The Injustices

Has anyone ever watched Dateline, 20/20 or one of the other televised newscasts that always sucks you into watching 50 minutes instead of the 5 you originally intended? No matter how disinterested in the story I am at first, I always find something compelling about it in the end. And, low and behold, within 20 minutes, I am more than likely in tears.

I have a hard time with life. In fact, more times than not I question what goes on in our world and find myself deeply distraught. I choose to listen to NPR all day, when I know I should listen to something easy...mindless. Inevitably, I am wrapped up into one of the world's many problems. Tragedy in Darfur, Russian journalists being prosecuted, suicide bombers in Iraq. These problems rock me to my core...bother me to the point that I cannot concentrate and usually end up in a tied up mess of nerves.

Three years ago I became totally, 100% selflessly engrossed into the Eric Volz story. I would dream of making a crusading trip down to Nicaragua to show him my unending support. I would write him letters encouraging him to stay strong and telling him that justice would prevail.

But did justice prevail? In this case, yes. What really bothers me though is how easy it is to forget about the world's wronged. I know this is deep stuff but seriously, we hear about tragedies in far off countries and forget them as soon as the radio or tv goes off.

So what can we do? Well I can tell you what I do.

I have a big secret. Huge actually. Behind my family and boyfriend's back I take weekly trips to taste the forbidden fruit. Sensing fear in my mom's voice every time I talk about going, I ultimately decided to start sneaking out...so reminiscent of my teenage days.

Weekly, I secretly go to PAWS and will tell no one. I know what they all think. She'll come home with one. My pushover heart will collapse in the wake of big brown eyes staring a hole right through me. I can't blame them for thinking this, though. While watching my favorite reality tv on Bravo, I caved to the ASPCA commercial (ugh, that Sarah McLaughlin) and called to donate for what most likely will be eternity. I could never take away my precious donation from dogs in need! I also have been endlessly emailing permanent adoption facilities about a disabled dog I met in PAWS one day.

I know some people may think that loving or helping dogs is not adequately addressing the world's injustices, but for me this is my tangible way to make a difference. Every time I see a dog running around without an owner in sight, I stop, hoping to find an owner or bring some type of hope or solace for that dog.

So call me a crusader, zealot or champion of the dog, but I'm just out to curb the injustice that I can. Have you picked up a cause? If not, start going to PAWS or another no-kill shelter and I'm sure you'll think of something.

It looks just like the sun

I experienced something today that I have never experienced before. It took me by complete surprise. Usually driving through the city is like maneuvering through an obstacle course. This unpredictable course is littered with foul mouthed speeders, perpetual crawling turtles (either from out of town or elderly) and Chicago newspaper vendors that decided it was their duty to stand smack dab in the middle of racing traffic.

I practice my best yoga breathing before I leave to go on the road. Each morning I take three deep stomach breaths. One breath...I will not be bothered by those that will cut me off today. Second breath...I will not get annoyed by drivers that clearly should not have passed their driver's test. Last breath...I will not be tempted to slam on my brakes when a car is tailgating me.

OK, I was ready to brave the most dissident and reckless environment in the world (or at least my world) - the City of Chicago roadways. Despite my best relaxation efforts though, I almost always end up swearing off driving by the end of the day.

So today began with my typical ritual and I left my house ready to brave another gray day. However, today was different. As I appeared outside from under the cover of stale heat and gloomy fluorescent lighting, I saw a perfectly clear blue sky. This is not something us Chicagoans are usually privy to. No clouds, no slush. The omnipresent sun beamed adoringly on us as it melted away all the gray darkness.

I knew immediately that today was going to be different.

All morning I was greeted by people giving me the right of way, smiling as they stopped at stoplights and driving more like my mother than Mario Andretti. I could not believe my eyes. Today might be one of the only days for the past four months that I didn't disdain every moving vehicle. The glorious sun had erased the city harshness that you get so used to adapting to as a coat of survival.

With my new sunny outlook on life, I went on my usual dog stops. To the dogs, though, this was just another day. Sunny or dark, arctic temperatures or tropical climate, my dogs all enjoyed life equally every day. I was somewhat jealous of them. Being in Chicago for 5+ years, I was beginning to think I suffered from seasonal depression.
On winter days, I would ruminate for hours about why I lived here and would fantasize about other places that sounded so much more appealing...you could lather on tanning oil, wear sunglasses on a daily basis and complain when it hit below 60.

But dogs have a way of slapping you back into reality. They were obviously not bothered by this weather, so why should I be? I am here, with them and that is a blessing in itself. I liked this simpler way of thinking.

So for now on, I am going to approach dejected winter days with a kinder heart. I will drop the melancholy attitude and appreciate what is beautiful about winter. I will drive with a shred of sanity and ignore other drivers. That will be my creed.

But for the time being that will have to wait...until I get back from my Caribbean vacation, because even dogs need some time in the sun once in awhile.

Ti parli dog?

I speak a different language. I get scoffed at by strangers and am judged by passerbys. I know what it feels like to be looked at differently by ignorant English-speakers.

My ex-boyfriend spoke Swiss German and at first sound, I didn't like it. It sounded like everyone had a giant piece of phlegm permanently stuck in their throats. When languages were created, who on earth thought that "eigentlich" sounded good? I don't exactly think English is the prettiest of languages but Swiss German was way worse.

After months of dating him, though, I began to hear words that were more pleasing to the ear. I loved "wilkommen" or "unter". I felt a false air of sophistication when I said them. Maybe I could even trick native Swiss speakers into thinking that I was recently initiated into their elite culture...Not so much, all the Swiss saw right through me. To them, I was just another one trying to imitate their sacred language and invade their country.

So after all was said, I found that Swiss German was actually quite elegant. My stupid American ignorance got in the way to see the beauty of the language.

Now, as karma has it, I am feeling the way that so many foreigners must feel once they arrive in our country. Not welcome nor accepted.

In my language, each one of my words is laced with emotion and vigor. No word is said without a change in pitch or without fervor. My friends hang on my every vowel pronunciation or consonant stress. See, I personalize my language for each of my friends.

Some are called "princess" others "buddy." Each day when I walk outside, the cacophony of the city melts away when I am deep in conversation with my friends. I have six straight hours of peace. In my language, no one is criticized, judged or belittled. Everyone is put on a pedestal and loved unconditionally. All of my praise is reciprocated by kisses, hugs and tail wags.

So I may be judged by strangers, but I can guarantee that I happier than most. Once you enter my secret language society, there is no going back. You will find the time to think outside of the city chaos, time to breathe, time to listen to what your dog is telling you. Is he pulling on the leash and jumping from left to right on the sidewalk? Slow down and relax your heart before you take him on a walk. Is he crying when you leave? Calm yourself and ease your anxiety. Your dog is only anxious if you are.

When you genuinely speak to your dog, he will give you some valuable advice. Take time out to love and you will be loved. Take time out to be quiet and you will receive serenity.

These are all secrets I have learned from my dogs and that is why I think the English language should be intertwined with dog. This post may come off as preachy but I can assure you I am not preaching. I am simply encouraging you to speak dog for awhile and see what happens.

Guest Post - My Best Friend Forever

When Lauren first told me about her blog, I wasn’t surprised to say the least. One of the reasons our friends are as close as we are, is because we all have a slightly obsessive love for dogs and don’t think there is anything wrong with it. Once our friend Faith, in an attempt to describe me to her boss (who I was about meet on a business trip he was taking in Madrid where I currently live), compared me to a chocolate lab. Her co-workers thought it was the strangest comparison ever; I thought it was the best compliment I had ever received.


My chocolate lab Cali reminds me how great it is to have a dog every day. Though she has a love for eating my socks for attention and likes to disobey my authority in front of strangers, it is hard to stay mad at her. While I was home for the holidays this year visiting Cali, ahem I mean my family, she was so excited to see me that she followed me everywhere I went and asked me to play catch at least 20 times a day. But towards the end of my trip I knew I had to tell her that I was leaving again to go back and finish my last semester of grad school in Madrid. I put it off as long as I could until finally, with about an hour to go before I had to catch my flight and with all my bags packed and by the door, I told her I was leaving. As I turned my back for 30 seconds to talk to my mom, we both heard Cali eating something and knew she had gotten into one of my bags. Of all the bags I had by the door (yes, I know, after years of traveling and moving I still haven’t learned to take my dad’s advice and pack light), she chose my purse. And of all the crap I had in my purse, what did she choose to tear up? My plane tickets. Of course. My first instinct was to yell at her and try to get her to spit them out before she completely ripped them to shreds. But when my dad heard the yelling and came upstairs to see what she had done, he said to me, “She knows you’re leaving and didn’t want you to go.”


So say what you will about dog lovers and their sometimes overly obsessive ways, but I am proud to say Cali is my BFF.