I had a tough week, there will not be any pictures of the hard parts

The fall rains have come
All grey awashed, storm ridden
The road has gone under

Lotus flower
Your boat is launched
I set you free

It has been a really hard week for me professionally and personally. That is all I can say, really. As many of my generation do, allow me this quote from the Princess Bride: "life IS pain, Highness."

I found myself silent the last week. I have not written for my blog or created anything. I had to stop and evaluate. Something had to change. It was time.

Several people have told me recently that I was a catalyst for change in their lives. One lady, a kind and thoughtful member of the cat rescue community, told me "you know you sent me on this path? You know that, don't you?" I did not realize, but do acknowledge that I indeed did guide her in that direction. I was profoundly touched. This was the day before I left my office one last time.

My thoughts ran "If I can be a catalyst for positive change in others, why can I not change my own life?" And so I did.

I decided to quit working as an office manager this week. I left the office behind. It was tough, really, so hard that I do not even yet have words to describe it. I had worked there about 18 years. I am aware that my years with the doctors were the longest relationship of my life, other than my biological family and my reenactment family. I guess the doctors and long-term staff were my "third" family. But it was time to say good bye.

There are few things I have ever done that were harder. It had to be.

I left the office for the last time as an employee on Thursday. Today is Sunday. I am still finding I have a tendency to think of the middle of next week as taken up by "work." My life will need a need pattern, a frame work, structure.

I guess this is where the second half begins. A play of two acts, the curtain fell on Act I, now the curtain rises on Act II. I wonder what will happen? And I hope the set designer and play wright are both good.

I leave my reader with some photos of the truest companions I could know in this life time:

Yes, cats, my cats

And my dogs. I am coming to believe that we incarnate, some of us, on purpose to experience love, pure love. And sometimes loyal truest love can only be given by a dog.

Indy, Professor Jones, my sweetheart

Torvald a' Bigbootee, my husband's heart dog

And Kona, the Queen Bee, our "Nugget of Evil"

Random thoughts, I have these every so often

Much like paddling, walking my dogs leads me down a contemplative path. I often ponder unanswerable questions when in the company of my dogs.

Such as:
-I recently saw a meme going around that said "Dog is Love." But I had also seen earlier a meme that said "God is Love." And also a bumper sticker "Love is God" So, let me see if I get this straight: if God equals Love and Love equals Dog, then Dog = Love which = God. Dog is God. No wonder they are have the same three letters arranged front to back, in reverse. And then I started thinking "ah, so if Dog is an embodiment of God then what is the Dog Star? An embodiment of God in a star? Or is it that all dogs are stars....?" "Oh, all dogs go to Heaven, of course!"

-The leash ties us together. It protects our dogs from injury and protects we humans' hearts from trauma too. All hail the leash!

-I know that dogs view their poop as much as we people view calling cards. I wonder what they think when I remove their "calling cards?" My female dog always looks away, as though she is embarrassed.

-While picking up poo this morning I discover my female dog still has soft stools. I am stumped. We have tried everything from home made food to voodoo, and nothing seems to help. I blame the chronic soft stools on the numerous antibiotics she received during the 18 months she struggled to recover from a brutal bone infection.

Following the last round of voodoo, actually homeopathic remedies, she finally overcame the infection. She walks without a limp and no longer has a swollen leg with a draining tract. A human would have sunk into such depression, having a swollen arm with pus draining from it for 18 months. So we forgave Kona her terrible attitude during those long months. She became our horrible baby, a snarling growling grumpuss, needing love and tender care.

-The local foxes and possibly coyotes poop at the end of driveways and sometimes on side walks. I know this is their way of marking territory. Leaving calling cards. But one must be awake to avoid stepping in their "calling cards" at dusk or dawn. And I sometimes shamble around the block like a zombie at dawn, propelled by my grip on the leash, the gentle tug of the dog at the other end. You can see where this is headed, right...?

-My dogs will never "dump" me, unlike my human friends. And so I ponder, having just had a friend leave my life with many unanswered questions, My husband says I attract flawed people. If so, then it is because I am tolerant of human defects, living in a glass house and all. I am so aware that I am no paragon of human perfection. "Flawed" is just another way to say "perfectly human."

husband covered in beasts

-It is almost fall again. Autumn used to be my favorite time of year. Now I dread its arrival, remembering past years. This fall I will not stop paddling, having graduated to the dry suit crowd. I am enrolled at a yoga studio to help me stay active and focused. I am also thinking of having a frank discussion with my gp, just to see if he has anything to suggest. That is, anything besides decamping to Florida for the main part of the dreary season.

Some thoughts on the water

Lake Michigan crossing fails

Much debate in paddling community about whether the fellow (in the link above) attempting a 90 mile crossing of Lake Michigan should have had his own support boat following him, instead of relying on the Coasties to save his butt. He does sound rather well prepared to me. I give him a "pass."

Great-White-Shark-Attacks-Kayakers-off-Massachusetts-Coast!

These gals mentioned above were crying their eyes out during an interview about their encounter with nature. I feel little sympathy for them, however. If you can't stand the sharks, don't go out in the ocean! 

Another article about the shark. How did both chicks end up in the water??

Oh. This is how they both ended up in the water:

sharkwatch/sharks-vs-kayakers-massachusetts-attack

The above article points out the number of kayakers is increasing. However, I understand from several industry pros that the number of participants in classes and symposia are dropping. Cynthia, from Sweetwater in Florida, told me that her local pros blame Meetup.com for the dropping number of student in their metro area.

I told her I do not believe the same to be true in the very active Washington DC paddling community. Yes, our paddling clubs use Meetup to schedule trips but a quick perusal of
Washington Kayak Club  will net the viewer at least a half dozen classes and featured symposia.

WKC was founded in 2006. I captained the group from Oct 2009 to Oct 2011, and have continued with an active role in the club. We have always offered professionals a chance to post classes or have them featured as events. However, another pro recently told me he thinks the WDC metro area is different from other areas. Statistically, we are more affluent, more educated, and more mobile. We are a transient community with many intelligent and well-employed people moving in and moving out all the time.

So I guess I can't hold our area up as a shining example against the argument that Meetup is detrimental to kayaking schools in the long run. This is a thought I will return to in the future.

cops-say-kayaker-lied-shot-himself-twice (what!?)

Either there's a bunch of paddlers who are nuts...or...the nutty are taking to kayaking. Hmm...

My husband has pointed out many times that when a hiker falls off a set of rocks at Great Falls, the news will always say "rock climber dies at Great Falls." This infuriates the Lorax! He fumes "that was NOT a rock climber! That was just some hapless fool!"

So I leave you with this thought:
Are the gals who had the shark encounter "kayakers" or are they "Kayakers?" Shit, Jesse, look what you started! Reflection is in order.

Paddling is not about "fun"

Last year my employer and my husband both agreed to let me work part time. I use the time to exercise, heal, rest & de-stress... I am not saving much money for retirement, really, but I don't see the point if I'm not going to be alive to enjoy said-retirement.

My husband June 29 2014 

U.P (unknown paddler) and Kimmie in "my" Sirocco! She says she loves the boat. I am glad I passed it on to some one who loves it as much as I did.

Janeen, one of the regulars from my exercise paddles

James sits in an eddy while others take their turn playing in the current coming off Little Falls

Andy, one of our fearless leaders

What nice boats

June 15 2014 near Edgewater, MD

Selfie 

James circling my boat 

We had some wave action

Recently I was told that some people who see me regularly think that my life is great; they wish they were "off having fun" like me. This has led me to have anxiety, the exact opposite of what all the down time was supposed to produce. I wanted to write a scalding retort to their presumption that my life is "fun." But I have found I do not have it in me. I am considerably anxious, and have lost all desire to "defend" myself. Reacting defensively might have been counter productive in any case.

My whole package is no "fun." Medically I am a wreck... Maybe mentally, too. The "seasonal depression" that came this last fall turned into "all season depression." I guess that's just called plain old "depression."

"If you were me, you would need to relieve some stress too."

My son said the other day that I "walk around like nothing is wrong," and so I "can't blame people for thinking every thing is great and wonderful." I have spent my adult life fronting. I doubt I can stop now. It is almost a matter of pride that I act like I am A-okay. "Pride cometh before the fall," right?

I have just scheduled my seventh surgery in five years. I am like Michael Jackson, eh? But without the talent and money. No, really, none of the surgeries have been cosmetic. But I would rather they were! I want a chin tuck, dammit!!

I can't believe this is happening. I so disbelieved this could be real, that I made and cancelled two appointments with my primary before I actually went to see him. I kept thinking "well, maybe I'm over-reacting?"

I can't believe this is happening.

Old Dogs Go

Old dogs go
before you know it
walking home

I am just now beginning to mourn Trinity's death. It happened so swiftly I guess I didn't have time to really understand what I was losing. The part I hate most is that she lived her last year with my mom, as she and Kona just could not get along. She liked living with my mom, I think, so that part was good. But not being there for her as she entered her twilight year, that was bad, and unforgivable.

Buckaroo Banzai & Trinity wait to get in. My "2nd set of dogs," both gone now.

Loki-Bob loved Trinity. She was "his" dog.

Busy Bee also loved Trinity. He often sought her out, to nap next to her.

Trinity meets our boys. She *loved* black dogs. She thought all black male dogs were "sexy," and she never met one she didn't like, including our boys.

She's not sure she's liking the camera so close to her face.

She would play with Loki-Bob, tickling and licking him. Here he's just a baby and she was giving him heck.

This is a song that I wrote in 1996. I revised it in 2003, after I had lost my "first set of dogs." My beloved girls: Miss Occelatum Bottom (Ozzy), Crocodile (the Croco-Stimpy), and Pinkie Lou (my Brave Heart), passed away over a few years period;  a very dark time in my life. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder that I survived it.

I don't have any digital photos from that time. Eventually I'll scan some photos and get them up.

So here's that song, minus the pro-tabs. I realized how prophetic it was of me to write this while they were alive and still healthy:

He asks "are you alone tonite?"
I say "yeah, but it's all right,
Those dogs take up all the room
in my bed, late every night."

Gone for a walk, just those dogs and me
gone down the path they've slipped their leads
gone for a walk those dogs and me
those dogs are running free

walkin' the woods you keep comin to mind
I saw a dead oak covered in vines
in the dark leaves I read the signs
in the shadows a forest in every tree

Gone for a walk, just those dogs and me
...

Below, a link to a moving poem about Jimmy Stewart's own lost dog:
Jimmy Stewart on his dog Beau

Bill and Buck died on 3/27/14

This is the last post I will make about this as the situation is so painful to me. I can't help but cry every time I think about Karen and her dogs, Bill and Buck.

This is what Karen had to say after the deed was done:

My heart is too heavy to write very much tonight, but I wanted to reach out to all of you for a few moments.

This is another photo of the last day of the life of Buck and Bill...go run with the angels boys, you deserved so much more.

The last moments of their life were marred by a cruel joke that the governor was on the phone with a pardon, the cruelty of a man sworn to uphold life, and the threat of being physically removed from the building by a sheriff's deputy when I asked for just a few moments to see if a pardon might come through.

Even so, there were blessings also:
the presence of the veterinarian and his technician...so very skilled and compassionate in their work; Nicki, whose hand lay over mine on Bill's head...and on which my cheek rested with his final breath; the same sheriff's deputy...with tears in his eyes as he left the room; and all of you who greeted me with love as I walked the longest walk out of that hellhole. I don't know if I would have been able to make it without the vet and his tech each taking one of my hands.

That us what Buck and Bill have taught me...to find every ray of light even in the darkest hour.

I have not yet received the remains of the dogs, they were incinerated despite the order of the judge to return the remains intact. The remains from the "bone bucket" (as the incinerator is called) were ready today, the order of the judge is that I receive them, and yet permission has to be granted for this transaction. I don't know when I will finally be gifted with what has been promised.

Even in this last simple step, the County could not see fit that it transpired without harm or insult.

My heart hurts...

I will post you on what passes tomorrow.

Our love,
Buck, Bill, & Karen

Apparently, Karen is thinking of suing the County of Manatee. I think it would be in her best interest to walk away instead; to move on and hold her head high knowing she did everything possible to stop the County from killing her dogs.

It is not that I think she should not receive justice, it is just that peace will not be serve by continuing to go to court against these people. Instead, if it were me, and *thank God* it's not, I would do everything possible to make sure every elected official in this case loses their next election. I would also turn my energy into a crusade against unequally applied laws and a justice system that is out of control.

One last photo allowed by the County officials

Her vet's tech, Karen, and the vet leave the "animal shelter" one last time

No one can hurt them now. This piece of art is really beautiful and emotionally evocative

I had to euthanize my own dog the same day as an emergency. She was 15 and had a good long life but had gone down hill drastically in only a few days. This is the correct scenario for euthanasia. Long life well lived, and gone to the other side before real misery and suffering set in.

I will miss my Trinity. My son was sad to hear she passed away. He remembers when we adopted her and what a rascal she was. Home always included Trinity.

Trinity was a farm dog in her previous life before me. She looked and acted like an Aussie but with a tail

Trinity playfully licks baby Loki until he starts wrestling with her face.

Here grown up Loki invades her space, which she tolerated daily

I was sad to lose Trinity and I am sad about Bill and Buck. But they are all now on the other side. No one can hurt them now, not people or age or disease. This fact is a great comfort to me, and having lost a number of pets, I will take comfort where I can get it.

The Lorax got the moniker "run silent, runs deep"

But I'm not sure how deep my husband's thoughts run. After all, as he doesn't have much to say I really haven't any idea. After I wrote this I was back on our club's website and I saw someone had changed his nickname to "Thor," which made sense and made me laugh at the same time. Maybe an apt name for my blonde wild-haired husband in the Swedish boat with the Thor's hammer around his neck, and the dog he named Thorvald.

He has had a hard week. He's been quieter than normal. We are both a little emotionally wrung out for the last few weeks.

Tor is worried that the "nugget of evil" will steal his favorite person from him

Even though I have for the most part left the SCA behind I couldn't help but put this sticker on my car. I *think* it was a sticker suggesting a bike helmet but I'm with Bike Snob NYC. The helmet doesn't make you any safer and it encourages car drivers to treat the wearer like they are Lance or something. But fighting helmets, yeah, those are sexy!

It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. I often have trouble sleeping after 2 am. I keep meaning to stay awake until 11 to see if I might sleep through until 0530, but I always crash and burn somewhere around 9 pm.

I've gone out at least a dozen times since I last made an entry here. I still don't have a reliable camera and so am not really taking many photos. I miss it.

This last Friday morning we four gals found ice crusts ringing Pohick Bay. It was 23 degrees, over cast and windy when we put in. It was 45 and sunny when we finally gave up. Literally the sun broke through the clouds as we loaded up. Doh.

I took my Elias out the last couple of paddles. I remember it being light and nimble, and so it is. It's a nice little sea kayak. I think I'll take it to roll class tonite.

Trish, Drew, and Lynn at our wedding in 2008

I want to always remember Trish laughing. She looked great at our wedding and her own with Drew a week later. She was killed in a car wreck last Saturday. I am stunned. But my husband is having the hardest time. Drew and Trish were a huge part of his life during his obsessive rock climbing years. Trish will be forever missed.

Hank for Senate and Argus and Fiona

I have shed some tears for Hank. I really feel for his family and their genuine pain. I know how hard it is to go through the grieving period. I really wish them well.

You see, Hank was our patient. We knew him from when he was a little guy. We have known his family as clients for, I estimate, 15 years or more. I remember his dad as a young man, coming into our first location with Sammy, another furry family member. Hey, we were BOTH young then. I have really grown up and grown wise while working at the clinic, and these long term bonds with clients are more than "just business."

(edit, it turns out that Hank was born in 2002. He was only eleven years old. That's a pretty short life for a pampered indoor cat. Most of our patients can expect to see 17 or beyond. Hank's dads did not get enough time with him, they really did not.)

Hank had thousands of fans all over the world; something like 67,000 likes on his facebook page. An astounding 7500 voters wrote Hank's name in during the 2012 election here in Virginia, "throwing their votes away" in order to make a statement about both animal welfare and the fitness to serve of the human candidates. It was the worst campaign season I have ever lived through. The attacks by the candidates on each other were both toxic and disgusting.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/11/09/hank-cat-senate-third_n_2101887.html

But not Hank's campaign, it was clean and thoughtful. He stayed focused on animal welfare and his team also spun in issues of acceptance and tolerance. How can anyone say we do not need these things?

His "campaign managers" did a smashing job of taking the issue of animal welfare out into the real world of politics. Frankly, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart and mind, Hank's "advisers" are better qualified humans to serve in office than any of the career politicians serving now. And I mean ALL the politicians, every last snake and corporate puppet.

I understand that his dads have been told by many fans that they *should* run for office. I do understand their reluctance. Hank had star power. He was photogenic and personable. We mere humans, his dads included, just can't add up to the super star powers of Hank.

I want to end this part of my blog with a positive thought. Let nothing toxic touch the memory of Hank, and let his pet parents know peace. They are good fellows and Hank was one-of-a-kind. Have peace, and in time, know joy when you remember Hank and his short but spectacular life.

Puppy break! Please ignore the shirtless beer-drinking Lorax in the background...

This week another animal welfare issue had its first anniversary. On February 12th we mourned the day that Gabriel Pilotti shot Argus and Fiona to death for the mere insult of walking on his lawn.

(warning, graphic details)
He literally called Argus to him and then blew his head off from less than 6 feet away. Fiona attempted to flee but he shot her, reloaded his shot gun, and then chased her into a corner of his back fence and shot her again, killing her. I can not tell you how terrifying, horrifying, this incident was to me and the many pet guardians who pay attention to things like this. From the time the dogs climbed over their family's damaged fence to the time they were killed was a tiny 20 minutes. Alive, and then horribly killed in just the blink of a human's life. I admit I know that one or both could have been hit by a car and died during the same 20 minutes. I have been through that very scenario myself. But accidents are so very different than willful slayings.

This incident still haunts me. I look out my door at my fence every morning, checking for downed trees. I check that the gate is closed multiple times a day now. I was already vigilant, but now it is a bit more compulsive.

I am glad Pilotti was convicted of animal abuse. I am glad he had to surrender his gun. I am not sure how long he will be gun-less or that he even feels remorse. It is hard for a leopard to change its spots. I hope his bad decision haunts him. I hope he feels traumatized by all the bad press, and hate mail. His own neighborhood turned against him, as it should. Who shoots a neighbor's dogs for no reason and brags about it? I can only guess at the mental pathology of this person. I can tell you I wouldn't want to live with him as a neighbor.

I am struggling here to end this part on a positive note. There is a whole lot of pain in life. I would not want add to it. I do not want the negative energy of Pilotti to bleed into my blog. So, here it the positive thought: By convicting Pilotti the legal system has precedence to stand up to property owners who hurt helpless animals who stray on to their property. This was a SCORE for the animal welfare crowd.

We will over come. We will speak for helpless, just as my husband James has stood up and spoken (often) for the trees. (and the natural world and dolphins)

Shame shame shame, change change change

Then, let there be peace.

There is heartbreaking sobbing coming from an exam room

When any client says goodbye to their beloved pet it is a sad thing. Some clients bring family, some come alone. We offer hugs, condolences, and reassurance that they are doing the right thing. But still, it is very hard. As veterinary staff and doctors know, we are called upon every day, every moment, to extend compassion not just to animals, but to people as well. One of my coworkers told me that I was suffering from compassion burnout right before I left for vacation 12 days ago. I needed that time in the Keys. I really really did.

At work a couple of weeks ago one of the practice owners received a message from a past client demanding that the doctor return their call. This person refused to give even the briefest hint to the receptionist taking the message. Normally, one can't just call a doctor's office and get a doctor on the phone. Try it; see how far you get. But in this case it was a new receptionist, a kind person perhaps a bit easily bullied.

No one wanted to return this client's call. This is a client whose name is bandied about rather like Freddy Krueger's; a name used to incite fear and loathing in any staff member who has had the misfortune of dealing with them.

Alas, it turned out that "Freddy" was calling in hopes of his pet seen for free or nearly for free. Freddy reasoned that we had been seeing him for a "long time," and perhaps he felt we owed it to him. In this situation it came down to this: this person had been merciless with our staff and doctors over the years, a real genuine bully. Because of this behavior they had zero compassion in the "compassion bank." Their expectation of free service was a bit humorous to us.

None the less I was bothered by the episode and the next day I asked one of the practice owners if we should go ahead and see the pet for free? If maybe, just maybe, it was the "right" thing to do? She said "Right? As in 'right' when you reach the Pearly Gates?" I replied "yes" and gave my reasoning. She was not convinced in either direction. So I was left with a question unanswered.

After the incident I left on vacation. In quiet moments I re-visited this episode and the fact that I felt I had failed to be compassionate. Or, on more reflection, is my definition of compassion skewed? Does compassion equal "free service?" I did come to the conclusion that I should offer compassion equally to all. It is not my place to judge whether a person is worthy of compassion or not. "I will offer compassion, I will turn away fear," is my mantra during meditation. And yet I feel I failed some how.

I wish I could say this story has a happy ending. But at this time we do not know what will happen. There may be no happy ending.

I am awake and a bit afraid

I wrote this post during the night some time ago when I couldn't sleep. It's sat around in the queue for some few weeks. I am not sure if it sounds wimpy or whiny. But I finally decided I would post it. Yeah, I am engaged in a battle to be healthy. I do not want to be taking handfuls of pills for the rest of my life. Palliating my problems with medications only masks the symptoms, not cures the underlying problem.

So here it is, almost the "full Monty," the details of what haunts my nights:

I wake up in pain and having weird tremors and other symptoms fairly regularly. Sometimes I lay awake for hours with sheets of fire running down my arms.

Bad shit has been going down for years but I never really have had the opportunity to talk about it. The broken neck, hysterectomy, and hip surgeries were just incidental to a well-worn body of a woman, mother, and stick fighter. It's the creeping neurological symptoms that terrify me. I don't need sympathy, because I'm pretty tough, but finding myself accepted by the ladies in my old reenactment unit was heart-warming. Sometimes I need shelter.

My bad stuff, you don't have to read further but I feel the need to say it:

My original symptoms started with my colon and bladder. They were getting mixed signals, and eventually my colon just stopped doing its job. It doesn't receive signals from my nervous system anymore. I'll spare you the details. My bladder is still getting signals but they are crazy mixed up. These two issues resulted in a massive tear in the tissue between my colon and vagina. The side of my colon fell through my vagina and... I can draw you a diagram in person if you are that interested. Of course, my coworkers were so interested, right after the doctors diagnosed the rectocele, there I was in the treatment area drawing diagrams for them on the white board. Veterinary people are a funny breed.

Oh, and jokes on me: the mesh they used to repair the tear is the one that's been recalled. My surgeon still won't give me my records. I'm sure he is fearing a lawsuit but in his favor, I have other worries.

Sometimes, like right now, I am scared. My newest symptoms relate to my ability to talk. I will have trouble talking suddenly, episodes that last 30 minutes or so. These are typically preceded by distinct paresthesis in my tongue. Knowing I am waiting until December to see my neurologist is just ramping up my anxiety.

(Update: Amazing to me but the "wait list" paid off in my neurologist's office and I got a call one evening for a mid-day opening the next day. Great luck! Turns out my doctor thinks the "marble mouth" thing is caused by nerve entrapment, possibly scar tissue from either the broken neck or the surgery to fuse and plate the neck. Ah. Okay, now I have a forming plan to go back to Dr Chow, my sports chiropractor, and see if we can do Active Release Therapy on my shoulders and neck. Maybe I can get this one thing fixed. And so now I find myself less afraid, better armed against this new enemy.)

Hey, I can type and I can paddle, and paint. At least for now. I have already lost some ability to do fine detail on my paintings so my style is evolving to "Impressionism." No one needs to know it's because I can't do the detailing anymore. I have thought of drafting my son to do some detailing for me. It's worth revisiting if he ever recovers from his own problems. And I might regain some abilities that were lost. It seems nothing is certain and I have no firm diagnosis. Peripheral neuropathy, interstitial cystitis, dis-functional colon, foot dropsy (don't remember the correct term), degenerative disc disease... maybe there won't ever be one name or over all diagnosis. (Update, I got a new one to add to the list: Myofacial Pain Syndrome. In reading up on it I understand it is more of a symptom than a disease in and of itself. I think, in the end, that my body makes a lot of scar tissue anytime it is challenged with a physical assault. Unfortunately the scar tissue can be a problem in and of itself.)

And here I am today. Editing photos and blogging and wishing I was paddling instead. See, sh*t ain't so bad!

Yesterday

Yesterday I started this blog post and said:

I have missed posting over the last  month but have found myself very busy. I want more than anything, to record my feelings about different subjects as closely as possible to when I am actually HAVING the feeling. But this thing isn't happening for me. This too busy-business has got to stop.

And then, of course, today is the day. "Patriots Day" supposedly. I must say this, and you can hate me all you want but this is the truth: violence begets violence and so then war begets war. 9/11 is the day our world-wide transgressions came home to roost. I will never forget that day and what happened, but I can not forgive "us" as a country, a culture, the things we have let happen in the name of the all-mighty dollar.

My 9/11 preachy-ness stops here. And I return naturally to animal welfare and justice. This is the center of my being. And so I wrote the next words on 9/12/13.

Yesterday, an incredible thing happened. Gabriel Pilotti, a man whom I do not know, who savagely and stupidly stalked and killed a nearby family's beloved dogs, was found guilty of two counts of animal cruelty. More than one thing was done right here: the police treated the crime scene *like a crime scene* and collected irrefutable evidence that was used to convict this very stupid and dangerous man; the county prosecutor made a solid case against him; the family of the dead dogs pursued justice with tenacity; and let's not forget this dorkus hung himself out to dry when he left a different neighbor a gloating voicemail bragging about killing these two gentle family dogs, bragging about his prowess with a shotgun.

In my mind, it is enough that he was convicted. I suspect he will "do no time." He will probably have to take a gun safety course, maybe some community service, maybe lose the right to a weapon permanently. But I doubt he will get a jail sentence. I am not the person that lost the dogs but for me the symbolism of the conviction is enough. It is dharma, the world equalizes forces.

I hope Pilotti's decisions to "shoot first and ask questions later" come back to him as flash backs day after day for the rest of his life. I hope his bragging both to the neighbor's voicemail and to the dead dogs' owner makes him sick when he recalls it, the same way the rest of us watching felt sick to our stomachs realizing how this could have been us, our dogs, our lives.

Aside from the deaths of Argus and Fiona, this other thing haunts me: I worry for the family's children. I worry they might have lost the feelings of safety and security that are part of a healthy childhood. I know the day the dogs died such brutal bloody deaths, that some part of each child's "innocence" evaporated. I hope the family has already sought counselling for the kids. I really do, and it would be nice if Pilotti is made to pay for that counselling. Just, it would just. Let justice be done.

And now a more light hearted topic on to what I personally am doing to promote wellness and kindness in my community. I mentioned earlier, in another post, that I plan to honor my friend Pat by offering my hand and help to those who seem in need. With this in mind I recall my friend Kat and I talking about how we had watched a fellow swim up to the boat launch earlier this spring. He had lost his boat, his pfd, and his shirt! The water was still wetsuit cold, and he was puffing like a heart attack was next on the agenda for the day. We were both stunned but agreed afterwards that we should have tried to help him. We should have popped into our boats and paddled out to him and gotten him to shore. Fail.

Monday the 9th of September found me out for a solo paddle. Near the 3.25 mile mark I came upon a Hobie Cat (a light weight catamaran) missing its mast and with a gentleman trying to paddle the boat with, what appeared to be, a broom... I'm going to force myself to offer help...against my quiet shy nature, and the fact that I am a woman... I called out a greeting, and was quickly informed that they had lost their trolling motor. I told them that they were 3 miles from the marina, where I had also launched. They were "paddling" the boat with a life vest on a stick, and a two by four.

I offered them my spare paddle, skulled over and pulled up against their boat. I hung around to make sure they were getting under way. They each took 1/2 of my paddle and started rowing canoe style. They actually were moving about 2.5 or 3 miles an hour. I told them I'd hang around the marina to collect my paddle.

After they made it back to the marina I chatted with them for a few moments. Very nice couple of fellows. The loaned paddle was a definite help. I headed home with a warm glow, glad I'd been some small help.

It is nice to help, this is what my friend Pat must have known.

Hobie Cat pulls up to the boat ramp 9/9/13