Going to the Dogs

IMG_0793Just so there’s no misunderstanding, this entry is about the four legged variety, not the two legged version. 

It’s also about fantasy colliding with reality.  And, for those of us with any years of experience tucked under our belts, we know exactly what that means. 

This all started back when BlackJack moved onto Kitty Heaven and I was pet-less.  I signed up at the local humane society center to be a dog-socializer which was a lot cooler than walking the pooches in 100 plus degree weather. I also signed up to cuddle the cats, but, given truth in advertising, they really needed volunteers to clean the kitty litter boxes and I am past that stage of life.

So, by default, the dogs got me.

Sammie’s Friends, a rural county facility staffed by employees and volunteers, is really remarkable. There are two buildings, one for dogs and one for cats.

The dogs are walked twice a day by volunteers along a mile plus long trail; there are outdoor pens for small, medium and large sized dogs where a behaviorist works with the dogs individually and in small groups, and then there are the socializers, who are also assigned a day or more a week to sit one on one with the animals.

That’s me.  We socializers go into each kennel, all of which are rather large and remarkably spotless. Each pooch has toys as well as a comfy bed, water and food.  The socializer’s job is to spoil the dogs, so we arrive, grab the provided stool, and go into each kennel laden with dog treats and ready to pet, play and cuddle each animal.

It’s a tough job, but given my background as a grandma, I already had the prerequisite training.

Some of the socializers prefer the little dogs, but I like the larger ones.  So, when I was being trained, which was really how to open and close the kennel doors without being run over by an escape artist, I said I’d take the larger dogs.

Then I discovered that most of them were pit bulls.

It’s not that I have anything against a particular dog breed, but let’s just say, some of the breeds leave me a bit leery.  Fortunately, the majority of the pits are actually quite sweet and love the treats.  We get along just fine.

Then, there is Bailey.  It was love at first sight.

I’m beginning to recognize that I’m a romantic at heart. 

Bailey is an eight month old purebred German Shepherd.  She is stunning.  She was also abused by her owner, who should be hung up by his toenails.  Evidently Baily finally did something to protect herself and law enforcement and the courts stepped in. Good for Bailey.  An intelligent Shepherd to boot.

When Bailey arrived at Sammie’s Friends, the staff housed her in a two room kennel, separate from the rest of the animals, their barking and the general confusion.  She was terrified and cowered in the corner. Her entire body would tremble when anyone entered the room. She was under court ordered supervision to watch her temperament so that a decision could be made about her future.

As I’ve had German Shepherds throughout my life, including one retired K-9, the staff told me to go on in.  I took my little perching stool and entered her turf.  She watched me from her corner and, about thirty seconds later, had her front paws planted on my lap and was licking my face. 

Sometimes dogs just know. It was love at first sight.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time with Bailey.  We not only play in her kennel, but also go out to the pens where she can really run and work off some of her puppy energy.  A staff member watched the other day and asked if I wanted to take her out to a park, to my home, or anywhere in the area.  She also mentioned that the courts were going to be releasing Bailey for adoption and would I be interested?

And that’s where fantasy and reality collided.

The heart yelled YES!!! 

The mind yelled even louder, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? YOU HAVE NO FENCED YARD. YOU RENT. YOU ARE JUST ABLE TO PLAN A BIT OF TRAVEL. AND YOU HAVE TORN LIGAMENT IN YOUR KNEE, CAN BARELY HOBBLE AND BAILEY DOESN’T HEEL.

OK. But at some point, the knee will be better. Unless, of course, I destroy it again playing at golf.  Who knew golf could be so dangerous, but that’s a topic for another day.

By the time I got home, the mind had won.  Bailey will find the perfect home, just not mine. Hopefully she will be with a loving family, children to grow up with, and acreage.  She deserves nothing less.

 

 

High Hopes

powerballDid anyone else also succumb to the siren call of the Powerball Lottery?  1.5 billion for a mere $2?  Buy your tickets here and here or over there.

I bought my ticket, and having never played before, bought the Quick Pick so as not to hold up the line of dreamers behind me.  I paid my money, pocketed the ticket and headed out the door where an unexpected few hours of pure fantasy awaited me.

The ads for Powerball are not far off. I mentally spent the petty cash:  college and post graduate studies for the grandkids — check; pay off bills and kids’ homes — check. Maybe buy a home for me….or not. I rather like my gypsy life.

And then, having oh-so-many bazillion dollars remaining and arriving in predictable payments over the next 30 years, which will no doubt be long after I die, it’d be setting up a foundation to give back and perhaps try to do a bit of good.

In my mind’s eye, the kids and grandkids had to continue in careers that speak to their passions.  No free rides here; we all have gifts to give this world and sitting around waiting for a handout doesn’t help anyone reach their potential or make this world a better place.

Then, reality hit and the fantasy turned a bit more grim as to what might potentially be supported:  education, climate warming, homelessness, gun safety (reasonable changes that protect the entire Bill of Rights and not just the 2nd Amendment), women’s access to basic health care…

How about countering a few of the blame ‘n shame fear mongers running for office? How about taking on the governor of Michigan who first displaced democracy by replacing the Flint’s elected officials with his appointed emergency manager before cutting off clean water to over 100,000 citizens and, despite warnings, exposed everyone to months of toxic levels of lead poisoning and legionnaires disease?  Or maybe the governor of Kansas who, after decimating public education, decided women and children did not need access to low cost health care and proceeded to de-fund Planned Parenthood and eliminate funding for low-income children’s health coverage?

Maybe the Powerball winnings could even work towards restoring those social contracts that many current retirees grew up with: wages that allowed us to buy homes, take vacations, spend time with our children; benefit packages that kept families healthy; and pensions so we could retire. 

I’m old enough to have watched our nation morph from one that offered opportunity, if one had access to some education and worked hard enough, to one where only the very top corporate officers and hedge fund managers benefit at the expense of everyone else, 401K’s included.

Evidently, avarice and power are mighty strong motivators.

ah, but now we have the Powerball, perhaps the only viable path to wealth for a very few chosen ones, even though some call it the Stupidity Tax because it’s just another way for the government to collect taxes at the expense of those of us who purchased tickets and lack the means to hide a windfall in some obscure Caribbean island.

Besides, with odds of one in 292.2 million, my chance of winning the grand prize was probably slightly better than finding the right man with whom to spend the rest of my life. Sigh.

On the other hand, if I can avoid reality, spending two bucks for a few hours of pure fantasy is well worth the price of admission. I may even play again, some day down the road.

Besides, in Wednesday’s drawing, I won!!  Whoo Hoo!!!

Five whole dollars. All things considered, it was a pretty darn good return on my investment.

I’ll try hard not to spend it all in one place.