New Year's Musings

I haven’t mused in a while, but with the New Year here, I thought it an appropriate time to start up again, but oh what to muse about – there are so many things – our trip to Europe and laughter and lost luggage, the puppies that are about to turn one, or the reason why I haven’t been musing?

Basically I’ve been busy. So busy. I took a pottery class and made new friends. I took Ezzie to dog training. I did Physical Therapy way too much trying to get my herniated disc under control. I’ve been doing other kinds of writing. I focused on my classes and my students. I drove carpool and laughed with Ellie. I hung out with Matt more. And I watched Ellie mature at warp speed now that Maggie is away at college.

Oh, that’s right – Maggie’s away. That’s what hit me last night as I said good night to Ellie after we celebrated Maggie’s 19th birthday and tears welled up in Ellie’s eyes as she told me how many friends she’s lost over the past years through our church, neighborhood and family. Way too many family members have died and too many people have moved away, and then Ellie said, “and Maggie left.”

I stood by her door, nodded my head, said I was sorry and walked away. I knew if I listened anymore, I’d start to cry too and I had worked so hard all fall to keep those tears at bay. I wasn’t going to let them in now.

But when I went to sleep later, they found their way to me anyway. With Maggie home, her absence is even more obvious. I know she’s going to leave again. And honestly I’m glad.

She’s so happy. I love telling anyone who asks after her. She loves her school, her classes and field hockey. She’s made friends, and she and her boyfriend have maintained a healthy long-distance relationship. What more could I ask for?

But my family construct is different and it’s going to keep changing.

I heard from so many friends during the holidays that just reinforced how we mothers (and I guess fathers too, but I don’t really talk to them as much) feel the loss of our children forever. One friend emailed me and said, “See that wasn’t so long was it?” about Maggie’s return from college. Then she went on to say that she’s finding it harder now her children are older, out of college, as they’re really developing separate lives. Yahoo, I thought, something to look forward to.

Another friend put her son, freshly out of college, on a plane to visit a friend in the Midwest and emailed how hard it was to let him leave again, “but friends make it easier,” she wrote. Another raved about how her puppy (one of ours) was hopping through the snow like a bunny but her son had to leave right after Christmas because he was working now and her daughter had a boyfriend, all of which were good, but made for less time with her. She was glad for her volunteer work.

The irony is our children are doing what we did. I remember my dorm rooms and my first apartment (in the basement with the mice). I felt so grown up. They were my spaces. I made decisions about when to eat, where to eat, what to do and with whom and didn’t have to check in with anyone. And, our children are doing what we want them to do. It took a lot of work and a lot of time but we did it – they’re independent, self-sufficient. They left us. Yeah us!!

But I miss Maggie. I miss the way our family used to be. So I stay busy to make sure I won’t wallow in self-pity. That’s why I haven’t been musing.

And guess what, I’ve signed up for another pottery class. Ezzie’s nowhere close to being done with dog training. I have curtains and a quilt to finish and my herniated disc is still causing me pain but my insurance is done with PT, so I’m back to my regular health club. Ellie and I will start up carpool again next week, and I have lots of writing projects and two new classes starting up. And I have my friends. I’ll be just fine.

Happy New Year.

Summer Recap - Beach Walks

I love summer – the sun, the warm weather, the chance to be outside. I love going away to decompress and live a simplified life in my stepfather’s 800- square foot guesthouse. Summer makes me feel invincible. I focus on the day ahead, not the week ahead. I rarely look at a calendar. I’m outside a lot – playing tennis, walking, or going to the beach to swim or lie in the sun.

This summer was different, however. I did think about the year ahead, as I knew Maggie would be leaving us mid August. Neither of my daughters was around as much as I was used to. Ellie was away at camp for two weeks and then worked at the Community Center and hung out with friends. While Maggie was on the Vineyard for most of the summer, she was off with her boyfriend, hanging out at his house, going to parties, and being an independent 18-year-old on her way to college. All very age appropriate. I knew the more I clung, the more she’d pull away, so I kept my mouth shut most of the time and made myself available when she needed or wanted me.

I also couldn’t play tennis or walk a lot because I had injured my back or hip, leaving me in chronic pain and unable to do anything remotely athletic. The pain worsened as the summer progressed, creating many sleepless nights and frustrating days. Perhaps it was a signal for the emotional pain that was coming with letting go.

I had a lot of time on my hands, and I spent most of it with Spray and Ezzie, two of our three dogs. Crazy Splash kept Matt company in Cambridge.

While daily family trips to the beach with tents, umbrellas, picnics and sunscreen were things of the past, I did go to the beach almost every morning with Spray and Ezzie. Getting up early to get to the town beaches before 9am when dogs are banned and before I had to drive Ellie to the Community Center was a challenge. This meant arriving by 7am in most cases.

I am not a morning person. I don’t get up all chipper, looking forward to my cup of tea and a chance to reflect on the day ahead, and summer usually allows me to sleep in until 7:30 or 8. But this summer, I dragged myself out of bed, sometimes threw something in my mouth – a piece of toast – looked over my shoulder at my oh-so-cozy bed and then followed the dogs begrudgingly outside. They were in a rhythm and knew what was up. They wouldn’t let me off the hook jumping on my bed and licking my face.

Once I arrived at the beach, my world shrank to the dogs, sand, ocean, sun, sky and me. Everything else – Maggie leaving home, the book pitch I wasn’t writing, the quilt I was struggling with, Matt’s illness in early August – disappeared.

At Squibnocket, the dogs made friends, meeting and playing with other dogs, including two PWDs, and I made friends, meeting and chatting with other dog owners. It wasn’t what I was used to, but I relished the peace at the beach and the camaraderie among the dogs and their owners.

If I just couldn’t get up and make it to Squibby on time, I took the dogs to another beach with no curfew. We’d arrive just after 8:30 when I dropped Ellie at the Center. I rowed across Chilmark Pond with the dogs following behind me. Ezzie panicked a few times and tried to body surf on Spray, so I usually rowed them back in the boat when they were tired.

Regardless of what beach they were at, they ran and ran. Ezzie’s energy was tested as she lept through beach grass and ran up and down the dunes off the pond, or played with other puppies at Squibby.

While Spray is dignified and not emotionally invested in water – she can take or leave it, Ezzie is a nut for it. She will follow me into the ocean and dive into the crashing surf. She’ll even ride the waves back into shore. She also perfected the art of the dog somersault, by planting her head sideways in the wet sand, wiggling around and then flipping over on her back and wiggling some more.

The dogs grounded me by living in the here and now; they don’t think about the future or worry about the past. They also knew that getting to the beach was worth the effort. Most things are.

Another Good-Bye

After saying good-bye to nine puppies last spring, I thought I had good-bye down, that it wouldn’t be so hard to say good-bye to my oldest daughter as she left for college this fall.

I was wrong. I should’ve known raising puppies for 2-3 months had nothing on raising a child for 18 years.

She’s been gone three weeks, but it seems a lot longer. I don’t think much about her when I’m busy preparing my fall classes, cleaning out the basement or sorting hand-me-downs for the cousins.

But her absence is felt when I sit down to dinner with one less person at the kitchen counter or wake up to silence because she’s not playing music as she gets ready for school. When my husband leaned over at the theater last weekend and said, “Maggie would love this movie,” I knew he felt it too.

Before she left, I assumed I’d be the prototypical mother, hanging out in her room, sleeping in her bed, and gazing at the mess she left behind, but I haven’t. If I go in there, I just feel the urge to clean and I don’t have the energy.

I was lucky, sort of, because when I left her at school for her field hockey pre-season, I knew I’d be back a week later for freshman orientation. But saying good-bye multiple times is like pulling the bandage off - really, really slowly. The pain is still there and lingers longer.

When we – my husband, younger daughter and I - dropped her off, the campus was deserted – only the athletes and student government kids were there. The dorm halls were eerily quiet. Her roommate had yet to arrive, leaving half her room bare. There wasn’t a lot of hoopla over the freshmen moving in, although I did make a small-world connection with her student fellow – I play tennis with her aunt – which made me more comfortable and excited.

As I hugged Maggie good-bye, she said to her dad and sister, “I can hear the warble in her voice.” I fled so she wouldn’t see what I’m sure she knew I’d do – cry in the car.

The following week, the three of us, and her boyfriend, returned for the first day of Freshman Orientation to meet her roommate and finish setting up her room. The rest of her class arrived with boxes, bags and parents to be greeted by all sorts of screaming upperclassmen. We raised both beds so dressers and mini-frigs could be stored more easily. Maggie’s side of the room is ocean blues and greens and her roommate’s side is flower pinks and reds, quite cheerful.

Maggie’s energy was flagging when we saw her, but she was looking forward to classes and field hockey. I cried harder this time – silently in the back seat so her boyfriend wouldn’t see or hear – because this was the real good-bye. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t see her again – we have field hockey games as an excuse to visit, but I know when she comes home from now on, it’s to visit, not live. She’s doing what she’s supposed to – stepping out on her own. But I feel left behind, stuck in the same old-same old.

When my husband reached around from the driver’s seat to pat my leg in the car, Maggie’s boyfriend asked, “Are you crying?” I told him I’d kill him if he told Maggie. I want her to focus on getting to know new people, work on her classes, deal with her own anxieties. She shouldn’t worry about me.

I hadn’t counted on a call from her two days later saying she was on her way to the ER for chest xrays because the college infirmary suspected she had pneumonia. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to be a helicopter parent, and I had said my big good-bye. She was on her own. I didn’t want to embarrass her by rushing to her side.

But, after much debate, she texted me, “Um, if you want to come, that would be ok”, and I got in the car.

For three nights, she slept with me at the college inn to ensure a good night’s sleep away from the revelry on campus, rested in the infirmary during the day and had mini breaks when she hung out in her dorm room to see new friends from her hall. She missed going to a tropical theme party, but loaned her coconut bra to a boy, who wore it with post-its testifying he was doing this for Maggie.

While it was nice to mother her for those days, it was brutal saying good-bye Sunday afternoon. She had classes on Monday and, just as I had to let the new owners take care of our puppies, it was time for the college, and she herself, to take care of Maggie. My job was to leave.

Leaving her when she didn’t feel well and was upset with missing freshman orientation and field hockey practice wasn’t easy. I couldn’t help but text and Facebook her to make sure she was checking in with the infirmary and resting as much as possible. It’s impossible not to worry – even from a distance.

Within a few days, her voice changed. Her spirit was returning even if her energy wasn’t. She was pacing herself carefully focusing on homework and not socializing. A few days later she even cleaned her room.

She’s already learning life lessons and so am I.

I remember how excited I was to live on my own, and how grown-up I felt realizing I didn’t always need or want my family around. She’s in the early stages of that realization and while I am honestly thrilled for her, it sucks being me.

While she’s investing time and energy in her future and her dad and I are investing money, lots of it, in that same future, I’m also trying to invest in my future. I’m teaching and writing more, and I’m registered for a pottery class and dog training for the puppy we kept.

Maybe when she does come home, she’ll be as excited to see me as the puppies are when they visit – jumping, wagging and playing chase. I just hope she doesn't pee on the floor.

The New Normal

My family’s life is back to normal, if having three dogs in the city is normal. I still feel like the neighborhood Crazy Dog Lady.

Even though our house doesn’t look like a kennel anymore, when the wind blows in a certain direction or it’s rained a lot, a distinct odor of puppy pee permeates the air. Our backyard, however, has been transformed permanently from a yard for people into a packed dirt yard perfect for dogs to roll around on.

We no longer wake up and have to feed ten puppies or clean up after ten puppies or entertain ten puppies or worry about where they’re going to end up or say good-bye to each of them.

When the ten puppies lived with us, there was a purpose and excitement to our day, despite how tired and dirty we were. We had to take care of the puppies; we needed to raise them well so they would make great pets for other people. With them gone we have returned to regular folk with a new puppy who needs to be trained because she chews chairs and shoes, and jumps up on us, and I no longer have a viable excuse for why my house is messy. I’ve had to start spending a little part of each day cleaning it.

But keeping on top of the mess with just three dogs isn’t easy. Cranky, Calm and Cute bring in a lot of dirt and take up a lot of space in our house with their barking and roughhousing.

Cranky, aka Splash, is old and isn’t amused by the new puppy in the house. He’s content to just lie around without being bothered. Spray and Ezzie, however, find it immensely enjoyable to get up in his face and taunt him. They dart up close enough to annoy him and then run away hoping he’ll chase them. He doesn’t. He just barks at them. Loudly.

Spray and Ezzie, however, have a great relationship, although I think Spray is a little jealous of Ezzie and all the attention she’s getting.

Spray is remarkably gentle with her daughter. When they play tug-of-war, Spray lets Ezzie win, when she could easil whip her around like kids do when they play Crack-the-Whip. She still cleans Ezzie periodically and is protective when we walk them together.

I’ve also found it more difficult to get my kids to help with the three dogs than when we had the ten puppies. Walking and feeding three is more of a chore than an adventure.

I forgot how exhausting and time consuming taking care of one puppy can be, especially when there are two older dogs around. I assumed once nine of the puppies were gone, one would be easy. I was wrong. But I also didn’t anticipate how much fun I’d have watching one puppy – Ezzie – grow and develop.

We took all three dogs to New Hampshire this past weekend, and the two older dogs knew where they were immediately. They romped around with ease and comfort. Ezzie explored. When we took them to the lake to swim, Splash and Spray were ecstatic. They wasted no time running in the water. Ezzie watched and walked out a few feet, but didn’t go in over her head.

Within a few minutes, however, she wandered after them a little too far and instinct took over and she started swimming. She loved it. We can’t get her to jump off a dock yet, but she looks like she’s interested. Splash was our jumper, but in his old age, he stands at the edge looking over remembering but not daring, while Ezzie looks over the edge and is tempted. The torch has been passed.
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No News is Good News?

Pocahontas left on Friday with the new name of Molly. As usual I was sad saying good-bye and even choked up because her new name is the same as my deceased mother’s. My older daughter had to tell me to get a grip. Luckily, she came home from school so I wouldn’t be alone like I was when Nauset left.

Saying good-bye IS hard, but seeing the excitement and joy in the new owners’ eyes is reassuring, and watching the dogs’ tails wag when their owners hold them as they process out to the car is comforting. One new family even took a family picture on our porch before they left.

This is, afterall, why we did this in the first place - not to keep ten dogs, but to share Spray's disposition with others.

I have also been gifted with reports and pictures of the dogs after they have reached their new homes and settled in. Nauset wrote his own letter detailing how he peed on some Italian shoes and likes to eat mulch. He also said his new owner was sleeping next to him as he got used to his new crate.

Recently I received photos of Charlie, one of the first to leave, standing in his position as co-pilot in his new owner’s car as they were getting ready for a business visit. He looked proud and happy.

My husband and I have also friended almost anyone we can find on Facebook who has one of our puppies. We’ve seen Henry in the water and Zazu’s first bath, thanks to Facebook.

I’ve already heard from Molly’s new family that she is doing great, she slept through the night, and they love her tons.

Not one dog looks unhappy in any picture and we haven’t received any panicked emails, even though we know, from the chewed shoes and coffee table in our house, that the pups are teething like crazy.

Sometimes, I have to wait a while between updates, but this is when I remind myself that no news is good news.

When my daughters are away at camp or on a trip, I don’t miss them or worry about them, much. If I don’t hear from them, I know they’re safe, well cared for and are having fun, and I can continue with my own life – whether I’m teaching or playing tennis.

But when a phone call or letter comes that says one of them is hurt or homesick, I miss them terribly. I want to run to them, take care of them, and fix whatever’s wrong. When they are on the opposite side of the country or across the Atlantic, I can’t do that and it kills me. I have to wait out my fear and my loneliness until I hear that the sunburn is better, the allergic reaction has dissipated, and the homesickness has abated.

I know my puppies are doing well and that they have made a lot of families immensely happy, that the new families, regardless of size, are complete with their puppies. My world has also grown because of where the puppies have gone and because of the care we got from our own breeders as they coached us through this adventure.

And so, I will remind myself next year after my daughter moves out that no news is good news and that her new friends and new life will inevitably reach me and enlarge my world as well.

Placing Pups

We have only two more puppies to place. Last night Pocahontas found a home with a nice family in Worcester. This Friday, Scar, aka Nauset, leaves for his new home in CT, and Pokey will follow a week after that. Two boys are left.

Placing our pups has turned out to be harder and more labor intensive than we anticipated. Perhaps we were naïve about this part of the job, although our breeders had warned us about some of their interactions with the human species. I hadn’t planned on getting so attached to the puppies and caring as much as I do about their future homes. Playing with the puppies, watching them grow and develop their personalities has been more than fun. We’ve learned a lot – about animals and how they behave with each other, humans and how much joy puppies bring them.

But, we’ve also learned how tricky it is placing a puppy with the right family. We’ve learned a lot about human nature and how humans treat humans.

A PWD isn’t an easy dog to own and most people who call or visit know this. They’ve done their research, have a good case to plead, pick the pups up, get down on their hands and knees to play with them and encourage their kids to do so as well.

But not every match is perfect, even if the prospective buyers think it is, just like high school seniors who are convinced they know which colleges should take them, even if the colleges don’t always agree.

Prospective buyers call who tell me they’re interested in the breed because the dogs are cute. Once I ask what they know about the breed and fill in the blanks for them, I often don’t hear from them again. They must realize the dog is more dog than they want. Sometimes a high school senior will realize upon visiting a school or hearing more about the place, that no matter how great the school’s reputation, the fit just isn’t right.

We’ve had a couple of families and individuals visit multiple times to prove they can handle this dog, that they’re ready and committed to the breed, that they understand the puppyhood lasts for three years, that the dogs are mouthy and highly energetic, that they need to work and be exercised multiple times a day. If not, they’ll tear your house apart. If we see the family’s commitment, we are more apt to think about placing a puppy with them.

PWDs cannot be left alone in a crate or in the house for extended time. They need to be with an owner, a dog walker, in doggie daycare, or with another dog to keep them company.

I learned this the hard way – with our first dog who needed more than I could give him. I had a 4-year-old at the time who needed my attention and the dog turned out to be more tightly wound than anticipated. I try to tell people this. Some listen; some don’t.

For those who don’t, we have to do the hardest thing possible and ask them to reconsider the breed. It’s not that we don’t like the families or think they don’t mean well, it’s just the kids are too young or the families haven’t interacted with the puppies or look afraid or don’t really understand what they’re walking into.

No one is happy when they hear this news.

We try to let them down gently – we know we’re disappointing them, just like the high school seniors who got denials from colleges in the last two weeks. It’s not fair. Sometimes there doesn’t appear to be a justified reason and the denial is a burn. Decisions are made on a first impression basis. But when admission committee members sit down to discuss candidates, they, for reasons only they understand, decide some students will be a better fit at their college than others.

So too with our puppies – we, as a family, discuss and agree, that some potential buyers aren’t ready for the breed and others should be encouraged to take a specific dog we think will fit their lifestyle.

Of course, we’re not always right and neither are the colleges, but given the small amount of information we, or the colleges have, we all make the best decision possible.