydrant, in the sun, as they dine on fine cuisine. Stupid. Drop the dog off at home then go out to the restaurant.

The Fashionista/Fashionisto

The owner whose dog is a fashion accessory will have the designer pocketbook and dog that fits into it likely chosen from the headlines in which a celebrity has the breed styling in their Louis Vuitton tote. These dogs are subjected to a method of travel that is questionable and lacking in exercise or doggy socialization. Dumb. What then happens to this year’s designer pooch when next year fashion tabloid dog rolls in? Moreover, heavens forbid the cost of that new designer tote!

The ‘I DON’T SCOOP WHEN MY DOG POOPS’ owner

You know who you are, pretending to be on a cell call, deep in conversation, while your dog does its business on the sidewalk. Of course, the
conversation is so engrossing and consumes all your attention that as the business gets done and the rear end rises from the squat position, you are on your way, oblivious to what was left behind. SHAME ON YOU!

Congregators and Strollers

The congregators and the strollers are two of the common types of dog/owner relationships seen at Prospect Park. During these special off leash hours, dogs have run of the entire park (no gated enclosures)everyday, starting as early as 5am and ending at 9am and again at 9pm and ending at 1am. For most, the decision to own a dog becomes a reality after spending time there.

The congregators will form packs on the vast lawn with coffee in tow and conversation of nothingness flowing while their dogs run around in packs. The owners absorbed in the conversations and coffees often neglect their dogs. The dogs in turn, big and small and sometimes puppies,  engage in dominance struggles, which usually leads to a small dog under the attack of the domineering dog mob. Meanwhile the owner, whose attention awakens to their dog’s scream, is of no use, because their dog was running with the pack and is far off.

The strollers will walk the length of the park, giving themselves and their dogs time to sniff and mark (the dog not the human, although some dogs may mark a human,) play and run at their leisure, while avoiding the dog packs. The bond between owner and dog strengthens and while training is reinforced and rewarded.

The ‘my dog is my child’ owner

A category I know too well for I am that dog owner.  Toby and Pi Patel are treated as children and that is not an understatement-just ask mom, my mom, and she will confirm it.

I do not have kids nor chose to. As I have mentioned before,“I chose dogs”. My dogs, the boys.

The boys eat kibble with vegetables, cottage cheese, eggs and carrots. They have a home cooked meal of brown rice, beans and assorted
organic meats for dinner. While both have winter sweaters, booties and raincoats, Pi Patel has pajamas. And, yes, both are Mulberry’s NY Press Show models for 2011.

Toby and Pi Patel do not go to groomers. For them groomers represent pain, fluorescent lighting and metal cages. The stress and separation (not on their part but mine) was not worth the $140.00 cost with a finishing cologne spray. Not having money due to unemployment was the initial excuse and after countless tries with clippers, super sharp scissors, doggie treats, bribery, I now comfortably groom them better (at least in my opinion).

My dogs, pampered, even had their own room in our former apartment. I make no excuse or apologize for the way I treat my dogs for whatthey offer me in return outweighs any criticisms or looks (Yes, they get looks of wonder when wearing their winter booties).

For some, the title of ‘owner and dog’ is exactly what itis. I am the owner, you are the dog, and therefore you revolve around me. For
others, a dog is a companion, with needs of its own that we as responsible owners take care of. Unconditional love in return for security, comfort, exercise and food-where else can you find a better deal?

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Judgments and Assumptions

Personal appearances are often misleading.  Take for instance a person who prefers to dress in Salvation Army clothing while another is layered head to feet in Couture.  Another person may drive a fully decked out slightly used 2010 BMW Z 4, while another drives a 1997 Honda Civic Hatchback.

Judgments and assumptions.

The ‘Salvation Army’ dresser is a cheap billionaire who prefers to have money locked away in investments while the ‘Couture’ dresser is one day from an appointment with the bankruptcy lawyer. The used BMW financed at 12% glistened seductively  in the showroom and now the owner owes three back payments while the Honda is long paid off, vamped with the latest accessories and still in possession of the original owner.

Those who feel entitled because of their perceived notions of elitism quickly cast judgments and assign assumptions to unknowing victim(s) and yes I admit I have been on the assigning end.  The irony is that the unknowing victim is very much aware of what is taking place because of the way the ‘entitles’ treat them and yes I have also been on the receiving end as well and frankly, it sucks.

I am overweight and struggle with navigating my body throughout my immediate surroundings. I was once skinny, society acceptable
skinny, at a weight of 115lbs. I also fitted into Ann Taylor Loft clothing and at times wanted the size 2 label to hang outside the jeans instead of on the inside. Now I waddle down the street, sucking my stomach in and pretending the image I see in storefront windows is the size two instead of an eight.

If you saw me, would you stop to think before passing judgment or would you assume I’m just another fat black person who can’t stay away from the Kentucky Fried Chicken? My weight gain is a combination of emotional backlash as well as physical –a hypo thyroid gone wild is not a girl’s best friend.

And now, to add more salt…My work clothes no longer fit. The pleated slacks, A- lined jackets, silk blouses and richly dyed shirts do not close about the waist. Do I buy new work clothes on a part-time salary? NOT. I walk four miles to work just to save subway fare! Okay, now you’re thinking, with all that walking the clothes should fit. NOT. The caloric makeup up of my lunches far exceed the calories expended walking.

As a monetary society that believes in “Bigger is Better”, the “Bigger” just as easily works with the “Expensive is Better” rhetoric.  Couture clothing, flashy cars, Indian hair weaves, and Botox, not to mention boob jobs and my all time fav, the “Lifestyle Lift”   all help to up the ratings in the judgment and assumptions category.  You are what you eat or rather you are what you wear.

So to all who judge and assume beware, for as you judge, so shall you be judged .