The 25 Days of Giving Challenge: Day 5

WELCOME BACK

December 5, 2012

I want to preface this whole post by proudly stating that I love Amazon.com.  I have managed to accomplish a lot of my own Christmas shopping from the warm, quiet comfort of my own home this year, thanks to Amazon's great selection and even greater prices (and reasonable shipping and return rates.)  And though this may seem like a "Shop Amazon!" commercial for which I am being paid some hefty commission (Don't I wish?  Because, yes, I will write for money.), this post was actually inspired by the reaction I had to Amazon's advertising tactics when I opened my email, titled "Gift Ideas by Relationship" this morning.  Clearly, this type of advertising isn't Amazon-specific by any means.  It's just part of the "for sale" world in which we live, especially at this time of year.  So I'll just present you with the following visual and give you a moment to process:

Your Amazon.com Today's Deals See All Departments

Gift Ideas by Relationship See more

Mom

Dad

Someone with Everything

Co-worker

Girlfriend/Wife

Boyfriend/Husband

Teenager

Family Friends

Grandma

Grandpa

Kids

College Student

And there it is. Make-up brushes for mom and tools for dad. (La Cage aux Folles this is not!)
But wait, it gets better. Because while the girlfriend/wife and the boyfriend/husband both need jewelry, clearly the girlfriend/wife is more interested in decorating herself, while the boyfriend/husband will be getting the new watch -- probably so he'll have something to tap anxiously while girlfriend/wife threatens to make him late for the party with Family Friends. And speaking of Family Friends, we will all be gifting
those Generic McNobody's with a "candy crate" this year. Something that admits: "We don't know you that well, so we thought we'd raise your blood sugar and add to your cholesterol numbers while contributing a donation in your name to the worldwide obesity fund. Happy holidays."

Of course, we can't forget our grandparents, those wise and lovely elders. I mean, don't we all have meek little grandmothers who live in curlers and aprons, and who long only for more picture frames? Because the infinite number of collages and portraits we've given them for the past twenty Christmases don't cover enough wall and coffee table and china hutch space already. And of course, our grandmas need something to stare at while our stereotypical grandfathers watch sports, right? After all, dad and boyfriend/husband will surely be over on Christmas day (hopefully on time, if mom and girlfriend/wife's beauty regimes and primping sessions don't take too long). And while the dad/boyfriend/husband contingent use their new tools to assemble and hang Grandma's picture frames, mom/girlfriend/wife can apply makeup and covet one another's jewels and marvel over ... the kids, who sit covered in Play-Doh gifts of their own. Because all kids lovvvveeee to smush gooey, sticky stuff between their fingers ... before they eat it. Even though mom/girlfriend/wife has repeatedly told the kids not to put anything in their mouths before threatening: "Wait til I tell dad/boyfriend/husband. Then you'll be sorry." Because mom/girlfriend/wife doesn't punish children, after all. It wouldn't be ladylike. And because dad/boyfriend/husband is the keeper of the tools and the recipient of the new timepiece -- and isn't that the place where all power actually lives?

Of course, the "extras" in the Amazon ad deserve some small mention, if only to pull me toward my final point - which, I realize, seems a long time coming. But can we really do no better for the "Someone with everything" than a fondue pot? Which, let's be honest, is probably what they got from all their "Someone with everything" friends last year. The very same friends who received (and likely regifted) the Candy Crate. At the same time, even for those of us who prefer to keep the personal out of the workplace, can we really do no better for our coworkers than a contraption with little metal balls attached to strings that bang into one another when plucked? Aside from inducing a rather problematic sort of workplace hypnosis, what is this thing supposed to do? What is its function? I see many missed deadlines and unproductive days in the futures of any coworkers who receive this confusing little distraction. Though, as always, I am willing to be educated on this one.

Perhaps the oddest Amazon gift recommendation of all - at least in my opinion - is the College Student coffee maker. Now, on some level, this one actually makes sense to me - college students drink coffee. Lots of it, in some cases. And a coffee maker is pretty gender neutral, which I appreciate. But don't most college students already have a coffee maker if they do, indeed, drink that much coffee? And what about mom/girlfriend/wife, or dad/boyfriend/husband? I bet some of them drink coffee, too. Maybe they would actually like a new coffee maker (perhaps to replace the one their college student son/daughter "borrowed" for the dorm and never returned.) As far as the grandparents are concerned, Grandma probably drinks tea anyway - since that's what all grandmothers do - and Grandpa probably sticks to scotch - since everyone knows that "the war" (Any war. All wars. Even the ones that happened before Grandpa was born) drives him to the bottle, which he now only drinks from when watching sports. Which is why he's always watching sports. And why people buy him more sports for Christmas and then complain that he drinks too much, especially on Christmas day.

I share all this to make one very self-serving Christmas gift recommendation that will deliver happiness and joy to anyone who receives it. It is my holiday pick this year, and my Hasky.com gift recommendation. It is gender neutral, ageless, ranges in price from free up to $1 million (I imagine, though I've never personally seen one that expensive), and will last forever if cared for and talked about and shared as widely as possible. The gift to give this Christmas, my friends, is the gift of books! Words. Stories. Lives. We all live them. We all read them. A few of us even try to write them.  And, after all, nothing says "I know you" better than the perfect book. Nothing says "I wanted to get you something you would enjoy and share and appreciate " like the perfect book. Nothing says "I listen to you when you talk to me about your interests" like the perfect book. And nothing says "You're not a generic, stereotypical Mom/Dad/Someone with Everything Coworker Girlfriend/Wife Boyfriend/Husband Teenager Family Friends Grandma/Grandpa Kids College Student" like the perfect book.

So while I love - and will continue to shop at - Amazon, I encourage you to give the people in your life at least one gift that acknowledges how much they mean to you this year. Give each of them a book! And if you need a book recommendation for the Moms/Dads/Someones with Everything Coworkers Girlfriends/Wives Boyfriends/Husbands Teenagers Family Friends Grandmas/Grandpas Kids College Students in your life -- ask them. I bet most of them will be only to happy to help you give them something they will love.

Happy holidays -- and happy reading!!

Til next time,

~ Hasky

Everything I am thankful for ... I learned from my Schnoodle

As Thanksgiving approaches this week, I have been thinking a lot about gratitude.  What it means to me.  Where it shows up in my life.  How I express it.  I realize that I am grateful for so many people and so many things, and that my life is blessed in more ways than I can count.  Though it is often easy to focus on the things I am trying to fix or the relationships I would like to improve, I think Thanksgiving is a perfect time to sit back and simply reflect on what feels good and brings me joy and peace.

By now you are well acquainted with Beckett, my Wonder Schnoodle, so no shock that he rises to the very top of my gratitude list this year (as he will, I imagine, every year from this point on).  But I realized, as I watched him eat his way through his latest chew toy last night, that everything I have learned from him has made my gratitude list this year.  Some of the lessons he has taught me are simple, and some are so complex that I have a hard time wrapping my head around them or putting them into words.  But either way, his presence in my life is a daily reminder of just how wonderful the unexpected can be, and of how blessings can occasionally appear in the most unlikely places - even in a rescue shelter.

So, here is this year's gratitude list with a unique twist.  I like to call it "Everything I am thankful for I learned from my Schnoodle":

1.  Life should be all about fun!  What's wrong with that?  Why should I have to schedule it or time it or ration it?  Why can't I just have it?  After all, FUN is everywhere!  In a stray sock, a new bone, a fluttering leaf, a loud squeaky toy.  All I have to do is walk a few feet and fun will be waiting in some form or other.  How easy and awesome is that?

2. I eat when I'm hungry.  I stop when I'm satisfied.  I see nothing wrong with eating a treat when I have done something well (or two treats when I have done something really well!).  I don't criticize my mom for rewarding me with food - I just do more of what she wants so I can have ... more rewards. (Don't have to be a math major to figure this one out, people.)  Food keeps me alive so I can have ... yup, you guessed it ... more fun.  (See #1 above for more details on this).

3. Breathing is important.  And not that hurried, shallow nonsense that most humans do because they're always so busy talking and yelling and worrying and rushing.  When I breathe, I breathe from my belly, deep, full breaths that fill my lungs and then slowly leave.  It's why I can run and chew and bark and jump for hours upon hours while my poor mom alternates between hyperventilating and barely breathing as she hurries through life looking at that time-telling thing on her wrist.  She looks at that a lot.

4. When I don't feel well, I nap.  When I am tired, I nap.  When I feel like napping, I nap.  Sleep restores me.  I need it.  So I take as much as I can, whenever and wherever I can.  It repairs my muscles and replenishes my energy and makes me a much happier, much more pleasant Schnoodle to be around.  If I loaded my plush bed up with lap tops and remote controls and books like my mom stacks on her bed, I'm pretty sure I'd suffer from chronic insomnia.  And while I'm at it, if the television is on, my brain is on, too.  Sleep.  It's what the body is supposed to do.

5. I love people!  Sometimes I bark at them, sometimes I lunge at them, sometimes I size them up, sometimes I circle them.  Depends on the person.  Depends on how the person treats me.  But I always give people the benefit of the doubt, since I am usually pretty sure they show up because they are interested in getting to know me better.  And most people are kind.  The mean ones eventually go away, and if they don't, well, then I can growl and hide.  But why growl and hide before I know why they're there?  Maybe they just want to play fetch and give me a cookie.  Why would I bark away THAT opportunity?!

6. I don't speak English, so people need to show me they love me.

7. I appreciate people who are willing to sit on the floor so I can look into their eyes and who don't make me struggle and jump to reach their level.

8. Home is where I live and family is who I love and who loves me.  Even though my mom doesn't look like me, she chose me.

9. It's not good going through life following people.  It's good to be a leader, ahead of the crowd. Bold. Confident.  Even loud, when the situation calls for it.  My mom is a bit of a follower at times.  She once told me that "Neutering is just what good puppy parents do, Beckett."  What good parents?  I want to meet these so called "good parents"!  Followers, the whole lot of them.  And look how that ended up for me!

10. Money can't buy everything.  Sure, it bought me lots of medical care and toys and food and daycare, but  sometimes cuddling with my person is the most priceless part of my day.  (Sometimes.  Because I did just get a cool new bone, and it's perfectly ok to love that, too!)

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Til next time,
~ Hasky and Beckett

And speaking of healthy diets -- don't forget your pets!

Yesterday's post about Chinese food therapy has me thinking about Beckett's diet, too. After some research, I am considering the alternative dog food recipe below. Even though I buy him the healthiest "bagged food" I can find, I still don't like that I either have to choose minimal ingredients (and therefore minimal nutrients) or lots of nutrients with the added ingredients I don't want him ingesting.  And, bonus:  he likes every ingredient in this!

Bella's Alternative Dog Food

YIELD: 20 Servings   PREP: 10 mins COOK: 60 mins READY IN: 1 hr 10 mins

Ingredients

6 Cups Water
3 Cups Brown rice
4 Stalks Celery Chopped
3 Large carrots Chopped
1/4 Cup Olive oil
1 Pack Chicken gizzards Find these in the deli
1 Pack Chicken hearts Find these in the deli
2 Bone marrow bones Find these in the deli
Instructions
In a large pot, bring water to boil.
Add rice and turn down to simmer. Cook for 35 minutes.
Add gizzards, hearts, celery, and carrots into pot. Add a cup of water. Cover and cook for an additional 25 minutes, or until carrots are soft.

I can't imagine handing anything chicken-adjacent, but I also don't think it's healthy to inflict my vegetarianism on my puppy, who needs the protein. Even so, I would LOVE a chicken gizzard/heart alternative (for oh so many reasons!) that would be just as healthy for him, so please share away.

Bon appetit - to you and your canines!

~ Hasky

~ Another Wordless Wednesday ~

Happy Wednesday!  

And welcome to your weekly opportunity to do all the talking.

Use the image below to talk about absolutely anything that comes to mind. 

Until next Wednesday,
~ Hasky

Pleasure Proxy

Today is "New Bone Day" at casa de Haskins. And as I sit here trying to write while listening to Beckett indulge in his fresh out-of-the-bag rawhide, I am wondering where I can find a human rawhide equivalent.  Something that makes me as happy and content and excited to be alive as Beckett's weekly treat does for him.  I am also wondering whether I selfishly give Beckett these little moments of enjoyment because most of my own happiness is vicariously derived. Usually, I find contentment in watching others have fun, and I enjoy the osmotic excitement I feel when my "New Bone Day!" announcement brings Beckett running, no matter where he is or what important job he is doing (or mess he is making) elsewhere in the house. Certainly, I want Beckett to be happy for his own sake, and I do believe that his display of lip licking and tail wagging whenever I hold out his new treat prove just how pure and uncomplicated his happiness actually is.  In Beckett's world, "I want something + I get something = I am happy."

But I also admit that in addition to making Beckett happy because I love him, I rather enjoy the simplicity of giving him something that seems to create such a positive reaction.  Because essentially, Beckett has become my pleasure proxy.

Now, I know plenty of people who do things for others at least in part because it fills the "do-er" with a sense of meaning. There is nothing wrong - and everything right - with enjoying a little of the positive energy we share with the world.  So I don't think I am at all unique in my emotional connection (Some might say dependence.  Some might say co-dependence.) to my dog.  After all, he is the being with whom I share my life.  He is where I have invested my time and my money and my energy since I brought him home almost a year ago, when he was nothing more than a seven-pound runt filled with parasites and worms and more medical problems than I could have imagined. While many people's children and partners occupy this central space in their lives, I have chosen to place my beautiful little Schnoodle there instead, so it makes sense that I am interested in what he likes, concerned about what upsets him, amused by his quirks and habits, and completely tuned into his abrupt shifts in mood or behavior.  But the interesting element to all this is that as time goes by, I am realizing that more often than not, Beckett's antics and his temperament are actually reactions to me.  So as convoluted as it sounds, as I key into what is going on with him, I am really connecting with something in myself.  This became painfully clear recently when, as Beckett and I were playing fetch, he grabbed his toy from my hand and accidentally bit into my finger, breaking skin and drawing a pretty significant amount of blood.  More shocked than hurt, I yelled without thinking: "OUCH!  DAMN IT Beckett!" which sent him running to his crate with his tail between his legs and his head down.  Fortunately, it took only seconds to reassure him, as I sat petting and hugging him, that I was okay, that I wasn't angry, and that he was not a bad boy. But my ability to scare and worry him without even thinking about the power that holds amazed me.  What's more, Beckett's refusal to leave my side for the rest of the night was both a sweet gesture and a sad reminder that I do influence him more than I ever realized. And more than I ever thought possible.

So now, even as I marvel at the pleasure I take in watching Beckett work his way through this rawhide bone, convinced that his excitement makes me as happy as watching other people eat satisfies my appetite, or seeing parents and their children at the park warms that small part of me that always longed for a family of my own, I wonder if perhaps Beckett's pure, uncomplicated happiness is actually a response to my "New Bone Day" excitement.  Maybe it is all in how we present ourselves to those who care most about us - When we hurt, they feel concerned. When we are happy, they feel a sense of joy on our behalf.  And when we are angry - well, they may run and hide at first, but generally, they care enough to stick by us until we stop bleeding and can honestly say that we are going to be alright.

I guess maybe that is what love is all about.  And I guess that the pleasure proxy goes both ways, regardless of whom we choose to share our lives with.  I am much more aware of the impact my volume and tone of voice have on Beckett now, and he seems to like the gentle, positive, upbeat tones best - so that is where I try to stay.  After all, it's hard to do anything but smile while you're announcing "New Bone Day!" to a puppy who has learned - from you - that this is what happiness feels like.

I would love to know what your pet(s) have taught you - about yourself, about life in general.  What are some of the ways you connect with your pet(s)?  What instincts do they have about you and vice versa?  Share here!

Until next time,
~~ Hasky

Lightening up with Beckett

A friend of mine recently posted the above picture on my Facebook wall.  While he and I saw each other evey day in highschool, it is only through the power of social media that we managed to reconnect after almost twenty years of lost contact.  Even so, this photograph reminded me that although many of us now choose to communicate our daily thoughts and actions in the form of posts and threads and tags and tweets, we often convey so much more than the standard "140 characters or less" restrictions allow us to type into tiny internet boxes.

The whole truth is, my recent journey through pet adoption has proven to be my greatest "Lighten Up" challenge to date -- and I have shared the daily details on Facebook.  Last fall, I wasn't sure I was ready for a puppy or could care for one by myself, so I debated and made my customary pro/con lists and researched and talked to other pet owners.  My allergies made the hypoallergenic poodle breed a wise and necessary choice, even though poodles, from what I was hearing, were "energetic" at best, "fiercely destructive" at worst.  But none of that seemed to matter the moment I saw my puppy on Petfinder.com -- I instantly knew I was going to bring him home.

Listed under the name "Aruba," the adorable little Schnoodle (Schnauzer/Poodle mix) I decided to name Beckett, after my favorite writer, was a rescue at a shelter about an hour from my home.  Although I expected him to have the customary tapeworms and fleas and hyper energy of most rescue dogs living in close quarters and fighting with other animals for food and attention, I had no idea what I was in for.  Beckett had hookworm.  Tapeworm.  Roundworm.  He suffered from what I would later learn was chronic Giardia, a nasty, hard to cure intestional parasite that led to a refusal to eat or sleep and caused frequent vomitting and diarrhea. He had difficulty with housetraining, a hatred of the crate I struggled to convince myself was not, in fact, abusive captivity, and more than anything, he was completely aware of my refusal to bond with him, so he seemed to take absolute pleasure in destroying our surroundings for sport.  I cried almost daily as his health deteriorated, his weight dropped, his energy came and went - mostly went - and my bank account reduced itself by hundreds of dollars every week.  At one point, my kitchen counter held seven bottles of prescription meds, only one of them mine.  (And therefore, only one of them covered by insurance.)  Basically, my attempt to lighten up, to rescue a beautiful animal and give him a loving home, to find companionship for myself, and to prove that I could unconditionally love and be loved by another living being, seemed to be failing.  I seemed to be failing.  And I was filled with regret and sadness. Yet no matter how often I thought about returning Beckett to the rescue, or how hard I tried to convince myself that he would be better off with a family of four in a huge home with a huge yard and a huge bank account, he was mine and I couldn't imagine giving up on him.  Or myself.

And then something happened.  Not to Beckett, but to me. It wasn't an "all of a sudden" sort of thing, more like a gradual shift that I only noticed once in awhile, when I stopped to realize I hadn't cried or indulged in one of my signature germophobic freak-outs in days. In the absence of lightening up, I was actually starting to grow up.  Even if only a little.  I began to look at my decision to adopt Beckett as a conscious choice I made, rather than something that was thrust upon me by an unidentifiable, unknown force. Before I got Beckett, I had fully intended for him to share my life, but when the four-legged reality actually walked into my house, I turned into a three year-old who refused to share her toys.  Her snacks.  Her space.  I gated him out of rooms, confined him to linoleum floors only, and structured his time in ways that would force the military to retaliate. I realized, after awhile, that my behavior was not likely to encourage better puppy behavior, and that, more than anything, Beckett's health crisis could not be all about me.  Not if I wanted us both to be stronger, happier, more peaceful beings. He was in pain and he wasn't getting better.  So I did more research.  I found a new, more proactive vet.  I started Beckett on a special diet and put him through seven rounds of Giardia meds (the last of which finally seems to have "taken" as his most recent tests were negative). I enrolled him in doggie daycare and made socializing him at the local park a priority of every weekend and most evenings. 

Sure, I did some crazy things, too, like resorting to puppy pampers to spare my carpets and furniture until the worst of the Giardia ran its course. 

And I learned my lesson the hard way about whether or not Beckett "really needed to be crated" while I was at work. 

But ultimately, I have learned - and am continuing to learn each day - that Beckett, like all puppies, craves boundaries. He does not want to make the rules, he wants to follow them. And, understandably, when left to his own devices, he will do whatever feels good in that moment, whether eating my walls or using my couch as his own personal bathroom


Today marks ten months since Beckett came into my life, and though I continue to grow up, Beckett has actually started to lighten me up as well.  He is a loving, tail-wagging example of how far we have both come, and of how much potential we both have to continue going forward together.  He effortlessly returns the unconditional love I now have for him, and he fancies himself my 25-pound bodyguard whether we are being approached by a 6-foot man in the park or ... a leaf.  Most of all, Beckett makes me laugh.  He makes me smile.  He makes me remember that I am capable and strong and full of love and compassion.

I am thankful every day for the faith I had in both of us, and for my determination to bring this little boy home.  Sharing my life is not so hard after all, and it is actually more rewarding than I ever imagined.

Do you have a funny or frustrating pet story?  How has your pet made your life better, crazier, more rewarding, more exhausting?   Share it all!

Until next time,
~~ Hasky

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