A Little Perspective

I used to think it was impossible to be morose around a frolicking, tail-wagging, quasi-smiling dog. As a writer and aspiring author, toeing the coast of my dreams and getting constantly walloped back by the system, I've learned that this isn't always the case.

While my furry companion sometimes likes to warm my feet with his paws, he hasn't yet learned to shield my problems. More likely, when all I want to do is lie in the sand and let the waves of self-defeat wash over me, Shadow forces me to stand up and take him for a walk, throw him a ball, or socialize myself while socializing him at the dog park. Rarely do I forget my troubles as a result, but my tunnel vision usually widens to remind me that every storm cloud has a brighter (though I won't go so far as to say silver) lining.

Maybe writers need dogs almost as much as they need ink. Thoughts?

Sacrifices

Just gave Shadow a bath. He took all the hot water. If waiting an extra hour (in a damp bathing suit reeking of wet dog) to shower isn't love... I don't know what is.

Where's Shadow?

Shadow just returned from another visit with his "Uncle" Artie and "Cousin" Moose. He had a blast, but once in a while needed a little time to himself. In tribute to the old Where's Waldo? books I used to love as a kid, here's a "Where's Shadow?" puzzle for you:

I go to court

Back in April, I received a thick red and white card summoning me to fulfill by civic duty as a juror. Had this happened a few months earlier, I might have celebrated the chance to take a rare and government-mandated rest from work -- away even from those third-arm cell phones and persistent e-mails that have antiquated the meaning of the word "vacation." But as timing usually goes, I had just welcomed Shadow home

Still sleeping on training pads, having accidents like it was his civic duty, and crying every second he was alone, he simply couldn't be left or pawned off on anyone. So I invoked my right to one postponement, hoping that just maybe the courts would forget about me altogether.

Silly me to think I could pull the wool over Uncle Sam's eyes. I spent the past two days at the Westchester County Courthouse, pawning Shadow off on my mother on Monday, and placing him for the first time in daycare on Tuesday. Neither went extremely well.

I returned early Monday afternoon to a very disobedient puppy. Essentially, during my absence Shadow employed the quintessential "you're not my mommy so I don't have to listen to you" toddler act on my mother and brother. What he got in return was a day at the local animal hospital. It was the first time for all of us, and I was comforted at the thought of his being safe and in the hands of professionals, who promised to feed him and had a large yard where he would play. Upon picking him up, however, he raced out like a convict whose shackles just broke. He was an absolute tornado of energy, which made me worry that he'd sat in a cage all day. Immediately upon escape, an unusual number and frequency of bathroom breaks made this fear an almost certainty. And I am mad about it. Finding a good daycare provider is turning out to be harder than I thought. But I'll keep trying. Maybe Uncle Sam will reimburse me the $25...

Which brings me back to my original subject. I completely understand the need for ordinary people to serve on juries, and I have no objection to doing so, but the communication and the my-way-or-the-jail-cell attitude could use a little tweaking.

In Westchester, citizens are allowed one six-month postponement, and exemptions no longer exist unless you can't speak English or have a serious medical condition. (It took the administrative judge, the commissioner of jurors, and a secretary 90 minutes to say what I just said in one sentence.)I have a puppy. That's not a big deal. But women with infants are required to serve. Unemployed or self-employed people are required to forfeit what salary they could scrounge up, in order to pay for parking, gas, and possibly child- or pet-care for days or even weeks. In just two days I spent $60 in parking, gas and care; imagine that plus lost salary over two weeks.

During my service, I encountered a recent college graduate who had to cancel her job interview -- a holy grail in the middle of an economic crisis that has pitched an impervious membrane over the current workforce, keeping out the flood of new diploma holders -- in order to sit in a room for 4 hours, then be dismissed and told to return the next morning to continue sitting and waiting. Does anyone not see where the system could use a little work?

At the same time, those who actually want to sit through a trial are tossed into the mix with those missing their best friend's impromptu wedding. Why not have a database of people who genuinely want to serve (with biases and conflicts properly vetted, of course) and fill the remaining spots with those who would rather be elsewhere? Why not offer a small fee to volunteers but still restrict how often they can serve to avoid "serial jurors?" It wouldn't cover the costs of transportation and childcare, but hey, throwing people a bone once in a while can go a long way. (Would you really want your life hanging on the opinions of miserable people who are pissed off that they're losing money and time at your trial to begin with?)

It is the 21st century, after all. If I can fill out a bunch of bubbles online and get a list of 20 cities in which I'd be happiest living, why can't Americans fill out something similar and let a computer figure out the best days to assign who where -- and dismiss those whose profiles are already screaming "undesirable." Goodness knows we've got enough state employees and politicians sitting on their hands in Albany -- maybe they could pitch in.

I won't even get into my problems with announcing personal information to a room full of 65 strangers, including the one in the defendant's seat. But if anyone with any power happens to be reading a girl-meets-dog blog with a flimsy tie to politics... does corralling 1,400 people a week into a holding room like cattle, where they wait to be deployed the moment a judge decides he/she's going to trial (or sent home when everyone settles out of court) really sound well thought out? Is it really so much more important to inconvenience 1,400 other people over them?

To sum up, Shadow was pretty darn pissed at Chris and I last night. And after being pawned off and abandoned for two days in a row (he probably thought we gave him up yesterday), neither of us can blame him. But today he seems much happier. Like me, maybe this whole experience has reminded him how good he's got it, and how important that is to remember even when the little things get under our skin. For the next six years, at least I have my freedom.

A look back after 6 months

From left by row, Shadow at two, three, four and five months old

Shadow officially turns six months old today, and it's hard not to let my mind wander back to the first day he came into my life. Emotionally wrecked at the hands of another, less responsible breeder (Don't let that happen to you), Chris and I made the trip up to Blue Diamond with a pesky glimmer of hope that neither of us would allow to shine through.

After weeks of torture, we had resigned ourselves to the fact that the bed we had bought, the toys we had gleefully picked out, the ID tag we had engraved ... none of these things would be used for at least another three months. After coming to love and watch this other puppy grow (at least until the breeder stopped showing us pictures), we were devastated at the thought of now waiting for another breeder to approve us, another dog to get pregnant, another mother to nurse her pups for 8 weeks, etc.

We meet Shadow at 7 weeks old

Finding a lovable silver Lab puppy on the same schedule at that point would have been like planning a 200-person wedding the week before. I made phone calls, and everyone was sorry but I was too late.. too late... too late. Then Janet from Blue Diamond picked up the phone.

She had not one but two silver males and several charcoal puppies ready to go home in a week. They hadn't even been advertised. And we could have the pick of the litter. Still, we were hesitant. (As the now-butchered saying goes, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.")

Shadow comes home with us at 8 weeks

Then we arrived, met two wonderful people and spent a half hour sitting on the floor playing with a room full of bounding, healthy, happy 7-week-old puppies. We didn't even have to deliberate over which was to be ours; he picked us. It was one of those moments I'll never forget: When Chris and I looked at each other, then at the cuddly, shoestring-gnawing bundle of fur that had chosen to sit in my lap for a good 10 minutes (enamored by my jeans and my shoes while his brothers came up to inspect and then to bound away) and smiled at each other. Our eyes said it all. This little guy was a sweetheart with a little spunk, and he was ours.

Shadow at 10 weeks and 6 months. It’s amazing how fast the time goes.

Now a member of our family for 4 months, there are times I wonder where that sweet little guy has gone. But those feelings never last long. Shadow is a character, that's for sure. He can be stubborn, he can be disobedient, and he can get a little too excited sometimes. But he still rests his head in my lap (after trying unsuccessfully to put his entire body there), he still follows me around like he is my shadow, he's still soft as silk, and he still does something funny or adorable every day.

He is the puppy I always wanted and almost didn't get. And his existence in my life is proof that things do indeed happen for a reason, and every so often where you are is where you were always meant to be.

No dogs allowed...

My apologies for not updating the blog earlier this week, but as you can see, I was spending a few days with animals of the not-so-cuddly kind up in Cape Cod.

Don't get me wrong, being away from my Shadow did make the hissing geese and sticky-fingered seagulls somewhat more palatable... but only when they were flying/swimming/waddling in the opposite direction.

Yes, this year I had to not only cut short my family vacation, but go without half my family because Shadow is:
a) a dog, and hence not allowed on many public beaches (what a drag)
b) not yet fully trained, and thus not ready to be left anywhere while Chris and I cavort around said dogless beaches
c) not yet ready in my overbearing motherly opinion to be left in a kennel (and certainly not for this sort of trip, i.e. not overseas)

On Day Two of the trip, I grabbed one of those handy dandy Cape Cod guides at Cuffy's to do some research on "dog friendly" places for next year, and was sorry to see that most were parks or -- get this -- the parking lot by a beach. A few sandy stretches do allow dogs, but one quick drive past Flax and Cliff ponds in Nickerson State Park told me I'd rather turn the hose on him in the backyard. (Crowded doesn't even begin to describe it)

So now that I'm home with the little guy -- who even in 85 degree heat makes for an excellent furry toe-warmer, I must say -- I am diving back into my writing and on a mission to find some great dog vacation solutions for those of us who would like to bring our furry buddies with us sometimes and who can't fit them in a purse. I'll let you know what I find.

In the meantime enjoy a few photos from the trip which, although short, was very nice :)

Photo rights to these and all others appearing on this blog (excluding Amazon.com links) are the property of the creator of "Me and My Shadow" and may not be used without consent.

The circle of life

I never thought I'd see the day when I'd actually yell "Slow down!" to a passing car. As a kid, I thought people looked a little funny yelling at machines, and as a teenager I thought it was a little ballsy.

But today, after nearly being hit twice on Shadow's afternoon walk by drivers speeding up to an intersection and careening a right turn while hardly slowing down, it just popped out. Or, more accurately, bellowed.

I guess that's what happens when you're responsible for a life other than your own. Especially a life that would stupidly go racing up to the thing careening towards him, tail wagging, and then watch it pass with a confused expression of "Why didn't it play with me?"

So chalk another one up to the circle of life, and how we all inevitably become our parents -- which, for the most part, is pretty okay by me. And the fact that the lady driver I chastised was about 70 years old... well that's just more food for thought.

How About a Granddog?

Were it not for the daily barrage of letters, e-mails, phone calls, postcards and carrier pigeons seeking donations for my beloved alma mater, I would say my five-year college reunion is still at least two years away.

Alas, it was two weeks ago. And I have no choice but to face the fact that – while I still feel like an 18-year-old ingénue with an industrious life plan that no one dare put asunder – I am 27, married, living in the suburbs and mother to a furry little rascal who will one day have to share my attention with several human little rascals.

It’s amazing how quickly we pass those life-changing markers, and how unremarkable they feel at the time.

Five years after leaving the halls of Busch Light and higher education, I can’t say exactly when the automatic response to “I have news” shifted from “you got promoted” or “you’re buying that car you keep talking about.” Rather, if the announcer is unmarried, the answer is that they got engaged. If they’re already hitched, then they’re pregnant. End of story.

In half the time it took the New York Yankees to regain their reputation, for example, six of my 10 closest friends tied the knot or bought the ring and two actually created human babies. The latter is still difficult to conceive (no pun intended), even though my own matronly intentions were – until recently – the go-to conversation topic of family and friends.

Perhaps that’s why when the timing seemed right for me and Chris to expand our family – part of that ambitious life plan that includes publishing a book, buying my dream home, visiting every place in the “Before You Die” series, and eventually raising human offspring – I phrased the news this way in a group e-mail:

“I wanted to make this announcement earlier, but Chris and I had to wait until we were sure. We've been talking for a little while about adding to our family, and it's finally time to spread the news...”

Then I asked them to scroll down…

“We’re getting a puppy!”

It might have been cruel, but it had some degree of payback and was my way of tackling the expectation that a certain age means marriage for a woman marriage requires immediate kids. Hold your horses, everyone: My oven’s not broken yet, and I’ve already got the cook.

Shadow’s four months old now (about three in human years), and because I’m really only about 12 inside we’ve been getting along great. 

Like me, he likes to play and then rest for disproportionate amounts of time; he loves nature and food (although I’d choose chicken over moss any day); he enjoys a little Tom Petty; he gets hyperactive without warning and for no apparent reason; he finds it fun to torture my husband, and he has a rare recessive hair color that attracts many a comment from strangers.

And that brings me to the topic that has thankfully usurped my womb as prime conversation at family gatherings: No, he’s not a Weimaraner or a pit bull. He’s a silver Labrador retriever – a very rare shade of the most common breed. Once that mystery wears off, I’ll either have to buy some maternity duds or give Shadow a black-coated golden retriever step brother…

For now, however, I’m focused on exploring this new role of puppy mom. It’s been a blast so far, and I’m content knowing that whether the sun is shining or the sky is filled with stormy grey… I’ll never be without my Shadow ;)

Remember When?

Remember this little guy? The above photo was taken just a couple hours after Chris and I brought our adorable, sweet, shy, laptop-sized puppy home. He took an immediate liking to the space under the living room coffee table, and settled down for a long April's nap in his unfamiliar home.

He was only eight weeks old at the time, and weighed 13 pounds. Double that age, ramp up that weight by about 150 percent, exponentially increase his confidence to explore the house, and we come to today.

He's still adorable and sweet, but he's added a dash of rebellion, a whole quart of independence and maturity (now he only cries when he wants attention, the way toddlers throw tantrums in the grocery store, not as an innate automatic response to being alone), and a sprinkling of adventure.

"Those are nothing," he told me yesterday while pummeling down the staircase that used to stop him cold.

And yet, after all that growing up, he still finds comfort under tables and chairs (those he can still fit under).

As I first-time dog owner, I was quite surprised at how much Labrador retrievers grow from eight to 16 weeks, and how many of their adult facial features come in. Suddenly, he's a puppy in a little dog's body.

To provide some context, here is a new photo of Shadow under the same table this week. (Yes, the rug is now gone. And yes, that's because of him...)

A Best Friend

Yesterday, while going through a pile of stuff my mother hoped to finally clear from the house, I came across a children's picture book called "I'll Always Love You."


It was written by Hans Wilhelm, an author and illustrator of more than 200 books, in 1988, and tells the story of a little boy and his dog, Elfie. The two progress through life together, first as playmates and eventually as a young man and his beloved old dachshund. Every night before bed, the boy makes sure to tell his buddy, "I'll always love you." This small action helps him cope when one morning his friend, who progressed through a shorter life at 10 times the speed, doesn't wake up.

I don't recall ever seeing this book as a kid, perhaps because I never had my own Elfie, but it was very well done and sweet (though extremely sad).

It's amazing how fast and how strong the bond between a dog and his or her owner can be. I know there are some who mock my endearment to my first puppy, who sneer at my commitment to training him correctly and to posting experiences for those who share an interest.

But this blog isn't for them.

No number of transparent smiles could make me beam less when I come through the front door to find a one-canine homecoming party waiting for me -- tail wagging, head swinging, paws high-fiving the air at the top of the stairs. No amount of rolling eyes could keep me from glowing when he nuzzles up to me or slides his drowsy face onto my fingertips or under my arm because that's where he feels safe.

Some people make light of the bond that can be forged between humans and their pets. And while not everyone needs a dog to love, to practice patience and playfulness every day, to stop and smell the roses and get caught up in life's simple pleasures... those who belittle the very idea are probably the most in need.

Shadow has already become a great playmate and a loving friend. I know we'll help shape each other over the next 10 to 20 years. 

Not a night goes by when I don't tell him how much I love him. And I always will.

Peek-a-boo

Ninety degree weather means lots of water, which means tons of accidents for a puppy who isn't fully housebroken. He may be hiding his head in shame here, but it doesn't take long for perfect angel Shadow to reappear.

I've had him for about six weeks now, and he's definitely starting to become the loyal best buddy I've always imagined. To use a quote I recently came across from Bernard Willliams, "There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face." I completely agree.

Leon Goes Down

This just in:
Leon, Shadow's pet lion with the squeaky stomach and the crinkly behind, has been rendered mute.
"It is sad," said Shadow's caretaker, "but I it was bound to happen sooner or later."
Redirecting attention to the silver Lab's newest acquisition, a red chicken named Sam, she added, "Sam's looking pretty scared right now. I mean, if a lion can't even survive..."

A Shadow of Things to Come

"Tell me something surprising about yourself." Often posed to students, first dates, and eager employees-to-be, the question has the power to destroy entire days, to start lifelong relationships, and to incite the kind of conversation that will linger forever in life-altering memory.

For some, the answer is an enticing secret, a scandal, a pivotal event worthy of embellishment in a major motion picture or bestselling novel.

For me, it's something far more ordinary -- boring, really. But the shock still comes, even from those who believe they know me well.

I, the person who lingers for two hours in Best Buy because "Eight Below" is playing in the home theater department, who loses all sense of propriety the second a "Doggie!" frolics into her line of sight on the sidewalk, and who can be convinced to do almost anything (from camping sans cabins to driving cross country) if it includes a furry face and a friendly bark... have never owned a dog.

"No way," my colleagues reply, flashing through the bazillion times I stopped short on a busy Manhattan street to point out to the world that yes, there is a dog over there, yes, he's pretty darn cute, and oh yeah, I am 27 -- not 7 -- years old. "You live for dogs. You talk about them every day. You must have had one."

"Nope," I assure them, half boastful for getting something by a friend, half somber over its truth. "Closest we got was a rabbit. And my brother's guinea pig. But the second I have my own place and a job to pay for it, I'm getting a dog. That's a promise."

I couldn't envision his face at the time, being unfamiliar with breeds outside of the golden retriever, Labrador, and that smush-nosed little guy from "Milo and Otis" (a pug, I later learned). But I could already feel the joy, the companionship, the fleeting bouts of frustration, and the love that my puppy-to-be would tug into my life.

Perhaps it was coincidence that my college sweetheart had a Labrador retriever who honed in on my doggie envy from day one, who rested his big yellow head on me when I was feeling alone amidst a then-unfamiliar family, and who let me see exactly what my now-husband was like as a little boy. It was clear from the start that Bumps helped raise his human brothers well. Perhaps it was more than coincidence that I eventually married one.

Over those five years, before leaving us in 2008, Bumps earned the honorary title of My First Dog. I wasn't around for his first bark, the time he infamously ingested my in-laws' couch, or the mischievous adventures he launched as a teenager in the untamed mountains of Maine. But I did once get to take him jogging around the neighborhood. Okay, we made it 50 feet down the road before he became an unmovable boulder and decided he'd gone far enough... but it's a memory I'll cherish forever with "my" goofy, stubborn, lovable Bumps.

Only one other dog scuttled in and out of my life long enough to stand out in a sea of wagging tails, all of which make me smile.

When I was a child, visiting my grandmother in Cape Cod meant beach ball, bike paths, DQ Dilly Bars, and strolls around streets like "Rest-A-Bit Road" and "Carefree Way" that brought me to a friendly Scottish Terrier named Pepper. For years, the shuffling heap of wiry black fur summoned me to pound the pavement around his neighborhood and do a half-mile sprint to his house just before the mini-van revved up for home at the end of August.

For some time, Pepper was Cape Cod to me, and he made it impossible to envision any future that didn't contain a four-legged "best friend."

Now, nearly five years after tossing my graduation cap and taking a job as a newspaper reporter in Connecticut, two years after becoming editor of said newspaper, one year after walking down the aisle with my the best part of my college career, six months after waving good-bye to the stressful world of community news, and about 60 days after deciding that pestering give-me-something-to-nurture feeling didn't automatically mean I was ready for a human child... I'm finally making good on my promise.

Better late than never, right?

In one week, Shadow, our "silver" Labrador retriever, will come into our home. My husband and I have been watching him and his brothers grow, obsessively checking the breeder's website and Twitter page for photos (I'm down to about 30 clicks a day) since February 2.

We cleared his spot in the living room before he even set paw in the world, and I've spent many hours training myself not to let 27 years of pent-up yearning explode on the little guy. I WILL be more Victoria Stilwell than Elmyra Duff. (For those of you outside of the "Tiny Toons" generation, think of John Steinbeck's Lennie, only far less humble, more intense, younger, female, and obsessed not just with petting, but with keeping all the cuddly things in cages or jars.)

Named both for his color (technically chocolate but with a rare gene that makes his coat grey) and his date of birth (Groundhog Day), Shadow will be the star of this blog.

It is my hope that my first-time experiences raising a dog (aided, of course, by my husbands' many years as Bumps' companion) will be entertaining, educational, and reassuring to those who've already brought their best friend home, as well as those who've been pining for "someday."

Bumps and Pepper, this is for you.