Right now is a shitty, shitty time. Between COVID-19 and people fucking finally waking up to systemic racism. Alright, life is always shitty, and nothing about systemic racism is new, but COVID is making the world a worse place. I haven’t been writing about social justice lately because I’ve been writing about it heavily for years, and I’m happy BIPOC voices are getting the attention they deserve. I will start writing about it again, and I will definitely toss my two cents out there soon. But right now, I’m gonna focus on eleven things that bring me joy.
My dogs. I love my dogs more than anything else in the whole world. Now that the puppies are to an age where they can snuggle on the couch with me, Tess, and Beau makes me very happy.
Carousels. On my 23rd birthday, I went to six flags with my bestest friend. She doesn’t love carousels. I get it: they’re slow, boring, and made for children. I LOVE THEM. They make me so happy. I can’t wait til COVID becomes less of a threat, so I can ride one again.
Tea. It brings me so much joy. I drink it all the time. If I’m at home, there’s an 87% chance I have a cup of tea in my hand. The other 13% of the time, I’m waiting for the water to boil.
Traveling. I haven’t traveled in four months, which is the longest I have been in one place in years. I can’t wait to hop on the road or board a plane again. I’m not sure when it will happen, but I’m looking forward to it.
High heels. I love a pretty pair of heels. I don’t wear them as much anymore because I work from home and rarely put on pants. I wear them as often as I can, which is not often, but I love them.
Ice cream cones. I love a good soft serve ice cream cone. It’s so good. It makes me so happy. Honestly, I could go for one right now. They make the bad days good and the good days better.
Not wearing pants. Going home and taking my pants off is the best feeling. If I don’t leave the house, I don’t put on pants.
Lazy days. I hate not being productive, but sometimes, laying on the couch doing absolutely nothing is just the best. It really calms the soul and gives me extra time to love on my dogs.
Pastries and fresh bread. These go hand-in-hand because pastry shops almost always have fresh bread. Living in France, I had fresh bread and pastries every day. It’s amazing I didn’t gain a gazillion pounds.
Rainy days. Houston is in a drought right now, so I miss reading and working hearing the rain. It is such a calming thing for me. I thrive in rainy weather. (The dogs do not share the same affinity for rainy days. If I had to poop in the rain, I doubt I would either.)
Music. I love music. It’s been a huge part of my life forever. I love creating, well making, music – I’m a crap composer – and listening to it. Music is an integral part of my life. It is always on.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Let sleeping dogs lie, so this is the picture we got today for the post. I love this water bottle!
Who rescued who?
Please rescue me!
Just kidding. Kind of. It’s been a long week, and it’s only Wednesday. A lot of things out of my control have gone to shit all of a sudden. It’s been stressful as fuck. Having thirteen puppies is not a regret, but it is, for sure, making everything harder right now. Life is weird in the chaos of the pandemic, and like many, many other people around the world, it has started affecting me and my family. It wouldn’t be quite so devastating if it weren’t for the puppies. Taking care of them is the first priority, and I will do anything and everything to protect and keep them safe. The best thing I can do for them is to love them fiercely, and that’s what I will be doing through this frustrating time. Puppy cuddles may not be a cure to all ills, but they definitely help.
I love the saying ‘Who rescued who?’ In so many ways, it’s true. Rescuing Beau was one of the best choices I ever made for myself and hopefully for her. I don’t know what would have happened to Tess and the babies had I not saw her on the side of the road. Hopefully, someone else would have helped her, but I was able to. The other day it started hailing. All I could think about was what would have happened to them in the horrible weather. I can’t imagine what Tess would have been going through. It makes me sick thinking about it, but I’m here for her and her babies. I was able to rescue them all, and they have given me so much hope and purpose in these crazy times.
Still, feel free to send someone to rescue me right now.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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I love the puppies more than life itself. They bring so much love and happiness into my life. There is more laughter and cuddles and smiles and playtime and kisses than I’ve had in years. Each and every one of them is unique with their own preciously perfect personality. They are a blessing. I don’t regret for a second the choice to bring Tess home or keep her knowing she was expecting thirteen puppies. They are joy and sunshine incarnate.
The struggle is real.
I cried in the rain on Sunday morning. Utterly defeated. I plead with thirteen itty-bitty puppies with tears streaming down my face trying to keep a smile in my voice asking them to be still for just two seconds. Of course, they didn’t listen. I was trying to bring them inside after they ate breakfast, when it started to rain suddenly. They’re so big, I can only carry four in a laundry basket up the stairs at a time without the risk of dropping their wiggly, squirming bodies. I had woken up at 4:45 when Tess nudged me awake to walk down the hall with her to check on her babies. They were content in a clean pen. I was up an hour later to thirteen puppies howling, covered in poop, with their sheets looking like Jackson Pollock showed up with a puppy poop inspiration. It was warm enough outside, I let them out into the backyard as the sun came up with their mama. It took me two hours to clean the sheets, pick up the puppy pads, sanitize, and re-set up. By 8:15 in the morning, I had gotten two and a half hours of sleep (not at once), cleaned, fed, and cried trying to not step on one, keep them out of the rain, and get them back into their upstairs room without waking up Amanda and her husband.
Sunday was a bad day, but it is also the norm.
All jokes aside, it really is a good thing they’re cute. If they were ugly demon-spawn, I don’t know if it would be worth it.
Most nights, I get three hours of sleep, non-consecutive. If they don’t wake me up, Tess does. She may be their mama, but I’m her mama. Less than two months ago, she was living on the streets, pregnant, and alone. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore. She wants company wherever she goes, and she’s tired from nursing and taking care of thirteen puppies. I don’t blame her. She’s young and has had a really tough life; I’m her person now. I am running on empty. I am exhausted. Dylan can’t help because he’s at the apartment with Beau. Amanda and Andrew help, but they’ve already opened up their home to us; it’s not their responsibility.
I’m at the vet’s office about once a week. I think we’re keeping them in business during COVID-19. Check up, dewclaw removal, puppy strangles, more check ups, and other things have made us regulars. Today, I had to take Tess because she suddenly developed hot spots around her neck under her collar. It was terrifying. I felt horrible. She’s so laid back, she didn’t even let me know she was hurting. Luckily, a week of twice-a-day antibiotics and steroids should clear it up, but we’ll know when we go to the vet [again] for a check up next Wednesday.
Instead of having weeks to plan for one new dog or even puppies… I had five days. There was no money set aside for this. I’m a planner. I like to have a plan and savings and a contingency and more savings. That was not possible here. Luckily, Dylan and I are in a position to take on this responsibility financially and spatially, but it’s drained those accounts, and we’ve even put some on our credit card, which I hate to do. But it’s what we had to do because I was watching Oryol gasp for air, and a little debt was not going to stop me from saving his, Athena, and Knight’s lives. Tess has a lot of health issues to take care of once the puppies are weaned and she’s recovered. Thirteen puppies is a big litter, which means a bigger price tag. They’ve had health issues, which adds to that even more. Paying for vet bills, tests, x-rays, ultrasounds, emergency ER visits, steroids, antibiotics, vaccinations, etc. Not to mention the 36 puppy pads we go through, the two loads of laundry I do, the half can of puppy formula, the six pounds of dog food EVERY DAY. Plus teething toys, sheets, towels, fences, troughs, and all the miscellaneous items we’ve bought to make their lives easier. Amazon has limited the number of puppy pads we can buy because of coronavirus, so I’ve had to ask friends and family to send some to me because we need them.
They’re big puppies. Now, they’re big enough to run, jump, and play. It’s so fun to run around with them and watch them hop like awkward deer. It also means a swarm. A swarm under foot and the risk of stepping on one and hurting them, which means I’m always barefoot. I can’t feel what’s under my feet in shoes, so I don’t wear them to know when I can put weight on my foot and when I can’t. A running swarm means they rush to any open door, person, or thing they want. It means I have to create barriers, which they’ll find a way passed. I have to let five puppies in while I get down on my hands and knees to push and hold them back so I can close the door so they don’t get hurt so I can take them upstairs so they can be safe without having the rest of the puppies loose to roam free pooping, peeing, and wreaking havoc on the ground floor. It’s amazing what can happen in a minute and a half. The swarm means getting frustrated to tears because I can’t put their food down without spilling it all over them and myself and wherever we are. The swarm means mountains of poop and pee. The swarm means never being able to keep up and keep track. The swarm means letting go of showering, organization, and folding laundry. The swarm means accepting the new stress wrinkles they’ve gifted me. The swarm means I have gotten very, very good at counting to thirteen (five times) because I’m terrified one will be forgotten. The swarm means when one starts howling, thirteen start howling… day or night. The swarm means I’m one step away from complete anarchy.
My life is so completely filled with love and happiness. That love and happiness comes with a price. I’m not complaining, but thirteen puppies is a lot of physical work and a huge financial responsibility. Instagram and cute pictures do not show the late nights, the tears, the frustrations, the isolation, the debt, or any of the other hard bits. Not to mention, I’m always finding poop on my clothes and skin. When I don’t have poop on me, there’s a phantom poo smell haunting the depths of my nostrils. They are absolutely wonderful, but it’s hard. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I took care of a human baby for a long time. So don’t let Instagram fool you. My quaranteam is not bliss. It’s heaven if heaven were coated in poo, tears, and exhaustion.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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This may come as a shock to you, but I read a lot. I think story time is important for everyone, including puppies.
They’re six weeks old today. They love playing outside, eating all the food, gnawing on plants, pooping everywhere, and taking naps. I can’t wait for them to learn how to climb stairs. Carrying thirteen heavy, growing puppies up and down the stairs four plus times a day is exhausting. Although, I’m going to have a great butt when this is all said and done. They have loved running around Amanda’s – read this post if you don’t know what I’m talking about – backyard and laying in the sun. Today, they spent nine hours outside; 70° couldn’t be better for them. They’ve also found a love of playing in water. When it gets warmer, we’re planning on filling the kiddy pool, the one they were born in, for them to splash around.
Whenever I sit down, all thirteen fuzz-butts come running and volley for a place in my lap. It’s heaven. They always sit so cute, I thought it would be a great time to read them a book, or, at least, pose with a book for a super cute picture. It did not go quite so smoothly. They were too excited about literally anything else to crawl in my lap. We’ll try again another time, but we did get some cute photos and a lot of bloopers.
Reading with as many puppies as I could wrangle.
I bought When You Love A Dog by M.H. Clark from a store here in Houston back in February before the puppies and Tess arrived on the scene. A week later, my house had fifteen dogs instead of the one. When you love a dog, you take on a lot of responsibility and tasks you probably wouldn’t otherwise, like not sleeping, cleaning poop, doing laundry at 4:00 am, bottle feeding every two hours, spending thousands on emergency vet runs, moving in with your best friend so the puppies can be safe and happy, making stinky puppy food at 1:30/5:30 am, and so many more things. I took on Tess and the circus because I love Beau with my entire heart. Tess needed someone to love her and help her through this time, and that person was me. I knew it the moment I stood in the field coaxing her into my arms. I’m exhausted, broke, homeless (not really, but it kind of feels that way), and I couldn’t be happier. Loving dogs has always been the best part of my life. Now I can love thirteen puppies and help them find their furever homes so other people can love a dog too.
When You Love A Dog is a cute little book perfect for any dog owner. I can’t wait to decorate one of the rooms in my home with pictures of all the puppies, Tess, and Beau and fill that room with sweet little books like these. “When you love a dog, someone waits for you, with a true and joyful heart.” It couldn’t be truer. My life is hectic and exhausting, but I have never felt more loved by my fur babies and my friends. This has been an incredible blessing.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna + Tess + The Circus
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Title: When You Love A Dog Author: M.H. Clark Illustrator: Tatsuro Kiuchi Publisher: Compendium Publishing Copyright: 2018 ISBN: 9781943200986
After observing newborn puppies for the last four weeks, I have come to see life through their eyes. Probably because most of my time is spent looking at them, cleaning up after them, or trying to weasel my way into their puppy piles. I may also have lost my damn mind because my entire social life revolves around fifteen fuzzy bodies who are incapable of vocally communicating. Their eyes are incredibly expressive, though, so I’m pretty sure I know what they’re thinking.
Food is best when stood in.
If it’s a nipple or looks like a nipple, it will be sucked.
Sit, stare, get what you want.
Pee is meant to be shared and spread around.
When in doubt, cry.
Pants are for the sole purpose of providing fun things to chase.
Bathrooms are prison cell, torture devices meant to trap and contain, while also preventing roaming, looking out windows, and enjoying the greatest pleasure like not being in a bathroom.
Poop sure smells like food…
Toes are for chewing.
Pee and poop will come out whether there’s a head in the way or not.
If my body had done what it was supposed to five years ago, I would be throwing a quarantine birthday party for my five year-old son or daughter right now.
Having children has never ever been a part of my life plan. Being a mother is not something I have ever craved. It has been something I’ve avoided like the plague. When I am sexually active, I obsessively avoid getting pregnant by using birth control and condoms. I’ve even gotten Plan B when condoms break because NOPE. I have enough money set aside to take care of problems if need be. I’m that kind of person.
I was that kind of person when I found out I was thirteen weeks pregnant in early fall of 2014. Miracles happen, I guess. It was too late to do anything about being pregnant. I was pregnant. I was going to be a mom. I was very much alone in my soon-to-be-parenting party. It hit me like a truck. I started planning and dreaming and getting excited because that was the only option, so I embraced it. Then, I had a miscarriage. I was mostly devastated. Relief came several weeks later as the tears slowed and the dreams faded.
As the years go by, the feelings are less poignant; the hurt is less sharp; the dreams are hazier. I still get sad. Sometimes, I even cry when I watch kids movies. Every once in a while, I think about what my life would look like had my body not failed at one of its main biologically female tasks. As ready as I was financially, in my career, and at that point in my life, I had never planned on being a mom. Five years later, my feelings have not changed: I’m sad and relieved. Those feelings can go together. You can be sorrowfully content with a miscarriage. You don’t have to have just one feeling. You are allowed to feel all the feelings whatever they are, no matter how at odds they may be with one another. It does not make you less of a woman. It does not make you less of a mother. It does not make you less of anything. It makes you a complex human, who is coping with a really difficult physical, mental, and medical situation.
Miscarriages are rarely talked about. That is starting to change as women speak about women’s issues more and more openly. Thank you to all the women on social media who are deciding to be vulnerable and honest about the crap we go through. When miscarriages are talked about, it’s usually about how overwhelmingly sad and painful they are. They are. I’m not going to lie to you about that. It’s true. It sucks. It’s sad. It’s the worst. There can also be some real positives coming out of miscarriages. They’re not apparent at first, but over the months and years as your mind and body heal, things start to look and feel better.
The majority of miscarriages happen because, for whatever reason, the body knows the baby shouldn’t come into the world for one biological reason or another. You can do everything right starting months before conception and still have a miscarriage. (Granted that was not me. Accident baby. Although, I didn’t really do much wrong.) Miscarriages happen. They happen for almost always good reasons. All babies are perfect, but not all babies are meant for this world.
Positives of miscarriages differ from person to person. One thing I can say for everyone, the life we have in this moment is not at all the life we would have had had that baby come into the world. For some of us, that’s a bad thing. For some of us, that’s a good thing. For some of us, it’s just a thing. I have an incredible life. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I would, under no circumstance, have this life with a five year old.
I would not…
have the boyfriend I have now.
had the freedom to quit my corporate job, the stable paycheck, the benefits.
be a freelance writer and blogger.
be able to sit on the couch and do nothing for hours on end.
live in Houston.
travel as much or the way I do.
have Beau in my life.
have been able to pick Tess up off the side of the road.
have the time, energy, or money to take care of thirteen puppies.
have found or reconnected with my truest passions in life.
be chasing my wild, crazy, unrealistic dreams.
have the friends I do.
walk around pantless all the time.
read as much as I do.
stay up late doing whatever the fuck I want to whenever the fuck I want to.
have the body I do.
have a savings account with money in it specifically for travel (which happens often) and/or buying things I decide I need right now (which never happens, but it’s nice to know it’s there).
be me the way I am right now.
I have no idea what my life would look like had Paeton Rae been born. I know I would have a corporate job with good benefits and a salary high enough to pay for everything she/he/their needs and wants and for us to go on a family vacation once a year. I know there would be a bedtime, healthy snacks, play dates, trips to the park, time outs, library trips, tantrums, snuggles, bedtime reading, dance parties, messes, and a lot of other things my life does not have right now. I would have loved that life for what it was, but that was never my dream. I never had to make the decision to not be pregnant, to not be a mom; my body did that for me. I was sad. I am sad. I miss the life I could have had and holding the baby I never got to hold.
But.
I love my life. I see the blessing the sadness of my miscarriage was. I see all the opportunities and possibilities my life still has in store for me that would not have been possible as a single mom to a five year old.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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