Pulling hair

It is so exciting to know that I have no obligations, no interruptions, and that when I wake, after I have shook off the drugged feeling of medicated sleep, I can draw. I started a new drawing yesterday and had to stop only when my concentration quit me. There were still visions dancing in my head. A figure here. Two figures there. What are the two doing, fighting or playing leap frog? I don't know until I put pencil to paper and until I have a new day with new powers of concentration.

There is a wealth that some artists have that isn't measured by money. I see it as a mental wealth; the ability to draw for hours upon hours. To meter out their concentration as steady and abundant, this the gift of others, not me. A local art school has drawing classes where they draw from life, hiring a model, and I know I would be lucky to last for forty-five minutes. That would be all that is in me. And yet sometimes this class has marathons where they gather and draw for many, many hours. It boggles my mind, what some others are capable of.

This drawing, "Pulling Hair" was started in for a class that I took over two years ago. I started the drawing and it lay unfinished in a sketch book. It was fun to finish the drawing - I dare say that there are elements of good creativity in it. To draw the braided hair I took two sneakers and braided their shoe laces together then drew what I saw. But the untidy hair that is being pulled will be the most fun to paint. I intend to use a pallet knife and brushes and to make it as wild as can be, many shades of yellow. Or is she a red head and needs shades of orange? I haven't decided upon a color scheme yet, but one thing is for certain. All the outlines are intact. It is truly a primitive drawing, all done from the imagination. No real hands, no real feet, no real faces, only the shoe laces to make a believable braid. And the cat? It came from an artist's book of cats - cat pictures all painted, no photographs. So I copied the cat, stole the cat. Even though there are two cats in the house it was easier to copy. So perhaps the claim that it is all from imagination is false. But those dresses, patterns I made up. And the basic premise, one woman pulling another woman's hair, that was all my own. It has just a touch of violence about it. Maybe more than a touch. I think I'll put hair pulling in my next drawing as well. You don't need a sword or a gun, just your fists to inflict harm. No blood, just a little agony.

I've barely painted with a pallet knife but the experience was so profound that I am incorporating it into this painting and my next one. Here it is hair that will be depicted by the scraping and blunt and smeared lines of the pallet knife, but in the next drawing it is a blue cascading waterfall that will be constructed using a pallet knife. I'm interested in a painting where different techniques are used. I'll have my usual blending and layering of transparent paints with the tiniest of brushes. Truly, I've walked into an art supply store looking for the smallest brushes they sell. But the down side of using tiny brushes is that it takes so long to paint and in my case boredom sets in.

I tried explaining to my husband that the death in November of my German Shepherd has shaken me to the core. I don't feel depressed, indeed I look forward to the puppy that is waiting for me at the breeder in New Hampshire, but inside of me a little spark died when my dog died. I told my husband that it feels like my ambition has abandoned me. I simply don't care about getting ahead in this world. That is not a natural state of affairs for me, I tend to be always scheming how I'll have another art show, or write a book and get it published. I used to like to push myself to work toward a goal every day. But since my dog died I've noticed that I do what the day requires of me, and find something to occupy my time, but I'm not pushing in any direction. Thus the conclusion that my ambition has abandoned me.

But my husband saw a different phenomena. He said that my ambition has been redirected toward getting another dog. I put in the energy and the drive to make it happen, from emailing breeders to telling my family that the only Christmas presents I wanted was money to cover the costs of the next dog. And truly, step by step my home was transformed to welcome the puppy. We bought baby gates to keep her confined in the kitchen. We bought all the supplies a new puppy might need during multiple trips to different dog stores; a pink collar, a pink leash, a leash that attaches to our body for training, a leash that is 50 ft long for training that essential word "come", soft treats cut into small bits and plastic containers to hold them, so that the container might be shook and make a distinctive sound, signaling that a treat is coming after the command is given. Of course there was the heavy large bag of puppy food, and some canned food to mix it with for taste, there was the washing out of my dead dog's own puppy bowl, (how on earth it was saved and found is a little miracle after 9 years, a small metal bowl for small puppy meals served three a day). We bought a smaller crate for the puppy to be house trained in, when crated they will hold their pee and poop for fear of fouling where they sleep. So many tiny steps, even, the last, done just yesterday.

We went to Wal-Mart to buy some ribbon. Pink ribbon for Cherry Blossom. The ribbon is so that a bell can be hung at dog nose level. Leave the house, and say "outside" and ring the bell each time. Eventually the trained dog will ring the bell with her nose when she wants to go outside to go to the bathroom. A ringing bell to alert anyone near that the dog has a physical need. Fair play, since she won't be allowed to go in the house. As the dog grows, and nose level changes, we can shorten the ribbon and up the bell goes.

And then there was the very big task of vacuuming carpets, rolling them up, and storing them in the barn. At the age of 6 months housetraining should be complete, and hopefully the dog will have good muscle control over its bowels. Then the rugs can go back. But I'm uncertain. The rugs might go back once the dog has stopped its chewing phase. We are being careful. I took all the magnets off of the lower part of the refrigerator. I don't want my museum art magnets chewed. Once the dog is left alone in the house, we will see if separation anxiety causes her to chew.

I told my therapist that some of my ambition is gone because my dog died. He said that apathy is a part of depression, and that what I may be feeling is apathy. It could be apathy. I just didn't care very much about being creative for a while, but I will admit that is changing. The drawing "Pulling Hair" is finished, the next step is to transfer the drawing to gessoed board. Inbetween steps I will work on the drawing I started yesterday. Two paintings should be going at one time. When one is wet I can work on the other.

When puppy arrives I must spend my days in the kitchen and paint or draw there. The kitchen table which always has a decorative table cloth and runner, as well a flowers and candles (my little pretty display in the middle of the room that screams "domestic") has been replaced with a bare table covered in a long strip of brown craft paper. Don't want the puppy to pull at a table cloth, and I need a place to paint and to accidentally drop paint. My art table is in a room that is unsuitable for a puppy, so, at least until spring, I'll be setting up my table easel on the kitchen table. The light there isn't as good as in my art room. In the art room there is a line of halogen lights bolted to the ceiling above my work space, aimed down at me. In the kitchen there is just a regular lamp in the ceiling to my right, and to the further right a big window. Behind me there is little light and no light to my left. Have to plan all small scale paintings that can fit on the table easel. The drawing that I've shown here in the beginning of this blog entry is only 8" by 10".

A new puppy and new paintings. A finished drawing and an unfinished drawing that is begging to be filled with detail.

Life is pretty fun.

Puppy Visit

Went yesterday to visit the puppies. Now they are 9 days away from being legal to sell. A puppy has to be at least 8 weeks old to be legally parted from its mother and sold to a new owner.

The car ride into New Hampshire to get to the breeder takes an hour and 20 minutes. During that time I had a hard time concentrating on the road. Good thing Mike was driving. It was like I couldn't wake up, but it was 12 noon. Either it was my illness affecting cognitive abilities or else I had a bad medication interaction from the night before. But I had done nothing different with my medications and I had gotten a full night's sleep. Very frustrating when your head isn't working correctly, even when it is not particularly noticeable to other people. I kept telling myself that when we got to the puppies my adrenaline would kick in and I would be able to focus just fine on the little monsters. This is exactly what seemed to happen. But on the ride home I again had trouble with concentration and sleepiness, it was like my brain didn't want to work and was with-holding intelligence and awareness from me. Schizophrenia is so much more than just the stuff that's absurd, painful and delusional - it is a brain malfunctioning at the very root of conscious awareness. At least when I falter, this is the way it goes. There is less of me that is alive. Schizophrenia kills little pieces of me, but leaves little pieces to be aware and observant of what is missing.

I had a good method of luring a puppy to me. All of us were sitting in a kitchen but the puppies were either most comfortable circling the breeder (she is familiar) or exploring their surroundings. You had to do something, or else the puppies would ignore you. I noticed that my husband would lean forward and put his face almost to the floor, and then immediately as many as three puppies at one time would bound forward to lick his face. Whenever a face was put within reach the puppies would respond by licking it. Pick up a puppy and put it near your face and the same thing happens. They are so young, but they know faces, even human faces, are a point of communication and power. So a face near ground level attracted a puppy. But what I did was to scratch the floor as though I were digging for something. This too would attract a puppy - they would wander over to see what you were uncovering. Perhaps it was the clicking of my fingernails against the linoleum floor. Anyway, play digging got puppy's attention. The breeder put out two orange tangerines, perfect round objects, and I tried rolling them and getting the puppies interested in a rolling object but only a few responded. Not yet there developmentally I guess.

The breeder sat in a chair and snipped each puppy's toenails. The puppies didn't mind, so I noted that this is a habit I must continue when I bring mine home. Plum Pudding hated her toenails clipped, only a groomer or the vet could clip them and that left too much time for them to grow long. Another thing I'm going to do a lot of is putting my hand inside the puppy's mouth in case I have to give the dog medication. For Plum we would put the medication in meat and feed it to her that way. I was afraid of putting my hand in her mouth because I didn't want to get bit. What I'm not going to do is brush my puppy's teeth. We will also need to give puppy a bath in not too long a time, getting it used to being cleaned in the tub with soap and water. All the new experiences I have to put puppy through so that it is a well adjusted dog. Finding families with children is important - I know of one bi-polar mother of a four year old and a two year old and I'm thinking that I will offer to take puppy to her home to play with her children. I want the dog to play with children. It will be hard for me to invite myself over, she is very nice and I don't think will have any worry or misgivings, only, I am shy to ask. Everyone in my peer support group that meets Wednesday evenings at the local hospital will be invited over to my home to play with the puppy. You want as many strangers as possible to handle the puppy. Of course supervised visits, because God forbid the puppy should have a traumatic experience, dogs will remember. I trust the people in the mental illness peer support group as good people, with the exceptions of some of the members of a local group home. Those people are very sick and most are sweet, but hidden cruelty is a possibility, some I can't get a read on. I am uncertain what they are capable of because of the severity of their illness. They are outside of ordinary in terms of their personality.

Once the puppy has had its distemper shots, (it takes a series of shots for this disease), I can take the puppy to public places where there might be other dogs and I can take the puppy to other dogs to play with. My husband as a child knew another child who had a puppy that died of distemper, the poor thing wasted away, so the disease is real and it is out there. I want my dog to play with other dogs, but some of the people I know don't have much money for vet visits and their dogs could be carriers for distemper. My husband said that the disease is like that, a dog can have it but not get sick, merely pass it on to others, or it can get sick and die. Better safe than sorry. Need to keep the puppy at home for about three weeks, the space of time for the vet to give it all its shots. One place that will be fun to visit with the puppy after its had its shots is a coffee house in downtown Brattleboro that allows dogs. I love cappuccinos.

As we drove home from the breeder's we stopped at two pet supply stores. It feels a bit like we are preparing for the coming of a baby. This weekend and next the kitchen will be transformed. Yesterday my husband installed one baby gate, today he installs a second. Then the puppy can run around the kitchen but not get to the rest of the apartment. I practiced hooking together and collapsing the metal crate that will be used to housetrain the puppy. When the puppy is put in the crate it holds it's bladder because it takes the small space as a den, and instinctively it shouldn't want to mess its den. Open the crate and immediately take the dog outside to relieve itself. We should be able to sleep through the night if the puppy is in its crate and have no messes. When I take the puppy to the vet the crate is put in the car so I can drive without a puppy underfoot or going to the bathroom on the car upholstery. This weekend I take down all the Christmas decorations, next weekend we roll up the rugs that cover the kitchen's linoleum floor and take down all the art magnets on the refrigerator door. Chewed magnets are a health risk. The magnetic pieces can bind to each other in the intestines and it takes surgery to get them out. I know this about toddlers, the same must be true for a puppy. Unhappily, this drive to take no risks with the little one's health led to a fight between my husband and I.

Several days ago I said that the dog would be getting dog food and nothing else because I thought that human food was somehow involved in my last dog getting bloat and dying. However my husband thought that it was the chews we gave Plum after her meal that caused her to have bloat, and more, that a dog not getting delicious human food was depriving it of one of the greatest joys in living. We were so opposed to how we were going to feed the dog that my husband said a hurtful thing; he said if we had ever had children we would have divorced over fighting how they would be raised.

In my household we don't talk about divorce. That's a no-no. That my husband had no confidence in us working out a problem was to me an upsetting idea. You are supposed to fight and struggle within a marriage and yet keep the marriage going; it is a lot of hard work but you are supposed to put in the hard work and endure conflict for the sake of the marriage. But what I said to my husband, after he told me I loved this puppy more than him, and after he said he wanted nothing to do with the dog (since I wouldn't budge over how it was to be fed) I told my husband that the essence of the issue with food was bloat. All I cared about was that the dog not get bloat. This was what was causing me to be argumentative and dig my heels in. So I told him let me do research on bloat on the internet. And the next day I spend three hours doing exactly that.

Turns out that giving dog canned food, or else real meat, is good for their digestion and avoiding bloat. There is nothing wrong either with giving the dog human food (with some exceptions that cause gas) or chew toys after dinner. Both of us were wrong in thinking we knew what killed our dog. So when my husband got home from work we sat in bed and went over all the research I had printed out from websites and discussed. We found it then very easy to compromise. We would feed the dog a combination of canned food and dry food. The bloat causing factor is how much water you give the dog around feeding time, if there is exercise around feeding time, and it is better to give two smaller meals, breakfast and dinner, instead of one big meal. Bloat is the second killer of dogs after cancer. And so few people know what precautions to take. If I had spent three hours doing research on bloat while my dog was alive she would still be alive today.

So while my husband and I experience joy at the idea of the new dog, we have anxiety and conflict as well. I am very strict on ideas of safety, my husband is very invested in the dog being happy. I have made a resolution to stop saying the one thing that I have in the past used as a weapon against my husband, "at least no child I raised would grow up to be a stripper." In our fight over the dog, when my husband told me we would divorce because our ideas on child raising are so different, I pulled out that old line. It is a hurtful thing to say and I'm not certain why but I'm putting it to rest. Reality is I don't know what would happen if I were to have become a mom. I could have raised a drug addict that stripped to support her habit. I doubt it, but one never knows. Why should I be so self assured about my powers as a mother?

Know one of my greatest horrors? Besides another case of bloat? Having a dog that pulls on the leash. I hate walking downtown and seeing these humans practically tripping over their own feet because they are being pulled so fast by a dog that is choking itself while it is straining at the end of a lead. I see dogs walking people, not people walking dogs. I will do anything to avoid that behavior. And I know how much work and discipline it takes not to give in to the dog's instincts to be in control. My husband and I will be going to obedience training classes, both of us together. I want a dog with certain habits, it is up to me to see that it develops these habits. It is up to my husband as well and I think he is the weak link. My husband isn't a big on on discipline. For instance, I keep telling him I'm on a diet and he keeps on bring home fattening foods as "treats" for me. Donuts, pizza, pieces of pie. But I'm hoping that if he becomes educated about dog behavior, he will become effective. So obedience training classes for both of us.

Oh Lord, the little puppy will have a very short attention span.

I remember being in obedience training class and everyone's dog was behaving much better than my dog, even though I had practiced hard with her.

I hope I don't worry too much and forget to have fun.

San Fransico Magnets

I went to San Fransisco to celebrate Christmas. My husband, mother and I stayed for a week as guests of my sister and her husband. My sister put us up in a hotel across the street from their apartment. The apartment was in central San Fransisco so it was easy to walk to Chinatown and just about any type of store you could imagine. Mornings were free, because we didn't want to interrupt my sister's family, her husband slept late and she had her hands full with taking care of her three year old daughter and her six month old son. So mornings my husband and mother and I went walking, and it became my wish to visit the major museums in town and collect art magnets for our refrigerator at home.

The trip was difficult because of my illness. I loved seeing my sister and brother who just a month ago moved out to the area and is supporting himself as my sister's nanny. My brother is trained as a massage therapist and hopes to start his own business. He is looking at the challenge of moving from the East coast to one of the most expensive parts of the West coast as a challenge. He has a lot of belief in himself, at one point during the visit he said that he has the tendency to make his dreams come true. Not many people can say that this is the way they operate. He loves where he has found an apartment, just steps away from his back door is a wildlife preserve with miles of trails for hiking and mountain biking. My brother is very healthy and looks ten years younger than he really is. He is a survivor. I am not. I am fragile. I survive, but it is with the grace of others whom I am dependent upon.

Sometimes during the trip I felt overwhelming fear. It is hard to look at great art when you are experiencing anxiety. I was afraid of losing connecting airplane flights, I was afraid of not finding taxis, I was afraid of even saying something that would displease my sister. Sometimes the muscles in my upper back ached from all the tension that were in them.

But the days had a rhythm to them, a morning adventure upon the town, an hour or two of rest and a little more medication, then afternoons and evenings with my sister and her kids. I learned that I am not one to immediately bond with a child, it was the right decision for me not to have children. I do better with owning a dog. The energy my sister expends with her children is mind boggling, and she has a nanny and a night nurse hired to come into her home and help her. Some of the time she makes extra work for herself, she is careful with her children to the point of being neurotic about their feeding and sleep and general wellness and safety, but this doesn't harm the children, it just makes mental stress for herself. My sister was always a perfectionist and has the tendency to worry.

My sister asked that I come to California and live close to them. To fold up my life in Vermont and start a new one just so that I could see her family more often. I told her that when her husband becomes a billionaire I would do so. She asked if it was possible I do so just if he becomes a multi-millionaire. Its sweet that my sister loves me so much, but she is used to people marching to the beat of her own drum, that's what having money does to you. It makes you used to being in charge and getting your own way. Its funny. She has a three carat diamond on her finger that is so pure that in the sunlight it sparkles with all the colors of the rainbow, more big diamonds in her ears, and she wears old navy sweat pants and a coat that she got for $15 at a used clothing store. All their china is miss matched and her husband sleeps on the floor in their gigantic, penthouse closet. That's so the children and his wife don't wake him. When I visited my sister last I saw that on their bed they were using a tee shirt for a pillow case. The husband owns his own internet company and drives a Porsche. From one angle they are rich, from another angle they are poor. They are so busy living the height of civilization that sometimes they skimp, too busy, too distracted, too forgetful, and they endure the strangest situations.

My sister told me a story. The night nurse was telling her ways that she could be helpful. "Can I do this for you and can I do that for you?" was the way she was talking. And my sister said to her, "Will you just be my friend?" It was supposed to be a joke but in a way it was no joke. Her husband works such long hours that she rarely sees him and it is understood in their family that he earns the money and she takes care of the kids and the apartment. If it weren't for all the hired help my sister might be very lonely.

So I got a good view of another person's life and I concluded that I preferred my own life. I am certain that my sister feels the same way - she has always wanted to have children be the center of her life. And she loves diamonds. I was passed down the diamond earrings that her old boyfriend, fifteen years past, gave her - tiny things but real. I wear them all the time. They remind me of my sister. And they make me feel cultured. I can feel sophisticated in thrift store clothes and cast off diamonds. I guess so can my sister, even though she doesn't have to wear thrift store clothes.

Right now I am at a cross-road in my life. My therapist yesterday was horrified when I told him I had given up on my book project, what I spent the last year working on. Today I drew cats. They weren't cats from my imaginations, they were cats from pictures in books. They are part of a larger composition with two elegantly dressed women, one whose upper head is blown off, just intended to be a mass of smeared red. I can't seem to avoid violence in my artwork. Drawing cats was slightly boring, just compare, analyze, correct, compare again. Wish to work only in a limited sense from photographs because I get bored quick. I'm straining to go in a new direction with my art. Have to buy more art supplies. On my list; a pallet knife. Painting with a pallet knife will loosen me up. Wish for tiny details and big smears.

I'm going where the wind blows me. Working, but not with any long range plans. I'm praying, when I pray, for strength to walk this road that seems to be enveloped in fog. I would like, and I do ask God for this, for a style of painting that will sell. I would like to sell artwork. But I don't know if the talent is in me. More then this, I don't know if the fate is for me to sell my work. Some of what you get is luck, some of it is hard work. I'm starting, just barely, but I think I'm starting to ramp up to doing hard work.

Angel Dog

This is my first drawing in about two years. It is about death and a dog.

I'm crude, I'm simplistic, and I'm raw. It will take some time to become refined again.

I'm not going to write a book and make a lot of money. I doubt I can even paint and make any money. I've seen some artists I'm better than, and seen some artists that are better than me. But for people with schizophrenia, I'm doing pretty good. In all this drawing took me about four hours to make. Looks simple, but it took a little work. Just a drawing, then color in with oil pastels, manipulating the pastels with my finger tips.

Since I've given up on making any money, I'm going to make art just to please me. I know I did some fantastic stuff on zyprexa, and that on Geodone I'm not as good, at least according to my husband. Right now I suffer the most from rusty syndrome, not having a pencil in my hand and the command for my brain to come up with imagery. There is a place you go to in your head when you have a blank piece of paper in front of you. I haven't been there in a while.

After I finished this drawing (total time; two creative periods, two days) I had some time left so I started on the next drawing. Best to keep going as long as the mind doesn't shut off. Eventually it shut off, like on all days. The window that my brain can be creative is about 2 to 3 hours long. I assume I have that window because of my illness and how my schizophrenia has configured my brain structure. Its about the same time window for painting or for writing. At least it is concentrated time, no dithering, no distractions, pure concentration. At art school they wanted in studio class you to concentrate for 3 to 5 hours making art and I couldn't do this; got suicidal during class or after because of the stress of the situation. Realized I could never get my art degree because of my limitations. So quit art school after one semester. Can't force the brain to exceed these invisible limits or else the brain starts cannibalizing itself and you get schizophrenic symptoms. My symptoms are always, self destruction. Its my form of delusion.

Feeling tired but fit after today's creative effort. More work tomorrow. A new window to of time to be creative in.

Every day several hours of creativity. They add up. And the product is a finished work of art.

Visiting Puppies

Visited the German Shepherd breeder today. She walked us through her home, gathering fresh bedding. When we got in the heated shed where the puppies are being kept in she told us to take off our shoes and changed the pads in the puppy's box. Then she put down a blanket next to the box. We sat on the blanket and she picked up every puppy and kept loading them into our laps. Some of the puppies spilled out of our laps, didn't matter. The puppies could be scooped up again and then gathered in, some on each other's head, some falling into the crevices of our legs. But I think the puppies liked the heat of our bodies. In this litter there is one female and one male that are light colored, the rest are all dark with little tan strokes over their eyes. Odds are we take home a dark colored pup, and I do hope this happens. In all there were two males and 5 females. We will take home a female.

Two puppies complained about the mother leaving and our presence. I hope these vocal ones are not one of the ones the breeder picks for us. I'd rather a puppy that simply goes with the flow of life. The ones that cried we kept petting and holding them close until they got used to our scent. In the end, they all quieted. We stayed for about 50 minutes. The breeder stepped out of the cage that surrounds where the mother and her puppies are contained and closed the door. She sat on a chair about six feet away and talked with us. She wanted the puppies to get used to our scent, they are already familiar with hers and it is good for them to have to get used to something new. Humans are a fact of life it is best they get accustomed to as young as possible.

At this age the puppies can see but they don't trust their eyes. They can walk but they are they wobbly. I got little licks on my hands, and even, one puppy tried to put a finger in his or her mouth. Mike bent over and got licks on his face. Lucky him. Mostly the puppies want a safe place where they can sleep. At least our presence, after alarming some of them, made them sleepy.

I asked Mike to look for auras. He said that the puppies all share one big aura at this young age (almost 4 weeks) and it is rainbow in hue. He met a pregnant friend of mine once in the grocery store and told me afterwords that around her stomach was a rainbow circle. So I guess babies get rainbow auras. On our adult dog Mike saw an aura that was gold or yellow in color, the same color of a human who is in a stable and healthy frame of mind. But each puppy did have something special to them. He said that right around where their heart is were white sparkles. It sounds magical to me, someone who doesn't have the gift to see auras. Auras are extensions of our souls, a little spill over from what the body doesn't capture, and it soothes me to know that someone is seeing in living creatures the touch of the divine. My husband thinks that babies have a gift of heaven still in them, being so close to coming from heaven, and this gift makes us love them and want to take care of them and protect them. Heaven makes babies lovable, whether they are human or animal, because babies are so helpless and fragile.

On the way home from the breeders we had to stop at Wal-Mart and buy my husband some more socks. I couldn't help myself, I wanted to look at dog toys. We bought two. Last week we bought two baby gates to keep the puppy we take home on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Of course we will house train the puppy as fast as we can, but if she has accidents, best it is on linoleum floor for easy clean up. During the day while my husband is at work I will make drawings or paintings on the kitchen table with the puppy on a leash clipped to my belt. Plan is, and my husband is quite serious about this, I take the puppy outside every hour on the hour. My last dog (also a pure bred German Shepherd) was taken home as a puppy at 8 weeks of age and potty trained not to go in the house in three weeks.

Little by little we are preparing for the new gift of life to enter our home.

I wake in the morning and it feels odd not be hustling a dog outside to have a bathroom break. I know that the luxury of only worrying about myself is about to change. It feels like the calm before the storm.

New Puppy

I've been accepted by a breeder of German Shepherd dogs to buy one of her puppies. She made me fill out an on-line application and have a personal visit before she would agree to sell me a dog. And in this arrangement, she picks the puppy from the litter for me - all I know ahead of time is that I'm getting a female. The breeder is in complete control, and God help me, I'm paying a lot of money for this pure bred puppy so I pray she gives me a good one.

The breeder is very cheerful, very humorous, and has been raising German shepherds for decades. We get 8 obedience lessons from her with the purchase of the puppy, and I would like to take the offer, but she lives 1 hour and 20 minutes from our house. This distance is an annoyance to my husband. When we went to visit the puppies and the breeder for the first time we were traveling after my husband came home from work, in the dark. Driving in the dark was very stressful for my husband and unfortunately we got lost, even though I had mapquest directions printed out. Our downfall was a road that had no marking sign on it, so we did not recognize the turn. Happily Emily (the breeder's name) picked up the phone when I called on my cell, and she talked my husband through the twists and turns to her home.

The first thing the breeder did was show us the dog kennels. She has many German Shepherds kept in kennels housed in a barn. Amazingly the dogs hardly barked. She let out of the kennels our puppy's grandfather and grandmother, and some other relative. These dogs happily greeted us, and then scooted back into their kennels on a command. Very impressive. I think the breeder was trying to demonstrate the character of her dogs, and what would be hopefully inherited by her puppies. She said that people called her nuts for going all the way to Canada to find a male for her female to mate with, but she was very picky. I think about how careful she was in selecting us as owners, I imagine that to breed her dog she was even more careful. I described to her in my application Plum Pudding as being nervous and dominant and needing a lot of training and she replied in the next email that both the parents were easy living with dogs, and that the puppies should be very "tractable" and less difficult to raise than Plum Pudding.

At last we met the mother with her puppies. The mother was sensitive and looked very worried upon our arrival. However she didn't bark or growl. She allowed herself to be led away. Occasionally we would hear her leap at the closed door that separated us from her. The puppies were just a little over two weeks old and they were starting to open their eyes. In addition to being mostly blind they didn't really crawl or walk yet. What they wanted to do was to snuggle into one big puppy pile. The breeder encouraged us to pick up a puppy. What I did while I was sitting on the floor was to lay out the puppy on my arm, cradled against my stomach, and simply stroke it. No puppy whimpered, no puppy struggled. The breeder said with a smile that when they were born they looked like rats, and then moles, and now they were at the woodchuck phase. She said that they did all kinds of "mean" things to the puppies, like turning them over on their backs, to get them used to being handled by humans.

I'm a little bit scared at how expensive this puppy is. Before finding this breeder I emailed a whole bunch of breeders that were in a two hour radius from our home. I explained that my German Shepherd had died the previous week and that I was now doing research on puppies. One breeder answered me with an estimate, high and low, of how much the average breeder will ask for a pure bred German Shepherd puppy. What we found has a cost that falls in the middle. I didn't even consider the breeders who did not start their answering email without a line of sympathy for my lost dog. If a breeder said, "I'm sorry for your loss...." I wished to work with them. If a breeder just sent a business email I didn't want to work with them. Funny how sensitive I am about Plum, expecting other people to be sensitive as well. And of course, if the puppy was on the high end estimate of expense, I rejected that breeder as well. One breeder I rejected because on-line they had a picture of their huge house, very rich people. I'm silly.

My best friend and my therapist both thought I should get a mutt or at least a rescue shelter dog. I wondered at myself why I didn't get the easy breed Labrador Retriever puppy that is so popular right now. They are friendly dogs who wish nothing more than to please and they don't cost nearly as much as a German Shepherd. I can only come to the conclusion that I am trying to replace Plum Pudding. She was difficult to raise and had flaws (one trainer said she was a good dog but not a great dog) but I loved her despite being difficult. The fault must have lain with me not being a good enough trainer. For the past two days I have spent my mornings on-line reading articles about dog training. I'm not a natural dog trainer, and as ignorant as I am, I know my husband is even more ignorant. But we are both committed to doing better with this puppy than we did with Plum Pudding. I agree with what I've read; loving the dog is never enough. They have to see you as the leader of the pack and an authority figure. Any weakness and the dog feels insecure. Dog minds are no way near like human minds and it is important to know the dog perspective.

One thing that my husband and I will do is keep a leash tied to our waists at all times and have the dog clipped to the leash. It was a method suggested in a book and seen again twice on-line. I've read nothing that indicates it does any harm. It is useful for instance if the dog jumps up on something, you pull the leash and the dog gets corrected, by seemingly, its environment. Hopefully we can also guide it on what to chew and what not to chew. We will also be crate training the puppy. So if we leave the house the dog is crated and it can't go on a nervous chewing rampage and destroy our furniture. In the crate the dog will feel safe and protected even if it is left alone. Also, the dog shouldn't go to the bathroom in the crate. I read that a dog either goes outside or it goes in the house, it is an either or statement. You can't have a grown dog a little bit house-trained, this is like being a little bit pregnant. While housebreaking the puppy accidents can happen but in our circumstance where there is a person at home during the day, the message should get through quickly. I've got the advantage that I can go outside every hour. Plum Pudding was housebroken in three weeks to a month's time. I read an article that said the average age for being trained was 6 months but I know that I can do it much quicker. Every time the puppy is put in the crate it is learning bladder control and strengthening its bladder muscles.

I have memories of Plum Pudding leaping up to take things off of counters and table tops. Just a piece of paper would be for her a find, she would grab it and tear it to shreds with furious glee. If you have the puppy clipped to your waist on a leash that type of behavior can be stopped immediately. I think Plum was given too much freedom. Eventually I did have a trainer say this to me. And the more I read the more I don't think Plum was crazy (as I had assumed) rather, she was just being a puppy. Correct, correct, guide, guide, play, play - this is what I will be doing all day long at first. Fondly, I remember too Plum's exhausted slumber. Trainers will say "a tired dog is a good dog" and I know this to be true. Happily puppies need a lot of sleep. This will save my sanity. And the fact that when my husband is home I can pass the leash to him and let the puppy be his responsibility.

Obedience training will begin immediately. Sit and come first. Come is really easy with puppies because they want to be with you. And before letting the puppy eat a meal it will have to sit, even for a few seconds, in front of the bowl of food. I'm not expecting a lot at 8 weeks. Just some familiarity with words. Saying "outside" every time we go outside. Saying "get busy" while the puppy is in the middle of going to the bathroom. It used to always tickle me how I would praise the dog to the sky for pooping. It was a habit I never stopped. Plum must have thought I was nuts. But boy, was she perfectly housebroken. The only time we had accidents was when she had diarrhea, and she couldn't help herself.

Irrationally, I'm afraid my new puppy will die like Plum died. I'm afraid my heart will be broken again. I'm scared of illness. I'm scared of cars. I'm scared of choking on small objects.

We had lunch guests last Sunday. An elderly couple from church and my mother and best friend Rocki. The night before I had to cook for four hours straight. But before I cooked, I had to go grocery shopping. In-between the shopping and the cooking I needed to rest. I do have a form of schizophrenia after all and my drive and focus is limited. I tried sitting and drinking two cups of tea to summon up the needed energy to cook. This didn't do the trick, so I retreated to the dark bedroom and laid down. A place where there was no stimulation, no distraction, and all senses are in retreat from the world. I pulled the bed comforter up close to my face. And then I smelled her. I smelled Plum Pudding in my bed comforter. I had taken up a corner that often lies on the floor, and Plum liked to rest curled up on the floor next to me. I smelled Plum and burst into tears at the pain of the loss of her. So anticipating a puppy is joyful, but I'm still grieving.

Our cat Frannie is almost constantly sitting on top of the couch with a clear view of our kitchen door. When Plum was here all Frannie wanted was to lie on the bed where it was soft and warm. I had to kick her out after 8 or 9 hours and say, "go pee, go eat some food". Frannie was raised with Plum as a kitten and it is clear to me, by her odd behavior now, that she is waiting for Plum to come home. I am amazed but I am certain, Frannie is grieving. She wants to see Plum come in through the kitchen door and be there to greet her. Her universe, the sense of what is right in this home, is in disarray because Plum is not here. And unlike me, she has no future thoughts of a new puppy to distract her. My mother said, "Tell her Plum had died" so I petted her and told her this but all she did was lean into me and purr.

We go back in a week and see the puppies again. The breeder suggested it, so we are not being a pain in her ass. And from what I've read, the more contact with humans, both sexes, the better the socialization of the puppies. So by visiting again, and handling the puppies, we are doing the breeder a favor as well.

I am looking forward to this visit with a joy that overshadows any other activity that is planned for this week. We are supposed to go out to a fancy restaurant with another couple, my husband works with the man. But I couldn't give a rat's ass for this opportunity to socialize with nice people. Nothing, in my world, compares with holding a puppy once again. I'm focused and driven, probably because there is so much pain lying hidden in the center of me.

I think, next time I hold a puppy, I'm going to smell it.

Good-bye Plum Pudding

Last night we had to put our dog to sleep. She got bloat. When she was a puppy I was warned about bloat, that German Shepherds are susceptible to it. I was told not to let her eat after exercise, and that small meals, twice a day was better than one big meal. We followed the rule about not letting her eat after exercise, but we fed her one meal in the evening.

Last evening, after eating, she wanted to vomit so my husband took her outside. It is not uncommon, if she has eaten really fast, to throw up her whole meal. But my husband said that what she threw up was white and milky. And when he took her into the house she was moaning and whining and looking terrible, head hung low, tail dragging. At first we thought, "throw it all up baby, that will be the best" and my husband put an old blanket down for her to stand on and throw up on. He said, "touch her side" and I did and it was very hard. Her stomach was hard too. She threw some more of the white stuff up and I said, this is really wrong, I've never seen anything like this, I'm calling the vet. Our vet had an emergency clinic's number on the answering machine since I was calling at 7pm. The emergency clinic told me it was probably bloat and to bring her right in right away. I said, "will she die in the car?" and they just repeated, bring her in. The clinic was 40 minutes away, but they said that they were closest to us.

The night people wanted to weigh her, then take an ex-ray and put in a catheter. We said yes. It all happened very quickly. Then the vet came out and said that she had bloat, and that her stomach was twisted and they might need to remove her spleen as well. The twisted stomach could cut off blood supply, but we had moved fast and gotten her to the vet fast so there might not be much tissue damage. Once the stomach was untwisted they would staple it to her side, and she could never get bloat again. The bottom price for the operation was $2,500. Without the operation there was a 100% chance that she would die.

In the car driving to the vet my husband asked me what our price was for the dog's life. What the ceiling we said we would spend or put her down. She is almost 9 years old and she already has arthritis, which we are treating successfully. In the past I have said that we would not spend more than $1,000 but in the car last evening I said, $2,000. My husband agreed.

When the vet faced us and said the cost would be $2,500 I could not let Plum die. It was just 500 more than what we had agreed upon in the car, so I figured, it is only money and I want my baby to live.

The vet went away and then a nurse came out with the paper work. But the prices were different on paper then what the vet had quoted. What they wanted me to sign was that I agreed to be held responsible for all fees. All the medical procedures were listed, some that were necessary, and some that would take place in case of an emergency. Now the sum for the operation and recovery was a bottom price of $3,500 and a top price of $5,500. This could wipe out our savings account. And I said, finally defeated, we will have to euthanize her.

The nurse went away and a second nurse came out. This one said that they could do away with some of the medical procedures, take a little more risk, for instance do less bloodwork, and lower the price. But my husband and I still couldn't pay the amount they asked. They talked about payment plans, but if you don't pay everything in a year there is huge interest fees. And I just knew how my husband felt. He was thinking what new medical problem would appear because Plum was moving into old age? The vet had said that bloat was more likely in Plum at her age because internal ligaments loosen. If I had known this I would have switched to feeding her twice a day in smaller amounts. But I swear, I was never told bloat was fatal, and I was never told that it wasn't somehow connected to exercise. And we did not take Plum for a walk last night since it was raining. Nothing, I mean nothing was different from routine.

There are simply some things in life we know we can't have because we don't have the money. We live like this, every day, weighing the costs and benefits, and choosing usually what is cheapest. I would like an eternity band made out of diamonds to go with my wedding band. Can't have it. I would like to buy my husband a precision watch that is Swiss made and high quality, keeping perfect time, since the watch a man wears is sometimes the cause of much envy among men. But I settled for Christmas to buy him a new watch that was Swiss made and cheap. I will probably never own a winter coat that is new. And I will probably never buy a sofa that is new either.

We buy our groceries in two places, trying to save money. What we need at Wal-Mart, and what they have, we buy first because this is rock bottom prices for food. After Wal-Mart we go to the regular grocery store. And we almost never buy name brands, and we always compare prices to what is on sale and buy the cheapest. Then there are the foods that are quality, and that are good for you to eat, like ketchup that doesn't have high fructose corn syrup additive, or peanut butter that is simply 100% peanuts. If we can avoid high fructose corn syrup or trans fatty acids we do.

Two nights ago my husband said, "I am tired of leftover turkey and manicotti, can we go out to dinner at the Chelsa Royal?" I said, "I just did the bills for rent, electricity, the phone and internet, and now there is about $40 in our checking account for emergencies, but no money to eat out. I'm so sorry because you so rarely ask for anything for yourself. We can go to Taco Bell and spend $10 on Tacos." But my husband was sick of Tacos, and he wanted the sit down home cooked meal that they serve at the Chelsa Royal and probably too the micro-brewery beer he would have gotten with the meal. So he smiled really nice and said that he would try to find something at home to eat.

It hurts to know that if I had $25,000 in savings I would have signed the papers for Plum's operation. She could have lived. I spent literally thousands of dollars training her - this was when I was married to a millionaire. I worked with three different trainers. The food trainer, the choke chain trainer, and the electric shock police dog trainer. Each trainer was a move up in severity because Plum didn't want to be trained. She was highly dominant and did not recognize me as an authority figure at first. I had to be trained too to be in control. The trainers toughened me up as they broke her down a little. That was just the way it had to be if she was not going to bite someone and co-exist peacefully in society. At last she turned into a sweet old dog who knew her commands very well, heel, sit, down, jump up, lie down, go away, come here. I knew her personality like the back of my hand. When the phone would ring, and I didn't hear it or move to answer it Plum would make strange moaning noises to get my attention. She did the same thing when the tea kettle was whistling and I was in a different room and didn't hear that. But when someone knocked on our door (we have no doorbell) her bark was loud and urgent. The tone of the bark was unmistakable and it meant that a person was standing outside. So no need for a doorbell. And I never feared that our house would be robbed. Her bark was super scary. When I opened the door I held her collar and said to our visitor, "Let her smell you and it will be o.k" and then Plum sniffed. After the sniff she would relax. Perhaps she would pick up on the fact that I was relaxed, and I wanted this person to come into the apartment. I am certain that if I were alarmed, she would have stayed alarmed. When we would take Plum on a walk through town so many people would say, "Can I pet her?" and I would say to Plum, "Go say hello" and sometimes, "Kisses". There would be more sniffing of the person and then with the command "kisses" sometimes a lick.

A trainer once said to me, as I complained on how hard it was to civilize the wild hellion of a puppy that I had chosen, that some people would love to have the dog I had. How come? I asked in amazement. "Because she wants to be with you and she will never run away". And this was true. In the woods we could go walking and she could be off leash. When I heard distant voices approaching along the trail, or saw someone, I would call Plum and she would come to my hand. Then my hand would reach under her collar and attach a leash. It got to be that when Plum heard someone approaching she ran to me even before I gave the command. She saw a pattern of behavior and was able to anticipate what I wanted.

Plum had brown eyes but when she sometimes looked at me, and she was happy, I swear her eyes shone and I called her "bright-eyes". There is almost no describing the phenomena of an alert German Shepherd, not when they are alert with tension, but alert with life and happiness. I suppose it is their intelligence. Dumb dogs can be happy, and are sweet, but a German Shepherd feeling really good about themselves is beautiful to behold. They seem to be electric, giving off energy. Always when I looked into Plum's eyes there was somebody home there. A presence, looking back at me.

Plum was such a difficult puppy because she wanted her way. She wanted to control the humans. Her rules meant that she would pull anything off of tables or counter tops and rip it to shreds. Her rules meant that she could bite and bark and run wherever she wanted. And while she was very dominant, she was fearful as well. That meant if someone backed her physically into a corner, and she felt fearful, she might bite. Training her gave her confidence, it told her that there are rules to the way the world worked, and that as long as she was following a rule, she was safe. For instance. If she was put in a sit, or down position, she was working and would not bark or lunge at strange dogs or other humans. For Plum there was either free time, where she could get her way, or there was work time, when she was following the rules. When we were in public we tried to get her to work as much as possible, and so, have her under our thumb.

In the house Plum really liked to stick with the humans. Where the humans were she wanted to be. She would follow us from room to room in the house. We have a tiny bathroom, but when my husband was in the shower, and I was at the sink brushing my teeth, Plum wanted to be in the tiny room with us. My husband called it sticking with the pack. Plum wanted to be part of the pack at all times. It was insecurity but it was love too.

The house feels really empty. One of the cats won't come into the warm bedroom, her favorite place in the world. She sits out in the cold kitchen. She was a kitten when Plum was a puppy. She had Plum's number. She knew Plum liked to chase moving objects so around Plum she walked really slow and Plum ignored her. Sometimes when she was on the bed, and Plum was on the floor, she would touch noses with Plum. We say right now she is out in the kitchen because she is waiting for Plum to come home. She knows something is wrong.

Right before they euthenized Plum they let us have some alone time with Plum. All I could do was cry and repeat to her over and over "good girl". I thought of nothing original to say. But my husband was stoking her and telling her things, like he would meet her again in Summerland and that she was the best dog he had ever had. He's had a lot of dogs. I have nothing to compare, except the dog I had as a teenager that always was chained up on a run in the back yard. She didn't get much attention. Plum got a lot of attention everyday. I said to my husband today, after work, were you telling Plum the truth that she was the best dog you've ever had? And he told me about the different personalities of the dogs that he has loved, but in the end, he said that Plum was almost human.

All the trouble I went through with raising Plum. And I would do it all over again.

I hope, after I've had a period to grieve, to do it all over again.

You're in heaven now Plum. How I hate to be separated from you.