Friday, May 28, 2010

Hair Donation for Gulf Oil Spill

I have not cut my hair in about 3 years.  As such, it is quite long.  I briefly caught something on the am news about places that are accepting hair donations to help with the oil spill.  I am calling on my blogger friends to point me in the right direction.  Are there any places near Brooklyn, NY that participate in this hair donation program?  I would love to donate my hair to this cause.  It is heartbreaking thinking about the sea life that is dying because of this oil spill.  This is such a MAJOR disaster and yet I don't see any major coverage on the news about how the "little people" like us can help.  What are your thoughts on this? 

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Dr. Wayne Dyer and My Search For Passion

Dr. Wayne Dyer said: "Don’t die with your music still inside you. Listen to your intuitive inner voice and find what passion stirs your soul.”   I think my inner voice must have laryngitis because it certainly isn't doing any talking, especially to me.  I lay in bed at night and do my best to strike up a conversation with my inner voice.  You hoo, inner voice...are you there?  No answer.
Maybe the problem is that I don't have any music inside me.  Lord knows I have no rhythm.  I dance like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld and sing like William Hung, the "She Bangs" guy from American Idol.  I don't know what the answer is.  All I know is that I feel as though I am missing something.  Like I am meant to do more.  How does one go about discovering what their true passion is?  Although I love animals I cannot allow them to become my passion for fear of becoming a hoarder (It runs in the family.  Read my Mother's Day post).  I will always do what I can to help animals but refuse to cross the line between "helper" and "hoarder".   So, I am open for any suggestions.  Please weigh in and let me know how I stop my "inner voice" from giving me the cold shoulder. 

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Coney Island Freak Show Exhibit or Science Experiment?

One of the rescues I remember the most was that of a black pug.  A goodhearted bus driver observed the frightened little dog dodging traffic on a busy avenue in Brooklyn.  The kind gentleman stopped his bus and plucked the dog to safety.  Although he knew he could get in trouble he took him on the bus anyway.  The driver thought that one of the passengers along the route might recognize the dog and alert the owner.  No such luck.  Although he kept the dog with him on the route for the remainder of the day nobody knew who the dog belong to.  The man could not keep the dog himself and at the end of his shift was unsure what to do with him.  Suddenly he remembered a store on his route that took their dogs to work with them every day and thought that the owners would be interested in another dog.  That store belong to my family.

As soon as the bus driver walked through the door we made a fuss over the funny looking dog in his arms.  The dog was so ugly that he was cute.  He looked like Ernest Borgnine.  (No offense to Mr. Borgnine).  The dog was pudgy, his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth and he snorted with every breath he took.  Of course, we fell in love with him.  We assured the bus driver that we would keep the dog until we located the owner or until we  found him a loving new home.

Although I wanted to name him Ernie (my apologies again Mr. Borgnine) my family out voted me and the little black pug became "Pugsly".  While we did our best to locate his owner, our efforts were not successful.  As such, we began a search to find him a new loving home.  Shortly after his arrival Pugsly was doing his business in the yard when I observed him scooting his bottom along the concrete.  When he began to walk normal again it appeared as if he rubbed himself raw and that he was bleeding.  I immediately took him to the vet.  The vet examined him and assured me that although Pugsly was fine, he was no ordinary dog.  It seems that what I had assumed were his testicles rubbed raw (because that is the spot where testicles on a normal dog would be) were not testicles at all.  It was a vagina!  What???  The vet explained that Ernie...ooops I mean Pugsly was a hermaphrodite!  Talk about shock!  He explained that Pugsly was bleeding and rubbing himself (herself?) because due to the unusual formation of his private parts the area became dry and needed to be lubricated.  So, I was sent on my way with doggie lubricant.

OK, so are you wondering about the title to my post yet?  Well, it seems that hermaphrodite dogs are very rare.  Or at least that is what I was hearing.  That being the case made it next to impossible to find a loving home for Pugsly.  Oh I tried.  But was shocked and sickened by the people who were interested in adopting him.  One man wanted to put him on display in the local freak show.  He was actually salivating as he talked about the money he would make from putting Pugsly on display.  NEXT.....

The next person asked if Pugsly could get pregnant.  They thought it would be cool to have a whole litter of hermaphrodite dogs, not to mention the money they would make from selling the puppies.  NEXT....

I thought I had finally found a good home for Pugsly when a young veterinarian came in to adopt him.  I though she would be a perfect match because her veterinary expertise enabled her to give Pugsly the care that his "unique" condition required. (I mean really, who wants to lubricate their dog every day?)  Well, I thank god I did not let her adopt him.  Imagine my utter shock when she informed me she wanted to do experiments on him!!  Now, I do not know if that meant he would survive the experiments or be euthanized afterwards but I was NOT about to find out.  I would not let her get her hands on him.  THE SEARCH STOPS HERE.

So, painfully aware that poor Pugsly's only options were to become a side show attraction or a science experiment I stopped searching for the perfect home.  It seems that he already had found one.  We would be his guardians.  Pugsly remained with us for many, many years.  He went to work with us every day, enjoyed the company of our other dogs and looked forward to greeting all the customers with loud snorts and plenty of licks.  Pugsly lived a long, happy, pudgy, snorting life!  Sadly, he passed away about 6 years ago of old age.  Nothing more.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Mother's Day

Although I am truly blessed to be a mother to two great kids I can't help but feel a little blue this Mother's Day.  Growing up I had the best mother in the world.  There were not many kids my own age in my neighborhood and my mother filled in for the lack of kids to play with.  We played games, went to the movies, went shopping.  She was my best friend.  Even after I was old enough to go to school and make friends outside of the neighborhood I shared a special bond with my mother.  Now, many years later I no longer have that bond.  I mourn the loss of my mother but not because she has died.  In fact she is very much alive and lives only a few houses away from me. 

So what caused the separation between me and my mother?  Unfortunately, she became a hoarder of both animals and merchandise and also became (continued to be?) an enabler of my brother's heroin addiction.  In a few short years she took in over 30 cats.  Due to her out of control spending and my brother constantly stealing from her purse, she lost my childhood home to foreclosure and caused the business that she and my father worked so hard to establish go bankrupt.  Slowly but surely her behaviors caused my parents to divorce and drove a wedge between us. Although she was once a tremendous part of my 10 year olds life her sickness has taken her away from him.  She is no longer involved in my children's lives and in fact has only seen my 2 year old a few times.  It is such a tragedy because I know the mother I "USED" to have would have enjoyed every minute of her grandchildren.  I tried to get her to go to therapy.  In fact, we went together twice and then she gave up.  The therapist told me he could not help her because she refused to be honest with him.  I called her private physician who advised me that "my mother had a death wish because she sabotages her health every chance she gets".  Although she is an insulin dependant diabetic she chooses only to eat canned fruit, king sized chocolate bars and loaves of white bread.  Yes,  I said loaves of white bread.  Desperate, I even called Adult Protective Services.  They were no help. I have tried other measures to get her the help that she needs but they have failed.  At this point I have given up.   

So, Mom spent Mother's day with my addict brother.  The brother who sells her pain meds on the street and takes her social security check every month.  Yes, I mourn the loss of my mother but at least I can go to sleep at night with a clear conscience because I know I did everything I personally could do to get her the help she needs.  The mother from my childhood would be proud.