nakedjen

You are what you love not what loves you.

One.  I'm sorting through a box of very important papers.  I only know the contents are very important because the words Very Important Papers was hastily scribbled on the outside of this recycled box before it was shoved under the eaves of the house, who knows when, however long ago.  There are names scratched in his tell-tale left-handed sideways scrawl on torn bits and there are random lists with some of the items scratched through and others left still hoping to someday, one day, any day be completed. 

They will never be completed.

There are bills and more bills, most of them unopened.  Were they ever paid?  Torn pages from magazines that contain both pictures and stories of dreams that were shoved in this particular box deemed very important, but then long forgotten. 

There's a toy that once belonged to Clyde. An empty coffee mug with the detritus of the last drops of coffee now a permanent solid goo along the side and the bottom.  An SCO mouse pad. A badge identifying me as a consultant for Sun Micro Systems.  Pennies and nickles and dimes and quarters.  A candle once used for wishing heart-felt wishes on the new moon.  Did they come true?

It was called Furkefying. The tossing of everything on the desk tops into a box and labeling it Very Important Papers and then shoving it away and rarely ever unearthing it again.  Something his family had done.  Something we did when the clutter became too much. 

I'm not quite sure how this furkified box came with me and is still here or why I found the need to carefully excavate all the contents before dumping it all in the proper recycling containers?

There is no new news, no grateful unearthed bits, just a lot of shredded dreams.

 

Two.  It is no secret that I have very special place in my heart for farmers.  Organic farmers, especially.  That I hug them whenever I get the chance and that my secret boyfriend desire these days is the organic farmer who also owns his own pot of glitter and is comfortable wearing a tutu and maybe writes his own books.  I know, I know.  Tall order.  A beet fairy girl can have her fantasies!

I must be far more chatty about this than I even realize because just yesterday as I was waiting for my daily espresso at my beloved Coffee Garden, the barista pulled my four shots and then as he handed me my beautiful drink said, "Nakedjen, I have a present for you."  I couldn't even begin to imagine what on earth the barista would have for me?  I've been going there, as we know, every day since I arrived in this Salty City and this was the first time anyone made mention of an actual present.  There's been LOTS of free espresso for which I am ALWAYS truly grateful, but a present? 

Then Ben, the barista, pulled a sack from under the counter filled with organic heirloom tomatoes.  That he had grown.  In his own garden.  And he said he brought them just for me because he knows I love farmers.  Especially the organic ones. 

I am not going to lie to you.  I absolutely SQUEALED.  So much so that everyone who was just rubbing the sleepy sand from their own eyes and was still waiting for that caffeine jolt to bring them to life got a shocking wake up call.  And, yes, of course I hugged him.  Passionately! 

I'm still rather amazed, honestly.  I adore all my farmers at the market, as we all very well know.  But this was incredibly kind and special.  I had some of them for dinner last night and I know it's just me, but people, I could absolutely taste the love. 

Who have you shared your garden bounty with this week?  I'm pretty certain there's a beet fairy girl who would just love to squeal at the gift of a tomato.  Go and share!

 

Three.  I have nearly a terabyte (who would have believed we'd have terabytes of anything??! And doesn't it almost feel like that specific drive should be snarling with dinosaur teeth and stomping around on huge feet ready to take over Japan? Or China, even? I am TERABYTE, FEAR ME!) of music.  All kinds.  Because while you may think the only possible music I can ever listen to is by that band that held my ankle tightly by a string and carried me floating along on their adventures for so many years, it is actually quite the opposite.  Of course, yes, I have nearly all their live shows, every single one, included on that TERABYTE, but I think you might be shocked at what else you'd find there.  Or maybe you would not be shocked at all.  Because, maybe you're like me and you just know that music is the beautiful language of our souls that we all innately speak.  From birth. That there really isn't any bad music, just music that suits what we need at this particular moment in our journey as we spin together around the sun.

There's lots and lots and lots of music on that drive.  Which, especially on Sunday afternoons, I enjoy allowing to shuffle through and surprise even me because I forget what gems it actually contains.

On Sunday last I had hit shuffle and the music was gently wafting through our entire house.  The dogs and I were having a lazy day with the New York Times.  Except suddenly it was not lazy at all.  Suddenly there was this HUGE racket and I couldn't quite figure out why both dogs were barking like the house had just been invaded!

I walked into the living room to sort out the ruckus to find Stella circling the entire room like she's on a search and rescue mission and Buddha standing on the couch looking completely and utterly perplexed!  They were looking for Dave Winer.  They both know him and adore him.  And his voice, at that very moment, was coming from all the speakers in our house. 

I had one of his podcasts on the drive.  It had shuffled on and he was speaking about something to do with the River of News and the dogs, well, were certain that he MUST BE IN OUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW! 

Stella, being the smarter of the two, finally went over to one of the speakers and decided that he must be inside.  So she stood there and does what any labrador does when she's absolutely positively certain of something.  She tried to eat it.  This unprecedented activity caused Buddha to LEAP from the couch like he was playing the role of Spiderman in his primary school production, land right on top of Stella and then I had a ring side seat to a barking snarling WWF match of doom.  In the living room.  Because Dave Winer was stuck inside the speaker.

I turned off the podcast.  His voice stopped.  Magically, so did the match of doom.  Except Stella wasn't quite convinced that all was completely well.  He was in there at one point, he had not come out, so he must STILL be in there.  Treats were a mere miniscule distraction for a short while and I changed the to playlist to Coltrane so we could return to our lazy Sunday afternoon.

She hasn't forgotten though.  She keeps checking.  She just better not try to really rescue him. 

Now We Are Six

When Buddha and Stella chose me to be their dog mama, I made a conscious decision that they would eat the very best food possible.  While they spent their first eight weeks growing up with their brothers and sisters, I was determined to find them a human grade dog food that best matched the food that I had been making for Clyde for the final years of his life.  I was convinced, honestly, that the reason Clyde lived for as long as he did was because he ate a 100% organic diet that I cooked especially for him every single day. 

I knew, though, that with two dogs, coming into my life as puppies, that I needed a better solution.

I found a lot of really excellent available dog foods, but in one way or another, none of them really seemed to add up to exactly what I wanted for the dogs.

Then I found The Honest Kitchen. 

The dog food from Honest Kitchen is food with a real conscience.  It is 100% human-grade, with ingredients like free-range sustainably farmed chicken, ground organic flaxseed, sea kelp, and organic fair-trade quinoa.  It was, truthfully, a food I could feel 100% comfortable about feeding to my dogs.  It's dehydrated, so to make it for the dogs, I just have to add warm water, mix it in their bowls, and give it time to rehydrate.   Buddha and Stella are a bit wacky about it and Stella will go so far as to lick the bowls twice just to be sure that she's gotten all the goodness.

I can never say enough good things about this food, but the proof is in my dogs.  They have shiny coats, startling white teeth and they're just truly healthy.  And, today, they are six.

Honest Kitchen has just added two new medicinal teas to their line of supplements for pets.  I can share that a certain Master Herbalist that we know helped them to develop these particular teas and a certain Stella Blue was also specifically helpful in testing out their effectiveness.  Stella is always ready to help her animal sisters and brothers.

Quiet Tea™ is made from human-grade Oatstraw, Chamomile, Passionflower, Skullcap and Valerian root. It's designed to help promote calmness and alleviate anxiety, tension and excitability during stressful or over-stimulating situations caused by factors such as separation, thunderstorms, travel or events. It's suitable for both dogs and cats. 

 

Quiet Tea saved our lives, all four of them, over the 4th of July holiday.  It is magic for Buddha, truthfully.  A dose of this and he completely forgets that the bombs are bursting in air.

 

Easy Peesy Tea™ contains human-grade Horsetail, Cleavers, Couch grass, Nettle and Marshmallow root. It's intended to help support normal healthy functioning of the urinary tract, including bladder control and the alleviation of urinary irritation. It's suitable for both dogs and cats. 

 

While we don't have bladder control issues here at the moment, I know dogs who do and this tea has worked really well for them.

 

In celebration of their sixth birthday, Buddha and Stella want to give presents to all of you.  For every person who leaves me a comment telling me about their pet and that they've LIKED Honest Kitchen on Facebook, they'll receive a free trial size of The Honest Kitchen dog or cat food.  Your choice. 

 

Plus, two people will be chosen at random to receive the Quiet Tea and the Easy Peesy Tea. 

 

So, leave us a comment.  Or two.  Or seven if you've got seven dogs and cats. 

 

It's Buddha and Stella's birthday and they really want to celebrate with each and every one of you and your beautiful fur creatures, too.

 

 

Black as Hell, Strong as Death, Sweet as Love

THESE ARE THE PEOPLE OF MY NEIGHBORHOOD

I lived in Santa Cruz for twenty years.  I went to Lulu Carpenters for many of those twenty years, nearly every single day, every morning, before taking my dogs to the beach for a walk, to get my coffee.  In those days I drank a quad latte.  Always.  The same drink.  Every day.  Lulu's had punch cards that the folks who worked there punched and ten punches earned you a free beverage of your choice. 

I had lots of these cards, filled for free beverages, and occasionally I'd cash all of them in and buy everyone in line with me on that particular grey dreary morning (we do have them in Santa Cruz) a coffee.

In other words, I was very much a regular face, a regular patron, a woman who claimed Lulu Carpenter's as her own.

For many, many years.

I've lived in Salt Lake City for three years.  I go to the Coffee Garden nearly every single day, every morning, usually after taking my dogs for a run in Liberty Park, as the Coffee Garden sits between my house and Liberty Park and it is easier to drink my shots of espresso in twenty ounces of organic coffee after I've run than while trying to run.  Less slosh, more coffee actually getting consumed for maximum caffeine benefit.  That is why I drink it, after all.

The Coffee Garden has punch cards, too, and ten punches earns you a free beverage of your choice.  I save these cards up and occasionally on grey cold snowy mornings I cash them all in at once and buy everyone in line with me a coffee of their choice. 

The entire time I lived in Santa Cruz, all those mornings spent purchasing my quad lattes at Lulu Carpenters, never once, not once, did they ever learn my name.  Not once, never once, did the lovely people who worked there show even the faintest sign of recognition or acknowledgement that I was, perhaps, a regular customer.  Not once did anyone remember what I drank or ask me about my day. 

When I walk into the Coffee Garden every morning, I'm greeted by the barista.  No matter whom it might be.  The people working there know that I sometimes bring my own mug.  They know that I walk the dogs and that I work at the University.  They know that I live nearby and that I am obsessive about film and about Sundance.  They ask me if I've run naked on a beach lately and if I celebrated the new moon. 

I feel loved at the Coffee Garden.  I feel like if I don't show up, for my shots of espresso, they notice.  Like they're family who truly cares and while I know that's probably complete poppycock, it's a remarkable difference about the culture in Utah, in general, and the culture I experienced and really embraced for all those years in Santa Cruz.

I love and loved Santa Cruz in mad and passionate ways.  Do not misunderstand me.  It is one very special place and the people who live there are incredibly generous and kind and lovely.

However, I have to give mad props to Salt Lake City and those who truly call it home.  The kindness here, the open hearts, the love does shine.  It's time I give a proper shout out and say thank you for loving me so well.

 

THEY LOVE ME MORE

There are days when you're particularly grateful for the house that has all hardwood floors.  Like the morning you awake to dog vomit in various amounts and viscosity redeposited like unhappy odorous gifts just waiting for you as you walk from your bedroom to the living room.  Where you find Stella, the offending gift giver, retching once again just beyond the edge of her dog bed and looking more than pitiful. 

It's a Sunday, of course, so your first thought is that your regular vet is closed and you can only hope that keeping her comfortable will allow you all to pass the hours until Monday morning when the vet's office will open. 

However, things quickly go from bad to much, much worse and scary and there's blood now, copious amounts of blood, and while you know MUCH BETTER than to play Dr. Google, you still do and determine that your listless dog, with blood spewing, must go to the ER right away. 

I realize that many of us feel that dogs are just that.  Dogs.  That rushing to ER's, that spending the equivalent of a month's rent on emergency veterinary care for an upset stomach is just ludicrous. 

I'm just not that person.  When Stella and Buddha chose me, entrusted me to share this journey on the planet, gave me their hearts and, in turn, took mine to carry gently on their 8 big black paws, we formed a pack and made a pact.  I would absolutely do everything necessary to make certain that they were always happy and healthy and lived a good long life. 

So I spent all day Sunday with Stella in the ER making absolutely certain that she was going to live.  She has done the same for me.  It's just what we do.  Dogs and the people who are lucky enough to love them. 

There's no price tag on the love of a dog.  It just can't be computed. 

 

WHO DO WE THANK?

Is anyone else as disenchanted with Hollywood and the Oscar Nominations for this year, in particular, as I am?  Do you really feel that the best of the best have been recognized for their great efforts over the past year?  We're just 15 days away from the actual awards ceremony so there's no changing anyone's mind now about whom was nominated for what, but as someone who used to look forward all year to the Oscar Ceremony, I am having trouble even getting myself excited to tune in this year and of course that has me wondering about all the rest of you, those of you who go see the small independent films that matter, the films that might not have millions of dollars wagered just to get a nomination.

I wish I AM LOVE and Tilda Swinton had received far more recognition.   It is a truly stunning film and you should see it.  I am happy to see that all five of the documentary film nominations are films I loved from SUNDANCE, but I'm thinking EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP (while I loved it) does not belong there as much as the thoughtful A SMALL ACT.  Again, I know I'm only one small movie goer who is kind of crazy passionate about film, filmmakers and the stories that they dare to share.  I just wish Hollywood would pay a little more attention to the stories that matter instead of the dollars that feed the machines. 

Tell me, you very smart and thoughtful and visionary people, what was your favorite film this year?  What wins your vote?  I really do want to know.

 

 

Moment's Notice

We're there, far above the clouds, more than 14,000 feet above sea level, and I am trying my best to count all the stars.  There are more stars in that sky on that night than I have ever seen in my life before, or since, but I am determined to count every single one.

Occasionally a satellite whizzes right by and I gasp at the intrusion and wonder that there's all that junk in our skies and insist that we can't be polluting the skies in this way, that it can't possibly be that important. 

You're strumming your guitar, the guitar that you've carried up the side of that mountain, because you've just discovered that you might even be able to play and it gives you such joy.  You may only know a few chords, but you know all the words to all the songs that matter and all you want is to be able to sing the songs that people want to hear. Forever.

We're there, atop the Garden of the Gods, you with your guitar, me with nothing more than my smile of satisfaction that I actually made it to the tippy top without toppling right over the other side and tumbling down like Jill after her Jack when a helicopter appears and someone with a bullhorn demands to know if we're all right?

All right?

We're golden.  We're sitting on top of the world.  We're also just, perhaps, a little bit crazy.  A stern sheriff informs us that tumbling down is far more common than not and we're lucky we're even alive.  Our hearts have never really been a place where fear has dared to tread, however.  Not even for a moment.

The walls of the auditorium are breathing heavily and are soaked with sweat and on stage, on that small stage, the band, our band is gathered around and is carrying all of us together on yet another psychedelic journey that goes on and on and on.  We round a corner and smack right into a gay disco fairy complete with platform silver boots and rainbow tights leading an aerobics class for the beat challenged.   Without even an exchange of words, we join right in and kick three steps right, two left, high five the person behind and pump our fists as if we've just won the golden gloves.   The band kicks it into some higher plane and I can't even imagine how I'm ever, ever going to come back down.  I'm grateful you're there to keep me from disappearing completely.

It is you. It is me. It is Clyde.  It's one very old couch in a farmhouse far from California.  It's an old rotary phone and a call from TB that has shared the tragic news that Jerry Garcia has died.  There are tears on my cheeks.   What frightens me more are the sobs that wrack your body.  I had never seen you cry.

There are firemen in the house. Men in yellow coats and a paramedic and I can not tell you my own name. I have no idea who I am or what day it is or where we are.  I just know that I know you.  I am certain of you.  The rest is a complete mystery and even as I travel the winding slippery mountain roads to the hospital in our sea coast town I have trouble sorting out how I got there, in that ambulance or why it was necessary or where it is that they're taking me.  The only thing, the sole thing, the very single thing that is certain is you.

We're in the middle of a corn field. In the middle of Iowa. In a car that no longer seems to want to run.  Broken. Down.  In that car, in the middle of that corn field, in the middle of Iowa, in the middle of the night, with no where to go and no way to get there, we share secrets and dreams and stories.  After all these years of life entertwined like a very tangled ball of twine it almost seems impossible that there would be any stories or secrets left to share. 

But there are always more.  Layers to take off.  We're never, ever, truly revealed.  Or naked.  Until we absolutely must be.

I am certain, quite, that you will never read this or know that as so many years have finally passed, that as so many years have come and gone, the crisp and jagged edges of my memories of us have softened and turned truly rosey.  The real love I always had for you is all that is left for me to hold. 

I still do. 

Moment's Notice came on the radio tonight as I drove through the dark craggy hills of Utah.  I hesitated to turn the station so I wouldn't remember.  I turned it up and allowed myself to really remember.  Like an old favorite film.  All the good.  All of You.

 

 

GOOD GOD MANGE IS EXPENSIVE AND NASTY TO TREAT!

Hello, my fine dog loving friends. Can you find it in your hearts to help Isis with her medical bills? http://bit.ly/93k2WF  Please?!

Donate directly to her PayPal Fund right here (you'll need to scroll to the bottom to find the DONATE button).

If you donate and you let me know, I'll send you some Clyde's Cookies to THANK YOU. Promise. 

UPDATE!!: If you DONATE you can also win some pretty darn fabulous ORGANIC GOODNESS and BLOGHER 10 SWAG courtesy of MFA MAMA.  I realize that most of you will just DONATE because you're lovely dog people who help dogs who need help! But, you know, now there's ORGANIC GOODNESS infused with mad love and some BLOGHER SWAG, too!  Let's go help ISIS!

Dog spelled backwards is God.

I'm on the phone. Speaking to my sister.  Stella is determined to get my attention (because no one is allowed to ever not always pay attention to her) and so she is holding a tennis ball at the very tip of her lips.  Gently.  She's not even touching it with her teeth.  This is one of her tricks.  To profer up the tennis ball, at the tips of her lips, almost like a seal balancing a ball on the tip of its nose, and hope, beyond all hope, that eventually I'll notice and throw it for her.

But I don't notice soon enough so instead she decides to throw it for herself.  Down the sidewalk she FLINGS the ball.  Then she gleefully chases after it as if it is a loose squirrel that has been pelting her with apricots (oh, yes, we have those same squirrels at our house...perhaps they're part of the Utah militia?) and she leaps in the air, attacks it and returns to the porch all in one swift black furry Labrador motion.  I've said before that Stella could be one of the better Ball Girls for Wimbledon.  She also looks quite lovely in tennis whites.

This goes on and on and on.  The throwing, the retrieving, the furry flurry of black whizzing down the sidewalk.  The thing about Stella is that she's in constant motion.  It's like sharing my life with the Tasmanian Devil.  She.Never.Stops.  Ever.  Fury of fur. 

Which is why I have Buddha.  So aptly named.  Who knew?  Mr. Buddha is in a constant state of meditation and will cock one eyebrow whenever the whirling dervish that is his sister comes bounding into his bubble of contentment.  Just one eyebrow.  That is all it ever takes.  Stella immediately will bow, in the most beautiful display of downward dog (she should also teach yoga), pay homage and supplication to her brother, ask forgiveness and then, immediately, go back to knocking over the furniture, licking the outlets, and making quite certain that all pieces of paper in our house, no matter how important, are in one inch by one inch pieces for proper recycling. 

I know, I know.  I say it over and over.  I have the best dogs, ever.  I really should just say, I have the best dogs, so far.  Because every dog, to me, is always the best dog.  I know, those of you who share your life with a dog, feel the same way about yours.  That you'll argue with me for days that you have the best dog, ever.  Quite simply, if we're lucky enough to have been chosen to share our lives with a dog, then we are blessed.  Because that love is some crazy insane kind of love that has all kinds of magical goodness.

There's a reason dog spelled backwards is god.  They have the key to universal unconditional love. In spades.

Thing is, so do we. Our hearts know just as dogs know. We need to unhook our minds and love like a dog.

Go on. Do it.  Love like a dog.

 

 

 

The Best Chance for Chance

It is no secret to anyone who knows me even just a little bit that I am in service to all dogs.  That there's a large part of my heart and all of my soul that believes that I may have just been put on this planet to take the finest care of dogs possible.  There's only been a very brief stint in my entire life that I've not shared my life with a dog and that was, by far, the most painful of all my days on this planet.

Of course the love and care and unlimited devotion that I receive in return, even from those dogs I only care for just briefly, far outweighs whatever it is that I'm giving to them.  I am the person you know because of the love of amazing dogs.

I am also, though, the person you know because of the unbridled love of some really amazing and beautiful humans, too.  Many of you can smile and know that you most definitely are included in this category.  I am a very lucky woman to be so very well loved.

One of those beautiful humans whom I love fiercely also happens to be loved just as fiercely by one very special dog.  Stephanie's life entwined with Chance's because, truthfully, I believe, their hearts recognized each other and just knew that they needed one another.  While I know, absolutely, that there is nothing that Stephanie would not do for Chance, I also know that since coming into her life, Chance has gently carried Stephanie's heart on her four paws and has provided her a soft landing when she especially needed one.  They are family.

It so happens that Chance needs surgery.  She has a disc that has ruptured into her spinal canal and it is severely compressing nerve roots in her lower back.  As with any surgery, there are lots of expenses.  Expenses that my dear friend, like so many of us, is unable to truly afford all on her own at this time.

Did I mention that Chance and her owner, Stephanie, are well loved?  A far-flung group of folks who love them truly, madly and deeply have gathered together to hold a fund-raiser to help pay for this much needed surgery for Chance. 

Remember Clyde?  Remember Clyde's Cookies?  I'd like to give any readers of this blog who donate $50 or more towards the Surgery Fund for Chance at least one dozen Clyde's Cookies.  You can receive them now or later and even have them sent as a gift to someone else, if you'd like.  I realize that the cookies are not listed in the gift items on the Surgery Fund for Chance page, but I promise if you do make a donation and let them know you want to receive Clyde's Cookies, I will absolutely make certain that you get them.

I know that you, my readers, the very folks who seem to love me so completely, are really generous. I know cookies are not even necessary.  I actually know that if you can, if you are able, that you will give (even if it is just kind thoughts and prayers) and that you will help me to help Chance have her best chance.

Blessings and Thanks.  Always.

Give A Dog A Home

One thing that I am absolutely certain about the readers of this blog is that you love dogs.  Some of you possibly love dogs even more than I do.  It is hard for me to imagine how that is even possible, but I feel quite strongly that living and breathing among the readers of Nakedjen are those whose hearts beat only for our canine companions.  Who will do, quite literally, anything for their own canine companion and just about anything for any other dog, as well.  I know I just described myself. 

This isn't a contest, actually.  We just love our dogs.  Period.  And how lucky are we to be loved so unconditionally and completely in return?  We only hope to be as lovely as our dogs believe that we are.

There are a myriad of dogs that always need our help.  Always.  Right now, though, there are two specific dogs who very much are in need of a kind and loving forever home. 

Meet Molly:

 

and now meet Mo:

 

The good life for these two dogs came to a rather tragic end when their owner passed away just before Thanksgiving.  Of course, it's not like they ended up wandering the streets scrounging for food.

Remember Jeni?  Of the tomatoes?  These dogs were her father's beloved pets.  He lived in the country in Arkansas and Jeni was worried that even though she had someone to go and care for the dogs at his property that they would be hurt or worse and so she has been caring for them at her own home in Memphis.  But, unfortunately, she can not continue to care for them.  As much as she loves dogs, her life just doesn't really allow for the care and feeding of two dogs right now. 

I know the power of this blog.  I know that we can find these dogs amazing, loving, perfect homes.  Yes, they are pit bulls.  Jeni assures me they are non-aggressive, very loving, adorable sweet babies.  She was raised with pit bulls and understands their misunderstood and bad reputation.  I'll say this again:  There are no bad dogs, or bad breeds, just very irresponsible and bad dog owners. 

These dogs are a "couple" and Jeni hates to see them separated, but they can be if necessary.  They come with kennels, treats, toys, bowls, blankets, kongs, training collars and thick leashes.  They were scheduled to be neutered on Tuesday, but Molly just went into heat, so that procedure needs to wait.  However, it can happen.  I'm willing to help make sure that it does.  They are current on all other vaccinations and their heart worm preventive, too.

I'm absolutely willing to help with transportation costs for these two dogs.  If you are willing to provide them with a good forever home.  I can also get you a discount on dog food.  As we know, feeding dogs is expensive.  Of course, Buddha and Stella are champion eaters of Honest Kitchen dog food, but if you'd rather feed the dogs kibble, I can assist with that, too.

A dog is a huge responsibility.  We all know this.  Our hearts are forever changed by the love of a dog.  Molly and Mo want to love you.  All they need is for you to say yes.

You can contact me via my email address if you'd like to give a home to Molly and/or Mo.  They're in Tennessee right now, but they're ready to go on their grand adventure to a new home.  Will it be yours?

Don't Think I Didn't Think Of It

I still have not heard a peep from the powers that be at Facebook.  I feel as if they've decided that if they ignore me for long enough I will just go away.  I do not plan to go away, however.  I can be like one of those very bothersome and irritating itches that you just can't quite reach to really scratch.  I intend to keep pestering them until they at least provide me with an explanation.  I would like an explanation!

Meanwhile, because I obviously have the attention of a gnat, this story just caught my attention just now.   I am fascinated by this and honestly I begged David to allow me to do something quite similar with Clyde's DNA back when it became quite clear that he was not going to live forever as much as I was determined to have him do so.

Of course David but the kibosh on those wishes just as he did on many of my outrageous requests.  He insisted that a dog created with Clyde's DNA would never actually BE Clyde.  I was not so sure.  Obviously, Lancelot and now Lancelot Encore's parents felt that it might just be possible.

I completely understand loving a dog this much.  I really and truly do.  In fact, I completely understand loving a dog so very much that you'll have that dog return to you in the form of a new dog without having even had to save the DNA.

Yes.  I really do understand.

A Momentary Lapse Of Reason

I had a momentary lapse of reason earlier today.  It was not a very "Nakedjen" way to behave and in retrospect, I have decided to remove the post all together.  A very kind friend of mine reminded me that I am not an executioner.  I do not believe in the death penalty.  And I also realized, upon reading my own words, that I was reacting, not acting, from a place of hurt and anger.  It wasn't pretty.  It rarely is when you act from that place.

I try to act from a place of love.  With that in mind, I will share this article with you that is currently running on Salon.

We all know that I have spent enough to purchase a small country, if certainly not a home and multiple cars, on the care and feeding of my dogs.  It was a point of contention at times in my relationship with my former husband.  I am a dog person, as we all know.  I'll even push that and say I am an animal person.  Because when Sandpiper, my horse, was in my care, she never wanted for anything either.  She always received the absolute best care possible. 

I will also share that there was a time in my life when my dog Clyde had health insurance and I did not.  It was more important to me that he have proper health care than it was that I did.  I managed with the Haight Ashbury Free Medical Clinic (although I almost died at their hands and should really share that story!), but there were no free clinics for dogs.  So Clyde had health insurance.  Health insurance that cost me more than $350 a year.

Insane?  Probably.  But during that time Clyde broke his leg and severely cut a major artery that resulted in two very expensive and extensive surgeries.  I would not have been able to afford either if it had not been for his health insurance.  And it would have surely resulted in an early death for Clyde.

Clyde, as we all know, lived to be 17 years old.  He was a very important part of my life.   I have absolutely no regrets spending the thousands and thousands of dollars that I did to ensure that he had a life that was very well lived.

I will do the same, absolutely, for Buddha and Stella.  And any other animals whom I am lucky enough to share my life.

I am an animal person.  I just am.