Don’t Change The World, Change Someone’s World

I see this a lot on animal rescue sites.  “You may not be changing the world, but you’re changing someone’s world.”  Or something along the lines of “They may be part of your world, but you’re all of their world.”

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to change the world.  My personal philosophy is, “If you have the ability to change the world, you have an obligation to do so.”  However, when I say this, I mean positively.

 

When I was in middle and high school, I would go on mission trips.  I went to New Orleans after Katrina to gut out houses.  I went to South Dakota and worked in soup kitchens and played with disabled kids at a children’s hospital.  After school, I tutored kids who had just immigrated to Minnesota and helped them do their homework so they could be successful.  I even helped give private oboe lessons to a freshman when I was a senior, making discounted reeds for oboes so that they didn’t sound like a duck when they played.

 

For me though, this was never enough.  I kept thinking, “I’m not changing the world, I’m just doing a few good things.”

 

When I was on the speech team in high school, my last two years I was in the Original Oratory category, which is persuasive speaking.  Many of the kids in this category had similar views as I did in terms of changing the world.  However, while their speeches were more along the lines of “The News is horribly biased,” and “We should boycott Walmart.” My speech was “Being gay is genetic, stop discriminating.”  True story, it was called, “Do these genes make me look gay?”

 

Quite different, right?  I had the issue of having conservative judges who would rank me last when my content was fantastic.  While I procrastinated with some of the writing and memorizing, I still was an alternate to go to the state tournament.  I would tell people being bigoted that being hateful was counterproductive and that we should accept people for who they are.

gay flag

I was bullied as a kid and I refused to stop being super weird because I was perfect just the way I was.  Currently, I continue to be weird because I am proud to be really fucking weird.

 

However, my philosophy began to change after doing the speech about accepting LGBTQ for the way they are.

 

I had this topic the entire three month season, and my first tournament there was a girl that I was in a round with.  I don’t quite remember what her speech was about, but it was something about social injustice, just as mine was.  She was super friendly to me, she went to a rural school while I went to the largest high school in Minnesota.  She was super chill, and after that tournament, I didn’t see her again until the Sectional Tournament for the Northern Metros.

 

She was in my third round before the final round, and after I gave my (much more polished) speech, we all shook hands at the end and as I was going back to my school’s team, she tracked me down and asked to talk to me privately.

 

I remember the conversation almost verbatim, so here’s how it went.

 

“Leah, right?  I don’t know if you remember me, but we were at the St Michael’s tournament together.”

 

“Oh yeah!  How’ve you been?  Your speech was great.”

 

She smiled and continued to talk.  “I was hoping to see you since our schools didn’t really compete against each other this season, and I wanted to thank you.”  She saw my confusion and began to explain.  “You see, I’m bi and I was in the closet until after you gave your speech that first time.  For the past two years I was trying to find a way to not be bi anymore, but no matter what I was attracted to guys and girls, and my parents were really homophobic.”

 

I was stunned.  She seemed so happy whenever I saw her.  She went on.

 

“But after your speech, I got the courage to come out to my mom.  She used to say that Bi-people were just trying to slice up the pie in their favor, so to speak.  She said bis were just greedy, the worst of the gay community.  When I came out as bi, I used some of your stats and explained it to her.  It went really well.  My family accepted me so much better.  So I just wanted to say thanks.  Keep it up.”

 

We hugged and I went to my table, stunned.  I told my friends but we were all waiting to find out who would go into the final round.  Luckily, I made the final round and got fifth place, but at that moment I didn’t care.

 

I changed her world for the better.

 

I still think of that moment to make myself feel better when I feel like my life is falling to pieces.

 

In college, I saw a guy whose car broke down on the side of the road.  I picked him up, drove him to his house so he could get the stuff to put gas in his car, and he thanked me nonstop.  I ran into him a while later and he bought me coffee to say thanks.  Never saw him again.

 

Last year I let a Chinese girl who was new to the country and terrified stay in my home when I didn’t even know her.  Just so you guys know, she and I message on skype at least once a month.

 

I adopted two dogs who were at the pound.

 

When my uncle was dying, I did my best to make him comfortable and help his family.

Mark and I

I love you, Uncle Mark.  I miss you more every day.

My current job is working in a group home with people who have suffered emotional trauma.  They’re difficult at times, but I love my job and I love when I see them happy.

 

I’m not trying to get credit for being a good person. In fact, I consider myself selfish because I do all of this to make myself feel better.

 

Our world has been on the brink of destruction for thousands of years.  But a few good deeds can make all of the difference.

 

I’m not trying to change the world anymore.  I’m trying to change the world of those whose world needs changing.  And if everyone tried to do this, this world would be such a better place.

 

So I guess I still am trying to change the world.  One person at a time.

 

What good deeds do you do?  What have you done to change the world?  Let me know in the comments!

Why He’s The Bra Guru: A Marital Dispute

In honor of save the tatas month, I have decided to write a post about my boobs.  And about how Alex and I have the same fight all the time.  Here’s a snippet of this particular fight.

Me: Hey, Alex?  For the love of God, stop grabbing my boobs.

Alex: But that’s what they’re there for.  That’s my God given right for being your husband.  I get to grab boobs all the time.

Me: But you’re breaking the wires in my bras trying to go under the bra.  And you’re stretching out the cups so they don’t keep their shape.

Alex: Then stop wearing bras. Problem solved. Now let’s move on to something more difficult like the Ebola crisis.

Me: NO!  If I stop wearing bras, then my boobs will get saggy.

Alex: I’ll just hold up your boobs. Check mate.

Except it's my boobs.

Except it’s my boobs.

Me: You can’t just walk around behind me holding my boobs up all day.

Alex: I’ll do it for you, as a sign of my undying love. Challenge accepted!

Me: THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE!

LIKE A BOSS

LIKE A BOSS

Alex:  I’m not the sole reason they break. After all, your bras wouldn’t break all the time if you didn’t wear them.

Me: My bras wouldn’t break if you would stop grabbing my boobs all the time.

Alex: I don’t get why you wear bras all the time anyway.  They always break after five months or so.

Me: They would last a year if you stopped grabbing my boobs!

Alex: Well, you’ve established that I’m your “bra guru”, I’ll help you find new ones when the time comes.

Me: The time comes way sooner than it should since you keep breaking them!

Alex: But I am driven by a desire to grab boobs, and I have sworn to only grab yours as a sign of love and respect.

Me: I appreciate the dedication, but you need to stop grabbing my boobs all the time.

Alex: BUT I HAVE TO GRAB BOOBS!

So we came to a compromise.  I smack his hand until he stops.  And he doesn’t stop and barks at me when his hand gets raw from me smacking his hand all the time. Which then I tell him…

“Alex?  For the love of God, stop grabbing my boobs.”

Thus the cycle begins again.

Does your spouse have overy grabby hands?  Does your boyfriend or husband grab your boobs all the time and no matter what you say or do, your boobs seem like magical magnets that nobody can resist? Let me know in the comments!

The Golden Heart

I mentioned that I took a trip home this previous August.  I was home for nearly three weeks, and the main reason I was home was because there was a big family reunion for my father’s side of the family.

My father’s side of the family rarely gets together, especially like this.  We’re not a huge family, unless you go out to third and fourth cousins, then there’s close to a thousand of us, but for my late grandfather and his brother, if you include their children and grandchildren, there’s approximately 30 of us.

We’re a strange bunch, to say the least.  While my father and I have a very strange relationship where we have a lot of unspoken agreements on how we talk to one another, I can say that I’m definitely much closer to my father’s side of the family.

My grandfather had a PhD, as well as tons of other degrees.  He went to college for thirty years straight, and he stopped college when he retired.  He had an IQ that was easily around 180, and absolutely no common sense.  However, as my uncle explained, he had the family’s Golden Heart.

I’m twenty four now, and I always knew that my grandfather had a golden heart.  Heck, it was the reason that I was so crushed when he passed nine years ago.  My grandfather was a person who had very strange ideas about everything around him.  He was a college professor, an engineer, and a member of the NRA.  He never wore socks, he would have my grandmother make his pants with deep pockets in case someone tried to pick pocket him.  He would bathe in laundry detergent.  For as long as I knew him, I never knew him to comb his thick, white hair.

He was a very, very strange man.  But my memories of him are never malicious.

When I was young, I mentioned that I really wanted to learn piano, but my parents couldn’t afford it.  My father filled vending machines and when he was home, he would scrap metal in the garage, my brother and I helping him.  He easily worked 80 hours a week.  My mother was a type setter and typed textbooks in the living room while raising my brother and I.  I give my father a lot of crap about how we were raised, especially after the divorce, but one thing I can never neglect is that my parents worked hard for the little they got, and they never let on just how hard it was to take care of us with the little they had.

My grandfather, a week later, found an old organ at a flea market and bought it for me.  He told me to just play around on it and maybe I could teach myself someday.

When I was an older, around 13, I had decided that I wanted to be a writer.  I would spend hours writing fan fictions and short stories.  By the time I was sixteen, I had written two novels, both of which I have in an old notebook in my closet.  I read all of the harry potter books several times.  I read every Janet Evanovich book that had been released at that time.  In school, I wouldn’t do my homework or really participate in class because I was always reading.  My head was always in the clouds, thinking about how I was going to be a famous writer someday.

My mother was supportive in a strange way, telling me that I’ll never make a living being a writer, and that I should shoot for something else.  My father laughed at me, many of my other relatives (I have 15 cousins and it’s rapidly growing, as well as several aunts and uncles), and they all rolled their eyes at me.  I felt, at the time, that nobody quite understood me.

But my grandfather always did.

When my grandma was in California for a week vising my uncle, I spent the week with my grandpa in Eastern Minnesota.  I mentioned to him shyly that I wanted to be a writer, and instead of giving me grief, he spent the entire weekend we had together talking about the different types of writing there is.  He was pushing for technical writer or grant writer, which makes a lot of money.  He told me I can do romance writing, and if that’s what I wanted to do, he would support me, but he said that he knew I was intelligent, and if I took after him, technical writing would be the route I would be best suited for.

Every time I saw him after that, he would ask about my writing.  He would then try to persuade me to pursue technical writing, but he understood me in a way that nobody else ever did.

Probably my fondest memory of my grandfather is when he and I were at the flea market.  When he retired he became a blacksmith, because he found it fun.  He would sell bronze knives and plant stands that he made himself, as well as other blacksmith goods.  He was quite good at it, considering.  I would go with him to the flea market and we would sit on the back end of his truck, persuading people to buy the plant stands or the makeshift grill he made, but this afternoon it was slow.  We shared lemonade, and we talked about everything.  Old family stories, his childhood in Pennington, MN, his time in the Air Force, everything you could imagine.

We both fell asleep sitting in the sun, enjoying the suns warmth.  On the drive back to his house, he held my hand and told me that he was proud of me no matter what I did.

My grandmother is like that even now.  She is quirky, like my grandfather was, but she has the golden heart.  If I ever needed anything, she would be there to help me.  If I’m having a rough day, I call her and she makes me feel better.  There was one day, where I just needed comfort, and I called her almost in tears.  It was shortly after I got married, and when she asked me what I was doing, I told her I was making a cup of tea.

The best words of wisdom expelled from her mouth.

“If you can enjoy a cup of tea, it’s really not that bad.  As long as you can enjoy the taste of the tea, everything will get better.”

When I’m having a bad day, where I feel like I want to give up, I make myself a cup of tea, and my grandmother’s words echo in my ears.  No matter how bad things get, I can always enjoy a cup of tea.  And I realize that bad things are only relative, and things can always be worse, but they’ll always get better.

As I get older, I feel myself feeling less bitter to those who have wronged me.  Sometimes I kind of had it coming, other times it was misplaced affection (which sounds really strange as I type it).  I remind myself that every person in my family, my father included, has a golden heart.

If I were in trouble, no matter how estranged I was to anyone in my family, they would do anything to help me.  If I needed clothing, they would give me the shirt off their back.  If I was alone and scared, even if we were fighting, they would wrap their arms around me and give me comforting words.  There is one thing I know about my parents: my father loves me, and my mother loves me, and no matter what happens, if I need them, they’ll be here.

Sure, my family is strange and quirky and all together weird, but they have one thing that I’ve found a lot of families don’t have.

We have the golden heart, that no matter what happens, we strive to help those around us in any way humanly possible. We don’t discriminate against each other, we don’t hold grudges, and we most definitely ensure that nobody is treated with animosity.

And I’m happy to say that I’m part of a family that treats each other like that.

What is your fondest memory of your childhood?  I believe each family has it’s own uniqueness as to why their family has a golden heart, what is your family’s “golden heart?”  Tell me in the comments, I would love to know.

 

Two Years A Dog: The Desert And The Moon

My last post was extremely heart wrenching.  It actually caused me to cry while writing it.

So, in order to keep my sanity and to make myself realize that I didn’t completely give up on Patch, I shall tell you all a very heartwarming, and somewhat funny story.

I first must admit that this story is about three months premature, however, I figure it’s appropriate.  This is the story of how I found the third love of my life.

As you can imagine, Alex is the first love of my life.  He is my husband, my best friend, my soul mate, and my partner in crime.  He supports me, he is my rock, and if I were Morticia Addams, he is my Gomez.

While we were dating, about four years ago

While we were dating, about four years ago

The second love of my life, obviously, is Luna.  I wrote a post about her in February about how I had had her for two years and how she’s just the perfect dog in every way because, well, she just is.  But she is kind of defective since she doesn’t bark and she hates peanut butter.

Luna is not amused by your shenanigans.... ever

Luna is not amused by your shenanigans…. ever

Also, she’s kind of cat like.

The third love of my life, the one this post is about, is my condensed shepherd, Sahara.

Here’s the picture of her that was on Petfinder.com.

Painfully cute, right?

Painfully cute, right?

Let me tell you a bit about Sahara’s background.

Back in October of 2012, Luna had made it abundantly clear that she needed a friend.  She had a friend across our apartment complex named Bailey, who was a husky/terrier mix.  A cute little thing, she looked like a mini husky, but was a little stockier and a lot slower than Luna, which was great because they would play for hours and get very, very tired.

But when our friends went on vacation or a few weeks, Bailey went to a boarder and Luna had no playmate for three weeks.

When I used to walk Luna in Moose Creek, I would never have her on a leash because it was fairly uninhibited.  There were people, yes, but most of the houses were on an acre of land, and sometimes we would walk on the abandoned railroad bed back in the woods.  We saw a lot of moose, but they left us alone if we left them alone.

However, this particularly chilly October day of 5 degrees with a foot of fresh snow, Luna, with her crazy sled dog paws, decided to take off half way through our walk.

I was not dressed to be hiking through knee high snow.  I didn’t even have socks on.

When I got home, I was hoping that Luna was at the apartment.  Alex just got home, and I tell him Luna ran away.

He gets out of the car and we start walking around the complex, calling out for Luna.  She has this nasty habit of never coming when called.

After about forty five minutes, I decide, for the heck of it, to go to our friends apartment.  The apartment was divvied up into sections, and each section had its own entrance.  For instance, I was in the B section, and our entrance was only for those living in the B apartments.  Our friends lived in the J apartments.

I walk over to the J section, open the door, and see Luna laying in front of the door, ears back, eyes dilated and just looking overall pathetic.  I couldn’t even get mad— she missed her best friend Bailey.

I put her leash on and walked her back to our apartment.  Since we had rescued from the no kill shelter in North Pole and didn’t want to risk running into the woman who disliked military, we decided to head to the Animal Control in Fairbanks.

We had been discussing getting another dog.  Luna was my dog.  She still is.  Luna isn’t overly affectionate with Alex, but she is with me.  She would always lay at my feet, when I go to bed before or after Alex, she always crawls into the bed with me.  When she wants to play, she always puts the rope in my lap first— it’s just how it is.  She’s a little more like that with Alex now, but that first year with her, she pretty much wanted nothing to do with Alex unless he was going outside.

This bothered Alex, because he had a dog that didn’t really attach to him.

We argued about what kind of dog, and he wanted to get a pug.  He thinks they’re hilarious, I think they’re annoying in large doses.  I told him we should get another German Shepherd mix, like Luna, and he said maybe.  He wanted to get a toy breed though, since toy breeds are just that much easier to take care of, but I told him we’re either getting a real dog or no dog at all.

I thought this was fair.  I just like bigger dogs.

We agreed to see what kind of dogs were at the pound, but not to adopt any dogs that day.

However, he grabbed his check book anyway, you know, just in case he changed his mind.  We brought Luna with so Luna could be the final decider.  We wouldn’t want a dog that Luna hates, since it would be her new best friend.

We get to the pound in Fairbanks and they’re actually a little short on dogs, having only 20 dogs total at the pound.

For us, not a big deal.  We walk through and find a lot of retired sled dogs, all in the ten year old range who are just lazy and happy to not have to run twenty plus miles a day.  While the dogs were nice, we knew that Luna, who wasn’t even three years old at the time, would drive these retired dogs insane.  It’s like putting a teenager with a ninety year old in the same house together.

There was a one year old female pug that was howling at Alex, to which he pointed at me and said, “HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT ONE?!”

Ridiculous for a pug, right?

Ridiculous for a pug, right?

I couldn’t understand his want to have such a noisy dog.  The dog next to the pug, a 140 pound black german shepherd, was barking at us quite a bit too.  He had just survived four bullets to the head and was hardly scathed.

Now THAT is a tough dog.

Unfortunately, he was very noisy and more than double Luna’s size, and we only had an 800 square foot apartment.  While he was a nice dog, you can’t have a dog that’s ridiculously loud in an apartment.

When we are nearly done looking at the dogs, convinced we’re not going to get a dog, we see this really heavy set looking german shepherd mutt.

She only stands to about my knee, she’s 50 pounds, and when we take a closer look at her, we realize she’s severely underweight.  The reason she looks so chubby is because her chest is the size of a barrel.  Never, in my life, had I seen a dog with a chest cavity so large on a dog so small.

She didn’t bark at all, she just had a big goofy smile on her face, her tail slowly wagging.

She was a dog’s dog.

Alex fell in love immediately.  I thought she was cute, but I reminded him that Luna was the final determiner.

We ask the woman working in the back to take her out, and we take her into a room where we can meet her.  She practically bites off our hands eating the treats.  She’s sniffing everything, but she’s got a very cute waddle like walk.  We notice that her stomach skin is really loose with stitches.

“Oh, she just got fixed.  She also recently had puppies, which is why her skin is so loose.”

We got to learn her back story.

She was found off 40 mile Chena Hot Springs Road, by herself.  For those of you unfamiliar with Fairbanks, Alaska, this is an area where there’s no towns and very few houses from 10 mile Chena Hot Spring road all the way to Chena Hot Springs, which is at mile 56.  She was 16 miles from the closest  house.

Apparently when she was called in, Animal control whistled to her and she came running to them, happy for attention.  She had udders, but no puppies in sight.  Alex and I speculate that she ate them since she eats everything.

This, obviously, tugged at our heartstrings a bit.  She was very affectionate with Alex.

The final test was to bring in Luna.

Alex went to get Luna from the car and brought her into the pound.  Luna, obviously, was a nervous wreck since she spent the better part of six months in a pound.  The new dog began to hump Luna the second she came in the room, to which Luna didn’t move.

We saw this as a good sign since Luna didn’t try to rip her throat out.

The Animal Control woman told us that they named her Sahara, since she has so much dark orange fur with a black saddle.  I figured this was perfect since I already had my Moon, I figured that I would now have my Desert.

We picked up food for her at Cold Spot Feeds, got her some rawhides, and brought her home.

We took her on a long walk outside, lasting close to an hour, and once we brought her inside she pooped on the carpet.  And peed in the bedroom.

She did this for two weeks.

No matter how much we walked her, she refused to go potty outside.  We would walk for close to two hours sometimes to get her to go potty outside, but as soon as we got inside, she’d make eye contact and poop on the carpet.

When we took her to get her stitches out, it took four people to hold her down to get them out since she had a lot of fight in her.  We then learned about Alpha training and started doing that every day.

I don't think she minds...

I don’t think she minds…

After a couple of weeks, she became a very complacent dog, never barking, no longer humping Luna into submission, and stopped having accidents pretty much completely.

Alex got his wish too.  He got a dog that was his.  Sahara likes me, don’t get me wrong.  But she never lets Alex out of her sight, and she’s kicked me off the bed on several occasions to be closer to Daddy.

So happy to be held by Alex

So happy to be held by Alex

She also had this habit of destroying my house.

UGH!

UGH!

Unfortunately, she is a lot older than we realized.  She’s got quite a bit of gray around her muzzle now, and each passing year she gets lazier and lazier.  Usually she gets her exercise by watching Luna run around the yard.  Sometimes she’ll jump out to try to catch her, but usually, she’ll just lay down next to us, her tail slowly wagging, enjoying the scenery before her.

She’s a really good sport.  We can dress her up, give her a bath, hold her like a baby, and she is usually just happy to have the attention.

Sahara, the happy reindeer!

Sahara, the happy reindeer!

To Sahara, the third, but always equal, love of my life.  May you live many more happy years.

Sorry this was so long, but I hope that this was heart warming, considering my last post was long and heart wrenching.  Not all pound dogs are lost causes!

What’s your story about your dog?  How did you come to get your pet?  Do you dress up your dogs to ridiculous proportions?  Tell me in the comments!

The Ruffest Day: Saying Goodbye

I’ve mentioned that I had a foster dog named Patch in a previous post.  I have been trying to find him a home for the better part of a month now, as well as rehabilitate him because he gets aggressive with food.

Other than the food aggression, he’s been a very loving, and caring dog.  He would sit on my lap, he would nudge me when doing homework to play.  He was always by my side.

Unfortunately, last night, when Alex was feeding him, he attacked Alex, ripping open his hand.

Ouch.

Ouch.

With the bite gushing blood, we decide that we need to go to the ER.  We put Patch in his crate, and rushed to the ER.  They wrapped up his hand, informed us that you can’t stitch dog bites (They can become pockets of puss) and we waited close to three hours to be seen.

During this three hours, we were socializing with other ER patrons, making jokes, and trying to keep the mood light.

After the first two hours of waiting, Alex told me to go home and wait for him to call me to pick him up so I could let the dogs out.

So I took Luna, Sahara and Patch outside to do their business.  Lo and behold, Patch is being overly affectionate.  He doesn’t leave my side outside, he nudges my hand to pet him, and even rests his head on my shoulder when I knelt down like he was hugging me.

It broke me a little bit, not going to lie.  I hugged him and cried and told him he was a good boy and that heaven was just a big farm with unlimited food and lots of squirrels to chase.  He wagged his tail when I told him this, and I choose to believe he understood what I was saying.

I went back to the hospital to see Alex still in the waiting room.  He was surprised to see me back at the hospital, but when I told him that whenever I look at Patch, I start crying, he understood.  So we continued to make jokes.

He gets called back, and they put him on a hospital bed in the hallway that’s far too small for him.

He's just too big for most beds

He’s just too big for most beds

We decided to avoid the topic of Alex’s hand gushing insane amounts of blood and talk about Alex’s need for Kanel Bullar, a Swedish cinnamon roll that I make whenever my Swedish sister in law visits us from Central Louisiana.  They’ve turned into one of Alex’s favorite foods and I rarely make them because they’re incredibly time consuming and we usually end up eating all two dozen of them in one sitting.

Comfort food of choice

Comfort food of choice

I teased Alex that if we ever divorced, he would have to convince his second wife to get the recipe from my cold, hateful fingers.

Alex responded with a snort, “Oh no, we’re ending on good terms so you’ll cook me Kanel Bullars for the rest of my life.  I’ll make you think the divorce was your idea so you’ll feel eternally guilty for it and make sure that you’re making up for it for the rest of your life via kanel bullar.”

I put my hands on my hips, “Oh, so you’ve thought about divorcing me?”

He laughs, “Every time you leave a mess in the kitchen.”

To which he kisses my hand and we laugh.  We always make jokes like this in times of turmoil.

Oh crap, this is every morning

Oh crap, this is every morning

Shortly after, the nurse informs us that he has contacted Animal Control and I had to talk to the woman about the entire situation.  I told her exactly what happened, we found out that we have to have him quarantined for ten days, then after that I can choose to surrender him, to which he will be humanely euthanized, or I can take him home and try to find him a home.

While I wish I could take him home, let him run in my yard, feed him lots of treats, and hold him close for the rest of his life, he’s not my dog.

He was never my dog.

He’s nothing more than a scraggly stray that I tried to help that I can’t afford to keep anymore.

And it’s killing me.

Alex had his wound cleaned and we were sent home.  We ate a bunch of cake to make ourselves feel better after being at the hospital for nearly five hours, while Patch lays curled up on the floor, next to my feet.

I slept separately from Alex that night because I wanted to cuddle Patch one last time, but Patch decided to sleep on the floor next to me, while I pet him while falling asleep.

I woke up to all three dogs standing over me, Luna licking my face and Alex crawling in next to me, giving me a hearty squeeze.

I made us a big breakfast, making a full package of bacon to divvy out to the dogs.

My stomach was uneasy, as we waited for Animal Control to come to our house.  About an hour before Animal Control showed up, Patch went to Alex and licked his face.  The first time he had licked either of us.  Even Alex was shocked at the display of affection.

When the woman from Animal Control showed up, Patch had his tail wagging and seemed excited.  He happily let her put the leash on him and ran out the door to the van.  He seemed almost happy to go.

I choked back a sob, and watched him leave.  He seemed happy to go.

Maybe he knows that it’s for the best as well.  I think that heaven will be a better place for him.

Luna has been sulking in her kennel ever since patch left.  I think she knows that he’s not coming back.

Poor Luna.  Her buddy is gone

Poor Luna. Her buddy is gone

For anyone in the Louisiana area, Patch is being quarantined for the next ten days at the Bossier City Animal Control.  If you think you could rehabilitate him and get hi the care he needs, I think you can adopt him with my permission.  If not, I completely understand.  There’s nothing more I can do for him.

Have you ever had to make a decision that broke your heart?  Have you ever been in a situation where it ended far differently than you anticipated?  Let me know in the comments.

Gay Weddings are Fabulous (Serious Post)

So first and foremost, I apologize for not having posted anything in such a long time.  I’ve been extremely busy, and I’m taking a few minutes to post a little thing about Gay Marriage.

This last weekend I attended my first gay wedding.  I’ve been to several weddings for cousins, friends, family, and the entire shebang.  They have all been beautiful, they have all been endearing, and some of them have lasted.

But this wedding I went to for my two very close friends was the most beautiful and emotional wedding I had ever attended. The minister was honest and good natured, the grooms very obviously loved each other when exchanging their vows, and it was just an overall wonderful wedding.  With awesome cake.

Attending a wedding like this, seeing a young couple so in love with each other, it just agitates me about how so many people are against gay marriage.  If anything, from what I saw, gay marriage is restoring the sanctity of marriage, not destroying it. 

Seeing them together, dancing, exchanging kisses, looking at each other like young lovers tend to, made my heart soar.  Seeing how their families supported them, how all of their friends and family had no judgment almost made me envious.  I had support for my marriage, but I had a lot of criticism from getting married in such a short span.  I was later criticized for marrying a military man, for people thinking I married him for nothing more than money and health insurance, but I’m sure that they will also encounter their own hardships, something I hope that I’m wrong about.

So here is my view on gay marriage.

Everyone should be allowed to get married to whomever they want.

Every person who gets married seems to get grief.  I also judge people getting married.  I think that eighteen year olds marrying their high school sweethearts are being stupid getting married, and they hear all the time how they’re not mature enough to be married.  I was told that I was marrying Alex for health insurance and because he was in the military.  My two friends will probably be told that their marriage will never be recognized by God.

But God will forgive murderers?

He will forgive pedophiles?

He will forgive mothers abusing and neglecting children, sometimes killing their children?

But God will supposedly not forgive two men for loving each other unconditionally?

Even from a nonreligious standpoint, two men loving each other is not affecting anyone’s marriage.  My two friends tying the knot gives me hope.  For two people who obviously love each other, they should be allowed to live their married life free of prejudice. 

And it’s not just them.  My uncle and his husband have been together for over twenty years, the only one on my father’s side of the family with a successful marriage.  My father and his older brother are divorced, but the youngest, the most successful, the well-adjusted kids, the happiest couple, is apparently wrong because my uncle is in love with a man.

If you are someone who does not think that two men or two women can’t make a happy life together, then please take a look at your own marriage.  I know more straight couples who are miserable in their marriage than gay couples, I have met couples who hated each other for years, but apparently it was okay for them to have abusive relationships, or neglectful, or generally unhappy because it was accepted.  This is a sad society where a miserable straight couple who hate each other and abuse their children is more acceptable than a gay happy couple with children well adjusted.

This is a sad society we live in, and it is something that needs to be changed.

To my friends who got married, I love you both, and I wish you years and years of happiness.  I wish you a life free of prejudice, and a life full of laughter and a life full of love.  I wish you everything that I wish for anyone who ever gets married for the one thing every human being on this earth yearns for: Love.

For those of you who wish to comment, if you comment telling me how against gay marriage you are or how you disagree with everything I have to say, do not bother commenting.  They will be deleted.  I will not tolerate negative comments on a topic such as this.

Thank you for reading.

You Can Never Have Too Many Blankets (My husband disagrees)

After telling this particular story to my mother in law, she said to me, “You can take the girl out of Minnesota, but you can never take the Minnesota out of the girl.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

There has always been a million one thing Alex and I fight about on a regular basis, and it started when we were dating, and we will most likely fight about it until our dying days.

Blankets.

Maybe it’s because I’m from Minnesota, maybe it’s because I hate paying the heating bill, I have no idea.  But I believe there are a few things that make a house a home.  Pictures of family together on the walls,  the smell of food, and blankets everywhere.

Alex believes in lots of food and pictures, but the blankets he just doesn’t get.  To be fair though, he organizes everything in the house and was giddy when he got a label maker, and I believe everything should be thrown in a pile and forgotten about, so I figure this is his little revenge.

I have around twenty blankets, and I’m always scavenging thrift shops for more.  When we were in Alaska, he didn’t really fight me too much on it.  There was one day though, where we had a very thorough discussion on my “blanket hoarding,” or so he calls it.

Alex: Why do we need so many blankets?  We have the down comforter and we have two blankets on the couch, we don’t need anymore. We’re in Louisiana, nobody has this many blankets here.

Me: What if we get cold?

Alex: We have a blanket for each of us.

Me: What if the dogs get cold?

Alex: They have fur.

Me: What if people come over and they get cold?

Alex: YOU DON’T LET PEOPLE COME OVER!

Me: So what you’re saying is, we should be prepared in case I ever change my mind?

Alex: NO!  I’m saying we should get rid of all the damn blankets to make room for stuff we actually need, like new towels that match and aren’t falling apart.

Me: We have tons of towels, you told me not to get anymore.

Alex: I told you not to get anymore if you’re going to keep the old ones.

Me: And there’s no reason to get rid of the old ones.

Alex: YOU’RE MAKING THIS IMPOSSIBLE!

Me: No, you’re making this impossible.

Alex: WE LIVE IN THE SOUTH! IT WILL NEVER GET COLD HERE!

Me: YOU NEVER KNOW!

The next day it dropped to 40 degrees in the house.  And with the wind and humidity, it was actually miserable.

I think I won.