#i could fully see the coat being something Elizabeth bought him trying to be nice and Peter being like :D thank you!

[suburbonlegends]

Rewatching the pilot and I just realized that when Neal gets released into Peter's custody, I think he's released in the clothes he was wearing when Peter caught him (the blue prison guard slacks and the white t-shirt) but also he's wearing a coat, so.

Did Peter bring him the coat? Is it one of Peter's old coats?

[letterstopoldark-blog]

Pilot (Part I)

Dear Poldark,

Hi. I’m here. Why? Well, I love historical fiction. I love the 18th century. I needed something to fill my Droughtlander. Supposedly, you’re going to fill this void in all of your tri-cornered hat glory. I am promised love, scandal, 18th century England, and objectification of the male physique. I mean, okay. I’ll try anything at least once. 

Enter a you, tall, dark and handsome (or should I say, pol, dark and handsome? heh... sorry,) scoundrel wearing a red coat. Despite the fact I am American and literally every piece of American propaganda since I was born has told me to find red coats and tri-corner hats distasteful, I somehow don’t hate you in the first few scenes in which I see you. You seem apathetic to the war around you, gambling a few coins away and laughing like you’re in some 18th century frat and not, oh, the American Revolution. You actually seem a bit spoiled, tbh. Joking about breaking the law and going to war to escape the gallows. LOL, good times. 

I am very close to being not that into you when I see a flash of honor on your part, questioning your Commander and whether they were defending liberty or tyranny in the backwoods of New England. Ah, so Ross Poldark is a philosopher, eh? 

We never did get to hear the Commander’s answer, because, well, war.

Suddenly, we think you might be dead except we know you’re not because why would they name a show after a dead guy? Okay, I guess they did that with Cukoo, but I’m watching the “real" BBC-in-collab-with-PBS, not BBC 3-in-collab-with-Netflix. I expect the best here. 

Cue mysterious flashback of a pretty, giggly woman on some bucolic coast somewhere, and then there’s that sweet, rustic violin music and some vast, pretty skies and a rugged English shoreline, nearly as rugged as your 5 o’clock shadow and okay, I’m in. Because I am always in when a show has good intro music.

Come to find out, two years later, you, Mr. Pol, Dark and Handsome are returning home to a dead father and gossiping neighbors and … at least you might still have that girl we saw in the flashback, right? Because, I mean...

Wait, sorry, forgot what I was saying. I became too distracted by your cape. I do love a man in a cape.

How pleasant that you arrive home and promptly crash a family dinner party! What a joyous homecoming. Perhaps you can all play a rousing game of Monopoly afterwards while wearing matching sweaters. Side note, I love the woman in the frilly cap. She has only said one or two lines but I will already tell you that she is what I aspire to be when I grow up. Also, doesn’t she look familiar? Anyways, fun fact, I once bought a colonial-style hat that looked exactly like the one she’s wearing in a gift shop situated in a former, 18th century French fort in Northern Michigan. It matched my Felicity doll. 

#nerd. 

I was not the popular girl in school. 

Anyways, this dinner that you crashed seems to have brought you back into the arms (almost!) your dear flashback!girlfriend, Elizabeth, who is all a-fluster at your reappearance into your life. (Which, side note, it would be adorable that she is all flushing and girlish to once again be blessed by your presence, but this is 2017 and I think women, even if it’s anachronistic, are... not supposed to be all girly like that? I mean, is it not a little... silly? Are we for once actually not going to be anachronistic in a television series and actually show how shitty and un-politically correct the world once was? I’m conflicted about how this is all playing out.) At any rate, something is clearly amiss here because it all seems too good to be true and we’re only 10 minutes into the show.

Oh, goody, and your cousin is there, too, welcoming you home heartily. What a lovely time!

Wait... what’s that? And he’s getting married! Yay, wedding. Maybe you’ll get to dance with flashback!girlfriend at the wedding, Pol.

Um, stop. Who is he getting married to? 

No.

Aw.

Awww.

Poldark. Sweetie. I mean, ugh. Tough break. You go off for several years overseas to fight some spoiled, uncivilized American brats and you return home just in time for flashback!girlfriend to marry your cousin.

Awkward.

I really love your cape, by the way.

I guess you aren’t staying in your cousin/soon to be flashback!girlfriend aka. Elizabeth’s mansion tonight, eh? Time to go home. 

Your dad wasn’t much of a housekeeper, was he?

Drunk servants. Rats. How pleasant. Wait, why do I obsess over this century so much? It could use a vat of antibacterial wipes and I would need an arsenal of antibiotics to go back there.

Anyways, Poldark, I know you’ve had a rough day, but do you really need to snap at the servants and be such a bastard? Prickly. 

So, let’s recap, my dear. Your house is a rotting piece of trash. Your flashback!girlfriend is gone, to your cousin/friend no less, daddy is six feet under, and… well, at least the scenery is pretty. I mean, you do have a million dollar view there.

So back to the local mansion: is it Trenwith or Chenwith? My uncultured American ears cannot tell the difference. (Side note: it’s Trenwith.)

I like that you have a group of guys in town to be all bromancey with. At least something is going right in your life.

I can see now that, despite your moody sensibilities, in the next few scenes we have definitely established that, while you may be fairly poor right now, you have your heart in the right place. Are you going to be some sort of Robin Hood type figure? Or perhaps an 18th century, more rugged version of Harry Potter, whose reckless bravery leads him to fight for noble causes? You do have the facial scar. 

Speaking of Harry Potter, now that we have fully established you as being in Gryffindor, let’s cut to a scene where clearly the VILLAIN of the series is being introduced.

“Ross Poldark is alive” we hear a man with curly hair and frilly clothes say. He is counting his money. He has a wingman with an evil voice. I’m 99% sure the curly-haired blonde with frilly clothes is Draco Malfoy’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather. The guy with the evil voice is Crabbe and Goyle’s ancestor. 

Speaking of villains, Elizabeth’s mother is a Disney villain, no? I’m getting some wicked stepmother vibes here. “Marry the dude you don’t like as much,” she advises her daughter. Yes, because that always goes well, lady.

Meanwhile, this episode clearly can’t show too much of you being nice, because we are frequently reminded of how your servants are useless but as much as they’re useless, you’re even more of a bastard to them. Also, did you just call them fat? Wow, Pol, my friend. A+ servant owner of the year award. What’s next, “Let them eat cake”?

This episode is getting a little tedious, but all of the sudden we are introduced to your cousin Verity. I love Verity already. She’s sweet. A breath of fresh air. She’s also been a character in literally every British television or movie I’ve ever seen, and I like her. She has a good attitude despite the mopey family she was clearly born into.

I’m getting the sense that you and flashback!girlfriend are made for each other, because your favorite hobby is brooding. Still, better broody than insecure, which your cousin Francis is. He must be insecure about not being as broody. Instead, he goes for pouty. It’s not quite as sexy.

Luckily, flashback!girlfriend’s mother seems to be influential, because Francis is hanging on to her.

#thatawkwardmoment when you are invited to your flashback!Girlfriend’s wedding with your former BFF.

Okay, so here’s the thing, Poldark. Right around here you make a fatal flaw. No pun intended. Were you literally about to let your cousin die in front of you? Um, I don’t know what to say to you other than, asshole. 

“Is Poldark a bastard? Moment #2: Almost lets cousin/BFF drown. 

10 points from Gryffindor.

Let’s check in on Malfoy, who is now currently vying for a spot as your best frenemy. Good luck shaking that guy off.

I take it back about you and Elizabeth being made for each other. Your broodiness would eventually destroy each other, as you try to out brood yourselves and ultimately would brood each other to death.

Oh, and by the way, at this point in the episode, I have decided you are indeed a bastard.

Pol, dark and broody.

Quick question, Are there going to be pirates in this series?

And then there’s a good ol’ fashioned family Tarot reading, which is appropriately Mysterious for the halfway point of this episode. Thank goodness for the crazy old aunt in her Colonial cap reading the Tarot to her mopey family. This kind is how I like my 18th century dramas.

To be continued...

Sincerely,

A.

{{still photo credits}}

[howellrichard]

Our Miracle Boy (a Tribute to Buddy)

Hi Dear Friends,

I’ve loved animals from the time I was little. In fact, I had more animal friends than kid friends. They just understood me better and I, them. Much to my Mom’s dismay, I was always rescuing someone. Frogs, cats, inch worms—everyone was welcome in my home. I even made little outfits for them by cutting holes in my baby clothes—another thing she wasn’t too keen on.

My beloved pets helped me through college, heart-breaks, job changes and moves. For me, life just isn’t the same without furry friends. Cut to today. We live on 17 stunning acres in beautiful Woodstock, NY—my sanctuary. When we moved here, I dreamed of rescuing lots of animals. I also dreamed of expanding our human family—but that wasn’t in the cards for us.

Living with a rare, slow-growing stage IV cancer, with no cure or proven treatment options, has had some consequences. But, the hardest one has been having to potentially choose between my life and having children.

My oncologist described it like this: “Picture your disease like a rock balancing on top of a mountain. Right now, that rock is stable, not causing you any harm. If something (like pregnancy) were to change that, your rock may start tumbling down the mountain. If that happens, there’s a chance we can catch it. We just don’t know if we can put it back on top of the mountain—where you’re safe. There are just too many unknowns, so think hard before you potentially wake the sleeping giant inside you.”

Now, I’m a risk taker but this was too big of a risk for me. And sure, there was adoption, but it’s a lot harder for a stage IV cancer patient like me to qualify as a candidate. Plus to be honest, we just weren’t up for the journey at the time.

So, my rock-solid husband and I made the tough decision not to have children. We vowed to live big, fully and out loud to squeeze the most out of the life we did have. Though our decision was right for us and even healing, it was also the only time I’ve ever felt broken. Fuck you, cancer.

Now, as I was processing all this soul-growing stuff, I decided it was the perfect time for a second dog! I was a mama to our gal, Lola, and my aching heart wanted more unconditional love and sloppy kisses. So, I started to petition my man. Though he shares my love for animals, he didn’t exactly have more fur-babies on the brain. In his mind, I traveled too much for work and life was too complicated—bad timing. “It’s not a no, it’s just not a yes right now,” he said.

Miracles come in all shapes & sizes—including big, furry hound #dogs. Our job is to notice & thank them: http://bit.ly/2nXbfcV @Kris_Carr

But, I grew up with parents who used that kind of mumbo jumbo on me, and I do not give up easily. So, my petition turned into an all-out marketing campaign for our next pooch. A week didn’t go by where I wouldn’t pitch my “top 3 reasons why our new dog would transform our lives”. Complete with infographics, pie charts and analytics.

Finally, he relented. Praise God! It felt like Christmas, my birthday and the time the Easter Bunny gave me a training bra in my basket—monumental. We celebrated our glorious decision (AKA my hard-fought win) by going on a long hike on our favorite mountain trail. Naturally, I couldn’t contain my joy, and I expressed it with each strenuous step.

Then, the miracle happened.

We rounded a corner and there he was. Our miracle boy. Our Buddy dog. He was emaciated, matted and covered in filth—we fell in love instantly. Through the kindness of strangers, a group of people helped us slowly get Buddy down the mountain. Someone offered a blanket and a nice man gave him part of his sandwich for strength. Brian took off his belt and made a collar and leash and, when that wasn’t enough, he carried him. From that moment forward, it was a collective #gobuddygo rescue effort.

As we quickly learned, Buddy was in bad shape, days away from dying. The vet informed us that he was about 50 pounds underweight and very lucky to be alive. Due to certain clues, we think he either ran away from an abusive situation or was dumped. I scoured the local papers, Facebook posts and lost pet registries, but no one was looking for him. We even went town to town looking for posters and fliers—nothing. (Thank God! We didn’t want to give him back to anyone.)

As we were trying to understand what happened, we learned that Buddy’s breed is often used for hunting and our gentle fella probably wasn’t very skilled. Sadly, it isn’t uncommon for hunters to abandon animals that don’t perform. This isn’t always the case, there are many hunters who love and care for their dogs. It’s just more of an issue with Buddy’s breed than we knew, so we couldn’t rule that out. Especially because he hated guns, thunder and raised voices. Think more Turner Classics and less NRA.

For months, we poured our hearts into helping our new boy heal. I often joked that his angels instructed him to be at that location on that very day. To look for a yammering blonde and her patient hubby. “She will know what to do. He will do whatever it takes.”

We researched the best diet, supplements and holistic remedies. We even brought in an acupuncturist (until Buddy signaled that needles weren’t his thing by trying to bite the nice man who was thankfully very understanding!).

When the weight wasn’t coming on fast enough for his recovery, we added softball-sized servings of raw ground beef to the mix. Twice weekly, this vegan would head to the butcher in a baseball hat and sunglasses. I even ran into Elizabeth Lesser there once. “Of all the places to bump into you!”. Yeah, tell me about it.

Over time, Buddy went from looking downtrodden to totally radiant. It was amazing to watch his spark come back. His matted coat became shiny and his body functions normalized. But as he was healing, his energy was introverted and cocoon-like. He didn’t like to be touched too much or handled in an unconscious way.

Once, I plopped down on the sofa he was sitting on and unintentionally startled him awake. Well, he snapped at the air like a Great White Shark leaping for a seal. Buddy’s message was clear: “Be mindful around me, especially when I’m in a vulnerable state.”

I can only imagine how scared and alone he felt while starving in the woods. Were there predators? What about all the rain and thunder? Did he think he was going to die? It was traumatic so, naturally, any sudden movement when his defenses were down wasn’t gonna fly. “Got it. Sorry, Buds.”

After a long (mindful!) winter, Buddy totally recovered, and then blossomed. His personality slowly emerged and we were delighted to meet the real, funny him. A gentle, goofy giant, who went from being frightened of touch, to moaning for ear noogies and full-body hugs.

When he wasn’t holding court and welcoming visitors as the mayor of the porch, he was on patrol, checking the perimeter. Thankfully, six of our acres are fenced and dog-friendly. It was my guess that his nightly missions made us safer (or so he believed).

And boy, could our fella move! We called him a shape-shifter. One minute, we were on one side or our football field-sized lawn, the other minute he was on the opposite—until you said the word “cookie”. Then, the woods would shake as he suddenly appeared, galloping full-speed toward his treat.

Buddy fell in love with everyone, especially butterflies and small dogs and gentle winds that brought worlds of information to his gigantic schnoz. He even loved his little sister, though it took her a while to return the feelings. I swear that boy taught me more about kindness and resilience than some of the greatest teachers on this planet.

Especially after what came next.

For a while, we thought his gait was weird due to an accident or perhaps an issue from birth. His left leg made these goofy little half-moon circles when he walked, and he often stood like a ballerina (with his back legs in second position). Odd. Hmmm… Though we didn’t think too much of it, we thought we should get it checked out. So, we took him to a specialist, and that’s when we learned that Buddy had Degenerative Myelopathy (DM), a disease that’s similar to ALS in people.

Like ALS, there’s no cure and the end isn’t easy. Paralysis would work its way through Buddy’s body until he couldn’t move or breathe and there was nothing we could do about it. Maybe he has 6 months to live, at best. Fuck you, DM!

Then, I really knew why he chose us as parents. His angels said, “That one. See her? She’s your new mom and she has a chronic disease, too. She and your new dad will know what to do and they’ll give you the best, longest life possible.”

And, that’s exactly what we did.

As Buddy’s disease progressed, he started to lose his ability to fully use his back legs. So, we bought a harness and held him up as he walked. At first, he only needed us to stabilize him but, over time, his backend got heavier and heavier. When we could no longer be his legs for him, we had Buddy fitted for a wheelie cart—which he loved and zoomed around in—often flipping it while chasing squirrels or his little sister.

When his front legs started to go, we got him a super-Cadillac cart that supported both his front and rear (Thank you, Eddie’s Wheels!). Around this time, he stopped being able to relieve himself without assistance, so we learned how to express his bladder and his bowels. To say I’d be a good proctologist is an understatement.

We didn’t think it was gross (ok, sometimes we thought it was really gross!) and neither did he. Right before each bowel expression, I’d sing “someone’s knocking on the door, let me in, let me in”. He’d dance. I’d get a poop out. Sorry, I know this is really graphic, describing how I put my gloved finger in our dog’s ass to stimulate a bowel movement, but it’s the truth. And, you thought my life was glamorous!

As the months went on, caring for Buddy became a nearly full-time job. And to be honest, sometimes it was really frustrating, especially in the snow and rain. But, it taught us lessons in patience and the values of showing up every day. I stopped traveling for work, cut back on speaking engagements and socialized less (sorry we missed your wedding Kate and Mike, and sorry to so many other friends). But as many of you with pets who are like your children know, there’s no difference between our love for them and other family members. It’s unconditional.

So, we carried on. But, we also looked for signs from Buddy. Was this the life he wanted to live? The shitty thing about DM is that animals who have it are often still fully themselves, even as their bodies are dying. Even though he was bed-bound, he still took his job as mayor of the porch very seriously. He was still full of life and love and so much personality and possibility—a gentle ambassador for rescues and disabled animals—but his body was failing and his time with us was slowly coming to an end.

I talked to him about dying, and I asked him to signal us when he was ready. I also prayed to God to help us know when it was time. We didn’t want him to suffer or be unhappy. He deserved peace.

I also asked God to let me know if we were being selfish. Were we keeping him around because we couldn’t bear to lose him? Or, were we doing what was right and giving him the best life?

I talked to our vet and he said we were doing the right thing and praised our efforts and love. I even invited our dear friend, Kathy, over for her professional opinion. Kathy is the founder of the Catskill Animal Sanctuary and I knew she’d tell me the hard truth. This tough and wonderful broad has rescued thousands of animals and she’s also had to compassionately put some of them down when they were suffering. No one knows this journey better than Kathy.

“Girrrrrl, this fella still has a lot of life in him! Keep going, he’s not ready.” Oh, what a relief! More days… More months… More precious time with our precious miracle boy…

And then, one day, he was ready.

Though we had some damn good times in those last months, Buddy’s symptoms progressed and he started letting go. I watched as he retreated back to that internal cocoon-like state. Though he still loved our attention and cuddles, his spark was fading. It was time.

On the day Buddy died, I told him that he was about to meet my grandma, grandpa and favorite cat, Crystal. That he’d see Brian’s dad and my biological father, who both loved dogs. Plus, he’d be embraced by so many other angels, too, including my Aunt Maria, who jingled when she walked and was a fabulous Flamenco dancer.

I let Buddy know that I’d follow him one day, just not right now. And until we saw each other again, he should run in fields, play like a pup, smell flowers, eat way too many cookies and cuddle with the stars.

That afternoon we made a love fort in the middle of the living room. Our vet came over and so did Buddy’s best friend, Michelle (the therapist who lovingly got into a tank with him several times a week to give him the hydrotherapy treatments that extended his life).

We held Buddy in our arms and told him how much we loved him and, right before he passed, he popped his head up and looked straight into my eyes. In that profound moment, I felt his love, gratitude and presence.

Then, he peacefully left his body.

Buddy truly was a miracle, our miracle boy. He lived a year and a half longer than the doctors expected, a year and a half more of joy, life lessons and bringing beauty to the world.

We miss him deeply but feel so blessed for the time we had together. I think our bond grew especially strong because he was so dependent on us. But, what I hope he knew is that we were dependent on him, too. He helped me heal a grieving heart. He showed me a greater capacity for love. And, he reminded me that life is very precious and all beings deserve a chance to live it.

Miracles come in all shapes and sizes. Little bundles of joy and big, furry hound dogs. Our job is to notice and thank them. The more we do, the more blessings we receive—they just may not always come in the exact form we intended. In the end, loving Buddy was some of the best loving I’ve ever experienced. Yet another blessing.

Thank you to everyone who cheered him on. Thank you for following our #gobuddygo posts on social media and for loving him from afar. Buddy warmed and brightened countless hearts around the world and I know many of you were deeply touched by him. Bless you.

If you’re ready to bring a pet into your life—go for it. And, send me pictures! I’d love to see your fur-children. But, please rescue. Adopt, don’t shop. And, don’t forget the old ones, the banged up ones, the misfits and the rebels—the ones who are often overlooked—they’re the angel babies who will love you the most.

We love you, sweet Buddy boy.

xo,

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