Way to A, B, C with the best of ‘em, kiddo!

Do I love my daughter? More than there are words to describe. Do I think she is awesome even when she trips over nothing in the hallway, sings WAY off-key, makes up songs that have words like ‘underpants’ & ‘armpits’ weaved into the lyrics, and thinks her Seinfeld Elaine dancing is worthy of a 10 from Len? No doubt. 

She’s 5. It is my job to encourage her to do whatever she wants, however she wants and tell her that she is doing great – because she is TRYING. That’s all any parent can ask from his/her kiddo at this stage. Yes, some people have ‘phenom’ kids who are already doing standing back flips or reading at a 3^rd grade level. I get psyched when Ellie can do a somersault without ending up stuck on her head and when she can sound out the word ‘dog’ with me in a Level 1 book. Because I am her mother. I am proud of each and everything she does. I celebrate those moments with her, and I praise her for her efforts and her little ‘wins.’ I think she is the most amazing child that has ever existed on planet earth… Even though I know the chances of that being the reality is pretty slim. 

She has learned a lot in her short time in the world, and I am proud of her and know that she is ready to take the next step and start Kindergarten this fall. But a graduation ceremony from preschool? Is that really necessary? A cute little certificate would be appropriate... And if it came with a free milkshake with an extra cherry on top from Chick-Fil-A, she might even be excited about it.

Not only did I NOT march in a ‘graduation’ processional from preschool, I didn’t ‘graduate’ from Kindergarten. Or 6^th grade. Or junior high school. I DID graduate from high school, college, and a master’s program. Those pieces of paper hold currency in the real world. I remember getting them; I remember earning them. Ellie doesn’t remember what she did in school last Friday. 

A graduation is intended to be the culmination of a long journey; the completion of a course of study… She is awesome at her A, B, C’s, her numbers, AND she colors in between the lines. Those things are great; I am delighted that she can do them. But I do not want her to think that she is entitled to that level of attention from everyone for, well, not much. 

This is not a knock on parents, teachers, administrators, etc. who enjoy preschool graduations. To each his own. But in my mind, this kind of pomp & circumstance cheapens the major milestone celebrations that I want to cherish along this journey with her. And, quite frankly, adults don't have the attention span long enough to get through most graduation ceremonies - do we really think 4 & 5 year olds do?!

…And please don’t get me started on participation trophies.

Why I Choose Not to Engage in "Smack Talk"

The term "smack talk" has been officially and unofficially defined as follows:
 

Merriam-Webster: trash talk
Oxford Dictionary: insulting speech, especially when intended to irritate or annoy someone
Online Slang Dictionary: to speak badly of
Wikipedia: refers to inflammatory comments made by a person or team in order to insult, anger, or annoy opponents
Collins Dictionary: disparaging or abusive remarks intended to put off or intimidate someone, esp an opponent prior to or during a sports match (informal, mainly US)

 

I provided several different sources in an effort to prove the point that none of these interpretations have any positive adjectives included in their descriptions. In fact, the terminology used is quite the opposite: "inflammatory," "insult," "anger," "speak badly," "irritate," "disparaging," "abusive..." One of the sources goes so far as to note that it is mainly perpetrated by Americans. Yay USA?

In my mind, there is a very big difference between cheering, promoting, supporting, encouraging, rooting for, etc. your team and "smack talking" on its behalf. All of the words I used that have to do with being a fan are words that have positive connotations. They don't tear anyone else down in an effort to make one or one's team appear "better" in someone else's eyes.

And as far as I have been able to tell, the players of most teams don't ask for that or even want that from their fan base. In fact, I have seen the opposite where some have said that they think the fans take things too seriously and  go too far in demonstrating disrespect for other teams and athletes.

I am not talking about a little good-natured "ribbing" now and then. "Oh, you went to UNC? I'm so sorry!" One of the most fun I had with a client contact was telling her that we had a new high-level Manager, but I had to be honest that I wasn't sure I would be able to work with him...She was waiting for me to disclose some juicy, scandalous secret when I said, "Well, you see... He went to Clemson." She laughed harder than I have ever heard her laugh and said, "Oh Marty - you're too much!" And he loved that story when I told him too - gave him a great, lighthearted introduction to her when they had the chance to meet for the first time. But when he and his wife found out they were going to have another baby, I went out to the mall and bought him a Clemson onesie, despite how much it pained me to do it :)

Perhaps some of why a person might or might not smack talk about his/her favorite team(s) has to do with the influences at sporting events as youngster. I started going to South Carolina football games in 1980 when I was 5 years old with my parents who were faculty at the time. When the opposing team ran onto the field, my mother and/or father would always say, "We never 'boo' the other team. That's just not a very nice thing to do." Later, when we were older, they would explain that doing that lacked class. 

(Please note that I find it perfectly acceptable to boo the refs when they deserve it!)

Another factor that I have considered about the phenomenon and evolution of "smack talk" is that it might be specific to that team being supported. Is it one that has "always" dominated as long as that person has followed it? Won a certain number of conference, national, or world championships? Perhaps those folks view it as demonstrating confidence in their teams that they will persevere and maintain that level of excellence they have experienced during their "fanhood." That would certainly be another reason why I have historically and continue to keep my mouth shut: my teams lost much more often than not when I was a kid and even into adulthood. For more details about just how much that impacted me as a Gamecock fan, you can reference this post from just before the start of this season: It's a Gamecock Life

I can remember sitting in the stands for the ENTIRE GAME when we lost 59-0 (thank you FSU as I will never get the Seminole chant out of my nightmares), 49-0... hell, 63-17 that happened soon after I graduated from UofSC - the now "famous" game that some Clemson fans enjoy referring to on a regular basis :) And please don't use the "they smack talk about MY beloved team" logic as to why you smack talk about theirs. Rise above, my friend. Rise above.





One of the things that makes me really proud of my team/school/fans/institution is when someone who visited and attended a game cheering for the opponent tells me that everyone they met was really nice to them and welcoming. I absolutely hate to hear that they had a negative experience because fans were rude. It genuinely disappoints me, and then I apologize on their behalf because I do not want anyone who visits my favorite place to walk away disliking it because they encountered some jerk who I know does not represent the majority of the people there. If I catch anyone wearing my team's colors behaving inappropriately, I say something to them (politely) about it. Who does it help if you are rude to other people on "behalf" of your team? Not your team who you claim to love.
Not you because if you say something to the wrong person, you may end up in a very bad situation. And not the person you are treating badly - at a minimum, he or she walks away with a bad impression of your beloved institution.






I have traveled to many, many games at many, many institutions. My impression of those places is not colored as much by whether we won or not, but how we (my family, my friends, me) were treated while we were there. In each and every occasion, I (and the people I was with) were completely respectful. Mostly, we just liked to walk around the campuses and enjoy them - we rarely ever drank before the games because we were more interested in seeing the features of the school, the setting, etc. For the simple reason that my group was wearing our team's logos/colors, I have experienced people yelling rude and obscene things; vehicles getting keyed; objects thrown at one or more members of the group; and once even a physical confrontation. I try to keep the same thing in mind: that these people are not representative of the larger group, but when it happens more than once or even twice while we are there, it becomes more challenging to believe that.



In my mind, the only people who legitimately can smack talk are the ones who actually influence the outcome: the players themselves. If I were to say, "My defensive player is going to tear your quarterback apart this weekend," I personally would have no ability to make that happen. So what is the point in saying it, knowing that it will only either encourage others to jump aboard my irrational guarantee bandwagon and/or incite fans of the other team to retaliate with their own equally uncharitable "predictions."   

     
The choice to "smack talk" is each individual person's - we are fortunate to live in a country where freedom of speech is valued and often encouraged. But I personally do not see any upside. I pride myself in always being candid, but I am very careful to do my best to not hurt someone else's feelings. And I want my daughter to treat people the same way. Every person. Even those we disagree with, including those who root for our most heated rival team.

= Parenting fail, in my opinion.

I am a proud University of South Carolina fan, and I always have been. I will always root for my team in any and every situation, but I have and will always do my best to demonstrate respect for those who play against them and even those who don't like them. Am I perfect? No. Have I said, shared, or laughed at something someone joked about at another's expense? Of course; I am human. But I genuinely do respect each person's choice to respectfully support his or her team, organization, political party, institution, beliefs, what have you. I even respect your right to smack talk; I just don't choose to engage.

Live and let live; Que Sera Sera; To each his (or her!) own; Party on; <insert cliche here> (you get what I'm saying)...

It's a Gamecock Life

Well, another Gamecock football season us upon us, y'all. The 120th season to be exact. A time where 85,000 people gather in a stadium located in the 'hood of Columbia, SC with high hopes and BCS dreams.

This is where the "big city's" college students actually pause from binge drinking for a few hours to weave their way into the stadium and kick the silly freshmen out of the choice seats because they were under the clearly mistaken impression that you actually sit where it says on your ticket.

Tonight in Columbia, SC, you'd be out of luck if you were in search of any garnet, black, & white body paint; the faces may change over the years, but these guys are always camera ready in the heart of the student section ready to cheer their heads off for their guys on the field.

Yet the current crop of undergrads are blissfully unaware of the long-suffering history that those of us who have faithfully cheered on the Garnet & Black for over 3 decades (and of course there are many who can claim longer) have somehow managed to survive.... About halfway through last season, I read a post on one of the various Gamecock Facebook pages where a 19 year old student stated that she did not want to go to the next home game since the team lost on the road at Florida and at LSU. Those were the only losses of the entire season. To top 10 nationally ranked teams. I guess she has no context... I mean, she would have been FIVE years old during the 0-21 "streak" where the stands were still filled to the hilt with all of the "We'll get 'em next year!" hopefuls.

Maybe we were just in denial - either way, the true Gamecock fans were there. I can recall one game during my senior year when my roommate Wendy and I were literally the only 2 women left in the stands in a torrential downpour that was the majority of the USC-ECU (East Carolina) game. It wasn't even a consideration as to whether or not we'd go... And we LOST that game.



 
All of this season's hopes are pinned squarely on this guy's shoulders -->




"Clowney for Heisman," "The Hit," "ESPN Play of the Year" winner at the ESPY awards... No pressure.

After all, we've never had a player we pinned all of our hopes on before now... Right? Does anyone else still have their "Todd Ellis for Heisman" pins from the mid-to-late 80s? What about Harold Green? Robert Brooks? Sterling Sharpe? The last one you may have heard of even if you aren't a "vintage" Gamecock fan...but probably because he had a successful pro career at Green Bay as Favre's favorite target. All of these players had a chance to be great. Some more than great. Yet many fell victim either to the obscurity that was South Carolina football for so long (outside of the state, of course) or to the "chicken curse." Before you laugh, you should know that it is a thing. Seriously. I can remember one season as a kid during the 80s when some lady held a Voodoo ritual where she sacrificed a live chicken out in front of Williams-Brice. Really. Clearly it didn't work (at least not then).

(NOOOO - Not Sir Big Spur!!)

And let's not talk about 1984. Just don't. Please. I am still in therapy - the Navy game broke my little 4th grade heart.

When I first moved to Orlando, Florida in 1997, no one had any idea what I was talking about when I would say, "I'm a Gamecock!" To this day there are people who don't know my name but they know that I am an avid Gamecock fan (ok, let's be honest - fanatic)! It wasn't until Lou Holtz came to Columbia that the name started to be recognized beyond the state borders. And that was when we went winless for the first time EVER in school history. When Steve Spurrier accepted the job at South Carolina, Lee Corso said on national television that it was the biggest mistake Spurrier had ever made (yes, including trying to coach the Redskins). That when Spurrier went to Florida, at least he was working with a Chevy that he turned into a Caddy. But at South Carolina, he inherited the equivalent of a Pinto. He would never win at South Carolina, even if he coached for 400 years. So now you know why there is a constant boo when Corso speaks in the background whenever GameDay visits Cola - which has been pretty regularly over the past few years, I might add.

(Corso may eat crow, but he's not getting a Gamecock!!)

 
So when people come up to me and say, "WHOO HOO! It's football season again!" I feel an equal rush of excitement and anticipation coupled with extreme nausea. Maybe I take it too seriously. Okay, not even maybe. Yeah, I do. But I love my alma mater, and I have loved it since I was a 5 year old, towheaded little girl in 1980 sitting in a capacity stadium hearing everyone yell, "GO GAMECOCKS!!!!"And I always will.

Top 20 Reasons I Don't Care to Live in Florida...

(Note the verbiage... It is obvious that I have a small child since I refrain from using phrases and/or terms that I do not allow her to use such as "don't like" or "hate.")

I will be the first to admit that Florida, on the whole, has been good to me. When my parents announced that I was on the way, the first thing my granddad did was put a pool in his backyard in Ormond Beach. Some of my favorite people live here and have lived here almost (and in some cases all!) of their lives. As a kid, I can remember looking forward to going to Florida to vacation with my family (my grandparents, Uncle Mike, my cousin Jason), as well as when I became an "adult" (including a free place to stay on Spring Break for me and as many of my friends that could pack into my car!). When I finished up at USC, I honestly couldn't wait to get out of there!! I moved to Florida with my puppy Mac (stayed with my grandparents - Ol' Granddad even gave me the mother-in-law suite, and if you knew my grandfather, you'd know what what a true sacrifice THAT was!) the day after graduation to start looking for jobs because I knew my parents would be moving to take new jobs at UCF in July (which, playing on the my benefiting from FL angle, they made more $ in their positions at UCF).

Florida gave me my first real job (which led to an arguably successful career); UCF gave me a master's in business that helped me gain more credibility in my career; I met some WONDERFUL people and life-long best friends here; and when I needed an escape as a single parent, it gave me a place to come back home to and a means to begin a second career.

So why would I want to leave such a place? Glad you asked! :)

20. Most people are in perpetual vacation mode. Vacations are great, but if you act like you are on one all of the time, it is hard to get things done.
19. Blue Hairs. Normally, I love old people. They have a lot to offer my generation (X'ers), not to mention the Millennials and even some of the Boomers. I specialized in "old school" pension/retirement plans, and I treated every person I spoke with like I'd want someone to treat my grandparents. I have even been known to volunteer at geriatric facilities, and I wanted at one point to change my career focus to work in nursing home care. But the elderly in this area are straight up crazy. And they all still have driver's licenses, which makes it much, much worse.
18. Florida Drivers. There is a report that shows that 5-6 of the top 10 deadliest intersections in the U.S. are in Florida. This is not a coincidence.
17. Lightening strike capital of the world. Need I say more?
16. This is not The South. Maybe geographically, but certainly not in terms of friendliness. My next door neighbors moved in ~12 years ago now... I took a dessert that I baked over to them to welcome them to the neighborhood. They looked at me like I was crazy; they never returned my dish; and I am pretty sure they are the folks who report every single thing that happens at our house to our HOA.
15. No one is from here. Especially in Orlando. Sports teams can't really survive because people go to Magic games to watch the Celtics from their hometown of Beantown play. Or the Knicks. Or the Bulls. Or any other team but the Magic.
14. New Smyrna Beach (one of the most accessible beaches in our area) = shark bite capital of the world. That is all.
13. Any tropical animal species can survive here. Thanks to all of the jerks who brought South American boas and then decided to dump them in the Everglades. I have seen them crawl out of storm drains in Oviedo. No lie.
12. Crazy law-makers. Stand Your Ground... Yes, there are some good points to it, but it was written in a way that was WAY too vague. See #10. (And there are many more of these types of laws where this one came from.)
11. Crab grass (aka St. Augustine Grass) - have you ever SAT on that stuff? Not good. No picnics.
10. Casey Anthony; George Zimmerman. Not Guilty. Really?

9. Tourists. It's just too much. We have traffic laws that we actually follow here. We also do not stop in the middle of the road to read a map. We don't come to a standstill in the middle of the walkway at Disney because we need to decide what to do next, thus making everyone else walk AROUND us.
8. Gators/Seminoles/Canes 24-7. Make it stop. We live in ORLANDO. Oh wait - there is a college D-1 football team in the area? What? Down the street? Actually IN Orlando? And it's the 2nd largest school in total student population in the COUNTRY? So why does The Orlando Sentinel put them on page 2? And do you mean to tell me that there are OTHER teams in the country who are even BETTER than the ones in this state? Yes! Be sure to check the last pages in the tiny print with 20-word descriptions on the last pages of the paper.

7. NFL Sunday SUCKS. Jags, Dolphins, Bucs. Too many crappy teams that networks feel obligated to show so we get nothing else unless you spend $100/month to order an NFL package or go to a bar to watch the game with a decent team playing that people actually WANT to see.
6. Alligators. WTH?! They're in pools? Canals? Rivers? Lakes? Golf course water hazards? Mud puddles? Pretty much any body of water in Florida is guaranteed to have a 5-10 footer in residence. If you're lucky, maybe even a 12-15 footer might greet you once you sink into the sludge on the bottom that acts like wet cement and keeps you from being able to move an inch.

5. Lakes suck. See #6. But there are also 6 foot long water moccasins in case you aren't so worried about alligators.
4. Hurricanes. See 2004. Charley, Frances, and Jeanne. BACK TO BACK. And on weekends, just to make it worse. Not to mention the spin off cyclones. Yeah. I think I should have taken it as a sign when during the first year I lived here there was a major hurricane threat, a tornado touchdown in Winter Park, and the whole state was ON FIRE. Seriously. Google it. 1998.
3. Lack of "real trees." Yes Palm trees are lovely. Try stringing Christmas lights on one. Oh, and then try taking them down. I miss my pine trees and oaks and hickories and dogwoods... Sigh.

2. It's a sandbar. Look at a map. One solid tsunami and we are done. Earthquakes, sink holes... It won't be long, y'all.
And taking the top spot...
1. IT IS WAY TOO HOT HERE! I have dealt with heat. I grew up in Columbia, SC where, if you have ever been there in the summer time you know that it is ridiculous. I also worked at a summer camp sans AC and often any sort of air movement in rural Aiken (yes, RURAL Aiken, as if Aiken weren't rural enough). I have been to Louisiana where the swamp heat comes at you from all sides. Arizona has 100+ degree temps all the time. But the difference here is that it is HOT ALL THE TIME WITH AN INSANE AMOUNT OF HUMIDITY. Heat index anyone? It takes about 30 seconds for anything wet to turn into mildew here... MAYBE in December/January/February there is a break, but otherwise, it is just too damn hot. There is no "break" in the heat at night. It's still 90 degrees at midnight. My dashboard literally melted one summer. MELTED. That is not covered by most car insurance policies, FYI. No one dreams of an 80 degree Christmas. Maybe for one or two, but definitely not long term. My fireplace is probably a nature reserve for birds because we have owned this home since March of 1998 and never used the fireplace it came with. Also, I personally love to run outside. That is almost impossible to do here 6-7 months of the year unless you would like to invoke heat stroke. TOO FREAKING HOT FOR TOO LONG.

Okay, so now that I am finished with my rantings... I would like to reiterate that I am fully aware that some people truly love the state of Florida and cannot imagine living anywhere else. I respect that. I am also aware that many would consider my home state of South Carolina to be racist, backwards, redneck (though I'd argue that group is everywhere), and ignorant. Where I grew up, that was not at all the case, but I know that there are parts of the state that make it painfully obvious that we have a ways to go!

I am also aware that having now posted this, I can never run for any political office or marry a politician in Florida. Yeah, I can live with that ;) It may be paradise for many, but Florida is just not for me.

The 6th Stage of Grief

Everyone has heard of and likely experienced the Five Stages of Grief at some point or another: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. It has only been two days (how is that possible since it already feels like it's been way too long since they last time I held him?!), but I have definitely spent time in the first four of those:

He can't be gone.

Why can't special animals like him live longer?!

If I could have just had one more day with him... One more hour... I'd give anything.

I can't do this; it hurts too much. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I don't want to get out of bed today.

The fifth stage pops in now and then, but I certainly haven't yet come to terms with this loss. And I don't want to accept it. Accepting means acknowledging that he is gone. And I don't want him to leave me. About a year or more ago, I ordered a small "Roo" stuffed animal from the Disney site. Remember him? He is Kanga's kiddo from the Winnie the Pooh stories. It was one of the nicknames I often called Mac: my Roo. Mac used to love soft squeaky toys, but as he aged, he lost teeth, and he lost interest in "recreational chewing." I put the stuffed little Roo in the dog bed on the floor next to me with Mac at night time, and he would often rest his face and head on it, using it as a pillow and a comfort toy, or he would hold it with his paws or just have it next to his head. Now I hold it, and I press my nose to it so that I can have Mac with me, if only by smell and Roo association.

I also have the dingy yellow towel that I wrapped him in when I walked into the vet's office. It is the one that was limp and empty when I walked out without him. I don't want to wash it; I don't want to let it go. I have my South Carolina stadium blanket that I covered him with when I would lay him on the couch next to me; he was under it just before we left. I wrap myself in it, and I don't want to ever wash his scent off of it either. And then there is his collar... I found it several years ago at the Scottish Highland Games in Winter Springs. Mac's "real name" is MacGregor, which is a large part of my family heritage as my grandmother's lineage is linked to the Clan Gregor (ex. Rob Roy MacGregor). The collar is the red and green tartan of the Scottish clan. It's well-worn and torn in a few places, but I can't seem to stop holding it in my hands. I don't want ANYONE to touch these things. I keep them close to me but away from other hands and paws. They are HIS. They still smell of him. And he is mine. To let anyone else handle them, to wash the items he last used... it would mean that he was really gone. I haven't washed the shirt or the pants I wore when I last held him either. And it was hard to take a shower and wash the arms that held him so tightly, but I guess I have to draw the line at being completely disgusting and not bathing, right?

So Acceptance is out of the question for now, but in this case, and I would assume with many other cases under which similar circumstances have occurred, I have learned that there is an even tougher 6th stage in this cycle: Doubt. Did I do the right thing? Should I have "saved" him? Was he really ready or did I jump the gun? Maybe something could have been done. Does he blame me? Does he think I gave up on him? Does he have any idea how hard for me to let him go? Can he possibly know how much I love him? I can torture myself with these scenarios for hours.

There have been some reassurances along the way. My brother lives with me, and he had been around Mac daily for the last few years (since 2010 when I came back to Orlando). He told me, "I have no doubt that you did the right thing. I saw him; he was ready." My mother offered, "Veterinarians are bound by law to only euthanize an animal if it is the best and most humane option for that pet. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't think that Mac would eventually rebound." She also said that when she saw him at her house last Sunday, she knew he was not doing well; she was actually amazed that he lived as long as he did after his seizure last week because she thought it would only be a matter of hours then.These sentiments help, but they don't prevent me from going there in my mind many times since I had to make that very painful decision.

My brother brought him home yesterday. I had pulled out a baby picture of Mac a few weeks ago - my absolute favorite. He is laying on the twin bed in my senior year college apartment, and his tongue is sticking out of his mostly closed mouth because it was too big for his puppy mouth at the time. It was the cutest oddity about him at that time. He was so "new" that I hadn't even given him his first haircut. Ned chose that photo to put in the cherry box I had selected from the crematorium website the day prior. It was perfect.

He will always be that puppy. He can run. He can jump. He can race up and down the stairs. He can scratch behind his adorable, floppy ears with his back paws. He can leap up onto the bed and settle up against the warm body under the covers. He can leap down and loudly drink water out of his bowl at 2 in the morning, and then land on the one who is trying to sleep there when he returns to the bed. He can make a valiant attempt at escaping from the tub in mid-bath. He can even lift his leg to pee without falling on his side! All things that he was not able to do for the last several months of his life.

That is how I will choose to remember him, and what I hope will help me eventually reach the Acceptance stage. Until then, I will pinball between the other well known four and my invented sixth. And I will keep smelling my Roo's Roo, that ratty yellow towel, and the last blanket I put over him on the couch, all while holding the Clan Gregor tartan collar in my hands.

My Beloved Mac (July 1, 1996 - May 8, 2013)

I lost my best friend today. MacGregor of Walterboro Robinson (known by most as "Mac" - schnauzers have "titles") died just after 11 AM on Wednesday, May 8, 2013 in my arms at Oviedo Animal Hospital, the place he had received the most amazing care since 1997 when we first moved to Orlando.

I wanted to write this while I was still able to remember everything, and though I fight to see through the many tears that have fallen consistently since around 5 this morning, I know it has not sunk in at all yet that I will never see my little boy again.

Mac died in my arms (I insisted on holding him), sitting up in my lap like a little person as he always did. I held him and whispered, "I love you; I love you so much" over and over in his ear while I kissed him repeatedly on his soft head. Mac never stirred while the vet (Dr. Wiseman) searched for a vein with the needle in his right front leg. Finally, the injection went in, and when it was halfway finished, he growled a little in a very low voice and stirred. The same thing happened when the vial was almost out. I felt his heart beating furiously, then it slowed, then there was no heartbeat. Dr. Wiseman put his stethoscope up to Mac's chest and said, "His heart has stopped beating." Mac's back legs started to kick a little, then his chest heaved several times like he was trying to catch his breath (Ned says he was gone; it was just a chemical reaction). I held him so tightly and told him again how much I loved him. The vet said I could take as long as I wanted, but I couldn't stand to hold his little body with his eyes still open, looking up at me, and feel the warmth leave it. I didn't want to remember that. I didn't want that to cloud the many, many, many, many memories I have of me holding him, which was multiple, multiple times every single day I was blessed to be with him.

Mid-August 1996. About to start my senior year of college in an off campus apartment (which at USC meant that it was down the hill from the campus!) with my roommate Wendy. My plan after graduation was to go for my doctorate in psychology, but I didn't know where that would be. I had lost my childhood dog Pepper (also a miniature schnauzer) about a year and a half earlier. I knew that I wanted to get a dog when I lived on my own, but I also knew how much work a puppy was, so I decided that I would get one now so that he (I knew it would be a male mini schnauzer) would be housebroken and acclimated to life with me before we took off for parts unknown. I also recognized that I may well end up in a place where I knew no one, and I wanted to have someone I loved with me. 

I looked through the Pets section of The State newspaper on a Sunday (yes, the actual paper - internet was new and rare at the time), and I found an ad for mini schnauzer puppies - a whole litter of them who were just now ready to find homes (at 6 weeks!). Wendy and I drove to Walterboro, SC and met the people who had the female schnauzer. She was all silver; her mate was all black. There were 7-8 puppies from that litter; some were salt & pepper, and a few were mostly black. The owner (who had never bred puppies before but told me a new neighbor had moved in with a male schnauzer so they decided to give it a whirl) put all of the pups in the back yard to play so that I could see them in action. Before long, one of the salt and pepper males hopped up behind one of his sisters. He stuck his nose under her tail and flipped her right over! I knew he was the one - the silly little troublemaker! :) I took him home with me that very evening, and I remember feeling a little sick to my stomach later that night after I realized that I was now responsible for a life. I momentarily pondered calling the breeder to ask if I could bring him back! But of course I already knew I wanted him with me forever. The woman told me to put him in a box overnight to start crate training him, so I did. But then he made this completely pathetic sound (a cross between a kitten and a dying chicken, I think), so I got up, picked him up out of his box, and planted all 3 pounds of him beside me in my twin bed. And that was that! His tongue was too big for his mouth when he was a puppy - it was pretty stinkin' adorable (as shown in pic above). And it took awhile for him to grow into those paws - he'd hop, trip, and slide all over the place.

But he was an incredibly fast learner, and crazy smart. He would steal Wendy's socks and run under her bed, knowing the exact place to be where she couldn't reach him. Then, when she adjusted her position, he'd move to the spot she couldn't reach from that angle! A couple of years after we moved to Florida, Wendy came to Orlando to visit us. She opened her suitcase, and then went into the bathroom to put some toiletries away. He went straight to that open case, grabbed a pair of socks, and scurried under the guest room bed (coincidentally, the same one she had used in our former apartment!)! But he never in his life stole anyone else's socks!

Mac was the most loyal, smart, loving, sweet, non-yippy dog I have ever known. He would just look over at dogs who barked at him wondering what they were doing (I am convinced Mac thought he was human!). He only ever barked if he thought I was or might be in danger, and he would carry on like nothing else when I was in the pool or lake, convinced I was drowning! He was certain in those cases that he was Lassie. My cousins came to our lake house for a reunion one summer, and Mac had a fit when he saw the kids repeatedly run down the dock and jump off the end. He even tried to get in their way and block them as they started down the pier. Finally, he actually jumped into the lake to try to "save" them. The only problem was that MAC was the one who needed saving! He could not swim at all - not even "dog paddle" - literally sunk like a rock! :)

Everyone who ever met Mac loved him, even people who didn't like dogs couldn't resist him! My ex had a friend who was scared of small dogs (even though he was 6'6", a former UCF basketball player, and had a "tough guy" persona). One night I picked my ex up from downtown with his friend, and his friend decided to crash at my house on the couch. I came down the next morning to find him spooning with Mac! My friend Frank would come over for dinner a couple of times a month before he met his now wife. When they began to get more serious, I told him to bring Milurka over with him. He did, and she immediately warned me that she did not like dogs at all. Mac wasn't taking no for an answer. He jumped up next to her on the couch and gave her some serious adorable "under the lashes" puppy eyes. He definitely knew how to work it! After that night, every time they came over, Milurka happily patted the seat next to her for Mac to jump up with her and often held him in her lap. Frank was excited, thinking he might be able to get a dog. "Only Mac!" was Milurka's answer.

Whenever I traveled out of town while we lived in Orlando, my parents, brother, or Granddad gladly kept him (and spoiled him further!) for me. I can remember crying once when I went to Scotland because I was so far away and missed him so much, but I knew my grandfather was letting him hang his head out of the car window, was taking him for long walks, and dropped him a steak on a regular basis! Highly doubtful that Mac was missing me quite as much :) When we moved to Charlotte, I found a wonderful pet sitter who would come to the house and care for him while I traveled for work. She had been in this profession for almost 15 years, and she confessed to me that even though she wasn't supposed to have one, Mac was truly her favorite. She would arrange her visit schedule so that he was the first one she got to in the AM; she would spend extra time with him in the afternoons; and he was the last one she saw for the bedtime visit so that she could sneak extra time with him. She even taught him how to play hide-n-seek!

Mac somehow always knew when I was feeling badly - whether it be from a cold or an emotionally tumultuous time. Before I was diagnosed and properly medicated for depression, when I hit my lowest points and thought about how I might end my own life, I could never carry those thoughts out - one look at him and I knew I could never leave him. He literally saved my life on more than one occasion. And, if you think about it, Ellie's too. Somehow he knew when I hit those lows - he would wake up from a deep sleep as if he had a sixth sense and come over to where I was. He'd either sit on the floor and look up at me with his dark brown eyes, or he'd jump up wherever I was and comfort me. 
 
And he knew how to give hugs and kisses - he knew what those words meant, and he knew how to do both on command (and often when you didn't want him to - especially the wet kisses!). He followed me EVERYWHERE! He would never let me out of his sight, and if I dared slip past him while he was asleep or distracted, his little face would pop around the corner as soon as he realized I'd left his view. He also wouldn't let me work too hard. When I'd be plugging away at my laptop late at night (often after already putting in 70-80+ hours that week!), he would insert his face in front of the screen to remind me what was most important.

I always knew that I would never let him be in pain, and when he woke me this morning by crying out in agony, something in me knew it was the end. He had stopped trying. He often fell over the last several months, but during the past few days, he didn't even try to get back up as he always had before. He was lethargic, didn't want to stand up, didn't want to do "his business" outside, didn't follow me wherever I went (even with just his eyes), and he didn't want anything to eat... I even offered him bacon! Who turns down bacon?! I thought about keeping him with me all morning, and then taking him in the afternoon, but he looked up at me, and he told me he was ready. Whoever said dogs do not have expressions never met Mac. He truly did. And he told me he needed me to let him go. So I wrapped him up in a large, yellow towel, and we took our last drive together. He weighed only 14.1 lbs (Mac was usually 24-26 lbs throughout his adult life). He was frail. He was listless. He was ready. And I held him to the very last second (and a little beyond), loving him with all of my heart, knowing that I had to be selfless and be there for him as he had been there for me his entire life.

I know that he lived a good, long life - more years than most dogs his size and breed ever see. And I know that there is no person on this planet who loved him (or could ever love him) more than I did. I can remember being pregnant with Ellie and wondering to myself if I could ever love a child as much as I loved my dog. To some, that may sound silly, but only if you didn't know Mac (when he was Mac; he declined significantly in the last several months of his life). As someone said to me yesterday, "He sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime dog." If any words ever could, those pretty well sum it up. I also know that my Granddad is taking care of him for me for now - throwing him steaks and taking him on long walks on the golf course. All of these things are comforting, but none of them can ease the pain I am feeling right now. He is gone, and I will miss him terribly for the rest of my life.

I love you, Mac. You will always be my first baby, and you have left a tremendous hole in my heart that can and will never be filled by anyone else.




My Mac through the years (of course there are HUNDREDS if not thousands, but these are a few I have available online and they are some of my favorites)...

Mac in my bedroom (which he was convinced was his room too, of course!) in Orlando (circa 2005).

Mac looking thrilled that Mommy put him in a hat for the Christmas card:

Mac in our new home in Huntersville 2006

"Put me in, Coach Mac!" - Halloween 2008

                     Watching over baby Ellie in 2009

Mac in September 2012 - very handsome for a 16 year old!

The last picture of Mac. He is looking up at me and laying on my chest. It was taken just before he passed away on 5.8.13.

The "A" Word - Yes, Abortion.

I try to remain politically neutral for a variety of reasons. One - I like to keep an open mind. Two - in most cases, different candidates have varying philosophies regardless of the party platform. Three - I grew up with staunch democrats (educators!), but my parents always encouraged me to think for myself. What I have noted over time is that this "make up your own mind" mentality seems to be more prevalent with democrats than with republicans - interesting. But I digress...

There is one major party platform issue that I cannot waiver on my stance: Roe v. Wade and/or any legislation created or amendments added that make abortion illegal. But it's not for the reasons you may think... Of course, as a woman, I object to middle aged men (or older - let's look at our presidential history, y'all!) telling me what I can and cannot do with my body. But yes, I do understand the thought that life begins at conception. I certainly do not think that abortion (or even the morning after pill) should be used as a birth control method. Those who have done so have given the term "abortion" the extremely negative connotation it has acquired. I have never personally had an abortion, but I do know a couple of women who have. In both cases, it was the right decision for all involved.

There are so many contradictories that both parties have. Democrats are pro-choice, yet oppose the death penalty; Republicans are pro-life, but endorse the death penalty. Democrats want stiffer gun laws in place; Republicans are NRA-friendly and think we should all have the right to bear arms. The rationale is most often that even if it were illegal, people would still obtain guns just like they obtain drugs today. So who is right? Who is wrong? Who should decide that?

The main reason I oppose laws that limit or prohibit abortion are because of what would happen if that were the case. Similar to the logic that if guns were illegal, people would still obtain them; if abortions were illegal, women would still find a way. And it would be at extreme health risk, so not only would an embryo or fetus or whatever stage/term used be terminated, but the girl or woman having the back-alley abortion would be at extreme risk of the same fate.

So no matter what party you affiliate yourself with, I don't think anyone has the answer. This clip made me laugh in the way that it posed the abortion issue; hope it lightens this post up for you as well. (Sorry conservatives - it's from The Daily Show - but you have to admit it's still funny!) :)

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/wed-august-29-2012/rnc-2012---the-road-to-jeb-bush-2016---the-republican-platform?xrs=synd_twitter