Chinchillas and Children

People unfamiliar with exotic pets such as iguanas or chinchillas tend to either be afraid of them, or they wonder why I would want to keep such a thing because they assume these creatures have no individual personality. They would be wrong.

I went downstairs tonight and got some raspberries from the frig and was eating (read: inhaling) them in the kitchen. My chinchillas all reside in the breakfast nook because it is the easiest place to cool down in summer since it's like a small room (they are in danger of heat stroke over 75°F) and the easiest place to contain their mess and clean it up (they scatter hay and cage substrate on the floor daily).

Odin (our 10 year old light grey chinnie) saw me and was immediately sticking his pink nose through the bars begging for a treat: "ME TOO! ME TOO! ME TOO!"

 

I don't like giving him raspberries tho cuz of the tiny seeds (plus they are huge compared to his size if you think about it - that's like giving us a berry the size of a watermelon to eat all at once), so I gave him a small fresh blueberry instead. He loves those. Odin likes all kinds of fresh stuff - organic salad greens and grapes are other things I give him once in a great while (just in case new chinchilla owners seeking info are led to this blog, please note that giving fresh items such as this can cause diarrhea so if your chinnie does like these things, please don't give them anything large, and don't allow these types of treats too often. Once a month at the most for fresh items. Dried fruits are better; small bits of pineapple, papaya, apple, and raisins are your best bet. Chinchillas are junkies - they will quickly become addicted to treats, so you really have to monitor it and only give them one treat per day. That said...)

My other two chinchillas, Edwyn (charcoal grey, 9 years old) and Arty (the 4 year old beige that came to me just after New Year's - I'll have to put that in a different blog cuz that's quite a story), saw me give Odin a blueberry and they're like "US TOO! US TOO!" Suddenly I have pink noses poking through cage bars everywhere.

I gave a blueberry to Edwyn, who grabbed it and ate half, then probably dropped the other half somewhere in the cage to be revisited later tonight. (He's like that - they're nocturnal by the way.)

Then I offered one to Arty who sniffs it and says: "Uh no, I don't like that."

Me: Oh c'mon, you'll like it. The other two like them.

Another sniff.

Arty: No no, I'm sure I don't like these.

Me: How do you know? You've never had one. Here.

Arty: No, I don't like them. I'm sure.

Me: Seriously, try it. (Side note: Yes, I speak out loud to my animals.)

Arty: No.

Me: TRY IT.

Arty: NO.

Me: "Look stunad... they're the same as the dried blueberries you immediately pick out of your dish every time I give them to you. TAKE THIS. It's the SAME THING."

Arty: Gimme a treat.

Me: I AM giving you a treat! Take it!

Arty: I don't want that treat. Gimme a different treat. (Turns "the cute look" on me.)

Me: No, don't do that. Eat this!

Arty: NO, GIMME A DIFFERENT TREAT. (Turns up the cuteness by a factor of 10.)

Me: FINE.

I go get the dried blueberries in the treat container and give him one, which he immediately gobbles down. Mind you, this is the same thing I was offering him before, it's just that these have had all the water sucked out of them.

Arty: That was good. Can I have another one? I'm sure you didn't give me one yet. How come the other two got treats and I didn't?

(And the other two are in the background going, "Yeah, we didn't get treats either. We're sure. Give us one!" They are excellent little liars.)

This totally reminded me of my daughter when she was five. Or maybe when she was FIFTEEN.

Her: I don't like Indian food.

Me: Try it.

Her: No! I don't like it.

Me: How do you know? You've never had it. (A CLASSIC parent argument.)

Her: I just know! (A CLASSIC child response.)

Me: C'mon, try it.

Her: NO! It smells funny!

Me: Try it!

Her: NO!

Me: Ok here, have this instead. Take this bread (naan) and dip it in this sauce (tikka masala).

Her: YUM! That's really good. Can I have more? What is it?

Me: INDIAN FOOD.

Her: (No response.)

A similar story a few years later during the one month she lived here with me in California before running back to the boyfriend in New Jersey: Oceanside has a street fair in the evening every Thursday. There are a ton of food booths, but this one place sells Greek gyros and OH MY GOD are they good. Best gyros I've ever tasted. The first time we had them it was just luck in picking that out of all the booths; now I go back on Thursdays just for that.

Katy and I had been walking around and she kept insisting she wasn't hungry but she hadn't eaten all day (drama over being apart from the boyfriend... they cried on the phone together EVERY NIGHT for a MONTH - him included!). I finally got tired of trying to convince her to eat and bought a gyro for myself. As soon as I tasted it I knew she'd like it, but getting her to find that out was always a challenge.

Me: You need to eat some dinner. This is really good. Try it.

Her: No. I'm not hungry.

Me: You're missing out. You'll love it. Just take one bite!

Her: NO! What is it?

Me: Lamb. (mistake - never tell them it's anything but beef or chicken)

Her: EWWWW!!! GROSS!!! NO!

Me: TRY IT! It tastes like beef. You won't know the difference.

Her: NO!

Me: TRY IT!

Her: FINE.

One bite, no comment.

A few minutes later...

Me: Do you want more? You need to stop sulking and eat something.

Her: I'm NOT sulking! FINE. Just one more bite. (Rolling her eyes.)

Me: You sure you don't want one of your own? I'll buy you one.

Her: No, MOM! I'm not hungry. (So much eye rolling her head could've been a bowling lane.)

Then I ask her to hold it for me (yeah, I'm smart) and it starts disappearing like magic. When she gets down to the last few bites she asks if I want anymore of it. I say no thanks, you finish it. No other comments are made. (I ate something later at home.)

These things are necessary silent victories lest you lose the next battle because your opponent has figured out your strategy. (She was 19. NINETEEN! Don't ever let anyone tell you the terrible twos stop in a few years! The only cure for that is moving out of the house!)

The next week she asks: Hey, can we get gyros again?

Chinchillas are much more stubborn.

What's In A Name?

I'm proofreading a book on Oceanography. I love doing this stuff because you learn inane bits of trivia that make you much more interesting than you really are at random parties. For instance...

Early Mediterranean cultures envisioned that marginal bodies of water similar to the Mediterranean Sea surrounded most of the continents. The name “Earth” describes the portion of the planet that is inhabited by man in spite of the fact that the majority of the planet’s surface is covered by water. Our planet was named before ocean exploration began.

Which says to me that if fish had developed the ability to talk before they could walk, the third rock from the Sun would be called Water and perhaps Mars would be Earth. And they would've all drowned before evolving onto land due to an inability to keep their mouths shut. Oh wait...

Terminal Velocity

I am dog sitting in Rainbow, CA at a house that sits on top of a large hill surrounded by grapefruit and orange trees. It’s very peaceful up here. Adding to the awesomeness is an enormous front porch that looks out over an incredible view. I am so grateful to have this change of scenery, and get paid to be here too!

The owners are into bird watching so there are feeders all along the front porch and if you sit in the large, comfy wicker chairs you’ll get buzzed by hummingbirds and orioles as they come in looking for a snack. The hummers are especially fearless and will come right up to check you out face to face.

Hummingbird food is sticky, sugary stuff, as you might know, and yesterday when I went outside to enjoy the sun I saw that ants had amassed to form an amazing number of marching lines up the banisters, across the roof, and down onto one of the feeders. It looked like the entire hill had come to party. They were everywhere! (I wonder if that’s what aliens think when they look at our planet… “OMG! They’re EVERYWHERE! Get the hose!”) The second big red restaurant had no such problem.

I found it especially interesting to see that inside one of the plastic “flowers” the ants had actually lined up like cars around a lake and were gulping it down (one would have to assume since you can’t actually see an ant gulp). I wish I had a better camera for these kinds of things. They looked like DNA all side by side like they were.

After a quick assessment of the two feeders, I realized the reason one looked like IHOP after church was that the owner neglected to fill the little upside-down umbrella at the top of the hanger, which creates a water barrier the ants won’t cross. Amazing piece of technology, really — so simple and so effective. A three-inch moat that keeps thousands of ants from being thieves. Maybe Arizona should try that. Oh wait…

I retrieved a glass of water to remedy the situation. As I poured it into the umbrella (apologizing for my “act of God”) there was panic, confusion, and drowning. A few good swimmers made it to the edge. I realized that those stuck on the part of the feeder under the umbrella would have no way off the fixture. I wondered if they would just wander around until they died of starvation or what. How long would it take those with an escape route to pack their things and go home? Would there be stories of ant heroism on the Local Insect News that night? Would web sites be set up to list the missing ants and hopefully connect them back with their families? Would this go down in history as the Great Flood of Saturday? What’s the average ant lifespan anyway? Would they even have time to do all that?

Then I realized that all the ants stuck on the wrong side of the water could easily escape if they had the mind to. I knew this because I remembered there is no terminal velocity* for an ant. Well, there IS technically since “terminal velocity” means that fastest rate at which an object will fall – for ants it’s 4 MPH. (You’re welcome.) What I mean is ants don’t die from falling off high places like people do. Actually no one dies from the falling, it’s the sudden stop at the end that gets you. An ant, however, has so little mass that it can hit the ground from any height and walk away unscathed (or perhaps with a slight headache). No parachute required.

All they had to do to return to safety was LET GO.

Imagine that.


~*~*~*~

*A 180-pound man has an approximate terminal velocity of 125 MPH if his arms and legs are spread out. If he's rolled into a ball, the T.V.** is 200 MPH due to less drag. (No, that does not mean homosexuals fall slower. :P)

Does the soul have mass?

**Perhaps "TV" is also the fastest method to fall out of consciousness. Coincidence?

Doesn't ANYONE Keep a Promise Anymore?

I wrote this a few days ago, but got called away from the computer and therefore never posted it. Story of my life. Better late than never tho I guess. :)

One of the reasons I voted for Obama was something most would probably deem insignificant in the big picture, however, it was important to me. Obama promised that if he won the election, his daughters (Sasha and Malia) would be able to get a new puppy to take to the White House. What was important though, was that he said they would pick a puppy from a humane society. Personally, that said something to me about what kind of person I was voting for. More so than the debates and speeches on economic reform and environmental improvements and international relations. I thought if this person takes his good deeds down to the details like that, that is the man I want running my country. Silly me thinking that ANY politician was trustworthy in any sense of the word.

The Obamas did indeed get a dog for their kids, but it was a pure-bred Portuguese water dog - a gift from Senator Ted Kennedy, NOT a pound puppy. You can read the Chicago Tribune article here, confirming that the dog is not, in fact, a rescue case.

Obamas' dog: Meet Bo, the Portuguese water dog

They say it's the dog's fourth home as if that's supposed to make up for something. Let's count these homes: 1. The Breeder; 2. A Family That Didn't Keep Their Commitment To The Dog; 3. A Trainer Related To The Breeder; 4. The White House. I hardly classify that as a hardship case or anything close to a good mutt about to be put down because there are ALREADY TOO MANY PETS ON THE PLANET, thanks to selfish people that breed animals for profit. What kind of messed up society cringes at the thought of selling babies on a black market, but thinks the same transaction is ok if you have four legs? I believe I smell a pile of poop. Not that I have a strong opinion on this or anything.

To most Americans, this will seem the very least of sins when talking about broken campaign promises. To me though, this says something huge about a) his character and/or b) his inability to make his own decisions, either because he's really just a media puppet or because he simply didn't care enough to stand up for what he originally wanted. I honestly don't know which scenario offends me most.

I understand the dog was a gift, and not only is it rude to refuse a gift, but had he done so it would've been a different kind of media circus altogether - especially since it concerns the Kennedys. On the other hand, I have NEVER believed it is a good idea to give animals as gifts (what were the Kennedys thinking?). Animals are not gifts, they are living beings that should be as carefully considered as if you were having a child. Would you give a child as a gift to a couple who mentioned they were trying to have one? I think not. (And considering the original family that returned the dog to the breeder, would you return an adopted child just because he/she didn't live up to your expectations? Please.)

Obama had the opportunity to change THOUSANDS of animals' lives by following through with his promise to get a pound dog. Such is celebrity. He totally blew it. The fact that they made a contribution to a local shelter does not bring the type of media that adopting a shelter animal would have. (Not to mention the media mostly glossed over that donation - I have yet to find out exactly how much they contributed, but my guess is that even if it was truly significant, it will never have the impact an adoption would've had.)

Let's not even talk about how this will jack up the demand for that particular breed, probably causing another "Dalmation Sensation" like what happened after 101 Dalmations was released. (Months after the release of the movie, hundreds of Dalmations turned up in shelters as unwanted pets. Guess no one did their research and read about how hyper they are, or how hard they are to train due to hearing difficulties before running right out to get that puppy for their kids, who lost interest about 10 seconds after they named the pup.) CNN's article here mentioned how the hits to the Portuguese Water Dog Club's web site went up to a million hits an hour after the announcement. A MILLION HITS AN HOUR. Most were probably only looking for info on the breed because it is not widely known, but if even one percent of those people end up buying a dog from a breeder - DO THE MATH, then watch the shelters in 6-12 months.

I said before he was elected that I knew I would not agree with everything he did, and that you don't get to be a politician in that position without having some skeletons in your closet, but I really didn't see this one coming.

HUGE HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT.

~*~

In happier news, Hopi has decided to stick with us. A few days after I posted about her lethargy and lack of appetite, she turned it around and came all the way back to normal. She's a tough fuzzy cookie and I'm glad she decided to stay awhile longer. :)

More news: Apparently even tho I ran all the way across the country as fast as I could, the economy has caught up with me. I was laid off two weeks ago from my job, so now I have the opportunity to find something I really enjoy doing. Trouble is, searching for that something ranks right up there with visits to the dentist in my book. I suppose this is my next lesson in Acceptance, not only of the situation, but of myself. Quiz on Friday.

I feel like this is a crappy post and not as well thought out as usual - certainly not as amusing and witty - but there it is. It is still gorgeous here in San Diego every day. It still smells like vacation to me. And I am still super lucky to live here. I mean if I have to go find a job and subject myself to the critical eye of those that I could probably run circles around (Hey! Who let Ego out of Its box?!), at least I'll be knocking on doors in Paradise.

Hmmm... I wonder if that snake needs any help talking people into eating apples? That would be fun.

And then there were five...

I haven’t really known what to write the past couple days. I’ve had a couple good ideas, some profound thoughts, but I forget what they were faster than I make it to the keyboard. I was trying to find something other than whining about current circumstances, but this weekend has been really tough and just ended in a shitty way, so here it is. Let’s get this done so I can move on.

Wilbur (one of the chinchillas) is sick, and all I hear in my head is “Attachment creates suffering.” While I know it’s true, it kind of pisses me off in this case because how can you NOT be attached to a pet? There are times when it totally sucks to have “heightened awareness” or whatever name you want to slap on it because it’s like living a duality where logic fights emotion and your brain is just miserable in the crossfire.

I accept that I will outlive my pets and death is part of having pets, but it’s much easier to accept death when it comes due to old age, or something that’s out of your control (like a disease). When your own decisions decide the fate of an innocent animal, there’s a lot of potential for guilt. And one of my annoying faults is that I’m really good at feeling guilty.

Wednesday night when I fed the chins, I noticed Wilbur (same chinnie that escaped in the hotel room) hadn’t eaten much the day before, and there was less poop than normal going on. Not eating is bad. Not pooping is worse. I took him to the vet on Thursday and the vet said he was bloated and might have a blockage in his intestines. He gave Wil an injection of fluids to avoid dehydration, and some oral medicine that was supposed to get his gut tract working again. Chinnie digestive systems need to keep moving, like a fish needs to swim to stay alive.

Friday there was very little poop and no eating at all, but Wilbur was still alert and obviously mentally there. I took him in for another fluid injection, and asked the Vet if he thought there was any hope of Wil making it through this or if I should put him down now. I wasn’t trying to jump the gun, I just didn’t want Wil to suffer and I knew what his odds were. I was trying to be realistic and not let my emotions govern my actions.

Vet said there wasn’t a lot of hope, but that he’d give it one more day to turn around. We discussed Xrays and surgery options, but Vet emphasized that the results were probably not going to be worth the cost; meaning I could rack up a huge debt and Wilbur still had very slim chances of survival.

So now my brain is firing at me: What price, Life?

I had my doubts about the cost vs. benefits scenario, but decided to take his advice – again, trying to keep emotion out of it and be reasonable.

One more day meant Saturday tho, which translates to short hours at the vet office, and no vet at all on Sunday, which was risky. I agreed anyway and paid the bill, effectively emptying my bank account of everything I had for the next two weeks. Fine. I can eat Ramen noodles like a college kid. Just fix my chinchilla.

Friday night I did a lot of research online and found one thing the vet hadn’t suggested: you can give chinnies an over-the-counter pediatric remedy to alleviate gas in their system. I ran out to CVS at midnight to get that and gave some to Wil. He looked a little better Saturday morning. He hopped away from me when I opened the door, there were a few tiny poops in the cage, and he had peed. The vet closed at noon so I had to make a decision – being optimistic, I decided to continue giving him the meds and try to make it to Monday.

Of course, as soon as the vet is absolutely no longer available, that’s when they take a nose dive. I don't know what made me think this time would be different. Wilbur’s stomach felt like a balloon Saturday night and this morning when I picked him up he was shaking – probably from pain. Now I’m thinking I made a bad decision and I feel AWFUL and helpless that he’s forced to endure this.

I called California Vet Services, the place every vet office within 20 miles of here refers you to for emergencies, and they want over $200 to let him out of his misery, mostly because they insist he has to have an exam since he’s never been there before, and of course that fee is elevated because it’s a Sunday. I’m like “HE’S DYING. I don’t need a vet to tell me that, I need someone to help this animal out of his pain as soon as possible.” They don’t give a shit. They just want their money.

So I called an emergecy clinic in Temecula, which is about 30 minutes north of here instead. That clinic is more reasonable in price, but they want it up front and I’ve got nothing in the bank.

SERIOUSLY, who is in it for the money, and who is in it to help a fucking animal in pain? I’m astounded at people’s dedication to rules in place of their HUMAN DECENCY.

I called the humane society and could only find recorded messages that all the staff was busy helping other people.

I called ChinWorld to enlist their help since they have a large herd and are on personal terms with their vet and they are extremely nice people. As the Universe would have it, the vet is not answering his cell phone. I wait. He finally calls a couple hours later, but he can’t offer much help or advice.

What really gets me is from everything I’ve read, bloat should be fixable. If it’s impaction (a blockage) there should be surgery that can be done to remove the problem. I’m not sure why my vet was so reluctant to follow the surgery route other than the cost, and then, again… why is cost an issue? If I’m willing to work out payments, even if it’s stupid of me to do, why would you advise against doing everything you can to help this animal live? Would he have said the same if it was a dog? Frustrating thoughts – all of them.

It is not my vet’s fault that Wilbur is in pain and dying though. I finally decide something has to be done NOW, no matter the cost, so I pack Wil up in the car and head to the Temecula emergency place.

I’m headed up the 15 at 90 MPH and I cannot EVEN believe that of ALL the fucking times for the Border Patrol to be stopping cars, here they are with four lanes of red lights across the highway. God had some mercy left though because just as I rolled up to the stopped cars, they turned all the lights green again.

It’s about this time that Wilbur starts bubbling up fluid from his nose and making horrible choking noises. Every gasp is wringing my heart out and I swear to fucking God I will never again a) NOT insist on an XRay, and b) let them talk me out of things because of cost.

I get to the clinic and have to enlist the help of a very sympathetic, loud Mexican woman to get a receptionist to come out front. Then they want me to fill out paperwork. Wilbur is obviously in HUGE distress at this point and I am trying to write legibly through my tears and begging them to PLEASE just take him in the back and do the deed – they can have my entire wallet and I promise not to sue them because the paperwork wasn’t finished when he died. She looks in the cage and finally says “just sign the bottom” and off he went.

It is definitely the most dramatic and upsetting exit any of my animals have made. I sat in the Jeep in the parking lot and cried for 30 minutes, then talked to Mark for another 30 minutes before I felt like I could drive safely. I’ve got an enormous headache, and it was a very shitty ending to a very shitty weekend.

On the way home it occurred to me that I should’ve asked for his body back so my vet could do a necropsy and figure out what happened. I called a friend that works at a vet’s office and asked her if it was worth going back for and she said probably not because the tissues deteriorate too fast. I did call the emergency place when I got home though and discussed the whole thing with the on-call vet (much more calmly) to try to find out what she thought it was. She thought heart failure with fluid on the lungs. Apparently the amount of fluids that came out in the end would indicate such a thing.

I can at least take that info back to my vet tomorrow and see what he thinks. Maybe we can piece it together, maybe not.

I sure do miss Wil, and I hate the way he went. He was 7 years old. At least his last 5 ½ years were spent in total pampering. And I’ve tried to focus on being thankful that I still have three healthy chinnies, and a healthy iguana, and a gecko that’s almost 16 years old. It’s just so damn hard when they leave. It doesn’t matter how many you have, and how many times you go through it, it never gets easier.

Goodnight my freckled-y eared boy. I hope Earl and Zeus met you on the other side. I sure am glad you don’t have any more pain and you’re completely perfect once again.

My Scritchy Princess

I have four chinchillas (Odin, Edwyn, Wilbur, and Hopi), an iguana (Spunky), and a leopard gecko (Geco, yes I know - so original) that currently reside in my care. In addition, pets that have already passed on include another iguana (Kiwi, @ 14 years old), and two other chinchillas (Zeus and Earl, @ ages 3 and 7 respectively).

When I lived in Arizona, an ex and I had 11 snakes and 7 lizards of various species at one point, and we started raising our own rats to feed them all. (Sometimes I look back on that time period and wonder who the hell was living in my body.)

From my youth, I can add to the list a parade of gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, a short-lived pair of mice (man, do they stink!) and 3 dogs (one of which is Mark's, but I lived with her for 5 years so she counts).

Suffice it to say most of my time on Earth, I've been surrounded by a small zoo. I must’ve missed my calling as Jeff Corwin’s wife. Darnit.

Anyway… I’ve certainly learned a lot about the husbandry and medical analysis of exotics, with an unintended emphasis on South American animals. Maybe I should've been a zoologist. It’s never too late of course, but at this stage of the game I don’t think I’ll be going back to school. Maybe in my retirement, if I’m not too busy running the coffee house.

I hear you thinking, "What? No cat?" The only reason I've never had a cat is because 30 minutes after entering a kitty-inhabited house, I can no longer breathe without the aid of steroids (rabbits, same thing). It’s unfortunate that I’m so fond of air.

Actually, I was owned by a cat once (most cat owners will agree it's decidedly NOT the other way around) - a great orange beast we called Pumpkin. He was a stray that showed up at our door one evening meowing so loudly I thought he might be Conan O’Brien in feline form. He was amazingly persistent. I finally fed him, and he came back every night after that at the same time – 6pm sharp – and loudly announced his arrival and request for dinner. (I’ve known people like that too.) You could’ve set a clock by this guy. I would talk to him while he ate, then give him a good scratch all over and he would purr like a Chevy. He slept on our back porch in some old towels I set out, and disappeared every morning by the time I woke up. Eat, scratch, sleep, rinse, repeat every evening for over a year. This was well after we’d moved in, so I don’t think he belonged to a former tenant.

I found a new Human Slave for him when we moved so he wouldn't starve. It was really hard to give up his company when I left, but I couldn’t take him out of the territory he knew. He never came in the house. Best cat ever - no litter box required. That’s my cat story.

I am so totally off the topic I was thinking about though.

Hopi is our only girl chinchilla and she came to live with us about 5 ½ years ago. Originally I didn’t want any girls because I’d read about them spraying (standing up and shooting pee at you) when they’re pissed off (no pun intended) and I didn’t want my walls or my clothes painted in rodent urine. We were looking for a new cagemate for Odin after Zeus died tho, and I had an ad up at Petsmart. A lady (read: the original stereotype of a “Jersey Girl”) called from the ad saying she had a chin named Po that needed a new home. She assured me Po was a boy and explained he was a rescue she had taken in, but she had to find homes for all her rescues (including dog, cat, bird, and rodent species) because she was a mother-to-be and didn’t have time for the animals anymore. Hmm. Some “rescue.”

We agreed to meet at Whole Foods since she seemed reluctant for me to come to her house, and she thought mine was too complicated to find. (Whole Foods was two turns away from my street.) As soon as I saw Po, I knew there was no way that was a boy. Females are generally much larger than males in this species, and this was the biggest fuzzy rat I’d ever laid eyes on. I hefted Po out of her cage and checked underneath, but the sex is not always obvious with these guys, especially not for someone who’d never seen female chinnie parts before.

I asked the lady if she’d verified Po’s sex with a vet? No, she didn’t have the money to take it to the vet, but she was SURE it was a boy. Alarms are going off in my head at this point. I probably should’ve made an anonymous call to the SPCA to check her out, but I didn’t think of it at the time.

I figured the worst that happens is I take Po with me, confirm he’s a she, and locate a good home for her. I figured the animal had to be better off with me than this… ahem… “lady.” So Po, her cage, and all her belongings were transferred to the Jeep, and off we went.

When I got home, I unpacked the big black trash bag that was Po’s suitcase. There was a brand-new hamster wheel that was too small and unstable for her to run on (nice try), a dusty bath house (ok, at least she was getting a bath even tho it surely didn’t look like it), a bag of typical pet store hay, a couple miscellaneous chew toys (which were plastic and went right in the garbage), a cloth sleeping bag for her to hide in, and the piece dé resistance… a BOX OF BIRDSEED.

??!!

I called Jersey Girl to find out if she mistakenly packed the birdseed and would like it back. She chirped, “No no! Po loves that stuff! That's what he eats!”

Are you kidding me? I know you can’t tell boys from girls, but surely you can at least tell she’s not a BIRD?! At least that explained the crappy condition of Po’s fur.

Chinchillas have very delicate digestive systems and normally if you’re going to switch a chin’s food, you must mix the old food with the new food for a few days until they get used to it. This was an extreme case tho, so we went cold turkey from birdseed to Mazuri pellets. I kept the hay consistent for awhile, then switched her to the brand the rest of my babies eat. Obviously, she survived.

Po wove a web of chinnie charms around us until we were easily swayed into keeping her. This is what these guys do – if you look directly into the cuteness, you’re done for. We changed her name to Hopi because it was more girly and the sounds are close to Po.

Since she’s our only girl, and because she’s got a bit of an attitude (she literally grabs treats from your hand, demands to be petted, and grumbles loudly if you do something she doesn't like), I’ve taken to calling her The Princess. She absolutely adores being scratched behind the ears, under her chin, and she’ll gladly lift her arm up so you can get “the good spot." Here is the “Look of Chinnie Bliss”:

When we moved here, I ditched Hopi's latest cloth house because it was so gross and there was no way I was putting that in my washer. I replaced it with a wooden house like the other chins have. When there's enough commotion from the other cages, she's taken up Zeus's old habit of sticking just her head out the top of the house, sleepy and bleary-eyed with twitching whiskers, to find out if anything warrants her attention (read: TREATS). She'll sit that way until she decides if the shenanigans are worth further investigation. If they are, she MAY drag the rest of her fat butt through the hole (which she had to enlarge to fit through - many nights of hard construction work I tell you, when your only power tools are big pointy teeth!), but mostly she just looks annoyed that you woke her up, and she'd prefer if you would just open that door and give her a scritch already so she doesn't have to go through all that extra trouble of actually coming out of the house. I mean seriously, she was SLEEPING. Do you think it's her JOB as a PET to give YOU attention? Pahleeze.

Oddly, Zeus used to do the same thing with sticking only his head out the top of the box:

Her repeat performance earned her Zeus's old nickname of "Head in a Box," but tonight I realized her own name is already an acronym, I was just missing the last letter:

H ead
O nly
P lease
I nsert

T reat.

I mean seriously, there has to be some advantages to being the only girl with three brothers, right?

The Wild Ride of Mr. Wilbur

Yesterday morning I was roused rather rudely and suddenly by Mom's urgent exclamation: "Trayce! Wilbur's out!" My consciousness has never slammed back into my body so fast. I was instantly awake. A glance at the blue cat carrier showed the door still closed and locked, but indeed my fuzzy rat was not in there. I saw how he had chewed through the plastic between the ventilation holes in the side of the travel cage, making a big enough escape route for his tiny, squishy self. This is one of the reasons I feel so under the gun to get into a place - it's like playing against the clock. They need to be back in their regular escape-proof cages.

Katy and I have had to catch Wilbur before and unfortunately he is the smallest, fastest ball of fur I have. He wasn't hard to spot on the dark carpet (he's all white). It's good that hotels don't have a lot of furniture, but he ran under every piece just the same. Even with two of us trying to corner him he slipped past, careening over our laps and wriggling through our hands several times. They say white men can't jump, but lemme tell you, white chinchillas can. Straight up into your face. I'm still the smarter animal though.

When I realized I wasn't going to catch the little brat with my hands, and throwing my sweatshirt over him didn't even work, I tried the oats. Wilbur loves rolled oats, the kind you make oatmeal out of. I buy the organic ones at Whole Foods and put a pinch into each of their bowls when I feed them at night. As soon as he receives his food, Wilbur hunkers over his bowl until every oat piece is gone. It's an intense concentration, the kind only an addict has, and I had no qualms about using it against him.

I put some in his dish, rattled it a bit, and set it on the floor. Mom was very busy stuffing pillows around the chair he was under to block him in when he hopped out behind her back to sniff around. I literally picked him up and effectively ended his romp.

Score:
Humans - 1
Fuzzy Brats - 0

I had cardboard and packing tape in my car from the move, so I used that to cover the hole in the cage. Cardboard is even easier to chew through than plastic, but only if he can get a grip on the edge. So far this has kept him in, but I know I'm only buying time, and there's not too much for sale. I noticed Edwyn started the same project on his cage, so we fixed that up too to discourage any further escape attempts. We also locked all the cages in the bathroom yesterday while we were out looking at apartments. So far so good.

Things are getting better. Probably because I adjusted my attitude. Wanna change your life? Change your mind. I found a house in Escondido I like although I have no idea how I'll afford it every month if they approve me. I found a good Plan B place too in Bonsall with lots of storage and a garage so I can sort through all this crap I dragged across the country and get rid of more of it. I've found more organic grocery stores, which is encouraging, and I think as soon as the Jeep is cleared of all the stuff rattling around in the back, driving will become a lot easier too.

I'm trying to focus on the success I've already had of people chasing me to be their tenant too. I stopped and ran across the road the other day to get a number from a For Rent sign, and an older couple actually turned their car around and pulled over to ask if I was looking for a place to live. I said I was, but their property wasn't available until October, so I thanked them for asking and we went our separate ways. Another guy with a house I viewed called and wanted me to be his tenant. It was a beautiful serene place on top of a hill with a well-tended zen garden, but I knew he wasn't too thrilled about my animals and I didn't like that the electric for all three tenants was on one bill and would be split according to what he thought was fair.

So I still don't have an address, but I hope the house comes through and if it doesn't, I have a backup place. If that rents in the meantime I guess I'll still be looking but hopefully this will all fall together today. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

All It Takes Is Animal Instinct

So apparently there is hope for Spring afterall. I was seriously beginning to think Persephone had forgotten the Northeast after wintering in Hades (it's so easy to mistake Florida for The Underworld), and we would be stuck in the freezer until I left for San Diego. I was picturing loading a truck in a snowfall in late May at this rate. However, I opened the French door this morning and stood on the step for a few minutes taking in a less-chilly sun while I sipped my tea, and as I looked across the few brave patches of backyard grass the dog hasn't peed into non-existence, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Duck standing on the deck of the neighbor's pool preening their feathers. Yay!

The Ducks are a pair of rogue mallards that wander our neighborhood every Spring for about three months. They never have babies (here, anyway) and they don't fly with a group like normal ducks, but they show up every year like an old retired couple that have wings instead of an RV. The humans on our cul-de-sac enjoy their company because The Ducks are very comfortable with people and will sit with you on the lawn while you admire the day (as long as you don't make a move to pet them, which the kids are want to do). No one is looking to domesticate them, but we do give them bits of whole grain bread once in awhile (not enough to make them dependent), and Mrs. Duck will occasionally jump onto my front porch and look in our glass door like "Hello? Is anyone home?" She's never actually knocked with her beak, but I wouldn't be surprised if she did. If I take a bowl of water out and sit on the step, she'll bathe, then preen her feathers while I talk to her. Sometimes she'll make a few soft quacking noises at me, contributing to the conversation. (I'm not kidding. These ducks are smart.)

Mr. Duck disappears for days at a time. The first couple years he was gone so long I thought surely he was hit by a car, but he always shows up again in the end. One time I thought I saw him down at the pond with a bunch of other mallards and thought, "You dog! Sneaking off to the Pond without your wife!" Maybe they have an open relationship, or maybe it was just another duck that looked like him. Mallards are pretty hard to tell apart.

Sometime in late May/early June when the days are longest, they disappear to their summer home, wherever that may be, but they've shown up again in Spring every year for the five years we've lived here. Since they go by Mother Nature's clock even more so than me, they're my true marker for when Spring starts. The Ducks are one of the things about the NE that I'll miss terribly next year when I'm in San Diego. :(

Wild animals that accept humans are the best pets because you only have to give them your love and admiration; otherwise they take care of themselves just like we do. They are a beautiful example of harmony in nature, and proof that people and animals COULD all coexist on this planet peacefully if we would give it a chance and control our huge egos.

I think people-animal relationships should be by mutual consent, just like people-people relationships are.* This includes the realm of hunting. Lots of people think I'm vegetarian because I advocate organic eating (not the same), and I often get along better with animals than people, but I don't oppose hunting if it's done right for food purposes (definitely NOT just sport).** Unfortunately, I think 99% of hunters have lost sight of the spiritual aspect of it, and therefore it has become an event without compassion which serves no one well. But I digress...

Mutual consent relationships with our pets are definitely more joyous and therefore more beneficial overall. If our pets could speak English, I'm sure many of them would tell us how unhappy they are being cooped up in the human idea of housing. As it is, they do tell us in their actions, but most people are not aware enough to hear what the animal is saying. These people like The Horse/Dog Whisperer or so-called "pet psychics" are so full of shit. They're just super observant manipulative humans and I think it's a shame they've used their talents only to make money instead of educating the population on how you, too, can easily communicate with your pets. Anyone can do it. You just open your eyes and your mind.

There was a comic I saw once that did a great bit on the issue - I wish I could remember who it was, but I can't even find it on Google. He went through this whole thing about how his girlfriend claims her cat loves her back - he did the voices of both people... something like:

As girlfriend: "Awww, mommy's wittle putty tat wuvs her, doesn't he? He would never weave mommy aw awone!" ::nuzzling noises::

As himself: "Yeah? You think your cat loves you? You're sure?"

As girlfriend: "Yes, I'm sure wittle wuvkins wouldn't weave..." More baby talk and nuzzling.

As himself: "If you're so sure, open the door motherfucker."

That really says it all because we all know it's true of most pets. If given the chance, they'd be gone. And they'd be okay too because animals weren't meant to stay indoors most of their lives (including us).

I live with six exotic animals (four chinchillas and two lizards) that I "rescued" from less involved owners, and they are all in cages. You may say this is hypocritical, but having these animals in my life (and many that have come before them that also tried to teach me) is how I've woken up to these realizations. I observe my animals closely and I see that no matter how many "toys" or varied treats I provide, they are basically bored and in jail. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less someone or something I love! If I could find a way to release my pets safely back into the wild in their native territory I'd do it, but unfortunately that's not something I have the resources for right now (chinchillas and iguanas come from South America, the leopard gecko is native to Pakistan). Since I can't do anything to put them back where they belong, I've promised to make them as comfortable as I can while they are here, and I won't take any more in as the ones I have leave me. I accept that I can only do so much as one person, and I'm of the mind that leading by example and educating others is the key to restoring some balance.

I do believe there are some cats and dogs that prefer to be with people, as evidenced by the fact that they don't escape the house or the leash as if they're making a prison break, but we are too impatient to wait for them to find us, or when they do we're either not paying attention or we force our will upon them instead of inviting them to stay and leaving the option to go open. Our dog is one of these truly domesticated beasts - you can let her outside and she doesn't go past the yard. We have no fence, no electric collar, and we've never trained her that way - she just prefers to be here, which makes me happy. My boyfriend got her from the pound before I met him, so technically she's his dog, and she will stay with him when I move (very sad!), but the point is she does choose to stay with us. But for the most part I think pets put up with our anthropomorphism because they have no choice.

Well all that is totally NOT what I planned to blog about today, but there it is. Must be a reason for it. I'll post my thoughts on Jason Mraz's concerts in PA and NYC tomorrow I guess.

---

*Note to self: blog soon about how we make agreements with other souls before manifesting in the physical.

**That's a whole 'nother blog too, but refer to ancient Native American beliefs about respect for the animal to get an inkling of what I'm talking about.

Wrapping Up 2007

Random thoughts (that went long):

I had to put Earl down a couple days ago. It sucked balls, as expected, and I cried so hard I have another headache just thinking about it. It was better than looking at him suffering though, which he started to do the night before. I wish I could’ve taken him in right then because watching his ragged breathing was awful, but Oradell Animal Hospital’s Emergency service is the most ridiculous bunch of BS I’ve ever regretfully dealt with in the past. They won’t let you be with the animal when it’s put down, the doctors are condescending, and for all that they charge you out the ass. No. I won't have it. It’s selfish that I made Earl wait 6 hours until my regular vet opened, but I just couldn’t let him die alone from a hand that didn’t give a shit, and then be in debt for it. NO. NO. NO.

As it was, Dr. Welch wasn’t at Franklin Lakes A.H. when I went in and Dr. Kozak was the one to play Grim Reaper. Fitting, since she’s the one who broke my dog when we took Jazz in for X-Rays (Jazz came home with cold tail, which is caused by overworking a dog's muscles). I wasn’t thrilled, especially since she charged me for an office visit simply because I wanted to be with Earl when she put him under (that would’ve never happened with Dr. Welch), but I figured she can’t possibly fuck up killing an animal.

He’s at peace now though, whole and perfect again, and not in any pain. I hope Zeus was kind enough to meet him at the bridge and help him get acquainted with the new existence.

Edwyn, his cagemate, seems unaffected for the most part, except that he’s taken to scaring the shit out of me by sleeping entirely on his side with his big ol’ feet sticking straight out like he’s dead. I wonder if he thinks it’s a joke. Wilbur did the same thing to me, but only once. Edwyn's been doing it daily. I tried pushing Edwyn’s and Wilbur’s cages closer together, hoping maybe the two wimps (I say that affectionately) of my chinchilla herd would get along and live together, but they spent a good 30 minutes posturing and biting the bars between them, erping threats across the divide. There’s nothing funnier than pissed off fuzzy rats. How can something that cute get so mad?

~*~

Everywhen is my new favorite word. I found it today in a Wikipedia description of “Dreaming” as defined by Australian Aborigines. What can I say? One click leads to another. I’m not even sure how I got there, but it’s been an interesting read.

Credit for coining the term goes to Emeritus Professor W.E.H. “Bill” Stanner (1905-1981), an anthropologist I fully intend to check out further.

“He coined the terms the "Great Australian Silence" and "everywhen" in the 1968 Boyer Lectures titled "After the Dreaming", reflecting on the silence on Indigenous Australians in Australian history after white settlement.”

Go Bill!

As I read more about this exclusion of the Aborigines' story from Australia’s historical accounts, I see the root of the problem is that the Aborigines were basically ignored as if they weren’t even there when the British were writing the history books - and the legal books - for Australia. Sound familiar Native Americans? How ‘bout you Maoris? WTF? Was I sleeping during this lecture in high school or are we so narcissistic in America that it was deemed too unimportant to include in the curriculum of basic education? Why were/are Anglo-Saxons so afraid of indigenous people, or anyone not of A-S descent for that matter? What put this insane fear into us white people?

My gut tells me it’s because somewhere deep in the subconscious we recognize that these are the people that can debunk the bullshit of organized religions and patriarchal hierarchies. These are the keepers of the Truth that remember how and why we are here, and if enough of us acknowledge that primordial Truth (because the memory will never completely leave our genes), there is fear that the Few will no longer control the Many. Oh, calamity. :rolls eyes:

Fear is such a twisted, ugly thing. Just look how it’s changed the tone of this entry already. I started out fine, now I’m pissed and upset. I don’t even want to be – this started out with a cool new word that I love the concept of. I gotta let it run its course now tho cuz I don’t want it sticking around.

Have you looked at any given politician or national religious figure lately and noticed their twisted visage compared to someone truly considered “good people?” Go look. Pay attention. The longer they’ve been at the game, and the more corrupt they are, the more twitches, the more immobility of their mouth, the more lines (aka lies) are written on their face. PR people can only hide so much with makeup and hair color and carefully chosen wardrobe. Read between the lines and on most accounts, you’ll find a shriveled, starving soul. It just makes me sad that there are so many like this. And it takes being outside that groupthink to see it. And if you’re outside, you’re spending so much time defending your position, how can you expect to live and discover and create? But that’s what they want – robots, not creators. :sigh:

My thoughts are that the solution lies in respect and acceptance among all levels of living beings. Yeah, this isn’t new info, even to me, but I’m just riding this train of thought to get it down in a communicable media because obviously there are still people out there that don’t get it and someday I hope to wake those people up.

Of course the key to respect and acceptance is an absence of fear, e.g., Love. We all have a place in the world, but our place is not all the same, and thank goodness for that! What a boring existence it would be if everyone was on exactly the same level. Peace can only come when all levels of beings respect all other levels of beings, and accept their Here-and-Now Place on Earth. That doesn’t mean they can’t move betwixt and between levels, just that whatever level they may currently be on, they still must respect the creativity of all the other levels. Guess I'm not respecting the level of the fear-mongering politicians, but it would be nice to just not have fear at all.

Humans. It’s no wonder the Gods weep sometimes. :shakes head:

Ok, I’m done with that.

~*~

I completed my 39th year on the planet yesterday, and with a gentle breath over sugar-laden candles officially celebrated my existence through another turn around the Sun. 39 doesn’t feel as old as it looks. Sometimes I wonder if because I can’t seem to sync up with the clock everyone else abides by, maybe time is counted differently for me. My hair disagrees, but there are means of persuasion for that and I’ve been considering them more seriously lately despite my vow never to go there. (Yeah, let’s pour toxic chemicals on our largest organ at the closest point to the brain! That sounds like a good idea! Take up smoking and go on a fast food diet too, why doncha? Meanwhile, Vanity whispers in my ear, “Red-gold is so much sexier than grey. No one’s gettin’ out of here alive anyway. C’mon, you know you want to.”)

The word “never” is always the kiss of death for my vows.

[Note to self: If I ever do acquiesce to marriage, make sure “never” is banned from the script!]

~*~

My Father’s Good Name is a brilliant UK duo working on their success story. The following is a reply I posted to Mike’s blog about his ex-girlfriend becoming engaged to the person she was cheating on him with. He’s hurt and angry, as anyone in that situation would be, and asks for opinions from the readers. I’m posting my reply here for archival purposes because these words reflect part of who I am and what I think about romantic relationships:

One of my most favorite sayings comes to mind here - When you lose, don't lose the lesson.

Relationships are so unique, each with its own set of trials and justifications, but personally I think they are what helps us evolve most here in this Everywhen, and so they are ALL worthwhile in some way. If you can come to see them as learning opportunities, for better or worse, then you will find yourself better able to enjoy the ups, and deal with the downs more constructively.

My own view is that each person in a relationship must be a Whole unto themselves, walking along a shared path. It's more of a "you compliment me" thing than a "you complete me" thing. I'm not sure sacrifice should be part of love; compromise yes. Sacrifice implies something you don't really want to do and normally ends up in resentment. Compromise is something you're willing to do; it may be uncomfortable, but it won't violate your boundaries. It's understandable why so many people don't know where to draw their line, and no doubt the line is blurry to boot.

I cheated once in high school and it didn't involve any sex, just a date with a guy that I'd been interested in for years, but we'd only been friends up to that point. I was found out by my boyfriend, in person, and the pain it caused me to see how much I'd hurt them both made me never want to burn the candle at both ends again.

On the other hand, I seem to attract cheating men like bees to honey and I haven't yet figured out why. Perhaps it's just the lot of those born with (natural) red hair and absentee fathers? :chuckle: It's taught me that you must absolutely be honest with yourself, know your own boundaries, and accept others for who they are. And I'm still learning.

Honor your anger, but don't let it eat you up. Put a limit on how long you're willing to feel it, then do what's necessary to move on, and be firm with yourself because the temptation will be there to slip into self pity. If your relationship with this girl didn't work out, that must mean it was only meant for a short while, not forever. Forever is a very long time, and outgrowing a relationship is not a crime.

In every situation, there is much to be grateful for. Imagine what it will be like to look behind you and see this relationship from the light of something more in tune with your boundaries and beliefs. Be thankful for the songs that will come of it (just maybe a #1 hit!), and the wisdom you'll now have for application in the next relationship.

Remember you can only control YOU, and you can't go wrong if love is your true intent behind your actions. Picture holding onto the lesson while the emotions sift through your soul and back into the universe. If you retain the knowledge gained in the lesson, chances are you won't have to repeat the course. :)

~*~

My 2007 Highlight Reel:

~ Traveled to San Jose in January to visit Mom (she was there for a work project) and discovered I LOVE Santa Cruz (but San Diego would still be first choice). Successfully completed my goal of sticking my feet in both oceans in this lifetime, communed with the redwoods (which was awesome), and updated my memory of San Fran from 6th grade. Also saw (from the highway) Apple Headquarters - the Mother Ship. ::cue celestial angel choir::

~ Went to Joe’s house in SC for a weekend of solitude in February and discovered how amazing it is to get lost in the stars while sipping chai on the deck, wrapped in blankets, even when it’s only 32 degrees out.

~ Mark and I went to Tempe in March and I got to see “the old place.” Confirmed that I don’t miss it that much, although it’s great to visit while the NE is still frozen!

~ Katy turned 18 in May so she’s officially an adult (just wish she’d act more like one!).

~ Katy graduated in June (thank God!) and my goal of making sure my kid at least has a high school diploma was met.

~ Tried to go to Marie’s first anniversary party in June, but the plane got grounded because of weather and since I was on a free ticket they couldn't reroute me. This started a trend of planes being grounded when I’m on them. If you have trouble getting out of the airport, check the roster and see if I'm on your plane. I will try to break this curse in 2008.

~ Took my second trip to SC in September for a Mraz concert at Converse College. Survived heart skipping several beats. I hung around early and watched them set up hoping to run into him, but no luck. My only regret is not staying after to see if I could untie my tongue this time. We would have so much to talk about, but I feel so guilty doing that knowing he’s tired after a show and not into meeting fans at that point, then there's that chronic shyness thing. Still absolutely an AWESOME time.

~ Mark and I had a rad Halloween party and I realized how many friends I’ve made at Pearson (very cool).

~ First class trip to Dallas in November to visit Marie & Scott and attend TRF with them. Plane was only grounded for a couple hours. Met Bud “the Commander” (former Hell’s Angel) and discovered another badass biker that turned his life into something awesome (and legal). I am duly impressed. Shit, I still have to get him a Rutgers tshirt and hat as promised.

~ Awesome New Year’s Eve party with many of the same friends from Halloween, plus some that didn't make it last time. Included the shouted countdown at midnight while the ball in NYC dropped on our TV. (Not literally.) Ending the year in a Kodak moment always rules.

My new mantra for 2008: More travel, less stuff.

I’m out! Thank you New York! Goodnight!

Being Here and Present(s)

Christmas, 2007

I know I haven't been posting much lately. I've had a lot going on and the new job keeps me much busier than the old one did, but I'm making up for it tonight so if you intend to make it to the bottom of this post, better grab a cup of tea and settle in.

Seems Death is the new black this season. Last Wednesday Jason, a friend of Katy's, killed himself. He was the boyfriend (sometimes ex-boyfriend, depending on the week) of Katy's best friend, Kat. I was shopping for some Christmas gifts in a basement store when I received the original call, but since the reception sucked underground it was dropped the minute I tried to pick it up. Seeing that it was Katy and knowing I had only just left the house, I went upstairs to street level to call her back to make sure things were okay. They were not. She relayed the message between sobs, and I had to ask twice to make sure I heard her right and understood who she was talking about. It's a very shocking thing to hear, even if you didn't know the person that well, and my organs felt rearranged - my heart blocking my throat, and my stomach somewhere around my knees.

I offered to come home immediately of course, but she said it wasn't necessary. Kat's mom was on her way over to pick her up and take both of them to Jason's parents' house. I don't think there is a more frustrating, helpless feeling than hearing your child crying on the phone (for good reason) and knowing it will take more than two seconds to get to her, and that you can't change anything anyway. She said there was really nothing I could do so we hung up and I stood outside the store a bit dumbfounded, trying to sort out my own emotions.

I called my mother under the pretense of warning her of the situation so that if Katy called her, she would be prepared, but in all honesty it was more an instinct of seeking comfort from the most familiar source in my life.

As I've written before, Katy's father shot himself in the head when she was six months old. If you've known someone that committed suicide, you'll understand when I say this event is not a surface wound for anyone touched by it; it cuts straight through to the soul and it leaves a mark. I was surprised my scars could be so easily laid open again, and although Katy doesn't remember the events surrounding her father's death it affected her greatly, so I couldn't imagine the hurt she must be feeling. I remember betrayal and guilt being the strongest tastes for me in the emotional cocktail when Joey chose to leave.

Jason was a good looking, nice kid with a huge grin that he wore easily each of the handful of times I met him. He was 20 years old, into rock climbing, and was engaged to Kat at one time (despite much parental disapproval, me included). He went to college in Colorado for a year, but I think he dropped out last semester. He came from a wealthy family where (I'm told) the parents were involved in their kids' lives. Not the kind of profile you normally find in a suicide.

He and Kat were not currently dating, but apparently she is pregnant with his child. I can see where that could put some pressure on a guy (one of the very reasons I didn't tell Joey about Katy), but I didn't get the impression Jason was the type that would make it the end of the world for him. What do I know though?

He wasn't without issues. I'd heard some tales of alcohol and drugs, and this was not the first bullet of impending parenthood he dodged. Still, he just didn't seem that unstable. Lash out? Yes. Run? Absolutely. Decide death was the only solution to the problems at hand? No way. I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. I've had weird feelings about it being an accident, but my logical mind argues that I'm grasping at straws because I simply don't want to believe anyone can hurt that bad and not seek help, and that I couldn't have changed the outcome. How selfish and egotistical of me, but I guess I'm human. When I shine light on that dark corner in my head I also wonder if my thoughts are really about Jason or Joey at that point.

Jason knew about Katy's father. I think I'd even said to him and Kat once that if they ever had questions or wanted to talk about being parents at that young age, I'd be happy to tell them about my own experiences. It just hurts my heart thinking that anyone is feeling that kind of emotional pain. I've been down there, and there is no word to describe how much it sucks. However, even in my darkest days, when I toyed with some morbid ideas myself, I never came to the conclusion that my problems were worth dying over (and I reached that decision without the pharmacopeia I was offered).

The funeral was last Saturday and I actually felt like perhaps Jason moved on the day before anyway. Maybe it was just me that found some peace with the situation. I'm not sure where I acquired the belief, but personally I think after you die you spend three days reviewing your life and observing those affected by your transition. It probably takes that long for you to accept the change in circumstances yourself, and when you do, I think that's when your spirit moves on to other dimensions.

Katy has dealt with the events much better than I expected. One good thing that came of this is that she, too, has brought up and had to deal with some issues from her father's death. I hope those resolutions help change her perspective to a more positive one where Joey is concerned.

I am sad for those still sorting out the pain. There's just nothing you can do but offer your hand while they travel the road. I know how long it takes to heal that wound. It's not fun. I hope that Jason is at peace with himself now, and if he chooses to spend another lifetime here, I hope the information gained from this one was useful to his spirit.

So that's one story from this past couple weeks.

A few posts ago I related my concern with one of my chinchillas, Earl, having fur fungus. I've had him to the vet twice again since then. After his diagnosis of ringworm, he started having trouble eating so I thought perhaps there was a problem with his teeth. Dr. Welch checked them all and couldn't find anything wrong, but she said the front two were curved a bit funny so she trimmed them. I hoped it was something that simple and fixable, but my gut knew better. He stopped eating altogether a day after that, so I took him in again last Saturday. She put him under anesthesia and took some X-rays, which showed nothing out of the ordinary. You'd think this would be good news, but it's actually not because if you can't define the problem, you can't fix it. She had taken blood while he was under and sent it off to the lab for analysis. She said she would call me Monday with the results. Earl took a really long time to come out of the drugs, and I knew that couldn't bode well either.

Last night, just as we finished a big family dinner for Christmas Eve, I received the call. Dr. Welch actually looked my number up on the net to find me because there was no one at the hospital to get it for her. That's some dedication right there. She called because Earl's blood urea nitrogen (BUN) levels were through the roof. They should normally be around 15 - his were at 120. The bad news is this is an indication of kidney failure, and there is no saving him from it. I guess you could consider finding the answer good news, but it sure doesn't feel like it. I asked her what she would do in my situation, and she said she would put him down.

Earl seemed to perk up more yesterday and today (he was sleeping on my lap in the pic), and he even ate a little bit on his own and he peed, but I know it's only false hope. I don't want him to suffer, but when he's acting more like himself it's impossible to look him in the eye and feel okay about putting him down. My aunt once told me that no matter how many animals you have it never gets easier when it's time to let them go. I completely believed her, I've lived through it before, so I'm not sure why the Universe insists on driving this lesson home so relentlessly. I GET IT ALREADY. I've begged him to leave on his own, but he's a little warrior right to the end.

Putting Kiwi (my 14 year old iguana) down last year because she had cancer was the hardest decision I've ever had to make - and trust me, I've had some fucking hard decisions in my life. I held her and cried at the vet's office for two hours until they finally came and gently told me they were closing up and I had to leave, then I felt bad for keeping them, but not as bad as I felt losing Kiwi. At least she was close to the normal lifespan for her species though; Earl is only middle-aged. I prayed I would never ever have to make this decision again, yet here it is in all its ugliness. The outcome is the same no matter what I decide, it's just a matter of time and pain levels. Obviously I will not let Earl suffer, but how do you tell how much they're suffering and when is the appropriate time to put an end to it when these small animals hide illness so well?

I've researched animal kidney failure as much as possible on the net. I understand the medical aspects of it, and I've read personal accounts of dealing with it in pets. There's not a lot of information about chinchillas specifically, but I did find some, and this is a common problem with cats so I can make an educated guess at the effects on a smaller animal. I've appealed to friends, family, the Gods, the moon, the stars, inner voices, silence - anything or anyone that might have some guidance or offer some peace. It's still not easy. Nothing is easy right now, not even knowing that all this too shall pass and the Sun will shine again.

Gaaaaaahhhhhh. Life! GRRRRRR.

Ok, so something happy to wrap this up because I can't go to bed feeling like this.

Today was good despite the weight of my heart. (Writing has definitely helped.) I was excited to give Katy and Mark their gifts, and I think they enjoyed them. As much as I hate the rampant consumerism of Christmas, it's fun to see people feel joy and know you caused it. It was really nice to have the house so quiet - it was only the three of us all day. It was awesome not to have to travel. We slept late, opened gifts, had a nice dinner and played Dread Pirate (a board game we received as a gift) by the fire (which is still crackling a little over there).

We actually tried to go to the movies to see I Am Legend, but I had to walk out because it was too scary. I think I can count the movies I've walked out on with one hand, so that's saying something. It's more like a horror movie than action/suspense. I can't imagine what possessed Will Smith to want to do that movie. He doesn't seem like the type of person that would support that kind of thing, but whatever.

Mraz made a Christmas post yesterday all about the stars. I'd heard before the story of the Sun and how it relates to Christmas, although I can't remember if it was when we went to the Franklin Institute's planetarium this past summer, or if I read it somewhere else. It got me thinking how brilliant the stars have been these past couple weeks when they haven't been hiding behind our atmosphere's fluffy white blanket, and how crystal clear the air of Winter Solstice is. I wish I had the knowledge of how to capture the game of hide and seek the Moon has been playing with the clouds. It's been awesome to watch. I've poked my head out the door each night to stare upwards for a few minutes, watching my breath freeze and float away to rejoin the matter that makes up our world. When I have the opportunity to really stare at the night sky awhile, I feel so connected to everything. I just wish it weren't quite so cold so I could stay longer.

Beautiful as Solstice has been, I'm also grateful we're moving past it and the days will start increasing in length again. I miss the sun terribly, and I know the grey weather hasn't been helping me resolve any of the difficult emotions I'm dealing with.

Even I see this is one of those times when I sound like I'm contradicting myself, but Solstice has been all those things. Don't be confused. It's all true. :) The air has been both clear and cloudy, beautiful and dark, bright and grey. And there are things I enjoy about the cold (like a roaring fire and hot tea), but I miss the warmth coming from above instead of the alcove in our living room, or the depths of my down comforter.

Shit, 3:07 am. I'm going to be so dead tired at work tomorrow. I seem to always look at the clock at 3:07. So weird. 1:11 is another one of those times.

One more train of thought I must get down on virtual paper, though it will probably only make sense to me. When I was in the shower the other day my thoughts went from the stars in general to the middle star on Orion's belt, to the fact that a friend once told me that star is a gateway to other dimensions; then I thought about imagination, and how our brains could be a conductor between dimensions like copper wire is a conductor of electricity and how imagination would be the electricity, and perhaps it fuels our awareness like electricity fuels a lightbulb. I moved on to water and its conductive properties, to wondering if in the future we will discover that water is really a conductor of psi energy/chi (which would explain why my most profound thoughts always happen in the bathroom) and perhaps it is the key to why Earth exists as it does (Earth being held in our thoughts and made real to us) and why we seem so alone out here in the cosmos. We all know the water supply on Earth is dwindling, even if we don't want to admit it. Imagination seems to be suffering the same fate at the hands of TV and video. Barely anything is left to the imagination these days because kids are too lazy to think (or read), and parents are too lazy or self-absorbed to encourage them to do so.

What if, in the future, as the water supply dries up and humans stop developing their imaginations because we are told what to believe about everything and so many are lazy with their thinking, we discover water and imagination are the filters through which we're able to bring our thoughts to a tangible reality. (Remember our human bodies are made mostly of water!) Think how precious both water and a creative mind would be. Without them, our doorway (perhaps the star in Orion's belt) would close and our existence could melt back into the dimensions surrounding us; unable to be sustained separately as we see and experience it now. Perhaps this is what happened to Mars. Maybe it's not that life doesn't exist on Mars (or didn't an eon ago), it's just that their water supply dried up and their imaginations were suppressed to the point they were no longer able to hold the door open to separate their perspective from the Whole.

Hmmm.

Goodnight. Dream well and often.

Under the Weather

It's been a long time since one of the animals has been sick. Overall I'd say I do better than average keeping them out of the vet's office, especially for the number and variety of them I have, but Little Earl has been a concern the last week and some. He yanked out a bunch of fur so now he has a big pink stripe of skin down his belly instead of his soft coat. I suspected fur fungus. Several hours and a hundred+ dollars later, Dr. Welch confirmed that I was right (as I often am with my zoo). She sent us home with Sporanox (an oral antifungal medicine), and Conofite (a topical spray to help stop the itching). I only gave him two doses of the oral medicine because each time we'd give it to him, he'd paw at his mouth afterward like we'd just fed him hot sauce. He surely didn't appreciate being sprayed down with the Conofite either; chinnies share a cat's opinion of water. If I didn't feel so sorry for him, I would've had to chuckle at the way he was walking around high up on his legs like he'd just stepped in something very unpleasant.

I dealt with this nasty stuff once before and it's not easy to get rid of, but it's not impossible either. Odin and Zeus had it when we first brought them home. I remember calling a couple chinchilla "experts" to see what they used on outbreaks in large fur farms. They suggested a toxic chemical commonly found in fertilizer - FERTILIZER! - and an expensive medicine with a name that escapes me. Overall they said the cost to treat the chins would be around $500 - EACH. I said, "uhhh, thanks, but NO." That was the last time I called the "experts" about my animals. I was sure I could find a better, cheaper way, and I did.

I looked up everything I could find about fur fungus (also referred to as ringworm although I'm told by the vet that technically it's not the same thing). I found out what it is (a parasitic fungi made up of dermatophytes, which are organisms that survive by eating the keratin in skin - they usually stay on the top layer of the epidermis, unable to invade the second layer if you have a healthy enough immune system), what causes it, and what it reacts to. I found that tea tree oil is a very effective natural antifungal remedy, and other amateur chin owners used Desenex* foot powder (treats athlete's foot, which is caused by the same type of fungus) on their chinnies to prevent it, so that's what we went with on Odin and Zeus, and what we've ended up doing for Earl after the reaction he had to the prescription medicine.

I tried the tea tree oil on myself first and it's pretty strong in its undiluted form. It leaves a sort of cool-burning sensation on your skin, like a toner would after you wash your face (or aftershave for you men). A chinnie's skin is too delicate for that so instead of using it undiluted, I found an ointment by Desert Essence that contained tea tree oil in a smaller percentage. Personally, I think since the ointment doesn't soak in as fast, it probably kills the fungus better since the fungus also remains on the top layer of skin, but there is no scientific research to back that up. Tea tree oil also has a super strong smell and I didn't want to damage their little pink sniffers, so that was another good reason to have it diluted in the ointment. (Note: In my research on the net I also found some claims that tea tree oil is especially toxic to cats. I don't know whether or not this is true - you can't believe everything you read. If you've found this page looking for answers about ringworm in your pet, please USE COMMON SENSE! Do your own research and talk to your vet before administering anything to your pet!)

It makes a real mess of their fur, but it works like a charm. With time and dust baths, all Odin & Zeus' fur grew back in fine, and I expect Earl's will too. It took a little longer maybe than the prescriptions, but the ointment cost under $10 and the Desenex even less, plus there are less objections from the fuzzy people. I think the fact that I stick to organic products for my animals helps keep them healthier in the long run as well. Our big, lumbering human bodies barely deal with the chemicals we're constantly exposing ourselves to in a graceful fashion. I can't imagine these tiny animals (or even dogs and cats for that matter), where bodily functions are accelerated due to their size, would deal efficiently with foreign substances.

So we're using the tried and true remedy on Earl now, however, I noticed last night when I fed everyone that Earl was not interested in the hazelnut I offered. Earl normally loves ANY treat, and hazelnuts have never been refused before. I tried giving him a cranberry instead and he took that, but he was a long time eating it (also very strange behavior for Earl). I made another appointment with Dr. Welch for Tuesday because I'm now thinking something might have gotten dodgy with his teeth. I watched closely while he ate a supplement pellet and he seems to be biting things off on one side, then chewing slowly, much like a human with a toothache does. If it's going to be something dental-related, I really hope it's a simple problem and not that the fungus has invaded his mouth, because I'm pretty sure asking him to gargle daily is out of the question.

:sigh: My poor little Earl. (Yes, he is missing an ear. He likes to say he lost it in a knife fight, but actually he was born that way. The inner ear is all there, it's just the outer "satellite dish" that's not.)

In other news, the new job is going well. I feel like I'm playing all day doing Photoshop work, which is pretty cool. I've never had a job I really liked before. We get to work from home twice a week too, and when the sky opened up a couple days ago and rained down all kinds of nasty, cold stuff on us, we didn't have to go into the office either. That was REALLY nice until the office closed and let everyone out at 1pm, but we had to keep working since we were able to. Damn. I guess there's a trade off for everything.

This is where I usually work when I work from home. It's my most favorite room in the house because of the sun.

We're supposed to get more wet weather tomorrow. The temp has been resting right at the freezing mark so it can't decide whether to rain or snow, but either way it makes a mess of the roads. I've been looking over at the San Diego weather jealously. 60° and sunny seems like heaven. The snow here is really pretty though when it's falling all stealth-like and you're tucked into the house with a fire, a cup o' tea, and a good book or three. Unfortunately I have a lot of errands and Christmas shopping to complete (bah) so this could throw a real kink in my plans.

The holiday season is not my favorite. Why can't we all just get together and have a meal and appreciate each other like at Thanksgiving? I'm pretty sure Jesus must be shaking his head and sighing, and the Gods are rolling their collective third eye at what we've made of this time of year. And I chose to be born right in the middle of it. What was I thinking? I much prefer once all this BS is over with and I can enjoy the rest of winter in peace.

Mark signed us up to go to one of the porn conventions in Hollywood in February. I'm not that interested in the convention (been there, done that, and no, there are not generally naked girls all over the place - it's all business transactions and dinners of shmooze) but I can't wait to check out Hollywood and LA. I've never been to either. And hopefully it will be a nice break from the cold here.

Well none of this is what I planned to write about, but there it is. So often during the day I think of these poetic things to write in the blog, but there's never time or something handy to write them down, then I forget all the poetry by the time I'm in front of the computer. Just too much to do and not enough time to get it all done. Such is life.

*Many other people have found that Tinactin foot powder works well, but being that it's even stronger than Desenex I'm hesitant to try it. Chinnies are small, delicate creatures and "more" or "stronger" is not always better.

The Lizard King

This is Spunky, my iguana iguana. He's a handsome 7-year-old psycho, weighing in at 7 pounds and reaching a stunted, but still impressive, length of 37 inches from his nose to the tip of his regenerated tail. If I had known seven would be his lucky number when we adopted him as a wee hatchling, I would've named him Seven instead of allowing my daughter to pick his moniker. Maybe that's why he's got such a guanatude - would you want to be called Spunky all your life when you could've had a really cool name like Seven? Me either.

I've lived with iguanas for 15 years now. My first one, Kiwi, left us for the Big Cosmic Beach last year at the age of 14. (An iguana's lifespan is 15-20 years.) She was an awesome friend and went through some serious life lessons with me, including moving cross country. She was the most docile creature I've ever had the privilege of caring for. She's the reason I have Spunkalicious. We were at the vet with her on a false alarm (call it serendipity, but I think she planned it in the dreamtime) and the receptionist told me Spunky's sad story. My arm twisted up like Dick Cheney's morals and I offered to take him in until he found another home, except his rehab ended up being longer than most celebritys' stay in the Betty Ford Clinic. He's family now and will be here until I can find a way to release him back in the wild.

Spunks is more of a challenge than Kiwi was because he was abused, and though I was able to heal his body brilliantly, his little prehistoric brain refuses to evolve past his ancient history. He's much more chill than he used to be, but there are moments when he thinks he's a young Johnny Depp. In fact, two snaps after this photo he brandished his tail at my camera and told me to get the fuck out of his cage.

Based on behavior observations, I suspect he was wild caught instead of captive bred. I've looked for research groups going to South America that could help me put him back in the wild, but so far I haven't found the right people. My relationship with the Spunkmeister has changed my opinion on keeping exotic animals captive. Rescuing them from an abusive situation may be helping that individual out at the time, but it doesn't help the problem where it starts. It's been hard to say no, but as my little zoo dwindles down over the years, I'm no longer taking in exotic rescues. I'd rather help educate people so they reach the same conclusions I have before anyone else is living in a cage.

Lizards have become one of my strongest totems, along with Dragonfly. According to many indigenous peoples' beliefs, lizards represent the Dreamtime, regeneration, and messages from the Great Mystery. Animal Speak, by Ted Andrews also relates great powers of observation, objective detachment, and feigning sleep while basking in the sun. (Much easier in California than New Jersey!) All these things go right along with my personality and I'm honored and grateful to share my physical and etheric space with these awesome critters. :)

I am editing this post to note that I did not make the time of the post 7:07 on purpose. That's just how things happen around me. :) I love those little divine winks - they convince me I'm always right where I should be. I also fixed the picture of Spunky at the top since Blogger didn't seem to like the one I uploaded from the computer. Just one more reason to stop being lazy and figure out the beast that is WordPress. I know it's free, but Google makes everything so easy!

Thinking Deep

Do you suppose the oceans are so deep because of all the seal fur clogging the drain at the bottom? If seals shed like our dog (Jazz) does, I'd bet it's true. I know it looks like doggie porn, but this is just our happy mutt taking a snooze:

Jazz is actually very much like a seal. She has a cold, wet nose, fish breath, and when people she likes come to the door, she makes a Wookie noise to greet them. She's 12 years old now and still acts like a puppy, running to the door to greet us even if we've only been gone 5 minutes. It's awesome to have someone that excited to see you every time you come home. Reminds me very much how to live in the moment.