My dog, and how she plays out my relationship dysfunction.

1. You ignore me, yet I am thrilled at your attention enough to show you my belly when you do decide to pay attention to me.

The end.

Hormones take over once again I'm an ovulating sensitive bundle of frustration pent up

I am uncomfortable with disagreements, and I hate it when people make snap judgements based on something I've written to them on the internet. Stupid. Take the time to get to know the person to whom you are about to be rude.

Don't take advantage, don't be greedy, don't be selfish. Admit when you have a weakness. We all have them. You aren't gaining anything by putting on an act. So just fucking stop it.

And for godssakes, stop acting like a 17-year old, and start acting like an adult. When I see your antics and your insecurity making you act out, I'm embarrassed for my gender, and I'm embarrassed for you.

And maybe look outside yourself for a change. Think about how you affect the people around you. As much as you'd like to think otherwise, it really isn't all about you.

Harsh? The above may sound harsh. I'm not in a warm fuzzy mood right now. You want real? This is real. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it sure as hell ain't fake.

But you better believe, harsh and real and honest, as much as they may sting sometimes, are a helluva lot better than lies and deceit all sugar-coated and wrapped up in a satin bow.

I know there are people out there who can sugar coat the real, and honest. I ain't one of them.

Why my boy cat was named Sophie

Sophie is the first four legged pet that was all mine, not a family pet. I'd had birds, couldn't keep a fish alive, and had a habit of bringing home stray cats to save them, which was a bad idea with a sister who had a pet mouse.

I got Sophie in my late 20's. A client had asked me if I wanted a kitten, and at first I said no. Then I went home and mentioned it to my roommate, Misty, who said it would be great to have another cat. So I thought about it more, and decided to do it. I called the woman, and that weekend, my mom and I drove up to Richmond to pick one out.

Her son had caught 2 of the kittens, and had them in a box. He opened the box, and tilted it so I could see the two tiny black and white kittens laying in the bottom. They both looked up at me with the sweetest little faces, and started hissing tiny little fierce hisses.

I picked the one she said was the most outgoing and playful. She also said it was female, so I ended up naming her Sophie.

For the next 3 days, she huddled in a corner and mewed at the top of her lungs, day and night. While eating and drinking, she mewed and mewed. Every time I'd pick her up, she'd hiss those little short bursts and spit at me.

I didn't know whether to cuddle and comfort her, or let her work it out on her own. My roommate said to hold her, mimic grooming by rubbing her head with my nose, and feed her milk off my fingertip.

I started with the milk, and she grabbed my hand with her little paws and lapped it up greedily. Then I decided to lay back on the bed, and hold her on my chest. She struggled, but I made her stay there, and she finally just stopped struggling, and lay there, gazing up into my eyes. I petted her, and groomed her, and we fell asleep, me on my back, her draped across my neck. That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

6 months later, one day, I picked Sophie up off the couch, flipped her over on her back to hold her like a baby, which she loved, and was very surprised to see a little red kitty erection staring back at me. After 6 months of loving my cute little girl kitty, suddenly I had a boy. But, she came to her name when I called, and I just couldn't imagine changing her/his name. It felt very weird to refer to her as him, but eventually I got used to it, and we decided that Sophie would be short for Sophocles, and that he was very in touch with his feminine side.

I was pretty surprised at how some of my male friends reacted to a boy cat named Sophie. Some of them were pretty disturbed by it. They tried to talk me into changing his name, but to me he would always be Sophie. He didn't care, he was a cat!

Ballad of a Three-legged dog

When I adopted a 3 legged dog, I never anticipated the reactions we'd get walking down the street.

Number one most-asked question is "What happened to her leg"? asked in a number of ways;

~Shock-*gasp*..."awwwwwww, poor thing! what happened?"

~Sympathy/sadness-heavy sigh, usually accompanied by a sad face and 'I'm sorry'

~Surprise, admiration-From the exclamation of how she doesn't let anything stop her, to the guy waiting for the bus calling her a little soldier, to the thumbs up from the 2 old men smoking at the corner of MacArthur and Fruitvale, the majority of people who encounter abby are admiring of how tough she is.

~One of my favorites are the elderly immigrants who stop and stare and look incredulous. They must think we Americans are weird.

~There's the tone that can't be conveyed through print, the question asked in a accusatory tone, as if I'd been stupid enough to let my dog lose a leg.

~There are the people who can't get past the missing leg and 'oh poor doggie' to see what a happy dog she is. She's clueless about missing a leg. You only have to see her chase a ball or a pigeon once to see that SHE doesn't even miss it. Besides, dogs don't think about that stuff, they don't pine for what's lost, they accept what's now. Maybe that's why I love dogs so much. They are always completely in the moment. There's no thinking ahead or back, there's just now.

another connection made

It's always been very easy for me to just let go of people, to just walk away and not look back. Tonight it hit me why that is.

we left, I really had no relationship with my dad. My brothers floated in and out, with no real explanation for where they went, or why they left. People came and went. I think I got tired of getting attached. It was easier to not to....

Abby's big day

Running with the big...and not so big dogs.

Obedience Win!

Belly rub face.

"Funeral"

We were burying her ashes in Jimmy and Barbara's back yard. Aunt Barbara said she thought we should say the Lord's prayer. Steve and I knew better-Mom was a hardcore atheist. She'd given us a poem to read, if we wanted to read anything at all. My cousin Ronnie read it while my brother and I wept and buried her ashes underneath the rose bushes my aunt had picked up. Then Barbara suggested the Lord's prayer.

Like I said, we knew better. But we both decided to humor her.

We all linked hands and started reciting the prayer. At precisely the same moment we all took in a breathe to recite the next line, that breathe caught, and we all forgot the rest of the prayer. I don't know 'bout you, but if that wasn't mom saying, 'I'll be damned if you'll recite that crap at my funeral!', I don't know what was.