Junior & Me

Junior came into this world homeless while my life was spinning around in chaos. He was born on October 19, 2008. In the fall of 2008 I lost my father, my boyfriend, our apartment, and our dog was hit by a car and taken from us. Needless to say, that time in my life was an overwhelmingly sad period, and I was plodding through each day just trying to make it through to get the next day.
Junior was fortunate enough to have been taken in by a rescue in Kentucky, and his picture put up on their website in hopes of finding him an adopter and a forever home. My mother came across this picture and immediately fell in love.

I mean, how could you not? She decided that a puppy was exactly what I needed in my life, and Junior was adopted. I was equally overwhelmed and excited when she told me this news. Puppies are a lot of work, and I had become content running through a mundane day, followed by a mundane night, leading into the next mundane morning. Regardless, Junior was set to arrive on January 12, 2009. He made the long journey here from Kentucky in a huge trailer pulled by a pick up truck. Having driven to Kentucky myself, I knew what a long trip this was- about 22 hours. We waited patiently for their arrival with a group of other adopters, and when the trucks pulled up the excitement was palpable. They put Junior in my arms, and it was love at first sight for us both.

At this point in the story, I think it is important to share this fact with you - Junior is an American Staffordshire Terrier, one of the three breeds that make up the classification of pitbull.  The American Staffordshire Terrier was recognized as a breed by the American Kennel Club in 1936 and is described by them in the following ways:
"Courageous and strong, the American Staffordshire Terrier (Am Staff)’s athletic build and intelligence make him ideally suited to many dog sports such as obedience, agility, tracking and conformation. He is often identified by his stocky body and strong, powerful head."
"The Am Staff is a people-oriented dog that thrives when he is made part of the family and given a job to do. Although friendly, this breed is loyal to his family and will protect them from any threat. His short coat is low-maintenance, but regular exercise and training is necessary."
"The American Staffordshire Terrier should give the impression of great strength for his size, a well put-together dog, muscular, but agile and graceful, keenly alive to his surroundings. He should be stocky, not long-legged or racy in outline. His courage is proverbial."
 

I have to share a simple fact with you. It is impossible to own a pit bull, and not become an advocate of the breed. A friend of ours had found a pit puppy in a dumpster after a night of drinking at one of his favorite spots, and as he put it "she was the only woman he ever brought with him." Upon getting to know her, and witness their relationship, our love of the breed was born. I acquired a beautiful brindle staffordshire terrier for my boyfriend as a birthday gift, and there are no words to describe how in love with him we were, as well as him with us. Kermit was an amazing dog, and he possessed a unique air of awesomeness that I had never seen. I had researched and researched, and then researched some more before acquiring him due to the stigma that the breed holds, and as Kermit became a part of our lives he carved out a notch in my heart that hadn't been there before.

Kermit was struck and killed by a car in December of 2008. He was a year and a half old. When we lost him at such an early age I was devastated, and tried to come to terms with this loss.  My heart was so broken, that getting another dog was the furthest hing from my mind... until my mom told me that in a few weeks I would again be a mom to a puppy. To say I had mixed emotions would be a colossal understatement. Kermit's passing was such a jagged raw piercing pain, and with everything that I had lost that fall. I was pretty closed off to opening my heart and letting myself get attached to anything again, for the simple logic that I couldn't bear to loose anything else. Fortunately, there is no logic behind love and as the Rolling Stones infamously said "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes well you just might find, you get what you need."
 

When Junior came into my life, I was living in an apartment in Dorchester with roommates I had found on Craig's list. My living space was reserved to one room, although it was the "living room" area of the apartment, so I had it set up as a decent sized studio apartment. To maximize this space, I had purchased a combo bunk bed/futon. I re-arranged the small space to accommodate Junior's house, ie. his crate, and realized that this was not exactly ideal housing for a dog that was estimated to grow into a 65 pound body. When he arrived, he was about 12 pounds of clumsy adorable puppy, and from the first night we spent there until our last night when he weighed in at about 60 pounds, Junior and I slept in the top of my bunk bed in a twin bed. I couldn't have imagined it any other way.
 

I hadn't lived in Boston with Kermit, and was also faced with entirely new prejudices against his breed that I never knew of. Withing Boston city limits, pitbulls are required to be muzzled when outside. Non-compliance with this law would result in being ticketed and fined. Junior and I ventured to the pet store, and I bought a muzzle. It's still in it's original package, because I never had the heart to put it on him.
At this point I need to bore you with a few more facts about pitbulls. There are three dogs that fall under the classification of pitbull: American pitbull terrier, American staffordshire terrier, and staffordshire bull terrier. Annually a group called the American Temperament Test Society, Inc. conducts temperament testing on all breeds of dogs. This is a synopsis on what this non-profit organization does.
 

"Because of breed-specific dog legislation and negative publicity associated with many breeds of dogs, temperament testing has assumed an important role for today's dog fancier. The ATTS Temperament Test provides breeders a means for evaluating temperament and gives pet owners insight into their dog's behavior. It can have an impact on breeding programs and in educating owners about their dog's behavioral strengths and weaknesses as well as providing a positive influence on dog legislation. W. Handel, German Police Dog Trainer, in his article, "The Psychological Basis of Temperament Testing," defines temperament as: "the sum total of all inborn and acquired physical and mental traits and talents which determines, forms and regulates behavior in the environment." The ATTS test focuses on and measures different aspects of temperament such as stability, shyness, aggressiveness, and friendliness as well as the dog's instinct for protectiveness towards its handler and/or self-preservation in the face of a threat. The test is designed for the betterment of all breeds of dogs and takes into consideration each breed's inherent tendencies. The test simulates a casual walk through the park or neighborhood where everyday life situations are encountered. During this walk, the dog experiences visual, auditory and tactile stimuli. Neutral, friendly and threatening situations are encountered, calling into play the dog's ability to distinguish between non-threatening situations and those calling for watchful and protective reactions."
 

You can find specifics on what the test entails on their website. I do want to share with you a few of their findings. The passing average of all dogs in 2011 was 83%. The American Pitbull Terrier passed at 86.4%, the American Staffordshire Terrier passed at 84.2%, and the Staffordshire Bull Terrier passed 89.7% - all above the average passing rate. Here is a list of commonly accepted dogs as pets that rated below and a few on par with the pitbull: American Eskimo, Beagle, Boston Terrier, Boxer, Chinese Crested, Dachshund, Dalmatian, German Shepherd, Golden Retriever, Toy Poodle, and lastly the Portuguese Water dog who is the official dog of the white house, at 77.8%.
 

There are equally as many pro-pitbull websites as there are anti-pitbull websites. When I started this weeks challenge, I began reading through them although I am already familiar with what they both have to say. I felt bogged down just looking at the information they provided. I know it is subjective on each side, and I decided to exclude it from here for that reason, and also to try to keep a leash on my advocacy and the level of preachiness that I would allow into this story. I do feel it necessary to share some of the obstacles you face by owning this breed of dog though, as it is pertinent to my challenge this week.
 

As Junior began to grow, and our relationship developed I found myself emotionally hitting a wall at times, because I really felt like it was impossible for me to fill that void that was left by Kermit. I was too afraid to allow myself to become attached again. The great thing about dogs though, is that they are incapable of acknowledging your baggage, and they just push you forward by being great. Junior is chock full of his own unique awesomeness, and soon that void I had in my heart began filling up against my own better judgement.

A year ago, our lives changed. We left Boston, and moved to Agawam with my mother. I found out I was pregnant, and Jameson joined our family on November 15, 2010. I was entirely unsure how Junior would respond to having a baby in the house. Regardless of his breed, I know families whose dogs were jealous of the baby, not patient, snapped at the child or for whatever reason they had to give up their pets. My mother brought home a blanket that smelled of the baby to prepare him for our arrival, and Junior was over the moon with excitement and joy when we arrived home with Jameson. Now, 6 months later, Junior is still that overjoyed every time he sees Jameson, and he is the only one in the house that is regularly given kisses by Junior. When the baby sleeps in his crib, or swings in his swing Junior lays by him and keeps guard. It is an immense security knowing that Junior in not only as in love with Jameson as we are, but also that he instinctively protects and guards my baby with his loving heart and capable 77 pound body.

The last story I want to share with you is of a recent illness I had. In the middle of February I ran a fever that spiked up and down for several days from normal to 103.8 at it's highest. I thought I had the flu, and laid in bed freezing from the fever. As I lay there, Junior laid with me, spooning his body into mine, and kept me warm while I whimpered in pain. I was finally diagnosed with a kidney infection, and spent three days in the hospital. Before I left, and once again when I came home, my dog lay by my side or at my feet, but always with me while I was not well. Every night I go to sleep, and every morning I wake up Junior is there. Words cannot express the comfort that is felt from 77 pounds of warm, soft puppy love.

 "My goal in life is to be as good of a person my dog already thinks I am." ~ Author Unknown

My challenge this week for the Indie Ink writing challenge was from Alyssa Ammirato and the challenge was "fiction or non-fiction, write about a relationship - of any sort - that succeeded against all odds."   

I love the rain most when it stops

This is my fourth week participating in the Indie Ink writing challenge. My challenge this week is from Debra Elliot and the challenge is "Into life a lot of rain falls." If you live in the same area as me, then you know that this is quite an accurate statement for this past  week. I haven't seen the sun shine since last Friday: that's six straight days of gray skies. I tried to take this weeks challenge in a less literal way than actually writing about the weather, but with all of this rain and it's effect on my psyche I lacked the motivation to write about anything else. As I sit down and ponder this weeks challenge, I am reminded of a song that a best fried of mine started a cd off with that he made me for my thirtieth birthday. It's called "I Love the Rain Most When it Stops" by Joe Purdy. I am totally unfamiliar with this artist yet I am completely in love with this song. Anyone that knows me is aware that indeed I do love the rain most when it stops. This morning I woke up to the baby babbling away through the monitor, and opened my eyes to my dimly lit gray room, and I sighed at the morning. My body aches from the weather as much as my head does. As I attempt to greet the day I am met with resistance from my back, neck, knees, and hands that are newly diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. I drag my aching body from the solace of my bed, and go to scoop up my son from his crib. He looks up at me with a smile brighter than the sun, and for a moment I am content. I change him, grab a bottle, and as I open the shades before settling down on the couch to feed him his breakfast, I am once again underwhelmed by the day. As he eats, I think about what I need to accomplish during the day, what of it requires me to leave my house, and resign myself to the fact that I probably will stay inside in my sweats until tomorrow. As far back as I can remember, this is the way it always has been. I spoke to a therapist about it in the past, and explained how gray days brought about sadness, and after multiple gray days I would succumb to it's overwhelming urges. I find myself in tears for no reason, and the hopelessness is more than I can handle sometimes. The therapist's diagnosis was s.a.d., or seasonal affective disorder. Her advice was special light bulbs from which I found no relief, and when I felt the need to go tanning to substitute some missing vitamin  d. I went yesterday, and for the fifteen minutes I spent in the bed I was in bliss. I felt happy, and relieved. This feeling of relief stayed with me for about an hour, and then  it's effect started to subside, and today I awoke feeling as miserable as I did yesterday. Tomorrow the forecast calls for sun, and I've got my fingers and my toes crossed with the hope that it's true.

Dear diary.....

I've put off writing a response to my challenge this week for the Indie Ink writing challenge as long as I could. As soon as I saw my challenge, I knew what the topic needed to be, but I've been unable to bring myself to sit down and write it. I apologize if this comes out a bit rough and raw, but then again, how could it not be.

November 15, 2010

Happy Birthday Jameson! After 10 months of waiting to see your beautiful face, we were not disappointed. The contractions got to be more than I could handle aqt about 2:30 a.m., and I woke up Miah to tell him that it was time to go. I phoned my parents, got my bag that we had packed, and we were off to the hospital. I was thrilled to learn when we arrived that I was indeed in active labor, 3 centimeters dilated, and was admitted and wheeled up to our room. My mom and dad arrived around 4, right after my epidural was administered. I was grateful that the pain was manageable when they arrived, so that they didn't have to see me like that. My labor progressed quickly, and when the time came my dad retreated to the waiting room to hear the news of your arrival. Miah held my leg, and my mom cut the chord, and we welcomed you into the world at 12:29 pm. I held you and fell in love. While the nurses cleaned and swaddled you, my mother fetched my father. He came into the room, ruffled my hair, and told me how proud he was of me. He crossed the room, and Miah put you into his arms and he gazed at you with wonder and amazement. Tears filled his eyes as he too fell in love with his grandson. It was the best day of my life.

October 10, 2015

After 10 years in the making, today was my wedding day. I've never felt more beautiful than I did standing at the end of the aisle in my dress with my father. I've dreamed since I was a kid of him walking me down the aisle, and giving me away, and it was better than in my dreams. The ceremony was simple, the vows were our own, and then we kissed and were husband and wife. We took way too many photos, and then it was time for the reception. Everyone has always told me that they remember their wedding as a blur, and tonight I know what they mean. The food, the toasts, the guests passed like a dream. I'll never forgot the how amazing Miah looked, waiting for me at the end of the aisle... so beautiful and perfect like someone had drawn him standing there. I'll also never forget dancing with my father. With Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" playing in the background, he told me that I was lovely. He said he was so proud of the women that I had become, and through teary eyes he beamed at me and told me he loved me. Aside from the birth of my son, it was the happiest day of my life.

September 14, 2008

I was having a lazy day at home with Miah, sitting in my pajamas watching the "E True Hollywood Story" of Hugh Laurie. I heard a car door slam, and looked out the window. I saw my mother getting out of the car with my godfather, and his wife. I was rather confused by them just showing up without warning, since I lived 2 hours away, and went into the other room to give Miah a heads up that they were here. I opened the door, and knew something was wrong. My mother looked me in the eye, and said that my father had died that morning. I screamed at the top of my lungs, ran from the room, and threw up. I took a few minutes, and I mustered up all the composure that I could and went back out to face them. I learned that with no forewarning my father had taken his own life that morning while my mother was at work. Later that night, with plans to travel home the next morning to start making arrangements, I sat in the dark trying to drown my sorrows with beer and trying to make sense of something that didn't make sense at all. The thoughts that kept invading my mind were these: that my father would never meet my children; that I had no one to walk me down the isle at my wedding.  Up to this point, today was the worst day of my life.

My challenge this week was from FlamingNyx and the challenge was
"Rewrite your history by changing one definitive moment."

I'll be right here waiting for you...

This is my second week participating in the Indie Ink writing challenge and I was challenged by cope. I'm going to post the challenge after my response, because I am curious if I was hit or miss on this challenge.

  I wake up on the third morning to the still uncomfortable silence. I blink into the harsh sunlight. I wonder why I didn't have the sense to draw the curtains before I went to sleep, but then again if I had gone "to sleep" in any conventional fashion, then maybe I would have thought to. It took a concoction of bourbon, mixed with a few klonopin and an ambien chaser to put me down last night.
 

As my eyes blink in the morning, I sit up and physically try to shake off the remnants of my new night time ritual. I long again for that short, blissful moment I have when I'm just waking and everything is okay... before I roll over to reality, and to the emptiness which knocks the wind out of me like a kick to the stomach. I long for the security blanket of sleep, clinging to it's comfort as a child does. I lean back into the soft, forgiving pillows. The smells of the bed envelope me, and I breathe them in.
 

Inhale... faint smells of shampoo...exhale...hair matted and bloody... inhale... faint smells of after shave... exhale... that face, eyes wide and mouth gasping for air... inhale... smells growing fainter with each passing day... exhale... the vivid recollection of that night, and of all it’s horror. The bed is almost a living, breathing reminder of the life and breath that no longer exist. The fading smells are my penance, and the emptiness from which they stem the result of my crime.
 

I hear a car outside, and every time I do I'm certain it's the police, and that they've finally come for me. I take the bottle of klonopin off of the nightstand, and pop two in my mouth still dry from sleep. I professionally maneuver them down my throat without the aid of water. Their affect is not immediate, but still I feel calmer knowing of their impending relief. I feel confident enough to peel myself out of bed and sneak a peek out of the window so I can see the blue and red flashing lights and am somewhat grateful by their absence. Then again, I know the relief that would come from their arrival, and the knowledge that this part of the nightmare has drawn to a close.
 

They have to come. I need them to come. They need to put an end to this chapter so I can move onto the next. I am too much of a coward to call them myself, but I also smart enough to know that the arrival of some form of law authority is immanent.
 

I retreat into the bathroom, and take solace in the safety of the surrounding ceramic tiles, and the stability of the shiny metal fixtures around me. I turn on the water, letting it run hot, and watch the steam surround me and fog up the mirror. I am grateful that I can no longer see myself in it. Grateful that I cannot see what I have become.
 

I grab my toothbrush from it’s holder, glancing at the second toothbrush next to it, and brush my mouth clean of the film the pills have left behind. I step into the shower hoping to achieve the impossible- to physically cleanse myself of this nightmare with simple soap and water. I grab the shampoo that is not mine, then the soap. As their smells tortuously fill my senses, I am reminded of a happier time before the twists and turns of this life had led us fatefully to that night... where three days ago I killed the we and became just me.
 

I step out of the shower, grab a clean towel, and dry off. I wrap myself in his robe, and venture back into the bedroom. Exhausted from the shower, I pour myself a morning glass of bourbon and pop another klonopin. The bourbon clashes with the taste of toothpaste in my mouth, and I realize that my night time ritual is taking over my morning. Soon it will rule my day and I think "Fuck it, why not?”
 

As the warm fuzzies set in equally from the pills and the booze, I sit by the window. I wait and I watch for them to come for me, and rescue me from this self inflicted hell on earth that I am living in now.  

My challenge this week was:

A first person story in which the character has just committed a murder, but you cannot mention anything about the murder, death, motives, the victim etc. etc.