It’s Be Kind to Animals Week! Did you know that? You may know the American Humane Association best as the group that oversees animal use during filming and bestows the “No Animals Were Harmed” disclaimer at the end of shows and movies, but they are very involved in advocacy for not only animals, but also children- society’s most vulnerable members. Anyway, they started this special week and it’s a lovely opportunity to step back and reflect on what we are doing right, and what we could be doing better.
I know the people who read here are a self-selecting group that is already very aware of animal welfare, so this might be preaching to the choir, but it never hurts to have an official mandate to make a conscious effort to do a kind thing. Here are 5 different ways you can celebrate this week (and every week!)
1. Teach an old dog a new trick.
Studies in mice have demonstrated that mental enrichment can actually slow down cognitive decline due to age, a finding that can have huge implications for pets as well as people. Animals whose brains are challenged, through interaction, puzzle feeders, and daily tasks may actually tolerate the aging process better than those who lay about all day with nothing to think about. So keep up that Sudoku, because it probably affects us too. Brains: use em or lose em.
2. Offer to give a presentation to a school or scout troop.
No group of humans is more receptive to a talk about animal welfare than a group of little kids. And that’s a good thing, because they’re the ones who are going to grow up and take over for us some day. From how to greet a strange dog to how to teach a cat to sit, the possibilities are endless. It doesn’t take much: we want to get them engaged, because then they care- and you would be amazed at how often kids are the ones who get a busy parent to take a dog to training or to the vet.
3. Do a shelter drive-by
I have yet to come across a shelter or rescue that said, “We’re good, thanks” when I pop my head in on the way to Petsmart and asked, “What are you low on?” It’s something small- that’s what makes it easy- a few bags of Milk-Bones, some towels, toys, that sort of thing- but it’s a habit now, and it’s easy. Best part is, my kids see me doing it and are now coming up with drives and fundraisers of their own. The indoctrination has begun!
4. Pick a wildlife or environmental issue to learn about
We suffer from over-insulation sometimes, oblivious to the big picture because it’s not something that is confronting us immediately and doesn’t have an impact on our day-to-day lives. I’m not asking you to get a PhD, or make a $10,000 donation- just pick something, and learn about it. Then report back to me, because I want to learn about it too, be it the impact of human encroachment on mountain lion habitats, the impact of overfishing, whatever floats your boat. I don’t know when being inquisitive about the world around us went out of fashion- maybe it’s just me getting crotchety with age- but I, for one, embrace being nerdy and wanting to learn, learn, learn.
5. Don’t be afraid to stand up for animals
I’ve gotten my share of eye rolls from people when I’ve waited by cars on hot days to make sure the owner came back before the car overheated. I’ve had pursed lips from parents when I, as politely as possible, told their child that the way they were handling an animal was inappropriate- and why. (P.S. I’ve also gotten really good at giving them the Mean Stranger head shake when their parents aren’t looking. Yes, I go there.) I have to conduct myself in a certain manner as a member of the veterinary profession, but I also have an obligation to advocate for those who can’t do it for themselves. And I do. Politely, of course.
Any good suggestions I’ve missed? How will you celebrate Be Kind to Animals Week?
I couldn’t figure out why every single babysitter on our list turned us down for Saturday , and then I realized- oh, it’s Cinco de Mayo, otherwise known as A Good Day for Tacos and Cervezas here in San Diego. No self respecting college kid would be at home.
In honor of the occasion, I’m going to whip up some Brody’s Surf Shack Fish Tacos, crack open a Dos Equiis, and oh yes, put a sombrero on the dog.
*cue music*
He walks himself…because no one can do it better.
Cats hate him because he has TEN lives.
“Best In Show” was named after him.
Poodles call HIM for grooming advice.
When Cesar Milan met him, Cesar rolled on his back and peed.
He’s the only Golden Retriever who actually retrieves gold.
When he pees on dead grass, it turns green.
His annual shots are Patrón, Bacardi 151, and Jack Daniels.
I’m not really a football fan. Let me say that from the start. I married a hardcore Chargers fan, so I tolerate it out of necessity, but it’s never been a game I had an attachment to.
But I was a Junior Seau fan.
I grew up in Oceanside, Junior’s hometown, and our little town couldn’t be more proud of his success. He would come to high school pep rallies. He took care of his family and friends and neighbors and was actively involved in philanthropy. You couldn’t find a single person willing to badmouth him. In short, he was a real sports role model, the kind so uncommon these days.
The news of his suicide came as a shock to me and to his many many fans. Even in his utter despair, it’s thought he chose to end his life with a bullet to the torso instead of to his head so others might be able to study the effects of his career and brain damage. Here, at his lowest moment, still thinking of others.
It’s so hard to really know someone by outward appearances, isn’t it? Money, beauty, success, talent, none of it guarantees happiness. Depression is a nasty, nasty beast that can take down anyone, and no amount of fame or fortune can guarantee one immunity.
I’ve seen so many people in practice struggling with depression; sometimes I know because they tell me, and sometimes I know just because I know, all too well. Online, a lot of people have shared with me how their pet has helped them through tremendously difficult times, and that, too, I understand very well. There have been many times I have been so grateful for the calming weight of a warm dog’s shoulder, a much needed anchor in a storm.
I’m sad that the demons were too many for this man to bear, a man who had done so much good in this world and yet could not escape whatever internal weight he struggled with. We may never know the cause, be it injury or illness or genetics or circumstances, nor does it matter to me. I feel for everyone and anyone who has gone through that kind of anguish. So I’m just putting this out there to the universe in case someone happens upon it who needs to see it: yes, other people are out there who understand, and I promise, we care.
Bye, Junior. I’m sorry you left us so soon. If you see a big red furball bounding around up there, say hi from me, OK?
I can’t exercise on a full stomach. I feel gross, unenergized, and dull as all my energy is taken up with trying to digest. But I also can’t go on nothing- I mean, I can, but it’s not the most high energy workout. I’ve spent a lot of time testing out different pre-exercise nutritional choices, from nothing, to just coffee, to smoothies and Power Bars and have finally hit upon the right combination. It has to be either the mango macadamia Honest Bar, or half a banana. Nothing else will do. And it has to be 30 minutes beforehand.
With dogs- especially large breed dogs- the question always comes up, “How should I time diet and exercise?”. The risk factors of bloat are well documented: conformation, with size and a deep chest being big risks; age, genetics, temperament, and diet. Of these, diet is really the only one we have much control over, but it’s a big one.
Brody summiting Climbers Loop trail
The incidence of bloat has increased 1500% in the past thirty years, according to an oft-referenced study out of Purdue, an incidence that also correlates to the increased use of dry kibble. Feeding one large meal a day is also a risk factor. But interestingly enough, the idea that exercise after a meal increases the risk of bloat is not correct. Most cases, as any ER vet will tell you, happen during the night.
If you want to decrease your risk of your dog bloating, you can do several things:
1. Get a small dog, or a dog whose relatives have no history of bloat.
2. Feed multiple small meals, including canned food. Do NOT use an elevated feeder.
3. Any dog with a history of bloat or who is considered high risk may talk to the vet about a gastropexy to prevent future occurences.
So armed with that knowledge, I have no problems giving Brody a morning meal before we hit the trail. Not a big one- he sometimes get carsick- but just enough to keep him energized, and another meal when we get home. I also take an assortment of training treats with me, but I’m still on the hunt for just the right easily packable, non-crumbly Doggie Power Bar to put in our pack.
I’m thinking of trying Zukes Power Bones, which I sampled at Global (you know me!) I just need to get to the local store that has them. I’m also looking up recipes on my own, but if you know of any good ones for a dog trail mix or power bar, send them my way! We’re due for another cooking segment anyway, yes?
For those who spend lots of active time out with the dogs, be it at agility or the park or hiking, what’s your favorite snack? For you or for your dog?
Once upon a midday dreary, home from working, weak and weary,
Staring with resentment at the “For Sale” sign perched near the door,
While I Facebooked, blogged and Tweeted, on the sofa, softly seated,
Suddenly I felt quite heated, heated staring at the floor.
“Tis an old juice box,” I muttered, “sitting crumpled on the floor-
Garbage there, it makes me sore.”
Ah, so clearly I recall that it was in the chill of fall,
And each separate messy creature wrought its carnage on the floor.
Eagerly I wished a buyer- in my heart there burned desire
To depart the marshy quagmire- husband’s work commute so poor.
Sell our home to some old man who will not mind these schools so poor.
Strapped school budgets, make me sore.
So we found a local guy, while claiming that his expert eye
Boldly- sold me with the thought of selling this unwanted house in four
Days or less, if we could merely rein in all the mess seen clearly
Keep this place pristine, sincerely perfect while it’s on the fore;
On the forefront of the MLS and then, yes, we will score;
Housekeeping, it makes me sore.
For a week my soul soared highly, thinking of a future brightly,
Far away from matchbox madness in a school where art’s taught more
But the fact is I was struggling with two kids and two dogs cuddling
All distraction so befuddling; ordered then to clean the floor.
“We’ve a showing in an hour!” I would yell, and be ignored;
Picking up, it makes me sore.
Days that stretched to weeks now looming, while I stood there darkly brooding,
Wound as tightly as a drum of doom that wasn’t there before.
Tidy for a week was easy, vacuuming twice daily breezy;
Wow, I thought, so easy peasy, why had I not done this more?
Such a clean and shiny house a pleasure, then, to show it more;
Thoughts of dirt, it makes me sore.
Now three offers all rejected, lowball buyers left dejected,
But not so low as I, for all that effort naught to show for tours
Endless footsteps of the masses, none were serious, all jackasses
Mostly neighbors full of crassness, snooping through my drawers and more;
All that effort keeping dog hair clean and swept up off the floor;
Dead inertia, makes me sore.
“Make your beds now!” I demanded, “Dirty dishes now remanded
To the court of no allowance if I spy one from the door!”
Clutter, shoes, and piles of dog bones, neatly stashed despite the loud groans
Making kids work over their moans, all to help us clear the floor;
Small familial price to pay to keep this place clean, nothing more.
Whining children, make me sore.
So to spy that juice box litter, tossed to earth with careless flitter
Filled me with a fury that my cleaning efforts were ignored.
How could children disrespect me, leaving juices circumspectly?
All my teachings, they reject me and my lessons as a bore.
“I had thought I raised you better than my pleadings to ignore!
Naughty children make me sore.”
But they disavowed all dark deeds, taking sides and making stark pleas,
Begging me to reconsider all my claims to add more chores.
“We did nothing! We aren’t guilty!” cherub faces claimed so sweetly,
“Listen here, we do entreaty!” pointing fingers towards the floor.
Towards the large and hairy creature dripping black fur on the floor.
“Unfair claims, they make us sore.”
“Oh, you’re clever,” I allowed, “Your sneakiness, it makes me proud,
Despite the fact that I should be more angry that you’re lying more.
But you must know that the truth is, dogs love food treats, not the juices,
How could Koa even do this, she can’t use a straw. Her four
And furry paws are ill-equipped to hold a juice box on the floor.
Subterfuge, it makes me sore.”
Then my youngest picked the box up, held to light- inspected, said “yup!
Have you looked more closely at the evidence upon the floor?
See the box? The many punctures? I would think that at this juncture
You should seek now new conjecture, looking now, Mom, to the floor.
To the sharp incisors of the hairy creature on the floor.
Being set up, makes me sore.”
Then methought the air grew less fine, perfumed by a nervous canine
Stung by steely glare that meant her crime was coming to the fore.
“Wretch,” I cried, “you tried to prank me- grabbing juices from the pantry
Then you fill the air so dankly, with your foul stench of gore.
Framing those who love you just so you could drink that juice some more,
Fooling me, it makes me sore.”
Then she rose, that dog so sticky, o’er to me, her mom so prickly
Tried to seek forgiveness for the mangled juice box on the floor.
Licking me with apple breath, wondering if I meant death
While I scrubbed the sticky mess, scrubbed the sticky from the floor.
Hoping no one then approached to come inside there on a tour.
No appointments make me sore.
And the Realtor, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pale and pasty concrete stoop outside my house front door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a tired man that’s dreaming
To an end to all the seething, but he knows he’s facing more .Will I ever have an end to messy children, dogs, and more?
Quoth the Realtor, “Nevermore.”
As you all know, I am a chimpanzee fan. I had planned my bucket list trip to see chimpanzees before this movie was ever announced; I’ve toyed with the idea of making primate medicine a career; I got emotional and weepy when I heard Jane Goodall speak for the first time. I don’t think I ever posted this snippet from October because it looks like a bad outtake from Blair Witch: Africa, but my eyes were THAT WIDE because it was seriously that cool.
So needless to say, I had high expectations for this Disney Nature film.
But not too high. I’m the first to admit I didn’t really enjoy African Cats. I thought it was terribly depressing. I mean, it is a documentary and you can’t control nature, so if all you get for years of filming is cat cubs getting eaten by hyenas and elderly lionesses abandoned by the pride to starve on the savanna, you gotta roll with it. But there were so few uplifting moments to balance the sad ones that the whole thing had a terribly melancholic tone.
Life is rough- really rough- in African Cats.
Last week I took a group of kids- I was excited enough about the movie to voluntarily agree to go with more than just my own, which should tell you something- to see Chimpanzee. I had hoped it would be as good as the trailers made it appear.
I was so not disappointed.
The cinematography was stunning. The narration by Tim Allen was entertaining without being overbearing. But what made the film just amazing was something that no one could have predicted- a completely mind-blowing moment never before seen on film. (Don’t read if you don’t want spoilers, though the trailers pretty much allude to what happens anyway.)
Now we all know the party line on chimpanzees: the females are the loving nurturers and the males spend their time beating each other up, grooming, eating, and impregnating. They have never been known to be particularly nurturing to the young, and have even been known to kill them. So when little Oscar’s mother died during filming, the filmmakers were mortified. He was, after all, the star they had been following since birth, and now- well, this was bad. They knew what was probably going to happen to him, but they were helpless to interfere.
They watched as the other females rejected him. Too young to take care of himself, he lost weight. In a last ditch effort, he started shadowing the alpha male, Freddy, who had never shown youngsters much tolerance or even interest. Freddy was typical of alpha males, a hulking, somewhat surly male who had an imposing bulk and a grim stare.
Freddy noticed this little shadow. He looked at this face staring back at him, a potential future challenger.
Freddy grunted. He picked up a rock. Then he bashed open a nut and handed it to Oscar, who had been unable to master the task.
Freddy adopted Oscar in all senses of the word. The sight of this hulking male with a little wee one hanging off his back hit every “awwwww” button in my cranium, the same one that gets pinged by pictures of firemen holding kittens.
This is just not something you see every day, even if you spend every day watching chimpanzees. To have caught such an unusual and tender experience is a treasure. I can only imagine the reaction of the filmmakers as they watched this singular event unfold in front of them, a documentarian’s dream.
And boy, did they commit to this movie in every sense of the word. I enjoyed the making-of segment even more than the trailers, if only to appreciate what they put up with: scorpions, spiders, vipers, fire ants, and bees. Thank you, Disney Nature Filmmakers of Genius, for putting up with all of that to bring the Ivory Coast to the air conditioned comfort of my local cinemaplex.
Have you seen Chimpanzee yet? Will you? You TOTALLY should. And I rarely say that.
Chimpanzee, by Disney Nature: Two opposable thumbs up.
It’s National Hairball Awareness day, and Snooki and I would like to remind you all of the importance of good deshedding on your pets. So to celebrate, here are 3 reasons you should remember to groom your dog or cat regularly:
1. Having to tell a guest “Excuse me, you have a fur tumbleweed on your butt” is really embarrassing.
2. Stepping in a wet hacked up furball in the middle of the night is, short of stepping on a snail barefoot, one of the grossest things that can happen to you. *squish*
3. Removing the hair before your cat ingests it is much easier than trying to get them to eat that furball lube they sell.
But don’t take it just from us. Plenty of other celebrities also recognize the importance of hairball awareness:
And just to make your day awful, I learned today that the world’s largest hairball weighed 10 pounds and was removed from a human. I don’t think any cats have managed a ten pounder, though Apollo’s come close once or twice.
Hairball Awareness Day and the celebrity look-alike contest were sponsored by Furminator, who would like to remind you all that making fur celebrities out of dry hair is much more fun than cleaning soggy regurgitated fur off the carpet. Have a good weekend!
Passengers on a flight from Detroit were held aboard a plane at Chicago’s Midway Airport for more than two hours after a female passenger was suspected of having monkeypox, officials said Thursday.
The woman had been travelling in Uganda, according to officials, though they didn’t say when. She boarded a flight from Detroit to Chicago and while on baord, developed a rash. A family member told flight attendants that they suspected this woman had monkeypox, so the Chicago Fire Department called in the CDC, quarantined the plane for two hours, and then determined that no, the woman did not have monkeypox.
I come from a long line of hypochondriacs. My mother forbade me from travelling to Africa when I was in college, convinced I would come back with malaria, some sort of invasive roundworm, and a raging case of African trypanosomiasis. My sister got food poisoning at a dinner celebrating my graduation from vet school, which hit on the world’s longest one hour Southwest flight, which she spent cursing me for giving her Ebola. And when I started on a particularly long bout of allergy induced headaches, I put off going to the doctor for a month, convinced it was a slow growing brain tumor. This is why I avoid Dr. Google like the plague. All it does is make me paranoid.
People tend to fall into one of two categories: those who see illness in everything, and those who see it in nothing. There’s the client who brings their dog in for the skin tumor that turns out to be a nipple (true story), or the one who brings in the dog with the three pound tumor hanging off their chest that they thought was a small spider bite that would resolve on its own (also true.) We all know where this family member fits.
I bet I know exactly how this scenario played out. The woman was probably getting grief from her mother/cousin/whoever about going to Africa all along, sending her articles about yellow fever and people getting trampled by elephants and comparative analyses of the best water purifiers. She gets on a plane with said family member, who is already paranoid about her impending demise, and the second she breaks out in a minor rash from the hotel laundry detergent or whatever her loving relative sputters “I TOLD YOU SO!” and hits the call button, telling the flight attendant that this poor woman has monkeypox. Chaos ensues.
This is why I’m glad when I go back to Africa in June that it’s with total strangers and not, say, my mother (not that she would go anyway. Sleeping sickness and all of that.) A casual acquaintance would shrug at your rash and say, “Monkeypox? May want to get that checked out.” Even better, a veterinary acquaintance will give you a benadryl and laugh.
So which end of the spectrum do you fall into? And do you know anyone who’s gotten monkeypox recently?
As a medical practitioner, I’ve been trained from day one to be excruciatingly careful with controlled substances at work. We painstakingly log every tenth of a cc of morphine, keep impeccable logs for the DEA, and keep all that stuff locked up tighter than the gold bars in the US Bullion Depository.
We do it not because we like making our lives- and yours- all that more difficult, but because unfortunately controlled substance abuse is a huge problem. And many/ most of the controlled substances we use in veterinary medicine are also used by people, correctly and incorrectly. It’s a godsend to be able to provide these powerful drugs for our canine and feline friends, but I know as a profession we are somewhat lacking sometimes in making it clear to owners just how careful they should be with these prescriptions.
As strict as I am about my prescription-writing tendencies for veterinary clients, I realized my own compliance as a patient was less than stellar. I was shocked to find how much medication I’ve accumulated over the years through injuries, childbirth, and surgeries when I went through our cabinets in preparation for an open house to put it all away and out of the hands of strangers.
It’s hard to know what else to do with a long expired bottle of Tylenol with codeine, or that bottle of chemo drugs I never finished with Emmett. Like many people, I’ve just hung onto it. Prescription drug abuse really is a terrible problem- nearly 15% of high school students misuse prescription controlled substances- and it really is important for everyone to have an easy way to dispose of leftover medications so they are not a temptation for kids too impulsive to understand the consequences. 12-13 year olds- just babies, really- are abusing these substances on a regular basis, and it’s heartbreaking.
This Saturday is your solution.
Fortunately, the National Association of Boards of Pharmacy Foundation, in conjunction with the DEA, has designated April 28th as National Prescription Drug Take Back Day. I was contacted by the NABP specifically to let you all know that they WANT you to bring back your dog and cat meds. The take-back service is free and anonymous, with no questions asked. Sites will accept tablets, capsules, and all other solid dosage forms of unwanted medication. There’s no distinction between veterinary and human prescriptions at this event. Sites will accept pills, both prescription and nonprescription, for disposal.
I had the opportunity to interview the Executive Director of the National Association of Boards of Pharmacy, Dr. Catizone on the dangers of prescription drug abuse. Not only is Dr. Catizone the Executive Director of the National Association of Boards of Pharmacy (NABP), but he is a licensed pharmacist and currently serves as a Governor of the Pharmacy Technician Certification Board (PTCB) Board of Directors and Chair of the PTCB Certification Council. Dr. Catizone is regularly called to serve as an expert witness for the US Government in the areas of pharmacy practice and regulation on both the state and national level issues.
Below is my interview with Dr. Catizone. For more information on prevention and the April 28 DEA Take-Back Day visit www.AWARERX.org or www.facebook.com/AWARxE.
What is the main reason National Drug Take Back day was started?
Catizone:
Prescription drug abuse has reached epidemic proportions across the country. In 2010, 7 million people aged 12 or older abused prescription drugs, according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, a government agency that conducts a national survey on related topics each year.
The same survey showed that over 50% of people abusing these drugs got them from friends or family for free. Often those who abuse drugs, including teens, take them right of the medicine cabinet. This can include medications prescribed for pets.
Ridding the home of unused, expired, or unneeded medications, helps to prevent the drugs from falling into the wrong hands. Currently, law enforcement must be present if a person wishes to dispose of prescription controlled substance medications, such as certain pain pills. To provide opportunities for legal disposal of unneeded controlled substance medications, the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) began coordinating National Prescription Drug Take-Back events in September 2010. With locations in every state across the county, consumers disposed of 995,185 pounds (498.5 tons) of unwanted medication during the first three DEA Take-Back Days, illustrating the need for this service.
Why should people take drugs back as opposed to, say, throwing them away or flushing them?
Catizone:
Flushing certain medications or improper disposal in the garbage can lead to safety and environmental hazards. When drugs are brought to an authorized DEA collection site, or other legal disposal program, they are processed for safe destruction.
If there are no drug disposal sites near you, there are options for disposing of drugs at home. The information that comes with your prescription may provide instructions on home disposal. Only some medications should be flushed down the toilet and the US Food and Drug Administration has a list of these drugs on its Web site. If there are no instructions for disposal you can throw the drugs in your home garbage. But first, take them out of the container and mix them with an undesirable substance like coffee grounds or cat litter. Seal the mixture in a sealable bag, empty can, or other container that can be disposed of in the garbage.
More details about drug disposal programs are available on the AWARxE Medication Disposal page.
Why should pet owners be concerned about this issue?
Catizone:
As noted above, often those who abuse drugs, including teens, take them right of the medicine cabinet. This can include medications prescribed for pets.
Proper disposal of unneeded medications helps prevent the drugs from falling into the wrong hands, and also helps protect the environment by keeping drugs out of the local water system and the local environment.
FDA does recommend that certain drugs are flushed to prevent danger to people and pets in the home. FDA has determined that the risks of accidental ingestion of these select medications, outweighs the small risk to the environment. A link to the list of drugs that should be flushed for disposal, as well as additional information, is available on the Medication Disposal page of the AWARxE Web site.
What is the most compelling or memorable story you know of regarding the dangers of prescription drug abuse?
Catizone:
Justin Pearson, a resident of St Cloud, MN, died tragically at age 24 because of a prescription drug overdose and his story was the inspiration for the AWARxE campaign. Justin had struggled with prescription drug addiction, and died on December 25, 2006, after taking a mix of prescription drugs which he ordered from an illegal Web site. Taking the drugs without a doctor’s prescription, and mixing a high dose of different prescription drugs led to Justin’s death.
More information about Justin’s story is available on the home page of the AWARxE Web site.
What is the most common veterinary drug of abuse?
Catizone:
Pain relievers and tranquilizers are two of the most commonly abused drugs, as reported in the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration National Survey, and both types of drugs are used in the practice of human and veterinary medicine.
DEA has also indicated that buprenorphine and ketamine are drugs of abuse; each of these drugs is a prescription controlled substance approved for human and veterinary use.
For all the topics I’m happy to joke about, this is one that I take very seriously. I have seen too many bright and wonderful people have their lives destroyed by prescription drug abuse. So please, mark your calendar for Saturday and get rid of your leftovers. Or am I the only one who has a pile of half empty bottles in the cabinet?
By the way, Dr. Catizone’s idea for disposing of drugs in cat litter is pretty brilliant. Is there no end to the uses for cat litter?
It wasn’t until I almost passed out at the top of a mountain that I really understood how much I underestimated the effects of dehydration. I have the Dalai Lama to thank for this, you know. No, really.
Sure, I knew hydration was important for everyone else, but I figured, meh, I can do without for a bit. When I went out hiking last week, I packed a little water bottle for Brody- he hikes with a fur coat on, after all, and filled my little Camelbak running pack and set it on the counter, where it remained for the rest of the day because I forgot to put it in the car.
By the time I had realized my mistake, we were already on the road. It wasn’t a huge deal. I knew the weather was going to be hot, so I steered towards the coast where the temperature was a little more temperate. Plus, the coastal trail has plenty of water fountains.
But then his Holiness intervened.
I couldn’t figure out why traffic was backed up almost to my freeway onramp. “Is there an accident?” I asked Brody, who had no answer, so I turned on the radio.
No accident. Just, you know, the Dalai Lama talking to 20,000 enthralled admirers at San Diego State, which resulted in what one might delicately describe as a traffic situation. So rather than sit around and wait for all 20,000 of them to find the five available parking spaces on campus, we turned around and went to my alternative trail.
I love this trail, actually. 6 miles of beautiful country, 3 miles up, 3 back down. And when it’s not 85 degrees out, it really is lovely. But when it is 85 out, well, it’s a bit more of a slog.
Especially since there are no water fountains. Perhaps this is a sign, I thought. The Dalai Lama teaches courage, after all. I can do this. I’m tough. Brody trotted alongside gamely, goading me up the mountain. Sure, it was a little slow, but it was a good trot.
Halfway up we came across a tiny creek, where Brody joined a Corgi and rolled around for a bit. I briefly considered joining him but had to content myself with letting him shake off on me. With a nice soggy wet coat to evaporate and cool him off, Brody was good to go, so we soldiered on as the sun beat down on us.
“Let go of worldy anxieties,” the Dalai Lama exhorts. It was with this in mind that I decided I needed to let go of my worries about turning myself into a raisin, shrivelled up like a husk on the hillside. I lapsed into a state that could be either meditative or hallucinative, I’m not really sure which. I felt fine, that’s all I know.
We reached the top, and plopped down on the inexplicably placed mountaintop picnic table for a minute. I took out Brody’s bottle of water. I looked at Brody. “Be compassionate,” his Holiness whispered in my head. So I gave the dog all the water. I felt just fine.
Then I stood up, and the world started to swim.
“If you have fear of some pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry,” said the Buddhist in my skull. Despite his advice, I was a little bit worried. We had three miles to go, after all, and I had just given my last bit of water to a dog whose only concern in life was making sure the cat didn’t get all his food.
The hiking series, part 2: Delirious
I don’t even remember taking this picture. Why do I look so happy? I felt like garbage. Anyone looking at my phone for clues as to my untimely passing would have thought Brody pushed me off the top- because surely, this is not the picture of a person in distress.
I’ve heard it said that freezing to death produces a state of euphoria shortly before your actual demise. I don’t know if heat stroke provides a similar experience- though based on what I’ve seen, I’m guessing not. All I know is that I entered a thoughtful state on the way back down, wondering what you all would have made of my sunburned carcass being found on a backwoods trail with Brody nosing through my pockets in search of Powerbars. I’d like to think you all would have known I died giving my last drop of water to the dog, but I think a just as likely assumption would have been: “Dr V saw a mountain lion- or just an Irish setter that she thought was a mountain lion- and died of a heart attack. What a shame.”
But my point is twofold here:
1. Don’t be a dummy like me. Always assume you’re going to be stuck in conditions more extreme than you were planning on. And always have a backup water bottle in the car, if you tend to the absent-minded like I do. Just in case.
2. Never invoke an ascetic Buddhist when heat stroke is on the line. Next time, Brody’s sharing the water bottle.
This weekend we went and looked at houses. We can’t make any offers until our current one sells- SO HURRY UP SOMEONE AND BUY IT- but we can at least get a good feel for where we want to live.
We’re moving with two priorities in mind: lessen my husband’s commute, and get us into a good public school district. To that end, there are two communities we are considering.
Ticky Tacky Town is made up of little boxes on the hillside, and they’re all made of ticky tacky and they all look the same. And the schools are great and there’s lots of places like PF Chang’s and Starbucks and lots of people walking Vislas and Australian shepherds, and everyone’s yard is made of HOA compliant drought resistant sorts of materials, all master planned to blend in with the neutral stucco of the rows of homes.
Yes, it’s perhaps a tad dull in terms of character, but that is the reality of life in Southern California. The vast vanilla expanse of suburban doldrums is pretty much standard everywhere in newer homes, and with all other factors taken into consideration this is the place I was really pulling for. Boring, but pleasant. It got the job done. And then there’s Crazy Town.
Crazy Town is one I didn’t even think of considering until my husband brought it up. It’s old, it’s charming, and close to the water. The schools are great there too, but the community just couldn’t be any different. Multi-million dollar manses butt up to sprawling apartments and lots of itty bitty homes built in the 1940s, whose owners are slowly dying off and leaving the little downtown village area to the patisseries and coffee houses that are slowly popping up.
We went on Sunday, just to check it out, since I was pretty opposed to the idea. I sat on a bench at a coffee shop- excuse me, a ‘micro roaster’- and watched about 50 dogs of varying shapes and sizes wander by. On a three block stretch there was one chiropractor, two coffee stores, three groomers and two pet specialty stores. It was eclectic, low key, and the weirdest combination of pretty much everyone you would possibly run into on a Southern California beach.
Two miles up the road, crazy art museums and people with names like Biff and Muffy who do things like throw galas on a regular basis. Two miles down the road, fifty “medical herb” dispensaries and tattoo parlors and people named Stubby. And here in the middle of the two extremes, this crazy, eccentric, fifty flavors of awesome little beach village. I sat there on the bench and watched a guy load his beagle onto a Vespa. And that is when I realized maybe I didn’t want ticky tacky after all.
Now, instead of a nicely appointed standard issue tract home box, we’d be looking at a microscopic shoebox of a cottage, with four people and two dogs and a cat piled on top of one another in much less space than we were used to. We’d be struggling with old disguised as vintage, 1950′s plumbing and wiring and appliances, mold inspections, and battalions of magazine-selling shysters that never make it into suburbia since the HOA fees pay for people to chase them off. It’s a big tradeoff. Size for charm. And 99 cent fish tacos within walking distance.
So I don’t know. Since we’re still in the middle of selling our current home I don’t know exactly when the decision will have to be made, but it will soon enough. But I found it strange that despite its seeming perfection, nothing about seeing a coterie of perfectly coiffed middle aged women standing outside the Ticky Tacky Town Pilates Studio appealed to me, perhaps because I’ve talked to people like that, and none of them like puns or think putting disturbing pictures in your bedside table to toy with snoopers is a clever idea.
Of all the things that made me say, “I could fit in here,” it was the front and center presence of so many strolling dogs in Crazy Town that really did it. Though if I’m being perfectly honest with myself it probably isn’t that strange at all. You see that so infrequently these days.
And I could totally see Brody in a Vespa sidecar. Decisions, decisions.
Well, we’ve done it. Our house is on the market. I hope it sells quickly, because we’ve whipped the place into show-perfect condition and trust me, I can only sustain this for a very short amount of time. The pressure of the constant running around after two messy little primates dripping crumbs and two fuzzy big canines shedding fur and one giant ape dripping socks is just a whole lot for one person who isn’t that fond of housekeeping to begin with.
Every time someone wants to come through to see the place, I have to figure out two things, after doing a runaround to clean up at the last minute and sticking my daughter’s Dug doll (I’ll explain) on the bedside table:
1. Where do I put the kids
2. Where do I put the dogs
Because I’m sure the last thing a potential buyer would like while they are going through my drawers is a kid asking, “Do you want to buy my house? Want some fruit snacks?” while a dog runs interference leaning into their hip every two seconds for pets.
I’ve read that one should remove all hints of yourself from the house so that potential buyers just see themselves in it. We tried, but we have too many family pictures on the walls; if we took them all down they would be bare. I tried to hide signs of pet ownership in case someone is a freaky I hate pets person, but all they need to do is go in the garage to see the evidence: the dishes, the litterbox, the pile of leashes, and (usually) Apollo, hiding from the strangers.
We are animal lovers here. There are clear hints. The more subtle hints are hidden away in drawers: the rawhides, the Kongs, the Advantage tubes. Most people don’t see those things, because most people don’t go through your drawers, but some people do. I know this. I have planned for it.
I expect people to look in the cabinets, in the closets. Anything that is part of the house is fair game, and I get that. Opening a drawer or two to assess the cabinet structure, OK. But the one thing I know people do, because people have admitted to it, is rummaging through the free standing dresser drawers and things they have no business going through, either because they’re looking for stuff to lift, or because they’re just nosey.
We locked away anything of value, put prescription meds in the safe (though if anyone wants leftover malarone, be my guest.) Then I made a little sign for the bedside table, because anyone who opens that is just looking for trouble, that said: “Smile! You’re on the nanny cam!”
And because most people hide nanny cams in stuffed animals, they will immediately lift their eyes and see, staring right back at them, the steely Disney eyes of justice in the form of the Dug doll sitting on top of my bedside table.
Yeah, Brody’s not home, but I still have a guard dog.
And OK, technically I don’t even really have it rigged as a camera, but it would be classic if I did. Makes me almost wish I had a nanny cam just so I could record people’s reactions for YouTube. The beauty of the whole idea, of course, is that if you aren’t nosing around where you shouldn’t be, you’d have no idea I was trolling you. If you open the drawer, you deserve what you get.
Anyone have any experiences with nosey house hunters? Or any ideas for other surprises I should leave? I do have a copy of the infamous Purina fecal scoring chart in the garage.
1. Teach an old dog a new trick.
