It's a man's world

What is it with guys and Home Depot?? I usually contain myself to the flower section when I visit there, but during my last trip I wasn't so lucky. I walked aimlessly through every aisle attempting to locate winterization tools for my windows. My search through this store ended unproductively an hour later but turned out to be an eye opening experience. As I walked past what seemed like a trillion of the same tools and pieces of wood, I noticed that all the men there had an expression on their face that (in my humble opinion) should have only been reserved for their wedding day...presumably the happiest day in their lives. They had this wanderlust look in their eye like "If only I could live here....". At one point, I walked past a group of five guys huddled around a pint sized t.v. eagerly watching and studying a video. I imagined the Rocky theme song playing in the background as the blank screen revealed a brand new, shiny, orange power tool. When the reveal manifested, there was a gasp among the guys. At that moment I was convinced - men could easily replace women with power tools. They were infatuated. As the song track of Rocky played in my head, I peered down more aisles and envisioned men grunting as they do when bench pressing twice their body weight. Power saw? Ggggrrrrrr. Black and Decker drill?? Double grrrrrr.

I needed to escape. This was a man's playground that I was not welcomed in nor enjoying. When I left, it got me to thinking. My dog is a male and I am proud to say, lifts his leg to pee. I once naively thought that he lifted his leg at every plant or even dirt because he really had to relieve himself, but as I found out, he was doing this to prove he was a MAN. He may not be the biggest dog on the block but he still wanted to let every man know where he had gone first.

I am convinced that the Chicago epicenter of the alpha male dog population is at the dog park. It is the dog "Home Depot." Inevitably there is always one dog rounding up the others, taking laps and antagonizing the other dogs before they enter. On my most recent trip, it was a German Shepherd. The moment he set eyes on my 30-lb wingman, I knew it was over. He circled the park anxiously awaiting our arrival. I was hoping that some other dog would take away his attention from us, but much to my dismay, he was there to jump on top of my poor little buddy upon our entrance.

So I know that there are a million unspoken dog park rules, but today, I was not about to follow them. I decided to step in and put this alpha male in his place. What I failed to remember was that the German Shepherd was basically my body weight and that I was wearing a white jacket. Not for long. My jacket quickly turned brown and I was forced to grasp the railings to support myself.

My dog got away but a few minutes later, I could not believe my eyes! My precious mini-me was participating alongside Mr. Alpha. Together this awkward duo ruled the dog park. Peeing on every corner and charging every newcomer. Each time I tried to get his attention, he was too pre-occupied with his new "male" friend. I had been replaced yet again. First time by a power tool and now by the dog park ring leader.

Sitting there pathetic and alone, I saw an opening. In came a Bernese Mountain dog ready to take charge. Seconds later my buddy had had enough and was ready to come back to the woman in his life.

I realized that dogs need their male bonding time just as much as men. Let them go to their man cave, run around, pee on things and prove their manhood. We may not understand it, but that's what makes us love them. So for now on I will not be afraid to enter Home Depot. I will parade my dog around the aisles and respect each man's love for power tools and all things "manly." Eventually, they will come home from their fantasy land and if we're lucky, help us around the house a little bit.

Coiffure

I am obsessed with my hair. Not the typical obsession where you brush your hair all day and look in the mirror admirably at your gorgeous locks. My obsession is much more sadistic. I am obsessed with having the hair that I do not have. In fact, I hate my hair. It is a combination between curly, frizzy and thin. It never goes the direction I want it to, almost always frizzes out and never stays straight, even after hours of prepping and styling.

From an early age, I decided that I was not satisfied with curly hair. My mom, being the nicest woman on earth, let me embark on different ways of getting to where I wanted to be. Unfortunately, this was a painful and arduous process. The antiquated chemical straightening process practically burned off my scalp and even after going to the stylist for a good hour before my eigth grade photograph, my hair ended up looking like squeaky from the little rascals. Needless to say, I was an awkward child.

I had hoped and wished that 20 odd years later my hair would eventually straighten out but much to my dismay, it is only getting curlier...

I have met many dogs during my life, but it occurred to me with my most recent client that there is definitely a hair hierarchy between dogs. Some are wire haired, others curly and some soft and smooth. I think I would most resemble the poodle. So when I met "Jack", I was immediately envious. He had the most beautiful black, soft hair. His ponytails (ears) were perfectly cut, not a hair out of place and his white paws stood in perfect contrast to his dark body. Jack knew he looked good. I felt pity and shame for my dog who always looked like he had just gone through a drive through car wash where they failed to embark on the last portion of the cleaning and grooming process.

Was this shame self-imposed? Am I just putting my feelings on him or does he really feel this? He must be mad at me for not keeping him up to Jack's standards. In fact, in a totally failed attempt to make him more prim, I saw a glint of shame on his face.

I decided to take my dog to a new groomer that seemed very reputable and sophisticated. Putting my trust in her, I gave her permission to groom him as she saw fit. I could hardly contain my excitement as I came back to pick him up but when he came out I was shocked. Speechless. What had she done to him? She robbed him of his manhood! He was BALD. His ponytails were gone. His scrappy tail was shaved. She made him look like a hairless cat. I couldn't even look at him. I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. When I finally looked at him I immediately knew what I needed to do. He was ashamed and wouldn't move. I knew I had to pick him up and act like nothing happened. I am sure my mother thought the same thing as she saw my hair hit the humidity before my 8th grade picture. You cannot show your disappointment, but love them anyways.

For the next week my poor puppy walked around without his usual swagger and refused to meet other dogs. Were they judging him? I wanted to yell at them like a protective mother would. He was never quite the same after this experience, so I opted to keep his hair long to the point of matted, instead of subjecting him to this scrutiny again.

After this painful groomer visit, I decided to join my dog in his obscurity. There was no point trying to mask what you have. There is vanity in the dog world just as much as in the people world. No one has the perfect hair they want regardless of how much you try. So I decided that you can either obsess about it or get over it and sport the frizzy, matted hair you have. For now, my dog and I are sporting the hair we were gave and slowly getting our swagger back.

My Retirement Home

I live with a senior citizen. He eats breakfast at 11 a.m., sleeps all day and goes to the bathroom hourly. How did I get myself into this situation you might ask? Well...basically, I can't say no. My mom warned me about this problem since I was young, as she saw that I could never say no to my sister.

So here I am with my senior citizen. At first I gave him free reign of my home, but as with most senior citizens, it was too much space for him to mosey through. Too long of a distance between the bathroom and the bed. I found this out the hard way when I stumbled to the bathroom at 3 in the morning and found hundreds of poop pawprints leading me to the grand prize - diarrhea. So what did I win???? Two hours of cleaning on my hands on knees scrubbing away all of my hard worked anally clean floors. After burning out my nose hairs and drying out my hands (I inherited my Polish mother's love for bleach), I asked myself how I got into this situation.

On December 15, a lovely young lady came to me asking for her to care for her aging dog who would have otherwise been banished to a crate for 8 hours a day at a nameless boarding facility. Of course, I was unable to turn her down and so began my new role as caretaker for the elderly.

After numerous, audible cries of desperation exited my body, a brilliant thought came to my mind. Why aren't there retirement homes for dogs? You know, round them all up and put them together in a big room with no stairs (bad for the arthritis), heated at a balmy 80 degrees with endless amounts of designated naptimes. This alleviates the guilt you have for not being there for your aging friend and allows them to not feel so depressed that their life may be coming to an inevitable end. Surrounded by others in this same situation will make old age seem tolerable.

As my senior citizen unknowingly carried his poop paws all over my new home, I couldn't help but feeling a slight tinge of disdain. Disdain for him to ruin my palace of perfection. That disdain quickly changed, though. I shot him a knowing look...I knew what this was. He was livid with me. Livid that I took him away from the only thing that seemed familiar to him - his mom. He was grasping for the familiar and when he didn't find it, he was pissed. I understood this need for something comfortable. It was evident to me that old age is obviously not any easier if you're a dog or human. You need someone to come home to that allows you to take that much needed sigh of relief....that smell of your beloved one that allows you to breathe again. Anyone that says dogs are not like people, has not experienced the various ways they speak the same language as us. They love. They long for companionship. And they never forget the one that they come home to.

So, for now, I will attempt to be this person and will care for my senior citizen like I hope my future kids will take care of me. And just maybe, I'll start a retirement home for dogs.

Let the journey begin...

I have always loved dogs. When I was 2, my mom told me that I peered outside intently and pointed at a dog and uttered "dudden." This was my intuitive way of identifying a creature that would, unbeknownst to me, bring me so much joy, sadness, laughter and lessons.

I can imagine that this was not exactly what my parents wanted my first word to be. Most first words are "momma, daddy, nonna...". The names of people most important to you. But I am not surprised this was my first word. I'd like to think that I was smarter than the average 2 year old and knew the very importance of dogs.

I was never a "normal" kid. I used to lock myself in a closet for 6 hours at a time and play Barbies by myself. I always found amusement and intrigue with the simple things and always found in enjoyment being by myself. As I got older we got my first dog, Harley (Harley, or the devil reincarnate, will be explained more in other posts), and I knew that I finally met my soulmate. I could babble on for hours to him and he said nothing. He layed lovingly next to me while I played Barbies and longed to be by myself. He was the perfect companion.

So, "dudden" seems to only be a fitting first word for me.

When I was 27 years old, I had the typical quarter life crisis. Hating my job and being diagnosed with a serious health concern, I am here now - savoring dog time for my career.

I threw the idea back and forth about blogging but it always seemed like an egotistical thing to do. I mean, you are basically saying that someone actually gives a crap about what you think and write!! At 28 years old wise, I knew better than that. Plus, my writing prowess was anything but stellar. But through my journey with my dog and the dogs that I see everyday, I felt an urge to tell the world what these amazing creatures were whispering to me. Lessons and stories everyone could benefit from. So alas! Here I am, writing to what I presume is no one. But the solidarity I loved when I was young, I can feel again in cyberspace...on my blog. So each day I will be here - sprawled on my couch, by myself but with the world's best companion typing nonsense that I hope you enjoy. At the very least, I hope you are entertained.