I Wish You Wings

Pearl: Always in our hearts

You always were a unique little soul
sometimes shy, other times bold

To all the others, you were a queen
a fairy tail, a canine dream

You were irresistible, those big brown eyes,
who could say no, although I tried.

You could piss me off, you could make me laugh
I'd finally give in, when you begged for half

You weren't the brightest, but you were the best
a little pearl, and a lot of jest

I thought you'd be here, long chihuahua days
but when you left, my heart went ablaze

Tell me did I fail you, or were you designed to fly
one last adventure, under the autumn sky

I wish you wings, and a chance to roam
and when you're ready, I wish you home.

Loving Ms Ruby

I've spent all my life running. Not in the physical sense, obviously, or I'd be a hell of a lot skinnier than I am now.

No, I've been running from something I've never quiet been able to see. I remember being afraid as long as I can remember. Not just a little afraid, like when you're watching a scary movie and you know the killer is behind the idiot actress and you are screaming "turn around!" But an intense fear that hits with no notice and takes my breath away. I am not afraid of anything tangible. If was, that would be a fairly easy phobia to fix, however, the fear comes from deep inside. 

I was never very normal. My mom said I was the happiest kid in the world until I was about 3 years old. Then I was sad. And scared.

A few years ago, while still in California, a little girl in my neighborhood brought me a chihuahua. She said she saw a family throw him and another little dog out of their car. She was able to catch this little guy but the other one ran away. She asked me if I could take him. I named him Rusty. I went looking for the other little dog, but didn't see her that night.

The next day, I saw her across the street sleeping on the front patio of an abandoned house. I put Rusty on a leash and he and I walked to the abandoned house. At first, when she saw me, she ran. Then she realized that Rusty was with me. Her fear turned into shear delight. Her tail wagged because her friend had returned. I sat down in front of the house with my back to her and let her and Rusty visit. After a while, I stood up and sat down where she had originally been sleeping. She ran into the bushes and hid. Slowly, I stood up and Rusty and I started walking back to my house. He kept stopping, looking back at his sister, his friend as if to tell her "come on, its okay." She followed us home.

I found a can of cat food and opened it for her to eat. She was too afraid, so I hand-fed some to Rusty then handed her the can. She was so hungry. As she ate, I slowly put my finger around her collar. When she was finished, I picked her up. She was so scared. Just like me.

I told her, no one will ever hurt you again. I named her Ruby. Even after all these years, she still has to be reassured sometimes that she is safe.

But she trusts me. She trusts me more than I trust myself. I wonder if she still has dreams about what her life was before. The terror she must have felt to bring her to the point that she feels that she must run or fight. Or maybe she just dreams about being safe. Maybe she wonders what little goodie she'll find in her next meal, or what treats momma Jamie will bring home from PetSmart next.

Its ironic how I can be that gentle heart that makes her feel safe, yet feel so scared myself. I wonder, who is my gentle hands? Where is my safety? My peace?

I know the answer to that, but I'm still learning to trust again. Like Ruby, I want someone to hold me and make everything feel okay, but I'm still having nightmares on an abandoned front porch. I still hide in the bushes. 

What's amazing is that Miss Ruby and I have changed roles, in a way. She is good at taking care of me. Of all my animals, she is the one who sleeps beside me in bed. When I am sad and crying, it is Miss Ruby, who comforts me. I sleep well knowing that she is alert and keeping an eye on things. I've even given her a job that she takes very seriously. I told her that she is in charge of making sure the cats never come near the bird or gerbil cages. As the other dogs spend the day outside or in their crates when I'm gone, Ms Ruby is on guard. And boy, is she good at what she does. 

It has been good to watch her transition from a frightened chihuahua, to a confident protector. She has even learned to reach out to other people and for that, I am proud of her. 

Like Miss Ruby, I am changing slowly. I have reached out to My Protector, my Gentle Hands. And though I still tread lightly, my confidence grows. Miss Ruby learned that not all humans are alike. Not all humans will hurt her. And I have learned that the portrait of God that many paint, is not always accurate. He is a gentle, loving being that does not want to hurt me, but to hold me and care for me as I care for Miss Ruby. 

And I am trying to let him.

Fur Night Dreams

                                                                  

I sought a place

to disappear

I didn't know why

I didn't know where

the instinct burned

It begged me go

It hastened now

Quick speed bestow

Shivered shoulders

Watch my back

A hunted prey's worst nightmare

No goosebumps did I lack

Searching quickly

No hiding place to find

No weapon to defend

No sweet peace of mind

Listening for my predator

A monster with evil breath

I heard silence loudly trumpeting

As I waited for my death

My heart beat a thousand lives

My mouth dry as desert eve

As the clock ticked away the minutes

For the moment I did believe

In my dreams I had seen the future

The fur the eyes the blood

And I knew that I was next

Fear filled me like a flood

Then finally it arrived

My terror choking hour

Remember me when I die

With a simple sweet white flower

Around the corner it came

The shadow large and pressing

I asked for forgiveness for all my sins

And begged for last rite blessings

Then expecting heaven to say

It is finished, it is written

Walking toward me limping came

A tiny little kitten

Her leg, the fur all matted

The blood mixed with road dust

Her eyes begged for kindness

My heart begged her to trust

For that which had brought me terror

Didn't look so scary now

Just another soul who was broken

      And needed me somehow

Angel in a Fur Coat

This is us. You and me. You, so patient when I hold onto you so tight when I am scared and lonely. You, who sleep on my tummy and keeps the boogie man away with your growls. My knight in furry armor. My ninja puppy.

You know me so well, yet still love me. You have seen me cry a thousand tears, yet never get tired of licking them away. You resist your urge to play, just to sit in silence with me.

You know that I am my loneliest when sitting in a crowd. Since we were little, we have hidden in the corners together, you and me. Afraid someone would notice us, yet sad because no one did. Never belonging, always longing.

We have watched the world pass by as we found a way to live in ours. Humor in the little things. A bug that made you jump, a wet leaf that I slipped on. We played when the world was sad and was sad while the world played. But we were together.

You left for a time, and I thought I would die, not feeling you. I didn't breathe for many years till you found a way home. Although your body is different, your spirit lives in another such as you, and sleep beside me now.

When I was shattered, you were whole. Your kindness brought me back from the darkness so many times. You never judged me when walking outside was terrifying, but encouraged me to try, if for nothing more, then because you needed to potty.

I know there have been times when I have looked at you while weeping and begged you to tell me what was wrong with me. Why wasn't I like the others who could walk in a room without feeling like they had to hide under a table? Why did it hurt just to breathe? And you just stayed close to me until I was okay again.

Cuddles and Jamie

Every other I have rescued has been because you rescued me first. When I was unacceptable, even to myself, you accepted me. The unwanted, unloved, perfectly imperfect little ones speak to my heart, because you opened that channel so I can heal them the way you healed me.

Thank you for all you have been to me and all you will continue to be. I hope I have been as good of a friend and shown you the same unconditional love you have shown me.  I have always been afraid to let my heart grow too much , but you found a way to let the sun in and it couldn't help it. So I have loved and been loved.

Even as we both age and find a little gray around the whiskers, our hearts beat together as they did the day we met so many years ago. How I still am tripped by my weaknesses, and you still strong enough to catch me, I do not know. I just know it is and it always will be, for you are my angel in a fur coat. 

Ruby and Jamie

Of Butterflies and Chihuahuas

I saw a butterfly today. In the midst of my exhaustion, frustration, and anger, it lighted onto my drive-thru window at work. It seemed to be greeting me. It stopped me for just a moment...and reminded me of the peace I have missed this week.

It has been a week of emotional turmoil... anger... flashbacks...rage....and rawness. Old wounds have been torn open and are just beginning to heal. I feel as if my heart has been ripped out of my chest only for me to grab it back and hold it close. I struggled with laying my armor down. I want to fight, to hurt, to feel. I am just a child trying to be a warrior. I hold my shield and my sword with deft determination and I stand at the ready. And I find myself beyond exhaustion because I cannot stand on guard at all times. 

And it was in this moment a butterfly visited me. If you want me to lay my armor down, give me something that needs a hug, that needs love. Give me a person or little critter that needs comfort, and for a time, I will lay the shield and sword down in order to make that little one feel safe.  This warrior is a comforter and when she cannot be a comfort, she picks up her battle gear in order to fight off whatever may harm this little one. In many ways, I am a momma bear. 

Someone once yelled at me for trying to save so many animals. In my rage, I screamed, "I cannot save myself, but I can save them! I can't NOT feel terrified, but I can make them feel safe! I'll be damned if I will abandon them." And so I didn't. 

But what did I feel I needed to be saved from? From terror? From panic? From self-hate and self-doubt? 

As I have said in previous blogs, I have struggled with self hate since the days I knew I was different and unacceptable in God's eyes. At least that was the message the church beat into my brain. And so that self hate gets internalized to where you feel you deserve to hurt. And so you find all manners of ways to fulfill that. 

It was my chihuahua, Ms Ruby, who saved me from myself earlier this week. Ms Ruby understands fear and so she and I understand each other. It hurts her and frightens her to see me when I am in those moments. I lay in bed last Thursday night with my knife. I don't like to leave evidence behind, so I have learned to force the knife into my palm causing pain but knowing that the evidence will fade. As I did this, Ms. Ruby, her eyes full of such love and hurt came to me and put her paw on my arm. She was begging me to stop. And so I did. She crawled into my arms and comforted me. She let me cry. And then she watched over me as I slept.

And now I sit here. Not eating again. Another form of self punishment. The thought of eating sickens me. It is so ironic that a fat girl can have a form of anorexia. Yet here I am. I looked at my face tonight and I saw age, I saw exhaustion. I saw a person who, although her scars are hidden from the outside world, is a soul covered in them.  

I ask myself, how can a person with so much hurt inside, be also full of such gentleness? How can I bring peace and comfort to an animal when I can't seem to bring it to myself? 

I know that growing and healing is painful. And I hurt. I want to be that person that is the gentle one and I want to learn to be gentle to myself. I want the voices from the past who tell me I am worthless to go away.

I want to love me as much as I am capable of loving others. I want to believe my own words when I say  that God loves us just the way we are. I pray that God will help me believe it, for until I believe it myself, I can be of no good to anyone. 

And perhaps it is in butterflies and little chihuahuas, that God reminds us that we are lovable and loved. I certainly hope so.

Letting Go of Teko

I have a cat named Teko. He was given to me by a gentleman in Corona, California because he was an outcast among his cats and was very unhappy. He had the social graces of a stump. From the beginning Teko was a jerk. If you tried to pet him, he would bite. If the other cats tried to get near him, he would fight them. The best I could do for him at the time was to give him his basic necessities and a chance. 

The night we gathered all the animals up to load them for the move to Tennessee, Teko got loose and I couldn't catch him. I feared that I never would and he would be left alone. But I prepared his cage anyway, sat it in the garage, and went to sleep in the truck. I woke sometime during the night and went into the garage. A local stray cat, Raven, decided he was going to move with us and sat in Teko's cage. However, not to far away was Teko and so I casually walked up to him, caught him, and put him in the cage with Raven. And so they both traveled to Tennessee together. 

When we got here, there was no amazing turn around in Teko. In fact, he continued to be a jerk. One day, he escaped out the garage door, and I worried he was gone for good. He moved to the woods above the field behind the house. Every evening, I would see him walk down the field and I would put a bowl of food out for him. 

One thing I have learned about animals with social issues is the best thing I can do for them is to completely ignore them except to provide their basic necessities. It tells an animal that you are not a threat. And that's exactly what I did. I ignored him.

During this time, I decided to try letting out one cat at a time to see  if they would stay on the property. They did, and now everyone is allowed to sit outside and have a cat door to come in when they are ready. During the evenings, I made it a habit to sit outside and read and write. This is "cat time", when all the cats (and the guinea pigs) gather together with Momma Jamie to chill as one family. 

I could often see Teko watching from the woods, and eventually he moved back home. Still I ignored him. Then gradually he began sitting with me in my lounge chair. I still ignored him. Then he started rubbing up against me and I would hold out my hand, but not rub him back. 

Two years later, when I go outside to sit down for "cat time" Teko is the first one to come up to me. He begs to be petted and doesn't bite when I do. We have a relationship built upon years of silent trust. There was no preaching and begging, "Teko, you can trust me!" None of that. I showed him in a way that he could understand, that I was not a threat. 

It was hard to let Teko go and run away from home. I wanted to catch him and bring him home where I knew that he was safe. But I knew that he wouldn't be happy. Not yet. Teko had to find out what made him happy and what was important. He had to miss home, and to look from far away and see that Momma was taking care of the rest of the family and loving them in a way that he wanted to be loved. When he was ready.... he came home.

I can't help but think that this is the same method God used with me this past 15 years. I was an outcast in my own mind. I was angry and would snap at the mere mention of God. So he let me go for a while. He said nothing, but provided for my basic necessities. He watched over me from afar as I watched over Teko as he sat at the edge of the forest. When I came closer, he remained quiet. Then I began to nudge him, to remind him that I was there and wanted to trust him. So he held out his hand to acknowledge that. He showed me that he was not a threat. 

So every evening at "cat time", he joins us. It is a time of meditation, of communing quietly. We still say little, but sit together in the grass just enjoying our time together. I no longer fear being close to him. I am no longer afraid. And always nuzzled in between us, quietly enjoying his own peaceful communion, is my special little teacher, Teko.

Look to the animals and they will teach you.

The Lesson Tinker Taught Me

Sometimes, there are animals who rise above their nature and show the world that it is possible to be at peace with those who are so unlike yourself. Tinker, my little chihuahua/pekingese mix has been doing that her whole life. Since she was a puppy, her close friends always seemed to be from another species. If she wasn't playing with her rat, Caloy, she was playing with her bird, Sago. If any of the other animals had any intention of bothering her friends, she protected them for all she was worth. She still does.

Watching her has taught me a lot. Even when she finds it necessary to growl at another one of the dogs who has gotten a little too close to her buddies, she makes up immediately. She never holds a grudge. After she has her say, the first thing she does is lick the one who she has argued with and flip over submissively as if  to say, "lets be friends again."

And though Tinker is far from perfect, when I see the gentleness she can display, I am amazed. She likes to get into the bird cage often with her life long friend, Sago. I give her a Milkbone to keep her busy, and she inevitably shares it with Sago. And Sago, who has never been able to bond with a human, finds an incredible amount of peace being with Tinker. He will preen her as he would preen a mate, and he will watch over her with undying loyalty. Neither seem to notice that they are so very different.

 I try hard to exhibit the gentleness that Tinker has taught me. Yet, just like Tinker, who has the family temper, I too am imperfect. But I think that if I, one who struggles so much with fears and phobias, can bring peace to another, as Tinker brings to Sago, how wonderful that would be. It would mean that there is hope for all of us. 

Let us all strive to bring peace to just one other no matter how different they are...and pass it on.

Loving Miss Ruby

I've spent all my life running. Not in the physical sense, obviously, or I'd be a hell of a lot skinnier than I am now.

No, I've been running from something I've never quiet been able to see. I remember being afraid as long as I can remember. Not just a little afraid, like when you're watching a scary movie and you know the killer is behind the idiot actress and you are screaming "turn around!" But an intense fear that hits with no notice and takes my breath away. I am not afraid of anything tangible. If was, that would be a fairly easy phobia to fix, however, the fear comes from deep inside. 

I was never very normal. My mom said I was the happiest kid in the world until I was about 3 years old. Then I was sad. And scared.

A few years ago, while still in California, a little girl in my neighborhood brought me a chihuahua. She said she saw a family throw him and another little dog out of their car. She was able to catch this little guy but the other one ran away. She asked me if I could take him. I named him Rusty. I went looking for the other little dog, but didn't see her that night.

The next day, I saw her across the street sleeping on the front patio of an abandoned house. I put Rusty on a leash and he and I walked to the abandoned house. At first, when she saw me, she ran. Then she realized that Rusty was with me. Her fear turned into shear delight. Her tail wagged because her friend had returned. I sat down in front of the house with my back to her and let her and Rusty visit. After a while, I stood up and sat down where she had originally been sleeping. She ran into the bushes and hid. Slowly, I stood up and Rusty and I started walking back to my house. He kept stopping, looking back at his sister, his friend as if to tell her "come on, its okay." She followed us home.

I found a can of cat food and opened it for her to eat. She was too afraid, so I hand-fed some to Rusty then handed her the can. She was so hungry. As she ate, I slowly put my finger around her collar. When she was finished, I picked her up. She was so scared. Just like me.

I told her, no one will ever hurt you again. I named her Ruby. Even after all these years, she still has to be reassured sometimes that she is safe.

But she trusts me. She trusts me more than I trust myself. I wonder if she still has dreams about what her life was before. The terror she must have felt to bring her to the point that she feels that she must run or fight. Or maybe she just dreams about being safe. Maybe she wonders what little goodie she'll find in her next meal, or what treats momma Jamie will bring home from PetSmart next.

Its ironic how I can be that gentle heart that makes her feel safe, yet feel so scared myself. I wonder, who is my gentle hands? Where is my safety? My peace?

I know the answer to that, but I'm still learning to trust again. Like Ruby, I want someone to hold me and make everything feel okay, but I'm still having nightmares on an abandoned front porch. I still hide in the bushes. 

What's amazing is that Miss Ruby and I have changed roles, in a way. She is good at taking care of me. Of all my animals, she is the one who sleeps beside me in bed. When I am sad and crying, it is Miss Ruby, who comforts me. I sleep well knowing that she is alert and keeping an eye on things. I've even given her a job that she takes very seriously. I told her that she is in charge of making sure the cats never come near the bird or gerbil cages. As the other dogs spend the day outside or in their crates when I'm gone, Ms Ruby is on guard. And boy, is she good at what she does. 

It has been good to watch her transition from a frightened chihuahua, to a confident protector. She has even learned to reach out to other people and for that, I am proud of her. 

Like Miss Ruby, I am changing slowly. I have reached out to My Protector, my Gentle Hands. And though I still tread lightly, my confidence grows. Miss Ruby learned that not all humans are alike. Not all humans will hurt her. And I have learned that the portrait of God that many paint, is not always accurate. He is a gentle, loving being that does not want to hurt me, but to hold me and care for me as I care for Miss Ruby. 

And I am trying to let him.