Everywoman: Beautiful (Somerset Magazine, Jan 2016)

Everywoman [ˈevrēˌwo͝omən] – the ordinary or typical woman

Beautiful [ˈbyo͞odəfəl] - pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically

  Rita (actual name withheld by request) is an ordinary woman, no longer young, but not yet old.  She has a few scars and her hair, beneath its salon color, has begun to gray.  She weighs more than she’d like but not as much as she did.  She speaks of how her mother, self-conscious of her weight, refused to be photographed during her childhood years.  Just as she and her siblings entered adulthood, their mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  She began to encourage her children to take snapshots, but they were loath to document her illness.  The result: a generation lost. 

Not long ago, Rita found herself in a similar situation, “I was facing surgery and was afraid that I’d feel less of a woman afterward.”  She’d been looking through photo albums and had noticed a gap in her personal history.  There were grade school pictures, a senior portrait, and wedding photos, then virtually nothing.   It has taken over forty years, but Rita finally believes that she is worthwhile.  Determined to not make her mother’s mistake, she scheduled a photo shoot to provide her family with a tangible memory.  “I had overcome my fear of rejection and could finally look at myself in a mirror with pride.  It was time to face another phobia: being photographed,” she says with a laugh.

On the appointed day, she found herself not thrilled, but apprehensive of the process.  Looking at the stylebooks – all those trim, perfectly coiffed models – and staring at the posters of smiling, windswept beauties made her feel hopeless.  Rita recalls how her stylist, Michelle Holt, came to sit beside her, gently closed the book, and said, “Forget this.  You are your own kind of beautiful.  Let’s show them that.”

Later, in front of the camera, being instructed to turn one way while looking another, walking like a runway model, and posing with leg bent, hand on hip, she felt like a fraud.  “It just wasn’t me.”   Photographer Phil Balko offered words of reassurance, “You are beautiful and it’s okay to feel beautiful.” 

Twice in one day she’d heard the word but, still, she couldn’t believe.  But, then came proof – photographic proof.  Looking at her portraits she saw a beautiful woman.  Not a rail thin supermodel, not an airbrushed end product, but a real, live, beautiful woman.  From Rita’s experience was born the Everywoman: beautiful campaign.

The movement started at Image Makers Studio on Main Street in Somerset.  “One of the things I like best about this business,” says Ruth Walker, who owns the studio with her daughter Kristin Walters, and daughter-in-law Connie Walker, “is that I get to meet so many wonderful people.”  She smiles with affection and something akin to maternal pride as her ‘girls’ – stylists Kayla Lepley, Jenn Fritz, and Michelle Holt - playfully reenact a scene from Charlie’s Angels for the camera. 

The auxiliary salon has been transformed for the day into a makeshift photography studio where Ruth is treating some of her favorite clients to a professional portrait session with Photography by Balko. The portraits will soon begin to replace the posters provided by fashion magazines and hair product manufacturers.  “We feel that our clients better represent what we see as true beauty and this is a great way to showcase the talents of our staff, as well.”

While Phil Balko is lauded for his landscapes, he is best known for his work in wedding photography and portraits done in unique settings.  When asked what he enjoys most he replies, “Kids and dogs can do no wrong, but the truth is, all my subjects are beautiful.”

Tales with Tails, from Somerset Magazine - Jan 2016

It’s been my pleasure to meet some of the very best people in my own backyard.  Jaimie Miller is one of them.  She is an amazing young woman who refuses to allow chronic pain or any of life’s cruel surprises break her momentum.  Jaimie is a wife, mother, Vice President of the Ethel Fund, motivated fundraiser, dedicated volunteer, and my friend. 

Her sons - whom I refer to affectionately as Boy 1 and Boy 2 (though their names are Cash and Tristan) – are learning through her example how to be good.  Not just well behaved, but truly good.  They greet friends by name, always rush to lend a hand, and cheerfully share their mother’s attention with others.  Even their dog, Shaylee, serves the community.

Shaylee is a therapy dog.  She and Jaimie began their work together visiting hospice patients, providing love and quiet affection to those near the end of their lives.  Though important and immensely satisfying, these visits can be difficult.  To balance the scale, Jaimie began to look for therapy work with children – something upbeat and fun.

As a TDI (Therapy Dog International) certified team, she searched for a Tail Waggin’ Tutors program, but found none closer than Pittsburgh.  Jaimie is of the belief that, if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.  Her solution: she and Shaylee founded the successful and exponentially growing program Tales with Tails.

Shaylee can be found at area libraries and schools, along with other dog-handler teams, hanging out with kids and books.  The premise of the program is to help children who have a little trouble reading gain confidence by reading to nonjudgmental dogs.  Daisy and I have recently joined Jaimie’s group and we’ve found that it’s about much more than just books.

At Windber Elementary School recently, we met scores of children, faculty, and support staff, all with smiles upon their faces.  From the tiny preschoolers who gleefully showed Daisy their favorite picture books to young Grace in fourth grade (whom I fully expect to become President) who read a full chapter from a novel, we enjoyed every encounter.

The day passed all too quickly, but there was time in some of the classrooms to answer questions and even show off a few tricks.  Students and teachers alike learned new things about how to politely approach a new dog (always ask before petting, touch first on the side of the face, not the top of a dog’s head), why Daisy has curly hair (recessive genes), and that not all Rottweilers (or pit bulls, or poodles, or dachshunds) are mean.

Daisy is rather young – just two years old – to be a therapy dog and she learned that she could earn a treat by looking at the pages of the book her student friend was reading.  At first, she’d sneak a quick peak and look for a treat; by the end of the day, she stared with rapt attention until each page was turned.

Of course, I learned new things that day, too.  I learned that my student has become my teacher.  Jaimie has opened my mind to a new and exciting avenue to share some of my greatest loves: dogs, books, and children.  If you, like Daisy and myself, would like to become a certified therapy dog team, check out TDI at ww.tdi-dog.org for further information.  To join Tales with Tails, you may contact Jaimie at jacey78@hotmail.com.

There is No Dog

 

by REBECCA S. LINDEMAN

from Somerset Magazine, December 2015

 There is no dog in this story; nor was there one on October 12, 2000 when the USS Cole was attacked by al-Qaeda suicide bombers.  Seventeen American sailors were killed and 39 injured.  Fred Ings II was one of the 39, but there are days – far too many of them – that he wishes he’d been the 18^th.  The wounds he sustained required multiple spinal surgeries and, ultimately, forced his retirement from the Navy. 

To say that the memories of that day haunt him is not enough.  Fred rarely sleeps through the night and what rest he gets is plagued by dreams so vivid that he wakes in a Yemen hospital rather than his own bed.  He is forever at war, a place no child belongs, so he keeps his son and daughter at an emotional distance.  Even his wife is kept at arm’s length.  As is the case with many active-duty veterans, Fred is in a constant state of hypervigilance, checking every shadow, corner, and barrier for possible threats.  He is exhausted, in both body and mind.

PTSD is a battle Fred can no longer fight alone, nor should he have to.  He and his psychologist have carefully researched the benefits of a psychiatric service dog; one specifically trained to recognize a nightmare or flashback and gently bring Fred back from memory to reality.  A dog that would carry the medicines he sometimes forgets and remind him in response to a timer installed in its pack.  A dog that would turn on lights and check corners before he enters a room.  A dog that would be his constant companion and emotional support, a calm and loving presence in a frightening world.

Such a dog exists and Fred has completed the rigorous application process.  He has demonstrated his ability to follow training protocol and will commit to both initial and continuing education to become and remain an effective dog-handler team.  He has been examined and found to have both the need of and potential to benefit from a service animal.  There only thing that stands in his way is money.

It costs between $25,000 and $30,000 to raise and properly train a psychiatric service dog.  Thankfully, the agency that matches these extraordinary animals to those who need them absorbs most of the financial burden but, for an unemployable disabled veteran, the $5,000 co-pay might as well be $5 million. 

There is no dog in this story but, with your help, there can be.  What seems impossible to this family can be accomplished if we pull together as a community.  The readers of this column have demonstrated an incredible generosity by donating to save the lives of family pets.  Today, I am asking that you donate to save a family.  Let’s give this veteran more than a handshake to thank him for his service, let’s give him the tools necessary to rebuild his shattered life.

You may send donations to help Fred: The Ethel Fund Inc., PO Box 1231, Somerset PA 15501.  Please write “Service Dog” in the memo line of your check.

Antiphon

 

fierce companion of the never was

the sanguine what may be

antithesis of malignant what might have been

 

dusk is not too late for flight

from love that was mostly thespian

to tangible affection with one who honors memory.

 

A Cruel Blessing

you’re not the man you used to be

and I, for one, am glad
gone is the spiteful arrogance

how old are you now?

I’m 48
how old am I?
you’re 70
70? I don’t feel 70

you’re not the man you used to be

no longer do you flaunt to me
the choice you’ll always make

how old are you now?

I’m 48
how old am I?
you’re 70
70? I don’t feel 70

you’re not the man you used to be

somehow, you’re better now
cruel memories are fading

do you still live in Somerset

I do.  what’s my name?
Henrietta!
that’s not my name
but it’s a good name
okay, I’ll be Henrietta

you’re not the man you used to be

you smile, point out the trees
offer your coat, because it’s cold

how old are you now?

I’m 48
how old am I?
you’re 70
70? I don’t feel 70

you’re not the man you used to be

I’ve never seen you scared
but at least you are not lost

where are we going?

up to the high bridge
oh, that’s another mile
that's right, Dad

what’s my name?

Henrietta!
that’s not my name
but it’s a good name
okay, I’ll be Henrietta

you’re not the man you used to be
and I, for one, am glad
and I, for one, am sad

 

 

A Year in Review

 

 

withering id

emergent sacrifice

adoration undefined

intimate distance

abject ecstasy

 

Depression

Today, I just don’t think I care

perhaps, tomorrow, it will change

or maybe it’s too late

and I won’t care forever

inside anxiety

cold fingers press down and pierce my flesh

grasp at my heart and squeeze
jagged tachycardia, sweat that feels like blood
clasp my throat, I cannot breathe
groggy, bitter thoughts of impending doom
eyes open to a fear most real
violent violet fog engulfs me and

I turn to sleep again, again, again…

 

What is an Emotional Support Dog?

The job of an emotional support dog is just that: to provide emotional support in the form of affection and companionship to an individual suffering from a mental or emotional condition such as anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder/mood disorder, panic attacks, post-traumatic stress disorder, or phobias.  Unlike a service dog, an emotional support dog is not required to perform any specific task or to have any training beyond that required to behave politely in public.

                When a person meets the criteria, there are federal laws that protect his/her right to live or travel with an emotional support dog.  One of these is the Fair Housing Amendments Act (FHAA), which allows an emotional support dog to live with them, even when there are no-pet policies in place.  The Air Carrier Access Act (ACAA) allows an emotional support dog to fly with its owner in the cabin of an airplane without having to pay any additional fees.

                Though emotional support is an important service, it does not make an animal a service dog.  A person with a disability has the right to be accompanied by a trained service dog into most places of business.  This right is not extended to the emotional support dog.  Does that mean that a person with a mental or emotional disability is not entitled to this accommodation?  Certainly not.  Remember that an emotional support dog requires no specific training.

                If a mental or emotional condition is severe enough to be considered a disability, a person may be assisted by a psychiatric service dog.  A service dog (more about them in a future column) is one that has been trained to perform specific tasks for its handler.  In the case of a psychiatric service dog, these tasks might include counterbalancing or bracing a dizzy handler, waking someone who is heavily medicated and sleeps through alarms, doing room searches or turning on lights for a person with PTSD, blocking someone in a dissociative episode from wandering into danger, or leading a disoriented handler to a designated person or place.

                Confused?  I certainly was when I began my research.  Simply put, a dog is born with the skills to provide emotional support: they love unconditionally and give both affection and companionship freely.  My favorite explanation involves taking emotion out of the equation and asking if a robot could do the task at hand.  A robot can’t love but one could be built to perform a task that you are incapable of.  If a dog is trained to do that task for its disabled handler, it is considered a service dog.

                Another source of confusion is the many emotional support and service dog registry services I encountered during my research.  While a landlord is justified in requiring documentation to prove a tenant requires a service or emotional support animal, no central registry exists or is required.  There are many companies that will register an animal and provide a certificate or identification badge but this, in itself, doesn’t make an animal a legitimate emotional support or service dog.
            

Rebecca is the President & Executive Director of The Ethel Fund Inc., a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization dedicated to changing animals' lives by providing assistance in times of catastrophic veterinary need.  To learn more, please visit http://www.ethelfund.org or https://www.facebook.com/TheEthelFund.  You may contact Rebecca at rslindeman@ethelfund.org.

Phil Balko is the proprietor of Photography by Balko and donates his talents to the Ethel Fund Inc. as well as other community organizations.  To see more of his work, visit http://philipbalko.com/. You may contact Phil at inquiry@philipbalko.com.

What is a Service Dog?

                My pastor (retired), Art Gotjen, has probably had more influence on the person I’ve become than anyone else.  He quietly encourages me to be the best and most honest person I can be.  He has instilled the trait of which I am most proud: the willingness to accept full responsibility for my actions.  He has also instilled in me a trait which others must find annoying: I expect people to say what they mean and mean what they say.

                When asked if I am a dog trainer, I’m tempted to answer, “No, I train people to train their own dogs,” but I usually say, “Yes” instead, because I know what they mean.  When I am asked if I train service dogs, a whole different conversation begins.

                Most often, the term service dog is used when the intent is therapy dog.  A therapy dog and its handler work as a team to improve the lives of others.  Examples include visiting a nursing home, rehabilitation center, or school.  One of my favorite websites describing the work of therapy dogs is that of Therapy Dogs International (tdi-dog.org). 

                Other times, the inquirer is an elderly person moving into a retirement community who fears the loss of their best friend and greatest supporter, or a person struggling with mental illness that they cannot face life alone.  These folks mean to ask about an emotional support dog.  The organization I’ve found most helpful in explaining this role is Heeling Allies (mentalhealthdogs.org).

                A true service dog is one that has been trained to perform specific tasks that a person with disabilities cannot. The most common examples are guide dogs for the visually impaired or alert dogs for people with compromised hearing.  The work of a service dog is taken quite seriously and, as such, the Americans with Disabilities Act insures that it cannot be denied access to any public business.  In fact, in Pennsylvania, even the service dog in training is protected by this law.  The U.S. Department of Justice has prepared a list of the most common questions asked by business owners (ada.gov/qasrvc.htm).

                While a service dog requires specific training, there is no requirement that it must be trained by a certain organization or trainer.  Nor does a service dog need to be certified or registered.  There are many organizations to be found on the Internet that claim to do so but, the fact is, a certificate, a vest, and/or an identification badge does not a service dog make.  These items are commonly used to identify a service dog, but purchasing such documents and using them to pass off a pet as a working animal is an insult to those of us who legitimately require such assistance.

                Recently, I travelled to Tennessee and required the assistance of my dog, Daisy, more than is typical for me.  Her jobs are to brace me while rising, pull me from a sitting position, and to pick up objects when I lose these abilities to a flare of connective tissue disease and fibromyalgia.  While working, she wears a vest clearly marked with a patches reading “Service Dog – Do Not Distract.”  Rarely did people respect this request. 

                It’s certainly understandable.  She’s awfully cute and seeing a dog in a department store or a service plaza restroom is a novel experience.  Breaking for a visit doesn’t affect Daisy’s working ability and I was happy to have the opportunity to educate but, in general, a service dog should be treated with respect and not distracted from its duty. 

Please, always ask permission before approaching any dog (service or pet) and try not to be insulted if its handler declines.  Sometimes, the work of these animals is so intricate that they cannot afford to be distracted.

Rebecca is the President & Executive Director of The Ethel Fund Inc., a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization dedicated to changing animals' lives by providing assistance in times of catastrophic veterinary need.  To learn more, please visit http://www.ethelfund.org or https://www.facebook.com/TheEthelFund.  You may contact Rebecca at rslindeman@ethelfund.org.

Phil Balko is the proprietor of Photography by Balko and donates his talents to the Ethel Fund Inc. as well as other community organizations.  To see more of his work, visit http://philipbalko.com/. You may contact Phil at inquiry@philipbalko.com.

Broken Butterfly



What a shock it is to learn

the painful truth

through self-evaluation

that what I thought was just a game

was most lethal and quite real

and now that I know

how much I care

I must learn to let you go

Addiction to agony

Never was I beautiful and
now, certainly, I’m not
not because of scars and bruising
rather, careless revelry
so, you punish me with silence
and it’s less than I deserve
at your feet I grovel
outside your door I beg
forgiveness I do not warrant
yet, I cannot turn away

Regret

A curse it is to miss a beauty
that you never truly had
to mourn the death
of love that never lived
a cross to bear that you built yourself
a will to live
you wish you didn't have

Thoughts of Love

So, you thought you were in love
with feelings large and true
building from within until
unbidden, they emerge
yes, you thought you were in love
but it was only gas

Memory and Fantasy

 

Fine things are memory and fantasy,

or are they places that we dwell

rent-free with only those who are invited,

and the ignorant are banned.

 

I see you beneath a maypole

bare flesh melded to one of those you love,

the size of things don’t matter for

in fantasy, there are no rules

 

I see her beneath the hemlock

with her great surrendered love

two worlds so different in reality

mean nothing in a dream

 

those who have passed through this realm

to whatever lies beyond

I see alive and well and happy

walking unseen at our side

 

and him I see in a perfect photograph

composed to keep him safe

held in tender, loving kindness, protected from

the full intensity that has baffled stronger men

 

these hearts that are so capable

of many loves at once

are both beautiful and dangerous

and what truly makes us we.

 

 

After the Storm

the adrenal rush of a perfect storm
black angry clouds, shouting thunder clap
lightning strikes meant to destroy
then gentle rain and brand new life internal

let reality run itself
with karma as its guide
I prefer to dance with you in fantasy
taking shelter from those who do not know us

Rain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rain that falls on Tennessee today

unquestionably, is sad.

though every soul is broken

yours rests in my hand;

when I reached out to touch it

the task became my own

to cherish and protect you

from the full intense emotion

that is my living, breathing love

 

 

Close enough to touch

the Forest sleeps, an Angel smiles

squirrels play chase
a grackle thief feasts on a worm
the robin plucks another
there are more than enough to share
it rains in Tennessee and I reach
across the many miles
to take your proffered hand

Perspective

How boring now, the well-trod path
how tame, the gentle stream
how inadequate, my own company
now that I’ve walked with you

Give me, now, wild waters
and canyons carved from shale
no route to follow, no blaze on trees
rather, I will take forgotten roads and wildlife trails

If I never find myself beside you
then, with memories I’ll walk
in the quiet presence of my dog
which has always been enough.

Untitled

Abject loneliness

unrequited passion

all-encompassing love

stilted lines.

It seems I've left my muse behind…

What is a therapy dog?



Horatio’s first therapy dog visit

(Photo: Phil Balko)

Somerset Magazine, April 2015

by REBECCA S. LINDEMAN

Olive with Pups at Pitt founder, Ellory Dabbs

(Photo: Phil Balko)

 

Have you ever wondered what the difference is between a service dog, an emotional support dog, and a therapy dog?  Well, according to the American’s with Disabilities Act, “Service animals are defined as dogs that are individually trained to do work or perform tasks for people with disabilities” and “the work or task a dog has been trained to provide must be directly related to the person’s disability.”  The organization Heeling Allies defines an emotional support dog (sometimes referred to as a mental health assistance dog) as one that provides therapeutic, physiological, and psychological benefits to an individual with special needs.  While the first two dogs work to the benefit of their individual owners, the American Kennel Club states that “therapy dogs and their owners work together as a team to improve the lives of other people.”

My Calley (An Act of Love) was a self-appointed therapy dog to any person she saw in a wheelchair.  She completely blew our chances of winning at one conformation trial when she spied an older lady sitting in a wheelchair outside the ring.  She wanted nothing to do with the task at hand and leaned from one side to the other, peeking around the judge during his exam to keep an eye on her new found friend.  Afterward, she spent the rest of the afternoon at the woman’s side, her giant head resting in her lap, a frail hand stroking her ears.  This was not a one-time event.  Calley would pull me across streets to meet people and once, when a family member was recuperating at a nursing home, it took us over half an hour to walk a 100 yard hallway because she stopped to greet each and every occupied wheelchair. 

           
Those are treasured memories.  Though, I’m not sure who enjoyed those visits most, Calley, the friends she made, or me.  As I write, I am looking at a set of paws that are growing in an attempt to fill Calley’s proverbial shoes.  This week, my youngest “child,” Horatio, embarked on his first therapy dog adventure, a most atypical one to my mind.

When I think of therapy dog work, I generally envision a nursing home setting, visiting with the elderly or people with intellectual challenges.  Or, I think of the Tales with Tails program, created by my friend Jaimie.  She and her dog, Shaylee, visit area libraries to encourage children to read.  Children who are self-conscious about reading aloud in a classroom setting often find themselves more at ease reading to a dog.  The dogs in her program are anything but intimidating and, in their non-judgmental company, shy children begin to blossom.  Without judgment, these kids can forget their limitations and this is often the key to improved reading skills.

Horatio’s first therapy dog visit was not to a hospital, care home, or library; his social call was to the University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown to visit with young, healthy college students.  Nearly 100 students came to spend time with a group of seven dogs.  The students varied in age, race, and majors but what they all had in common was a love of and stories about dogs.  Each dog was fawned over while the students shared stories of family pets left at home or their wish to have a dog of their own after graduation. 

It’s tough to be away from home and family, including the four legged members.  Embarking on a new life, studying, and test taking are hard work for these young adults.  I’d never thought about it, but I am certainly glad that our friend, Ellory, did.  Visiting with those students, watching them smile, and seeing the look of contentment on the faces of the dogs was a heartwarming experience.  Most certainly, this was only the first of many therapy dog visits for Horatio and me.

Rebecca is the President & Executive Director of The Ethel Fund Inc., a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization dedicated to changing animals' lives by providing assistance in times of catastrophic veterinary need.  To learn more, please visit http://www.ethelfund.org or https://www.facebook.com/TheEthelFund.  You may contact Rebecca at rslindeman@ethelfund.org.

Phil Balko is the proprietor of Photography by Balko and donates his talents to the Ethel Fund Inc. as well as other community organizations.  To see more of his work, visit http://philipbalko.com/. You may contact Phil at inquiry@philipbalko.com.



Josiah is a veteran therapy dog (Photo: Phil Balko)

Fantasy

How many times have you walked with me

the earth carpeted with moldering leaves

that break where we tread and release the scent

of life in tune with itself

How many times have I held your hand

as we stepped across stones in a stream

felt the calluses of an honest day’s work

and ribs born to the strings of guitars

 How many times have you brushed snow from my hair

and I from your shoulders and beard

oblivious to cold in a warm embrace

in the shelter of hemlock trees

 

How many times have we made love in the rain

water running off of your back

limbs cushioned in a deep bed of moss

welcoming thunder that muffles our cries

 

of course it hasn’t happened yet and perhaps it never will

yet  I carry these images when I go for a walk

in hopes that, someday, you'll be able to love

and when that day comes you will walk at my side and trade fantasy for memories

 

 

Waiting

Driving sleet or gentle snow,

thrashing wind or tender rain,

dreary fog or warming sun,

not so silent I walk with you

waiting for the perfect moment

when you choose to take my hand

 

 

Migraine

Rolling hillsides gently overcome

pull the blazing sun down

blunt the sharp, jagged rays

and I can open my eyes

demons sleep and I breathe

tender evening, sweet release

Two Sides of Ethel - Somerset Magazine, March 2015

a peculiar shape at the edge of the field

silent, unmoving, but for a lift of its hand

the scent unfamiliar, a danger alert

a nip at my heel, then the leash in her teeth

a punch in the chest and a bite on the chin

pushing me onward, away from this fear

until safe once again under cover of wood,

she falls into step at my side.

she is my shepherd and I am her sheep

 

 

 

                The relationship I have with Ethel is vastly different than what I’ve had with any other dog.  Maybe some of this is because she is the only herding breed I’ve ever lived with, but I suspect her medical issues as a pup also shaped our connection.  Ethel was just over three weeks old when she came to live with me and she probably doesn’t remember a time before we were…whatever we are. 

As an empty nester, I like to think of myself as her mother.  As a trainer, I like to think of myself as her benevolent leader.  As the recipient of more than a few out of control herding dog bites, I tend to think of myself as her victim (and the emergency room doctors who stitched me together and glued a certain part of my anatomy back in place would certainly agree).  As a realist, I think of myself her owner.  After all, I buy her food, clean up her poop, and am responsible for her veterinary bills.  In Ethel’s mind, I’m sure things are different. 

Now that she has four good legs and I am progressing in my physical therapy, we like to go walking.  One of our favorite sites is Kimberly Run Natural Area, where well behaved dogs are allowed to walk off leash.  It’s a great place for exercise, both physical and cerebral.  Recently, I’ve committed to writing outside my comfort zone and have been trying my hand at poetry.  Virtually all of my poems have been born while walking through forest and field with my dogs.  This one came about when I tried to imagine one of our walks from Ethel’s perspective.

It was during archery season, so Ethel and I were both wearing blaze orange.  During deer season, I choose to walk at midday when fewer hunters are about and only when there are no vehicles in the parking area.  Since the coast was clear that day, Ethel was off leash.  Besides having a reliable recall, my girl never wanders far enough to lose sight of me, and basically trots along at heel or a few paces ahead.  We had reached the top of the trails and were walking the loop through the field where the bluebird houses are when I was surprised to see a hunter in the tree line at the far edge of the field.  We raised our hands to acknowledge one another and I moved on.  Ethel raised her head to scent the air, stopped just a moment to stare in the direction of the orange and camouflage figure, and then went into full-fledged herding dog mode. 

At first, she just bounced out in front of me and nipped at my feet but, when I continued forward instead of back, she began to jump and gave me a few punches to the chest.  Still, I refused her direction so she grabbed the leash that I had looped around my shoulders and pulled it tight against my throat.  Needless to say, I was not pleased and gave her a stern verbal reprimand.  She returned the gesture in a warbling whine followed by a yap and a bite on the chin.  We must have made quite the show for the hunter as we battled to see whose will was stronger. 

I’d like to think I won because we left the field in the direction I chose.  Ethel probably thought she was the victor because we left the field, period.  Either way, once we were under the cover of trees, Ethel relaxed her hackles and fell back into heel position, I wiped the blood from my chin, and the mêlée came to an end just as quickly as it had begun.  Living with this dog is always an adventure.

This, I Offer You

I know that I am not beautiful

so, why should you want to gaze at me

my skin is scarred, hair turning grey,

more weight than I should carry

I will never grace the stage,

you may never hear me sing

but my touch is warm, my friendship real

and, such as it is, my heart belongs to you