Sometimes...

.....experiences are too amazing to put into words.

Surprise!

This weekend I am celebrating the 10^th anniversary of my 21^st birthday. So that means I should be drinking, right? Well, actually I didn't have my first drink until I was about 22, but maybe I can make up for it this time around. Or maybe I won't. Either way, what better place to party than Universal Orlando while it is in the midst of Mardi Gras! Buster’s gift to me is an overnight stay onsite at the Lowe’s Royal Pacific, an uber-nice and fancy hotel within a boat ride’s distance from Universal Studios, Islands of Adventure, and the City Walk. For those of you not fortunate enough to live within 3 hours drive of Orlando, FL, I would consider this the Mecca of Central Florida fun. Unless you are under the age of 12, in which case Disney World is slightly further south. As I eagerly await a weekend of roller coasters, butterbeer in the world of Harry Potter, and dancing down the City Walk, I am reminded of last year’s birthday celebration.

The great thing about being in your thirties is that you are old enough to have interesting stories to tell, experienced enough to have some wisdom to guide you, and still young enough to have fun. At the age of 29, I had experienced only a couple of official birthday parties. My sixth birthday was spent with my friends at McDonalds, playing in the pool of plastic balls, sliding down the tiny, indoor slides, and wearing my special paper birthday hat. I recall the disappointment of receiving a Barbie Doll from a well-intentioned playmate, who was not aware I preferred playing in the dirt to wasting time with such a lame girly toy. However, it was a fun and memorable experience overall. My next party was held in our home to mark my twelfth birthday and involved a Chip N’ Dale Rescue Rangers birthday cake (with collectible decorative toys), a pin the tail on the donkey game, and a brief but exciting visit from Buster and his mom. I had all of my school friends and most of the neighborhood over to enjoy games and cake and it was the only other birthday that involved a large gathering of people besides my McDonald’s experience. I was mostly aware of the planning of these parties, and had never experienced the thrill of a “surprise” party. Nor have I had a piñata. I still lament the lack of piñatas through the years…..

Buster, bless his heart, is great at a LOT of things. Keeping secrets is not one of them. This is a good thing though, and proves how honest, loyal and trustworthy he is. He did manage to surprise me with some gifts this Christmas, and I was impressed, but I at least had been asked for feedback on most of the gifts I received. This is fine, because it just means he is concerned that I get what I really want. I can’t blame him after the mental breakdown I had over a Dooney and Burke purse he gave me last year. I thought he wanted me to be someone I was not, and really he just thought I’d like a nice purse. He’s vowed never to make that mistake again in spite of the fact that I grew to enjoy carrying a nice bag. My loss.

In addition to the purse, I received another “surprise” last year. The timing of my birthday coincided with our new apartment being ready, so I actually spent my birthday weekend packing, moving, and cleaning. This lead me to believe that in spite of the slip up Buster had made weeks before, nothing was really going to happen for my birthday. A slip up, you ask? Well, it happened something like this:

Scene: My bedroom. It is approximately midnight, and I am mostly asleep. Buster had the opportunity to go out with his friends, and after all his hard work, I encouraged him to take it. I declined to join in, opting for a good night’s sleep instead.

Buster enters the room is is not particularly quiet about it. I am now awake. He proceeds to regale me with his night’s adventures as I grow more annoyed at being awake instead of asleep. He attempts to improve his standing by mentioning their conversations, and his references to how awesome I am. This does improve my mood slightly. “I told them how great you are and how we’re  planning your awesome birthday party.” Ooops. Now I am annoyed again. “Oh man, I didn’t just say that out loud, did I?” Yep.

The next morning I express my disappointment at having my “surprise” party spoiled. “What party?” he asks. I cock an eyebrow. He smiles his charming, lopsided, Han Solo grin and continues to vehemently deny anything of the sort. This continues for a couple of weeks. Each time I speculate about my “surprise” party, he steadfastly denies it.

I must admit that he did such a good job keeping a poker face after that initial slip, I thought it really had all been a ruse. Especially when my birthday came and he reminded me that we were too busy moving to bother with a party. I agreed.

The following weekend I had toyed with the idea of traveling to a Frisbee competition on Sunday morning with my friend Lara and her dogs. This would mean going to bed quite early Saturday evening and getting up equally early Sunday morning. I spent Saturday afternoon cleaning and finishing up from the move the previous weekend, and was tired by the time Buster came home from work. He’d told me throughout the day “don’t work too hard” and was weird each time I mentioned the Frisbee competition. I was a little grouchy when he asked me to come with him to take some tools back to his friend Mike, and initially wanted to stay home. The more he persisted that I join him, the more suspicious I became.

“Should I wear something cute to go return that tool to Mike?” I asked with a quizzical smile. He shrugged in a non-committal fashion and left the room.

At this point, I am fairly sure something is up, but I don’t know the specifics. We drive to the area of town where Mike and Ashley lived and suddenly Buster gets a call from Mike.

“Oh, you’re not ready for us to come by yet? Ok. We’ll go get coffee then.” So we drive down the street to the Starbucks. Before we make it into the parking lot, Buster gets a text and decides he doesn’t really want coffee after all. I am now chuckling as we change directions and head down a familiar street.

Now I had often mentioned previously how much I liked bowling and that I would love to get everyone together for this. I had also mentioned my favorite bowling alley resided on the street down which we are now headed. Coincidence?

Sure enough, we pull up and head inside. Buster is saying nothing. As we get past the concession area, there are all my family and friends in the lounge/party area with party favors, cupcakes, and presents! We had a blast playing a few games of bowling and enjoying the birthday treats. My friend Rob made sure everyone utilized the fun twisty straws by declaring that “If you don’t use the twisty straws, you don’t love Bonnie!” Luckily, everyone used the straws (even though they were very difficult to actually suck liquid through). My friends Chris and Carol even made the drive from Amelia Island to attend. I do believe it was the first time they had ever seen me wearing real clothes and not covered in dirt from doing agility. I am amazed they even recognized me.

My wonderful cousin Jane, who had been Buster’s partner in the planning of this occasion, had constructed an awesome Ms. Pacman themed party sign (I do currently hold the high score of 140,000 on my uncle’s personal game console) and some gluten free cupcakes. I had the sign displayed in my bedroom until last month when we rearranged and finally took it down and put it in the closet, and although the cupcakes still did not agree with my digestive system, they were very delicious and special. When Jane asked how surprised I was, I hinted that I’d known enough to wear something presentable even though we were just running an errand. The look she shot at her co-conspirator was priceless.

Needless to say, I did not attend the competition the following day, as Lara had been in on the planning and knew not to encourage me to go. So although it wasn’t “truly” a surprise, it was certainly one of the most memorable and thoughtfully conceived experiences of my life.

My uncle also got me a 42in, High Def, flat-screen TV, so that was pretty awesome too. Viva la 30’s!!

My Dog Is Smarter Than Your Honor Student

We’ve all seen the bumper stickers claiming that “My (fill in the blank with your breed of choice) is smarter than your honor student.” Surely we all think our precious companions are the brainiest on the block, but just how smart ARE our four-legged friends?

I watched an absolutely fascinating show on PBS last night. (Yes I watch PBS. We only have basic cable and I loathe American Idol and everything like it). Nova produced a program called “How Smart Are Animals?” featuring a border collie named Chaser who possesses a vocabulary of over 1000 words which gives her roughly the same cognitive skill as a three year old child. Dogs have long been ignored by science; however, recent discoveries have shed light on some truly remarkable characteristics our canines exhibit. These discoveries are leading to entirely new studies aimed at exploring the nature of Fido’s intelligence. This is in fact the second program I have watched on PBS which details these behavioral experiments. Happily, dogs seem to be getting more respect in the scientific community after many years of dismissal.

Fellow primates such as apes, orangutans, and chimpanzees share a much closer genetic makeup to us humans than any other species. Surprisingly, this does not mean they are most like us in terms of behavior and social skills. In research done comparing chimp behavior to human behavior, our fellow primates have no concept of “helping” or “sharing.” When researchers hid food under one of two cups, and then pointed at the cup under which the food was hidden, the chimp was equally likely to choose the incorrect cup as they were to choose the correct cup. These animals seem to have no social need to be cooperative; they exist primarily through independence and dominance. Dogs on the other hand, as anyone who has played such a game with their own friend would know, are able to pick up on these “helping” gestures. When you show Spot which cup the food is hiding under, Spot will most likely make the correct choice and find the food. Dogs excel in social intelligence, whereas primates do not.

All pet dogs in existence today are descendents of wolves. We know this from our understanding of genetics. However, what is it that makes our companion dogs so different from their wild ancestors? Nova’s program explained that during the process of domestication, dogs have become “emotionally tolerant” of human beings. Wherein wolves will quickly become violently aggressive if they feel they are in dispute with you for some reason, our pet dogs are capable of patience and passivity. They have evolved to become sensitive to our moods, and over hundreds of years of living closely with humans, they have developed the most effective strategies for successfully cohabiting and benefitting from this partnership. Therefore, unlike any other animal which shares an equal degree of genetic similarity or mental aptitude, dogs have a critical understanding of society and cooperation. Not only are they capable of adapting to our moods and behaviors, they have developed an eagerness to work with us. The program made a clever analogy for them, calling them the “soldiers of science.” Dogs not only just show up for work, they come with an attitude of eagerness and a motto of “what can I do for you?!”

Despite the fact that our dogs do not share the same degree of genetic similarity as primates, they are perhaps not as different as we once thought. Chaser, the border collie I mentioned with the extensive vocabulary, exhibits a gene that is also present in humans and attributed to cognitive development. While many dogs exhibit this trait, it would seem that in selectively breeding intelligent and biddable border collies, the breed has also been selectively breed for this “smart gene.” That may explain how Chaser is able to know the names of over 1000 unique toys and be eerily accurate in retrieving them on command with no visible assistance or clues from her human counterpart. “Sure, my dog could do that,” you might say, and perhaps so. The demonstration I found most astounding came when Chaser was presented with a new task. The host of the show brought in a completely new toy that Chaser had never seen before named “Darwin”, and placed it in the pile of known toys. First, Chaser was warmed up by being asked to retrieve “Inky” and “Crawfish,” toys she knew well. Then, being left with a pile of still familiar toys and the unfamiliar toy, she was asked to find “Darwin.” Her thoughtfulness was obvious on her expression, as you watched her try to figure out this new command. Would Chaser be able to infer that the unfamiliar name belonged to the unfamiliar toy? It took her much longer than before, however, after some thought Chaser returned with the correct toy. Astonishing to some, but probably not so much to those of us who’ve witnessed first-hand the stunning intelligence of this breed. This isn’t to say any other breed would not be capable of such mental and linguistic prowess, it has just been more carefully selected for the dog designed to work so closely with shepherds in tending to flocks of sheep.

Does this mean that dogs will continue to become smarter and more capable of understanding language and other nuances of human society? If they have developed this far, who is to say that they could one day not be more intelligent than we might imagine? If we could teach our dogs to read the numbers on an agility course, it would certainly make the handler’s job much easier!

If you are interested in this program, visit http://www.shoppbs.org/product/index.jsp?productId=11095033&cp=&sr=1&kw=how+smart+are+animals&origkw=how+smart+are+animals&parentPage=search

And no, I am not being paid for this endorsement. Support local public broadcasts with viewers like you!

It's Your Thing, Do What You Wanna Do

We all have our own “style” that we are comfortable with. Our own way of walking, talking, dressing, and doing things. Invariably, certain styles will be popular and trendy, while others will be viewed as “dorky” or not accepted by the popular majority. I have always defied trends and just do things my own way. My way is not always right, but I prefer to learn things through my own experience, and sometimes my way works even if it is not the widely accepted way of doing things. While I am certainly open to constructive criticism if there is a better way of doing things, I tend not to respond well if I am simply told “you can’t do that.” Why? I need reasons and justifiable proof.

My border collie Xander and I are a new team. Since he is my first long-legged, “big dog”, we are still learning the best ways to communicate and run together. I fully embrace this process and want to learn how to be the best handler for him. In a previous post, I mentioned not bending way over if it pushed him away from an obstacle. However, in my experience, there are some cases in which bending over pulls him closer while standing up pushes him further away. I am an intuitive person. I do what feels right to me. When I run my dogs, I want to be so in tune with them that I almost wish I could be at eye level, running right alongside them. This is how I feel “connected” in a run. Standing straight up is a move that works to keep my dogs away, as if my upper body is “pushing” them out away and showing them where to go, while bending over and getting in their space keeps them close and connected during an intricate maneuver or a turn I am trying to indicate. I was criticized this weekend for “bending over” as I run, and that I am only in the habit of doing this because I am accustomed to running little dogs (i.e. the corgis). But I tend to use the same methods for running them: standing up to send, bending over to work close. Sure, this looks dorky. Also, I am very tall, and when looked down on from the stands of a stadium, my bending over looks even more dramatic. However, I have been successful in my runs and haven’t fallen forward or tripped myself doing this. My center of gravity is unique to me, as is true of all people, and this is how I am comfortable. I have been teased for it for years, called Quasimodo and the like, yet it still works for me, and I still do it.

When I was told “you can’t do that”, I reacted with my natural stubborn tendency to say “why the hell not?”  When I wasn’t given a convincing answer, I was determined to defend myself. Being the logical person I am who tends to win arguments with proof, I went out to collect the proof I knew from hours of previous research was out there. Thus I present to you the video footage of three renowned handlers and their world champion dogs.

Video 1: Marcus Topps and Juice, AKA my agility gods. They have won more awards and championships than you can shake a Frisbee at. Watch how Marcus, a tall man, stays connected to his dog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FN9MZTqc17g

Video 2: Silvia Trkman and Bu, AKA my hero and idol. I literally worship the ground Silvia walks on. She is amazing and a brilliant dog trainer. Note, Silvia is not tall, so her bending over is not as dramatic, but still noticeable.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpBcLTDxlzs

Video 3: Ashley Deacon and Luka: TALL man and LITTLE dog. Majorly fast, bent over running. They have won everything together. Does he look a little goofy? Maybe. But are they having a blast together? I am guessing yes.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HH7NpWtLwUU

So there you have it. There may be certain flashy, cool looking ways to do things, but they are not the only way. I see people doing all sorts of silly things while running their dogs, and they still have successes and enjoy the experience.

I have a LONG way to go to be world champion, but I am happy with where we are headed. Xander earned four 1^st places out of his five runs this weekend, and while we are only in Open, his startlines, jumping style, weaving, and focus have all been delightful. We certainly have room for improvement, but that’s where the fun is. If we were perfect right off the bat, there would be nothing to work for or look forward to!

Also, I finally have learned to use youtube! So you like, you can check out my channel and I will be uploading more videos as I have time. Thanks for watching!

http://www.youtube.com/user/doggiedojo

Creatures of Habit

Bill Cosby did a comedy special called “Himself” that was a collection of stories and experiences from raising his children and life in general. I have the DVD now, but as a kid, my mom had the cassette tape with the whole routine recorded on it. For you young folks out there, cassette tapes are to CD’s as VHS tapes are to DVD’s. Wait; you probably don’t know what a VHS tape is either. Look it up on Wikipedia.

At any rate, the tape was so funny that we played it over and over and over again until one day it mysteriously disappeared. My father claimed ignorance, but I am fairly sure he buried it in the back yard. One of the routines was called “The Same Thing Happens Every Night” in which Cosby chronicles the humorous events of the nightly routine with his three young children. Dinner time involved fooling around until Mom got sick of it and sent them to get ready for bed. Shower time involved children running through the house naked, wet, and screaming about being blinded for life due to shampoo in their eyes.  Kids fight, Mom gets mad, Dad sits back and stays quiet. The entire routine is hysterical, but this part always particularly touched my funny bone. If you’ve never seen the DVD, I would highly recommend it.

What got me started thinking about this is that dogs are very much creatures of habit, and I tend toward this behavior as well. Weekdays often blend together as the same rituals and routines are performed with mindless regularity. I suppose this makes life simpler and less stressful, and is a tribute to the ease of the routine which has become so habitual. What strikes me as funny is the tenacity to which the dogs insist upon following our routines, almost down to the minute.

The same thing happens every day.

Sometime prior to daylight: Buster’s alarm goes off and he silences it. At some point it goes off again. I shift about, half awake and half asleep as he struggles with the reality of actually having to get out of the bed. It is a difficult concept, but he arrives there eventually and rises. Generally he is thoughtful enough to perform a swap reminiscent of Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom, and I wake up later snuggling a pillow instead of him. The bedroom door creaks LOUDLY, the corgis are let out of the bathroom with a cacophony of jingling collars and exciting bouncing, and the baby gate letting out into our living room swings open and slams closed.

Buster leaves for work in the dark, and somehow I remain in a state of semi consciousness until my alarm goes off at 6:15.

I let Xander out of his crate and he escorts me to the bathroom. I am never allowed to be in there alone. With a great amount of bouncing and talking, the corgis greet me as I enter the living room. I slip on Buster’s shoes because although they are way too big, I am too lazy to untie my own. The corgis generally make the most noise and so get to go out first, but as I stumble out into the dark, the sound of Xander’s impatient barking follows me down the sidewalk. I am so sorry Mr. Upstairs Neighbor.

After Xander goes out, I head back to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed. At precisely 7:05 Kirby reminds me it is time to turn on the coffee maker and feed them. He trots into the bathroom, nub wagging, and “talks” to me in his little yodeling, part bark, part growl. He guides me into the kitchen and follows me to the door. We keep the dog food in our porch’s storage room, so he supervises as I open the blinds, turn on the light, and open the door. He is also present underfoot as I scoop the food in order to catch any morsels I happen to drop. Kaylee is always somewhere nearby, monitoring the entire process by spinning in circles and dancing on her back feet. Meanwhile, Xander is standing in the hallway behind the gate, in his “corgi safe eating zone,” barking in short, methodically timed intervals to notify me that he is prepared to eat.

After scooping the food, the corgis twirl underfoot on our way to the kitchen, and it is my difficult task to remain upright. Could I train an easier way to deal with the morning feeding? Sure, but I am a creature of habit and have never bothered. Besides, watching them inhale their food in 0.8 seconds is endlessly amusing. Xander takes slightly longer, hence the necessity for the gate dividing him from the ravenous hyenas.

After breakfast is served, I put on my shoes, pour my coffee into my travel mug along with enough sugar to sink a battleship, and head to the cookie jar. This is Kirby’s cue to dash into his spot in the bathroom and the other two to park themselves behind the baby gate. I feel bad having to keep them in small quarters during the day, however, there always manages to be some sort of collateral damage to my walls, carpets, or couch cushions if they are left wandering freely. They each receive a cookie for complying with this policy of confinement, and I leave them for a tedious nine hours.

I can only imagine what they do for nine hours each day, but I am choosing to believe it is sleeping and contemplating the nature of existence, and not nuisance barking or fussing with each other. Denial is a powerful thing.

When I return home in the evening, I am greeted with earsplitting barking. Dogs are wonderful because they are always happy to see you. They are not wonderful when they launch themselves at you like furry missiles. I worked persistently to teach Xander as a puppy never to jump up on me. Buster disagreed with that philosophy, so now I must shield myself from the 40lbs of crazed border collie which greets me every evening. He is flanked by two, 20lb corgi projectiles which barely register compared to him. It’s so nice to be loved.

Repeat the morning walking, barking, and feeding procedures, all done without fail immediately upon arriving home. No other activities are acceptable until this is accomplished. Afterwards, I am free to choose any method of entertaining them I deem fit. This may include driving across the street to the high school and illegally playing Frisbee in their football field, driving down the street to an Elementary School and illegally playing Frisbee on their playground, or going to the park down the street and illegally playing Frisbee in their baseball field. Sometimes we play in the “pet park” at my apartment, but since I am only supposed to have two dogs, I have to choose one of the corgis to stay behind. Also, the park has no drainage and is generally underwater from the poor placement of the sprinkler systems. And then there are the two days a week I make the 40 minute trek to the agility field for class or for practice. Those are their favorite days.

And with minor variations, including the occasions we get to hang out with Buster, that is our life. Wash, rinse, repeat. The dogs always remind me to focus on the important things in life. Eating regular meals, getting frequent exercise, and always being happy to see the people you love.

The same thing happens every day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Does Your Job Define You?

How many people in this world get up to go to a job that they honestly enjoy and find deeply rewarding? I would wager that given the vast number of fast food establishments, Tax Collector offices, and Port-O-Potty cleaning companies, there are a disproportionate number of people who don’t jump out of bed with enthusiasm to greet the day. However, Americans tend to label the value of a person based on what they do for a paycheck every day. Almost immediately upon meeting someone new, after the small talk of introductions, the conversation will invariably turn to “what do you do for a living?” Does our human need to categorize people and make quick judgments leave us missing out on opportunities to make connections or see the value in someone?

It is indeed human nature to label, categorize, and even stereotype in order to take quick impressions and use these to guide our interactions with others. Obviously early humans, in the evolution of society, needed ways to make fast and accurate judgments about who would be a potentially trusted and valued member of the group, and who would not. In spite of centuries of history, our homogenous tendencies emerge in youth and are seen throughout early childhood. Boys tend to hang out and play with other boys of similar types, and girls do the same. Socioeconomic differences, cultural differences, racial differences; all of these aspects have an impact on the formation of play groups and niches.

In adulthood, our selection of a mate is based largely on initial attraction, but the predictors of longevity include common religious beliefs, education, and socioeconomic status. This refers not only to how we were raised and what type of jobs our parents held, but what type of job we perform and the amount of money we bring in. This standard of judgment is particularly true for men, more so in the last fifty years than is trending currently, however men are still evaluated largely by their career and buying power. Does this mean that the blue collar worker operating a forklift on the highway is intrinsically less intelligent or less valuable than the CEO of a Fortune 500 company?

While I would never be so STUPID as to complain about my job in a public forum, let us say, hypothetically, that a reasonably intelligent, college educated, critically thinking person such as myself were employed in an assistant type role; a role that involves making copies, running errands, and generally being subservient to others. While this does not describe my current role, because obviously I rank higher than a trained monkey, if I did in fact perform these tasks, should I be labeled as nothing more capable than an assistant? How would a person such as myself come to that place in life? Is a person’s job an accurate predictor of their skills and capabilities, or is it simply the outcome of a series of situations, decisions, and opportunities (or lack thereof)? As a case study, let us trace back my employment history.

Age 15: The first job I ever held was at my agility instructor Patti Hatfield’s business: Creature Comforts Pet Resort; a boarding kennel for dogs and cats. It may be sad to say that this ranks among my favorite jobs, but I spent the day hanging out with lots of dogs in the outdoors. Sure, it was a lot of hot, sweaty work cleaning out runs and cages in the summer heat, or cold, wet, freezing work hosing things down in the winter, but it was a great first job. There is a simple satisfaction that comes from performing manual labor all day and returning home exhausted. Studies actually show that manual workers, particularly those with something to show for their efforts, such as having built a house for example, report a higher level of life satisfaction than those who are forced to sit behind a desk all day. Humans, it seems, were not designed to stare at a computer for eight hours a day.

Age 17: My next position was at the then newly built PetsMart on the Southside of town. I was hired initially as a bather/brusher in the grooming department, but due to the lack of groomers in the area, was quickly giving the opportunity to train and become a commissioned groomer. This was a lucky turn, as the free education I received there led me to my first specialized, and profitable, skill.

Age 18: My first year of college was spent in Sarasota, FL. My intention was to become an animator for Disney, so I attended the Ringling School of Art and Design. My parents could not afford to help with my living expenses, so I spent my weekdays at school, and the weekends working at the local PetsMart grooming department. I put in a grueling 12-14 hrs every Saturday, and 9-11 hours every Sunday. I didn’t eat, I didn’t use the bathroom, I groomed dogs. All day. Both days. It damn near killed me, but I made enough money to support myself right out of high school, and only working two days a week. Unfortunately, given the absurdly high private university tuition, my scholarship only paid the equivalent of a public university. I decided after one year of exhaustion that art school was not worth the massive debt I would graduate with, and so I returned to Jacksonville.

Age 19: Back at home for a short time, and enrolled in the local community college to finish my AA degree, I got a job at the local vet clinic I’d taken my dogs to for years. The vet who hired me, whom I admired and respected, left to take a job as the state veterinarian, and was replaced by someone incompetent. I left that job in a blaze of glory, with a resignation letter so scathing that it made the resident vet, and my former boss, lock herself in her office to cry. Hey, I saw her do some awful crap, and I called her on it. That’s how I roll.

Age 20: In need of a job, I went back to PetsMart. At this point, I had only held animal related jobs and was going to school at the University of North Florida in pursuit of a Bachelor’s Degree. This time, I was offered the chance to complete a Pet Training Instructor accreditation course that would enable me to offer obedience classes in the store. I was extremely fortunate to have an amazing teacher who led us through a two week program involving behavior modification, clicker training, and a week spent working with local shelter dogs. At this time, I was taking college courses in psychology that introduced me to the works of B.F. Skinner, Pavlov, and others in the field of behavior modification. Although the job was commission based and involved a lot of selling, which I detest, I learned a lot about working with groups of students and gained a large degree of self confidence in my ability to present information to a wide variety of people of all ages and personality types.

Age23: After working two years as a Pet Training Instructor, I had to leave that position in order to take the last couple of evening classes I needed for my BA in Psychology. After graduating, I got a short term job at another animal hospital. I again held the illustrious honor of scooping poop and cleaning up vomit. On the other hand, I made some great friends and spent the day around dogs.

Later that year, a friend of a friend was able to get me my first “real job” at an insurance agency downtown. I had no idea how to be a secretary/admin/officer worker. Although I was obviously intelligent and capable, they bounced me around to different departments over the year and a half I was there I believe in an effort to find the right "spot” for me. We never found it. The eighty year old owner of the agency decided to do some cut backs and laid off the three youngest employees in the company. I literally danced out of the office with my severance check in hand and sung my way home.

Age 25-26: I tried to start an online business making sculptures and doing pet portraits. I worked two days at the local animal care and control and was emotionally scarred. I competed in agility a lot and got a MACH with Kaylee. I accumulated a LOT of credit card debt. Lots of wise choices were made in these years.

Age26: I finally succumbed to the necessity for another real job, as much as the last one had broken my spirit, and ended up at Brandon Pest Control. At least there was a dog there occasionally. When not being visited by the adorable beagleness that was Brandon, I learned a lot about customer service, using the computer, coordinating employees, and doing payroll. I got bored and frustrated by the lack of anywhere to go once I’d learned everything I could, and left after a year and a half.

Age 28: After spending a few months in North Carolina trying to create a life outside of Jacksonville, FL, I ended up coming back to Jacksonvile, FL. Got a job with another little insurance agency through Craigslist. It was a young couple my age that were just starting out and sharing an office with the owner of a local dance fitness company. Jay, the dance fitness/health guru was totally awesome. The other two, were not so much. Still, I learned a lot more about the world of business and made some good connections. After a year and a half of this, there followed a few months of grooming for a fledgling groom shop which resulted in a lot of nothing, working weekends as the lifeguard for the dog park (essentially yelling at people for not following the rules), and a couple months at the Humane Society (which although paid nothing, was difficult to leave). I also continued to do some side work for Jay, and basically held four part time jobs all at once. That was an interesting and strangely rewarding experience.

Age 29: Finally I scored another “real” job with the University of Florida as an Admin Assistant. While the work was boring and completely lacking in challenges, I gained so much by watching my incredible, high energy, multi-tasking boss take care of her equally high energy, multi-tasking, inspirational boss. She was extremely supportive and helpful and I looked forward to seeing her each day. This job ultimately led me to moving up into my current position, which is along the same lines as my old supervisor’s position.

Age 30: So here I am. With a degree from Stanton (one of the nation’s top ranking high schools), a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology, and a background in art, animal care, grooming, training, payroll, customer service, and administration, where do I go next? I failed to mention my side job of teaching agility classes, but that is so much fun it is hard to declare it work. Knowing my background, would you judge me differently now that I am no longer just an “administrative assistant” but a person with a wide variety of educational and working experiences? Would you like to hire me and pay me lots of money? J

 So I ask again: is a job just something you use to pay the bills, or does it help shape who you are on a more fundamental level? The knowledge I gained in school, as well as the time management and social skills I gained from age 5 to age 18 have been as influential on the way I behave as my jobs have. I now look at my working life as a series of continuing educational opportunities. Each position has exposed me to new information, experiences, and people. They have shown me where my strengths and preferences lie, as well as exposed my weaknesses and taught me which jobs I do not enjoy performing.  I am not just an assistant; I am in training for the person I will be in five years, ten years, and fifty years from now. I will not let my job define me, limit me, or prevent me from walking down whatever path I choose.  I know I have things to offer to the world, and I know the things I really enjoy doing. Now I just have to figure out how to turn this knowledge into a career I enjoy.

Or I could win the lottery.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Everyone is familiar with the standard complaints against Walmart: the friendly, neighborhood conglomerate that threatens to run every small, privately owned business within miles around out of town. Their ridiculously low prices, achieved through sheer volume, are nearly impossible for a “mom and pop” organization to compete with. Many say that America was built on the backs of entrepreneurs, who struggled to carve a niche out of the economic structure of their community. Giant retailers such as Walmart threaten to eradicate the small business, and this could prove a very real problem to American society as we have known it. However, there is a more insidious disease at work, one which may threaten our very existence.

Let me tell you the story of our Christmas tree.

Buster and I recently celebrated our first Christmas in our new apartment. While we love our little space, it is a LITTLE space. I have an eight-foot artificial tree, and although it might have fit in our living room, it would most likely have resembled the Griswold family Christmas tree. Therefore, in the interest of maintaining some open living space, we decided to obtain a small, live tree for a change. This required a tree stand, which I did not have, as artificial trees do not generally need water. Therefore, we ventured out to purchase one.

I will admit that I prefer to do my shopping at Target. Their stores are overall clean and bright, their employees reasonably friendly, and their products of a quality nature. I will also confess that when looking to save money on something mundane, I will go to Walmart. As a general rule, I will avoid Walmart altogether on the weekends, as their stores are overcrowded and minimally staffed. The benefit of saving $2 on shampoo is negated by the forty minute wait in a line that’s composed of a mullet-sporting redneck, a screaming infant, and an elderly lady wanting a price check on a package of gum. I have also suffered post-traumatic stress disorder from visiting a Walmart on the wrong side of town. This particular store more closely resembled a refugee camp that was inhabited by an assorted group of underdressed, mumbling, confused patrons who employed a half-hearted shuffle through the aisles of paper products and household accessories. I hastily retreated in fear that I had stumbled onto the zombie apocalypse.

On the Saturday in question, I was feeling light and festive, imbibed with the Christmas spirit and in search of the perfect tree to decorate. Target had only one type of tree stand, and it was too large and overpriced for our needs. Walmart loomed directly across the street and beckoned us with its insidiously low prices. Fortunately, it was a quick trip, not even requiring that we venture into the store, as the tree stands were in the garden center outside. Our intention was only to pick up a stand and then search for our tree at one of the many roadside purveyors around town. However, upon entering the garden center, we were greeted with an assortment of freshly delivered, fragrant pine trees. Out of curiosity, we stopped to have a look and were immediately taken with a perfectly sized, perfectly shaped, forty dollar tree. Seriously. A nearly 7ft fresh tree that was only $40. How could we pass it up? With absolutely no assistance from the employees of the store, because surely they do not work there in order to help customers, we got our tree into my Element and brought it home. Buster was forced to break out the hacksaw, as providing a fresh cut was another service Walmart did not provide. But hey, it was 40 bucks, what can you say?

The tree brightened our living room for the full month of the holiday season. I attributed this to my supreme dedication in watering it daily. This is not normal for me, as I am well known for killing every plant in my vicinity due to the fact that the plants don’t actively remind me to care for them. The dogs at least never cease to request their meals.  Surprisingly though, it continued to remain fresh and vibrant even after I began to neglect it and it had stopped drinking water altogether. When the time finally came to take down our seasonal décor, we debated the proper disposal method for our beloved tree. Our apartment complex is filled with negligent morons, as I have mentioned previously, and therefore the compact area was stacked with enough trash to fill a New Jersey barge, while the inside of the actual compactor, where we are supposed to place our trash, stood empty. We debated waiting for instructions from the apartment office; however, that office is staffed with a group of fifteen year old girls who could not manage their way out of a shopping mall. Therefore, we did the only logical thing; we dumped our tree over the fence.

To be fair to us, our complex backs up to a “wooded preserve,” so tossing it over the fence into the woods didn’t seem like a big deal. Granted, we did this under the cover of darkness while wearing black clothing and swept up the tell-tale track of pine needles which led from our door down the sidewalk. But we didn’t feel like we were doing anything wrong.

Occasionally, I walk the dogs along the path near the woods. With the cold and the early dark, I hadn’t been out there recently, so when I walked that route last Saturday, I was surprised at what I found. There was my Christmas tree, sitting just as we’d left it. It looks just as green and fresh and vibrant as it did while it sat in our living room. It is not brown. It has not been made a home for bugs or squirrels or spiders. Possibly it is radioactive. I am thinking that Walmart genetically engineers some sort of hybrid mutant tree thing which never dies. I will continue to monitor its progress, but I fear I may have done serious harm to the ecosystem by allowing it to make contact with the soil.

At any rate, if mutant Christmas trees don’t scare you, go right now to http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ Right now. Stop what you’re doing and click through some of the “Feature Creatures.” You will be mesmerized by the documentation of the devolution of the human race. It is happening right now in Walmarts across the country: in your cities, in your towns, in your neighborhoods.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. I know I am.