#one of my friends references these instances as if I am a their scary dog privilege skshskdh

[autism69]

apparently my friend group knows & appreciates that my severe evil autism energy scares unwanted men away when we go out 😭 that's funny to me because as a baseline i am a timid creature

[bondsmagii]

the last anon about "psychopaths" is correct and reminded me of another thing: how everyone views people with Cluster B Personality Disorders (antisocial personality disorder(ASPD aka "sociopathy"), borderline personality disorder(BPD), histrionic personality disorder(HPD), and narcissistic personality disorder(NPD) like dogshit.

I have BPD (and some other shit that amplifies it), went through some godawful phases, and have been in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) and Radically Open Dialectical Behavioral Therapy(RODBT) but it can't prepare me for a hyper-specific instance where I don't know what to do, nothing ever can. When I google search something in regards to managing my BPD, I get shit like "every person with BPD will always drain you and do not befriend someone with BPD they will always manipulate you they're a yandere oooh aaah scary noooo" and I am so fucking tired. I know my disorder makes me a fucking awful person at times and I know, deep down, I am not an awful person but "people with BPD tend to see themselves as the victim" so I think I actually am an awful person in denial. That is not to say that I am immune to consequences or because I can't control it. I can control myself and everyone can. I am always responsible for my actions and any repercussions that follow.

But there's support for BPD. I know there's also support for HPD and even NPD, but ASPD is not much. one of my cluster Bitches in crime has ASPD, and every time I see someone throw the word "sociopath" around like it's the communal piss pot I get angry. I'm "hyper-empathetic/sympathetic" and hyper-emotional as a whole and I get angry because "that isn't even fucking true you incompetent troglodyte."

TLDR: dawg we just trynna fuckin live here, it isn't our fault we turned out this way. We're more than our disorder/diagnosis

(this is in reference to this ask, not the most recent, as I am a disgrace when it comes to answering asks in a timely manner.)

this is something that has long, long pissed me off. I mean I have been bitching about this for years, and I still get so mad about it. did you know that the subreddit for BPD bans people with BPD from subscribing or posting? it's literally just full of people bitching about their BPD partners/friends/family members and talking about how horrible and awful and irredeemable people with BPD are, and the language is very much like they believe these people are choosing to be that way. I don't deny that BPD can and does make people act in terrible ways, but the way I've seen people talk about it makes me think they see no difference between this and people without BPD who just choose to be abusive. fair enough if someone uses BPD as an excuse to never change, but everyone I have met with BPD has been very aware of it and working very hard to manage their symptoms. the fact that they can't even Google resources to help them without seeing absolutely disgraceful articles talking about them as though they're pet dogs to be trained is abhorrent. (I have literally seen articles talking about "how to deal with/manage your borderline" -- what absolutely disgusting language to use about human beings. this is a personality disorder, not a dog breed.)

honestly, all Cluster B disorders get an atrocious amount of shit. it's like I've always said: people are so full of support and love to talk the talk until somebody with a mental illness or a personality disorder acts "scary" or "bad," and then nobody's interested. it's the same bullshit behind everyone yelling about making mentally ill people "look bad" if you acknowledge that somebody who committed a crime was mentally ill. look at what happens if you point out that sane people don't commit mass shootings, lmao. people just cannot deal with the moral nuance of accepting that mentally ill people, or people with personality disorders, may be abusive or may be criminals, but they still deserve support. maybe if people didn't have such unexamined prejudices against criminals, they might not struggle with this so much -- but again, criminals deserve support and human rights until they commit a "really bad" crime like murder or rape, and then apparently they're monsters and animals and deserve to die. it's hypocrisy, baby. people do not like feeling uncomfortable and they don't like looking as though they "support" bad things -- and so you end up with bullshit like this. respecting the human rights of dangerously mentally ill people, or people with "scary" personality disorders, apparently means condoning bad behaviour. it's the most smooth-brained shit.

tl;dr if people stopped using their morality to make themselves look good and instead based it on principales that would make a better world for everyone, we probably wouldn't have this problem.

[suburbantimewaster]

Here’s the first illustration I received for a fanfic, this one being Mind Games set in the universe of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the origin of Candy Marino and Chris Patel, who can also be found in Return of the Greek Gods.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get the references right for Marino the first time but I did get them right for everyone else.  Anyway, this is drawn by s2ka from Deviantart.

Marino gave all of her attention to Shere Khan, feeling the vibration of his purrs.  All it took was one sneeze for him to get off.  She still had time before her next shift to make one call, even if it was one she dreaded.  Marino took a sip from her flask, enjoying the bubbly substance going down her throat, then finally entered her room on the right with another fan set up in the middle.  She set her personal computer on the desk and opened it.

"Computer, connect to T’Mara on Vulcan, Priority One connection, authorization Marino-Alpha-6359-Rose," Marino ordered, taking a seat.

It wasn't long until a caramel face female Vulcan with her raven hair tied in a long braid appeared on Marino's screen.

"Ensign Marino, I was expecting your call," T'Mara said, noticing the flask in Marino's hand with a disapproving gaze.

"Don't worry, it's just synthehol," Marino explained as she put it on her desk.

"Acceptable," T'Mara said with a nod.  "I suppose you have just finished making yourself at home on Deep Space Nine."

"Actually, I haven't even started," Marino admitted with a wave of her hand.  "I got caught up reading this manuscript left by the previous owner."

"What was the content of this manuscript?" T'Mara asked with clear intrigue.

"It was about looking into the mind of a Cardassian who loved torturing any Bajoran he could get his hands on," Marino explained with a smile and tone equivalent to a five-year-old girl who just tried on her first princess dress.  "Rebels, collaborators, civilians, you name it." Marino's smile faded and her tone grew more condescending.  "Though it does talk a bit too much about Cardassian superiority over other species.  Other than that, it was like reading something written by Ramsay Snow.  Only thing missing was the sigil of a flayed man."

"Considering the character of Ramsay Snow, I would imagine that Roose Bolton would be more likely to write such a tale," T'Mara told her.

"No, Roose Bolton wouldn't be stupid enough to flay a collaborator.  Remember what he told Ramsay?" Marino recalled and then adopted a serious stance.  "'If you acquire a reputation as a mad dog, you'll be treated as a mad dog.  Taken out back and slaughtered for pig feed.'"

"Logical," T'Mara acknowledged in a voice only a tiny bit away from being complete monotone.  "Speaking of Game of Thrones, when we last talked, you described being assigned to Deep Space Nine as 'being sent to The Wall without having to take a vow of celibacy and no Jon Snow to make it bearable.'  I am pleased to see that your opinion has changed."

"I'll say one thing," Marino said with a confident smile.  "You never would've found anything like that manuscript on the Prometheus."  Then she pointed to a suitcase with isolinear chips, one of them containing Game of Thrones.  "Plus, I made sure to bring that gorgeous bastard with me."

"Ah yes, your last posting," T'Mara acknowledged, completely ignoring Marino's last remark.  "I remember you compared the Prometheus to serving on a dollhouse in outer space."

"With everyone all sunshine and roses, you always knew who was good and who was bad and everyone went around talking about how we're so superior and have found the right way," Marino said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"To which you believe that there's no such thing as 'the right way,'" T'Mara said, raising her eyebrow at the last part.

"And anyone who believes that is deluding themselves," Marino said with a scoff.  "This is turning into less of a check up and more of a counseling session."

"Considering the nature of these 'check-ups,' a counseling session is inevitable," T'Mara informed Marino.  "Or are you forgetting about the incident that nearly resulted in your expulsion from Starfleet?"

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten," Marino said, taking a sip from her flask.  "It's the whole reason I got assigned to this shit bowl."

"From what you've told me, I can logically assume that the assignment is a good fit for you," T'Mara told her positively.

"Great, then the conversation's over," Marino said, about to cut the connection until T'Mara raised her hand.

"Unfortunately, you and I still have some issues to discuss," T'Mara told Marino in as harsh of a tone a Vulcan could muster.  "For instance, were there any temptations when you arrived on the station?"

"Just one," Marino said distastefully.  "When I walked into the station, I smelled booze.  I'm talking the smell of stardrifters, kanar, blood wine, Saurian brandy, and something that smelled like a citrusy wine.  Even if the smell of dust and grime mostly covered it up.  Not to mention the heat."

"Does the heat curb your cravings for alcohol?" T'Mara asked in a helpful manner.

"You'd think, but no," Marino said sardonically, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.  "Don't get me wrong, thanks to living on Vulcan for a few months, I've gotten used to three-digit degree weather.  It's Shere Khan who truly suffered."  Marino's voice filled with distress as she remembered her kitten's meows and his attempts to bathe himself with his tongue repeatedly.  "I had to set up fans all around my quarters to keep the poor little guy from overheating!"

"Considering Cardassian physiology and the average temperate of their home planet, this does not surprise me," T'Mara informed Marino.

"Then I hope Cardassian animals don't have fur, because that would be pure torture," Marino remarked bitterly.  "But we both know I didn't call you to talk about Shere Khan's suffering."

"Yes, I can sense that you are troubled by far more than your feline's suffering," T'Mara told her.  "Care to tell me what that would be?"

"I had a little run in with a blast from my past," Marino told her.

"I didn't think anyone from the Prometheus would be assigned to Deep Space Nine," T'Mara stated with confusion.

"Actually, this one isn't from the Prometheus," Marino informed her.  "He goes much further back."

* * *

Patel unpacked everything and then set his computer on the desk, seeing a message from the one member of his family he could count on.  It only took a few seconds for the face of a jet black haired young woman with a toffee complexion to appear on his screen.

"Hey, Chris," she said with a smile.  "By the time you view this, you're probably settling down in your new posting.  You know, the rundown Cardassian station you were dreading.  Well, I kind of envy you right now.  I'm still interning on Andoria," Cathy said, pouring herself a drink.  "Which makes New Jersey winters look like Gujarat."

Patel looked at the alcohol with a disapproving glance.

"I know, you don't like your baby sister drinking," Cathy said, rolling her eyes.  "But cut me some slack, I'm living on a giant ice cube."

Patel drew back with a jolt.  It was scary how well Cathy knew him.

"All right, the internship's not all bad.  I got to watch Redbats nesting in a cave!" Cathy said excitedly, putting her hands on her chest.  "Though one of them freaked out and nearly crawled through my brain."

Patel found himself peering at the top of Cathy's head, at least as much as he could see, for signs of scratches.

"Thankfully, Areliv helped me get it out," Cathy said with a dreamy smile.  "He even offered to take me out to dinner."

And Cathy's got a new boyfriend, Patel thought with both pride and worry.  Though I don't think Mom and Dad will like their daughter dating an Andorian.

"I know what you're thinking and Areliv is not my boyfriend!" Cathy insisted, though her bright red face told another story.  "He's just a friend!  A very handsome and charming friend!"  She laughed.  "All right, I'm kind of hoping that it will turn into something more." Cathy smiled brightly.  "Who knows?  Maybe Areliv and I can double date with you and Ian."

Patel's face fell.

"Anyway, I've got to go.  I'm meeting my boss in a few minutes," Cathy told him.  "Try to make the best of your assignment and, remember, our summers on Gujarat prepared you for Cardassian heat, even if it made Andorian cold almost intolerable."

Cathy closed the connection, leaving Patel staring at a black screen.

* * *

"His name's Chris Patel," Marino answered.

"Ah, yes," T'Mara said with a nod of her head.  "The childhood friend who you separated from in high school."

"We both fell into different crowds," Marino explained bitterly.  "He belonged to the hotshot squad and I belonged to the social outcasts."

"I recall you saying this during your time at the monastery," T'Mara noted.  "However, I do not recall you ever telling me that Chris did anything to personally attack you."

"Oh, he didn't," Marino stated, hoping she wouldn't have to clarify.

"Then I fail to see the problem," T'Mara said, shrugging her eyebrows.

"The problem is that I'm trying to make a new life for myself and I don't need some childhood friend telling everyone about the 'sweet little girl' I used to be," Marino said crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

"Again, I fail to see how a childhood friend would cause you personal strife at your new duty position," T'Mara told her.

It was at that moment Shere Khan chose to jump on the desk.

"Is that the transient feline you found outside the monastary?" T'Mara asked, her brown eyes following Shere Khan.  "The one you retrieved the fans for?"

"You mean the one who was abandoned on Vulcan?" Marino said, her eyes narrowing as she remembered seeing him panting on the hot desert of her former retreat.  "He didn't really have anyone else who could take him in."

"So, you chose to make him your pet," T'Mara recalled.

"What was I supposed to do?" Marino said defensively as she took Shere Khan off of her desk and held him in her arms.  "Help the poor kitty and then abandon him to the shelter?"

"You always did have a compassion for animals," T'Mara told her, raising an eyebrow.  "People are another matter."

"Yeah, animals rock, people suck," Marino said, setting Shere Khan down on the floor, meowing loudly as he rubbed against Marino's legs.  "Sorry, wittle boy, but your mama's in the middle of something."

T'Mara raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm one of those nutsos who treats their pets like their children," Marino said, folding her arms.  "Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

T'Mara raised her right eyebrow.

"Perhaps Mr. Patel will not divulge sensitive information without your approval," T'Mara told her helpfully.

"You might be right about that," Marino conceded hesitantly.  "But he might get defensive when people insult me."  She recalled his apology before contacting T'Mara.  "Plus, Chris would still have questions that I really don't want to answer."

And one of them will be answered when the CMO arrives with my medical file, Marino thought sardonically.  That'll be fun.

"I'm sure if Mr. Patel respects your privacy, then he will not force you to share information that you are uncomfortable divulging," T'Mara told her reassuringly.

"You've got a point there," Marino agreed with a reluctant nod.

"Is that all that concerns you?" T'Mara asked.

"Actually, there's one more thing..." Marino asked hesitantly, holding up her right index finger.

"Ensign Marino, Vulcans do not 'change their mind.'  You are still not permitted to imbibe any alcohol," T'Mara told her firmly.

"Wow, am I really that predictable?" Marino asked, her eyes widening.

"Yes." T'Mara answered in her usual matter of fact tone.

She has me there, she thought. When she spoke again, her voice was a little more relaxed.  "Though, you have to admit, it's going to be hard for me to 'curb my cravings' when I'm assigned to a place that smells like booze."

"Your argument is illogical since the synthehol and blitz should curb your cravings," T'Mara told her sympathetically.  "Additionally, consider the manuscript you found.  It may be logical to conclude that Deep Space Nine could give you the mental stimulation the Prometheus could not."

"Yeah, but even Deep Space Nine can't keep my brain entertained all the time," Marino concluded with her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side.  "So I might need a little pick-me-up on those slow days."

"As your sponsor, I must advise against that," T'Mara told her firmly.

"Fongool," Marino said angrily, putting her arms to her side.  "Chat with you more, but I need to unpack."

"Very well," T'Mara said with a nod.  "Remember to contact me if you feel any urges."

"Sure thing," Marino said as T'Mara held up her right hand in the traditional Vulcan greeting.

"Live long and prosper," T'Mara told her.

"I can try for the latter, but I'm not making any promises about the former," Marino told her honestly.

"Ensign Marino..." T'Mara told her in a slight warning tone.

"All right," Marino said, putting her hand up in the Vulcan salute.  "Peace and long life, Counselor."

Marino cut off the connection and looked around her quarters.  It seemed pretty standard with a desk, the typical Cardassian mattress, her bags near the door and silhouettes of paintings owned by their former occupier.  Like everyone else on the station, he left in a hurry.  She unzipped one of her bags and pulled out a few isolinear chips that contained recordings of all of her favorite songs, some of them having their own playlists.  She used her personal console and installed them all in her quarters, instructing the computer to play one at random.

"Journey," Marino exclaimed with a bright smile as the music started playing.  "Awesome!"  Emptying the contents from the rest of her luggage, she lazily threw them in the correct places in her quarters, singing along to "Don't Stop Believing," relishing in the antiquated style.

* * *

Patel turned on the connection, ready to record his outgoing message.

"Hey, Cathy," he greeted.  "Really liked hearing your message and glad to hear you're doing well, in spite of the freezing cold.  Though I might have to check this Areliv out to see if he's good enough for my sister."  He smiled to let Cathy know that he wasn't serious.  Well, not entirely.  "Things on Deep Space Nine aren't too bad and trust me when I say the heat's the least of my worries."

The doctor's smile disappeared.  "The whole place looks like a shipwrecked ghost town and knowing the history of this station doesn't help.  Let me put it this way, Candy found a manuscript of the Gul who used to live here and, by the way she talked about him, things didn't sound pleasant."  Patel's smile returned, imagining the look on Cathy's face.  "Yeah, you heard that right, Candy's my roommate.  Though, she's a little different from how we remember.  As for how, let's just say that she finally got that backbone you always said she needed to grow."

Patel's face fell.  "Also, there's something I need to tell you.  Ian and I broke up.  I know you liked him and you're sad to see him go, but it's better this way.  Our careers were taking us in different directions and we both felt that it would be better to, in archaic terms, rip the band aid off rather than leave it on until it naturally falls.  Anyway, I have to go.  Plenty of unpacking to do and I need to get the Infirmary set up for when the CMO arrives."

He closed the connection and unzipped one of his bags.  He meticulously placed everything where they belonged and realized he could hear Marino's music from across his quarters.  He had to admit that the ensign had a beautiful singing voice, but he had a hunch that he'd be listening to it way more often than he wanted to.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      * * *

[indadeamo]

About Mothering a Foreigner

When my daughter was younger, we went for a pram ride one given Sunday. A woman passed by, walking her dog. I stopped, went on my knees, pointed to the doggie and said: “Look! Au-au!”. My baby looked at the dog, with the excitement only kids have and said: “Woof-woof!”. Perhaps a small detail to some, but I remember my astonishment and sadness when I heard that. That is not how dogs bark to me. I have not lived in my native Brazil for almost a decade and honestly, to this date, I cannot hear a “woof-woof”, no matter how hard I try. My eardrums just vibrate a crystal clear “au-au”, every single time. She did not learn that from me, but from others. It struck me like a lightning: I am mothering a foreigner.

I am not in the slightest nostalgic, left alone patriotic, but that made me realise how very little childhood references my daughter and I share. For instance, I do not know virtually any nursery rhyme she sings. I mean, why are the three blind mice running? But then, equally, how to explain why the carnation fought the rose under a balcony? She does not recreate the indigenous legend of the cassava or of the Amazon dolphin at school, and, chances are, she will never really see any of them in her lifetime. Maybe much later: I saw a squirrel for the first time when I was 15; she runs into them every morning in our garden. She spat, disgusted, feijoada when I tried to offer; I have eaten it pretty much weekly growing up. I felt victorious I could influence on her liking of Turma da Monica as opposed to Cloudbabies, but do not know if this small victory will last until Reception. Talking about Reception…Grammar School, sixth form, GCSE, A-levels? I flip nervously through all brochures, trying to trace parallels in my mind with the education system I did attend. In her “Ser mãe de gringo”, author Liliana Carneiro (@li.carneiro) list a multitude of differences between her upbringing in Brazil and, now as an expat, her daughter’s:  Mother’s Days are celebrated in different dates, while Grandparent’s Day don’t have any equivalent up here; she does not know if it is acceptable or creepy to invite kids over for playdates. She insists on celebrating Carnival Tuesday when everyone else is doing a way (waaaaay) less exciting Pancakes Day. She struggles to pronounce her daughter’s surname, just like I do! The list goes on.

Motherhood, by default, brings along countless internal conflicts. For me, this experience has been topped up with a whole bunch of other challenges. She will have to brush her teeth again at noon and will never have a birthday party before the actual birthday. She will always have a prayer next to her bed to prevent the evil eye - as she will have rue branches behind her door to prevent evil eye (ok, maybe Brazilians are a bit too obsessed with evil eyes!). I will watch her hockey games but will probably not have a clue if she is good or not, so little I get about the sport’s rules. I will do my best to help homework, from correct spellings to solve algebra problems, in a different language. I will challenge the Imperialist approach of her History books but might hear a “No, mummy, that’s not how WE tell the story here!” back. I often hear I am short-fused even when I think I am just being assertive! I am frequently tempted to nickname people immediately. In Brazil, if you meet a Camila, you instantly start calling her Ca, Camilinha, Mila, Caca etc.. Whatever you decide and you can change it anytime. In the UK, you must wait for coordinates: “I am Camilla, but I go by Milla”. It blows my mind you get to decide your own nickname! Or that you do not give a lengthy hug (pandemic aside) and invite someone you just met over for a BBQ when you literally have no food in the fridge. “Just come, we will sort it out!”, I grew up saying. Not anymore. They may all sound like small details, but they considerably change how you connect with people and express affection.

I have read the beautiful and delicate “My mom is a foreigner – but not to me”, by the American actress and author Julianne Moore. About the experience of being raised by a nonnational, she said on an interview: “My mother was from Scotland. I could not hear it, but she had an accent. When I was little and I would bring people home, they would say ‘why does your mum talk so funny?’. I would of course get really infuriated and embarrassed!”. Well, the thought of it is scary, isn’t it? I do not mind coming across as an alien to anyone else (“don’t care, no one pays my bills!” – the classic Brazilian proverb!). I nonetheless care about being a source of embarrassment to my daughter, just for being an outlander.

Just very recently, I have found out the November 5th bonfires celebrate the FAILURE of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Well, I come from a country positioned among the Top-100 countries in Corruption Index (Transparency International). A country that was exploited and subjugated by European Crowns since the 15th century; a country that suffered a coup d’état, instigated by the Americans and supported by some of its own MPs, agonising a two-decade long military dictatorship. I simply assumed we celebrated someone dared to try to explode a Parliament! I obviously now see how absurd that is. My background accidentally made me take Guy Fawkes for a martyr, not a villain. This is just one of many examples. Daily, I choose to give up my cultural capital to adhere to the mindset of the place I decided to call home. Yes, it was a decision, and yes, I review it from time to time. But anyhow, these cultural differences shape my motherhood exercising in numerous ways.

Language is possibly the most noticeable point. It is through orality that the identity of a people is shown more strongly. Quoting Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) “My motherland is my mother tongue”. The controversial Sapir–Whorf hypothesis (1929) suggests the structure of a language affects its speakers' cognition and shape their perception of reality. For instance, if you speak a Latin language (Portuguese, Spanish, French etc), you must categorise people in terms of social dimensions (to pick a “tu” or a “vous”); German does not have present participle (-ing), so German speakers tend to focus on beginnings, middles or ends rather than in the action. Another fascinating aspect of language is the link between bilingualism and personality. Studies found that, when switching languages, people may also switch their way of thinking to “fit” the language. In the 00’s, linguists Dewaele and Pavlenko asked hundreds of bilinguals if they felt like a different person when they spoke different languages. Nearly two-thirds said they did. The connection between language and identity is, as it seems, context-based, malleable and impermanent.

Moreover, language is the element that enables bond between generations and facilitates the transfer of the cultural heritage within members of a community. All my primary fond memories are in Portuguese. This is the language my grandfather told me tales, that I heard the jokes I found funny, that I wrote my first love letter and my journal, in teen years; that I had my first arguments, learned how to negotiate and weigh in decisions.  And if we agree we are the result of our laughter, loves and struggles, then a huge part of who I am comes from experiencing life in my native tongue. I am less articulated in any other language; will I be able to advocate for my daughter clearly if she has problems at school? At the same time, I give her endless cafunes, when I am breastfeeding; I say I was dying of saudades when she comes from nursery. I look for her favourite teddies repeating “Quede?”, to which she opens her little arms in the air with a rhetorical “Where?”. All words that really do not have a perfect translation in English. Their meanings are profoundly connected to someplace else.

On his book “Raising Girls”, Biddulph provoked me to think long and hard about how my relationships with men are, how I make friends, how I keep promises and, more importantly - what are my core values. Does my daughter clearly know what I stand for? Arguably, he says, she will learn all these things from me. And then my oh-always-so-worried mind takes a pause and focus on what really matters. And truly hope that my accent, huge earrings, tattoos and constant “PDAs” (“public display of affection”) will not be a source of awkwardness but else a celebration of her own ancestry. Just a gentle continuation of a lineage of women that started somewhere is distant times, found its way among pain and joy through Portugal and Brazil and is now completing yet another honourable leg in English lands. May I be blessed, with the time and the wisdom, with the chance to help her navigate all the seas her DNA can offer.

And if things get hard, I shall read to my little gringa the poem, “lands,” by Nayyirah Waheed:

“my mother was

my first country;

the first place I ever lived.”

[valheartandfriendsllc]

Being A Dog Whisperer Comes In Handy!

Being a dog whisperer can come in really handy! Especially when you live with a lab cross puppy whose nickname is “Butter Boy”.

You can imagine where this story is going…

My life as a dog whisperer and The Butter Boy

First a little backstory… My lifelong dream of having my own personal chef has come true!

I confess I’m not much of a cook. Like my Mom who didn’t much enjoy cooking “real food” because she loved the sweets, I’m more of a baker.  My specialties are PBJ sandwiches, homemade jello, cookies and muffins and yummy goodies like that.  And truth be told, I do a much better job cooking for the dogs than I do for people!

My life partner and husband Joern is who I affectionately refer to as my personal chef. He’s an excellent cook, even better, he loves to cook, plan meals and shop for the ingredients. Did I mention he also loves to eat?

Oh yea. And as much as he loves to cook his culinary creations, he also loves sharing them with me, his sweetheart.

How lucky am I, eh?

Being a dog whisperer comes in very handy when the unexpected happens

Last night, Joern fixed us a delicious meal. As usual, we grabbed our plates and retired to our sitting area where we love to chat, chill, read, eat, and watch whatever TV show we’re currently bingeing.

We just finished watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (OMG we love her!) and are now watching The Expanse. We love to indulge in one or all of the activities above with our doggies by our side—it’s a family thing.

I went to get us dessert (my homemade sugar and gluten-free Samoa cookies, which Joern says are the best cookies he’s ever had, high praise from my gourmand hubby)…

When I saw it.

The Evidence.

The golden Kerrygold butter wrapper was torn into little gnarly, wet slimy bits, and shreds of it were strewn all over the kitchen floor. Uh oh. Joern had used a little bit of a whole new stick of butter in our cauliflower rice and left it on the counter by the stove while we ate dinner.

But now?

No butter left. It had inexplicably disappeared while we were distracted by our show.

Timmy, our border collie, had been at our side the entire time, hoping for handouts and watching for something to spill off our plates.  He’s always ready to jump into action to clean the floor instantly in case of spillage, and loves to help us “do the dishes”. So he was not the butter thief.

Which can only leave…

SAMWISE, our newly-adopted lab mix pup, now forever known as Thief, aka The Butter Boy.

Oh dear.

Vals dogs Timmy and Samwise love to communicate

Oh no! Time for the dog whisperer to jump into action

So…is Samwise’s tummy going to rebel from eating a whole stick of butter?

Will we be up all night dealing with throw up or diarrhea or with a sick doggo needing emergency attention?

What a scary, potential nightmare, eh? Most dog parents in this situation can only sit and wait nervously, watching for signs that their dog is about to be sick or worse.

But if you’re a dog whisperer, you can tackle the problem head-on through a conversation with your best friend.

Just ask your pet how they feel.

So I asked him. “Sam, how does your tummy feel?”

“Fine. I feel good.” (Samwise has the sweetest, clearest voice.)

“You ate a lot of butter. Sometimes that can make a doggy feel really awful. We never eat that much butter all at once… I’m worried. Will you let me know if you feel sick later?”

“Sure, Mom! But I feel good right now and I’m sorry you’re worried about me. It was really tasty, I like butter.  And it was right there on the edge of the counter too! NomNomNom…” as he licked his lips in delight.

I said, “Thanks for telling me that – I got it! We like butter too. You’re off the hook for now Sam until we know you’re okay. But later we’ll discuss your stealing our food off the counter!”

Sam still felt fine when we went to bed. But around 3 a.m. he woke me asking to go outside just like we’d discussed.

He scooted quickly outside, did his thing, and I waited until he was ready to come back inside again. When he was ready, he came in and we all curled back up on the bed and slept well the rest of the night.

I woke up to find him and his toy dinosaur sitting on my pillow looking at me, in our happy place, ready to greet the day.

Vals dog Samwise is a natural dog whisperer too

Potential crisis averted.

Are you ready to start talking to your dog with more than just hand signals and voice cues? Your furry friends have so much to say. Go here and get started talking to your best friends in a whole new way.

I’m SO grateful I’m a dog whisperer. Talking to all animals is an intuitive skill that comes in very handy in so many countless ways.

For instance, when your pet doesn’t feel well?  Ask them if they’re in pain, what happened to make them hurt, and what they need to feel better.

When they act out in mysterious bad dog behavior?  Ask them why what they’re doing makes sense to them.  Are they confused?  Upset?  Afraid?  Why and what can we do about that as a partnership?

If they are getting ready to make their transition?  A heart to heart conversation will make all the difference in the world between a peaceful, easier passing versus a traumatic, grief stricken experience for both of you.

Because here’s the thing – anything can happen at any time.

You just never know when you’ll need to talk about something really important.

And that’s why you’re in my Tribe of Animal Lovers!

Make a point of talking to an animal today. Keep the conversation alive by checking with them frequently and find out what’s going on in their world.

Seriously, you don’t want to wait until something is wrong to make the effort to communicate. By then it could be too late.

If you’re ready to start your journey in the wonderful world of Animal Communication, it’s time to start!

Download my FREE Ebook: Hidden Secrets to Communicating with Pets HERE.

Or dive into the complete Talking With Animals program with my Beginning Core Foundations Animal Communication Course.

Maybe you’ve already begun your journey in Animal Communication. If so, it’s time to go to the next level.

Find out how to access the Masterclass here

All my courses are fully guaranteed, so there’s no risk to taking the next step.

Enjoyed this article? Here are three more to help you:

How to keep your pets safe from coyotes.

Five benefits of animal communication.

Talking with animals is amazing! My conversation with Grandfather Snake.

The post Being A Dog Whisperer Comes In Handy! appeared first on Val Heart.

from Val Heart https://valheart.com/being-a-dog-whisperer-comes-in-handy/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=being-a-dog-whisperer-comes-in-handy

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #02: For Fun!

“Say Hey, EWC Faithful! We’re here with you at the lovely Crystal campground in the majestic Ouachita National Forest in Arkansas.” “We’re going camping, and you’re going to watch.” Indeed, NSFW was camping. A large two person tent was set up and just visible to the left, and framed right in the center of the shot were Bishop Church and Mike McGuire, sitting across from one another beside a large, cheerily crackling campfire. The evidence of their dinner sits atop a small cooler: hot dogs, tofu dogs, stadium mustard, ketchup, buns. Chocolate and marshmallows for s’mores. The night sky is star-flecked through the towering trees, and in the background are the sounds of rustling leaves and the babble of a nearby but unseen creek. It was a good campsite. This had been a good trip so far in general, marked by a good beginning: a Fourth of July party held at the magnificent estate of their good friend (and as far as they were concerned, the heir apparent to the EWC Undisputed Championship) Natalie Young. There had been a moment that, while perhaps not exactly pleasant, had lent some serious emotional gravity between the three of them, and though the unpleasantness had dissipated, the strengthened bond hadn’t. After the evening’s festivities they’d been wished a safe trip and, much to Mike’s delight, she got a kiss goodbye that’d set her in an outright giggly mood for hours afterward. Mike pulled a speared marshmallow away from the fire, sandwiching it between two graham crackers with a piece of Hershey bar before taking a bite. Bishop held a small assortment of notecards, and Mike had some of her own sitting on the log beside her. “As you can see, our efforts to save some cash on this cross-country roadtrip we’re doing have gone critical mass. We are Now Sleeping in the Fucking Woods. But since we’re camping… you wanna hear a scary story?” She leaned forward, her face illuminated by the flames in an eerie manner. “This is a story of a man. A man who surrounded himself with people he called his friends. But little did he know that these people were not what they seemed. They were… FUUUUUCKING HYYYPOCRIIIIIIIIITES.” Raising her arms up, she wiggled her fingers to convey spookiness. “Our story begins on a most jingoistic of evenings and our hero had just introduced a most marvelous of notions. He would captain a squad of five like individuals. They would bring forth a new era.” John looked down at the first card in his hand and read it aloud: “This is not a Revolution. We are not taking some grand stance against corruption or apathy or any other "cause". This is not about The Future. This is about right now. This is about bringing some fun back to the EWC. Too many competitors are wound up tighter than the blunts Smokey Jones rolls.” He tossed the first card into the fire. “Only it turns out, this little newly formed group of ragtag misfits, Freaks and Geeks, if’n you will, has a really fuckin’ interesting idea on what constitutes ‘fun’. And just to prove that we ain’t just spinnin’ this tale out of our asses, we did our homework. And we took fuckin’ notes. Let’s start with everybody’s favorite stoner, shall we? Smokey Fuckin’ Jones.” She brushed the graham cracker crumbs off her hands and picked up the first card off her small stack. “James Larson, you carry all the tools for success, but have done nothing more than play games with the likes of it. I say, you sacrifice yourself one last time. Sacrifice yourself to me in the middle of the ring and lie down on the mat for the three count and I will take you back to the top of your game.” She looked at the camera with a slightly tilted head, lips twisting into an inquisitive frown. “Let me preface this with saying I don’t mind a bit of the wacky tobaccy now and then. But I, no sane person, really, goes off and demands human fuckin’ sacrifice or whatever in the name of legalizing it.” Following her partner’s lead, she pitched the card into the fire before picking the next one up, holding onto it for the time being. “Now. I don’t think Cletus literally means human sacrifice. But in nearly every one of his bouts, he has made the ultimatum that if you don’t join him in The Promised Land, he’ll make sure you regret it.” “Y’know, for fun!” “Anyway, I’ve already spoken at length about Orianna Johnson. She is spry and cheery. She is only eighteen-years-old. Look at the jubilation she expresses in her every word. Happy statements to Lavender like:” Next card. “You’re about as sharp as the leading edge of a bowling ball aren’t you?” “Which is funny considering just weeks prior she stated:” "With the admiration of many, you've gained mine as well, and my respect, Lavender. You'll never hear me bragging about how I can go out in the sunlight and not be afraid. I won't rub that in your face like others have. You may not realize it, but you've won far more in life than your win/loss record in the ring says.” Whoosh. Into the flames. “A little condescending. We all have some quotient of snark these days. But Mike, there’s just something strange about this.” “You’re right, partner. I mean, I’ve seen that promo and rewatched it a couple fuckin’ times because it was so goddamn weird. She says somethin’ about the well deserved admiration of the people or some shit like that, and then, boom. She’s talking about something else out of the blue, in a different position than she was a second ago.” “Maybe she flubbed. When we started this whole ordeal, I certainly didn’t feel comfortable with all of this. Still makes me tense but I can deal with it. But yes, maybe it’s a promo cut together with the best takes. Or maybe…” “...given Little Miss Teen EWC’s track record on talking shit, she said something so fuckin’ untoward that even she couldn’t leave it in. Cuz if she did? Everybody’d know just what an ugly, rotten, two-faced little snake that girl is. And we can’t have that. She’s just a CHILD, right? Kids will be kids.” “Youth isn’t an excuse for being needlessly cruel. Although, this is just speculation. But we’ve got plenty of tape of how she views those of a lower station than her. Orianna Johnson: Dehumanizing others by referring to them as ‘it’ and the destruction and theft of private property.” “Y’know, for fun!” She looked down at the card she’d picked up, pursing her lips a bit. “Now, this one seems like a breath of fresh fuckin’ air, especially comin’ after the lovely Miss Johnson. Steve Barnes. Superhero. Would be fuckin’ bully killer. I quote.” “I am sick and tired of men like you in this business. They are everywhere, thinking they can do whatever they want, to whoever they want, whenever they want. Today that stops. Men like you are nothing more than schoolyard bullies; and I hate bullies. So, from now on, wherever there are men like you, I will be there. You want to keep coming at people like you just did, I will be there to stop you. My name is Steve Barnes...and I AM IRON MAN!” “Nice words. Would be an admirable cause. Problem is? You really really suck at it. Let’s look at the night you said all this. Sure, you came out, beat up on Collateral Damage, and why wouldn’t you? Beating up Draco Lazarus is fucking fun. There are few faces as outright begging to be punched as his. But where the heck were you when Az was getting shredded by a bunch of masked fuckers? I don’t recall Tony Motherfucking Stark bein’ all selective about his superheroism. Matter of fact…” She winged the card into the fire Frisbee-style and folded her arms, smirking a little in spite of herself. “...we’re doing a better job than you. Not that we’re out looking to be the Avengers, heh, the Guardians actually suit us way better if we’d even want to go that route. But how many instances of fucking shenanigans have Draco and his cronies tried to pull lately? And who’s usually there to beat his ass? Here’s a hint: NOT YOU.” “You certainly had your chance last Monday. Twice. You had a chance to make another grand statement. Instead you opted to say nothing whatsoever. When Mucho Grande! were the victims of another assault from Collateral Damage, where were you, Iron Man? If you’re going to virtue signal, at least live up to it.” “So much for having no cause except for ZOMGOD FUN, huh?” She paused. “Hey Church. You got one more card there. That who I think it is?” “Yes.” John tapped his last index card against the palm of his hand. “A familiar adversary. Kendrick Kross. Mr. Lutter’s tag team partner in our upcoming encounter. Two men who prior to this alliance were embroiled in a heated contest. But now there are no agendas and it’s all about entertainment. What does Kross really think about that?” “I truly have a love and respect for Nostalgia, he is someone that I can call a friend, he has his faults just as everyone else, one of them is having to please his followers, the Sentimentalists...what is the point in that? Why should you fight and please the Sentimentalists when all that you should want and need to do is fight to please yourself, that’s one of his faults that will get him in trouble one day, and that day will be at Scars and Stripes.” John’s hands are now empty as the last card joined the rest. “His plans were put on ice that evening.” “Yeah, unfortunately, Cherry Garcia decided to give him the fuckin’ cold shoulder.” They glanced at each other for just a moment, giving simultaneous slight snickers at each other’s dreadful puns. “But it makes me think, Mike, our cool friend essentially said that he does this for himself. That his leader’s selflessness will cost him one day. When do you think that will happen? Maybe in Oakland?” Mike nodded grimly. “Yeah, I mean, calling your tag team partner naive and prone to fuckin’ backstabbing don’t exactly harbor an atmosphere of trust, and as we can tell you, if you don’t have trust in a tag team, you’re fucked with a capital F. U. But I guess in your book, maybe if he’s that gullible, he deserves it, right?” “Although, if I were Mr. Lutter, I wouldn’t take much of what Kross says at face value. I happen to remember that his evaluation of me was of little worth. He has the habit of deriding every individual he comes across with backhanded compliments that culminate in him trying to run them out of the business. Friend or foe.” “Condensation and backstabbing. Y’know, for fun!” Silence except the crackle of the flames. John raised a finger in the air as if to correct her but then he withdrew and nodded in agreement. “You know, you’re right. He would technically do that as he defrosted.” Mike blinked, and then broke into wild cackles, falling backwards off the log she was sitting on. “Ooof. I’m okay.” Picking herself up, she sits back down, brushes herself off, and clears her throat. “Anyways. You may notice by now that we are fresh outta notecards. That’s because, well, we ain’t got nothin’ bad to say about Nostalgia. He ain’t a hypocrite, far’s we’ve been able to see: he’s the only one in this whole bunch who actually believes in his own fuckin’ mission statement. You’re a good dude, Nos. You’re a lot of fun, and you’re real fuckin’ talented. But when we got your manager out of a spot, and you asked us to join your group? We said we’d get back to you… an’ now we’ve got our answer.” “No. Not because of you. I like you. Mike likes you. You’ve been nothing but kind to us. You’ve said complimentary things about us. Here’s the thing. If we joined you, we’d be quoting ourselves all through the night.” “We’re just not like you. We don’t fuckin’ fit in your box or anyone’s. Do we like to have fun? Fuck yeah we do. But unlike what you said you guys are about? We DO stand for something. We’ve said it all this time, and if you missed it you haven’t been fuckin’ paying attention. Nuh-uh. We’re not freaks, or geeks. We’re us, and ain’t nobody like us.” She paused a moment, a dreamy little smile flicking over her face. “Cept for maybe Miss Natalie. She’s so fuckin’ cool, and strong, and smart, and she’s got the prettiest fuckin’ eyes, and it was so awesome of her to invite us over for the Fourth for that party…” “I enjoyed Natalie’s pie.” Mike sat up, suddenly looking slightly irked. “Hey, I thought you liked MY pie best! I mean, you ate a bunch of it before we left the house. Eh, on the other hand, maybe it wasn’t that great after eight hours in the car.” John looked directly at the camera. His words would be followed by thousands of fingers clacking away at their keyboards. “You both had me licking the plate clean.” Mike’s hand flew to her mouth, perhaps stifling a snicker, and her emerald eyes glinted merrily in the firelight. “Anyway. Don’t take what we do to you personal, Nos, but take this right now as a warning that we’re givin’ you as friends. I’d keep an eye on the company you keep. They may be playin’ along with you just long enough to swipe something you have that they fuckin’ want.” “Storytime is over.” John stood up from the log. “Coming up, Freaks and Geeks makes their official debut in the tag team division against us. Mike, lots of folks around here like history. NSFW stands before you and well, we don’t have a shot at the tag team gold. You train and train in the hopes of reaching the top and sometimes it just doesn’t happen no matter how much you wanted it to. Tell them, Mike, what does NSFW do when we just fall short?” “We pick ourselves up, fuckin’ reload, study up, and do better next time. We don’t run to the back and sob like little eighteen year old girls. So we’re not number one contenders right now. We will be. We said we’re gonna be fuckin’ Tag Team Champions, and we stand by that, no matter how many times we gotta start over. And you guys’ll be as good a handhold in our climb back up the mountain as any.” “And believe me, we aren’t marginalizing you two. Champions. Main eventers. Bonafide megastars. And here we are: the upstarts. That’s the nature of this business. Not fun. Notsports entertainment. Ask the Madison brothers what sports entertainment has ever done for them.” Mike got to her feet as well, standing with her arms folded at her partner’s right hand.“That’s where fun gets you when you don’t stand for shit. Goofing around, smoking a bowl, and lighting farts on fire. Is that what you really fuckin’ want, Nos? Is that all you want out of this business? It’s clearly not or you wouldn’t have fuckin’ main evented the year’s biggest goddamn show.” “That goes for them all. Kendrick Kross said because I didn’t know why I was here that I’d wash out. You know what? You were right. But as I stand before you with my partner, you’rewrong.” John put an arm around Mike’s shoulders. His hand hesitated for just a moment before he rested it on her bare shoulder. “NSFW. That’s what matters. That’s our cause.” “We believe in us. And not just us. We believe in our friends. We believe in every fuckin’ person out there who takes those four letters to mean somethin’ besides ‘Not Safe For Work���. We fuckin’ stand by that and nothin’s gonna budge or break us. Can you Freaks and Geeks say the same? I don’t fuckin’ think you can. It’s right there in your motto. You don’t stand for nothin’ but fun, and we already pointed out where that fuckin’ leads.” There’s a pause then, almost if Mike was very reluctant to pull away. But she did (though she was almost too slow about it) and strode over to the tripod-mounted phone, bending down, almost staring right through it at the people she was addressing. “See you in Oakland. I hope for your sakes you find a better fucking conviction than ‘FOR FUN’ before then.” The camera clicked off. After that, John and Mike set to tidying up the campsite- dousing the fire with water from the creek and stirring up the ashes, putting the food away in the cooler and out of the reach of hungry, mischievous raccoons, throwing their garbage into a sealed trash can not far from their campsite. All that done, they tucked into their tent for the night. It was one of those comfortable silences, little sound but the chirp of insects and soft rushing of the creek, the tent illuminated by the dim light of John’s Kindle as he finished the chapter of The Natural he’d been in the middle of. Mike smiled. He’d really gotten the hang of using it, just as they knew he would. They could only imagine the size of his digital library. Their voice softly broke the silence. “Hey, Church. I’m glad we did this.” John clicked off his book for now. “Me too.” Perhaps a struggle, John rewinded past everything, through all of the ugliness and told them: “Used to go camping all the time. In better days.” “We can keep doing it, you know. If you want. I kinda like it better than seeing the same fuckin’ hotel room insides every night.” Mike propped their cheek in one hand, and as if realizing they forgot to take it off, removed their hat, setting it beside their pillow. “If you liked it before, I wanna give it back to you.” “Maybe it isn’t necessary.” John’s back was to them. He nestled his head into the pillow. His tone was drowsy. “Mike. I don’t know how to put this but I feel like I’ve come back to life. And all of this, this can be what I like now.” “Yeah… I can see what you mean.” They closed their eyes. There was something dancing on the tip of their tongue, but it was colliding and conflicting with other things, growing affections, even. Things they felt. Things they wanted to say. It was unlike them and they found it frustrating, stewing on their words this way, but they were unable to just spit it out. It tied itself in knots, rearranged itself, and finally came out in something both completely different and exactly the same as what they’d originally had in mind. “John? You… know I’d never hurt you ever, right? I’d drop fucking dead first.” Silence. “...Church?” No sound but a soft, easy, contented cadence of breathing. They smiled, shook their head, and bedded down as well. Maybe it was for the best. “G’night, buddy.”

[the-christian-walk]

YEARNING FOR CRUMBS OF MERCY

Can I pray for you in any way? Send any prayer requests to OurChristianWalk.com.

In Christ, Mark

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The scriptures. May God bless the reading of His holy word.

 Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to Him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”

 Jesus did not answer a word. So His disciples came to Him and urged Him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”

 He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

 The woman came and knelt before Him. “Lord, help me!” she said.

 He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

 “Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

 Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.

 Matthew 15:21-28

 Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet He could not keep His presence secret. In fact, as soon as she heard about Him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an impure spirit came and fell at His feet. The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.

 “First let the children eat all they want,” He told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

 “Lord,” she replied, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

 Then He told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.”

 She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

 Mark 7:24-30

 This ends this reading from God's holy word. Thanks be to God.

 I remember the day I came to receive Jesus into my life. It was an exciting but scary time for me.

 On one hand, I was thrilled about the way becoming a Christian was changing me from the inside out. My outlook on life and attitudes about others changed with every word of the scriptures I read, every Christian song I listened to, and every injection of discernment and wisdom from the Holy Spirit. My heart was being molded and shaped as I was becoming the new creation Paul writes about in his letter to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 5:17).

 On the other hand, my mind was not quite in step with my heart. I had this feeling of anxiety and uncertainty in my head, a sense that maybe I wasn’t good enough to be a part of the family of Jesus, a troubling sensation that was grounded in my past transgressions and life apart from the Savior I was now coming to.

 In my mind, I was hoping and praying for crumbs of mercy from Jesus.

 With that, I can totally relate to the Gentile woman who is in today’s scripture passage, a woman who is in desperate need of Jesus and the help only He could bring. Look at these words from Mark’s Gospel:

 Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet He could not keep His presence secret. In fact, as soon as she heard about Him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an impure spirit came and fell at His feet. The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.

 “First let the children eat all they want,” He told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

 “Lord,” she replied, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

 Then He told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.”

 She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.  Mark 7:24-30

 As this passage opens, we find that Jesus has departed from the area around the Sea of Galilee and traveled to the northwest to the region of Tyre and Sidon. We get a sense that He was looking for a little peace and quiet as He entered a house with the hope of being unrecognized, His presence a secret.

 But as we typically see with Jesus, it was nearly impossible for Him to keep a low profile anywhere, even in a Gentile territory like Tyre and Sidon. For we read where a Greek woman of Syrian Phoenician origin had heard about Jesus being there and came to Him, falling at His feet. She begged Jesus to come to her aid, explaining that her daughter was “possessed by an impure spirit”. She knew Jesus could drive the spirit from her child.

 Now we have typically seen Jesus, almost immediately respond by answering the request of the person asking Him for help, especially when it’s evident that the person believes and trusts that Jesus can do what they are asking. But in this instance, Jesus says something that perhaps catches us off guard. Look at His answer to the woman’s request:

 “First let the children eat all they want for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

Wow! Did you catch that? In essence, Jesus was rejecting the woman because she was counted among the Jews, those who were God’s chosen, His people, His children. Essentially, He was saying that the Jews got first dibs on the best God had to offer and it wasn’t appropriate for Him to give what God had blessed the Jews with (the bread) to the Gentiles (Jesus referred to as dogs). It wasn’t that He was trying to insult the Gentiles. It’s just that He knew the Jews were first priority. Even the Apostle Paul would write:

 For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile. Romans 1:16

 There was an obvious pecking order in play and what happened next was another amazing show of faith by the woman who was not willing to give up, so much so that she even challenged Jesus’ statement, saying:

 “Lord, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

 It was an incredible statement which showed the woman was willing to settle for any residual from what God could bring through His Son who she referred to as Lord.

 In other words, the woman was yearning for any crumbs of mercy Jesus could spare.

 The woman’s words reminded me of one of Jesus’ most famous parables, the Parable of the Lost Son. You remember the story, right?

 A man had two sons and the younger asked for his share of his father’s inheritance before the father had even died. The father gave his son what he asked for and the son proceeded to go off and blow all the money through wild living. The son became so desperate that he sold himself for labor, feeding pigs in the fields. He became so hungry that he would have settled for the pea pods the pigs were eating but no one gave him anything to eat. At rock bottom, the son decided to return to his father, hoping his dad would receive him back, even if it meant working with the slaves. The son didn’t see himself worthy of his father’s forgiveness and when he met him for the first time after his escapades, he fell down at his father’s feet and confessed his sins. The son yearned for just a crumb of mercy from his dad.

 Well, as we know, he got so much more than that, the father celebrating his son’s return with a grand party celebration, so happy that his boy who was once lost had returned home.

 Back to our scripture passage where we find the Gentile woman also receiving more than she could have ever hoped for as Jesus rewarded her for the faith she showed and healed her daughter, driving out the demon immediately.

 And as I look back on where I was 25 years ago, I’m amazed how much the Lord has blessed me, choosing to use me for His powerful purposes, purposes He could achieve without me. At one time, I yearned for crumbs of mercy and instead, Jesus blessed me with His daily bread, day after day after day, not just allowing me to survive spiritually but thrive.

 Friends, maybe you are like me, the Gentile woman, or the lost son. Maybe you feel unworthy of Jesus’ grace and yearning for His crumbs of mercy.

 I pray today’s message will bring you hope and encouragement. For Jesus loves when people show faith in Him and rewards that faith with His abundant blessings, blessings grounded in His abundant love.

 Amen.  

In Christ,

Mark

PS: Please share this with anyone you feel might be blessed by it.

Send any prayer requests to OurChristianWalk@aol.com

[azworkingdogs]

“Conditioning” in Dog Training

I use the term “conditioning” A LOT!

However, I don’t think that most people understand the real meaning of the term as it equates to dog training.

Conditioning is not about his fur

Conditioning in dog training refers to specific habits.

Unfortunately, the habits can be good or bad.

And, also unfortunately you can be in charge of creating these good or bad habits, and so can your dog.

Meaning, just because you aren’t conditioning a bad behavior, it does not mean your dog is not conditioning or creating bad behaviors or habits, himself.

So it is imperative that you are conditioning and creating good behaviors and habits.

Pairing Things

When we pair two things together, continuously the things begin to become synonymous.

Take the clicker.

An actual clicker means nothing to a dog.

It is not some magical device or remote control.

A clicker is just something that makes a loud and sometimes irritating or scary noise to dogs.

But, when you begin to give your dog a treat every single time you make that noise; the two things together become one.

They become somewhat interchangeable and synonymous.

If you are good enough, some dogs get to the point where they are truly working for the click.

You are conditioning the dog that the click is a good thing, and teaching him what to expect.  You are forming that good habit.

If every time you are out walking your dog and you see another dog, you yank his collar, tighten the lead, and/or otherwise correct or yell at your dog, you are conditioning your dog that seeing other dogs on leash brings bad things.  You are pairing other dogs with a negative experience, which conditions that dog that seeing other dogs on walks is bad.

The doorbell automatically conditions the dog that there is a human on the other side of the door.  The two things are paired together.

Understand?

Conditioning happens all of the time!

You condition your dog on purpose (teaching and training).

You condition your dog on accident (reinforcing bad behaviors like leash reactivity).

Your dog conditions you (he barks and you reward him).

And, understanding how two totally different things can become nearly interchangeable to the dog is important to controlling and changing behaviors.

Conditioning is Much Easier than Counter Conditioning

Counter conditioning means changing the meaning or conditions of something to the dog.

Let’s say I want to change the meaning of the clicker to my dog; instead of it meaning something good I want it to equal punishment.

So instead of giving my dog a treat, I am going to back hand him each time I click (please don’t do this, I am simply trying to illustrate an example of opposites and counter conditioning).

It is going to take a much longer period of time to teach your dog that the click means something bad.  His default is that the click = something good.  So, even when you include pain, counter conditioning will take at least 2 to 3 times as long.

This is why, as dog trainers, we don’t like bad things becoming habit.  Because habits are hard to break.

Counter Conditioning is Hard

Counter conditioning can take twice if not 3 to 5 times longer.

And, it is proven that when dogs are stressed, they default to the first thing they learned.

For instance, if the dog has dog aggression issues and first learns to cope using defensive aggression, it is highly likely even after counter conditioning has given him more appropriate coping mechanisms and skills like eye contact and obedience, that when he is truly stressed that he will default back to defensive aggression.

More on counter conditioning in another article.

So Let’s Talk About Conditioning

If you want to be successful in dog training, you have to be good at conditioning!

Pair things that your dog or puppy is nervous about with treats and games.

Your dog is afraid of the garbage truck on Friday morning?  Pair that with a little canned dog food!

Imagine your dog hearing the garbage truck and realizing it means he gets his favorite treat!

Instead of running and hiding under the bed or barking, he comes running to you because he knows the garbage truck brings his weekly installment of canned dog food or a pig ear or whatever it is that your dog loves but doesn’t normally get!

My Dog Hated Big Trucks

I used to live in the country, we hardly ever even saw a human neighbor.  I loved it!  But, it didn’t exactly give my puppy great city skills.

I would meet my friend for runs in the city and my puppy would run at the sound of a truck backing up.  Beep, beep, beep, beep would send him running backward and trying to get out of his collar (thank God he never did! Thanks to a martingale collar).

I knew I had to condition this sound with great things.

I found my dog’s favorite thing, a tug toy, and we headed to an industrial business that used big trucks frequently.

Every time I heard the *Beep, I would swing his tug toy and encourage him to play.

I wanted to condition him that this sound was fun and meant games with me, before he conditioned himself that the sound was horrible and meant to run.

After a few sessions he was running toward me when he heard the sound.  *BEEEEEEP = play above and beyond anything else!

Conditioning in Dog Training is a Wonderful Thing

Conditioning is a wonderful thing when you are in control!

You can pair any non-like items together and teach your dog to show certain behaviors for reward.

Really the sky is the limit.

The opportunities are endless!

But, I want to be in control!

I want to be the one who pairs the items, positively and with fun and games.

I don’t want my dog to pair things negatively.

If I see even the slightest negative behavior that results in my dog toward something, I have an opportunity to quickly change that behavior and condition it in a positive way.

If my dog is reactive on leash, I can condition him to look at me so that he will be rewarded.

If my dog wants to jump on people, I can condition him that laying down and giving me his attention brings wonderful rewards.

If my dog was in charge, he would bark and lunge at other dogs and jump on visitors.

I want to ensure that I am in charge!

I want to make sure that I am teaching him appropriate coping mechanisms and training skills so that he knows how to behave in any given circumstances.

I want to “condition” him in a positive way to deal with all the things in his environment.

And, when I do that, I know that I am winning as a dog trainer and his owner!

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