Ask the Dog

When I introduced Pi to flyball, he learned the box turn in about 30 minutes. In spite of his young age and chubbiness,  flyball seemed to be inborn, and  he got it really quickly. Then he started to play his own game by playing “chicken” with the incoming dog.  He became the anchor dog while I broke him of this inclination. Eventually he became the ready, steady lead dog.

Last June, he injured a toe and in spite of everything I and his medical team had done, it did not heal properly. When he finally sat down and refused to run in the middle of a tournament, I knew that he must be in pain.  I carried him away to the crating area to check him over.

Our dogs like their routine and count on the leader to tell them when it’s time to gear up. Without him in front, well,…… let’s just say it was not the team’s best performance.  I reworked the teams for the second day of competition and we carried on without him. We did the best we could, and he was missed.

Pi is a quirky, and sometimes, flat out grumpy, dog who likes to complain at me when things are not exactly to his liking. Caring for him following a painful toe amputation was UN-fun. He was determined to be difficult every step of the way. Ten days later sutures were removed and he was off to rehab to rebuild the left rear leg which had suffered significant atrophy.  A month after surgery I signed him up for one day of a tournament aware that he may not be fit to complete the entire day. He ran a few races on day one as a fill in for another club and looked pretty good. On day two, he managed to the lead X-Fidos for about half of the races. He was happy and excited to be back in the ring.  He continues to improve, and we are hopeful that he will back in the ring full time for a few more years.

As he starts his 10^th racing season, it’s evident that we are not getting any younger. I am reminded that in the grand scheme of things, human lives are short and that dog lives are painfully minute. We have no clue how much time we have, so we pretend that we have forever because thinking about it too much would make us insane. As we pause to give thanks for those people and pets in our lives that make life worth it, take a moment to reflect on what is most valuable in that grand scheme. Is it the win or those who celebrate with you? Is it the score or the journey? Is it the game or the community it creates? In the fray of existence, it's easy to lose sight of the answers.   In those moments, I only need ask my dog. 

Happy Thanksgiving.  

lw

Pi and I thank his medical team and our friends and team mates who have supported his recovery.

Things We Can't Control

Where I work out. Library across the street.

 Usually, I don’t pay much attention to the people at the gym. I just do my thing and leave.  I joined this gym because it’s near my house, I needed a place to rehab my broken knee, it was significantly cheaper than other places, and they had what I needed.  I liked it because there were all kinds of people using this place, and it was easy enough to go unnoticed. Today, I was chugging along on the elliptical wearing head phones when I noticed something. 

I saw an African-American gentleman having a conversation with three teen-age boys.  He was probably their coach as he seemed to have a specific agenda for the group. What they were doing was not what I noticed, and I could not hear what they were saying. Who they were caught my attention.  The three teens, one slender Caucasian, one muscular Latino (or possibly Native Americana), and one very tall African-American looked to this older guy for some workout guidance. They all appeared to be respectful of each other and the facility. I finished my workout, and on my way out I dodged an Asian-American mom coaching a fussy toddler in swimwear through the door.

For a minute, I noticed the community around me. While Hillsboro, certainly has its issues, I was pleased to notice that group of young men and to be part of a diverse community. I was glad to be funneling my dollars to a place where all are welcome.

 I have seen the pictures from Houston of so many people in shelters waiting for the water to go down.  They are many races, religions, orientations, genders, ages, occupations, incomes. Whatever I am (white, female, middle-aged, slightly looney veterinary technician), I would find someone like me in those shelters.  They are every man/woman. You would find someone like you there, too. I hope for their sake, they can all feel each other’s pain and get along.  My hope is that  racism will some day sleep for good, and humanity will realize that of all the things you can control,  where and how you are born is not one of them. (oh! and weather........can't control that either.) 

Peace!

lw

Pants Problem

pantogression

 Henry experiences pantogression. 

[pah nt \oh \grey\ shuh n] | n. 

the condition of having only two types of pants, those that won’t stay up and those one can’t get up

   

   lw

Know Your Giant

The Giant is Loaded and Ready to Go! 

I rewarded myself with a “new to me” bike when my knee was well enough to get back on the trail.  I found it totally by accident in the non-profit community bike shop. I went in to get an air pump, and there she was, calling my name, a red Giant hard tail mountain bike with disc brakes.  I tried her out. If a Vulcan mind meld was possible with a bike, I would have said that I was having one with this Giant.  I knew it was a screaming deal for a bike that I could probably never afford to purchase new, and she was in great shape.

 I am still getting used to the way she handles and shifts gears. Saturday I took her out for spin. About a block away from my favorite coffee shop the left pedal came loose and fell off. Turns out you really can’t ride a one pedaled bike. Trust me, I tried and then, I pushed it home.

I was puzzled about how to repair it at first. I am not so great with tools and usually end up breaking something or hurting myself. I combed through the mess in the garage trying to find the thing that would fix it.  I finally figured out the that I could remove a deceptive plastic cap over the offending nut, and after many tries to find the right socket wrench, alas, she was repaired.

To check the repair, I took her out for a short trail ride. The narrow, gravel trail at Foothills Park in Beaverton is not difficult or particularly long.  I reached an uphill stretch and failed to shift gears fast enough to maintain my speed, had to push about 10-15 yards.  Determined to get the timing down once I completed the loop, I decided to try it again since it wasn’t that long of a ride. This time I got the timing down and remembered which shifter did what and got up the hill without getting off the bike.

There is always something in my world that feels like a giant.  Sometimes, it’s not that the problem is so big, but that I perceive myself to be small. I have to talk myself into being as big as the problem, and constantly remind myself that there is nothing wrong with shifting gears or getting off to push while I find the right tools to remedy the situation. I try again, as there is no shame in a second ride with new knowledge on board.  

People talk about “slaying the giants” in their lives. There is value in knowing your giants before you take them on.  Spend some time considering how they operate, what worth they have in your life, and how they are best managed.  Should this giant be slain, managed, or embraced?  To find the answer, you must first know the giant well.  

Peace! lw 

Healing Words

I don’t consider myself to be an outstanding apologizer. I suppose I am better at it than I was 20 years ago. I have had more opportunities to practice. 

In her book, Why won’t You Apologize?, author Harriet Lerner gives the low down on apologies, both the fake and the real.  The fake ones usually sound good at first (at least in our own heads.) When stripped down to their bones they are an act of simple redirection. A way to blame someone else for a shortfall and make it sound like you’re sorry about that “thing” that happened. Sometimes people fake it for the sake of looking good, or just to smooth things over so we can “move on.”

Then there are the real ones. According to Dr. Lerner, a real apology requires one to drop the guard, to choose vulnerability, to hold oneself accountable for that “thing.“  A real apology is a big risk since there is no guarantee that the apology, no matter how real, will be accepted.  Our human nature tells us that rejection sucks and to avoid it. So we withhold at all costs.

Seven years ago I had a disagreement with a close friend. My “apologies” were not well received.  While I was sorry about the disagreement, I was also determined that I was right.  We barely spoke for years. Five years passed before I finally understood what being “right” had cost me.  The real tragedy revealed its ugly head, and when I got that, I could truly apologize while knowing that I would probably be rejected. Fortunately, the apology was accepted, and I got my friend back.  The friendship is not the same as before.  A chunk of our lives is gone, and we can’t get it back.  We did our best to pick up where we left off, prepared to accept that on some things we won’t ever agree. 

It’s simple to say you’re sorry. Truly being sorry is the key to the authenticity that brings the healing. Easy? Not so much! Worth it? I guess it depends on what's important to you. If relationship and connection make your life worth living, well...... then you have your answer. 

Peace! lw

Peace in the Valley

"I look at all the people, and I love the ones I can, and I wonder if the dream will be or be turned into sand.

…. I think I saw a brand new light………and it says all men are brothers under the skin…………."

From the song  Peace in the Valley by Carole King

I met Oliver in my flyball world. My boys had run on his team a few times. He was a good, happy soul.  I never saw him get cross with anyone, human or canine. His countenance always chimed, “Life is grand. Give it all you got!”  

When he collapsed in the ring on Saturday morning many rushed to his aid.  His teammates, his family, even their competitors stopped what they were doing and worked together to save him. The event came to a standstill while everyone mobilized to see what should be done to save Oliver and support his family members and teammates.  In the end, Ollie could not be saved. We don’t know exactly why he died. We only know that his heart stopped, and, in spite of quick actions of the medical professionals who were there that day, it would not restart. The mourning was apparent to every human in the arena and even the dogs seemed to know that the air was a little different.

Like most communities, the flyball world is made of factions, each having its own philosophy, methodology, and personalities. What we have in common usually isn’t enough to ensure that we can all get along.  Teams divide all the time, driven by different definitions of success, changing needs, and/or somebody’s savage need to be “right” about  one thing or another.  

When Ollie went down, the factions dissolved. People stepped up with caring actions, and even emptied their pockets to help Oliver’s family pay the vet bill, knowing that what happened to them could happen to any of us. While each player grieved in his/her own way, thirty teams were united in tragedy. One of our own had fallen, and, for a moment, we were all the same.

Rest in peace, Ollie!  Go get your ball! 

Click on the video link to hear the song Peace in the Valley. I think this song describes our current world pretty well. 

Fictional Snare

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

I don’t usually read novels. I am stickler for the knowledge sown in the non-fiction section.   I don’t often read novels because a really, really, well written one will ensnare me between my insatiable desire for a known outcome and the disappointment experienced at the journey’s end. This trap is my residence today as I neglect the rest of my life to hurry toward the resolution of what is untrue and, oh, so entertaining. 

Peace! lw