MeghanIsMe

A couple of pictures from the shelter yesterday.

We have a dog named Kiki right now. I got to be Kiki's Delivery Service.

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There are puppies at the shelter. Look at this little squish-face and those tiny claws!

The full moon and warm breeze made last night the most beautiful night of the year I've experienced. I don't usually have any kind of reaction to the full moon aside from thinking it's kind of pretty. Together though, the shades of darkness and shadows, the nearby impenetrable black of trees, and the warm breeze like an exhalation from a living forest (which I could imagine being behind what was actually a strip of woods in front of the train tracks) felt mystical, and somehow sexual. I thought of an image someone on Facebook had posted of a satyr, waist-deep in the water that the ends of his long, lush hair nearly reached, magnificent horns stretching up from his head, and couldn't help but think of finding a convenient tree stump out in the woods to be bent over by such a creature.

As nice a thought as that was though, I mostly tried to keep my mind on the dogs. I walked a couple of big dogs, including the first dog I've dealt with who is as crazy on leash as restoman's dog, Lily. Junior pulls pretty badly even on a prong collar, and before I got the prong on him he was putting his full weight (which I'd guess is 50 to 70 pounds) into yanking me toward whatever caught his attention. He almost toppled me once, which takes some trying for a dog to accomplish! Lily never did, but she's fifteen or twenty pounds lighter and not quite as strong.

There is a very sweet dog named Quinn, maybe part German Shepherd Dog, there who has a broken leg in a cast. It doesn't seem to slow him down much, but he doesn't really want to go anywhere anyway. I couldn't even get him to pee on his first walk because he just wanted to sit on my foot and snuggle against me. I didn't want to have to put him back in his crate; he just seemed so needy and clingy.

There is a little white Maltese named Spice who wasn't quite as clingy but still was desperate for attention. She loved the little walk I gave her, but really wanted affection at the end when I tried to put her back in her crate. She's scared and shivers a bit once she's alone and the door is closed. I so wish I could take her home with me and cuddle her. And Quinn too. And Junior, except he wouldn't sit still long enough. And all the other dogs too, for that matter.

My ride in to work this morning was slower than usual. I took some Ibuprofen this morning for soreness that came from walking two miles while holding onto big, excitable dogs, but I was still a little achy and slow. I'm glad it's Friday.

The shelter in Evanston has three elderly pugs who were owner surrenders. I don't know what their story is in full, but whether from lack of concern or lack of their owner(s)' means or abilities, they were not well taken care of. They smell bad: not just their breath, but all over. They're quite overweight, though I often let that slide as I consider an obese pet to be in much better circumstances than an abandoned or starved one. Other than that, the two 8-year-olds are typical happy pugs; that is to say, they are genetic disasters who could not survive on their own and who, fortunately, are not self aware enough to be upset about what humans have done to them. (One of the most wonderful things about dogs is how they can be in the middle of an awful situation and still be *so happy* just to *be*. It's inspiring.)

The 13 year-old, though, beyond the smell and poor diet, is blind and deaf. The poor thing must be confused and terrified. At least she has her two friends with her. But she's not just blind. Her eyes are...I don't know. Necrotic or something. They bulge disturbingly from the sockets. I don't know if she can even close them. They don't look like eyes; they're a matte reddish-brown across most of their surface, with bits of something resembling crusted mucus on parts of them. Her eyes move a little bit from time to time, but they are clearly not functional. I worry that she may even be bumping into things with them as she perambulates around.

Especially at first, she was hard for me to look at. Her eyes are like a claymation demon's from a horror movie. At the same time, I felt tremendous care and pity. After the walks were done, we took the three pugs into the front foyer to spend some time with them. I carried the blind one out and sat with her in my lap. She was terrified at first, shaking in my arms. I sat with her and stroked her back, head, and chin, telling her she was a good dog and that I was going to take care of her tonight. She probably didn't hear anything, but maybe the vibrations helped. She eventually settled down a bit and seemed to enjoy the petting. I slowly got used to looking at her face as she raised her head for scritches. She even licked my chin a few times as I tried not to think about her eyes that close to my skin.

I took a few pictures of her, thinking that I'd post them and talk about why the kind of inbreeding and trait selection that gives rise to some breeds makes them so unhealthy, but I think they may be too disturbing for people to see unexpectedly so I won't do that here. Instead, here's a link to the Adam Ruins Everything piece about purebred dogs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCv10_WvGxo

Pugs are adorable; I won't argue that. (Well, the ones that don't have horrifying defects or illnesses, anyway.) But their noses are so bizarrely upturned that not only can they barely breath, but they have a crevice of skin between it and the rest of their face that can build up ick in it and get infected. Please think about the lives some of these dogs have if you're thinking about what kind of dog you want.

It's been another difficult week.

I had another version of the school dream. I was wandering around the corridors of a school while classes were in session. I was supposed to be in a class, but I'd been too busy to keep up with it and if I went into the room the professor would find out and I'd be ashamed of myself. A few days before that, I had a dream bout being at the shelter I volunteer at (number 1) and one of the long-time people there was criticizing the way I was handling the dogs, with justification. I felt terrible about myself; that I'd been failing in my commitment to the animals.

I've been told a few times at the shelter I work at (number 2) that I'm doing tasks too slowly. Added to some confusion and conflicting information about which way certain things should be done, and some political stuff, I've been very uncomfortable at times. On Tuesday, I forgot my morning Bupropion pill and during the day I half-seriously wondered if there was so much stress there that I'd do better for myself if I resigned and went back to dog-walking. Once I was on meds again, things were more manageable. That day confirmed again how much these meds do for me.

So I'd better get over my anxiety about scheduling a new appointment with my psychiatrist. I had to cancel one after starting work full-time, and haven't managed to reschedule one. They've left me voice mail a few times, but I haven't managed to get back to them. (With Danae's help, I finally called this evening, but they were closed. I may have to call during my lunch break.)

My appetites for sleep and chocolate have been high this week. For several days, I've come home and fallen asleep on the couch until late, had some food, and gone to bed. I think it's more depression that sleepiness. I slept 'till nine again today, but I'm feeling better this evening than I have for a while.

I need to figure out a way to get myself to, as a habit, get on my bike for an hour or so after work every day. Being lethargic and depressed wastes more time than that every day so there isn't a time loss, and I know it would be good for me. It's really hard to do though.

Other things have happened that I mean to write about, but I haven't gotten to them. My uncle came to Kenosha to meet me at my parents' house. He picked up my grandfather's smithing tools and equipment for he and his sons to use. Not having used them for so long made me sad; I felt a bit like I was letting my grandfather down. I felt a connection to him through them as well, and will miss being able to touch the anvil as I enter the basement at my parents' house. But I'm also happy to know they will be getting some use, and my uncle described the arrangement as a sort of taking care of them for me until a day I might have space for them again. They're in good hands until then.

I went up to Kenosha on...was it Monday?...to pick up my Marantz and visit my family. I hit four thrift stores on the way north, and then my dad and I went to another five together in Kenosha and Racine. I'm happy to have spent some time with him.

We had surprise bunny babies at shelter 2. The rabbit was at the vet a week before, after it was surrendered to us, and they noticed nothing amiss. One morning this week I opened her cage and saw straw writhing around as though something were under it. I looked more closely and saw some kind of large, pink thing that looked like a grub. "What the hell?" I said, looking closer. The thought that there was some kind of giant bug in the cage really freaked me out until I realized it was three baby bunnies.

Today was my first 'all animals all the time' Thursday. I was at my shelter job from 9 to 10:30. Then there was therapy at 11:00 to 11:40. Then dog walks at 12 and 2. Then the shelter job until 5:30 followed by shelter 1 from 6 to 9. I'm *so* sore, but I'm *so* content with my working and volunteering life right now!

It wasn't a perfect day. I got a parking ticket this morning because I didn't realize a sign applied to where I was. I'll contest it, but I may not win. I can deal with it either way.

Less financially damaging, but inspiring a much greater feeling of stupidity, I triggered an alarm at the shelter tonight. I forgot to grab my purse out of the kennel I'd left it in, and I figured since I had the door code, I could just run back and get it. I didn't realize there was an alarm, and of course I triggered it. I called the police and waited for them to arrive. I explained what happened and they looked at my ID and said all was well. I asked whether the shelter staff got an alert and I should contact them to tell them what was going on and they said I didn't need to. I emailed a couple people anyway, with the subject line "I am an Idiot." I offerd to pay any fines that might be incurred for a false alarm or something. The one who got back to me seemed to think it was funny, so I'm feeling less bad about it.

Piper is finally ready to meet potential adopters, and EAS is finally over the dog flu that was going through the kennel. I need to get some pictures of her together along with a little bio and description, and then the shelter might start arranging meetings. A staff member talked about bringing her back to the shelter for a couple days over a weekend maybe for people to meet her, and my initial response was horror at the thought of her alone in a kennel all night. Thinking of how she'd feel makes me want to cry. Maybe I can bring her there in the mornings and take her home at night.

Oh, and it was my last meeting with my therapist, who is graduating. Yay for her! I think I'm going to wait a few months for insurance via Red Door to kick in (I will have insurance through a job again! Will wonders never cease?) and then look for another therapist. I want someone to talk to about formation of relationships and gender identity. Someone who is familiar with poly and associated subcultures. There's a place called Intraspectrum that looks promising.

Anyway, that's the news for today. Gonna sit down and play Fallen London now and relax.

I just finished up my resume and cover letter for a full-time position at a local animal shelter. Thanks to Wendy for pointing me at the opportunity! Danae and others have told me that a number of things might be better if I was more comfortable being myself instead of trying to fit myself to what I think people want. So in my cover letter I did that. Now I'm going to play some Factorio and destress. Being at the point where I can apply for a job like this is a relatively new state. I'm proud of myself, but it's not easy yet.

Working at the shelter was a good way to counteract the depression I was feeling earlier today. There was a dog named Kylie who seems to be part Golden Retriever and part Airedale Terrier. She looks like a wooly, curly-coated Golden, with a slightly terrier-shaped head. So cute! The grooming must be a terror though. There was a brief squall tonight: she ended hup wet, and I can just imagine trying to brush all the fur out.. I texted a picture of her to Lisa, 'cause I thought she needed to see.

Another dog thoroughly befouled his kennel not once but twice. I was grudgingly impressed.

I went for a long walk with Q, a big German Shepherd Dog-esque boy who's info sheet says that he loves to explore and take long walks. I knew we'd get along! Actually, as I told Danae, it was more like we took each other for a jog. Rain had just started coming down as I got back, so I took Winston (who I kept calling Mr. Churchill) out for a shorter walk in the rain. He's another big boy, but more of a Staffordshire Terrier type of dog. Solid body, big head, and so affectionate.

Piper's worn out after a two-mile walk to the lakeshore and back. I had to carry her along part of the return route.





She had a good time walking, but is scared of the crashing and hissing waves on the shore. Not a hardcore adventure-dog, she. I walked to the edge of the breakers and let her approach at her own pace. She moved near a couple times, but when a larger wave would break, she'd jump and scurry backward.

I love the way her tongue pokes out a little bit as she sleeps.

Know what improved my mood even more? Lots of licks and cuddles from dogs yesterday, including a ninety-pound pit mix named Wilbur. Now that's a dog-sized dog! I love him so much! He's a really large dog, and is somewhat reactive to other dogs. He's the only dog I've known at the shelter whose kennel gets a lock on it so that only the shift captain can take him out. That makes sense; it would be really easy for a volunteer who doesn't know and understand dogs pretty well to be overwhelmed by Wilbur. These things will make him pretty difficult to adopt too, and that makes me sad; I feel totally comfortable with him and he's exactly the dog I'd want from the shelter right now If I had room for one. I'm sure I could work with his bad habits, and he's so full of love! (And drool!)

I felt immediately comfortable with the doctor and nurse who treated me at my first appointment this past week. It was a huge relief to interact with warm, accepting people who seem to care about their patients. The doctor increased my escitalopram to 20 milligrams. It may be a placebo effect since it takes a little while to ramp up blood chemistry, but I've been feeling notably better the past couple days.

At the shelter yesterday, I happened to be outside in the parking lot when a woman showed up with two very small kittens. She's involved with managing and spaying stray cats, and has a pack of them living near her house I think. She found the kittens in her back yard, abandoned by their mother. They are young enough that they will need intensive bottle feeding for a while. I helped carry them into the building as she walked in carrying her small son, so I got to handle and pet them. So cute!

I walked Brooklyn, an excitable and distractable Pit-mix. Other volunteers had trouble with her because she likes to suddenly start spinning in circles and growling, or to lie down in the grass and decide she doesn't want to walk. I shortly figured out that the answer is to distract her right back. I got her to focus on me, then jumped and called her to get her attention and made a short dash in one direction, getting her to follow me. Then she was ok walking with me for a while more. The shift captain said I was their "Brooklyn whisperer." I felt really good about myself.

Today, I went for a thirty mile ride, taking the North Branch Trail to the botanic gardens, then back along the Green Bay Trail. It was a bit longer than it might have been; I rode a big loop at one point because I was trying to find the trail's continuation north. I was actually already on it, but was convinced that I was going west. Oops! Next time I'll get it right for sure! Fitbit says I burned 1500 calories on the 2 and a half hour ride (hungry now!), and my wrist is fairly happy with me too. I did some stretches with it a few times on the ride, which I think kept it from stiffening up, and kept tendons and things where they're supposed to be. I'll probably try a couple more thirty mile trips, and then maybe do another fifty along the Lake Shore Trail.