Posted on by Lawren McConnell · 1 Comment

The Furkids

People can go on and on talking about their pets until they have kids, then they talk about their kids until the kids get booted out of the nest and the new pets come in and they go back to talking about nothing but what the dog said the other day.

I’ve seen this happen first hand.  Mom was “Mom” to Keeto Dan, her bishon until I came along.  Then it was all about me.   The tale was that Keeto didn’t like kids.  No, Keeto didn’t like me.  She only cared about my well being, I am sure, because Mom did.  Other than making sure I wasn’t kidnapped for Mom’s sake, she kept her distance, giving me dirty looks.  Sure, I was just a baby, but I remember her cold stares.  Those dark, beady eyes of contempt.  Makes sense.  I took her place on Mom’s lap.

We always had family pets when I was growing up, and my parents doted over all the favorites.  Cindy Chicken, Liz (my dog, the Vizsla), Betsy Wetsy Dog, Sarah Jane Watchcat (she could imitate Mom’s voice perfectly), Martha the Cat (she flew like a flying squirrel across rooms to latch onto you – that grabbed attention),  Rosita, and Pookie (Dad’s Choodle).   Pookie survived Parvo, rat poisoning as a puppy and broken ribs.  So, it was no surprise, that she was the last pet I grew up with to say adieu.   All of them were talked about much, but nothing to the degree of when I left the roost.

I was 23 when Pookie, gray and tired from cancer, left us.  My parents took some time to enjoy the empty house and the freedom to travel, but they couldn’t go long without adopting more furkids.   I found PJ (then named Chloe) while volunteering with the city’s Animal Welfare Program.  I hadn’t seen a dog look more like Benji.  She was so quiet and kind.  I adopted her for my parents, and my mom gave her to Dad for Valentine’s Day, then named her Plain Jane.  She took no time at all ripping the house apart, digesting as much as she could in as little time as possible.  Every phone call started with, “You’re not going to believe what  YOUR dog did today!!”  For being such a demure “plain” dog, she was making a statement about being left alone.  PJ this and PJ that.

I truly thought my parents had their hands full with Peej, as I call her.  I think she’s on collar #4,592 as we speak, but they decided no dog should be without a pack.  So here comes the baby, Osa.  Osa is an Aussie/Husky mix, and looks more like some furry alien hybrid than dog.  As a puppy, though, she looked like a cotton ball with legs, a baby polar bear, and because she growls in syllables, they named her “Bear”.  Osa.

The calls turned from what was destroyed in canine rampage to what the baby said in a matter of a few weeks.  I was right there, in the pre-kid furkid obsession with Sydney, Osa’s sister.  Sydney is an Aussie/Blue Healer mix but she and Osa share the same build and knack for conversation.  Osa says “I love you” and Sydney says “Shut up” so you can tell that Osa lives with a kinder (and now more subdued) older sister and Sydney lives with a big brother cat.

How much my parents and I discuss the pets compared to other topics (work, retirement, plans for the future, politics, investments, friends and family of the human sort) doesn’t surprise me.  Any pet owner will tell you that furkids demand 24-hour time and investment, responsibility and care.  Furkids also give you protection, love and they don’t talk back.  Oh wait, ours do.

Sydney's first day home
Sydney's first day home

 

Sydney (March 09)
Sydney (March 09)

 

Posted on by Lawren McConnell

The Fence

For about three days straight now, Sydney has stood at the door with no need of going outside other than to get out there.  She knows that by sitting by the door, staring at me, and cocking her head just ever so slightly to the left, she will get to go outside.  This is her signal.  Finally back on the yellow brick road to being potty trained, she is communicating with me.

Unfortunately, the pup has learned that this signal means outside period.  Not just for potty.  So what does Sydney do in our teeny tiny front yard?  She runs to the fence to look out.  Nothing really changes.  The neighbors are rarely playing in the streets, other dogs are snuggled in their warm homes, content to play and sleep inside.  As I see her run to the fence to look out, I realize that she is more like me than I thought.  I’m constantly running to my fence just to try to look outside.

I have been working in the same job and I have lived in the same home for over three years.  Nothing has changed for me.  Thoughts of traveling, going back to school, carving the life I would most enjoy have gone in and out of my head in the past and now they’re stuck.

I, with everyone else, battled wanderlust as a teenager, but I also had wonderlust after entering college.  This curiosity propelled me to study abroad for a semester, a move that was hard, sometimes lonely, freezingly cold and incredible.  After four months I wanted home again.   Content in my warm comfy state, I finished school and started work.  Now, at 24, the wanderlust is back.  I feel time slipping away.

My fence is constructed out of past commitments, ties to my family and friends, financial restraints, the actual fence (we need to sell the home),  and a fear of loneliness caused by venturing out on my own again.

I know I must find out what lies on the other side.  I have to open that fence for myself, grab Sydney, and we’ll walk through.

Posted on by Lawren McConnell

Problem Child

Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out to have kids of my own. 

Sydney is just over 3 months old now.  That’s heading into the terrible two stages in dog years.  She is driving me insane. 

Sydney is starting to look less like a guinea pig and more like a dog, so I started taking her out for long jog/walks early in the morning.  One thing you must know about Sydney is that she experiences the world through her nose and mouth.  That involves sniffing, licking and gobbling everything in sight.  I at first worried that she might be relying on her other senses because she is partly blind, but no, she knows our route by heart now.  She can see every bend in the road.  She’s just a kid.

A typical morning with Sydney.  Yesterday I woke up, put her on the leash and we headed out of the townhome complex we call home and out into the further reaches of the neigborhood.  Along the way Sydney must dart out after every leaf that is caught by wind and *boing* she reaches the end of the leash pulling it taut and whipping her back.  This happens 15 times before we leave the complex.  Windy days leave my arm sore.  So, when we hit the sidewalk of a somewhat busy residential street, I hold her close to me, so that a wandering leaf won’t end up with Sydney under a tire.   Sydney understands that cars mean danger but all that goes out the window when there are things in the road to sniff.

Broken cereal bowl *boing.*  Banana peel *boing.*  Sydney loves to run, so when we hit the pavement running she is front of me, like some sort of miniature Alaskan sled dog, her ears pinned back galloping at full speed.  Dog smell – I run forward, she heads back makes a circle, I turn around and *thowp* she has hogtied herself. 

Finally making it to the park we walk around a bit.  I see in the distance an older man and his Dalmation.  The Dalmation is running and sniffing always watchful of his master.  The Dalmation has no leash and comes when called, no matter what there is to sniff or lick.  I look down at my kid, and turn red with embarassment.  Sydney  is like me, never pooping away from home, but this time she poops.  I have no bag.  She poops more than I think that Dalmation can then runs her leash through her deposit.  I hope the other dog owner did not witness Sydney’s defecation of city property.  Or the Dalmation for that matter, because he could probably relay the message to his master.  I take Sydney back to the sidewalk that will lead us home. 

On our last leg of the journey, Sydney spots a used tissue and immediately grabs it and starts to gobble it down.  I yell, trying to bring her close to me using the leash, but she is running in circles.  I finally grab her, pry open her jaw and get it out.  She gives me not the look of “I’m sorry that was bad” but “Not fair!  You are soooooo not fair!!”  I can’t imagine what the neigbors think of me.  Some kind of abusive pet owner or parent I imagine.  “Sydney, stop it!  Give it to me!!  Stop!!  Eeeewwww!  No!!!  Sydney!  Get over here!”

When we get home, it’s time to clean the house.  Can’t leave Sydney roaming about when I’m cleaning the floor, because she won’t let me.  Into the crate.  She watches as I grab the handheld vacuum, and sure enough as soon as I turn it on she howls.  Loud howls as if someone is murdering her.  I can’t stand the noise anymore, so I let her out and vacuum her, which is what she wanted.   She starts to play with Dublin, the cat, then I hear *bleck.*  She vomits all over the previously clean floor.  I grab a paper towel before she eats two-thirds of it and see that it is mostly hair and fuzz.  Obviously disgusted by the incident, Dublin heads to the corner and coughs up a nice gushy hairball.  I was able to grab another paper towel before Sydney ate most of that, too.

Thus ends my typical morning.  It was about 10am.

Posted on by Lawren McConnell

Excursion to Another Planet

Yesterday Boyfriend and I ventured out to visit my parents.  This trip was more a play date for the puppies as anything else, as my parents adopted Sydney’s sister, Osa.  Desperate to socialize with other pups, we decided to make the drive for Sydney’s mental health.  We stopped first at Petco, where I spent an exorbitant amount of money on dog supplies, as Sydney needs this and we need that.

Once down there,  Dad drove us out to a local canyon, a landscape that is a complete break from the llano.  Mom calls it “Star Trekky”  because it looks like all those old episodes where they land on other planets.  I had been there two times before, but Boyfriend had not, so we took a very quick trip.  The puppies had so much fun  running in the loose dirt.  The setting sun provided such a wonderful sight, as sun rays pierced the rocks.  We talked and joked and the pups growled and yipped and slept.  We hurried home to make homemade dog biscuits (well, from a mix), and to give the pups a bath.  With our little wet bundle of fur in tow, we headed home so Boyfriend could go to work, and I could go grocery shopping.  Back to the home planet.

Rock formations
Rock formations
Osa takes the window seat
Osa takes the window seat
Posted on by Lawren McConnell · 1 Comment

Sydney Rosita Callie Romero

I adopted a new puppy.  Eight weeks old.  Possible Australian Shepherd/Blue Healer mix.  She came from a friend and colleague of my mother’s.  We both hail from the same small farming community.  She is named Sydney because of her prominent breed, Rosita as a triubute to our late Blue/Red Healer mix, and Callie as a tribute to Boyfriend’s late dog of the same mix.  She bears my surname.

She is a baby that acts like one.  She chews and makes grunting noises even in her sleep.  Dublin was not happy.  After two full days of the pup, he is starting to make progress, even approaching her for a sniff once in a while.  I look forward to the time when her legs are a bit longer and we can go on walks together.  A time when she no longer needs puppy pads or our constant attention during her waking hours.  Right now her personality has yet to be formed.

I thought bringing her home was one of the most stupid things I had ever done.  Right now, I’m on the fence, but she stays with me to prove me wrong.

s6300462_0014_014

Posted on by Lawren McConnell

Walkin’ and Talkin’

Last Saturday I walked the 2.2 miles of the State Fair Parade route with the JDRF float.  The experience proved not only to be an opportunity to sunburn, but also a reminder of how important this organization is.

The tag line, or mission of JDRF is ingrained in my subconscious and it will flow from my mouth when prompted.  “What is JDR..em..what do you do?”

“Well, the mission of the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation is to find a cure for diabetes through the funding (or support) of diabetes research and research-related education.”  Then I can get into, “Over 80% of all JDRF expenditures go directly to research…” or another line repeated over and over and over on the phone and in person.  But nothing strikes like the phrase, “Find a cure for diabetes!” yelled from the father of kids living with the disease.

We were sweaty, developing sunburns, and yet, excited.  Not about the sunburns, mind you, but about the chance to just say, “FIND A CURE!”  For the love of Christ, do something!  These families should not have to live with this, not when a cure is out there, and we are closer than ever.  That was portrayed in their voices.

Last Tuesday brought the Team Captain Kickoff Luncheon for the Walk to Cure Diabetes.  We scrambled to prepare the room, and I passed on the stress of the event to my volunteers, as usual.  We need to do this, we need to do that.  Working an event means you don’t attend the event.  Always thinking about the next step, means constantly moving boxes, answering questions, checking on registration, and taking care of any other logistical task that pops up.  In the one moment in which the entire room was settled, our Family Walk Team speaker took the stage.  She didn’t talk about raising money – how easy and fun it is and how to get started.  She talked about when her children were diagnosed.  She talked about the stress, the emotion, the uncertainty and fear of those moments.  Her voice cracked in recollection, then she talked about the stress, the emotion, the uncertainty and the fear that every day brings.  The anxiousness that accompanies every phone call, the fatigue that every early morning blood sugar check brings and the hope of a cure.  Knowing her and her family, my heart fell into my stomach.  I looked around the room, and attendees were moved to tears.

So that is what we did in the last few days.  Well, we did many things, all those tasks that add up to large events, but the main thing we did, staff and volunteers, was walk and talk.  From our end, that is all we can do.  This time of the year we mostly talk about walking!

Please, find a cure.

Posted on by Lawren McConnell · 2 Comments

I Just Wanted a Soda

I thank my dependency on carbonated diet drinks for my safety last Sunday.  Just seconds out of the car, into the gas station (Allsup’s) and standing in front of the cold drinks…boom.  Seizure.

I should have known better.  I was tired, really sleepy.  I also couldn’t form sentences correctly.  I was misfiring.  After my father lifted me up, out of the store, back into the passenger seat of the car, I came to.  I didn’t know where I was, why Mom was driving, why the dog was with my parents, and I surely did NOT have another one.  No, not another one.  I was doing so good!  I was fine!  The medication was the right amount!  The hormone replacement was not interfering because I wasn’t going on and off. 

The worst part of epilepsy is the helplessness.  I can’t stop a seizure, and my little ques of an oncoming tonic clonic are usually only noticed in hind sight because they change or are very minor.  My loved ones look so angry…so angry.  I slept!  I did!  I took my Tegretol, I did!  I feel they hate me for this.  I just hate this.

I count my blessings.  God has protected me thus far.   Why I have epilepsy, I don’t know.  Somewhere in the genes of my father’s side it laid, waiting for the girls.  I have a different hypothesis:  we’re just too intelligent.  Our brains can’t handle it.  It’s overload.