**ADVISORY: This blog took a bit more time than usual... over an hour and a half since I got engrossed in the moving Taking Chance (incredible, be sure to watch with tissues or a sweatshirt handy). It's a normal Lisa diatribe, but maybe a few bits here and there worth something.**
Anyone who knows me, or knows of me, by now knows that I don't have a typical day from one to the next. Not that I know anyone who really does, but my life tends to stay on the merry go round. Sometimes I can set my own pace, other times, I'm at the mercy of the playground bully. Some days, I just have to close my eyes and hang on as tight as I can, and pray I can stand up straight enough to kick him when I get off.
Last night, I got to play Dress-Up Barbie. I was invited as a guest of Memorial Health to their table at the Addy Award (big kudos to them for winning a gold for their trauma funding video documenting reactions from Memorial's workers during the Imperial response). I am always nervous about these types of events. For the most part, I'm not a glamorous person. I prefer flip-flops, tank top and shorts. So when Lisa told me I was going to have to go formal, I freaked. I didn't get a chance to even look in my closet until 11 pm on Thursday. I had two choices, only because I've had to do it two years ago, twice in one year.
I was able to get a sitter for the dogs so I could just leave from work and go to the soiree, but it meant taking my clothes, makeup, brush and all that jazz with me to work. At 5, I asked my co-worker if she needed in before I changed, and in I went. If only there was a way our bathroom worked like Superman's phone booth. Twenty minutes later, I came out, and surpised the heck out of my boss. The dress was a little big, but I had it tight as I could. But as much as I startled him, I figured it wasn't bad.
I drove down, and walked in to the event. I was early, way early. And without a date. But, afterall, it's a Savannah event, and a few short moments later, I found my way to some friends.
The evening was fun, thanks in part to a dinner companion with as twisted a sense of humor as I have. And the food was worth all the dress up: lobster, filet mignon, and decadent brownies.
I headed home, exhausted, but still had to finish getting everything ready for our big event in Richmond Hill. We had to cancel the Bluffton event. Those are hard to staff most months anyhow, so I think folks were relieved to not have to make the drive. I got so busy working, I forgot I was still in a cocktail dress, until Hannah started batting at it.
Around 1 am I finally crawled into bed. Just like clockwork, Cookie (aka Samoa) woke at 2 to go potty. I had forgotten to take her out before I went to bed. My mistake, not hers, and I was paying for it in the cold.
Mornings always come too soon at the ranch. But for the last two months, I've been blessed to have two fabulous ladies take over my morning duties so I can catch a little extra sleep before work. Saturday mornings on event days are the worst; I'm usually by myself and have to get up extra early to get the dogs out, fed, cleaned up, and put in crates for our travels to whatever event plus play Tetris with the rescue-mobile before heading out, usually at 9 am.
So like most mornings, I got up, stepped on Vinnie's tail since he had changed the way he was facing since we went to bed, grabbed my robe and proceeded along my task list. By 8, I was somewhat dressed, and by 8:30, reinforcements had arrived. What angels! We assembled the vehicles, got crates loaded, and headed down to the Hill. There's nothing quite like a day of doggies, and more importantly, we had been welcomed with open arms by another group. There were other rescues there, all sharing stories about dogs, asking about some of ours they had read about. I had gotten Purina to send down water bowls, samples and shirts for the event, so we distributed them out.
The day was great: four solid applications and 27 canines came through our microchip clinic, including a few that tried to take my hand off. I drove home, excited about the prospects for adoption, but tired as all get out. Tina, my constant angel, came back with me and stayed behind to take care of the pups and make sure everyone's crate was nice and clean. I went to the office to check emails and start on adoption packs. It was then that I got an email that just brought tears to my eyes.
Many of you remember Hope, our Carolina Dingo mix who came to us with an embedded collar. A friend of mine fell in love with her photo in December not long after her beloved Rottie had passed. She offered to foster Hope for us when she returned from the holidays. She did... and fell in love with her. This week, she decided she was ready to make the commitment. In my inbox today, I found the most heartworming letter I could have ever asked for. I'm giving just a sample here, but treasure every single word she wrote:
Miss Hope is full of surprises! She is a powerful teacher. I expected her to be broken down, tired, and old beyond her years. After two heart worm treatments, intestinal worms, an embedded collar, ears tattered by flies, dog attacks, and years of neglect and abandonment, that would seem reasonable. But Hope has defied all odds. She glides gracefully through the air at lightening fast speed as she runs laps around her new back yard! She is young at heart, vigorous, and charged with energy. Her ability to give and receive love is amazing. As I write our story, she is curled up next to me on the couch, radiating a calm peacefulness.
"We all have a past. It’s impossible to make a way in this world without hurtful experiences... Hope knows about what it means to heal, and forgive and forget, and to feel safe enough to accept love. She has a strong spirit. Both of my dogs have enriched my life. I will never forget Train. His death was the end of an era for me. As I look into the future with Hope, it seems that she is picking up where Train left off. She is teaching me what it means to find my own strength. We are both rescues."
What an amazing day. That was until I got further into my emails to read something that just set me off. Two months ago, a woman was denied adoption for one of our dogs. In that time, our adoption coordinators have changed, and due to people's crazy work and family schedules and my having to go back to work full time, we're not as on top of things as we used to be. We try, but we make mistakes. This person engaged me in a couple of emails about a dog that we would not be releasing for adoption until next week. I initially had her confused with someone else and told her that we had cancelled the app for lack of response to our phone calls or emails. Then this week she started hounding me about meeting up with the dog. The pup was in the process of being brought back to me as she was not being nice in her foster home. I know I've been long winded, so to shorten it up, I was not as detail-oriented to this woman's emails as I probably should have been. She asked us about our adoption days this weekend, I told her when they were but also told her that due to the dog's attitude, she probably would not be there as we like to create a harmonious environment as much as possible. Then late last night, we cancelled one event. So in the email I received, I was critized for not telling this woman that since the event was cancelled where else I would have the dog she wanted to see available. Let's try to remember that on our adoption applications it specifies that applicants meet the dogs once their application is approved. We cannot bring every single pet to every adoption day; we just don't have the manpower to do so. I had grown very tired of the emails. So I went through our archieves and found that she had originally been denied on January 7th and sent a notice. So I informed her of this, and again stated that we are an all-volunteer organization and apologized that she felt frustrated. This was what I got:
"Just because you are a volunteer does not excuse your poor performance. You keep beating that drum, but I never asked you to work for free. If I need to pay for your services, then speak up and tell me, but don't act like the world owes you something. If you don't want to do it, then quit!
If you are doing this for recognition or a pat on the back, the you are doing it for the wrong reasons. The ones that suffer are the pets that you could be placing instead of reminding everyone what great deeds you're doing.
If your true intent is to place an animal in a loving home, then put me in touch with someone who can actually help me. If not, quit wasting my time.
Thank you for your time and I hope you find the recognition you think you so richly deserve."
So as I was driving Duke to his new home tonight, I pondered that. What would life be like if I did quit? I could have the convertible I missed so much, probably live back on the water, maybe go grocery shopping on a more regular basis, heck I might even get back into cooking for myself (I know, it's a stretch, but it could happen). A friend of mine was kind enough to take my call during my reflection time, and I became so engrossed in conversation, I missed the directions from my GPS, which reminds me of a female version of Ben Stein. I abruptly hung up on him, anxious to get Duke into his home, for what I thought might be my last adoption.
I noticed the homes as I drove in. Lots of front porch lights on, clean neighborhood, two story homes. The kind of place I might live if I didn't have to have so much land for 99 dogs. I parked, flipped on the interior light to find my adoption stuff, then got out to get Duke and his carrier. I gave him a little pep talk, reminding him that he had been a street dog hanging out with the wrong crowd and this was the ticket to change his life. He did his little feet stamping thing, whined a little bit, then settled down. We walked up to the house (I felt a little guilty walking through their perfectly manicured lawn, trying to remember what it was like to have grass at home before the dogs took over landscaping duties), and rang the doorbell. I thought I heard a small dog, but didn't remember reading about them having a current pet on their application. Instead, it was their youngest daughter who immediately opened the door and stretched her arms to get him. Yes, he was going to have it made... three young girls to dote on him every waking moment of every day. It's what every dog deserves.
I joined the family in the living room, all of us on the floor to greet little Duke to his new home. Before I could open his kennel door, the oldest girl reached out and handed me something. "This is so you never forget him," she said. I looked down. In the few short hours since I had seen them at our adoption day, this young lady had taken great time to draw me the perfect picture of Duke, along with his new crown and cape and a food bowl that said "The King." She mounted it to yellow construction paper and wrote the words "Thank You!" all around it in different colors. It took all I had not to start weeping. If she only knew how badly I needed that.
We finished the adoption, said our goodbyes, and I drove home, happy to have the recognition I "so richly deserved."
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Lisa the Grump
We all have those off days. Yesterday didn't start out being one of them. I got to work, still missing staying home with the pups but thankful I still have a job, and settled in to work. No real pains to be dealing with first thing, which is always great. I took my truck over to Savannah Tire to have the tires checked. It's nice that they remember me, but even better that it was my first visit to not get a tire patched or replaced. I then headed over to Cha Bella to pick up my to go order, said hi to several folks I knew, chatted at the bar a little bit, and then headed back to work where I got to enjoy birthday cake for a co-worker's big day. All was well with the world. Well, until just after 5 pm.
I invited a friend of mine to join me for the travel to Ridgeland, SC. I was excited: we were going to pick up the new CPR trailer. It's nothing real special, but will be a huge help for us on event weekends and food pick ups. The travel over was relatively easy. We met up with Karen at Maranatha Farm, the rescue selling us their old trailer since they had a new one. She took us on a tour of the property. We watched the dogs play in their pond, and I met little Cookie (now Samoa). Since she was already vetted and recently returned by an adopter, I offered to take her back to CPR so Tori would have a playmate her size. Besides, she's adorable and would be adopted quickly, I was just sure of it. Then the time came to hitch up the trailer. I had just spent two hours with U-Haul the day before getting this $400 monster thing installed. Well, getting it on the ball wasn't so much the problem as having all the lights working. We discovered that not only was the right brake light out on the trailer, but if you turned your headlights on, the other brake light turned off. But that was ok, after all, we at least had the side lights on the trailer working, unless the headlights were turned off.
We were losing daylight so I said a few prayers and down the road we went. It was probably the only time I've ever gone under 60 MPH down I-95 without there being an accident on the road. I refused to get out of the right lane, especially since I was lacking a driver side mirror. I found exit 5, and was very thankful to get off the Interstate without any incident. Daddy had agreed to help out with fixing the wiring, so I just had to get the trailer safely to Tybee. Not a big deal, so long as I could navigate through downtown and not get pulled over, especially since we didn't have a trailer tag.
Around 8 pm we made it safely to the marina. It took me a little bit to get the hang of backing up the small trailer, but I was pleased. Not bad for my first time, although I had helped back boats in and out at the boat ramps, but this was my first time on my own. I thought we were in the home stretch. I was wrong. The trailer seemed quite content to stay attached to my truck, not understanding that this was to be its resting place for a few days. The more it hung on, the more frustrated I got. I was wearing steel toe tennis shoes and kicking that trailer with all my might, trying to bully it into letting go of my truck. It didn't happen. I called my daddy. I was told I could wait an hour for him to get home or go and find the jack and a hammer on the property. I hung up and started walking around, kicking rocks in frustration, scaring the feral cats around the building. By some miracle, my friend managed to get it off. I'm not going to ask how; I don't care. It was almost 9 pm, I hadn't had dinner, and I was cranky. I also had two small dogs in the car who were really ready to be done with their travels as well.
I headed off the island, stopping to check our post office box and say hi to Mom and thank Dad for offering to fix the wiring. Mom realized I hadn't eaten, and feeling sorry for me, put her fries into a napkin for me to eat on the way home. They were really good. I dropped my friend off at his car, then started down the home stretch.
The arrival home was relatively quiet. The dogs had been taken care of by Sara earlier in the evening, so I just had to let them out for their last time of potty. I settled in to answer emails, picking and choosing as i really just wanted to throw myself in bed. I grabbed a quick hot shower, then curled up with my Hitchiker's Guide, read one chapter and fell out. That was until the storms came.
Did you know that many puppies and small dogs hate storms? It's not new information, but when the howls and screams woke me in the middle of the night along with pounding rain and thunder, I was reminded. I tried talking nicely to them, reassuring them it was going to be fine. Hannah and Vinnie took advantage of the situation, wrapping around my legs and leaning into me for extra attention, even though I knew full well they weren't afraid of storms. I gave out as many chew treats as I could find and trudged my way back to bed, hoping to sleep at least two hours.
Despite the weather being so beautiful today, I would give anything to be back in bed, if just for a couple hours.
I invited a friend of mine to join me for the travel to Ridgeland, SC. I was excited: we were going to pick up the new CPR trailer. It's nothing real special, but will be a huge help for us on event weekends and food pick ups. The travel over was relatively easy. We met up with Karen at Maranatha Farm, the rescue selling us their old trailer since they had a new one. She took us on a tour of the property. We watched the dogs play in their pond, and I met little Cookie (now Samoa). Since she was already vetted and recently returned by an adopter, I offered to take her back to CPR so Tori would have a playmate her size. Besides, she's adorable and would be adopted quickly, I was just sure of it. Then the time came to hitch up the trailer. I had just spent two hours with U-Haul the day before getting this $400 monster thing installed. Well, getting it on the ball wasn't so much the problem as having all the lights working. We discovered that not only was the right brake light out on the trailer, but if you turned your headlights on, the other brake light turned off. But that was ok, after all, we at least had the side lights on the trailer working, unless the headlights were turned off.
We were losing daylight so I said a few prayers and down the road we went. It was probably the only time I've ever gone under 60 MPH down I-95 without there being an accident on the road. I refused to get out of the right lane, especially since I was lacking a driver side mirror. I found exit 5, and was very thankful to get off the Interstate without any incident. Daddy had agreed to help out with fixing the wiring, so I just had to get the trailer safely to Tybee. Not a big deal, so long as I could navigate through downtown and not get pulled over, especially since we didn't have a trailer tag.
Around 8 pm we made it safely to the marina. It took me a little bit to get the hang of backing up the small trailer, but I was pleased. Not bad for my first time, although I had helped back boats in and out at the boat ramps, but this was my first time on my own. I thought we were in the home stretch. I was wrong. The trailer seemed quite content to stay attached to my truck, not understanding that this was to be its resting place for a few days. The more it hung on, the more frustrated I got. I was wearing steel toe tennis shoes and kicking that trailer with all my might, trying to bully it into letting go of my truck. It didn't happen. I called my daddy. I was told I could wait an hour for him to get home or go and find the jack and a hammer on the property. I hung up and started walking around, kicking rocks in frustration, scaring the feral cats around the building. By some miracle, my friend managed to get it off. I'm not going to ask how; I don't care. It was almost 9 pm, I hadn't had dinner, and I was cranky. I also had two small dogs in the car who were really ready to be done with their travels as well.
I headed off the island, stopping to check our post office box and say hi to Mom and thank Dad for offering to fix the wiring. Mom realized I hadn't eaten, and feeling sorry for me, put her fries into a napkin for me to eat on the way home. They were really good. I dropped my friend off at his car, then started down the home stretch.
The arrival home was relatively quiet. The dogs had been taken care of by Sara earlier in the evening, so I just had to let them out for their last time of potty. I settled in to answer emails, picking and choosing as i really just wanted to throw myself in bed. I grabbed a quick hot shower, then curled up with my Hitchiker's Guide, read one chapter and fell out. That was until the storms came.
Did you know that many puppies and small dogs hate storms? It's not new information, but when the howls and screams woke me in the middle of the night along with pounding rain and thunder, I was reminded. I tried talking nicely to them, reassuring them it was going to be fine. Hannah and Vinnie took advantage of the situation, wrapping around my legs and leaning into me for extra attention, even though I knew full well they weren't afraid of storms. I gave out as many chew treats as I could find and trudged my way back to bed, hoping to sleep at least two hours.
Despite the weather being so beautiful today, I would give anything to be back in bed, if just for a couple hours.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Sunday Night at Barnes and Noble
I'm a geek. I have never had a problem admitting to that throughout my life. I taught myself computers, went to Georgia Tech during the summer in middle school, took Saturday classes, was in junior math my freshman year, exempted English in college, and would read four to five books a week for fun. As I've gotten older, I've found it's harder to find the free time, but somehow I do. Heck, I'd be in school again right now if it weren't for all those outstanding school loans (still waiting on my bailout).
Recently, I was sucked into the world of Sookie Stackhouse. Those of you who haven't read the books probably have at least seen or heard of her from the HBO series TrueBlood. There is no real reason for me to like her story so much. I grew up reading R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike, though was always turned off by vampire stories. I went to see Interview with a Vampire because it was a huge group outing in high school, but I had no interest in the Ann Rice books. But for whatever reason, I got religious about not missing an episode on Sunday nights. I actually went into withdrawal when the season ended. But I had rescue coming: my surrogate big sister got me the seven-book series for Christmas. It was great, except that now, instead of staying up until 1 or 2 am doing projects for the rescue, I was going into work hung over from reading till 3 or 4 am. I even ran out and bought book 8 in hardback and finished that in three nights and handed it off for someone else to read. I was once again a book addict.
For my birthday, two people gave me gift cards to B&N and Books-A-Million so I could purchase the next book in the series due out in March sometime. That's great, except now, I've gotten in the habit of reading at bedtime, and I had nothing to read. All my books that I love are still in storage at mom and dad's place because I have no real place to put them. (I usually read Pride and Prejudice, The Handmaid's Tale, and The Awakening once a year.) So after finishing my adoption around 6, I decided to head to B&N to spend one of my gift cards.
It takes me less time to get dressed and do makeup for an awards event than it does for me to pick out a book. I don't know why. Maybe it's a commitment thing: don't want to buy something and hate it. So I took myself down to the fiction aisle. It was swarming with new releases, mostly romance. Not really my thing. Maybe the reason I like the Stackhouse books is because of all the action. I do, afterall, prefer to see those when I go to the movies. So I started down the shelves. Just how many different times can you make a sequel off of Jane Austen novels? I think I counted 12, and they were from different authors. Sorry, but I just don't think anyone could capture me as much as she did for that genre. I kept browsing, squatting down, feeling the pain in my toes from my new boots (happily purchased on sale at Macy's last week), and trying not to care about the young girls squealing behind me about Twilight (yes, many of you are fans, but it just didn't do anything for me, sorry). I don't know what it was about these books, but everything was either a spin-off from a classic or something about a woman in her 40s or 60s trying to come to terms with life or get out of the murder of her husband/boyfriend/lover or husband/boyfriend's lover, etc. I could not find something that appealed to me: a 30-year-old animal lover, happy about not having children, living paycheck to paycheck, and rolling pennies for her Sonic habit (thanks Jake and Dan for contributing to my delinquency this evening - love those Mocha Java Chillers). So what author reaches out to my demographic? Apparently, none. But, I did find a nice compromise: Jimmy Buffett's Salty Piece of Land. What Parrothead couldn't be happy with that find? (But I was bummed to not find Swine Not.)
So I headed to the checkout, along the way finding a new release about a private investigator and his dog told from the viewpoint of the dog. Sounded good, and Stephen King gave a great review, so I grabbed it as well. But no trip to B&N would be complete without a run through of the Bargain section. This is where I pick up most of my dog and cat books, some great, some on sale for a reason. But there, completely out of place was one of my favorite classics. I debated... new mystery, or old friend? I was shopping on a gift card budget of $25, so I knew I couldn't have all three. (Besides, that's why there is half.com.) The geek in me won out, and I swapped out the tale of the pup for the classic The Complete Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I trotted along to wait in line, happy to be spending someone else's money on my habit, and proud of myself for not grabbing a frappucino during my spree. That was until I got to the register to hand over my gift card and discovered I had grabbed the one for Books A Million instead. Sigh. I had already committed myself to the books, I couldn't wait to get home to read them, so I shelled out the $37 and sulked out the door. I found redemption at Sonic down the street as I DID have my giftcard to there. Nothing better than a good book and chocolate on a dreary Sunday night.
Recently, I was sucked into the world of Sookie Stackhouse. Those of you who haven't read the books probably have at least seen or heard of her from the HBO series TrueBlood. There is no real reason for me to like her story so much. I grew up reading R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike, though was always turned off by vampire stories. I went to see Interview with a Vampire because it was a huge group outing in high school, but I had no interest in the Ann Rice books. But for whatever reason, I got religious about not missing an episode on Sunday nights. I actually went into withdrawal when the season ended. But I had rescue coming: my surrogate big sister got me the seven-book series for Christmas. It was great, except that now, instead of staying up until 1 or 2 am doing projects for the rescue, I was going into work hung over from reading till 3 or 4 am. I even ran out and bought book 8 in hardback and finished that in three nights and handed it off for someone else to read. I was once again a book addict.
For my birthday, two people gave me gift cards to B&N and Books-A-Million so I could purchase the next book in the series due out in March sometime. That's great, except now, I've gotten in the habit of reading at bedtime, and I had nothing to read. All my books that I love are still in storage at mom and dad's place because I have no real place to put them. (I usually read Pride and Prejudice, The Handmaid's Tale, and The Awakening once a year.) So after finishing my adoption around 6, I decided to head to B&N to spend one of my gift cards.
It takes me less time to get dressed and do makeup for an awards event than it does for me to pick out a book. I don't know why. Maybe it's a commitment thing: don't want to buy something and hate it. So I took myself down to the fiction aisle. It was swarming with new releases, mostly romance. Not really my thing. Maybe the reason I like the Stackhouse books is because of all the action. I do, afterall, prefer to see those when I go to the movies. So I started down the shelves. Just how many different times can you make a sequel off of Jane Austen novels? I think I counted 12, and they were from different authors. Sorry, but I just don't think anyone could capture me as much as she did for that genre. I kept browsing, squatting down, feeling the pain in my toes from my new boots (happily purchased on sale at Macy's last week), and trying not to care about the young girls squealing behind me about Twilight (yes, many of you are fans, but it just didn't do anything for me, sorry). I don't know what it was about these books, but everything was either a spin-off from a classic or something about a woman in her 40s or 60s trying to come to terms with life or get out of the murder of her husband/boyfriend/lover or husband/boyfriend's lover, etc. I could not find something that appealed to me: a 30-year-old animal lover, happy about not having children, living paycheck to paycheck, and rolling pennies for her Sonic habit (thanks Jake and Dan for contributing to my delinquency this evening - love those Mocha Java Chillers). So what author reaches out to my demographic? Apparently, none. But, I did find a nice compromise: Jimmy Buffett's Salty Piece of Land. What Parrothead couldn't be happy with that find? (But I was bummed to not find Swine Not.)
So I headed to the checkout, along the way finding a new release about a private investigator and his dog told from the viewpoint of the dog. Sounded good, and Stephen King gave a great review, so I grabbed it as well. But no trip to B&N would be complete without a run through of the Bargain section. This is where I pick up most of my dog and cat books, some great, some on sale for a reason. But there, completely out of place was one of my favorite classics. I debated... new mystery, or old friend? I was shopping on a gift card budget of $25, so I knew I couldn't have all three. (Besides, that's why there is half.com.) The geek in me won out, and I swapped out the tale of the pup for the classic The Complete Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I trotted along to wait in line, happy to be spending someone else's money on my habit, and proud of myself for not grabbing a frappucino during my spree. That was until I got to the register to hand over my gift card and discovered I had grabbed the one for Books A Million instead. Sigh. I had already committed myself to the books, I couldn't wait to get home to read them, so I shelled out the $37 and sulked out the door. I found redemption at Sonic down the street as I DID have my giftcard to there. Nothing better than a good book and chocolate on a dreary Sunday night.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Community Service: It Runs in the Family
Most of you Tybee folks know my dad pretty well. For the rest of you, here's a small tale about Capt. Mike.
Growing up on Tybee, I was always known as "Mike's Daughter." It's something that I didn't really mind, but as I got older and traveled outside of the area, became quite a little quirk, and sometimes irritating that people couldn't remember my four-letter first name.
I chose to go to college six hours away from Savannah as I wanted my independence and to find myself. One weekend, I went on a camping trip to Cumberland Island. I had been gone for about six months at that point. On the ferry from St. Mary's over ot the island, I sat next to a guy who kept looking at me rather strangely. Finally, he asked where I was from. I said Tybee Island. Next question: "Are you Mike's daughter?" And I cannot count the number of times that has happened to me over the years, even once in an elevator in New York.
So why is my dad so well known? Well, the answer has changed a little bit over the years. He was originally known for being a troublemaker on Tybee, all because we were outsiders coming to start a business and increase tourism on Tybee. For the most part, that's water under the bridge. But my dad has always believed in giving back to the community. It's part of being raised a Catholic, something he instilled in me as a very young child. At Lent and Advent I was taught to save my change to give to children's charities. Mom and Dad would always match whatever I saved, making sure I knew they weren't just talk. I also worked in a soup kitchen, did other activities with the Girl Scouts, and later coached soccer for the YMCA as my dad had done for my brother, my sister, and me.
Once we moved permanently to Tybee, Daddy got involved with the Tybee Beautification Association, which meant I would, too - even if it did lead to my getting eaten alive by fire ants to discover I was actually allergic to them and had to have a note from my doctor to allow me to wear pants to school to cover my badly eaten legs. (From then on out, I always opted for the back river assignments instead of the dunes.) From there, he partnered with the county to take out underprivileged youth on our dolphin tours (he was even named Chatham County Citizen of the Year for that). Years later, Daddy got involved with the Shriners. He's always loved working with kids, and he's always believed in helping them as much as he can. He loves being able to tell the stories about the kids they are helping. In fact, I have a young cousin who is currently going through one of the Shrine's hospitals up north. Daddy keeps good tabs on her.
But yesterday, I got a surge of pride during my Leadership Savannah visit to the Savannah Impact Program (SIP). I never knew anything about this program. I had seen the building as I passed it on Drayton, but never thought much about it. Yesterday, I learned that one of their programs is to take in juvenile offenders and try to change their lives around. One of the ways is through a summer enrichment program. I was impressed with the presentation, and had made a mental note to talk to the guy afterward about having him meet up with my dad since we used to work with these programs regularly. But apparently, there was no need. A few moments later, I got to hear about how much wonderful support they get from Capt. Mike out on Tybee. A few laughs went up in the room, and I proudly raised my hand to say I was Mike's daughter.
I admit, I like that I have a name for myself now, and I chuckle to hear my mom tell me stories of him being asked if he's Lisa's dad. (Mom did make a comment last night about how "Poor ole mom is just in the background." We'll have to work on that I guess.) But times like that, I'm more than happy to sit back, and smile, and know that I am my father's daughter.
Growing up on Tybee, I was always known as "Mike's Daughter." It's something that I didn't really mind, but as I got older and traveled outside of the area, became quite a little quirk, and sometimes irritating that people couldn't remember my four-letter first name.
I chose to go to college six hours away from Savannah as I wanted my independence and to find myself. One weekend, I went on a camping trip to Cumberland Island. I had been gone for about six months at that point. On the ferry from St. Mary's over ot the island, I sat next to a guy who kept looking at me rather strangely. Finally, he asked where I was from. I said Tybee Island. Next question: "Are you Mike's daughter?" And I cannot count the number of times that has happened to me over the years, even once in an elevator in New York.
So why is my dad so well known? Well, the answer has changed a little bit over the years. He was originally known for being a troublemaker on Tybee, all because we were outsiders coming to start a business and increase tourism on Tybee. For the most part, that's water under the bridge. But my dad has always believed in giving back to the community. It's part of being raised a Catholic, something he instilled in me as a very young child. At Lent and Advent I was taught to save my change to give to children's charities. Mom and Dad would always match whatever I saved, making sure I knew they weren't just talk. I also worked in a soup kitchen, did other activities with the Girl Scouts, and later coached soccer for the YMCA as my dad had done for my brother, my sister, and me.
Once we moved permanently to Tybee, Daddy got involved with the Tybee Beautification Association, which meant I would, too - even if it did lead to my getting eaten alive by fire ants to discover I was actually allergic to them and had to have a note from my doctor to allow me to wear pants to school to cover my badly eaten legs. (From then on out, I always opted for the back river assignments instead of the dunes.) From there, he partnered with the county to take out underprivileged youth on our dolphin tours (he was even named Chatham County Citizen of the Year for that). Years later, Daddy got involved with the Shriners. He's always loved working with kids, and he's always believed in helping them as much as he can. He loves being able to tell the stories about the kids they are helping. In fact, I have a young cousin who is currently going through one of the Shrine's hospitals up north. Daddy keeps good tabs on her.
But yesterday, I got a surge of pride during my Leadership Savannah visit to the Savannah Impact Program (SIP). I never knew anything about this program. I had seen the building as I passed it on Drayton, but never thought much about it. Yesterday, I learned that one of their programs is to take in juvenile offenders and try to change their lives around. One of the ways is through a summer enrichment program. I was impressed with the presentation, and had made a mental note to talk to the guy afterward about having him meet up with my dad since we used to work with these programs regularly. But apparently, there was no need. A few moments later, I got to hear about how much wonderful support they get from Capt. Mike out on Tybee. A few laughs went up in the room, and I proudly raised my hand to say I was Mike's daughter.
I admit, I like that I have a name for myself now, and I chuckle to hear my mom tell me stories of him being asked if he's Lisa's dad. (Mom did make a comment last night about how "Poor ole mom is just in the background." We'll have to work on that I guess.) But times like that, I'm more than happy to sit back, and smile, and know that I am my father's daughter.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Please Understand, I'm Just a Volunteer
Apparently, it's a state secret that I don't get paid for my work with Coastal Pet Rescue. Well, it's true. I'm just a volunteer. Granted, I put in around 80 hours a week, but I do work a full-time job, Monday through Friday, 9 to 5 as well. But that doesn't stop my phone from blowing up or emails piling up with people demanding a response and getting irritated when I don't reply immediately.
Take today for instance. I was unavailable all day for Leadership Savannah. I tried to handle things as best I could via text message, but that wasn't enough. I actually had several irate voicemails on my phone for not calling people back immediately. I forwarded messages to our vice president who stepped in for me as best she could. But it was frustrating to say the least.
Even as a volunteer, I'm on call pretty much 24/7. That really puts a crimp in my social life, if I had one. My cell phone is pretty much an electronic leash. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but with the good comes a lot of emotional heartache, much of which I'm forced to keep to myself in order to keep people calm and situations under control. But it doesn't mean I don't feel hurt. Just ask my vet how badly I feel, or how many times they have left me in a room to cry by myself. A long time ago, I had a teddy bear, Homer, that I cried into anytime something happened. Days like today I miss having him, but he pretty much "died" when I was 24 after soaking my tears since 5th grade.
Yes, this is the life I chose for myself, I get that. I just wish people could have a little patience and understand that I don't have all the answers, I can't solve every single problem; I'm just a volunteer.
Take today for instance. I was unavailable all day for Leadership Savannah. I tried to handle things as best I could via text message, but that wasn't enough. I actually had several irate voicemails on my phone for not calling people back immediately. I forwarded messages to our vice president who stepped in for me as best she could. But it was frustrating to say the least.
Even as a volunteer, I'm on call pretty much 24/7. That really puts a crimp in my social life, if I had one. My cell phone is pretty much an electronic leash. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but with the good comes a lot of emotional heartache, much of which I'm forced to keep to myself in order to keep people calm and situations under control. But it doesn't mean I don't feel hurt. Just ask my vet how badly I feel, or how many times they have left me in a room to cry by myself. A long time ago, I had a teddy bear, Homer, that I cried into anytime something happened. Days like today I miss having him, but he pretty much "died" when I was 24 after soaking my tears since 5th grade.
Yes, this is the life I chose for myself, I get that. I just wish people could have a little patience and understand that I don't have all the answers, I can't solve every single problem; I'm just a volunteer.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I Think I'm Related to Murphy
I left work today right at 5:00 pm. It is now 10:21 pm, and I'm just now sitting down to catch a breath. I had planned to be home hours ago, but as we all know, seldom do things in Lisa Land go according to plan.
I arrived home at 5:25, just in time to greet Sara, my Wednesday evening ranch hand. It has been so great having ranch hands for the last month. I'm actually in bed before midnight most nights as opposed to 2 am. We walked in the house and it hit me: I forgot to pick up Herbie from the vet on the way home. So back out I went. I arrived at the vet, luckily only a couple miles away, only to remember I was having a returned dog dropped off between 5:30 and 6. I shrugged and figured Sara would call me if there was a problem.
We left the vet almost right at six, along with some new meds for my vocally-endowed Poodle, who I might add has been here at the ranch since July 7th. We pulled in the drive just as soon as the other drop off. I ran inside, put Herbie up, ran out, grabbed Moo, found an empty kennel, and then set about packing the truck to relocate two foster pets to new foster homes. At 6:40 we were on the road to Hinesville. We made good time, leaving at just 7:15 to head to the other foster home on Isle of Hope.
I just about nailed my time frame at 8:15. Still not as good as our bus driver to Atlanta last week, but pretty darn good for me. I pulled into the driveway, got out of the truck, and heard a hissing sound. I wasn't sure exactly where it was coming from, so I went and got the dog out of her travel kennel and set to introduce her to her new foster brother. In doing so, I walked right past my truck again, and it hit me: my tire was going flat.
It's now 36 degrees, almost 8:30 at night. But luckily, I was at someone's home. I called Geico roadside assistance. I feel like I should know the voices on the other line by first name as often as I seem to call them. I relayed the problem, agreed that yes, I've had some bad luck with tires the last few months, and waited for Gordon's to arrive in 30 minutes or less (would have been great if they had a deal with Domino's as I was still hungry but now worried about my truck). We went inside to do the foster paperwork and see how the pups got along. About 9 pm, the tow truck showed up. I unlocked the cap from inside the car for him to access the spare tire. I stood shivering, but not balking as I've done this at least a dozen times before. He laughed and told me to go inside, he'd knock when it was ready. About 9:30, we heard a noise. I looked out the window to see the tow truck... driving off. I went outside, and sure enough, he drove around the block then off the isle. Well, at least my spare (which is a full size) was on the truck. Oh wait, the spare was also flat. Nice. I said my goodbyes to the pups and foster mom and limped on down to the BP. I found three quarters, shoved them in the air provider, then proceeded to bear through the chilly winds and inflate the tire, knowing that I was still a good half hour away from home.
I got in the truck, shook my head, and called Cat. Probably the only other person I know who is still up at this hour and could help me find some amusement in the evening. I was driving down Middleground when she realized I still wasn't home yet. It was almost 10 pm. I still had to get home, get another crate out of the shed and set it up to bring in the extra hounds that normally sleep outdoors. I already had a litter of puppies in the bathroom, and crates stacked in the kitchen. The last place left was the living room, which I had just reclaimed two days ago for the first time in about five months. Well, I don't really use the couches anyways, especially since one is broken in the middle.
So here I am, reflecting in my last moments of my 20s, drinking a Coke, and remembering that I have to be up at 5 am to do a 6:30 am appearance on WJCL's morning show. I think dinner is a lost cause at this point; maybe there will be better luck with breakfast.
I arrived home at 5:25, just in time to greet Sara, my Wednesday evening ranch hand. It has been so great having ranch hands for the last month. I'm actually in bed before midnight most nights as opposed to 2 am. We walked in the house and it hit me: I forgot to pick up Herbie from the vet on the way home. So back out I went. I arrived at the vet, luckily only a couple miles away, only to remember I was having a returned dog dropped off between 5:30 and 6. I shrugged and figured Sara would call me if there was a problem.
We left the vet almost right at six, along with some new meds for my vocally-endowed Poodle, who I might add has been here at the ranch since July 7th. We pulled in the drive just as soon as the other drop off. I ran inside, put Herbie up, ran out, grabbed Moo, found an empty kennel, and then set about packing the truck to relocate two foster pets to new foster homes. At 6:40 we were on the road to Hinesville. We made good time, leaving at just 7:15 to head to the other foster home on Isle of Hope.
I just about nailed my time frame at 8:15. Still not as good as our bus driver to Atlanta last week, but pretty darn good for me. I pulled into the driveway, got out of the truck, and heard a hissing sound. I wasn't sure exactly where it was coming from, so I went and got the dog out of her travel kennel and set to introduce her to her new foster brother. In doing so, I walked right past my truck again, and it hit me: my tire was going flat.
It's now 36 degrees, almost 8:30 at night. But luckily, I was at someone's home. I called Geico roadside assistance. I feel like I should know the voices on the other line by first name as often as I seem to call them. I relayed the problem, agreed that yes, I've had some bad luck with tires the last few months, and waited for Gordon's to arrive in 30 minutes or less (would have been great if they had a deal with Domino's as I was still hungry but now worried about my truck). We went inside to do the foster paperwork and see how the pups got along. About 9 pm, the tow truck showed up. I unlocked the cap from inside the car for him to access the spare tire. I stood shivering, but not balking as I've done this at least a dozen times before. He laughed and told me to go inside, he'd knock when it was ready. About 9:30, we heard a noise. I looked out the window to see the tow truck... driving off. I went outside, and sure enough, he drove around the block then off the isle. Well, at least my spare (which is a full size) was on the truck. Oh wait, the spare was also flat. Nice. I said my goodbyes to the pups and foster mom and limped on down to the BP. I found three quarters, shoved them in the air provider, then proceeded to bear through the chilly winds and inflate the tire, knowing that I was still a good half hour away from home.
I got in the truck, shook my head, and called Cat. Probably the only other person I know who is still up at this hour and could help me find some amusement in the evening. I was driving down Middleground when she realized I still wasn't home yet. It was almost 10 pm. I still had to get home, get another crate out of the shed and set it up to bring in the extra hounds that normally sleep outdoors. I already had a litter of puppies in the bathroom, and crates stacked in the kitchen. The last place left was the living room, which I had just reclaimed two days ago for the first time in about five months. Well, I don't really use the couches anyways, especially since one is broken in the middle.
So here I am, reflecting in my last moments of my 20s, drinking a Coke, and remembering that I have to be up at 5 am to do a 6:30 am appearance on WJCL's morning show. I think dinner is a lost cause at this point; maybe there will be better luck with breakfast.
There's Just Something about Savannah
To anyone who hasn't lived here, it's hard to explain, sometimes, the reasons so many people never leave. I left for a couple of years of college, and ended up right back. I often thought of moving down to Florida (would always be south or west, never north), but never did. But my lunchtime today is a big reason why.
It's cold today. No doubt about it. I hate cold, that's why I live here. All I have thought about since I got to work is hot cocoa (which I grabbed at McDonald's after fueling up this morning) and hot food. I saw someone mention chili on Facebook, and of course, now I wanted some. I usually head to Wendy's. The chili is good, but most of all, fits my budget. I thought it might be nice to have an alternative, so I called Bunny to see what Cha-Bella had soup-wise. I wasn't 100% that's what I wanted, but why not give the place a chance, after all, they are hosting my fabulous birthday suaree this Sunday (6 to 8 pm, Trainwrecks go on at 7 pm, in case you missed the event notification).
I arrived at Cha-Bella and was immediately greeted with a hug, not from Bunny but Susie, the young blond who had often been my server at New South Cafe, back when they were conveniently located near my office. I just adore Susie. I always tried to sit at her tables if I ever took anyone there. She always has a smile, speaks well, gets the orders right, and takes excellent care of her tables. So seeing her just made the lunch all the more special.
Bunny came to greet me, and without missing a beat, asked me for a media contact. Apparently, Cha-Bella was going to be hosting 30 students for Junior Achievement this afternoon, but nothing was sent out to the media. I whipped out my cell phone like I was Inspector Gadget and clicked the speed dial to WJCL. Britt Middleton answered the phone. I identified myself and got a very warm greeting. I explained what was going on, then handed the phone to Bunny. She handed it back, Britt thanked me for the heads up and hung up. I've only done a couple stories with her, but she talked to me as if we were old friends. I just love that feeling. Plus, it's kinda cool to think I have connections to help someone who has helped me out so much. I often feel like low lady on the totem pole, always asking for help for the puppers (and kitters, too).
I followed Bunny to her office and spent my lunch with her, catching up like good girlfriends do, talking about my birthday party and getting older. She got a phone call as well, from another person I knew pretty well. It was a surprise to him, so she ended up handing me her cell phone so I could catch up a little bit. I don't know if they ever had the conversation he intended as she had to run to finish a catering proposal.
The time finally came for me to return to work. But of course, as we were leaving, we saw another friend by the fire. We walked over, and Brian greeted me with a kiss on the a cheek, and a hug, wishing me a happy birthday. That just made my day! Of course, he asked about the puppies (kitties are implied, though I never have them at my house) as well, as it is only polite since that is how everyone knows me.
I said my goodbyes and skipped the five blocks to my truck. It was cold, but I was surrounded in warm wishes from good friends. And that, folks, is why I keep living in Savannah.
It's cold today. No doubt about it. I hate cold, that's why I live here. All I have thought about since I got to work is hot cocoa (which I grabbed at McDonald's after fueling up this morning) and hot food. I saw someone mention chili on Facebook, and of course, now I wanted some. I usually head to Wendy's. The chili is good, but most of all, fits my budget. I thought it might be nice to have an alternative, so I called Bunny to see what Cha-Bella had soup-wise. I wasn't 100% that's what I wanted, but why not give the place a chance, after all, they are hosting my fabulous birthday suaree this Sunday (6 to 8 pm, Trainwrecks go on at 7 pm, in case you missed the event notification).
I arrived at Cha-Bella and was immediately greeted with a hug, not from Bunny but Susie, the young blond who had often been my server at New South Cafe, back when they were conveniently located near my office. I just adore Susie. I always tried to sit at her tables if I ever took anyone there. She always has a smile, speaks well, gets the orders right, and takes excellent care of her tables. So seeing her just made the lunch all the more special.
Bunny came to greet me, and without missing a beat, asked me for a media contact. Apparently, Cha-Bella was going to be hosting 30 students for Junior Achievement this afternoon, but nothing was sent out to the media. I whipped out my cell phone like I was Inspector Gadget and clicked the speed dial to WJCL. Britt Middleton answered the phone. I identified myself and got a very warm greeting. I explained what was going on, then handed the phone to Bunny. She handed it back, Britt thanked me for the heads up and hung up. I've only done a couple stories with her, but she talked to me as if we were old friends. I just love that feeling. Plus, it's kinda cool to think I have connections to help someone who has helped me out so much. I often feel like low lady on the totem pole, always asking for help for the puppers (and kitters, too).
I followed Bunny to her office and spent my lunch with her, catching up like good girlfriends do, talking about my birthday party and getting older. She got a phone call as well, from another person I knew pretty well. It was a surprise to him, so she ended up handing me her cell phone so I could catch up a little bit. I don't know if they ever had the conversation he intended as she had to run to finish a catering proposal.
The time finally came for me to return to work. But of course, as we were leaving, we saw another friend by the fire. We walked over, and Brian greeted me with a kiss on the a cheek, and a hug, wishing me a happy birthday. That just made my day! Of course, he asked about the puppies (kitties are implied, though I never have them at my house) as well, as it is only polite since that is how everyone knows me.
I said my goodbyes and skipped the five blocks to my truck. It was cold, but I was surrounded in warm wishes from good friends. And that, folks, is why I keep living in Savannah.
Pet Rescue Barbie
It seems I have a reputation for loving pets. But when Dutch Dooley called a couple weeks ago to schedule me for an appearance on Kix, it was his greeting that made me laugh. Instead of saying, "Hi, Lisa," I got, "Is this Pet Rescue Barbie?" Apparently, someone had been doing his research.
The Barbie thing goes back to high school. Those who knew me then will remember my hair came all the way down my backside and was nearly see-through blonde from working every day in the sun at the marina. In retaliation, when I got to college, I cut it to just above my shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. It was supposed to wash out in 28 washes, but took 4 years.
For a few years, I shed the Barbie image. I was not as skinny as I had been, and working inside meant no more year-round tan. But as I got into pet rescue, it came back. First, from a 60-year-old woman I met down in Florida when I was doing a pet rescue transport. She laughed when she saw me drive up. Apparently, I was the youngest person she had ever met doing these things, and she was amazed. I had lost a lot of weight then, and spent a bit of time at the pool in my apartment complex. She said something to the effect of "what's a Barbie doll like you doing out here so early on a Saturday morning?" I don't remember her name, but I can clearly remember the 6 toy poodles and shih tzus we piled into my car for the ride to SC to meet the next hand-off.
On a local message board, I became known as the Pet Chick. I took no offense, and actually called myself that quite a bit in conversations. But then, later that year, an email circulated around, advertising the great new K-9 Rescue Barbie. And thus, Pet Rescue Barbie came to life.
So here's to our sixth anniversary tomorrow (and my 30th birthday).
K-9 Rescue Barbie
This Christmas season, give the latest, hottest new Barbie -- K-9 Rescue Barbie. She comes with her own Ford Aerostar van, and various size dog crates inside. She has a cell phone that's barely working due to over use and underpayment.
Barbie herself is decked out in jeans, grungy athletic shoes, and a t-shirt that says "Dogs are Better Than Any Other Living Thing on Earth". She comes with a road atlas of every town and state in all of North America, and a compass on the dashboard of the van. She also has a map of every McDonald's in the world.
Optional is the special Rescue Dog Barbie laptop computer with the names and addresses of every other dog rescue person on earth, in case she gets somewhere and a contact fails to show up.
Running buddy, "Lucky", the three-legged, blind Shih Tzu doll is available for an additional $49.95.
For $89.95, you can complete the set with "Pissed off husband at home, Ken," and the various foster dogs at $20 each.
Prices for accessories are:
* Fake snow falling on Barbie's van: $12.95
* Flat tire for Barbie's van: (see Barbie's Road Service")
* Barbie's First Aid Kit: (human): $11.75, (canine): $69.50
* Barbie's Speeding Ticket: $95 (Mississippi--$195)
* Barbie's coat-that-she-had-to-buy-in-Minnesota: $85
* Barbie's Vet Bill for Lucky in Vaughn, New Mexico: $63.45
* Barbie's contact, Rhonda, who she had to give gas money to in Mesa Verde,Texas: $20
* Barbie's bill to get her contact, Luis, out of jail in Bakersfield, California: $500
* Barbie's bill to get Luis's dogs out of the pound in Bakersfield, California: $265
* Barbie's hotel/kennel bill in Laughlin, Nevada, while she waits for her contact:$532
* Barbie's overalls that she has to buy while in Minden, Nebraska, hunting down lost coonhounds: $49.95
* Pizza for Barbie's suspicious looking hitch-hiker with sick puppy: $15
* Vet bill for hitch-hikers sick puppy in Des Moines, Iowa: $143.29
* Barbie's doggie wheelchair for "Klause" the rescue dachshund in Leavenworth, Kansas: $143
* And Barbie's van detailing/fumigation from hauling parvo/kennel cough puppies: $187
* Barbie's resume to get new job when she gets home from run: $29.95
And let us not forget her sister doll - Cat Rescue Barbie, who comes with
the same equipment, (substitute "cat" for "dog"), also:
* Folding ladder in vehicle: $129.95
* Have-a-heart trap: $29.95
* Cans of tuna for baiting trap: $11.95
* Long handled fishing net: $39.95
* Case of Simple Solution: $259.95
* Black light (to detect cat urine): $29.95
* Tee shirt that says "The More I Know About Men, The More I Love My Cat" $19.95
* Running buddy "Jeep" - 3-legged tailless cat named after vehicle that claimed her missing appendages: $89.95
* Vet bill for Jeep $397.95
* Friend Edith, 87-year-old feral colony feeder, who calls begging favors when her arthritis acts up and she can't get out. $59.95
* Food for Edith's colony cats (after all, Edith is on Social Security) $139.95
* Friend Margie, do-gooder with pristine home and one spoiled cat, whose idea of being a rescuer is to pick up strays and take them to Barbie for rehab, vetting, fostering, and placement. $89.95
* Vet bills for Margie's rescues $892.95
* Mother Sadie, who calls weekly to ask Barbie when she is going to get rid of all those smelly cats and give her some grandchildren already $89.95 (telephone extra)
* Shrink who talks Barbie out of killing above-mentioned persons each week $500
* Vet who makes house calls and doesn't blink at unannounced visits and odd-hour consultations: *priceless*
The Barbie thing goes back to high school. Those who knew me then will remember my hair came all the way down my backside and was nearly see-through blonde from working every day in the sun at the marina. In retaliation, when I got to college, I cut it to just above my shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. It was supposed to wash out in 28 washes, but took 4 years.
For a few years, I shed the Barbie image. I was not as skinny as I had been, and working inside meant no more year-round tan. But as I got into pet rescue, it came back. First, from a 60-year-old woman I met down in Florida when I was doing a pet rescue transport. She laughed when she saw me drive up. Apparently, I was the youngest person she had ever met doing these things, and she was amazed. I had lost a lot of weight then, and spent a bit of time at the pool in my apartment complex. She said something to the effect of "what's a Barbie doll like you doing out here so early on a Saturday morning?" I don't remember her name, but I can clearly remember the 6 toy poodles and shih tzus we piled into my car for the ride to SC to meet the next hand-off.
On a local message board, I became known as the Pet Chick. I took no offense, and actually called myself that quite a bit in conversations. But then, later that year, an email circulated around, advertising the great new K-9 Rescue Barbie. And thus, Pet Rescue Barbie came to life.
So here's to our sixth anniversary tomorrow (and my 30th birthday).
K-9 Rescue Barbie
This Christmas season, give the latest, hottest new Barbie -- K-9 Rescue Barbie. She comes with her own Ford Aerostar van, and various size dog crates inside. She has a cell phone that's barely working due to over use and underpayment.
Barbie herself is decked out in jeans, grungy athletic shoes, and a t-shirt that says "Dogs are Better Than Any Other Living Thing on Earth". She comes with a road atlas of every town and state in all of North America, and a compass on the dashboard of the van. She also has a map of every McDonald's in the world.
Optional is the special Rescue Dog Barbie laptop computer with the names and addresses of every other dog rescue person on earth, in case she gets somewhere and a contact fails to show up.
Running buddy, "Lucky", the three-legged, blind Shih Tzu doll is available for an additional $49.95.
For $89.95, you can complete the set with "Pissed off husband at home, Ken," and the various foster dogs at $20 each.
Prices for accessories are:
* Fake snow falling on Barbie's van: $12.95
* Flat tire for Barbie's van: (see Barbie's Road Service")
* Barbie's First Aid Kit: (human): $11.75, (canine): $69.50
* Barbie's Speeding Ticket: $95 (Mississippi--$195)
* Barbie's coat-that-she-had-to-buy-in-Minnesota: $85
* Barbie's Vet Bill for Lucky in Vaughn, New Mexico: $63.45
* Barbie's contact, Rhonda, who she had to give gas money to in Mesa Verde,Texas: $20
* Barbie's bill to get her contact, Luis, out of jail in Bakersfield, California: $500
* Barbie's bill to get Luis's dogs out of the pound in Bakersfield, California: $265
* Barbie's hotel/kennel bill in Laughlin, Nevada, while she waits for her contact:$532
* Barbie's overalls that she has to buy while in Minden, Nebraska, hunting down lost coonhounds: $49.95
* Pizza for Barbie's suspicious looking hitch-hiker with sick puppy: $15
* Vet bill for hitch-hikers sick puppy in Des Moines, Iowa: $143.29
* Barbie's doggie wheelchair for "Klause" the rescue dachshund in Leavenworth, Kansas: $143
* And Barbie's van detailing/fumigation from hauling parvo/kennel cough puppies: $187
* Barbie's resume to get new job when she gets home from run: $29.95
And let us not forget her sister doll - Cat Rescue Barbie, who comes with
the same equipment, (substitute "cat" for "dog"), also:
* Folding ladder in vehicle: $129.95
* Have-a-heart trap: $29.95
* Cans of tuna for baiting trap: $11.95
* Long handled fishing net: $39.95
* Case of Simple Solution: $259.95
* Black light (to detect cat urine): $29.95
* Tee shirt that says "The More I Know About Men, The More I Love My Cat" $19.95
* Running buddy "Jeep" - 3-legged tailless cat named after vehicle that claimed her missing appendages: $89.95
* Vet bill for Jeep $397.95
* Friend Edith, 87-year-old feral colony feeder, who calls begging favors when her arthritis acts up and she can't get out. $59.95
* Food for Edith's colony cats (after all, Edith is on Social Security) $139.95
* Friend Margie, do-gooder with pristine home and one spoiled cat, whose idea of being a rescuer is to pick up strays and take them to Barbie for rehab, vetting, fostering, and placement. $89.95
* Vet bills for Margie's rescues $892.95
* Mother Sadie, who calls weekly to ask Barbie when she is going to get rid of all those smelly cats and give her some grandchildren already $89.95 (telephone extra)
* Shrink who talks Barbie out of killing above-mentioned persons each week $500
* Vet who makes house calls and doesn't blink at unannounced visits and odd-hour consultations: *priceless*
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Story of Me
There is nothing quite like growing up with the dream of changing the world. I often thought people were born leaders or had a destiny to make an impact. I never thought of myself as one of those people.
As a child, I spent my days outside, climbing trees, fishing in the creeks, camping, and almost anything involving the outdoors. Not atypical for a Southern tomboy growing up on Tybee Island, a small seaside suburb of Savannah. I was the youngest of four children, with a fairly large gap in ages, my siblings all being 11 and 14 years older than me. My parents both worked corporate jobs that kept them away from home, and subsequently me, for a large portion of the time. So I grew very close to my pets, confiding in them my hopes and fears, all the things I was afraid to tell anyone, or at least didn't think anyone had the time or interest to listen.
My first dog, Peaches, ran into our house on Thanksgiving when I was in second grade. She was a mutt, part Poodle, part everything else. She was filthy but friendly and decided this should be her home. Against my mom's protests, my dad decreed she could stay, and my oldest sister, Sandra, and I named her Peaches.
Back then, we didn't know much about spaying and neutering. I wasn't home to see Bob Barker preach about spaying and neutering in between his duty as host of “The Price Is Right”. I often wished he had been talking about people and not just pets. So a couple months later, Peaches had a litter of nine puppies. Four months later, she was hit by a car, leaving us to care for the litter and find homes for them all. And thus began my journey into animal rescue.
I honestly don't believe anyone goes into rescue on purpose. For me, it was just a habit. After the puppies, we took in another dog, Shadow, that I found discarded into a dumpster as a puppy. Shortly thereafter, Daddy brought home Bandit, an orphaned baby raccoon. I still harbor ill feelings for the damage she brought to my favorite teddy bear and having to sleep in a baseball cap since she loved to play with my hair while I slept. And then there was the never-ending procession of stray and feral cats that found their way to our home on Tybee. I went off to college and took care of strays here and there, but it wasn't until I got married that I realized I needed to do something.
I made the mistake of marrying young. I was happy that I had waited until after college, something that I wanted to be sure I accomplished for myself. My family didn't have the money to put me through school, so that I would qualify for scholarships. It meant a tremendous amount to me to be able to say I went to college for me, not because it was what was expected or pushed, but because it was what I wanted. But while I made great decisions with regard to my education, I continually floundered in my personal life. I was too young to know what was best for me, and married the first person that offered me a life I thought I wanted.
I found myself incredibly miserable. I was only 23. I had been cut off from most of my friends, I never saw my parents, and spent many nights crying myself to sleep. But what I rediscovered was my love for animals. I took to rescuing more and more, taking them to the vet and finding them homes. I started a website to get the word out about the homeless pets. In January 2003, I started the paperwork to make Coastal Pet Rescue (CPR) a formal organization, at the advice of my veterinarian, Dr. Pam Fandrich. On February 5th, the incorporation papers were signed, and CPR officially had the same birthday as me.
It was amazing to me to see CPR take off like it did. I now had an outlet outside of my marriage that made me happy, but most importantly, gave me the reason to get out of bed in the morning, something I had lacked for most of the previous year. I met other women through the rescue, women who had stories similar to mine and, like me, had managed to find themselves again. I gained the strength I needed, and that October, left in the middle of the night to start a new life.
For the next two years, I lived out of a suitcase, a short while out of my SUV, and moved four times. But all the while, I never let go of CPR.
Even on the darkest days, when I thought it would be easiest to pack the truck and leave town, I stayed because of my commitment to rescue. I came to know some fantastic people and the support for my organization grew. Marjorie Young of Carriage Trade PR became a mentor, teaching me the ropes of public relations to increase our support. And my parents, who had been absent from my life through most of my marriage, helped me to purchase a place big enough for me and the dogs I so desperately wanted to save.
I discovered there was still so much more I needed to know. Coastal Pet Rescue was no longer just a hobby, it had become a business. I was working a full-time job and spending 60 plus hours a week keeping CPR afloat, but decided I really needed to go back to school. I enrolled in the Humane Leadership bachelor degree program through Duquesne University. The program was in partnership with the Humane Society of the United States, and I would be taught by people actually in the fields of animal welfare and business administration. I was even lucky enough to be in class during the Michael Vick investigation, with my instructor being the lead veterinary forensics investigator. The more classes I took, the stronger CPR became. And, over time, the better leader I became as well.
I graduated the program in December 2007, Magna Cum Laude. My parents flew me to Pittsburgh to walk in the graduation ceremony while they stayed home at Tybee. Even in the 27 degree weather, I could feel the warm thoughts and support from home.
As I said earlier, I never believed I was a leader, but something happened with Coastal Pet Rescue. In 2005, I appeared in TIME magazine, was named the Jiffy Lube Heart on Wheels national winner, and featured on CNN.com. Awards followed in 2006, as I was named to the top ten Purina Pro Plan Rally to Rescue Ambassadors, received a certificate of recognition from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, had a flag flown over the US Capitol by Congressman Jack Kingston, and was named to the REAL Hot 100 list. Local recognitions came in 2007, such as the Top Ten Working Women of Savannah, eWomenNetwork Emerging Leader of the Year finalist, Hands on Georgia Gallery of Service, and WGNU's Women Inspiring Women. I was named a Savannah Hero by the Georgia Equality Association and CPR was named as one of the top five non-profit organizations changing the world by South Magazine in 2008. I even became an instructor for the Red Cross's Pet First Aid and CPR classes and redeveloped the curriculum.
Today, I take pride in being known as a leader. I like being able to mentor the young girls that volunteer with us, helping them to see that their small actions can grow to be something much larger. There are always people around that want to tell me there are better ways to spend my time, that I'm not on the right path. But then there are all the others that, time and again, help to reaffirm the path I've chosen, even if it hasn't been smooth sailing all along.
As a child, I spent my days outside, climbing trees, fishing in the creeks, camping, and almost anything involving the outdoors. Not atypical for a Southern tomboy growing up on Tybee Island, a small seaside suburb of Savannah. I was the youngest of four children, with a fairly large gap in ages, my siblings all being 11 and 14 years older than me. My parents both worked corporate jobs that kept them away from home, and subsequently me, for a large portion of the time. So I grew very close to my pets, confiding in them my hopes and fears, all the things I was afraid to tell anyone, or at least didn't think anyone had the time or interest to listen.
My first dog, Peaches, ran into our house on Thanksgiving when I was in second grade. She was a mutt, part Poodle, part everything else. She was filthy but friendly and decided this should be her home. Against my mom's protests, my dad decreed she could stay, and my oldest sister, Sandra, and I named her Peaches.
Back then, we didn't know much about spaying and neutering. I wasn't home to see Bob Barker preach about spaying and neutering in between his duty as host of “The Price Is Right”. I often wished he had been talking about people and not just pets. So a couple months later, Peaches had a litter of nine puppies. Four months later, she was hit by a car, leaving us to care for the litter and find homes for them all. And thus began my journey into animal rescue.
I honestly don't believe anyone goes into rescue on purpose. For me, it was just a habit. After the puppies, we took in another dog, Shadow, that I found discarded into a dumpster as a puppy. Shortly thereafter, Daddy brought home Bandit, an orphaned baby raccoon. I still harbor ill feelings for the damage she brought to my favorite teddy bear and having to sleep in a baseball cap since she loved to play with my hair while I slept. And then there was the never-ending procession of stray and feral cats that found their way to our home on Tybee. I went off to college and took care of strays here and there, but it wasn't until I got married that I realized I needed to do something.
I made the mistake of marrying young. I was happy that I had waited until after college, something that I wanted to be sure I accomplished for myself. My family didn't have the money to put me through school, so that I would qualify for scholarships. It meant a tremendous amount to me to be able to say I went to college for me, not because it was what was expected or pushed, but because it was what I wanted. But while I made great decisions with regard to my education, I continually floundered in my personal life. I was too young to know what was best for me, and married the first person that offered me a life I thought I wanted.
I found myself incredibly miserable. I was only 23. I had been cut off from most of my friends, I never saw my parents, and spent many nights crying myself to sleep. But what I rediscovered was my love for animals. I took to rescuing more and more, taking them to the vet and finding them homes. I started a website to get the word out about the homeless pets. In January 2003, I started the paperwork to make Coastal Pet Rescue (CPR) a formal organization, at the advice of my veterinarian, Dr. Pam Fandrich. On February 5th, the incorporation papers were signed, and CPR officially had the same birthday as me.
It was amazing to me to see CPR take off like it did. I now had an outlet outside of my marriage that made me happy, but most importantly, gave me the reason to get out of bed in the morning, something I had lacked for most of the previous year. I met other women through the rescue, women who had stories similar to mine and, like me, had managed to find themselves again. I gained the strength I needed, and that October, left in the middle of the night to start a new life.
For the next two years, I lived out of a suitcase, a short while out of my SUV, and moved four times. But all the while, I never let go of CPR.
Even on the darkest days, when I thought it would be easiest to pack the truck and leave town, I stayed because of my commitment to rescue. I came to know some fantastic people and the support for my organization grew. Marjorie Young of Carriage Trade PR became a mentor, teaching me the ropes of public relations to increase our support. And my parents, who had been absent from my life through most of my marriage, helped me to purchase a place big enough for me and the dogs I so desperately wanted to save.
I discovered there was still so much more I needed to know. Coastal Pet Rescue was no longer just a hobby, it had become a business. I was working a full-time job and spending 60 plus hours a week keeping CPR afloat, but decided I really needed to go back to school. I enrolled in the Humane Leadership bachelor degree program through Duquesne University. The program was in partnership with the Humane Society of the United States, and I would be taught by people actually in the fields of animal welfare and business administration. I was even lucky enough to be in class during the Michael Vick investigation, with my instructor being the lead veterinary forensics investigator. The more classes I took, the stronger CPR became. And, over time, the better leader I became as well.
I graduated the program in December 2007, Magna Cum Laude. My parents flew me to Pittsburgh to walk in the graduation ceremony while they stayed home at Tybee. Even in the 27 degree weather, I could feel the warm thoughts and support from home.
As I said earlier, I never believed I was a leader, but something happened with Coastal Pet Rescue. In 2005, I appeared in TIME magazine, was named the Jiffy Lube Heart on Wheels national winner, and featured on CNN.com. Awards followed in 2006, as I was named to the top ten Purina Pro Plan Rally to Rescue Ambassadors, received a certificate of recognition from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, had a flag flown over the US Capitol by Congressman Jack Kingston, and was named to the REAL Hot 100 list. Local recognitions came in 2007, such as the Top Ten Working Women of Savannah, eWomenNetwork Emerging Leader of the Year finalist, Hands on Georgia Gallery of Service, and WGNU's Women Inspiring Women. I was named a Savannah Hero by the Georgia Equality Association and CPR was named as one of the top five non-profit organizations changing the world by South Magazine in 2008. I even became an instructor for the Red Cross's Pet First Aid and CPR classes and redeveloped the curriculum.
Today, I take pride in being known as a leader. I like being able to mentor the young girls that volunteer with us, helping them to see that their small actions can grow to be something much larger. There are always people around that want to tell me there are better ways to spend my time, that I'm not on the right path. But then there are all the others that, time and again, help to reaffirm the path I've chosen, even if it hasn't been smooth sailing all along.
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