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Thursday, May 15th, 2008
On my last post about Stanley the Charming Stray, my sister commented, “are you keeping him? huh?? huh???”
The answer is … I still don’t know. Truth is I’m frozen - I don’t know whether to seek out his nonexistent-or-worse owners or to assume he is a stray and proceed with getting him cleaned up and fixed up. If he were mine, I’d bathe him and treat him for fleas, then take him to the vet to get him treated for whatever multitude of ailments he may have, and have him neutered.
Okay, I’d have already done these things if Darwin didn’t keep hitting the repeat button on his “We’re not keeping him” refrain. “He’s sweet, but we don’t need another animal,” Darwin says, and I say, “That’s true, but maybe he needs us.”
Our other three animals all came to us through similar means - me bringing them home against Darwin’s will, then steadfastly ignoring his protests, while banking on his slower-than-mine-but-still-potent ability to fall madly in love with a creature in need.
Darwin and I are both too impulsive and both attempt - only sometimes successfully - to keep the other in check about our particular weaknesses. Without Darwin’s voice of reason, I’d have a house packed to the brim with three-legged dogs and one-eyed cats. Without my voice of reason, he’d have a garage packed with shiny objects that go vroom.
As it is, I have brought us three pets - now potentially a fourth - and he has a motorcycle and a project truck.
That’s why I’m pretty sure this method could work again. Stanley, like the two cats and dog before him, is a very charming animal and already seems to have decided we’re adopting him. At first skittish, he has now taken to napping on the back stoop and even attempting to poke his head in the door behind us when we go in the house. When I open the closet where the dog food is kept, he watches me through the window and licks his lips. When I leave for work, his ears droop as I drive away. When I come home, he runs up to greet me at my car door. He lets me brush him, and he’s gotten brave enough to tentatively lick my hand.
When I first met him, he was so downtrodden, and now he already looks so much happier, like he can’t believe his good fortune. I don’t want to disappoint him.
So I guess I will have to get brave. I will have to stop asking Darwin’s opinion and just buy Stanley the flea medicine, give him the bath, schedule him the vet appointment. He is ours, if only for now.
posted by Kristin | filed under Pets | 7 Comments
Tuesday, May 13th, 2008
For about a week, a dog has been hanging around our backyard, sleeping in the cool dirt underneath the shed and mostly staying out of sight. Another dog - a yellow Lab with a collar - was hanging around with him and barked at Darwin when we came out of the house. Our neighbors on both sides have yellow Labs, but we knew this one wasn’t Max, who would have come up to say hello.
Having strange, hostile dogs in the yard was not cool with us, so Darwin yelled at them and ran them off twice.
Not being the type who’s even capable of “running off” a dog, I tried to sweet talk them when I came out one morning to go to work and found the yellow Lab barking at me. The black and white dog under the boat didn’t move, and the Lab just kept barking. A little miffed that they’d resisted my charms, I got in the car and continued on to work, puzzling over in my mind what these two could find so interesting about our shed. I suggested to Darwin maybe there were puppies involved, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to go investigate.
On Friday night while hanging out on a neighbor’s porch, I spotted the black and white dog and the lab running around the neighborhood together.
Then yesterday morning I saw the black and white dog alone and out sunning himself in the middle of the backyard, so I decided to try to make friends. It was remarkably easy. At first he ran away to the safety of the workshop porch and sat there wagging his tail while I called to him. But when I came a little closer and squatted down, he came right to me.
Turns out he’s not hostile at all but a sweetheart, shy and affectionate. I patted him on his bear-like head, and he immediately flopped down and rolled around begging for a belly rub. When I stopped petting him and tried to walk away, he hopped up and scurried around in front of me for some more petting. He seemed to want very badly to jump up on me but was too afraid; he’d eagerly put one paw on my leg and then draw it back as if reminding himself of a past when that was a dangerous offense.
Meanwhile, Millie was inside the fence whining and barking, so I went over to pet her and reassure her that her mom wasn’t abandoning her for another dog. He followed me over to her, and the two dogs calmly touched noses through the fence.
I had to go to work, but I called Darwin and told him the dog was nice and had a collar on but no identification. I suggested he feed the dog when he got home - he was coming home early with a raging case of strep throat - and that we should take a photo of him and post flyers around town in case he was lost.
When I got home, the dog was thrilled to see me. I gave him some food leftover from a bag finicky Millie rejected, and he wolfed it down. I tentatively patted his head while he was eating, and he didn’t even flinch. Then I took his photo:
Afterward, while he was rolling around on the ground begging for petting, I noticed something was weird with his mouth. On closer inspection, I saw his teeth in front were very strange, almost like they were encased in the gums, or exposed higher than they should’ve been, or … ? It’s hard to explain, and I’ve tried to research canine periodontal disease online but I can’t find anything that looks quite like this.
Anyway, it upset me, and I began to feel this dog could not belong to anyone, despite the collar. Darwin noticed me crying and came out to see the dog, too. We gave him a bowl of water, and he seemed a little nervous about the hose until I crouched down and called to him. He skirted clear of Darwin and sat behind my leg with his paw on my foot.
I went out to visit him a couple more times last night, and when I took Millie out for her walk, they sniffed each other again with no dramatics. Millie - usually more than eager to defend her territory - seems surprisingly indifferent to him. He looked so scruffy and pitiful next to her sleek, healthy little body.
Darwin says he’s seen him wandering around the neighborhood for a while now, which makes me think even more strongly that he must have been abandoned. Now I just want to get him to a vet asap to get those teeth looked at and also because he’s dirty, covered in fleas, and unaltered.
I decided to call him Stanley. I said I wanted him to have a name that went with Henry, Alistair and Millie, and Darwin said, “Why does that matter? We’re not keeping him.” I said, “Oh, I know, but I just need something to call him.”
This morning I went out to feed him and couldn’t find him. “Stanley!” I called, and then I saw him dashing through the trees behind the house. He wheeled around the edge of the trees and barreled toward me, threw himself down on the ground before me and, writhing happily, showed me his belly, wet with dew.
“Oh, Stanley,” I said, feeling almost tearful with joy to see him, too, “you sweet boy.”
I gave him another meal of Millie’s rejects and refilled his water bowl. My mother used to say if you feed a stray, they’ll never leave. While I watched Stanley inhale his food, I hoped this was true.
posted by Kristin | filed under Pets | 9 Comments
Monday, May 12th, 2008
And just like that, my mid-20s crisis is waning. It always happens that way for me - I’ll be all in my head obsessed with something, and then I talk (or write) out all the details, and immediately the angst starts dissipating.
It helps that this weekend was the sort of typical weekend that had become entirely atypical in these recent, crazy-busy months. Friday night: dinner with Eutaw friends. Saturday: a movie (Iron Man - delightful) and then dinner with family. Sunday: cleaning the house and lounging around watching 80s movies on TV.
It’s not exciting - it’s the exact opposite of exciting - but somehow I feel really satisfied today. I’d forgotten how nice it can be to do ordinary things, as long as I’m doing those ordinary things with people that make me happy.
And it’s the first time in months I’ve felt stirrings of motivation regarding the house. I opened all the windows (the ones that have screens, anyway) and the front door, and with the cool breezes blowing through the house and some of the clutter relegated to the trash and the filing cabinet, I remembered why I love this place so much.
I want to finally complete the finishing touches on the bathroom and begin work on the kitchen countertops I bought tile for more than two years ago. That’s as far as I’m going to plan right now because I always get ahead of myself and begin to feel overwhelmed.
I’m excited to wrap things up at my job, so I can move forward. I’m ready now. Where are my tools?
posted by Kristin | filed under Simplify | Leave a Comment
Thursday, May 8th, 2008
I’m having a mid-20s crisis. I’ve been realizing lately that at two months shy of 27 years old, I’ve had surprisingly few periods in my life when I could say “Whateva, I do what I want,” like Cartman on my favorite episode of South Park. And suddenly - now that I’m supposed to be heading into the quieter, calmer, motherly, responsible time of my life, I’m feeling the urge to par-tay.
When I do get a chance to get out and about - like on my recent work beach trip or this past weekend when I went to visit my sister in Athens, and she gave me a guided tour of four of the town’s 42 bars - I don’t want the night to end. I’ve become known as the girl-who-doesn’t-want-to-go-to-sleep.
So I’ve been analyzing myself to figure out where these feelings are coming from, and I realized that I never really partied it up when I was young and single and practically required to be irresponsible. I’ve done surprisingly few “wild and crazy” things.
I didn’t realize just how mild-mannered I was compared with everyone else until I started reading a recent Comment Diversion at Pajiba: Scathing Reviews for Bitchy People on worst prom memories. I was shocked at all the wild shenanigans that went on at 90 percent of these people’s proms. While my proms somewhat sucked - both years my date fell through at the last minute and I ended up going with my also-single best friend, and at least a few people thought we were lesbians (which mortified me at the time, though now I wouldn’t care) - they were innocent affairs, with only the slightest hint of alcohol.
I was raised Southern Baptist, which made me feel guilty about virtually everything teenagers might enjoy. In the movie Grease, Rizzo could’ve been singing to me:
Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee
Lousy with virginity
Won’t go to bed till I’m legally wed
I can’t - I’m Sandra Dee!
And …
I don’t drink
Or swear
I don’t rat my hair
I get ill from one cigarette
Keep your filthy paws
Off my silky draws
Would you pull that crap with Annette?
I was constantly protesting being labeled a goody-two-shoes or a nerd, but in restrospect it’s clear I totally was.
Then I went to college and announced to my dormmates that I’d sworn off swearing for religious reasons (I was at the tail end of what I call my Turbo-Baptist phase). The sophomores snickered and said, “Ah, just wait. You’ll be cussing like a sailor by midterms.” And of course, they were right. Without my mother and regular Sunday services to make me feel guilty, I began a delicious spiral of sinning, doing most of the things I’d been too scared to do in high school.
Still, my sins were pretty minor. I only drank enough to make myself sick one time and promptly learned my lesson; I never had a fake ID; I never smoked even one cigarette; and I never tried pot or any other drugs. Nancy Reagan taught me well - I just said no.
Then, the summer after freshman year, I met a handsome, church-going fella named Darwin. From then on my partying ways were put on the back burner because I was too obsessed with my future husband to do much else other than canoodle with him.
We got married when I was one month shy of 21. For my bachelorette party, my friends and I had to go to the next town over because they had some bars that let in people 18 and up.
In our first couple years of marriage, I didn’t feel like partying. I wanted to stay home with my hubby as much as possible. When I had to go on business trips, I’d pout and sometimes even cry in my hotel room because I missed Darwin so much. When I was home, I was clingy and complained mightily whenever he had obligations that took him away from me even for a few hours.
But over the years, I grew up and mellowed out and felt more confident in our relationship. I no longer felt insulted when he didn’t need to spend every waking second with me. I no longer needed to spend every waking second with him, either.
I changed in other ways, too. I stopped feeling guilty about religion stuff, I converted from someone who voted for Bush in 2000 to a Jon-Stewart-worshipping liberal, I embraced my own and others’ nerdy/quirky tendencies, and I became much more open-minded in general.
So in a way I feel like I’m only just now becoming who I really am. That timid high schooler afraid she’ll go to hell for one of any number of minor infractions, that clingy newlywed completely dependent on her husband to entertain and fulfill her - they barely seem familiar to me anymore.
And this new person - this freer person - isn’t ready to settle into a routine for the rest of her life. I want to travel with and without Darwin, I want to meet new people, I want to stay up late having conversations, I want to write for real, and yes, I want to party it up a little bit. I’ve always been terrified of change, but now here I am longing for it, even going out and looking for it.
Trouble is, I think this restless person I’ve become lately makes Darwin a little nervous. Maybe even makes some of my other friends nervous. Okay, maybe even I’m a little nervous.
But that nervousness is also part of the thrill - at least it makes me feel awake.
posted by Kristin | filed under Commentary, Wishing, Extracurricular | 1 Comment
Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008
The good news: I’m feeling more at peace about quitting my job. I’m that much closer to the reality of leaving - I’ve even started cleaning up my disaster area of an office and my haphazard mass quantities of computer files. And I spent $52 filling up my car with gas today, so I’m pretty eager to reduce my commute from 40 miles to 40 feet.
The even better news: I’m going to the beach this week on my final work retreat. Sun and surf + alcohol + last hurrah with dearly loved co-workers = my idea of a good time.
Also, the website didn’t plummet into oblivion the moment I quit, like I feared. It’s speeding right along, in fact. Mom and Dad are each working 80 hours a week and eagerly awaiting the day when I can dedicate myself full time to assisting them.
Also, also, I’m going to see the musical “Into the Woods” this weekend, I met a potential new friend, my Internet friend S just did something very big and awesome, things between Darwin and me have been terrific lately, and he and I have made a no-fried-foods pact that we’re sticking to pretty well. My dress pants fit better already - not that I’ll need them! 
So today I am a happy camper. By the day after tomorrow I’ll be sunburned and crabby despite my best efforts, but for now I’m basking in the glow and ready to crank up my “beach songs” playlist.
