Full-Assed Friday: Best In Shelter

Hey. It’s Full-Assed Friday. And I have a guest post. Sweet!

When Julie Davidoski from Go Guilty Pleasures first contacted me about doing a guest post I was pretty psyched. Her timing is so good she oughtta be a drummer. I’m working a second gig this week and have clashing show tunes duking it out for my last remaining brain cells. It’s not pretty. I’ve spent the past hour trying to write a coherent introduction for her post.

Julie claims that she doesn’t do much that’s full-assed, but I beg to differ. She certainly saved my ass this week. Here, she interviews her friend who works with an excellent pet rescue shelter in our state.

Best in Shelter

by Julie Davidoski

Unlike our beloved Accidental Stepmom, I don’t do a whole lotta things full-assed. Don’t believe me? Examine the 4-foot tall weeds in my backyard, or, if you dare, my spice cupboard. When it comes to raising my dog, Uncle Jesse, however, my derriere is unequivocally rotund.

Uncle Jesse is a multi-generational Australian labradoodle I purchased in 2010 from a well-respected breeder, after hours (days, weeks) of research to find a dog compatible with my husband’s allergies. I wouldn’t trade Uncle Jesse for anything (not even a lifetime supply of champagne and E.L. Fudge cookies), but I often question my decision not to adopt.

Recently, I interviewed friend and animal advocate, Jennifer Brewer. I’m excited to share our conversation, with the sincere hope that you might spread the word.

J. Davidoski: Tell us about your organization. Also why that does or does not make you a better person than me.

J. Brewer: 1. No way I’m a better person than you. 1a. Actually, there’s no way I’d admit to being a better person while you’re blogging about me. 2. I’m involved with 11th Hour Rescue in Rockaway, NJ. They pull high risk animals from shelters, and find them homes. They do not euthanize; even difficult to place dogs are kept until they are adopted.

J. Davidoski: How did you get involved?

J. Brewer: My husband and I are supreme dog lovers. During the five years we lived in an apartment that didn’t allow pets, he converted me from a “pedigree” dog person to a “shelter” dog person. He told me about the feeling of rescuing a dog’s life. He’s persuasive.

When we bought a home, I went online to find a rescue, and I found 11th Hour. I decided we would adopt from them.

J. Davidoski: So you were always an animal lover? Remember our Janis Joplin jackets with the fake fur trim? Could we have gotten more attention with real fur?

J. Brewer: We couldn’t have gotten more attention no matter what we tried.

J. Davidoski: What should you be wary of before adopting a dog, and specifically a shelter dog?

J. Brewer: Spend time with the animal BEFORE you commit. #2 – if a shelter doesn’t ask for references, walk away. They don’t tell you the truth about the animal’s history.

J. Davidoski: Like that unpaid parking ticket [your dog] Shunderson had. What about parents? Are there other considerations?

J. Brewer: Parents should adopt animals. Teach your kids about generosity and compassion. Like every activity with your kids, be involved – make sure you’re getting the right animal. Many people just want a puppy…now. They have no plan for after Christmas, when their kids won’t pick up the poop in the blizzard.

J. Davidoski: Related question: If you could send one message to potential pet owners, what would it be? (Besides picking an awesome name, like, I don’t know, Uncle Jesse.)

J. Brewer: Shelters are never fuller than at the beginning of the year – when the holiday glow has worn off and people have abandoned their now unwanted presents.

J. Davidoski: So if I have a Slap-Chop, will they take that, too?

J. Brewer: You’re on your own with that shitty gift. And, let me just say, that pitbulls are FABULOUS. They were bred to be nanny dogs, to watch children and love their families.

J. Davidoski: Hey. That reminds me. Though I don’t know why. What kind of dog do you have?

J. Brewer: Well… I… er… have a pit.

Editor’s Note: Brewer owns a gorgeous pitbull-mix, Shunderson, a former shelter dog. He’s one of the sweetest pooches I’ve ever met. He’s twice the size of my boy, and puts up with Uncle Jesse’s sassiness like a saint.

jennandshunderson — Jennifer and Shunderson

J. Davidoski: Do you get dirty looks at the dog park?

J. Brewer: I wish that was all we got. People ask us to leave, to leash Shunderson until they can take their dog out. Ridiculous. Do I have enough money to let my dog maul someone????

J. Davidoski: Very similar to what happens when I go outside without make-up.

J. Brewer: You go outside without make-up????

J. Davidoski. Well. No. But imagine! What’s the biggest obstacle in overcoming the number of unwanted pets?

J. Brewer: People think shelter dogs are bad. They’re far less damaged than most people I know. Besides, TONS of shelter dogs are surrendered by breeders and pet stores who couldn’t unload them. If you want a certain breed or age, the right dog can be rescued. Purebred puppies are stuck in shelters, too. And they’re euthanized.

J. Davidoski: After reading this article, people will be dying to know how they can get involved.

J. Brewer: Donations. $10 matters. Dropping off old towels and blankets. Bleach and paper towels are the biggest request of every shelter. But the best way is to go on Petfinder.com and find the rescue nearest you. If you want a dog, ADOPT. The average cost of basic food, supplies, care and training for a shelter dog or cat is $700 to $875 annually. I hope people donate… and to local shelters. I love the ASPCA, but they have LOTS of donations.

J. Davidoski: Yes, that’s why I asked – people think their donations get lost in the sauce.

J. Brewer: For pet owners, when you go to Petsmart, give the buck at checkout to help homeless animals. They can’t get jobs. They can’t collect unemployment. There’s no bailout for pitbulls.

J. Davidoski: They can’t even play guitars and write signs asking for money.

J. Brewer: Exactly. If you can’t donate or volunteer, spay or neuter your pet. The world needs animals, just not anymore than it already has.

J.Davidoski: Okay. I am so keeping you from [more] booze. Is there anything else you would like to share?

J. Brewer. More than FIVE MILLION animals are killed in U.S. shelters EVERY YEAR.

Also. Donate BLEACH and PAPER TOWELS.

J. Davidoski: I am picking up what you are putting down. Thank you!!!

J. Brewer: Crazy dog lady, over and out.

***************************************

I hope you’ll take a minute to check out Julie’s blog and the shelter site:

Julie Davidoski: Go Guilty Pleasures

The Shelter: 11th Hour Rescue

Yoga, Jersey-style.

Sometimes I practice at a yoga studio in New Jersey, one not above a “video” store. They teach hot yoga, but it’s more of an Om-oriented place.

My favorite teacher quote came from Jagadisha, who also happens to be the studio owner. We were in some posture that was pure evil, probably triangle, and he was walking around adjusting postures, empathizing with our pain. “I know,” he said. “I wish I could sit on my couch and eat cake and it would make me one with everything. But it doesn’t work that way.”

Figures.

Last week I left the house after getting the kids off to school and brought my yoga clothes with me so I could catch a class in the middle of my day. I changed clothes in the studio’s changing room. I pulled on the pants.

They felt strange.

I tugged. I looked down.

These were not my yoga pants.

I have to back up a minute and talk about laundry. Everyone participates in laundry at our house. I learned early on that I should wash my clothes separately from the kids’ clothes and also never make them fold my stuff. Otherwise they steal it.

It isn’t just me they steal from. They all steal from each other. If a sibling has somehow managed to skate out of laundry detail and another sibling is folding their shirt, the laundry-working sibling considers it well within their rights to swipe the shirt for the next wearing. In everyone’s defense, there are a damn lot of clothes in our house and we don’t always know whose is whose. If you’re not there to speak up for your clothes, it’s your own fault.

I’m not morally superior to this practice myself, in theory. It’s just that I don’t actually fit in to any of their clothes, a fact I am reminded of when random kid clothes end up in my dresser and I don’t pay attention and try to put them on.

Which is how it came to be that yoga pants, size zero and belonging to #1 ended up in my closet, in my bag, and on my size eight ass at power Vinyasa last Monday.

Had I five extra minutes, I would have bought a new pair in the appropriate size from the studio. As it was, I didn’t, so I Om’d- for the space-age-stretchiness of synthetic fabrics, and Om’d some more that the seams would hold up, and took the Divine Guidance that came as a small, still voice inside me that said to sit in the back of the room. Or, more correctly, try not to sit.

I had a pretty stressful downward facing dog when the teacher came over to adjust my posture.

But then I remembered that I was in Jersey, and if you’re a woman and don’t wear clothes that are several sizes too small for you at least twice a year, they kick you out of the state (though you can usually bribe someone to get back in).

Have you made any. . .large mistakes lately? What can get you kicked out of your state?

Why I Hate The Ferris Wheel

My town has a street fair every fall. It’s pretty cool: a typical small suburban affair with a few rides, crab cake sandwiches, kettle corn, funnel cake, zeppoles, and more ways for a kid to spend your money than there are orange jackasses on Jersey Shore.

The first year we lived here, we all went to the street fair together. The kids had only been living with us for a couple of weeks. They didn’t have many friends yet; they didn’t have their stuff from their old house yet. #5 was a small four-year-old and I carried him most of the time. The first thing we did was get cotton candy and I remember being surprised how fast he became covered in blue stick. Luckily, one of the churches had their bathrooms open and we were able to hose him down before he became permanently stuck to a lamppost- or worse, the street. I remember standing in line for ride tickets behind a guy who was wearing a Scissorfight T-shirt. I asked him about it; turned out he was friends with the band. He was there with his kids too. I questioned the wisdom of each of us being involved with children.

This year #5 was the only one with me. The other kids made appearances as they met up with us for money or food and to hang out with their little brother. The two oldest girls were working booths, #1 as an employee and #2 for high school volleyball. I was still a walking wallet, but everyone sought out one-on-one time with #5.

threeandfive — #3 and #5 on something that spins too much for me

twoandfive — #2 and #5 on something else that I won't ride.

fiveandfunnel — #5 blocking me from eating his funnel cake

So.

The Ferris Wheel.

Originally built for the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago by George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr, variations of it have been tormenting amusement-seekers ever since. I don’t like the Ferris Wheel because the first time I ever went on one I was pretty young, maybe about six. I went with my sister and the cars on this particular Ferris Wheel were enclosed and capable of spinning all the way around. You could flip your car independently of (and simultaneously with) the Ferris Wheel spin. Two spins for the price of one.

Due to the inefficient nature of the Ferris Wheel, riders often get stuck at points around the spin as other riders are let off and on. My sister and I had the misfortune of being stuck at the top for an extended period of time while our car was upside down. Yes, both ways we could spin were stuck. We were two little girls by ourselves stuck upside down eight billion feet above sea level. That’s like, a vortex of stuck suck right there.

Sometimes you remember things and then you wonder if you’re really remembering it right or not. While #3 and #5 were waiting in line for and riding the Ferris Wheel, I called my sister to corroborate my memory.

While the kids were on this:

I was looking at this:

not evil — My foot, safely on the ground. Right side up.

My sister remembers it the same way. She doesn’t like Ferris Wheels either.

Perhaps this is a good time to lay my X-Files theory on you. The X-Files is hands down my all time favorite TV show. I own all the DVDs (purchased, obviously, before kids). My theory is that for any situation, any occurance, anything that crosses your mind, there’s an X-Files episode about it [I have the same theory regarding Jonathan Richman songs]. Sadly, I’m not enough of a hard-core geek to know all the actual titles of the X-Files episodes, but I can fill in the plots.

Anyway. The rides at the street fair remind me of the X-Files episode with the bad santa at the creepy holiday amusement park where Mulder was sure he would find his sister but instead they found lots and lots of dead children.

On second thought, perhaps this wasn’t a good time to lay my X-Files theory on you. Probably, I could have kept that to myself for at least a while longer. You were bound to find out at some point though.

You tell me, aren’t they kinda creepy?