Tag Archives: hope

Concrete Rescue

I found out I was pregnant when I was barely 24 years old. I peed on three separate sticks and took two blood tests because I didn’t believe it could possibly be true. “Tell me again how it’s possible I could be pregnant when I just went off birth control,” I remember asking, because it didn’t seem possible that one could be pregnant after so few days not swallowing the tiny anti-baby pill. I dreaded the conversation that would follow with the husband as much as I bounded towards it with glee; he would hate the pregnancy, I knew, but it would also keep us together. It did not, in fact, keep us together. When the baby died, everything about our marriage that we had pieced together with duct tape and shoved under the rug shattered into minuscule pieces that exploded everywhere. I had thought, mistakenly, that a baby would fix everything. But you can’t fix something that doesn’t want to be fixed; this is a thing I now know intimately. 

Lately, I’ve been struggling with my place in life. Where I’m at, career wise, rescue wise, life wise. What I believe in. There are so few things in life that I know to be consistently true:

  1. I have a big heart. Too big. Exceedingly big.
  2. I will never be married to another man for as long as we all shall live and thus will not have children.
  3. I love animals.
  4. The shit that happens in life means nothing if we don’t find a way to use it. 
  5. Staying silent only puts the power onto that which we are being silent about.

When you add all of these things together, I guess it only makes sense that the biggest thing in my life right now is dog training and rescue. Dogs won’t talk back to me. They can fill the place of children. And I can use the shit that’s happened to me. I’ve been struggling a lot lately with my rescue, with how I fit in in it, in any rescue. But a friend told me that every rescue has their problems, and no rescue is perfect, just like I am not perfect, just like no dog is perfect. Just like nothing, absolutely nothing, is perfect. Rescue isn’t about the politics or the people, but, rather, the animals and what we as individuals can do for them. 

About a year ago, I met a dog named Ziggy. A skinny beagle who spent her life as a puppy producing machine in a mill, she had never seen anything like New York City. Heck, she’d probably never seen the outside of her kennel. She would not come out of her shell for anything–not treats or cream cheese or hot dogs or cuddles. She didn’t want pets really; she didn’t want people, period. She didn’t make much eye contact. She stared down, or she stared at herself, but never at us. Ziggy’s Point A was quiet and heartbreaking and flooded with shyness, but Ziggy’s point B is anything but. She’s in a happy home with another dog and a couple of cats; she’s beautiful, and she looks at her humans and the camera and she’s in touch with herself and her world for the first time. We, as a rescue, gave her another chance. 

After the rape, after the divorce, after the baby died, people close to me gave me another chance. A lot of them. When I thought I was nothing, they told me I was something. When I’d lost everything and was convinced I was fading, they made me see myself. I am here because they told me I was okay. I am not good with people in the slightest; I’m shy and I struggle with conversations and I struggle making connections and I struggle just being present sometimes. But I don’t struggle over dogs; never over dogs. When I’m with a dog, I can communicate with them, for them, about them. When I’m with a dog, I get to know people, and then I make friends that are friends without the dogs. In short, I’m Ziggy. I’m Pedro, I’m Tubs, I’m Georgie, I’m every dog who has ever been and ever will be special to me. 

I haven’t been able to give many people the chances that I’ve been given, the emotional mending, the acceptance, the fresh start, but I’ve been able to be that person for so many dogs. By treating them right, by connecting, by making a fuss for them when something is wrong because they cannot speak themselves, I am doing what people did for me when I was where these dogs are now. Not only that, I am learning how to do this for myself, how to stand up for myself, how to treat myself right.

I’ve been stuck recently on why I’m involved in rescue, and I was reminded today of the reason why. No rescue is perfect. NoBODY is perfect. But the least we can do is take steps to make ourselves and the world even the slightest bit better to live in. We can’t fix something that doesn’t want to be fixed, that’s for sure, but there are dogs out there that we can fix–and in fixing them, we start fixing ourselves. 

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On Love

This has been a weird week for me and love. The third would have been my anniversary, so there’s that. Also, I finished the most beautiful video game in the entire world, “The Last of Us,” and I went to see “The Fault in Our Stars.” Why, you ask? Because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment. And feelings. All the feelings. You see, I’m really not one who finds it easy to believe in the good, in love. I believe this is the reason that I watch so many horror films. They tend to favor gore over feelings. While I personally am not into gore in my real life, it makes for a good escape. 

I am not sure I have ever believed in love. So when I watch amazing movies such as “The Fault in Our Stars,” I find myself a little lost. It isn’t really real to me. I have never clicked with a person like that; I have never been loved in that way:

“I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.” 

Love isn’t real; life will always end; people will always return to dust. The sun will eat the earth. These things will happen. They are facts. And just like they are all facts in the moment of this speech, it is also a fact that this boy loves this girl. I have never been everything to somebody else, despite all of my greatest efforts to be. I will give everything. Part of that is just my personality, but part of that is also that I really just want people to like me. I say all the time that I don’t need to be in a relationship with another person to be complete, and that’s the truth. But holy crap, do I want to feel that type of love even just one time in my life. Just once. Do I cry over this movie because of the beauty of it all? Or because of what I don’t have? Or both?

I thought that I had to be a certain way, fit a certain mold wherein I married and had kids and did all of the womanly things I was supposed to do. I did that, but it didn’t work out for me. Because it wasn’t me. It isn’t me to give everything and receive nothing in return; it isn’t me to give everything because I am made to do it. Giving everything of myself to someone needs to be a choice that comes from within me, not an idea that is pressed upon me. Never has anything rung more truly to me. Love should not ever be that way. Love is not ever one-sided, or, at least, it shouldn’t be. 

Every person on this planet, all six billion plus of us, are orbiting in small circles that occasionally come into contact with one another. And we all leave tiny ripples behind; everything we do alters the paths of those around us in even the tiniest of ways. The greatest lesson that I’ve ever learned is that there is no right way to be with other people. There is not one singular way in which to do it. Everyone is doing what they need to do to survive, to show that they care for each other. And somewhere, out there, there is perhaps another person who is doing the same things that I am doing. Showing the same things. A match.

This year has opened up a whole world I never knew existed, thanks to the making of many new and openly honest friends. There’s romantic love, there’s attraction. There’s men with women, and vice versa, and women with women, and men with men, and people who don’t identify with any of these things in particular. There isn’t one formula for love; it is always different. And perhaps the reason that I have never found it, never felt it, is because I have tried to place it inside a box.

I lost something, but I lost it because it wasn’t the right thing for me. And what I lost was in no way real love. It wasn’t love at all; I see that now where I couldn’t see it while in it. So thank you world, for opening my eyes. Maybe I will never be loved in the manner of Augustus and Hazel Grace. But the hope is there. And that’s enough.

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