Boris

It has been a long and dismal few months. Our wonderful dog, Boris, passed away with cancer at 14 years old. Our whole world went dark. I realized that yet again I have lost a treasured part of my identity: Boris’s mom.

With the new silence in our house, we began to contemplate getting another dog. No dog could replace Boris, the sweetest most soulful Australian Shepherd. But I’ve had four dogs in my adult life and loved each one for their unique qualities. So we started looking.

We hoped for another Aussie. For one thing, they are just beautiful, and because we are shallow, we enjoyed the compliments each time we went out with Boris. We also loved the intelligence and loyalty of herding dogs.

We searched adoption pages and found Pepper, a 4 year old Aussie who was described as adventurous, smart, loving, great on walks and in the car. We drove for 90 minutes to meet her at the home of a rescue lady who had 20 dogs inside her sprawling ranch house. Sorry for writing “sprawling ranch house” but I’m in a hurry to get through this story.

Pepper jumped on us and seemed pretty wild but we were assured that she was just excited. We paid $600 for Pepper and signed a contract.

Driving home, Pepper barked and struggled to get into the front seat all the way home.

Once home, Pepper bounced off the walls. She was happy to jump on the couch for affectionate petting, but impossible to control. The next day, she was even wilder. She was supposed to know some commands but wouldn’t acknowledge any. She was an ordeal to walk. She started giving me hard, unblinking looks. She jumped over me on the couch, nearly knocking me over. She attacked her dog-bed, dragging  it around the house and growling.

So we called the rescue lady and said we couldn’t deal with Pepper. On the drive back, Pepper kept jumping on my thighs in her effort to get into the front seat. and we were rear ended by an SUV. The rescue lady could barely restrain Pepper when she took the leash. We felt giddy with relief when we drove off to Starbucks, the bruises blooming on my thighs.

Next, we got Zoey, who was extremely loving but would not stop grabbing our legs and fiercely humping us. Zoey could bark for hours, literally, without a break. She started chewing up the dog-bed. The humping got more aggressive. Luckily, this rescue girl wanted us to spend a couple of days with Zoey to see if we were a good fit. A nice wealthy family came to meet Zoey at our house, and drove off with her, hoping for the best. May god be with them.

We continued our search and contacted the owners of two dogs they needed to “rehome”: Roxy, who was described as lovable and gentle but not good with dominant dogs. And Kora, a 4 year old mini Aussie who was described as sweet and happy to lie around all day.

On a Saturday, we met Roxy in a park with her owners. They were a young couple who had raised Roxie and were now expecting a second child. They didn’t have the time to “give her the attention” she needed. They told us how she barked at animals on TV, including the Charmin cartoon bear! How adorable, we thought.

Tired of this yet? Me too! Roxy was great in the car. Back home, she humped us even more aggressively that Zoey. She jumped on us and vigorously humped our legs. She jumped on the couch and thrust her butt in my face. She became hysterical when a dog barked on TV, and clawed at the screen.

Nevertheless, we kept our appointment to meet Kora, the mini, which was love at first sight. I couldn’t believe she was real! I rubbed her tummy and marveled at her cuteness. She sat in my lap like a baby on the drive home. I was and still am ready to marry her.

Kora, my betrothed

But then. I walked with Kora into the kitchen to give her a dog treat. Roxy barrelled into the room, snatched away the treat and attacked Kora. The panicked squealing and angry growling was terrifying. I managed to separate them with my foot and checked to see if Kora was hurt.  She seemed okay but wouldn’t eat for the next day and a half.

Now our TV screen was ruined and we had to sleep with Kora in our bed to protect her. I texted Roxy’s owners after 2 days of this and said that “aggressive” wasn’t the same as “gentle.” The girl wrote, “Nonetheless, we have said our goodbye’s and are not taking her back.”

Now we are up to date. The two dogs are okay together but have to be fed in separate rooms and Kora can’t have any treats or toys. We are still sleeping with Kora and afraid to leave them alone together, so we can’t go out.

Roxy and Kora

We have contacted a million adoption places but no one will foster a dog who needs to be an only dog. Who can blame them? A lady who was excited to meet Roxy changed her mind when I informed her about Roxy’s “resource guarding.” I sought to rehome Roxy on a neighborhood Facebook page, where everyone scolded and lectured me for not “doing my research on Aussies” etc etc. Their grammar was terrible.

No one wants this fucking dog and neither do I. I have come to hate this poor innocent dog whose owner fucked her up by not socializing her early on. I can’t help it. I just hate her.

Walking Kora in the neighborhood yesterday, I stopped and chatted with a new neighbor. She weighs around 250 pounds, displayed in a tiny sundress despite her advanced age. She told me about her popularity with men, “because I’m sexy.”

Because I’m Sexy will haunt me forever. Who says stuff like that?? Because I’m a monster, I’m planning to take Roxy to an animal shelter, still wearing the original owner’s  dog-tags. Let them pick her up or explain that they’ve already said their goodbyes.

Every day I get a million emails from shopping sites, promoting the newest looks. They want me to know what’s trending. They still challenge me to “up my game.” Who are they kidding?

Please. Does anyone want new clothes? I don’t get how the high end companies still exist. Why are they bothering us with “the new season”? Seasons are over. It’s either hot or cold. You either add or remove your sweater.

Now we’re asked to feel sorry for the fashion industry…one of the industries most responsible for pollution after fuel. The arguments are: If you put on a nice outfit, you’ll feel better about yourself! Or, fashion is still an important way to express yourself! Or, fashion brings joy into our lives!

Someone is still trying to up their game, because someone seems to be purchasing leather culottes. Every brand has them. But who wants to stick to the couch while you’re watching Your Shows??

So awful and tragic, at every price point.

I follow two fashion influencers on Instagram and I’ve already annoyed one by criticizing his Gucci ad. It’s his livelihood to look privileged, so I get that. But the inequities of the world are now too blatant to justify $900 sneakers. Maybe if we’re ever allowed out again, people with those sneakers will be ostracized. Or burned at the stake.

Where I live, people dress for  comfort, i.e. we are slobs. It’s a very working class neighborhood. Elsewhere in L.A., maybe people are doing their Starbucks run in leather culottes but I doubt it. It’s too hot and there’s nowhere to go. Looking ahead, there will be places to go but people will be too germ-phobic and worn out to give a shit about impressing each other.

Some things just feel over, permanently, and in some cases good riddance. People may want to argue that everything is coming back and things will be the same as before, but I disagree.

When I was young, women wore girdles and pantyhose. It was just a normal part of getting dressed to go to work. Now, this seems dumb, because it is.  Women with straight hair used to get perms! Ew, remember? Men used to smoke pipes! Just as those aspects of daily life have worn out their welcome, so will the idea of tirelessly adding new clothes, handbags and shoes when your closets and drawers are already full.

You can exhibit your style with the stuff you already have. Or you can decide that superficial shit is a waste of energy in this age of horror. After 9/11, New Yorker’s realized that footwear should accommodate running for your life.

Fashion is an anachronism. Let it die.

What about dining out? The concept already seems weird to me! It’s no fun to eat around strangers who might infect you with something. A couple of years ago, I offered my CBD vape thing to a girl sitting next to me on a flight to London. We got a little high together and she told me about her affair with a colleague. That won’t be happening again. Thanks to that cunt in the White House, we can’t fly to London.

Here’s where we can still go:

Albania
Dominican Republic
Kosovo
Maldives
Mexico
North Macedonia
Serbia
Tunisia
Turkey

What, no Belarus??

Other countries will take us but with restrictions.

What other things do you think are over for good? On the bright side, I have started reading novels again, so I could use recommendations.

Also, I now write songs in my head, usually in rhyming verses. Here’s my latest:

I don’t want to die of Covid, not that I’m afraid of death
I don’t want to die of cancer, dying in your bed is best

I don’t want to die of Covid, that’s not how I want to go
I don’t want a ventilator, if they ask me, I’ll say no.

Try singing that in your head and tell me that isn’t fun!

Yesterday, I was bitching about my hair on facebook, and a friend passed on her mother’s advice about spending too much time at the mirror.

I couldn’t even imagine my own mother giving me any advice, although she did warn me not to have ‘intercourse’ after I started coming home at 3:AM. She was pretty useless in the advice department. She didn’t prepare me for anything except a conviction that I would never, ever, grow up to be like her.

Look at her body language in this picture. She holds me like I’m a time bomb or some infectious agent. And me, I look away anxiously, maybe at someone less scary.

It is pointless to blame your crazy mom for all your shortcomings, and yet. Getting over a crazy mom is a tall order.

An interesting school of psychology maintains that Adverse Childhood Experiences can represent trauma that doesn’t just ‘go away.’ Having a crazy mom is an ACE; enough ACE’s and you are screwed, unless other factors were present to create some resilience. You can get your ACE score here.

“The CDC’s Adverse Childhood Experiences Study uncovered a stunning link between childhood trauma and the chronic diseases people develop as adults, as well as social and emotional problems.This includes heart disease, lung cancer, diabetes and many autoimmune diseases, as well as depression, violence, being a victim of violence, and suicide.”

Bummer! On the one hand, you now have an excuse for being dysfunctional. On the other, it is awful to reflect on your childhood helplessness, or on your own failings as a mother.

Thoughts?