We had a wedding in Voorhees, NJ -- a little outside Philly, a little outside Atlantic City. If you can imagine what a wedding a little outside south Philly and a little outside Atlantic City would be like - it was exactly that. The place was just about the cheesiest place I have been to -- REALLY cheesy. But the wedding was fun and the bride (my long time friend) very happy. It was the first time I met her husband, and he seemed really really nice. And really really normal. Which, if you knew the bride, my long time friend, you would be surprised as Derek and I were. I am on antibiotics right now, which have really knocked me out, so by the time we got home last night (it is about a 1 1/2 hour drive with no traffic), I was knocked out. And I had to cancel my plans tonight because I am trying to listen to my body and I just am so exhausted.
We also had a wedding reception last week to go to. Whole other story. Maybe the first party I have been to since college that I knew as soon as I walked in that hard drugs would be done by some. And the crowd was split b/t those that would be doing the hard drugs and those that clearly would not -- me, Derek, our friends Mike & Lauren, and two gay couples. If anyone needed to decipher which group was which, my belly was a clear indication. It was the first time we met that groom as well. He was nice enough, although I didn't talk to him that much. There's more to the story of that wedding. Bride is not pregnant, but there is a specific reason in addition to love that the marriage occurred. I won't say more publicly.
Speaking of pregnancy, it is not what I pictured. I always thought I would just keep on working out (although with less intensity). My day to day life would not change that much, at least during these nine months. I'd feel generally fine. HA. I threw up every day through week 17. Some days there after. Once the constant nausea left me, I've had migraines and what was thought to be a UTI (only my second one ever). A bad one. So I am on antibiotics that are making me exhausted. But the doctor called today and she said that while she does think I have a minor UTI, the discomfort is more likely the placement of the baby. If I walk AT ALL -- take 2 steps -- I have to pee. If I am sitting down, it is fairly better. She wants me to do some massaging to try to get the baby to change positions. Because, literally, the past 10 days I have cried twice while walking to the subway just b/c I can't take it anymore (the feeling of having to pee while walking) and I don't cry easily from physical pain or discomfort. Actually, the only time I cried from physical pain was when I tore every muscle in my left hip flexor and hamstring -- and even then I am not quite so sure it was from physical pain. So the thought of the long/moderate walks that would replace my runs? Ha. The thought of getting through a 60 or 90 minute yoga class? Ha. The thought of doing my body sculpting classes, with no or very light weights. Ha. I was giving myself too much credit before, and pregnancy too little credit. Trust me, I know it is worth it in the end. I realize that. But I am missing one of the things I really really enjoy -- short, intense workouts. I can't even do short bursts of activity with absolutely no intensity. Please, please, please baby....move just a little to give my bladder some room.
(Some might wonder if I am still walking Butter and Deuce. Of course. Long walks and then trips to the dog park on the weekend. And help lift Butter up the stairs. It is not their fault that I feel this way....and I won't make them sufffer for it.)
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
A Little Too Late
Butter and Deuce found a dead dog this morning. I cried. And cried. And cried. Some neighbors helped me.
That is the short story. The long story has holes in it, because we can only presume what happened. I took the dogs to the park for about 1 hour, and then I stopped at Old Navy to get some jeans or pants or something. It took a while longer than I thought it would, since the maternity pants all looked liked crap and then I figured I would just get a bigger size regular pant, but had to find the right fitting jeans. And I was reminded of why I prefer expensive jeans when I could not find any that fit my body type. But of course, I am not going to spend $170 on a pair of expensive jeans knowing I am going to grow out of them quickly, and hopefully only where them for a little while on the way back down. Anyway, so the dogs were waiting for me a little longer than I meant for them to.....But they slept in the car, and it was cool outside, so no worries.
Then we parked outside our home. They both PULLED me to this car across the street. Very unlike Butter at this stage, and unlike them both after a good trip to the dog park. I looked under the car and saw a puppy - probablty 9 monts old? - with its eyes open and mouth open, and tongue kind of hanging out. And even though I knew it was dead, I really really really really wanted it to be alive so I could help.
I rushed the dogs into our building, and then came back out just with my cell phone and car keys. I touched the puppy, and found out what I already knew. I just started crying immediately. It's poor eyes were open. It was not injured -- it clearly was not hit by a car or anything. And it had a collar on -- a new, pink collar. I hoped that there was a number on it that I could call, and the puppy's name. But there wasn't. She wasn't dirty -- she was not a street dog. She was someone's dog.
A man walking his dog helped me, and was very nice and empathetic while remaining detached and composed (how do people remain detached? I can never can.). Two young men on the street also helped. One had seen the dog the night before. A girl had dropped her off to someone's apartment in his building to be taken care of. Another girl who lives in that building came out, and said she saw the dog outside last night, peeing blood. My guess is that the person who was supposed to take care of this dog put it outside because it was sick -- and didn't want the dog peeing blood in the house. I could be wrong, but my gut tells me that is what happened. I wish we would have seen the dog last night. I would have helped it. I would have taken it to the vet. It obviously was sick, and didn't go too far despite being abandoned outside. It kills me to think that it just laid down under this car and died, in pain. I am so mad about it.
So what do you do with a dead dog? What I did was cry, and call Derek's friend Manny, who works for sanitation and would know what to do. And I left a sobbing message on his voice mail. The man who was helping me was able to get a hold of animal control, who transferred him to sanitation, who said they would come get the dog. The two young men put the dog into a bag, and I cried. They tried to make me smile, and in a way they did because they were upset that someone clearly just left the dog out there too. But I just kept crying.
When Butter dies, I don't want to put him into a bag. I don't want to call animal control or sanitation. It felt so inhumane, and so sad. It felt like it was inappropriate to grieve, but the dog deserved someone to grieve for her.
All my energy has been sucked out. I know the puppy was dead for longer than just one or two hours. She probably died in the middle of the night -- so even this morning when I left for the park, had I parked in that direction -- it would have been too late. I still wish I would have found her when she was still breathing. It might have been helpless at that point -- but at least she would have known the touch of someone who really wanted to help her.
That is the short story. The long story has holes in it, because we can only presume what happened. I took the dogs to the park for about 1 hour, and then I stopped at Old Navy to get some jeans or pants or something. It took a while longer than I thought it would, since the maternity pants all looked liked crap and then I figured I would just get a bigger size regular pant, but had to find the right fitting jeans. And I was reminded of why I prefer expensive jeans when I could not find any that fit my body type. But of course, I am not going to spend $170 on a pair of expensive jeans knowing I am going to grow out of them quickly, and hopefully only where them for a little while on the way back down. Anyway, so the dogs were waiting for me a little longer than I meant for them to.....But they slept in the car, and it was cool outside, so no worries.
Then we parked outside our home. They both PULLED me to this car across the street. Very unlike Butter at this stage, and unlike them both after a good trip to the dog park. I looked under the car and saw a puppy - probablty 9 monts old? - with its eyes open and mouth open, and tongue kind of hanging out. And even though I knew it was dead, I really really really really wanted it to be alive so I could help.
I rushed the dogs into our building, and then came back out just with my cell phone and car keys. I touched the puppy, and found out what I already knew. I just started crying immediately. It's poor eyes were open. It was not injured -- it clearly was not hit by a car or anything. And it had a collar on -- a new, pink collar. I hoped that there was a number on it that I could call, and the puppy's name. But there wasn't. She wasn't dirty -- she was not a street dog. She was someone's dog.
A man walking his dog helped me, and was very nice and empathetic while remaining detached and composed (how do people remain detached? I can never can.). Two young men on the street also helped. One had seen the dog the night before. A girl had dropped her off to someone's apartment in his building to be taken care of. Another girl who lives in that building came out, and said she saw the dog outside last night, peeing blood. My guess is that the person who was supposed to take care of this dog put it outside because it was sick -- and didn't want the dog peeing blood in the house. I could be wrong, but my gut tells me that is what happened. I wish we would have seen the dog last night. I would have helped it. I would have taken it to the vet. It obviously was sick, and didn't go too far despite being abandoned outside. It kills me to think that it just laid down under this car and died, in pain. I am so mad about it.
So what do you do with a dead dog? What I did was cry, and call Derek's friend Manny, who works for sanitation and would know what to do. And I left a sobbing message on his voice mail. The man who was helping me was able to get a hold of animal control, who transferred him to sanitation, who said they would come get the dog. The two young men put the dog into a bag, and I cried. They tried to make me smile, and in a way they did because they were upset that someone clearly just left the dog out there too. But I just kept crying.
When Butter dies, I don't want to put him into a bag. I don't want to call animal control or sanitation. It felt so inhumane, and so sad. It felt like it was inappropriate to grieve, but the dog deserved someone to grieve for her.
All my energy has been sucked out. I know the puppy was dead for longer than just one or two hours. She probably died in the middle of the night -- so even this morning when I left for the park, had I parked in that direction -- it would have been too late. I still wish I would have found her when she was still breathing. It might have been helpless at that point -- but at least she would have known the touch of someone who really wanted to help her.
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