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drunkonmoonshine-blog · 9 years ago

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Mighty Hearts

For the Love of God Dog

To test your motherly/fatherly/parently instincts before actually being ready to take on that real undertaking... get a dog. I suppose you could get any animal or maybe you're a plant person, but for me I'm a dog person so this is going to be a dog story (...my dog may or may not be actually laying on my lap as I type).

As a family of four living in a white-picket fence suburb, the only thing we were missing was a family pet. Once I had started elementary school, my parents thought my brother and I were both now old enough to help care for a family animal. I suppose pet preference could be embodied as a gene passed down generations because many families, mine included, with a mom dog person and a dad dog person have obligate children dog people. If this were the case, in my opinion, the dog gene as opposed to a cat gene, fish gene, etc. would or should be dominant :). Regardless, there was no question in what type of pet we were going to get... so it was off to the dog breeders we went. I was too little at that point to remember any part of the process in choosing a breed or a breeder. All I remember is being in the backyard of some person's house gawking at the adorable puppies joyfully and carelessly waddling, frequently stumbling, around a weakly enclosed area. I was head over heels, similar to some of these minimally coordinated pups, in love with dogs from that point forward.

The dog we picked, Molly Brown (our family dogs get middle names too), quickly became one of my very best friends. She was certainly not in the well-behaved dog category because my brother and I found ways to make it difficult to discipline an energetic puppy (aka we secretly fed her under the table, rarely if ever told her no, and consistently developed games that involved us chasing each other around the house). But she was nonetheless loving, so so loving. The bonding that takes place between a child and a dog is unimaginably beautiful. I don't know why or when or even how, but that dog became family quickly and deeply. I remember my dad didn't allow her upstairs at night because no one was awake to make sure she wouldn't get into trouble. One night I felt especially guilty to have to leave her downstairs at bedtime, so after my dad went up to bed I quietly tiptoed down the stairs to retrieve her. Holding her collar to slow her pace as much as my 10 year old self could, we slyly made our way up to my room. All the while, I'm whispering in her ear "shhh, be quiet so daddy doesn't hear us, and you can sleep with me tonight" and then I would look into her eyes always searching for some validation that she heard me and understood. To this day, I could swear she gave me that validation.

Unfortunately, Molly didn't have a long enough life (like any life of an animal could be long enough). She passed away when she was only four years old after unknowingly, and rambunctiously like her lively puppy self, running into the street in front of our house. The culmination of time and circumstance at that moment was not in our favor. Only an hour or two later in the vet hospital, she passed away. The day Molly died is one of the most vivid memories I still hold. I wasn't allowed to go to the hospital to see her before they put her down because my mom thought it would be too difficult of a sight for a third grader. Though I'm nearly sure my mother was right (she knew too well of her daughter's sensitivity), I still wish I could've said goodbye. The next day I came home from school because I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't comprehend the idea of death very much at the time, but I could sure feel the substantial ache in my chest, the loss was physically painful. That event, I think, was the first time I truly learned emotional and physical experiences are not by any means mutually exclusive.

No dog would replace my very first, but I missed having a furry friend to confide in. After seeing the way it tore our family up inside, my dad didn't want to go through with it again (and I think he probably also considered the fact that it was often a battle to get my brother or me to take the dog for a walk or go pick up poop in the yard regardless of how much we loved Molly). So there were years of me pleading for a dog and my dad always saying no. Then in high school he decided this was an opportunity to teach me some useful business skills. In order to get another dog for the family, I would have to make a strong case for it: research, plan, offer options, gather preferences, and make a well-orchestrated presentation for final endorsement. My dad said it was my responsibility to convince him. I took on that challenge willingly.

A computer presentation supplemented with a prepared booklet of information accompanied me and my parents into the family room for a sit-down meeting. This was business. Stakes were high (in my mind). I had a breed and breeder picked out. I even had the specific dog arranged (it sounds weird to say it, but the puppy was "on-hold" awaiting our deposit which the breeder kindly gave us a few days to decide on). Essentially, I made it so that my dad had his hand above the button and all I needed to do was coach him into letting it fall. After the presentation was over, being pretty impressed with my passionate thoroughness, my dad asked some questions. My mom and I answered (she had been in my corner aching for another puppy under our roof). Turns out the business practice paid off, but no transaction can be trusted without a contract... so the three of us wrote a contract laying out roles of responsibility (basically saying I was responsible for the dog in all regards with some help from my mom) and ownership of the soon-to-be family dog. On 9/27/08 I signed that piece of loose leaf paper, and in October my mom and I brought home a puppy from Iowa.

That little white nugget of a dog, only weighing a few pounds, couldn't keep her legs from slipping out from under her on our, now her, hardwood floors when we first brought her inside. Not knowing the power of prophecy, we bought Ellie Marie a food bowl with "spoiled" painted on it and a water bowl with "diva." Now, we're coming up on eight years later and she still slips and slides chasing after toys (but never bringing them back, fetch isn't really her thing) or having her crazed mid-afternoon Bichon buzz-runs. Fittingly, she is referred to in our house as The Queen of Sheba. If there was ever a daddy's little girl, besides me, it is for sure Ellie. Our dog is our baby and I won't shy away from saying we shower her, with what many would see as excessive, love and affection.

.....But the real point of this post and the reason for my utter awe with dogs is that no matter how oddly we praise them and talk to them like a toddler or let them motivate us to do crazy things like take them for a bike ride in a backpack strapped on like a baby carrier... we will never ever be able to give them the amount of unconditional love they give us. They might not have thumbs, or appreciate many rewards besides edible ones, or think the same way humans do but I am sure they have a mastery of love. I don't think anyone or anything does a better welcome-in-the-door hello than a dog. By God, I will be forever grateful for and in high admiration of their small but very very mighty hearts.

#doglover #dogs #puppylove #mightyhearts

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drunkonmoonshine-blog · 9 years ago

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Binary Shminary

I was born a girl. I grew up a girl. So I am a girl, right?

Well for all intents and purposes, I didn’t understand what it truly meant to be any gender, let alone a girl, until more recently in young adulthood - I prefer the term, old childhood.

So what is gender? and sex? and how are they different?... well in classic millennial fashion, I googled it.

Google defines gender as... the state of being male or female (typically used with reference to social and cultural differences rather than biological ones)

and sex as... either of the two main categories (male and female) into which humans and many other living things are divided on the basis of their reproductive functions

Interestingly, for both terms the only listed synonym was the other term which is inherently contradictory to the provided definitions.

Sex is a function of physical structures.

Gender is a state of being.

The first time I can remember questioning the practical application of our culture’s gender binary (though none of those words were used at the time) was in 3rd grade and it continued as a relatively pervasive thought in my mind until 6th grade. When my mom and brother would leave the house for a grocery store trip, I strategically opted out of, I would race down to my brother’s room grab a pair of jeans and cargo shorts (on a good day, I would grab his pant that’s zipped off at the knees or had a built in belt that buckled like motocross pants - those were my favorite) and run back up to my room, probably before they even had a chance to drive down the block. I knew time was short, and I didn’t want to be caught doing what I was about to do. It’s interesting how I knew at the time that what I was doing would be considered wrong or messed up, but it never made me uncomfortable with myself at that age. It’s like I had a secret, imaginary friend almost that I kept completely to myself. As soon as I could lock the door to my room, I wrestled on my brother’s clothes over a pair of my own boxers. My mom wouldn’t buy me anything but pink boxers or ladybug covered ones, but hey they were boxers and besides I liked pink and ladybugs. [side note: when given the option to paint my room, I willing and happily chose a soft, delicate pink <- and I don’t regret it.] To finish off the look and feel I was going for, I cautiously pulled open my sock drawer. This was the part I had to be most careful about because it implied that I wanted something I couldn’t have (so I believed then) - being a tomboy was okay with me, I could take the heat at that age and generally there wasn’t a lot of heat given for it (young kids are amazingly accepting), but actually wanting to be a boy was a whole different level and I knew it. Regardless, I tucked a pair of rolled up socks beneath my underwear and zipped up the baggy jeans that dragged almost half of a foot of fabric under my heels. I would just stand there smiling, occasionally looking down at the crouch of my pants, for many minutes. Then sometimes I would get anxious and take everything off in a flurry to ensure it was all back in place before the return of my brother and mom, and other times I would just go about whatever it is I was doing prior to their departure in these clothes, partially daydreaming about what my name would be if I was a boy. Sometimes I’d throw a hat on and tuck my hair up into but that was always a pretty difficult task with long curls.

This silent and secretive exploration took place through having my first boyfriend in the 4th grade, whispering about crushes in the hallways, kissing boys at recess, and arguments with my mom about whether or not I had to wear a training bra to school because my buds were coming in.

Then came middle school. In 6th grade I learned a little bit more about what it meant to be a girl when I found myself shaking with fear in the bathroom the day I got my very first period. I don’t remember an exact event that stopped my sock stuffing fantasies, but I never found myself doing it in middle school or high school. Instead, I spent mornings straightening my hair and picking out a tight v-neck shirt and short jean skirt. And I was happy to do it. In 7th and 8th grade I had a handful of boyfriends, lasting anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of months. I dressed like a girl, sounded like a girl, on some days acted like a girl... but on some days I acted like a boy

... and on most days I just acted like me.

That’s the beauty of gender as I see it now. Gender is indeed a state of being, a way of expressing one’s self, so why on earth would we limit ourselves to two distinct and predictable choices. Regardless of the way my ovaries function, I’m going to act however I want to, however I feel most comfortable acting.

I’m going to tell my body who I am when I am it, not the other way around.

Life is so much bigger than the physical pieces. I don’t know whether I will feel more like a boy or girl when I wake up tomorrow, but I try not to think in those self-restricting terms. I’m going to wake tomorrow being me, and choosing whatever outfit and perspective and mannerisms I want to wear that day. Gender is not prescribed to us, it is a state of being that we can willing choose and willing change as often as we’d like. I know this world doesn’t make it easy to be the third player in a game built for two but I also know that subscribing to the dishonesty of a gender binary won’t make the game any less confusing or any more fulfilling - what will, is finding your own state of being and being it.

Be brave.

Be you.

& please be accepting of yours and others’ states of being.

#gender #genderless #queer #gender idenity

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