Dear Young Breeding Neighbors

I am writing you this letter today to let you know that I was not around when the welfare system was developed, but I'm pretty sure it was made to help people out of a tight spot. Something that you know is there if you lose your job or become disabled in some way.

NEWS FLASH - Welfare was not created to be a way of life or something anyone should aspire to. It is not a free pass to sit on your ass and get paid for doing nothing when the only thing that is keeping you from working is your own laziness. So please at least try to pick up after yourselves and be responsible for your actions. Don't leave it all up to me because I'm having to work twice as hard to earn not just enough money for myself, but for you as well.

Please move soon,

Stephanie

The Big Hairy Mustache That Could Act

I have a theory and I think it’s a pretty decent one – that Tom Selleck would not be as good an actor were it not for his mustache. Not that he’s a great actor or anything.

I’ve been watching the TV show Blue Bloods and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s to see what Tom’s perfectly trimmed mustache does every week. The show is good if you can get past the self-righteous right wing aspect of a family that thinks it’s better than everyone else.

Each week Tom Selleck uses the same acting technique, which is to sigh a lot regardless of the situation. As Frank Reagan, the family patriarch, Tom is a sad man with a big mustache and it must be weighing heavy on his upper lip. Sometimes when he gets bad news on the show, he blows air into his upper lip to make the mustache poke out like a wooly caterpillar before he lets loose with a sigh. Other times he lets his face go slack like the caterpillar took a nap draped over a tree limb. And better still is when angered he purses his lips to make it look like the caterpillar might crawl right off his face. If it did, I’d be afraid to look at that big empty expanse. I don’t even want to imagine it.

I remember when Tom was Magnum P.I. His character was upbeat, carefree and the mustache added to his facial features, it wasn’t the focal point of his acting. Secretly I think his chest hair was. Those were the good old days when a man could use his chest hair to enhance his acting as opposed to his mustachioed upper lip. “Hey ladies, my eyes are up here.”

Raising Money for a Pit Bull I Rescued

Well, somehow I deleted the Chip-In that was here, but that's okay since it expired. I was pretty happy to get about $435 for the rescue that took one of the two starving pit bulls I found abandoned in my neighborhood. The dogs had been left chained up for at least a couple weeks before I found them.

The experience taught me a lot. First many of the so-called "rescues" will say they are full and it's best to have the dogs euthanized. Seriously. But then some invisible door opened and all these very kind people stepped forward to help. That has never happened to me before. I've always tried to do things myself and not ask for help but it was really life-affirming to see how complete strangers stepped up to give me food, money, supplies and shelter for these dogs.

Now both are in great homes. They are happy, healthy, loved, spayed and thriving.

Up In Smoke

The other day I was out walking one of my dogs when we came across a dog I’ve seen loose before. I was trying to get it to go toward its house when I passed two guys standing around and I said, “There’s a dog running loose and it lives in one of these duplexes. Are the owners just too damn lazy to walk it?” 

One guy was a hippie with a long, nasty braid hanging down his back almost to his waist. He made no move to help corral the dog but said rather amazed, “No, that dog can get out the door by himself.” And I was like, “Oh really, the dog has opposable thumbs and has learned how to turn the doorknob? That’s amazing.” Frickin’ pothead. Crank up the Grateful Dead and go smoke another blunt, man.

Photo from Dogster

Free Bird

When I was in elementary school my family found a little Baltimore oriole in our yard that had been kicked out of the nest. The tree was too high to place the baby back in and the mother didn’t seem to want to care for it so we took the little bird in.

It’s hard to remember what we fed it at first. I think it was some kind of pablum. We fed the bird until it was old enough to eat regular bird seed. The bird became our pet and it lived in our basement perching on a wooden dowel laundry rack with newspaper under it.

The bird began to get stronger and friendlier. Eventually it would hop up the basement steps to greet us whenever we went downstairs, which was often. The little bird loved attention and hopped around the basement following us around. Before you think this was a dank, dark basement it wasn't. We had a big basement finished in concrete block with lights and windows and a door that went to the backyard. 

The bird was so sweet but we were never able to release it back into the wild. One day my mom was taking the laundry downstairs to go out the back door and hang it on the clothesline in our backyard. With the big round laundry basket held in front of her, my Mom did not see the little bird hop up to greet her and she stepped on it and broke its neck.

When I got home from school that day my Mom pulled me aside and told me what had happened. I cried and cried. She felt bad about it, too. Poor little bird rejected by its mother, killed by my mother. RIP.

Welcome to My Reality

I have always loved animals. As a child I used cry whenever I watched an episode of "Lassie". It was a mixture of the music and Lassie's soulful eyes that made me cry. The combination plucked at my heart strings like a professional cellist. One summer my dad ran over a rabbit's nest with the lawnmower killing the mother and all but one baby. The baby was so small it had no fur yet only skin, like a tiny hippo we wrapped in a washcloth. Family members took turns trying to feed the baby with an eyedropper but the milk kept coming out of its nose. Eventually it died and I cried for so many days that my dad tried to explain the circle of life to me, ever the comforter in times of sadness, providing an understanding shoulder to cry on, "Stop being so emotional. Everything dies." Thanks, Dad.

The problem is I never outgrew my love for animals and now I have a house full of cats and dogs that other people discarded like used tissues. I would take in more if I had more space and money. This blog is dedicated to my unapologetic love for animals. I don't eat them, I don't wear them and I help provide for them as much as possible. I know it might be hard to believe, but yes, I'm single too! Call me what you will - crazy cat lady, creepy dog lady, wacko single lady. It's okay. All my children are furry and I'm cool with it.

I still love you, Lassie even after I found out you were played by a male collie. Oh reality, you are such a cruel mistress.