The month of March, a dog, and a story of survival

From March to April, we took on a dog. One of my co-workers at the Barn travels for her other grown-up job. She needed a dog sitter, and we have been thinking about getting a dog, so I thought, ‘How perfect! We can test one out!’ Word of advice people, never do a test run with a misbehaved Puggle. That’s a pug and a beagle mix. It will not work out. Your house will smell, and you will learn to cover your head with a pillow at night, because the dog who is 2 rooms away is snoring so loudly.

Roxy and I had a hard time getting along. Mostly because she keeps sneaking into our bedroom, and sleeping, ON MY PILLOW! Early in our time together, I caught her for the 4^th time in a matter of 2 days! 2 DAYS! She was seriously dozing, like full on snoring. When I yelled at her to get down right now, she actually snarled and snapped at me. Now I’m not a violent person, but I swear dear readers, I was THIS CLOSE to throwing that little doggie right out the window. Before you report me to animal welfare services, I didn’t. But she did spend the next 2 hours in her crate. Plus, I’m pretty sure part of my reaction was my fight of flight response.

I’ve discovered that I have a pretty strong fight or flight response, and my choice varies, depending on the situation. For instance, when the possibility of danger is even a teeny bit obvious, I’m all flee. No questions asked, no need to investigate further, no need to climb the creepy staircase to see if there is really a creepy murderer there, just get out! When my Mom was visiting, we took a roadtrip and ended up driving through an area of super old, massive Victorian houses. The houses were impressive, but I was able to suss out the location that a ghost may or may not reside in each house. It’s a special talent of mine. This prompted a lengthy discussion on whether or not we actually believe in ghosts. We all pretty much landed on “it’s not likely”, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna go hang out in some creepy Victorian attic. I mean, there’s being “logical” and then there’s "You’re totally asking for it”.

On the other hand, my fight response can also be pretty strong, particularly when I am not expecting to be scared. A few years ago, we took a bunch of kids to Wildhorse Young Life camp down in Middle of Nowhere, Oregon. You can google it if you want, but you probably won’t find it. This camp stands on what used to be the grounds of a super creepy cult back in the 60’s, which of course adds some serious mystique and fodder for scary sotries. Up in the hills above the camp, there are still the little shacks that cult followers lived in during that time. This part of the property is totally cut off from kids, but every once in a while, leaders can venture up there and check it out. Can you see where this is going yet?

So, a whole van full of leaders decide to head up into the hills and see what’s up there. We have an experienced driver who has made the trip a few times before, heard all the stories, knows the ropes. His name was Ross, and while he looked cuddly and loving, he wasn’t . He’s mischievous, and maybe a little bit evil. Ross is casually telling us some of those stories as we head up, and when we get closer, he turns on the radio to an empty signal, and says every once in a while, they hear voices in the white noise. Our van is totally silent as we approach the shacks, intently listening to the fuzz on the radio. We pull up to a little cluster of shacks, get out, and head inside. Clearly these things have been abandoned for years. All of the windows are broken, the door doesn’t really work, and animals have taken over. The classically rust orange carpet of the era is totally soiled, and smells funky. We’re looking around, being really careful not to touch the walls, or bump anything. As we turn the corner and head into the super tiny bedroom area, I can feel my mother, who is also on the trip, literally attached to my side. Like we were stuck with Velcro.

Suddenly and without warning, demons sprang forth from the two teeny tiny closets flanking the doorway. They were vicious, with beak like noses, and huge metal arms! The only way out was through the doors that said demons were blocking, so I had no choice but to punch my way through. I pulled back and let one fly, nailing the beaky demon right on the shoulder. With a cry of pain, the demon shed his costume, and our really good friend and fellow leader Jeremy Simler stood there, holding his shoulder. The other leader, who was on crutches escaped unscathed, but he knew how close he came to certain death. I don’t know this for sure, but I’m pretty willing to bet that Jeremy’s arm still aches before the snow comes. That’ll teach him to hide in a closet for an extremely long time, waiting for us to make this trip.

Anyway, back to the dog. Our relationship improved as the days wore on, and we got into the habit of never letting her into our bedroom. She always favored Peter to me, but that’s because he let her sleep on his lap sometimes. I called him an adulterous cad, but he would just smirk, and stroke the sleeping puggle in his lap. It was a trying month in the VDP pad.

In an effort to bond, I tried to do a photo shoot. After several attempts, and her determinedly AVOIDING THE CAMERA AT ALL COSTS, I finally got this shot.

Yup, this pretty much sums up the month of March for us.