Ain't nothin but a hound dog

Bailey

Ye misunderstood ol' grump.

Asha

Ever the hopeful.

Brodie

If he was a person, he would be a

likeable jock, with a Canada flag

tattoo.

Kyna

We wish she was a human but love her, in all

her dog glory.

Maire

Current occupation: sucky baby.

And Then There Was Maire

I had been swearing for years that I would never, ever get another puppy. I went through that in highschool with what is now my parents' dog. Fool me once, shame on you, puppy; fool me twice... shame on me.

I dodged a bullet in India, when I fostered Asha, a mutt who I had found on a side-street in Mysore with a broken leg and other special needs. I was in that open, blissful, travel-induced state of being, so of course I took him in, despite living in a dorm room with strict anti-independent-action policies. Luckily, AirFrance wouldn't let me take him with me, and I didn't think he would survive the quarantine, so I left him with the vet's assistant and several thousand rupees - a misguided attempt to buy my own peace of mind about the fate of a dog who, I realize now, would have been just fine if left to his own devices in the garbage-strewn streets of the city's outskirts.

Then there was Brodie. Dear, dear, crazy Brodie, a one-year old who I picked up in Kelowna - fatefully enough, while I was visiting the very friend who had co-foster-parented Asha with me in Mysore. Brodie was a fine specimen of a Shepherd/Rottie who made me feel protected, loved, and admired... that's what people get dogs for, right? (How embarrassing!) When I first saw him, he was dragging a donkey placenta around in the mud and dodging horses' hooves and steel-toed boots. He was in his very element.

But I nabbed him, and off we drove together, into the sunset, across the big bland country we call home. And so on, and so on, until, after two years together, we parted company; recognizing that he would not be the best creature to have around a newborn baby, we packed his bags and he went to the country with a fellow who fell in love with him at first sight, while I went on to ....

Adopt a puppy. Shame on me!

We recently got Maire (My+Ra). She is a mutt. Depending on who asks, she is either a lab mix, or a Lab/Pitbull with a touch of Dingo for good measure. She's the latest testimony to the power of the puppy face, as well as a reminder to never say never, because you are alive insofar as you are open to fresh and challenging experiences.

On the pit note, here is a really emotionally stirring video that I recently watched. I have been successful at sheltering myself from heartbreaking images of animal abuse. This is a choice that I made, knowing that it is out there, and that a certain degree of exposure to it is inevitable so I might as well cut to the chase and take heart and action, rather than boo and hoo about it. For example, I didn't need to see images of the results of dog fighting to know that it is not the dogs' fault; it is the gruesome outcome of the ultimate human ignorance of failing to respect other species' right to a life free from unnecessary pain and suffering. It follows that breed-specific legislations that are enforced because of the falsehood that "all pitbulls are dangerous because some of them are bred to engage in dogfighting" are ridiculous, unless we are talking about trying to breed-specifically legislate human idiocy. These dogs are among the gentlest around, and are less likely to show aggression towards your pet or child than a Golden Retriever. Anyway - if you're like me and have granted yourself the favour of letting yourself off the hook on this one, then prepare to shed a cupful of tears, for sure, because you're not adequately de-sensitized. Or, if you've ignored the issue despite being a self-proclaimed animal-lover, then here's some impetus.

On a lighter note - on the Brodie note - here's a recipe for a vegan Sherpherd's pie that's quite delicious.

Shepherd's Pie

2 cups texturized vegetable protein (TVP)

2 tbsp ketchup

4 cups hot water

4 medium potatoes

2 tbsp olive oil

1 cup onion, chopped

1/2 cup celery, chopped

1/4 cup whole wheat flour

2 cups vegetable broth

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp thyme

1/2 tsp marjoram

garlic powder to taste!

1 1/2 cups carrots, sliced and cooked

1 cup peas or corn

1 tbsp Earth Balance

a bit of soymilk

1/2 tsp paprika

1. Boil four cups of water. Add the tvp and the ketchup. Simmer it for about 20 minutes, until the tvp is tender and there is no more liquid.

2.Make mashed potatoes and set them aside.

3. Cook the carrots until they are just barely tender. (You can use the potato water for this. Save the water again, too.)

4. Lightly saute the onions and celery. Sprinkle the flour over it and stir it in. Cook them for a few more minutes, then add 2 cups of liquid broth.

5. When the sauce bubbles up, add seasonings.

6. Add the tvp mixture.

7. Put it in a casserole dish. Spread the mashed potatoes on top. Sprinkle with paprika.

8. Bake, uncovered, for 30 minutes at 350.

I am stepmother, hear me roar

More than a mother, I am a step-mother.

I say that in part because I refuse to think of step-motherhood as secondary to motherhood; as a sub-category of motherhood; or, as something rusty that you may find under the gleaming mother-hood of the family sedan. Being a step-mother doesn't make me a mother, because that would imply the absence of a birth-mother, which isn't the case. As beautiful as it would be if the child could have two moms, biology just doesn't work like that. Fertility isn't fickle.

Another reason I feel more like a step-mother than a mother-mother is that I've been a step-mom for 2 years now, but I've only been feeling like a mom-mom, and barely one at that, for 14 weeks and counting. As a result, I have way more of a relationship with my step-daughter, who is a real character, than I have with my unborn child. They say babies don't develop their personalities until around week 20.

Being a step-mom has been one of the greatest gifts that the universe has bestowed upon me. I didn't choose it, and I don't know that I would have, given a choice; but boy oh boy am I ever grateful that it set its sights on me. I couldn't help that I fell for a man who was already a father; actually, his father-ness had a lot to do with why I found him so irresistable. Once he asked me why I was open to loving him, even though he had a child and, at that time, had a complicated relationship with his ex. I answered that a) I didn't have a choice in the matter - and I should have left it at that, but I added that b) at least this way, his committments - I even used the word baggage - were evident right off the bat. Usually, I said, you don't find out the nature of a person's baggage until after you've taken off, because they've managed to stow it away where you least suspect it...

If I could go back to that conversation, I would say, "Because I am going to love your daughter, not like she is my own, but like she is something completely different but equally critical to who I am to become. Because we're going to have an awesome relationship, and she is going to become my friend, my helper, my teacher, my focus, and my reminder to be open-hearted and free-spirited. Because someday, we are going to need eachother."

Instead, I called her baggage. How's that for an evil stepmother?

But oh, how far I've come. I've grown into the shoes I fell into, when I met my husband; the shoes that were once way too big are now a perfect fit, so I've laced them up tightly and tied them on with a quadruple knot. Of course, sometimes those shoes are going to get muddy, and the laces are going to fray, and I'll stumble and adjust. But I'm committed to the process and I'm not afraid.

Next Sunday, happy Step-Mother's Day, step-moms. If you know a step-mom, if you have a step-mom, try and recognize her in your own way. She's probably not expecting anything, so anything will do. One kind word. Half of all women in the US will become step-mother figures at some point in their lives. Time to stop ignoring the important role they, generally, try really hard to play.

Some step-mothers are hurt that, as if it were a poignant metaphor for their lives, Step-Mother's Day comes exactly one week after Mother's Day. But I really don't care; I've been put first so many times by all the people who support me in my step-mother role, that I can't help but think of it as being 51 weeks sooner.