EXTRA! EXTRA!

Capella was Bred-by Best of Breed yesterday and that meant she needed to stay for the Bred-by Working Group — and that meant I needed to run home and let dogs out in the middle of the day.

And so I did — and I picked up the mail as well. I bet you can imagine my delight when I opened a package from Eden and found these…

Eden was just in Ireland — those are REAL Lucky Irish Socks. I kept them in the car with me as I headed back to the show and darned if their mere presence at the show wasn’t powerfully lucky!

Bred-by Working Group One! (that means she was first in the Bred-by Working Group — a big deal). Those are some seriously Lucky Socks.

It has been four weeks and two days since Claire’s seventh surgery in a period of about 17 months…

I entered her in just one day of obedience — today.

I put on the Lucky Irish Socks…

And look what happened!!!

Claire’s score was 198/200 under one of my most favorite judges.

Yes, I should have trimmed her feet! It has been a wee bit hectic…

That dog has so much heart. In spite of everything — she is so so happy and cheerful. #belikeclaire

That finished her CD — and that gives Claire the BMDCA Working Dog Award.

And check out the prize…

Lucky Irish Socks, indeed. Thank you, Eden!

Dog Show Weekend Report: So Much to Say

As usual, the weekend was filled with interesting experiences that will take a few days to process.

I want to begin by thanking Almighty Heidi, Expert Dog/Cat/House Sitter and Snake Wrangler Extraordinaire. Yes, there was a snake in the house — twice!

Rosebud says, “NOT ME!”

Because of Almighty Heidi, I got to hug my little grandchildren for the first time in six months.

Because of her, I had one of the best dog show days ever on Friday.

First up was Capella — she was Winners Bitch and Best of Winners for two more points towards her championship.

She repeated that on Saturday — Capella is just a natural at this dog show stuff.

But the Big News was Claire. If you have followed this blog, you know some of what that dog has been through with her complicated pregnancy, multiple surgeries, and no appetite for months from the same hormone issue that resulted in her blown knees.

September 2021

Did I ever share that this 105-pound girl got down to the high-70’s because of the nausea?

All that context matters. It speaks of how far back our starting line fell — and how very hard we worked to get back.

Claire has a spot on her right side that is just not growing back fur. The vet says this sometimes happens — but does it randomly happen like this?

I noticed the heart last week and so went into obedience with Claire on Friday — for the first time in three years — feeling like maybe the Universe was reminding me that everything is going to be okay.

It was.

In the background — the High in Trial wood carved trophy that Claire’s great-great grandma, Abra, won at the 2001 National Specialty.

Claire scored a 199/200 in Novice B obedience — that is an amazing score and it earned her High in Trial. I am so proud of that dog — she has so much heart.

And BOUNCE! In spite of everything. #belikeclaire

Back to Capella. Her Superpower is about temperament.

Capella and Logan — Bright Star Atlas (fka Sun) in the background

Capella is 14-months-old — still a puppy — and yet she was the one I picked for Berkeley’s dog show debut.

When I asked Berkeley a few weeks ago if she wanted to show a dog, she was so excited and told me: “I have waited for years to be on stage.”

Berkeley is five.

When the time came for her big moment, she was a little nervous and asked me to hold her hand.

Thanks to Dear Daughter for the videos and photos.

I am reminded that hard things are a bit less hard when people who care hold our hands. Thanks to everyone who has been taking turns holding mine for these past few months.

Berkeley and I held hands, and see for yourself — it was wonderful.

Intentions, Part Two

It is easy — and heartbreaking — to look back and see where our personal life trains got derailed. For me, it was age 14.

There I was, chugging along my track — one of the smart kids at St.Joachim’s. Don’t I look smart?!

I headed off to the Catholic High School where I made the Varsity basketball team as a freshperson (I was tall — see above) and the challenges of the classes suited me. I remember distinctly my ethics class because I loved it so much. Ironically — or maybe not — I am teaching an ethics class this semester to undergraduates.

But the track from the 14-year-old me in that ethics class to the professor teaching ethics was anything but smooth.

The short version is that my parents’ divorce — and the resulting shortage of money — took the Catholic high school off the table for us, and so at the start of my sophomore year I went to a public school for the first time since kindergarten.

Oh.My.Heck.

Kids smoked! They did drugs! They practically had sex on the lawn! There was SWEARING!! It was a wee bit of a culture shock (understatement alert).

Everything that had provided structure — school, church, family, sports, and even uniforms(!) — was gone.

I got lost — and nobody really noticed.

I dropped out of high school in the middle of my junior year. I was married and pregnant at 18. Two kids before I could legally drink.

Mine is a story of what trauma does to kids but it is also a story of resilience — and privilege. At age 20, I took a step into the unknown future. A very pregnant me signed up for classes at San Joaquin Delta College in Stockton, California…

I did that because there was someone who believed in my potential: My grandfather.

This is my dad on the bench that is dedicated to my grandad at UC Berkeley.

That photo from the previous post of the three sisters? We are sitting on that bench. It is our place — I do not know how else to say it.

And so of course I transferred to Berkeley — where else would one go to college? I seriously thought that.

That is where the privilege comes in. Not only had I grown up around that UC Berkeley campus, my grandfather had set up a trust fund for his grandchildren’s college expenses. Not just the boys — all of his grandchildren. That was both a powerful message about possibilities and an invitation to the advantages of future income and independence that education offers. For a young woman of that time — it was life changing. I still had to work part-time but I never worried about how to pay for tuition and books, even when I was a single parent with two small kids in tow.

Sometimes I worry that my successes cover up the really important parts of my story. That traumatized kids need help — they are so vulnerable. That we all lose when trauma robs us of bright stars who are so filled with shining possibilities — but who are buried under their family drama. Maybe that is you and if so, please know it is not too late.

I used to wonder what I could have done and been if not for the metaphorical bombing of my family but I don’t anymore. Instead, I just have a sense of wonder and gratitude that I was uncovered from the rubble. I know it wasn’t just me that did that — I had so much help along the way.

We never can truly know the impact we have on others — all we can do is believe that we matter, and so does the person in front of us. Even if it is a random kid in front of us in line at the grocery store — maybe our kind interaction will be what she needs to keep chugging along through the darkness today — and finish a Ph.D. at Berkeley on some other day.

#gratitude

Blog posts are organic. I am not always sure how they will proceed — this series is definitely in that camp. These posts really are about this darn painting…

But I am contextualizing — and the context is even more than I expected or planned. My willingness to share is because I accept and honor the words that apparently needed to be written.

Maybe someone besides me needs to read them.

You matter.