My week of nothing good

There are certain procedures that are categorized as "elective surgeries." By elective, I mean totally sadistic, wholly unnecessary and completely miserable. This is exactly what "elective" means when qualified by the word "surgery."

When thinking about a change of profession, you typically go through a check list in your head as to the difference in salary, location and hours. You don't usually think about how your allergies will be with your new job. So when I decided to create a company called, "Dogs Deserve It", I failed to keep in mind that I was painfully allergic to my future clients.

When confronted by a dog that sheds, my eyes swell up, I immediately loose my sense of smell and my chest usually starts itching. This has never stopped my dog obsession, though. I have learned how to deal with it and to my boyfriend's chagrin, mastered the art of nasal irrigation. It's not pretty but it works.

I have always debated on getting sinus surgery so that I can live a more pain-free dog loving life. But I've always come up with a million reasons why it wasn't the right time.

However, after my third sinus infection of 2010, I was ready to take on the beast. When I went in to meet with my surgeon, he made the recovery sound like a week laced with lollipops and gumballs. He reassured me that the post-surgery pain killers would make the experience very tolerable and dare I say it - pleasant.

I could envision it now...four days of blissful sleep, mounds of fashion mags to read at my leisure and continuous HGTV.

It turns out that my surgeon was a liar. Not only was he lying about the recovery, but he was vastly toning down the extent of my procedure.

My pain was not numbed by pills. In fact, I threw them all up sooner than I could swallow them. My face was so swollen that it looked as though I bathed in dog dander for two straight days. What was worse, was that my boyfriend was going to see me in one day.

There was no makeup you could put on to cover up the fact that you basically looked like you just got a very expensive nose beating. I was in too much pain to cry and all of the nasal splints were damaging my ability to ever produce a semi-female sounding voice. Right now I sounded like a bad version of Barry White.

My dad upon seeing me, called me Rudolph and Cyclops. Leave it up to a man to make such astute observations.

Two days into recovery and I was hopeless. I wanted to rip my nose off my face and simultaneously go on a 25-mile run. The only thing that kept me going were my dogs. I can't even put into words exactly what it meant to have a constant companion by my side. Aside from giving my face a few weird looks, they were non-judgmental. My dogs were my normalcy and peace that I longed for.

Milo would lay on me all day, only getting up to go outside and play with his brother. I spent the next few days in suffering but I passed the time how I usually do, hanging out with dogs. I never got down a pain killer, but being around dogs definitely made my mind drift away from the pain.

Now that my face is unswollen and I can breathe again, my boyfriend asked me if I would do it all over again. It's easy to say never again but as I walk into a client's home that houses a golden retriever, I smile and think that I can hang out in here for awhile and roll around in dog hair without looking like cyclops.

Country

I was never meant to live in the country. When I grew up, I dreamt of city lights and bustling passerbys. The only passerbys I witnessed in the country were either cows or deer. This just didn't do it for me.

I think I knew I would move to a city when I was ten. My mom used to ask me where I wanted to live when I got older and I would describe a penthouse on Michigan Avenue.

Obviously, I was a savvy kid. I knew what I wanted and it was not being 2 miles away from any type of civilization.

For a good 15 years though, I think my parents were in denial. They thought as I matured and the years passed, I would eventually end up back in Wisconsin...my heart yearning for the serenity and goodness that the state provides.

Instead, I ended up becoming more immersed in the city vision. Maybe it's the whole Sex and the City persona you adopt in college when watching entirely way too many episodes and dreaming about independence. Whatever it was, I knew I was destined for urban life.

In my dream city now, I take solace in the chaos. I would hands down rather be lulled by the sound of speeding cars than pestering, chirping birds. In fact, when I go back to Wisconsin I bring ear plugs specifically for the purpose of drowning out this doldrum.

I really wonder, though, if a city is the best environment you can raise your dog in. I always notice that my dog seems a million times happier when he is in Wisconsin. He is at home with the 500 species that live right outside his front door and takes comfort in being able to kick up actual grass rather than stones.

Have you ever thought that maybe your dog is talking to other animals outside? I've seen those You Tube episodes where dogs become best friends with birds or even stranger, 500 pound bears. Maybe it's because they all have some universal carnal language. Whatever the case, they bond and seem entirely way too happy to be coexisting together.

When my parent's dog comes to the city, he goes into shock. I am always tempted to go knock on my neighbors door and tell them not to judge me. It is guaranteed that he will bark at everyone he trots by, will lunge as he gets out of the elevator, ready to take on the thin air, and howl as he walks outside - a warning signal to anything non-animal approaching.

He is never happy about coming to the city. The various things I love like the gated in parks and people filling the streets, do not amuse or liken him to Chicago. After the first hour here, he usually goes into fits of anxiety and exhausts himself.

So was Milo right? Was it unnatural to have dogs in the city? I guess it may not be the best place where a dog reflects on his primitive nature, but it is certainly filled with a million dog lovers. You can shop with your dog, eat with your dog, go to do playgrounds and bring your dog to work. In my world, this seems like some pretty cool doggy opportunities. So maybe it's wise to let your dog have the best of both worlds. He now can hang out in his city apartment or travel to his country home. Not too bad of a life for a dog.

What to choose

Each morning when I wake up I decide what to pack for lunch. Should I have an everything bagel with veggie cream cheese? Or what about a delicious Genoa salami sandwich? If I don't prepare myself for this choice, I usually stand in front of my refridgerator for a good 20 minutes staring aimlessly. Then I finally make my decision - painfully. Salami sandwich it is.

But for the rest of the day I am dreaming of a veggie bagel, ugh.

I am deluged by options. I wish that someone could reach inside my brain, analyze all choices and relegate for me. The craziest part is that people seem content with a million stimuli and options.

I once asked a waiter for my hamburger to be done "medium OK" because I couldn't make a decision between it being done medium or medium well. Without even looking up from his pad, he smiled and sad he would put the order right in. No strange looks or questions. I think people are now hardwired to think that this is normal.

This past weekend, my boyfriend's mom told me that whenever he comes home, it's never just them hanging out. It's mom, Mark and his Apple. Why just pain yourself paying attention to your mother when you can pay attention to your mom, surf sports on your BlackBerry and read the news on your computer, all at once!

I'm not saying I don't this, because I most certainly do. But I sometimes wish I lived in the dog world where things were much simpler.

Wake up and your choice for breakfast is????? Dog food. The same dog food you've eaten for the past 7 years of your life.

What to drink? H2O. What to do all day? Sleep and smell.

I love getting psyched up to take my dog on field trips. I think it is part of my job as a pet owner to provide him with weekly adventures. Our most recent excursion was chuck-it in the park, then a walk to the nursery and then to Wiggley Field. After all this excitement, I was expecting him to come home and jump on my lap in praise.

Not so much. Instead of cloaking me in thanks, he went to the bathroom to lay down on the cold tile.

Trying not to be offended, I realized that all of these doggy pleasures don't mean much to him. He's content being home relaxing with his favorite person - muah.

Recently, I've been trying to conduct weekly experiments. I come home, try not to sprint to my tv or Ipod, or run to grab my laptop. Instead I make a cup of tea, meditate and look around my house thinking of new decorating ideas. I try to take one task at a time, not being bogged down by too many options or forms of technology to distract me.

But one thing I will still continue to take pleasure in is watching Animal Planet while petting my dog and dreaming about a new puppy. Why have one dog, when there are a million more out there to meet!

The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Once upon a time there lived a dog named Harley. Harley resided at a lovely cobblestone home on a wooded court. To the outsider, Harley resembled a show dog. His features were perfectly appointed and his coat was always milky white and soft. But to the insider, we knew better.

Harley had more lives than I can count on one hand. I have witnessed him jump out of the window in a car exceeding 50 miles per hour, eat freshly fertilized grass and burn off all his paws on a freshly tarred road. Yet, like a keen, embattled soldier, this dog survived. Not only did he survive, he flourished. He lived each day like it was his last and set out each morning on a new destructive mission.

My family got Harley when I was 10 years old. We picked him up at the Wisconsin state line where he was curled up in his bed in an angelic ball. Carefully transporting him into our car, Harley greeted my sister by peeing on her 20 minutes into the ride back home. I guess this was his warning sign to us. This was only the beginning...first my sister's pants and then the whole house. Pure annihilation.

When my parents were researching what dog to get, they thought the Bichon seemed like a reasonable choice. Hypo-allergenic, fluffy, small and sweet.

Either they switched Harley at birth or he was abducted by aliens at some point, because this was not the dog that fit the aforementioned description.

Harley spent 17 joyous years giving my poor father absolute hell. First his dog, then his daughters. My dad just couldn't win.

Everyday a different neighbor would call and tell us that they either found Harley cleaning out their grease pan or dumpster diving in their garage. Harley would go house to house like a traveling garbage collector, taking in his favorite pork and beans and bacon at his leisure.

Harley had even traveled miles when he smelled a giant barbecue going on in a neighboring subdivision. This is not a joke...this dog could literally sniff out a grill in the next county.

Many of my friends have been witness to Harley's antics. When my good friend Patty came to visit me, Harley was in a full body cast from his paw-burning, raw food eating, spastic car jumping episodes. On top of that, the only visible part on him was his eyes which were completely swelled shut from allergies.

The natural response would be to pity him. But to know him is definitely not to pity him. He loved his life. He lived on the edge. I grew up loving and idolizing him despite his craziness.

This "Harley experience" has made me a much wiser dog lover. People go into shelters or others homes expecting dogs to behave much like their model citizen owners. But the truth is that no dog is perfect. In fact, most are as far from perfection as you can get. Sometimes it does have to do with their upbringing or training, but for the most part dogs are just quirky. Some have anxiety, some are mischevious and others are paranoid. And if you're really lucky, they're all three combined.

My family and I laugh now thinking of Harley and revisit stories that never cease to amaze us. Although my dad smiles when he talks about chasing Harley done Golf Hills Drive, I can still remember the grimace and teeth clenching that went on that day and many others. But when he left this world, I can't remember a day my parents were any sadder.

So if your dog is driving you insane, take solace in the fact that you probably couldn't have had a more trying dog than Harley. Laugh at their craziness and appreciate every moment with them because even 17 years wasn't enough.

Prevention

If you look in my medicine cabinet, you will find the following: Epicuren anti-oxidant serum, Epicuren moisturizing/age reversal lotion, Fructis eye wrinkle prevention, Prevage anti-aging serum.

OK, so there may be a slight obsession with aging. Yes, from a physical perspective I would rather not look like a leather handbag when I get older. My college friends used to tease me that I would turn out like Magda from Something About Mary. That is enough to scare a girl into spending half her salary on anti-aging serums.

Each time I visit my parents at home, I notice a new line on their faces. Did that line come from their frequent facial gestures? A chronic angst? Habit? Or by enduring 28 years with me?

Whatever the cause, I wanted to take my hand and smooth them away. I wished my fingertips were laced with a miracle potion that could transform them back into the vision I had of them when I was 2. Their skin looked dewy and luminous, still waiting to battle life's stresses.

My mother's skin always smelled fresh and her hands always silky. Now they are more weathered and dry. Her face still beautiful, but slowly being sapped from age.

But my obsession with getting old isn't really just about getting wrinkles. Being elderly scares me.

I do not want my parents to need my help with life's basic functions. Something about this seems demoralizing and humiliating. Parents are fixtures of strength.

In reality, I have only one necessity in life and that is my parents. Not having them is incomprehensible. Evidently, I am not one of those people that can approach aging with keen wisdom and calm reassurance. I panic.

So, when I realized it was my dog's 8th birthday coming up instead of celebrating it with doggy ice cream and treats, I chose to ignore it.

It seems that a dog is a puppy and then the next blinking moment, he is rocketed to old age. This is not fair. Not fair to him and not fair to me.

But I had to make a choice. I could look at him and analyze his graying hair or sagging stomach or continue to see him from puppy eyes.

I guess the innocence associated with children and puppies is the best way to approach life. You appreciate your parents, your elders, your dogs regardless of age. You aren't reminded that with each passing day we get older.

So although my bevy of anti-aging lotions may not help me reverse time, I think I'm becoming OK with time passing. And for now, I think I may just bring home some snausages home for my buddy's 8th birthday.

We Need To Talk

Lauren - "Dad, can I talk to you?"

Dad - "Sure, Lauren. What's on your mind?"

Lauren - "Well, I've been thinking about a career change."

Dad - "OK, what arena were you thinking about moving into? Would you work for a politician or go into mediation like we were talking about?"

Lauren - "Ummm, not exactly. I was thinking of opening my own business."

Dad - "That's great. I think opening up a consultancy would be good for you. You could take some clients with you, right?"

Lauren - "Well, that's not exactly the type of business I wanted to open."

Dad - "What then? PR, legal?

Lauren - "I want to open up my own dog walking business."

Dad - "Have you lost your mind??"

Lauren - "Yea, I think I just may have..."


This conversation was followed by similar, futile dialogues and months of anxiety ridden days. There where weeks where I would avoid phone calls from my father. I had let him down. A bright, promising career in strategic communications and I decided to leave all of that to become a glorified pooper scooper.

My whole life, I had a fear of disappointing my parents. I was no stranger to grounding and the agonizing "we're disappointed in your actions" talk. I tried to get away with the usual teenage mischief but for some reason I always failed miserably at not getting caught. Some ridiculous mishap would end up doing me in.

My hippie wannabe years didn't impress my parents too much either. They couldn't figure out why I chose not to shower and wanted to make my own clothing. Luckily, I saw a young couple with two babies selling grilled cheese at a Phish show trying to get enough money to go to their next show. Instantaneously, I realized that being a hippie was no longer a desirable future career path. That night I quickly put a comb through my hair and took a scalding 30-minute shower. No more nomad for me.

I have to admit, though, I doubted myself for a long time. Was I going to be a failure with this company just like I failed at being a hippie? On the eve of my 5-year college reunion, would I have to tell people that I was "in transition" or "trying to find myself"? No...I had too much pride for that. If anything, I would work until my business thrived just so I could avoid this inconvenient question and response.

It's always difficult to go into something blind. No matter how you say it, I really had no idea what I was doing when I started my own business. I spent endless hours on the phone with abysmal bureaucratic state agencies. Who knew it took more than 6 departments to form an LLC! After navigating this labyrinth, I begun the legal, insurance and painful tax process.

I soon realized that the saying "money begets money" should be a warning tattooed on all new entrepreneur initiation packets.

Debt has a way of instilling the fear of death in you. If I was not successful, I would be broke. Or even worse, I would have to go back to a desk job.

For the next 6 months while forming my company, Debt lingered over my head. New insurance? Hello Debt. Cool web site? My good friend Debt became attached to my hip. I couldn't get rid of him now.

I became aware that the only way my buddy Debt would disappear was if I abandoned all online shopping and started busting my butt getting clients. I have to say that getting the clients was far more enjoyable then quitting the shopping.

I still might not be rich, but I can proudly say that I am not a failure. I get questions from people all the time, "How did you do it? You just quit your job and decided to start this? You didn't have another job as a safety net?"

My answer always is, "No." No safety nets or promises. Just a whole lot of fear and hope. I never thought I would be here. Maybe it's not as prestigious as a PR consultancy, but I own my OWN pet care business and I'm proud of it.

Album of the Year

Rewind seven years ago and you'll see me in the height of my college days. My aspirations before politics and dogs all were syphoned down to one thing - music. I was convinced that I was meant for a career in music.

Signal my ridiculous 1-year guitar class and worthless purchase of a guitar. After 6 months, it became painfully obvious that I was not destined for a life of guitar strumming and rock n' roll. My guitar teacher at the time let me down softly saying, "Kid, this just may not be your thing. You ever think of the piano?"

Enter my radio DJ career. OK, this is laughable. I had the genius idea of starting to work on our college radio station working as a DJ on a show I liked to call "Acid Jazz." I am seriously embarrassed to write that. After I found out that the radio station reached about 75 people a day, I quickly became bored talking to myself on air. I used to do shoot outs to friends in neighboring dorms but when I asked them if they heard me, there was always an awkward silence followed by a change of subject. So, OK, maybe I wasn't meant to be DJ Jazzy Lauren but I was still convinced that music was where I had to be.

Last ditch effort and definitely my most genius, create a UD Concert Board! Our musical scene on campus was bleak at best. So I did my research and created a concert board that would trump everything we had at UD (not that that would be too hard to do since the only music was my DJ spinning and the on-campus band Ducksauce - enough said). The first day back to school my eyes shone. They were filled with promise and hope. Maybe I had found my musical career after all! I set about bringing people on staff but the board fizzled out as my recruiting efforts were focused on attractive single guys instead of experience, ugh.

After exhausting all my options, I was depressed. What was I supposed to do if I couldn't live a life of rock n' roll? One year later my friend Aaron introduced me to The Good Life's "Album of the Year." For a week straight, I spent every attainable hour crying at the beauty of the music, scrupulously over analyzing every word, every poetic lyric. I became the dreaded "emo" overnight. But more importantly, I realized that my greatest contribution to music could be just to admire, observe and adore it.

Now everyday I wake up and hum a song to myself, carefully selecting my life theme song for the day. It got me to thinking, though, that my song always changes tune when I am with each of my dogs. So I decided that I am going to share something very special with you - my doggy play list.

Dog #1 - "Respect": Aretha Franklin. This dog is a diva and I love it!!
Dog #2 - "Layla": Eric Clapton. She's such a doll..I'm sure the boy dogs would do anything for her:)
Dog #3 - "Purple Haze": Jimmy Hendrix. This guy is as crazy and awesome as this song is! No frills.
Dog #4 - "Three Little Birds": Bob Marley. Definitely the chillest dog I know. He lets everything roll off his back.
Dog #5 - "Can't Stand It": Wilco. Everything is melodrama with this guy.
Dog #6 - "I'm Every Woman": I wish I could have as much confidence as this girl! She struts her stuff when she walks.
Dog #7 - "Bad Boys": Inner Circle. Very naughty dog.
Dog #8 - "I Will Always Love You": Whitney Houston. For my favorite MAN in the world


Two things are absolutes in my life - music and dogs. And both make me feel pretty darn good.