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.
Welcome to the family Tess, Siren, March, Knight, Hardy, Duke, Nosky, Hera, Boudica, Makeda, Lily-May, Athena, Oryol, and Bear.
No this is not an April Fool’s prank. This is real life. Sorry I’ve been keeping it from you, but we wanted to find some equilibrium before announcing it to the world. Here is a cliff notes version of a much longer story.
Exactly five weeks ago, I was driving to an event in Houston on a frontage road during rush hour when I saw a small and seemingly very pregnant dog on the side of the road. Nothing pulls on my heartstrings more than a homeless dog. I was driving too fast to stop. I quickly flipped around and stopped traffic in high heels and a skirt to make sure she made it across the road to safety. I knelt in a fallow field as people sped home to their families, holding out my hand, wishing I had dog treats in my car, crossing my fingers my car didn’t get hit all while looking at a very skittish dog, hoping she wouldn’t run away. It took thirty seconds before she picked up a mutilated bird wing and dropped it at my feet. My heart broke as I touched her head for the first time. A minute later, I took a calculated risk by picking her up. Instead of biting me or struggling to get free, her body relaxed into mine as I carried her across the field to place her in the back seat of my car. She immediately curled up and let out the biggest sigh.
Once I was back on the highway, I called Dylan. “Hi, honey. I have a dog in the car.” “I didn’t know you took Beau with you.” I paused, “It’s a different dog, and she’s pregnant.” He paused for even longer, “Oh. Well. Okay. I’ll be home soon, and we’ll talk.” Then I called my bestie, Kelsey, and asked, “What the fuck did I just do.”
Before I brought this new and unknown dog into the house, I put Beau in her box to make sure both would be safe and quarantined. It took ten minutes to bring the new dog through the front door. She was scared and didn’t know what a doorway was. I didn’t want to push her or make her feel uncomfortable, so I sat down, petting her head until she walked far enough in so I could shut the door. I laid a blanket down for her with a bowl of water and food. She drank two full bowls of water and nibbled on the dog food before she laid down and closed her eyes. Her belly was huge. Her nipples were about to burst. I could see the movement of tiny puppies in her stomach. My family had a litter of puppies when I was fourteen, so I knew the signs and what to look for. We had maybe a week before the puppies would arrive.
Dylan walked through the door and made eye contact with the cutest stray you ever did see. I saw his heart melt. We talked for a long time about keeping her or contacting a rescue. Taking on a stray is a big commitment. Taking on a pregnant stray is a HUGE commitment. I knew she would be ours in the field, but I didn’t want to push Dylan into that decision if he wasn’t comfortable with it.
That night we [I] gave her the name Tess. We decided to lengthen it to Tessa because Dylan likes that a little better. Her name comes from the titular character in Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. The plot mimics Tessa’s own story, in a way, but with a happier ending. We gave her a bath, fed her, and loved on her.
A call to the vet happened immediately the next morning. We kept hoping she would be microchipped by a home with someone desperately searching for her. No such luck. Dylan and I knew at that moment, we had a second dog. We spent three hours at the vet running a full panel of tests, x-rays, blood work, ultrasounds, and more to make sure Tess and the babies were healthy as can be and, at least, not contagious before we brought her home to Beau. After a once over, we found out Tess is maybe a year old. The vet came in with the results from all the tests, and it wasn’t all great news. Honestly, it was mostly bad news. Tess had hookworms and tapeworms. We put her on pregnancy safe dewormers to take care of that problem. As expected in a street dog, she has heartworms. We won’t be able to treat that until she has weaned the babies, but she is on heartworm prevention to keep it from getting worse. That will be a process to take care over the next year. Then, the vet told us we were expecting THIRTEEN puppies. Tess isn’t very big. She weighed 52 pounds pregnant. I didn’t think she could fit more than eight babies in her tummy. The vet pulled out the x-ray saying, “Here is where the pellet is.” My brain didn’t register it at first. My dog. My pregnant dog had been shot in the spine. I don’t understand. I can’t understand it. It makes me want to cry thinking about it. I was trying to register and process that this small, young, helpless dog was full of fleas, worms, heartworms, a pellet, and thirteen babies. Other than that, she was healthy, and sweet. The vet prepared us to only have nine puppies survive because of the amount of puppies in the litter and the fact she had been living on the street for probably ever. Oh, and the puppies could arrive any time between now and a week. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Tess looked at me with the most soulful eyes and the biggest, pointy ears, and I knew we would do everything in our power to make her happy and healthy.
After paying a small fortune at the vet, we took her home and made her comfortable. Then we headed to Petsmart where we spent another small fortune to get puppy formula, crate, blankets, collar, leash, dog food, dog bowls, puppy pads, bottles, flea collars, flea baths, flea bombs, puppy shampoo, and more. We bought a kiddy pool for Tess to whelp in, syringes, thermometers, and more at Target. Then we hopped on Amazon to order towels, blankets, bleach, sheets, and more. Normally, people have two months to prepare and spread out the cost of puppies before they arrive. Not only did we not have days, we also had to get everything for our new dog. Those first eighteen hours were very, VERY expensive .
What made this whole thing harder was the fact I had to leave town two days later. Dylan had never whelped puppies. I had, but I had agreed to watch my cousin in New Orleans a year prior to this. I couldn’t back out. Dylan had to work that weekend, and he was stressed out of his mind trying to be a prepared doggy daddy. We tried to board Tess at a 24 hour vet office to make sure she was taken care of while Dylan was at work. That ended up being a complete nightmare, I will talk about that more in another blog post. Instead, we bought cameras to watch Tess in the puppy room and relied on my best friend, Amanda, to come over and lend a hand. I headed to New Orleans, hoping Tess would wait a week to have the puppies. In the meantime, I watched the cameras like a crazy person.
Makeda and Me
Five days after I brought Tess home, she went into labor. Fourteen hours later, Siren, the first puppy, arrived at 3:45 in the afternoon. It took seventeen hours for all thirteen puppies to arrive. My best friend, Amanda, came and helped. I was on Skype, as Overwatch, the entire time, letting them know when a puppy was coming and what to do when they needed help. We almost lost Tess between puppy ten and eleven, but she made it through. The three of us were up all night; it was exhausting and stressful. Dylan and Amanda were absolute champs. With every squeaking puppy, we let out excited cries. All thirteen puppies survived.
At two weeks old, we had a huge scare. Oryol, Athena, and Knight’s necks started to harden and swell very quickly. The swelling started at their necks and worked towards their faces, closing their eyes. It looked bad, but what was even worse was the swelling was cutting off their air supply making them wheeze and cough for air. We loaded Tess and all thirteen puppies into the car with blankets and pillows to head to the Blue Pearl Vet in Spring, a 24 hour animal ER, at 8:45 at night. We were prepared to stay as long as we had to with credit cards in hand willing to pay whatever price we needed to. All the puppies came with because the swelling came on so suddenly, I couldn’t bear to leave the puppies at home and risk another one getting sick. The Coronavirus hysteria had started, so we weren’t able to go inside with our three sick puppies. The vet was baffled by the case. They went on a regimen of steroids and broad spectrum antibiotics to take care of anything it could be because it would be days before pathology could confirm if it was viral, bacterial, or autoimmune. We were hoping it was an autoimmune disease; the other options meant a possibility of losing the entire litter and even Tess. After pathology and all sorts of other small fortunes were spent, we found out it was a wildly atypical case of the rare autoimmune disease: Puppy Strangles. It doesn’t occur in puppies younger than three weeks, which is why it was such a rare case. The fact three puppies had it at the same time in the space of an hour made it even more uncommon. Normally, it is not lethal, but because they were so small, had we waited much longer they would have strangled to death. They’re still on steroids, but they’re doing great and should be off them in a week!
Coronavirus sucks. Honestly, it couldn’t have come at a better time for me, though. I was supposed to go on a three week trip to Europe, which was cancelled because of the pandemic. Also because of the pandemic, work has been very slow, and Dylan and I are stuck at home with the puppies all day. It’s an amazing way to spend our quarantine, and I’m not in Europe missing out on this preciously short time.
Dillies and Bear
Tess is the sweetest dog you ever did meet. Beau and her love each other. They are becoming the best of friends, taking on the other’s habits and falling asleep snuggling. Tess is becoming exhausted and drained from all the nursing, but she is doing an amazing job. Thirteen teething puppies with only eight functional nipples does not make for a happy mama. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, but we’re loving her fiercely through it all. Beau is obsessed with the puppies. Whenever they squeak, Beau runs in to check on them. Tess sees Beau taking care of things and lays back down. They’re coparenting, and it makes my heart so happy. Beau is torn between being enamored and terrified of the puppies. She wants to play with them so badly, and they’re now old enough they have started to play back.
My thirteen poop factories keep me busy doing laundry. And I mean a LOT of laundry. I’m a laundry goddess. They are the cutest things in the whole world, which makes it all worthwhile.
Last week, at three weeks old, my bestie, Jenn, took family pictures. We wanted to capture all thirteen babies, Tess, Beau, Dylan, and I before they’re zooming all over the place in complete and utter chaos. They turned out so cute. I will treasure them forever.
They’re officially one month old today. It’s an amazing age. They are walking and talking and playing. They mimic Beau’s boxerish play tactics. A herd of puppies run to me whenever I get near. I spend all day cuddling them when I’m not cleaning up. They are perfect and delightful and too good for this world.
The only reason I knew I could bring a heavily pregnant dog home off the side of the street was because Dylan would have done the exact same thing. When we started dating, he knew this was the kind of person I am, and he signed on anyways. He had been pushing to get a second dog for the last two years. I have been very resistant to it because dogs are a lot of work and a lot of money. I love them to death, but it is hard to travel with one dog let alone two. The Monday before Tess came home, I had told Dylan we were absolutely NOT bringing a second dog into the house. By Wednesday we had two. A week and a half later, we had fifteen dogs. I guess I was wrong. I couldn’t be happier about our circus.
I love everything about language. How it functions. How it changes. How it’s used. How it can be manipulated. I think it’s fascinating on every level. Dreyer’s English by Benjamin Dreyer is my version of porn. It’s an amazing book for language lovers, seasoned writers, author hopefuls, and everyone in between. We’re all writers; we do it every day in emails, text messages, proposals, and more.
Dreyer’s English is my favorite style guide I’ve encountered. It’s not as thick, all-encompassing, or menacing as the MLA, AP, or any other style guide because it’s for writers who want to write. Dreyer writes with a sense of humor. He simultaneously says his way is the best and also allows for every other writer/copyeditor/reader/editor/person to have their own preferences — outside of the Oxford comma — because, if we’re being honest, writing and language are an art and inherently subjective. Do not glaze over the footnotes; they are amazing, full of wit, side remarks, random tidbits, and even mentions notes his copyeditor jotted to him. Gold. Amazing quotes and excerpts from books and media of all genres and eras are used as good and bad examples throughout. Unsurprisingly, Dreyer’s vast vocabulary makes the book even more entertaining to read. It’s unusual I come across a word I don’t know, but I came across a handful I had to look up.
One of the first sections of the book speaks to breaking rules because that is exactly what artists do, and great writers are artists, “…Great Nonrules of the English Language. You’ve encountered all of these; likely you were taught them in school. I’d like you to free yourself of them.”. Dreyer wants writers to know the rules and break them. He also wants writers to know the stupid rules, which should have never been rules to begin with because there are a great many of those. I was lucky to have brilliant professors who told me a lot of the rules were archaic and stupid, and many of the other rules are breakable. The few things they didn’t teach me, I learned through trial and error as a writer typing, reading, editing, deleting, and retyping my work. One of the best pieces of advice I learned, Dreyer pointed out more than once, “One of the best ways to determine whether your prose is well-constructed is to read it aloud.” Learning is done through visuals, and Dreyer’s English is littered with bad versions and good versions of sentences. My particular favorite is the correction from: “A mother’s responsibilities are to cook, clean, and the raising of the children” to the much better grammatically and societally: “A father’s responsibilities are to cook, to clean, and to raise the children.” Another fun example mentions my home-state’s capital, “I think of the Internet as a real place, as real as or realer than Des Moines.” It may not be a totally fabulous nod in Iowa’s direction, but it is a nod.
There’s one thing I always look for in grammar guides: The writer’s opinion on the series comma, or Oxford comma. I’m a groupie of the comma, and anyone who disagrees is an idiot. Luckily, Dreyer is not an idiot and had my vote of confidence when he said, “I don’t want to belabor the point; neither am I willing to negotiate it. Only godless savages eschew the series comma.” Not only does he advocate for the appropriate way to write a series, his advice is spot on, in my humble opinion. I have told every. single. writer. I have ever worked with the same. exact. advice. found in Chapter 1 — and to delete “that” from 98% of their writing. The only thing I disagree with Dreyer on is using an apostrophe s to show possession after words ending in s. (I argue “Jesus’ fish” not “Jesus’s fish” looks better, Mr. Dreyer.)
Language and grammar are political. I took an entire college class on the subject. Dreyer does not come out and say so in Dreyer’s English, but through his footnotes, writing, side comments, and examples, it is clear grammar and language are political.
By the way… GET RID OF THE DOUBLE SPACE AFTER THE PERIOD. It’s been out for a very long time, but some people still do it. It drives me crazy. Benjamin Dreyer is copy chief of Random House. He is literally in charge of grammar at the publishing house. If you don’t want to listen to little old me, listen to him. Also use the Oxford comma. Benjamin Dreyer, the big boss, says so.
I loved reading Dreyer’s English. It’s my kind of porn, or as other people would call it, an accessible and entertaining guide to using the English language. Benjamin Dreyer is funny and smart, while also being relatable. He doesn’t mind letting his inner nerd shine through, which makes him even more relatable to me because I also do this: “Sometimes I’ll read old books as much for the pleasure of their old-fashioned stylistic oddities as for their actual content. We all have our own fun.”
Memorable Quotes “Copyediting is a knack. It requires a good ear for how language sounds and a good eye for how it manifests itself on the page; it demands an ability to listen to what writers are attempting to do and, hopefully and helpfully, the means to augment it.” “As much as I like a good rule, I’m an enthusiastic subscriber to the notion of “rules are meant to be broken” — once you’ve learned them, I hasten to add.”
Kisses in front of Saint Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square in New Orleans, Louisiana.Breakfast at the iconic Café du Monde.A stop at Chalmette Battle Ground on the Creole Queen river boat tour.A live oak tree at the Chalmette Battlefield.Sunset over the Mississippi River looking at the ferry and the Saint Louis Cathedral.
Titles “…with Kids” are not often part of my repertoire. They’ve never been a part of my repertoire until today. I don’t have a child. I have dogs, so I write about them. Children are not often a part of my narrative because the ones in my life are in the periphery. I love them dearly, but I visit, not tend to them. Last week, I was in New Orleans caring for my eight year old cousin while her parents enjoyed a much deserved adult vacation. Allison came into my life for the first time a year ago on the family cruise celebrating my grandmother’s 80th year on this planet. Allison and I hit it off immediately. I’ve seen her every two or three months since then; I see her more than any other family member. I agreed to watch her for a week over a year ago.
Allison will love me no matter what, but I wanted to make our week together extra, super special because she’s eight and I can. After receiving permission from Mom and Dad, we played hooky from school and headed to the French Quarter. Oops! Not sorry. I have done and would do all of these things by myself or with adults, but they were requested by a kid and approved by a kid.
Breakfast
Café du Monde Head to the original café on Decatur across from Jackson Square for deliciously fresh beignets and an amazing view of the hustle and bustle. Have some hickory coffee for the adults and chocolate milk for the kiddos. Bring cash because that’s all they accept.
Activities
Open Air Market This is a great place to have nibbles and explore. You can find great souvenirs. There are tons of things to keep the kids’ eyes busy for an hour if you let them roam. Saint Louis Cathedral It may not be the normal place you take kids, but it’s free. Allison loved it. We lit candles and said prayers before sitting down in the sanctuary. She had lots of questions about the architecture and statues. I answered as many questions as I could and googled the rest. Jackson Square After or before bopping into Saint Louis Cathedral, take a picture in the iconic square. It’s one of the most photographed areas in New Orleans. Don’t miss it! Street Car It’s name might not be Desire, but it’s a great way to see New Orleans outside of the quarter for cheap. There are incredible houses and buildings in the Garden District. You can always hop off and grab lunch at one of the many restaurants and cafés along the route.
River Boat Tour
River Boat Tours I’ve experienced a few different tours, and they’re all great. Allison begged to go on the river boat tour days before our hooky day, so this was definitely the highlight for her. We took the Creole Queen for the history tour and stopped at Chalmette Battlefield. We had a blast. She got a snack on the boat, we took pictures, and watched the paddle. She couldn’t have been happier.
I would love to give you more food options, but you’ll be overwhelmed with options. I have too many favorites to narrow it down. Allison had a blast. She was so exhausted by the end of the day, I heard some snoring from the back seat.
Photo credit: My eight year old cousin.There’s nothing she loves more than a good exploratory sniff.
Last week, Beau and I were in New Orleans. She wasn’t supposed to come with me, but extenuating life circumstances meant she ended up in NOLA for the first time. I wasn’t bummed to have her all to myself for a week, and she wasn’t bummed to be the sole receiver of all the attention plus an eight year old new best friend. About a year ago, I agreed to spend a week watching my cousin’s daughter while she and her husband went on a cruise to celebrate her 50th birthday. Allison and I get along great, so I was happy to spend a week with her. We did a bunch of really fun things, but Beau had a blast chasing her around the house and getting loved on.
One of the first things we did was go for a walk on the levy. If you don’t know what a levy is, it’s a big retaining wall to keep a river – in this case, the Mississippi – from invading homes, businesses, and causing utter destruction – think Hurricane Katrina. Allison’s house is a couple blocks away from a levy running along the Mississippi. You can walk along the top and even go down to the water’s edge. The river was incredibly high, which made it even more enticing to my water-loving dog. After a forty-five minute stroll in one direction, where I received quite the arm workout keeping Beau from swimming with the fishies and potentially alligators, (No me gusta.) we decided to turn around and head home. Beau was sufficiently tired, and Allison walked her the rest of the way home… I don’t know why she can walk in an almost straight line for an eight year old, but zigs, zags, and bounds when it’s her mama. Oh well, at least she didn’t drag Allison head first into the river.
Beau loves exploring and being outside. If she could sit in the backyard with me all day, she would. We always try to take her for a walk shortly after arriving at our travel destination. These walks put her at ease and let her know we will not be abandoning her to strangers in a foreign land. Although, these strangers came with cats to poke, so it wouldn’t have been as bad as strangers with a house sans cat-beings.
She’s happy to be home and in her own chair, but she had a great deal of fun in NOLA and walking on the levy.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Worth A Read Yes Length 426 Quick Review Becoming is the story of how Michelle Obama grew from a little girl on the South Side Chicago to an icon, a role model.
I read this during Black History Month, but life wouldn’t let me sit in one place long enough to sit and write. It is the first book review of Women’s History Month. Apropos since she has done so much for women and women of color in this country and around the world.
Michelle Obama is funny, complex, intelligent, thoughtful, realistic, loyal, hopefully, and more. It’s so easy to water down a person to the image presented by the media; more often than not, she was left to be the woman standing behind the man in the white house. Up until Becoming, I knew very little about her life outside of the basics. I loved her as the symbol of hope and change she has been for myself and others. As a human, I didn’t really know who she was. As I turned each page, I saw a great deal of my own qualities in her. Type-A, reader, observer, sense of humor, and not wanting to veer from the path but needing to. Michelle Obama is relatable; someone just about anyone could sit down and have tea with.
For those wanting a book about Barack Obama, he’s written his own. This is about Michelle. Barack shows up because he is a part of her story, but he is a supporting character. She does not let him over take her story, nor does she speak for him. She is telling her story, and she is a force.
Michelle Obama grew up on the South Side Chicago, watching the neighborhood change from diverse to predominantly black. From a young age, seh was filled with a drive to reach and garner approval from those around her. She studied vigorously and “miserably at my desk, in my puke-green chair – puke green being the official color of the 1970s…” not only proving her sense of humor but her strength of will to withstand such visual torture. After reaching her entire childhood with the support of her parents, she attended Princeton before Harvard Law to become a lawyer in a law firm in downtown Chicago, where she would mentor and fall in love with her husband.
There is a vulnerability and strength in her story. Struggle was a part of her life from an early age. Growing up black in a city not known for its kindness towards the black population. Her father battled MS. She was a minority in the Ivy League universities she attended and battled discrimination and low expectations her entire life. Michelle Obama spoke about the decision to leave the law after working so hard to get there. It’s a conversation people don’t often have, but I don’t know anyone who hasn’t fought that battle internally. There were so many moments of humanity, vulnerability, and relatability throughout whether it was miscarriage, in vitro, marriage, family, and career. It’s hard not to feel like you know this woman. Very few people can relate or even know the first thing about being on a presidential campaign trail. What most people can relate to is the stress careers can place on a relationship and family. The struggle to support a significant other when it means letting go of hopes and dreams to create new ones. Michelle Obama makes the unrelatable universally relatable.
This story isn’t just hers, though. Through herself, Obama is telling the story of people of color and more specifically women of color. The problem and cyclic nature of the angry black woman, “The easiest way to disregard a woman’s voice is to package her as a scold.” How hatred is incessant and often unfounded, but through acts of kindness and listening, “I’ve learned that it’s harder to hate up close.” The fact that creating minor change is difficult, but creating large scale change to affect a great number of people, “It was another thing entirely to try and get the place itself unstuck.” The Obamas were reaching to make the world a better place for everyone because they understood the struggle intimately.
When you’re a public figure, it can be hard to be honest and vulnerable, but Michelle Obama does it with sincerity and an open heart. She tackles the struggles women and minorities face, the problems in society and policy, racism and hatred, and more with kindness and honesty. It was a sad day when she and her husband left the white house for many reasons. I love and admire her honesty about the awfullness of Trump and what his presence in the White House means, especially following her husband’s presidency.
Throughout Becoming, Michelle Obama reveals herself to be a strong, resilient, intelligent, driven woman with kindness, empathy, and tenderness flowing through her every action. Though she may have not had the same big picture change in mind her husband did, the ripples she created in society have been felt as strongly if not more strongly because of her character, compassion, and willingness to be human, accessibly so.
Memorable Quotes “I just wanted to achieve. Or maybe I didn’t want to be dismissed as incapable of achieving.” School counselor telling her she wasn’t Princeton material, “Had I decided to believe her, her pronouncement would have toppled my confidence all over again, reviving the old thrum of not enough, not enough.” About men: “Hearing them, I realized that they weren’t smarter than the rest of us. They were simply emboldened, floating on an ancient tide of superiority, buoyed by the fact that history had never told them anything different.” On the pain of miscarrying and speaking with friends, “helping me see that what I’d been through was no more than a normal biological hiccup, a fertilized egg that, for what was probably a very good reason, had needed to bail out.”
