my life in change
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MY LIFE AS A DOG

10/9/2015

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Not to state the obvious but, I love dogs.  I currently live with four:  three Rhodesian Ridgebacks and a beagle.  I say “currently” because only two of the Ridgebacks are mine.  I am dog sitting the third RR while his super famous celebrity owners travel abroad.  It’s all very hush-hush (like TMZ kinda stuff), because his owner is married to an internationally famous artist and said internationally famous artist is doing something, well, artsy, somewhere, well, internationally.  The owners will be gone for a month.

So I currently live with four dogs.  And I’m remodeling.  And they are sandblasting my house.

If you haven’t had the pleasure of hearing what a sandblaster sounds like try to imagine standing next to a rocket before it blasts off.  We’re not taking jackhammer loud.  We're talking Delta IV-expendable-launch-vehicle-and-you’re-the-launch-director-huddled-in-a-bunker-a-mere-3-miles-away-waiting-for-that-satellite-to-liftoff-into-space loud.  Yeah, sandblasters and rocket ships are the reason we have earplugs.

To my knowledge, no one has made doggie earplugs.

It’s hard to know what the dogs are thinking huddled in the den with me as Armageddon befalls us.  They seem okay, if not a bit ... frozen?  I am concerned there might be some trauma but despite all the books I’ve read on communicating with dogs, I am clueless as to what they are feeling right now.  And I can’t give them Chardonnay.

In the past, to communicate with my dogs, I have used a doggie psychic and a dog behaviorist.  

The doggie psychic told me that my dog was, “very laid back.  Like if he were a human, he might surf and smoke weed.”  I thought she completely nailed this dog’s personality.  Especially the smoking weed part.  But then she also knew I was from Huntington Beach and he was a blond dog so, who knows.

I used a dog behaviorist when a dog was returned to me and I had to evaluate whether or not he could be safely repatriated to another family.  This happened because I work with a breeder and have whelped and raised 3 litters in my house.  The breeder is my BFF, which is how I got talked into whelping 3 litter--something I would never, ever have agreed to otherwise.  My anxiety disorder can barely support having raised two children and these litters are like having 7-14 kids at once.  Yes, 14.  In the same litter.  We’re talking some 101 Dalmatians shit.

There are things that are pretty cool about a litter of puppies.  They move as one, reminding me of the Borg Collective in Star Trek.  I even named one of the puppies Seven after Jeri Ryan’s Seven of Nine.  They literally swarm toward any sound or movement.  And they are fast!  And the first time I saw a puppy learning to walk, I thought he was having a seizure but the poor little guy was just kinda launching himself.  And they fall asleep in a pile and start humming and the sound is so strange and eerie that it makes me think they are hailing the Mothership.

The thing that is not cool about having puppies is trying to find each and every puppy a good home.  To me, dogs are the furry children who don’t need a college fund.  It’s difficult to find people with the same point of view.

At 9 months old, Triple was returned as unmanageable--which basically meant this owner wasn’t ready to deal with 80 pounds of muscle with no impulse control.  

The first year of your Ridgeback’s life is kinda like raising a teenager.  Let me tell you, if I could have returned my teenagers, I would have.  Here’s what a typical teenager does.  They tell you they hate you, maybe even drop the F-bomb because that’s how much they hate you.  They are secretive and disdainful.  They crush your heart, letting you know that you are a complete and utter idiot and anything you have to say is just plain stupid.  In fact, they are embarrassed by you.  They can’t wait to graduate and finally get away from the horror that is you.  And that’s just the tolerable parts because it can get, much, much worse.  

This is when you remind yourself that this ungrateful piece of DNA has never dealt with a mortgage, paid taxes, tried to find a doctor covered by their insurance or even tried to get their insurance to pay for anything!  Or had one of those phone calls where twenty minutes in you’re finally talking to a live person and, just when you’ve given them all the information, you get cut off so you have to call back and start over?  Haha--hahahahaha!

Well, unlike a teenager, you can return a dog.  And Triple came back to us courtesy of a clause we put in every puppy contract stating that if you ever can’t handle or don’t want your dog, you call us first.  You don’t give him away to your Aunt Mildred or the kid down the block or take him to the pound, because if you do and we find out we will sue you and you will pay us $10,000.  It’s called a liquidation of damages clause.  That law degree sometimes comes in handy.

This was the first and only time I’d had a dog returned.  I’m pretty sure I always tell my puppy buyers that the first year with a Rhodesian Ridgeback is pure hell.  They will destroy whatever you let them have access to, which can include pricey furniture, the bumper to your Mercedes, or the Thanksgiving turkey you left cooling on the counter--they are huge counter surfers.  They will make you look stupid in puppy training class.  They will dig holes to China in your yard and when you leave them alone they will try to convince you that you are the worst person in the world and they are having a mental breakdown from the abuse of your abandonment.  They will smell the crouch of every single houseguest--their nose is conveniently at the average crouch height.  That last part will probably never change.

You just need to power through the first year, I say.  Then, around the time they turn 3, they become the best dog you have ever had, and, like child birth, you forget how horrible that first year was and you will want another one.  

To be clear, this is not a Chihuahua or a dog who waits patiently for instructions from his master.  This is a dog who was bred to do their job when no one is around.  They act on instinct, able to keep a lion at bay, fearlessly dodging claws and teeth while putting their life at risk as they wait for the hunter to show up with the big guns.  They also herd, guard, and track--those Dutch people needed a lot of help to farm the African veldt.  A large, powerful and smart, active dog--they’re not for everyone.

Apparently, this puppy buyer didn’t hear my very extensive list of why-you-don’t-want-a-Ridgeback-puppy because Triple was returned for, “barking excessively and being destructive.”  Yeah.  

In any case, when Triple came back, I had him evaluated by a dog behaviorist to make sure it was safe for me to find him a new home.  I felt bad for Triple because, when I’d had him as a puppy, he was the liveliest of the litter and very self-assured, but when he came back to me at 9 months old, he was standoffish and seemed--not to anthropomorphize--well, sad.  After observing him, the behaviorist told me that she thought he’d been bullied, perhaps by other dogs.  I knew the owner who’d returned Triple had two other dogs, so, okay.  He just needed to get his confidence back.  And I had kept his brother, Denzel (named after my favorite actor of all times!).  And if Mr. Denzel Washington couldn’t get Triple to believe in himself, well, it just wasn’t gonna happen--have you watched Remember the Titans?

Three months later, Triple found his new forever home, a woman who didn’t mind when he ate the blinds in her house because she’d had an Akita, and if you can raise an Akita, you can raise a Ridgeback.  So Triple is now the dog of celebrities.  I would tell you who they are but they are super private people and I signed a non-disclosure agreement (I made that last part up).

But like a lot of internationally famous people, these guys travel.  And when they do, Triple stays with me.  Mr. Denzel Washington does love a good sleepover with his brother.

On this particular occasion, I noticed that Triple was a little on the heavy side.  He’d gained a few pounds and given the athletic silhouette of a Ridgeback, even a few pounds is noticeable.  I got right on that shit, cutting back on his kibble and adding some high fiber wet food and pumpkin to keep his tummy happy.  I made sure he and Denzel (who, like his namesake, is in fabulous shape) had lots of time to race around the backyard despite the intrusive remodel.  By the time his internationally famous celebrity owners returned to the States, he was going to be in tip top shape.

And that’s when it hit me.  All of my animals, the four dogs, the cat--possibly even the bird, thought it’s hard to tell (I mean, it’s a bird)--are in fantastic shape. 

And I am completely responsible for that.  I put effort into it.  I make sure it happens.  Because I want them to have long healthy lives.

Like the song says:  Things that make you go hmmm.

This is my year of change.  I hope you join me.

Please feel free to comment below.


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SKINNY BITCHES DAY OFF

10/1/2015

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Dear readers, there seems to be some blow back from my last two posts.  Apparently, Skinny Bitch 1 and Skinny Bitch 2 feel that they were misrepresented.  They want a redo.  

Also, this call from my daughter, who lives in New York.


Daughter:  OMG, Mom!  You’re not bathing?

Me:  Oh, come on.  It was an exaggeration.  I was trying to be funny--

Daughter:  Mom, you are not French and you live in America.  America!

Me:  Well, technically, I live in North America, because, as you know there is a South America and Central--

Daughter:  You know what happens to old people who don’t bathe?  They become smelly old people!  I am not taking care of a smelly old person.  You lock that shit down!

Me:  Actually, I’m 55, so, not really thinking you’re taking care of me real soon--

Daughter:  Lock that shit down, mother!  I gotta go.  I’m filming.  Lock it down!

I am very proud of my children.  So I am just gonna say that my daughter is beautiful, extremely smart and talented, and super driven.  New York is the cog to her wheel.  And since I picked on the French on my last post, I will refrain from saying anything about New Yorkers being mean.

Here are the redos.

Skinny Bitch No. 1

It’s not that I need a redo.  This is more of a clarification.  I mean, I don’t want to give the impression that it’s easy to be this hot--I am the “template for the marvel comic book heroine,” after all.  Her words.  And while there are some exaggerations for the sake of comedy on the prior post, she’s dead on about the fact that I am super hot.  That’s for real.  So I don’t want to confuse people into thinking it’s not hard work to look like me.  It’s a lot of work.  I exercise like a fiend and I eat very little.  But I have my splurge days!  That’s what I wanted to clarify (Shadow here.  Please understand that my friend would never say any of these things about herself.  She talked about the usual crap, drink lots of water, exercise, eat right, blah, blah, blah.  But I read between the lines and was forced to do some subtle editing.  Very subtle.) 

Like the other day.  I started with my usual.  I prepared my 6 liters of water--two liters with fizzy tabs--and took my SeroVital tablet (Shadow again. What is in that shit and why isn’t it piped into the water supply like fluoride?).  I picked up my venti chia tea latte, no foam, 8 pumps of chai, soy milk and I ate six egg whites for lunch, preparing for what I knew was a splurge day later because I’d asked one of my slacker client to go to Disneyland (That would be me, the Shadow).  Honestly, this client can be a real pain in the ass to train--whenever I talk to her about water intake and the importance of protein and cardio, I swear she just hears, “Blah, blah, blah.”  But she can be fun outside of the gym and has a Disney pass.  And this is my way to slip in some cardio into the poor woman’s life.  I keep it at a brisk pace walking between rides.  

The point is, I want people to understand that I don’t live a weird life of deprivation.  I love to eat!  Like at Disneyland, where that lazy client and I split a bottle of wine and appetizers in Napa at California Adventure (The Shadow notes that she ate most of the food.  Just saying), and I wanted to order an ice cream but, imagine my surprise when my client actually said she was on a diet!  Diet?  Wow.  I’ve been trying to get that bitch to eat right for five years and the night I want to splurge she’s on a diet?  Whatever.  I ordered my ice cream, a large soft swirl dipped in chocolate (Despite the diet, the Shadow ate most of that, too).  And later, exiting the park, I even bought another large ice cream cone! (Probably because the Shadow ate most of the first one ... and yes, finished off the second.  I have come to realize my trainer is a bit of feeder.  It’s the German in her).  I ate so much, I woke up in the middle of the night with an ice cream stomach ache!  (The Shadow did not have a stomach ache.  Apparently, like the participants in the Nathan’s hot dog eating contest, the Shadow has built up a tolerance).

So maybe I overdid it a bit.  That’s okay.  That’s the point I’m trying to make here.  Life doesn’t have to be so buttoned down.  Just drink your water and eat protein and do your cardio, even on splurge days--that’s the Skinny Bitch way!

Skinny Bitch No. 2.

Sunday is my straight tequila day.  I have my coffee, which is super fattening because I put cream in it and top it off with whipped cream (Shadow here.  That’s less than 100 calories for breakfast.  On a Sunday.  I mean, where’s the bacon?)  At noon I take my first shot of tequila, put on super tight jeans, high heels and a tank top.  I saddle up on my husband’s Harley and we go to our local biker bar (Shadow again.  Let it be known that I do not have boring friends). 

This weekend was special because my favorite band was playing.  It’s always baking hot, and I take another shot of tequila before I go in.  I get another shot at the bar and start dancing.  I plan to dance for the next seven hours.  I am going to dance and I am going to drink tequila because this is my splurge day.  Because I love this band so much and because I’m pretty buzzy, I go right up to the front of the stage and start dancing and singing along with the lead singer.  It’s early so there’s not a lot of people on the dance floor, but I don’t care.  I’m having a fabulous time.  But then this really cute older woman comes up and whispers in my ear, “Could you pick another one?”  When I turn to her, confused, she says, “Just pick another one.  Because that’s my best friend’s husband.  Could you pick him?”  She points to the guitar player.  

Well, I am mortified!  I do my own pointing--to the big-ass diamond on my wedding finger and explain that I am happily married and I don’t need to pick anyone.  I also point to my super hot husband who bought the big-ass diamond (Shadow confirms that her husband is super hot, and that indeed, she wears a blindingly large diamond on that Skinny Bitch finger).  My darling hubby looks up long enough from his iPhone to wave back and snap a pic.  But I don’t want to cause trouble, so I leave the dance floor.  

You can’t imagine what happened next!  Five minutes later, this same cute older woman comes over to where I am sitting and says, “I’m sorry, but could you go back to dancing?  The lead singer is really mad at me now because, well, it’s pretty dead out there without you.”  (The Shadow understands that bands do not appreciate it when super hot women stop dancing to their music).  “I never should have said anything but it’s just that you’re so hot, I was worried for my friend.”  (The Shadow reiterates that she has extremely attractive friends.)

Well, after the cute older woman and I had our little bonding moment, we ended up dancing together!  Can you imagine?  And okay, she made a bit of a move on me, but, again, I pointed to the big-ass diamond.  (The Shadow made that last part up).

I dance so much that I forget to eat.  I’m not even hungry.  So my friends force me to eat.  I end up gorging myself on onion rings (The Shadow understands this means she ate 4 onion rings.  Skinny Bitch confirms the number but says that they were 4 really large onion rings).

I toss back one more shot of tequila, close down the bar, put on my leathers and ride on home into the sunset with my husband, the hot one who bought me the big-ass diamond.

Tequila and onion rings!  Woohoo!

So, dear reader, it all appears to be a matter of perspective.  If I analyze the amount of calories consumed and expended, I fear that our Skinny Bitches Day Off is actually not all that different from the days spent toiling to keep hot bodies, well, hot.  The splurge becomes the choices made on those special days of indulgence that allow the forbidden fruit of ice cream and onion rings.  But the point remains: it ain’t easy being a Skinny Bitch.

This is my year of change.  I hope you join me.

Please feel free to comment below.


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    OLGA BICOS
    Author and Dog Lover

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