10 Reasons to Adopt a Small Dog

1. Small dogs are like hybrid cars. They consume less--so they're good for your budget.

2. Also like hybrids, their output will cause less pollution to your atmosphere, be it your yard or your patio.

3. They're easy to park. Sharing a couch or a bed with a couple of large dogs can be like flying economy. Go first class with a small dog and stretch out.

4. Small dogs can fly in a carryon under your seat on some airlines. No more dog boarding bills and lots of companionship.

5. If you do have to board your dog, it will cost less. You might even have a better chance of getting a friend to dog-sit.

6. Small dogs make people say, "Awwww...."

7. Busy? Your day scheduled from dawn until dusk? A small dog is less likely to tip over your dining room chairs while waiting for a walk.

8. Resolving to exercise more in the new year? An energetic small dog can give you just as much exercise as a big one.

9. Speaking of exercise, a small dog can fit in a bicycle basket. There's probably a cool spandex bicycle outfit for your small dog out there in the bizarre world of dog clothes. Maybe a helmet and some goggles. Go ahead, be a topic of conversation in your neighborhood.

10. Smaller breeds tend to have longer life spans. Chihuahua might be Spanish for "20 years of love."

After walking dogs at the San Gabriel Valley Humane Society today, I learned that one of my favorite little dogs, Ian, got adopted. Ian is a chubby ten-year-old chihuahua mix with a condition that has caused the hair on his tail to fall out in a weirdly interesting spiral pattern. He has a couple of thin patches elsewhere on his coat, too. He is sweet and cuddly, and not all that excited about serious exercise. I've spent most of my time with Ian sitting on the grass in the park rubbing his belly. I would tell him that he needed a couch and a remote, not a walk. He always agreed. Now he's got that.

With my travel back and forth to the east coast, and a possible relocation in the fall, I still don't feel the time is right to adopt a dog, myself. But every time I walk Humane Society dogs, I play a little game of what if.

Dogs, Desserts, and Further Disposition of Thanksgiving Leftovers

I walked dogs this morning. Two and a half hours of trudging off leftovers was one of the most fabulous ways I could have spent the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I'm not really a small dog person. The smallest dog I've ever owned was a 35-lb. terrier mix named Lulu, but at the Humane Society, in order to be kind to my back and shoulders, I walk mostly chihuahua mixes. If I could have a dog in my life right now, I would be making plans to adopt a 5-month-old brown chihuahua mix that has black markings like a German Shepherd. He's larger than most of the chis, and looks like a miniature version of my shepherd-collie mix, Lola, who died last year. Before she turned white in the face, her markings were dark. Never in a million years would I have ever thought I'd be interested in a tiny dog.

The leftover project is proceeding quite well. Cabbage and mashed potato soup was not made today, but a 41-page application for the 1st MFA program on my list was. C's husband who is here with her visiting made her some gnocchi out of the mashed potatoes. Tomorrow he will make a pot pie and use up the last of the dark meat turkey, the gravy, and the mashed potatoes that remain. I have just taken leftover sweet potato custard out of the oven.

And here's a dog named Sweet Potato.

I feel Christmas melancholy nibbling at the edges. It's a precarious time for me. Desserts and dogs might keep it at bay.
Oh! This guy has been adopted!

Going to the Dogs

I walked dogs today. It was clear and sunny. Not too hot, not too cold. The sort of November weather that people pull up stakes and move to California for.

If I had some snow, though, and a miniature sled, this energetic beautiful guy could pull it. He looks like a big sled dog in this photo, but since he weighs about nine pounds, the sled would have to be the size of a muffin pan. That said, he would be happy to trot anywhere with you and your muffins. I've been calling him "Mr Fluffy," but I think his name is Santiago.

Then there's this rather shy girl. She has the most lovely coloring. A brindled coat. I call her "Brinnie the Pooh," but her name is Almond.

They're at the San Gabriel Valley Humane Society--with a bunch of their friends.

What I Like About Walking Dogs

1. Walking
2. Dogs
3. Zero fashion sense required
4. No one cares if there's poop on my shoes
5. Talking to myself while it appears that I am talking to a dog
6. Talking to a dog
7. Sitting in the grass in the park while giving a dog a belly rub
8. Saying things like, "Go ahead, pee on that tree too."
9. Saying "Who wants some love?" out loud in the middle of the park on a sunny day.
10. Dogs. I said that already? Well, I'm sayin' it again.

The little dog in the photo is named Boo Boo. He's sweet, well-behaved and very enegetic. His face is gray, but his spirit is young. He's at the San Gabriel Humane Society.

Dogs and Doggedness

It's been a busy day. Some writing. Some exercise.

At the the San Gabriel Humane society I walked a poodle who spends his kennel time hiding under the doggie bed. I "walked" a tiny little dog who thought she was a wallet. Yup, I'll bet she was carried in a purse. (Damn you, Paris Hilton.) I walked a dog whose tag purported that she was an Australian Cattle Dog. She looked like an Australian Cattle Dog. Except she'd fit in a purse, too. Which raises the question, do those Baby Belle cheeses come from mini-cows? If so, I know an adorable dog who could use a job. I walked a little orange poof of a dog who was excellent on the leash and full of personality. Hi there, southern Californians, if you like little dogs, The San Gabriel Humane Society has about 100 of them. Really. Small dogs became all the rage thanks to Ms. Paris, and now they are being discarded like last year's shoes. 



After the dogs, I came home and had a terse discussion about my lack of reliable Internet service with my cable provider. I rebooted, gave up on my wireless, plugged directly into my modem and found this in my email:

Attached is your copy of the final judgment paperwork, which officially finalizes your divorce.

Of course there is still the QDRO. But that is being handled by the special QDRO attorney. "Which will take months."

I'll bet my "regular" divorce attorney has sent flowers and champagne and chocolates and it should all be arriving any minute.

photo credit: yousang2me.wordpress.com

I often rely on walking my dogs as a way to re-focus my energy back on the positive.
This evening here is what we saw:

a sick tree

a dead  lizard

a discarded doll

What a relief it was to have a friend over.

Out of the  dark and into the light.

Here Comes the Sun

After six days of weather that made me think the perfect man might be a builder of arks, the sun came out yesterday morning.

The aftermath of the storm is that my street now looks like a papier maché project.















"Did you notice the mountains?" I asked a little old lady I encountered while walking my dogs.
"No English," she told me. (I think she was Chinese).
"Snow," I said and pointed to the hills behind her.
"No," she said, nodding her head yes.
"Snow," I said, trying again as I fluttered my fingers delicately and let my hands drift downwards. "Snow on the hills. Look." But I couldn't get her to turn around. It was startling to see the snow so close and it made me giddy to have no one to share it with. I restrained myself though as I finished my walk. I did not bound through the neighborhood embarrassing my dogs exclaiming about the snow.

Today, the second day of sunshine, there are still rogue puddles in the park that look like small lakes. But my patio  is now no longer a cesspool of floating dog poo. It's clean and dry, and the sandbags have been moved to the side so I can use my back doors again. Inside, my floors inside have been Roomba-ed for about the 50th time (does anyone else love their Roomba so much they talk to it? I think if they made little outfits for Roombas like they do for those plastic lawn geese, I might dress mine up.)

I'm so happy about the sun that I don't even care that Mr. Ex did not return my latest phone call which I made to him after my attorney emailed me on Friday, telling me that Mr. Ex and his attorney are still refusing to address the issues of his bonuses & reimbursing me for half my attorney fees-- and that they are still trying to divide the irrevocable trust. I'm not sure if it was desperation or optimism, but I called Mr. Ex up and asked him out for a drink so we could talk. Maybe mold spores have taken hold of my brain, but I really think if we were seated in a dark bar with Margaritas in our hands we could work this out.

Under Cover of Darkness

I'm waiting for the sun to sink a little lower so I can go out and walk the dogs without traumatizing my injured eye.

Maybe I'll find a nice neck to sink my fangs into.