It goes to show you never can tell.

We've been talking about getting a dog lately. You know, a little dog. A starter dog if you will, a chihuahua, a chinese crested, some other little muttly thing that doesn't need to walk for miles a day or eat as much food as us. Not that we've done anything other than discuss it and look at ads in the paper, mind you. But our friend A called us last night in a fit. Her boyfriend S was outside digging a hole to bury their dog in. He was planning to shoot the 1 year old lab/pit mix because he had eaten a loved hat. A hat?! I understand that this may have been the last straw, but come on now...really? So, anyways, we took him without a second thought with the understanding that we were just fostering him. A sighs with relief and packs up the big lug and hauls him over. I'm reclining on the porch with a ciggie pondering this latest rash decision when her big ass buick rolls up blaring cannibal corpse, or something equally gruesome. Moments later a 75 pound monster pup bounds out of the back seat and trips over his own doofy feet and smacks his chin on the ground. I didn't even think to ask about his size. Not once.

We took him for an hour long walk last night, although for the most part he walked me more than I him. He dropped a load in my neighbors yard and after an embarrassed search of my person, i lowered my head and slunk away, the dog leaping and nipping the whole way. Fuck! I am so not prepared for this dog owning shit.

Today we woke up and took him to the pet store. After a tense 10 minutes, we decided on a nose harness (the brand is Halti), and almost instantly he was a new dog. Still nervous, excited, and stuck with strangers, no doubt, but easier to control. We snapped up some treats, some food, and a pair of nail clippers and took him to the most secluded spot in town. The unused dog park. We worked with him a bit and now he's sitting, staying, laying down, and going to 'place' well. Only one day and already I'm thinking about telling A to stop the search for a new home.

But I digress, what really has me going is that S, A's man is someone I don't know well, but I did do some freelance work with him last summer. We worked side by side a lot and inevitably got to talking. Conversation turned to convictions as it often does with me. We have much in common, organics, permaculture, alternative powers, rainwater collection, music, humor, a massive list of commonality. What I never expected was that he would take this guy into his life,( yeah, he was a cute little black puppy and all) and then when it got inconvenient, kill this lug that depends on him, trusts him. Especially when it's apparent that all pup Het needed was a routine, some attention, a walk now and then, and discipline rather than beatings. He's responded beautifully.

It just blows my mind. Why make a promise like that if you haven't the wherewithal to follow through?


Today is the Day

I have been thinking about starting a blog for some time now. It seems like the perfect way to to process. It's quite fitting, really, as I spend all day with machinery (I am a field service tech) and rarely do I interact with people. Therefore, I work out my quandaries using productions/conversations/monologues for and with the pieces of machinery on which I work. Seems absurd, but once the inevitable world robot domination happens, at least I'll be able to speak the language of our captors.

A little about me...I am a 30-ish dyke living with my sweetie of 5 years, a depressive (read: not depressing) artist who inspires, infuriates, worries, and captivates me every day. I am an artist in my own right, or so she tells me. Outsider to the extreme, I say. I cannot draw, paint, I have barely an eye for photographic composition. I make. Sew, build, weld, fold, tear, churn, hurl, nurture, and train. I used to write, but I stopped some time ago when an ex found old journals, stories and poems and used them violently against me. Stopped cold.

This blog is an experiment. Hope we enjoy the ride.