Just tired of it all....

No, I haven't been posting the past few days. Even my therapist got upset at me because I've not been writing.

When you're in a funk, you can't write. You can't do anything but sit and spin your wheels which just causes more frustration over how you're not going anywhere in your life.

I can end up waiting up to six months for someone to do something about my ERO/EEOC claim because that's the law. Even though I now can't work doing the job I had because some idiot decided he wanted to make the rules instead of following the law, I have to wait for the legal process to take its course.

I've applied for so many jobs in the local area I've completely lost count. And have I heard anything back? Nope. Or when I go somewhere thinking I might like to apply and I can already see in their faces the fact that they're not thrilled over my 86-pound constant companion, I don't bother. Besides, I'd rather have her with me everyday than the crap that can happen at most places.

Got news about a family member who's going through some tough times. I want to be able to help and give support but I also don't want to be intrusive. I remember when I was in a somewhat similar situation and the last thing I wanted was pity from anyone and I usually got a lot of unsolicited advice that didn't do me much good. I don't want to be one of those kinds of people.

One of my friends was to get married tomorrow and her fiancé left her today. She and her young daughter who had opened their home and lives to him and his excuse is because his biological son is afraid of having to make new friends when he moves. What a jerk.

I'm trying to help celebrate Youngest Son's upcoming birthday. I went to the movies with Husband, Youngest Son, and four of his friends. They had a great time and I was really glad they could go. I just feel like I wish we could have done more.

Husband and Youngest Son are currently in the basement doing laundry and playing a computer game. I sincerely appreciate that they're doing the laundry because that means I don't have to do it and I don't have to go outside to get to the basement. It's not a "finished" basement like many people have. It has a floor and walls, but there's no way to access it from inside the house. And with the heat the way it is, I'm not in the mood to go outside much.

And, yes, Depressive is trying to get me to post but I'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired that it's just been easier to do nothing and sleep instead of trying to come up with something to write and crying while I feel awful.

Maybe I'll get back on a schedule. Maybe I'll stop writing completely. I've already told my therapist that I'm not writing anymore at the moment about my past because I'm getting to big areas that I don't really remember. There are a lot of blank spaces in my memory -- some last days, some last years -- and whatever is hidden inside them I do not want to bring back to the surface. It wouldn't be healing; it would be reopening the wounds that my brain has found a way to deal with that doesn't cause me any additional damage. I remember trying to deal with them and it didn't work then. Time does not heal all wounds.

Greetings from Depressive

Hi. I've been around for quite a while but haven't had the opportunity to actually post anything here myself. I've been trying to keep me from being noticed but when things get really hectic or stressful or disappointing, then I just can't stop from showing up to practically ruin it all.

Oh dear. I see you looking at what I'm writing and you've got that weird look on your face. It's the same look that my family gives me when they can't figure out what's going on or when they think I'm just trying to hide something. Usually I am trying to hide something -- myself. I don't like me being here and I don't like it when I come around just out of the blue.
,br> I guess I should explain. If you're a long-time follower of this blog, you already know that I have bi-polar disorder (along with some other absolutely fascinating issues that can cause havoc at any moment). Now, for those who don't understand bi-polar disorder, it was originally called manic-depressive disorder. This is when your brain -- or, rather, my brain -- decides that it wants to do something different for a while without my consent. I can either become extraordinarily hyperactive, hyper-vigilant, hyper-emotional. Just pick a "hyper" and it's on the list. This is my manic phase. This is when Manic appears and keeps me from sleeping for long periods of time (days) or has me obsessing over certain things that need to be done and I can't stop doing them or I end up listening to the rest of the voices up in my head arguing because they've decided that since adrenaline, their favorite drink, is on-tap that they're going to join in the fun.

Manic and I get along well at times but we do have problems when Manic gets OCD a little over-excited instead of its usual state. Then I can be in big trouble.

But today, I'm here. Well, I am always here but the specific "I" that is writing here is Depressive. I am the one that can take any happy moment from extremely ecstatic to morbidly horrifying in seconds. I have the ability to just wander up while I'm hearing good news and start whispering all the things that are either untrue (whether they are or not) about it or about how everything from that moment on will go horribly wrong. And I don't shut-up easily, either. I've been around for ages and I've learned all of my defense mechanisms against me. Even the medications are having problems with me now.

My favorite one was when I was ordered to a psychology group for manic-depressive people and the class leaders said, "If you just think that you're happy, you'll be happy." They repeated that a lot. I raised my hand and asked them how that could be possible especially when I was incredibly suicidal? Was I supposed to be happy about being suicidal or was I supposed to picture rainbows and kittens and cotton candy and hope that the suicidal bit would pass?

They kicked me out of the class. Seriously.

For a while I've been puttering around here reading what's being written and critiquing things. It's one of the things I do. I also keep bad things at the forefront of my mind. The whole ERO issue, for example. Today I got my paperwork that the informal stage is over and I can now file for a formal hearing. However, I keep reminding myself that I (1) only have 14 more days left to do that, (2) that I have no idea how the whole process works, (3) that I could really use a good attorney to help me, (4) that I've been referred to a really good attorney who wants to help me, but (5) the attorney costs $300 per hour that I don't have and that leaves me sitting and staring at the paperwork and going back to #1. And then I start it all over again. See how much fun I am?

I've seen celebrities who have bi-polar talk about their different extremes with cute little names for them. I don't do that. I am a part of me that is the whole me and nothing but the me. Remember, even the voices are mine. There are just too many of them at times to not give them their own grouping.

Well, that's enough about me for now. I have a prior engagement (I think) with PTSD. We hang out together a lot. Of course, I'm glad that I have Celeste who helps me keep myself from overly freaking-out when I get this way. I'll probably be around for quite a while longer because there's so much going on that I have to get involved with and I've not seen my therapist for almost three weeks so the environment is just how I like it. Moody, sad, stressed, and down.

And thanks in advance to anyone who types anything positive about what I've written about myself. But I'm going to be completely honest with you -- it's not going to matter for a while. When I'm here and this far out in front of myself, it takes a lot longer to get me back with the rest of the crowd. And I don't mean to be snappy or make anyone think I'm ignoring them. I just enjoy screwing with my emotions enough so that I don't want to do anything. Well, sleep is always fun. But I only do that when I don't need to be doing it. Like when the medication makes me do it. Or if there's a ton of things I need to get done and I fall-over on the couch or the bed and doze for, oh, say, three or four hours. Tonight I'm going to try to make myself get some sleep because I'm really tired just from being me today. It won't work the way I want it to, but I'll still try.

And....*sigh*....Husband and Youngest Son keep coming in to check and see what I'm doing (occasionally led by Celeste who knows something's wrong). It irritates me because while I appreciate their worry about me very, very much I also don't like it because they have their own things to worry about and I don't need to be getting in the way. Plus I don't like people trying to read over my shoulder when I'm writing or reading something out-loud. And that's not "Depressive" saying that -- that's just me. So I'll go for now, but we'll meet again. Don't know where; don't know when.

Feeling down and inadequate....

It's my pity-party and I'll whine if I want.

Youngest Son announced that he just heard one of his best friends is traveling to London (UK) for an international choir event. I'm proud of his friend and am happy for his family who will also be able to travel with him. I was in London in 1994 during college and loved it. I really, really want to go there again.

And every year when I've been working and paying-off bills, I've been trying to save the money so that I can take my family there. Or, if not able to take everyone, at least take Husband with me because it was while I was there when I realized how much in love with him I was (and still am) and I want to share with him the places I went and where I missed him so much. But usually I'd work myself silly and end up sick in the hospital or so sick I'd have to leave and then all the medical bills needed to be paid. Now that my former employer has taken my career away from me and people aren't very thrilled about hiring someone who has an 85-pound dog in constant tow, I don't know when I'll ever get to take them.

Youngest Son hasn't said that he's jealous of his friend, but I know that he's disappointed because I still can't take him there. I've been saying for years that I want him to experience another country and all of the history that can be found. And Eldest Son has wanted to go to London for a long time as well since his biological father and step-mother traveled there but didn't take him. I've felt like I should make that up to him. Maybe I'm irrational about it. But I'd still like to give my kids and husband an experience they will remember forever and am just feeling awful that I've worked over the past eight years to do that and still haven't been able.

Going to go watch a musical on television. Maybe I'll feel better. Maybe not. Just don't be surprised if I'm still pouting for a little while.

Can we say "discrimination?" I thought we could!

*Insert loud screaming in frustration noise here*

Well, I just heard from my Equal Rights counselor regarding my long "quest" to find out why I wasn't reappointed to my job and to try to get it back. I still have another phone call coming from her when she receives the message of whether or not the person she is dealing with has the right to reappoint me or not. At the moment, however, I couldn't give crap one if they try to reappoint me to my old position. There's no way I could possibly stand to work for these people after what I was just told they said about me and my disability!

So, quick rundown before I have to go grab another Xanax. The main Equal Rights Officer I worked with last year to get my reasonable accommodations to have Celeste come to work with me stated that I had proven that I had a disability and with all the letters from therapists, doctors, co-workers, and the trainer of my service dog that I had proven the need and should be allowed to bring her with me. My assistant Cadre Manager signed-off on all of the paperwork and sent me a memo stating how in the future I was to notify her when I was deploying with Celeste and the rules/regulations that I would have to follow for having her in our field offices. Basic stuff, all approved, all signed, and copies (both physical and electronic) are saved for my records.

Then, the counselor contacted my Cadre Manager and his assistant to speak with them on why I wasn't reappointed to my job. He stated that he'd heard my name but didn't know who I was. He also stated that he knew that there were issues last year with me bringing Celeste and problems at the office (which there weren't any from her, just from others who wanted to pet and play with her) and that she was not a "service animal" but was a "comfort dog." Really?? Since when did he become so educated on what constitutes the difference between a SD (service dog) and an ESA (emotional support animal)?? And this is a man I've only ever spoken to once since I started working for him in 2009 because he never returned my emails or phone calls and I always had to go through his assistant.

And speaking of his assistant, she was very quiet throughout the interview. I have her signature approving my request for reasonable accommodation but she told the counselor that all of that was handled at headquarters by the ERO officers.

I was right!! They were discriminating against me when they didn't reappoint me. The Cadre Manager stated that my "comfort dog" would cause a problem and I couldn't be deployed or retained because of it. Also, he said that he had to drastically reduce the number of people he had employed but he only released two people in my section. I guess all of the people who I trained last year will be able to go on to have full employment and success now.

I'm not expecting to get my job back because he said he'd be happy to write a letter of recommendation for me (which was the easy-out option given if they weren't going to keep me) and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me back anyway now that I know what I know. But, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I'm shocked. I'm flabbergasted. I can't believe that someone would be so bold to basically state outright that my disability is the reason they didn't keep me -- especially since this is a FEDERAL position and there are FEDERAL laws to protect the disabled.

You can be sure I'll keep things updated as more info comes in. However, for anyone who thought I was just uselessly chasing a dream, I'm not upset and I'm not going to dance around with my tongue sticking out and my fingers in my ears saying "I'm right and you were wrong!" I've always had a tenacity to grab hold of something and see it all the way through to the end, regardless if I'm right or I'm wrong. I'm glad that I have that now because I have proof that I was right this time. And anyone who feels that they've been wronged should be brave enough to stand-up for what they believe in and fight for what is right. I hope I've been a good example.

Now I need to try to relax before I pop a vein in my head. That would kind of make going on to a formal complaint process difficult.

About what do my dogs dream?

Yes, I noticed that I made sure my title was grammatically correct. OCD has checked-in for the night!

Anyway, I do wonder what goes through my dogs' brains when they're dreaming. I can look over at the cat who is sound asleep at the moment and she never moves until she wakes up. However, I can watch either Celeste or Harley and sooner or later they'll start to run in their sleep, snore loudly, or sometimes even bark as if they're trying to say something.

Celeste is five years old and has had a lot of experiences with and without me. She was a show dog and has traveled around the country and also worked as a service dog for a lady in a wheelchair (who sadly didn't know how to care for her even though she'd had service dogs before). So, I could see some memories coming back to her mind and perhaps she sees things she remembers.

Harley, on the other hand, has been with us since she was nine months old. She was abandoned and raised for a month at a farm before they took her to the local Humane Society because they couldn't afford to keep another abandoned dog. She's been on trips with us (vehicle only, no planes yet) and has romped around in the yard or at a dog park. Most of her time she's comfortable on the couch and when given the opportunity will watch car races or other dogs running on television. Harley also lived here with my service dog Cody who passed away in 2010. She was there when he died. She also has a lot of his habits and mannerisms because he made sure that he taught her how to act and didn't let her get too out of control.

Cody would snore loudly and run when sleeping too -- but he only came to live with us when he was much older. He had been a puppy mill breeder dog that had been abandoned on the side of the Interstate when he'd gotten to old to make the owners more money. We took him in and even though he had no idea how to play or act like a normal dog, he learned commands quickly and was eager to please because he loved being loved by someone instead of just ignored. And he still had the gumption to put the cat in her place when he came to live with us and she wouldn't shut up one night. He just closed her mouth with his and looked at her as if to say, "See? Quiet is better."

When Cody would snore loudly and move as if he was running when he was asleep, I could always imagine that he was reliving something that had happened before we had him. Maybe it was running away from the handlers at the puppy mill. Maybe it was finally running free when they first got rid of him before he began to struggle to find food and water in the sweltering heat of the summer. I would always hope that his dreams would include meeting us and enjoying a nice walk or just being cuddled.

I'm watching Harley's legs move while she's asleep as if she's running for her life. Maybe there's a rabbit or a squirrel in her dream? She loves to chase them in the yard, though I don't think she'd have any idea what to do with one if she caught it. She's running and running and you can hear her snorting loudly with every "step" she takes. Whatever it is, she's either thoroughly enjoying it or making damned sure that she gets away from whatever she doesn't like.

I know humans put too much emotion into our pets. We talk to them as if they're people and try to read their facial expressions and actions like we do non-verbal communications from other humans. But I think it would be fun if we could see about what our dogs are dreaming. Finally catching the ball; scaring a flock of birds; or maybe just laying on the couch getting their tummy rubbed. Anything could be a fascinating dream for them.

Tired today....

LONG day.... Took Harley to have her yearly "shearing" at the groomer. She grows so much hair during the winter you could almost make enough wigs/toupees for those little hairless dogs. Then they wouldn't get so cold all the time. We also went to our favorite gaming store and sold them a few items for store credit. Just some old books that we didn't like but that their customers will love buying. And the credit can stay there until the next Warhammer 40K tournament or when we need to buy something for someone's birthday, etc.

Also started shopping for a new phone since mine is having battery issues. I first went to a store run by the company with whom I have my service. They said that they don't make stupidphones anymore. I said that I knew he was lying because (1) I'd seen an ad for one and (2) there were some hanging on the wall in the store. He, of course, wanted to show me every smartphone in the place but I told him I wasn't going to pay a bunch more per month for the privilege of having a phone that can do a lot of things I can't afford for it to do nor would I use it for them. I guess I should have also taken a photo (the one "fancy" thing my stupidphone can do) of all of the basic phones we saw at a large electronics retailer in town as well. And if I wanted a smartphone I could get it there for even less than the service company was advertising! But, no, I did not replace my beloved stupidphone.

When Harley's grooming appointment was over, we went to pick her up and I asked the groomer to grind Celeste's nails so that I won't have to clip them for a bit. Celeste was a show dog before she became a service dog but you would have thought that no one had ever touched her feet before when she started trying to escape from the groomer. Fortunately, the lady had a great attitude and just chased her around the grooming table, keeping one paw in her hand at all times, and got it done. Another of the ladies working there asked me if she could know why I have Celeste and when I told her she was thrilled to hear someone else has a service dog for psychiatric issues. I gave her my name and number and the name and number of Celeste's breeder/trainer because the lady and her husband are trying to get a service dog for him to use. I wish them the best of luck because I know that Celeste has helped me more than I could have imagined!

Hopefully tomorrow will be relaxing. I know Husband can use a nice relaxing day after working hard all week. And Youngest Son is now home from school so I'll find plenty of chores/activities for him to complete!

Going a little farther on my quest....

After I published my post "Let's see what this gets me...." I received mixed reviews regarding what I had done. Some people said that I was a crusader for those who'd been wronged. Others said I was wasting my time and burning bridges. I don't think of myself as a crusader. I'm trying to get my own answers but if I do find out something that can help others, I'm more than willing to share the information. I'm not overly concerned with burning bridges since I'd worked long hours in hard conditions to make my bridges sturdy and I feel it's my now former employer who came behind me, knocked them town, built them back with gas-soaked logs and then left an open flame nearby.

So, I waited over the weekend for a response from the gentleman I'd emailed in the previously mentioned post. I received nothing. I waited during the day yesterday as I listened to the horrendous noise coming from Stupid Neighbors' driveway (see yesterday's post for more information) and still received nothing. I finally found the name of the person in charge of the entire Equal Rights Office at headquarters and sent her a letter along with a copy of the letter I'd sent to the other ERO officer to see if I could receive any clarification regarding the information I'd received to date as well as to share additional information that I'd been receiving. Within two hours, I received an email from the original ERO officer I'd attempted to contact. Here is what I received (edited for privacy):

I want to assure you that [Federal Agency Acronym Here] provides reasonable accommodations to people with disabilities. I have seen no indication that you received this notification because of your request to have a service animal in the workplace.

My best guidance would be to talk to your Cadre manager about the notification.

Should you wish to request EEO (Equal Employment Opportunity) Counseling, you may contact [Name] here in the Office of Equal Rights for the assignment of an EEO Counselor. [Name] can be reached at [telephone number and email address].

For your information, I am providing you with the EEO Flier, “Your Right to Equal Opportunity.” The Flier explains the EEO Complaint process, and your rights and the time limits for exercising those rights. If you intend to request EEO Counseling, please contact [Name] as soon as possible.

It wasn't quite what I was looking for but it also wasn't the same stock answer I'd received in the past. Now that I was beginning to receive messages from others who had been non-reappointed that also have disabilities and messages from others who knew persons who had been non-reappointed without a clue as to why their years of service would suddenly be stopped, I figured why not try to see this out to the end.

So, I contacted the person that was mentioned in the email I'd received. Here is what I sent (edited for privacy):

I have been referred to you by [Name] due to my suspicion that I and other DAEs who are not being reappointed at this time might be because we have disabilities on-file with our Cadres, Regions, and Headquarters.

I've attached the original email that I sent to [Name] and his reply referring me to you at the bottom of this letter. At the time I originally wrote [Name], I felt that I was the only one who had received a non-reappointment letter and wondered if it was because I now utilize a service dog to assist me to do my work and be able to deploy. I have been contacted by another DAE who also has a disability who was not reappointed to their position as well. This person does not utilize a service animal or adaptive equipment, but we both found it quite odd that after filing our requests for reasonable accommodation, the next reappointment period ending resulted in both of us not retaining our positions after approximately 8 years of service. I have been contacted through social media by others who have suspected or believe the same thing, but they have not confirmed with me any information and I therefore cannot speak for them. I am only addressing this for myself at this time.

[Name] stated in his reply that I should speak with my Cadre manger. He must not have read the paragraphs where I did attempt to contact both [Names and Titles], and was only responded to by [Name] with a "stock answer" paragraph, included in the letter below. When I asked additional questions, I was only given the same paragraph as a response -- implying that I would receive no other information than what had just been given to me.

I understand the "at-will" hiring and retainment process and I understand through 8600.1 that [Federal Agency Acronym Here] does not have to provide a reason for dismissal to DAEs. But with the questions I have raised and the fact that I am in two protected classes (over-40, disabled), I would believe that it would be in the best interest of [Federal Agency Acronym Here] to provide a reason why I would not be reappointed. That's what I was originally looking for because if I attempt to apply for another job and they ask "Why were you released from your previous position?" and I have no answer to give, that usually makes them suspect that I had done something wrong. When every performance evaluation I received was excellent and gave nothing but praise, I find it hard to believe that I did something wrong that wouldn't have been previously addressed with me before deciding to end my employment.

Any information or insight you could provide would be greatly appreciated. I really did not believe after working for so long in the Region and with two different Cadres that always gave me high praise and requested me by name for specific assignments that I would be having to come to ERO for guidance regarding my suspicions of discrimination.

Thank you for your time and attention. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

I have not yet heard anything today, but I have received more messages of support and disgust at my attempts for a simple answer. Even though I'd resubmitted my resumé prior to going on my "quest" (as some have put it), it's never been about getting my job back. If they offered it back to me, I'd have to really consider the terms and conditions before I'd take it. If they didn't offer it to me, I'd have lost nothing else but the time spent looking for answers. If they offered me another position in another Cadre, again I'd really have to consider the terms and conditions before I could consider accepting it.

I'm just trying to save my good name and reputation. After many years working with the same organization, it's unusual when someone is suddenly not retained in that position without good cause. I just want to make sure that there is a good cause and not an attempt to circumvent the law by stating that "a more nimble organization" is desired and those of us who aren't as "nimble" (whatever that means) are now considered worthless. They could have said that "cutbacks were needed, your job performance was excellent and letters of referral would be available upon request." Or they could have been honest and said the negative reasons why someone wasn't being kept so that they could make adjustments in any future employment endeavors. That kind of thing happens in many organizations where these economic times have required valuable employees to be released. Instead, those of us who were not reappointed were basically told that we didn't matter anymore. We weren't "good enough" to be picked to play on the playground with the rest and we weren't "worthy" of a reason why.

I don't know where this next round will lead or if anything will come about because of it. But the small part of me that has spent many years advocating for others has reawakened and has decided that I'm worth advocating for as well. Will this all work? Or will it all just blow-up in my face? I don't know, and I don't care. My self-worth is worth fighting for and I'm tired of people expecting me to just slink away quietly. Now it's my turn to be heard.

Why can't people just do their jobs?

Today the family and I had to make a trip down the highway so that I could look at and test some self-service dog washing tables. I'd really like to open my own self-service dog wash in our town but I don't have the money to open the type of store I want. Plus, I don't want to take out a loan. I already owe the government enough money on a bachelor's degree and most of a master's that I'm not using, so I'd rather not have any additional debt if I can help it. The system I tried was nice but operated too much like a car wash with the timer clicking away at the same speed regardless if you had a teacup poodle or a mastiff. You couldn't judge how much it was going to cost to wash and dry the dog -- and "dry" was only implied. Air came out of the hose but if you expected a dog with short or long hair to be dried you just might as well put all the money in your bank account into the machine first because it was going to take a long time. I'd rather have a self-service dog wash where there are tubs and professional dryers (that work) and the people pay per pound (of the dog, not themselves). Then they're not rushed and making a huge mess and the dogs are actually cleaned and dried well enough you wouldn't be afraid of putting them back into your vehicle if you still had a nice interior. However, self-operating machines like that may be what I'd have to get if I can save/raise the money. But I'd certainly make the pricing a bit more reasonable and fair.

So, after getting Celeste cleaned, we decided we should grab some lunch. We decided to go to The International House of Pancakes (IHOP) because (1) it was close and (2) it's cheap. Plus, the restaurant has carpet which would prevent Celeste from getting greasy or having whatever the last person swept under the table instead of actually cleaning stuck in her newly clean fur. The restaurant was not crowded and we figured it would be a good place to pop in, grab a quick bite, and then head out on other errands before returning home.

I should have known once I walked in the door that it wasn't going to be good. The cashier and the hostess immediately began making "boo-boo" faces and voices at Celeste, trying to get her attention. I ignored what they were doing, in the hopes that they would stop, and told the hostess that there would be three of us eating there today. She asked if we wanted a table or a booth. I said a booth because it's easier for Celeste to hide out-of-the-way and she won't accidentally stick a tail or paw into traffic (which can happen under some very small tables). The hostess looked around and said, "Well, we have a table." I replied, "Then why did you ask me what I wanted if there really is no option?" She looked puzzled and handed a wet towel to a waitress and told her to clean off the table at a booth in one of the sections. We looked around the corner and noticed that she was cleaning off a table that was next to four other booths that were not occupied. I chalked it up to the fact that the other section might not be staffed at that moment or that they've got some weird seating ritual at this particular IHOP and waited.

The waitress came back and said that the table was clean. She looked at us as if she expected us to give her a gold star or something. The hostess said that we were next to be seated (there wasn't anyone else around waiting to be helped). Then the two of them debated over who would take us to our seat. The waitress grabbed the menus and asked us to follow her (like we're going to go somewhere else). As we reached the table, she looked down and said rather loudly, "Oh! I didn't see the dog! I didn't know you had one with you -- I'm allergic to them!" I gave Celeste the command to find her spot under the table and reassured the waitress that she wouldn't be in contact with the dog at any time during our meal. That didn't appease her and she repeated that she was allergic to dogs.

Now, just for clarification, unless the other person is so allergic to dogs that it would send them into anaphylactic shock, typical allergies to a dog (fur, dander, etc.) which does not create a life-threatening situation is not an excuse to prohibit a person with a service dog from entering an establishment. She could whine about it all she wanted, but I was well within my legal rights to have her with me. As she continued to complain I interrupted her and told her that Celeste had just been bathed, would not be moving from the spot in which she was currently laying until I command her to when we're leaving, and that we were staying right where we were to eat. I wasn't rude about it -- I just spoke matter-of-factly and even heard someone from another table comment that I was right.

So, after this our drink orders were taken and we didn't see the waitress again for quite some time. Other people were finally being seated in the same section. I began to watch to see if she was their server as well or if someone else was assigned to those tables and would we receive our items before the newcomers did. After seeing her running back-and-forth between the kitchen and what I assumed to be the supply closet to get disposable cups, she finally brought us our drinks and took our food order. Husband, Youngest Son and I began to secretly place bets on how long it would take two omelets and some pancakes to be made and delivered to us.

When after a while she returned with our food, we looked at it and could tell something was wrong. Husband and Youngest Son touched their pancakes -- cold and hard. Even the scoop of butter they put on the top of them wasn't beginning to melt. My omelet looked done but the cheese on top of it wasn't melted. Youngest Son even touched his eggs and said they were cold. We asked the waitress to return and told her that the food was cold. She said that the plates were hot and couldn't possibly understand how it could be cold. Husband asked her to touch the pancakes, to which she replied, "We're not allowed to touch the food." He stuck his finger into the stack and told her that they were cold all the way through. When she began to argue that they couldn't be cold, I reached over to Youngest Son's plate and picked up his two over-easy eggs and held them up for her to see. No yolk breakage. No heat coming off of them to burn my fingers. If you'd seen them you would have thought they were a practical joke piece.

She took the food back to the kitchen and then returned saying that she'd touched the food when she got back there and it was cold and she didn't know why and that she would tell the manager. She also said that within 10 minutes we'd have fresh, hot food. We did get hot food -- in less than 4 minutes. And it looked as if it was slapped-together just to get it out of the kitchen. Nothing was placed neatly on the plates or cooked the way we asked.

We took the food and started eating because by now we were starving. Others in our section told us that the restaurant had been having issues and they weren't surprised to see us sending food back. The first question that crossed my mind was, "If you know the restaurant is having issues with people sending food back, why are you here?" but I didn't ask it.

As we ate, we tried to stomach what we had and laughed when the pancakes that Husband ordered split apart as if they had been frozen previously and barely reheated. I guess the "International" part of IHOP is imported pancakes because every one was identical, right down to the dark coloring you'd see if they'd been done on a griddle. I've made quite a few pancakes in my time and I've never been able to get them all identical.

We continued to eat and a gentleman walked up behind Husband and asked if things were okay. No name tag. No identification of any kind. Husband asked who he was and when he identified himself as the manager, Husband said he wondered when he was going to show-up to see why we were upset with our meal. The gentleman looked puzzled. He had no idea we were upset. The waitress rushed over and told us that she had told a different manager and apologized to this manager for not making him aware as well and then began to describe all of the previous events to him. He asked if we wanted new plates of food, which we politely declined and explained that we weren't from that town and needed to get back on the road to finish errands and return home and waiting again for new food would put us even further behind schedule.

Husband and I have always joked that we're just cursed to receive bad food and/or service at restaurants. There was a time when Youngest Son was still an infant that we went to the same restaurant three times because they kept inviting us back for free meals after (1) I was poisoned by dishwashing liquid that had been spilled on the fish I ordered and (2) when we came back for the free meal after that incident a bee was found curled-up (and dead) inside a leaf of lettuce in Husband's salad. The manager of that restaurant admitted that they weren't making a better impression on us and was soon replaced. Sometimes we laugh when we're out because a manager will walk by our table and ask us how we're doing but not say anything to other diners. We wonder if they've got big pictures of us up in the kitchen warning them that we've had crap service at other corporate chains and to be on the lookout for us.

The manager said that he would look into what happened and disappeared. We started to eat as fast as we could because we didn't want anything except to get the heck out of there and back on our way. The manager returned and attempted to pick up the ticket that the waitress had laid on the table after bringing the second attempt at our lunch. Husband slapped his hand down upon the ticket and said that we would pay for our food. The manager looked confused and said that he wanted to pay for the meal. Husband said that all we wanted were two things to happen -- Number 1, for the employees to do their jobs and get it right because without customer satisfaction there won't be customers and then they won't have a job; and Number 2, for the employees to be advised on how to properly act around a service dog because they are working dogs and are not to be distracted when doing their jobs. The manager insisted again on paying for our meal, but we weren't going to allow it. We ate the food, so we should pay for the food. That always shocks them because a lot of times they're used to someone just trying to get a free meal. If we couldn't afford the food, we wouldn't be there in the first place. Plus, the bottom of the ticket has the order number and the 1-800-number the corporation wants customers to call to answer a survey and give comments on our visit.

And trust me, we will.

Let's see what this gets me....

I've been trying to be patient about finding out why I wasn't reappointed to my position with a federal government agency. And, yes, I know that "at-will" employees can be hired or fired or can quit at any time for any reason (or no reason at all). But the more I see other friends receiving their reappointment letters -- and a well-deserved "Congratulations!" to them -- it's getting depressing being the only person I know so far who has not had their job renewed. And it makes me continue to wonder why since no one has ever complained about my work. Well, at least not to my face or through channels where something could be done about it.

So, today I took a risk. I'm tired of sitting and waiting for something to happen. I'm tired of always trying to "play it safe" and "keep my cards close to my chest" in matters like this. This might help me at least get an honest answer or it might totally blow-up in my face and ruin any attempt I could ever have at getting another position like the one I had. But I had to do something.

I contacted the Equal Rights Officer with whom I worked last year when I was obtaining Celeste and having issues getting reasonable accommodations for my service dog. I even tried to explain to "the powers-that-be" that having her would help me become more deployable and help me with my work since she would help mitigate any problems my disabilities would present. I never thought trying to get something I'm legally entitled to could be so hard! All of the letter writing and arguing over whether or not someone with no medical experience believed that my prescribed service dog would be helpful to me and appropriate for an office setting. It's not like she's going to do anything other than lay under my desk all day (except when I take her outside for walks).

Here's some of what I sent to him today (edited for privacy):

I've recently received a letter of non-reappointment regarding my [employment title] status. This is confusing to me because I've never in the almost-8 years I've worked for [Federal Agency Acronym Here] received a negative performance review and I am often requested for specific disasters. I have not been available the first part of this year as I have been undergoing ophthalmologic testing due to my inability to have my vision corrected above 20/50 with glasses. I am currently awaiting an appointment with the Low-Vision Center at [name of prestigious university here] so that they can help me find adaptive equipment and techniques so that I can continue to work. After the appointment, I'd planned to make myself available again.

Through friendships on social media sites, I've seen people posting that they've received their letters and so far I am the only one who's posted a non-reappointment notice. I have emailed my (now former) Cadre Manager, [Name], and his assistant, [Name], for additional information and have been given the following response:

[Insert copy of standardized response paragraph previously inserted into other related blog posts regarding "reason for non-reappointment"]

I even emailed [Name] asking if the reason for my non-reappointment was something negative because it would be fruitless for me to apply to another Cadre if there is something negative preventing my reappointment. Again, I was sent an email with only that paragraph in it. I've also seen the new FAQs for the NDRP transition and no new DAEs are being recruited or appointed, which makes the "free to apply for an appointment within another Cadre" statement moot. Additionally, the NDRP program is not currently accepting applications either as they attempt to transfer reappointed DAEs to the new system. However, I have sent my résumé to the IWMO liaison for [formerly employed location] who has stated she will share it with all other regions and HQ in the hopes that perhaps there might be an available slot somewhere.

I don't want to believe that it's because I now have a service dog that I've not been reappointed, but with phrases such as "a more nimble organization" in the paragraph sent to me it raised my suspicions even more.

If there is any information or advice you could provide, I would greatly appreciate it. This has all come as quite a shock to me and many of my (now former) co-workers. I do understand that as a [employment title] I am a temporary, intermittent, "at-will" employee -- but to receive no feedback regarding the reason why I would not be reappointed and to see terminology as mentioned above only makes me feel that [Federal Agency Acronym Here] is not willing to accommodate employees with disabilities. I hope I'm wrong, but that's the message I'm receiving.

Maybe I've shot myself in the foot with this. Maybe I'll just be marked as a "troublemaker" because I won't take "no comment" for an answer. Maybe I'll be a model for other disabled persons who have been indirectly discriminated against. Who knows what will happen.

All I know right now is that I feel better just for having sent the letter. And I've received advice/comments from family/friends on other steps I might be able to take if I still can't get an answer after this. Whether or not I get my job "back" is irrelevant. What's important here is knowing the truth. When you're the only person you know who's not been rehired but you're also the only person you know with a disability, it's hard not to jump to conclusions -- which is why I want the honest answer.

I don't wanna post today!

With everything that's been going on recently, the last thing I want to do right now is sit in front of the computer and try to be witty. I went to my therapy session today and feel like nothing much came out of that. My therapist is stunned that I wasn't reappointed for my job and has the same outlook I have on me finding another job anywhere around here -- grim.

It's easy to look at the job services online listings and other search engines for positions and find things I'm qualified for or would be willing to learn. It's harder to go into the job location to fill-out an application, drop off a resumé or complete an interview with an 85-pound service dog with you that they weren't expecting. You can see it in their eyes. They're trying to figure out why you're there with your "pet" or how you could possibly be able to do any work if you're "that" disabled that you need a service animal, especially when you're not in a wheelchair or showing any visible signs of a disability. And the usual answers of "You're qualified, but not qualified enough," or "You're overqualified for this position" roll off their lips as if they've had their mind made-up all along (which, they probably have).

Today has just been a sucky day and I'm not in the mood to deal with much else. I had an idea for a business I could open that would help me as well as many others in our community, and then found that someone else is already starting one. And even though I know mine would be WAY better and most likely more successful, without the money to start it up, it's just not going to happen.

And now the "voices" are even arguing over which is more negative or depressive because that's what they do when I'm in a funk. It's gonna be a long night.

One test result finished....

Got a call from my neuro-opthalmologist today. He received the results of my MRI from Friday and wanted to let me know that everything on it was fine. I was quite relieved 'cause usually any time a doctor calls you so soon after a test it's not always good news. He was happy to report that there are no tumors or lesions or signs of any strokes. The bad news is that it still leaves us with no answer as to what's causing my vision to decrease so rapidly.

I still have the results from the ERG to receive. Maybe they'll give us some answers. I asked him what would happen if that test came back that everything was fine, too? He said he wasn't sure and maybe it would be something that would fix itself in time.

Fix itself? In time? When you have to work for a living and you're already limited in some ways by another disability, you don't really have time to wait to see if things get better. I've tried applying for a new job closer to home but, even though they're not legally supposed to discriminate, I can tell that finding a new job while having a service dog with me isn't most employers' idea of an "ideal employee." Regardless of the fact that she wouldn't impede my or anyone else's work and the company/organization wouldn't have to do anything other than provide a reasonable accommodation for the two of us, I can see by the look in their eyes that their minds are already made up but they can always cover it by saying the usual ol' standby excuse I get, "You're overqualified for this position."

Guess I'll go back to the waiting game until I hear about the other test. This week is Spring Break for Youngest Son. Would like to take him somewhere fun but (1) Husband can't get off work, (2) can't really afford it with the medical bills, and (3) it's forecast to rain like the dickens here every day this week. Maybe we'll take a day and have a "Harry Potter" or "Star Wars" marathon and eat nothing but junk food. He may not like the idea as much but I think it's pretty darned awesome.

Am-Dram: It's opening night!!!

Opening night finally came and went and it was great! Oh sure, there were parts of scenes that were skipped and people forgetting lines or props, but that happens every opening night. Fortunately, the audience didn't notice the errors and the actors kept right on going. I kept a close eye on the prompt book to make sure I could give cues to people when their "normal" cues were missed so they could get onstage. We even had one actor stuck "upstairs" because his whole introduction in one part had been omitted. I found a spot for him to enter and we at least were able to get him where he needed to be. I'm very, very happy about the production we gave.

There were some non-theatre-related things that happened tonight that drove me insane. First, the doors weren't supposed to open to the public until 6:30 p.m. The place where we were having the play, though, has its doors unlocked until 9 p.m. every night, so people were coming in and sitting down without realizing it was a play. Once we got them to buy tickets, we were trying to figure out some rough sections but there were people in the audience and we didn't want them seeing what we were doing. I also had to get two of the actors' makeup completed and on the way into the building the shoulder strap of my kit had come undone and it flipped on its side. When I opened it, everything was mixed-up and it took me a little while to find what I needed. Being a OCD makeup designer and expecting to find everything "in its place" had me frazzled for a bit.

But the most irritating/stupidest things that happened tonight happened around Celeste. She was "backstage" (we didn't really have a stage so we couldn't have a "back," just an area where we would hide) and while I was organizing props on one table, one of the other actor's friends/family came back there and started petting her. Husband pointed out the "DO NOT PET" signs on her backpack and the people were like, "So?" He had to tell them to stop and go away before they would. Then -- and this one stunned all of the people standing around me -- our assistant director was sitting at the table selling tickets and eating her dinner. I'd seen her having some rice and something Chinese and trying to keep from making a mess before the audience arrived. While I was "backstage" again, two older boys came up to me and said, "We spilled some rice up front. Can we use your service dog to go eat it and clean it up for us?"

I (insert slang word for human excrement) you not. They really came back and asked to use my service dog as a Hoover to clean their mess. I was stunned. Everyone else around me was stunned. It was all some could do to keep from laughing and I could tell they wanted to but were afraid I'd be angrier if they did. I gave them a very terse "NO!" and told them to get away from me. I didn't care about being polite at that time. I was counting-down to the beginning of the show and couldn't believe the stupidity of the question. Of course, during the play when people would be "backstage" and drop something they'd tease me and ask if she could eat it for them. It's kind of funny as I look back on it. But the funny bit is really overshadowed by the ignorance and rudeness of what happened.

So, at least I survived opening night. If it was a complete bomb I'd planned to post the opening song from "The Producers" Broadway show (even though I never really thought it would be one). Fortunately, it was awesome and we've got another show Saturday night. Tomorrow I'll be having my brains scanned again, so maybe I'll get a nap. I'll let ya' know how it goes when I get home.

A nice teaching event today

*Whew!!* No theatre today. No rehearsal. No frantically trying to find props. Only have to get Husband to practice his lines tonight so we'll be ready for opening night tomorrow. Have been trying to spend today not thinking about the production for a change. I've not been successful at it, but I've been trying.

I did get to see my therapist today. She could tell that things haven't been going so well. She asked how last Wednesday's appointment was. I told her and said she should read my blog for more details. She asked how the show was progressing. Again, I told her and said she should read my blog. She asked if blogging has been helping and I wasn't sure what to say. I think it has but then there are days I wonder. Plus, she thought it was a great idea and a good way to keep-up with what I'm doing/feeling/etc. but hasn't been reading it. Glad I post for myself and not for her.

In the waiting room today there were small children. Two were about 6 or 7 years old, another was younger, and another was not quite 2 years old. Of course, when Celeste and I walked-in, she became the center of attention. Parents started trying to grab their kids and the "Don't touch the doggie!" chants started. The toddler ran to her and hugged her before his mother could grab him. When they're at that age where they don't understand what a working dog is and can't communicate themselves, I look to the parents to keep their kids in line. The mother apologized profusely but the little boy was just fascinated. She kept telling him "No" and pulling him away from Celeste while trying to get him interested in some of the toys they'd brought.

Having seen the toddler do this, the other three came over and started to pet Celeste. Their parents tried to grab them away from her and apologized. I told them not to move the kids but I also told the kids to not touch her. I then explained, in simple terms, that she is a working dog and cannot be petted by others. Of course, the kids looked at me like I was some insane lady and by now the toddler had snuck back over and gave Celeste a big wet kiss. She wasn't happy about it, but she wasn't going to do anything, either, since that would be against her training.

I had Celeste and the children sit on the floor. Every now and then they'd try to sneak a pet or try to get her to kiss them. I showed them her vest and backpack and for the ones that could read I showed them the "DO NOT PET" patches. I explained that she has to be paying attention to me and that if someone bothers her, she can't do her job which makes her upset because she's a working dog. The older boy asked if she was like the police dog they'd met at an event in town. I said that the police dog is a working dog too but that he and Celeste don't do the same jobs. His mother said, "Remember when the police officer said you couldn't pet him until he said it was okay?" and the boy replied that he did. I said that the same rules would apply to Celeste and any other dog with a vest or backpack that they might see. The youngest girl was quickly bored and wandered off but the older kids were fascinated. I explained that they should never touch a working dog unless they've asked the owner/handler first for permission. And I told them that they have to get the permission first because some working dogs can't be petted or played with and to never try to pet a dog they don't know. The two kept reminding each other about the "DO NOT PET" patches and asking first as they caught the other trying to sneak another pat on the head.

When the parents and children left, one of the other patients came into the waiting room and said how beautiful Celeste is and asked if she was trained or if I was training her. I explained that she is a service dog and assists me all day, every day. She told me how blessed I am to have a dog like her and that I must feel very lucky, which I do and I agreed with her. She asked me if I minded talking about Celeste and what she does for me. I told her that I didn't mind and the lady volunteered that she has PTSD and always wondered if a service dog could help. I could see my therapist looking out of the doorway at us and I said that Celeste has helped me immensely before she began to tell the lady what a major change in me she's seen and how much she enjoys Celeste being in our sessions.

The lady began to ask more questions -- What is it like to have the dog with you? Do you have problems going places? What does she do for you? All the typical questions that are usually asked (and not always to my face when people think I'm blind or deaf and can't hear them). I answered her and we talked for a moment about how my life has changed in both good ways and bad. I told her that once you have a service dog you can't hide your disability because there's a four-legged "billboard" basically announcing it and that there are times that the public just doesn't (or won't) understand why you have one when you "look just fine." She said she'd never thought about that but for her she'd rather have the "billboard" and could deal with stupid comments on her own. We laughed and my therapist said she'd talk to the lady's therapist about whether he/she believed that a service dog would be a good addition to her treatment. Then the lady thanked me and I went in for my session.

I'd been feeling really frazzled and angry over the past few days, but getting to sit and educate others on service dogs and how they can help people with "invisible disabilities" was awesome. When I left for my appointment I could barely stand to be anywhere and was just sure I was going to scream or cry or do something because everything had been so negative recently. Watching the kids understand to not disturb a working dog and helping another PTSD survivor realize that there is another way without tons of medication to mitigate your disability was very therapeutic. Even more therapeutic than the therapy session -- and I didn't have to pay for what I did in the waiting room.

Maybe I'll actually get a chance to sleep tonight. I probably won't since I'm sure the voices (which have already started again) will be reminding me of every little thing that has been going wrong with the show and worrying about my doctor appointment on Friday when I try to go to bed. But at least today I feel like I've accomplished something positive. And for now, that will do.

Good riddance, Petland!!!

I'm feeling much better today, so I don't think I'll be ripping my own head off anytime soon as was considered yesterday. I did take some medication, put ice on my head, and took a long nap until Husband and Youngest Son got home from work and school, respectively. I was hoping yesterday that today's weather would be good and I was surprised. It's not only good today, it's awesome! So nice and just the right temperature with just a hint of a breeze to make you feel like springtime is here.

Today we went and took Harley to the groomers at SetPmart. She needed a bath and her nails ground again. I clip them often but it's much nicer after they've ground them down with the Dremel tool because she's much quieter on the hardwood floors. I know Cat doesn't like it because Harley can sneak up on her, but I find it enjoyable. We decided that since there was still the chance of cold weather in this area for the next few weeks we wouldn't get her "Spring Shave" done until the weather stays warmer for a while. Now because she's part poodle, she's all fluffy and "poofy" but still has the schnauzer face. I know it won't last because she's not a girly dog and has already attempted to roll in something unpleasant in the backyard already.

One thing I was very glad to see in the town we visited is that another pet store -- Petland -- has gone out of business. They're notorious for selling dogs from puppy mills and even though they'll tell you they don't it's so obvious they do. I went into that store once when Cody (my previous service dog) was getting older and thought about self-training another sheltie to take-over his job (that's before the state laws were changed and you could train your own service dog). I'd been to the shelters and pounds and Humane Society kennels and hadn't found a sheltie. I thought, just for giggles, I'd go into Petland and see what they had. They were stocked with all of the designer dogs and purebred puppies everyone has been trying to get their hands on. So many kids were sitting in the little "viewing boxes" where they could play with a puppy while their parents sat there and listened to the kid promise and promise to take care of it every day as they were actually trying to decide how to finance the cost of the dog because, being a designer dog, they were very expensive.

I looked around and finally one of the underpaid worker-drones came up and asked if there was something specific for which I was looking. I said that I was looking for a sheltie because my current service dog was getting ready to retire and I wanted to have another of the same breed so that they would bond and the new one could learn quickly from the old one. She said that they didn't have any there that day. I feigned disappointment (I knew about the company and wasn't going to buy one of their dogs anyway) and thanked her for her help. She told me to wait a moment and ran off to the back room. She quickly came back with a piece of paper that said if I paid $1000 that day I could have a sheltie puppy in a week.

What?? No reputable breeder is going to just happen to have new puppies available johnny-on-the-spot. The only way you get what you want, when you want is when you use a vending machine -- and that's just what puppy mills are like. They cram dogs into small wire cages and breed the heck out of them. Then when they're no good for breeding or have gotten older, they dump them or, usually, kill them. Puppy mill dogs are so inbred they have many diseases and deformities that aren't identified to the new owners who take their lovely/expensive new puppy home and watch it begin to get sicker and sicker, if it doesn't just up and die first.

Cody was a rescued puppy mill dog. They used him as a breeder and dumped him when he got older. You could tell he'd never had human contact. Food was just pushed into a cage and if it stayed there he could eat and if it spilled that was too bad for him. He had no idea how to play. You could roll a ball towards him and he'd either look at it as if it was something amazing or he'd run and hide. When we got him after he'd been dumped, they'd shaved all of his beautiful long fur off except for his head and tail. Many puppy mills will do that so they don't have to worry about the dogs' coats getting matted or caught in a cage if they're a profit-making dog. If they're just one of the many waiting to be sold, they often don't care what happens.

I told the Petland clerk that I was not interested in a puppy mill dog and she became quite angry that I would even suggest that their dogs came from puppy mills. I told her that I'd reconsider my opinion if she would provide me with the name and phone number of the breeder so that I could check him/her out and see what types of reports might have been filed by other puppy owners from their dams and sires. She said she couldn't give me the information because I might go to the breeder and just buy the dog myself there instead of through the store. I asked for just the name of the breeder so I could check with the AKC (American Kennel Club) and the Department of Agriculture (that inspects breeders) to make sure I'd be getting a healthy dog. The clerk adamantly told me that she could not give me that information and that my puppy would be healthy because they have a vet on-staff (next door) who checks all of the puppies as they come into the store.

Sure, I'm going to trust a veterinarian that I've never met; never seen references regarding; and who isn't always there at that store to check-over an animal that the company plans to make a large profit on and believe that they're not being pressured to say everything is okey-dokey. I even went back to the vet's office and couldn't get any specific information on the vet, where he/she went to school, their specialties, etc.

After this encounter I saw reports on the news about Petland and how many groups were protesting their sale of puppy mill dogs. The state where I live is one of the largest puppy mill "sanctuaries" because people don't report the owners of the puppy mills and, if you did try to report them, they have no problem showing you by force (usually through the end of a firearm) that they don't want you messing in their business. There are many veterinarians in and near the town in which I live that I researched before I ever took my pets to one when we moved here that had many, MANY bad references and notices online for dealing with puppy mill dogs and signing health certificates of dogs that were transported across the country to new owners -- only to have the puppy become critically ill or die soon after arrival.

I am SO happy that Petland is closed. Okay, yes, if people want to argue about it, it's not good that there are workers from the store who now don't have jobs in this poor economy. But, I usually do research on any company/organization with whom I'm applying for a job, so if I knew that Petland was marketing in puppy mill dogs, I'd never work there. I'd rather work somewhere else for less pay than to watch the dogs suffer as they come in, aren't well, and are handled repeatedly by people who are "just looking" and can't really give the dog a forever home. Heck, I'd work part-time for minimum wage at the local pound or shelter before I'd take a full-time higher-paying job at a store like Petland. What kills me is that the website for this particular store is still up and the parent company is still taking "special orders" and operating out of another town. They had said they were closed for remodeling. Guess it was to remodel their way the heck out-of-town.

As I walked into SetPmart to pick up Harley from her beauty appointment, I took a moment and looked at the dogs and cats inside and outside the store that three different shelters had brought in hopes that they would be adopted. I saw many families looking at the dogs and playing with them. The puppies were obviously the most popular ones but I saw a few looking at some of the older dogs and even overheard one family saying they wanted to adopt an older dog because it wouldn't chew-up the house and they wanted to give it the best last years it could have. I smiled and looked down at Celeste who was staring at me as if to say, "You already have another pest in the house. You don't need any more." I scratched her ears and smiled at the shelter personnel and the families there. True, when Celeste's time comes to retire I'll have to have another certified service dog and will 99% get one from the breeder/trainer where I got Celeste. But when Harley's old and gray and her time here on earth is over, I'll definitely be back at the shelter. And whether it's a puppy or a senior dog, it doesn't matter. Shelter animals love you even more because they know that you've just saved their life and they'll do anything to make yours happy and safe.

Same info, different day - The continuing rant

Well, now that my eyes are working again I can get back to the rant I so wanted to start yesterday but had problems seeing my own fingers, much less the keyboard or the monitor.

Let's catch everyone up in the ongoing saga. A few posts back I related the story of what's been happening recently regarding my vision and the lack thereof. I've seen my optometrist; been referred to a glaucoma specialist; been referred to a retinal specialist; have had multiple versions of two different tests taken at each appointment; and was finally being referred to a neuro-ophthalmologist at a large, prestigious college/hospital across the state from me in order to determine what in the heck is happening. Yesterday, Husband and I drove three hours so I could have the scans and exams needed to identify the problem. I'd been advised that it would take a minimum of three hours for everything and readied myself for being shoved into large machines to determine what, if anything, is in there with my eyes and my brain that could be causing the problem.

After arriving at the doctor's office, I was quickly ushered back to a room where a technician asked me a lot of questions about my past medical history and asked me to read letters on the eye chart with my glasses on because my new prescription isn't correcting me to 20/20 (which is what got this whole thing started). She then had me stare at a notepad with a grid on it and asked me to describe what the lines looked like. With one eye I could only see half of the grid and with the other it looked like the lines were wavy and my brain was trying to make sense of it and I started seeing boxes "popping-up" from the page. She looked at me and scribbled notes on her paper. She gave me a color-vision test, which I'm pretty sure I passed easily other than perhaps mistaking a "6" for an "8" because those dots are so small. She asked me more questions, dilated my eyes, and checked the pressure inside of them. It was normal, as I could have told her. In fact, it was lower than it's been in the past few exams.

Then, and here's where I started to get irritated, she asked me why I was there. I told her it was because I was referred by a retinal specialist who said he couldn't help me because a glaucoma specialist said I didn't have glaucoma and that I should see said retinal specialist and that his office was to have emailed my files to this doctor who is part of the same practice and if they needed the files they could go down the hallway to get them. She nodded and wrote more information down on her paper and finally looked in the computer and found the notes from the retinal specialist. She asked me to go out into the smaller waiting room and wait for the doctor.

Celeste was with me (of course) and we made our way to a small seating area to wait. Upon arriving at the seating area, a large African-American woman began to jump up-and-down and grab everything she owned and kept repeating, "It's a dog! It's a dog!" Great....the last thing I needed....someone to cause a scene because my service dog is with me and they don't like them. I calmly replied to the lady that, yes, she is a dog but that she's a trained service dog and would not bother her. The woman continued to try to find a seat -- any seat -- near where her stuff was but not close to us. She nearly sat on two other ladies patiently waiting their turn or for someone who was being seen. She continued to protest loudly that she didn't like dogs and that there was a dog near her and she didn't like it. I had already scanned the room with what vision I had after my eyes were fully dilated and saw no other vacant seats except the one I chose which also gave Celeste a small area to lay down so that should would be out of the main flow of traffic. I sat down and said, in as polite of a voice as I could muster by this time, that Celeste would not come near her and would stay under my seat by my feet. This did nothing to appease the woman who began to tell me that I couldn't sit with the dog and continued to make a scene. Finally, and I know I shouldn't have, I replied, "Look! If you'd sit down and shut up, she wouldn't pay any attention to you because she is trained to keep her focus on me! Your tantrum is actually putting me in danger because she thinks you could be a threat and is now not paying attention to me as she is supposed to. Be quiet and don't look at her!" The other ladies in the seating area giggled under their breath but I know it wasn't the most polite thing to do. The woman sat down and tried to become one with the arm of the chair farthest from us and Celeste quickly crossed her front paws and put her head down to rest.

The doctor soon called me to come back and be seen and Celeste and I left the seating area, still hearing slight giggles from the other ladies and hearing more protests from the woman who believes dogs shouldn't be allowed wherever she is. He was a nice gentleman and asked a lot of questions about my past visual history (which isn't good) and he performed some basic visual field tests. I'm so tired of having to look at someone's nose and tell them when I can see their fingers and how many they're holding up. I could almost give lessons on how to fake it because they all use the same pattern and the same number of fingers on each test. But, I'm desperate for answers and I tried really hard to stare at his nose and not look around for his fingers and made myself wait until I could actually see them before answering. I didn't get some of them right. Sometimes I thought there was only one but he was actually holding two. That was depressing.

He said he wanted to do a specialized visual field test that would better determine my peripheral vision. I asked if it meant sticking my head into the large, white, fish-bowl like structure and clicking when I saw dots of light appear on it and he said it was. I sighed because I knew it was going to be another one of the same tests I'd just done back in January and in February. I told him I'd had those tests before and even referred him to the large stack of papers I was given that had their results. He said he wanted to do this "different" version because it worked more on my peripheral vision instead of my entire field of vision. I walked back to the waiting area and blindly tried to find an empty seat FAR away from the woman who was still upset from our previous encounter.

The doctor's technician came and got me and we went to do the test. The difference between this test and the others I'd taken was that she manually controlled the dot of light and I had a washer in my hand and was supposed to tap it on the table when I could see the light. She kept reminding me to tap the washer and I said that when she turned the light on I would. We both realized that she was using a light too small and faint for me to see. So, she changed the size and intensity of the light often and I clicked the washer on the table whenever I could see the dot. It's very hard to keep yourself from looking around in the dome because you want to see the light or verify that you saw what you thought you saw. When the test is done by the computer, it registers if you look away from the target area. This one didn't and I hope I did it correctly. One bad thing about it was that my eyes were dilated and the bright lights kept creating shadows that made it harder to see each new light. Like when you stare at the sun or have a flashlight shown in your eyes and then you can't get that annoying spot out of your vision? Yup, it's like that but with dozens of those spots and new ones being created every second.

I finished the test and was led back to the seating area. This time I wasn't seated near the lady who hated dogs but ended up next to a family that thought Celeste was for show-and-tell. They wanted to pet her but weren't sure if I would let them (I could overhear this conversation as they thought they were whispering but also believed she was a guide dog which would automatically make me blind and deaf) and were quite shocked when I looked at them and told them they couldn't. Then they wanted to ask me why I had her if I could see and what my medical condition was. No questions about her and what she does -- just very personal questions about me and my history. I was very pleased that the doctor called me back to his exam room so I could get away from them.

I put Celeste back into the corner of the room and sat down to await the result and find out what is causing all of my problems. He said that I did well on the test and actually did better than he thought I would and that it all must be in my head. My jaw dropped when I heard this. I explained calmly (because by this point I was so stunned at what I'd just heard repeated for the umpteenth time that I wanted to scream) that ever since I was 19 and started having to wear bifocals and was first diagnosed with lattice degeneration that I've been hearing that "it's all in my head." I asked him why I can't see at night unless something is brightly illuminated. He said he didn't know but that if I was worried about it and was afraid to drive at night to not do it. I asked him why I'm having problems seeing items in my visual periphery and why my vision can't be corrected to better than 20/50. He said he didn't know but that his specialized test (done by a human, not a computer, remember) said I should be fine. I then asked again why even during the daytime when I'm driving I can't read the road signs and have to guess at what they're saying and that I use my GPS everywhere I go because it sits closer to me and I can read the street names on it because I can't read the road signs. Again, he said he didn't know but that if I was concerned about driving I shouldn't do it. I asked him if there were any answers he could give me and he said that when I went back to my glaucoma specialist that I should tell him all of this.

What??? By now I was between numb and furious and those two feelings kept changing back-and-forth quickly within me. I told him that I wasn't going to be seeing the glaucoma specialist anymore because I don't have glaucoma and that's why I was referred to the retinal specialist who looked at my eyes and said he couldn't do anything for me either. The doctor said that the retinal specialist (who is a part of the same practice, remember) wasn't known for taking very good notes and didn't really send much info to go on regarding what he thought about my eyes.

I thought I was going to scream. Really scream. I could not believe that I was hearing the same old line -- "It's all in your head." I even told him that if it was "in my head" and I was making it up I could most certainly think of a lot of better things to dream-up than this.

He finally decided that I need to have an MRI and an ERG (electroretinogram -- basically a big word for a test to determine which parts of my retina actually work) because I could be one of the few with normal-looking eyes but who actually has a problem. Normal? When I was in my early-twenties I had a doctor looking at retinal photos who thought he'd entered the wrong room because I was sitting there and he said that the photos looked like the retinas of an 80-year-old. But, at least now he'd decided that the big tests (which is the whole reason I was referred there) needed to be done. But he couldn't do them. Not that day, anyway. The person who ran the ERG machine was out and I'd have to come back.

After three hours in the doctor's office, I went home with nothing. I was told that the purpose of that visit was for me to have the MRI and ERG and figure out what was wrong and to expect to be there at a minimum of three hours for all of it. Husband took the whole day off work so that he could drive me there and back and hopefully get some answers. Nope. Nothing. The doctor's office is supposed to call me back today (maybe) to schedule another appointment for the tests I was expecting to have done yesterday.

When we were in the elevator of the parking garage and finally had some privacy I told Husband what the doctor had said, followed by a sharp expletive that I won't reprint here. I'd stamped my foot and said it loud enough without realizing that we were arriving at the level where we'd parked that I startled someone waiting to use the elevator. I apologized and we mad our way to the car. I cried on the way home. Husband is very understanding and has been constantly reminding me that whatever is wrong we'll deal with and that he'll always be there to help take care of me. I thanked him again and again but couldn't stop crying because I was so frustrated. I'd just been told the exact same thing by a doctor -- supposedly one of the best in the field nationwide (and will probably cost me a fortune) -- that I'd been told over and over again.

Today both Celeste and Harley can tell I'm upset. I'm sitting and waiting for a phone call that may or may not come to schedule an appointment for me to go all the way back and maybe, just maybe, finally get some concrete information. Something....anything.....information so I don't have to keep my life on pause while I'm worried just what I'll do as this continues to worsen and worry about what my last vision could be.

So, there you have it. Either I'm going blind from a mysterious cause that no one can diagnose or I'm bat-crap crazy and my brain is telling me I can't see things that I really can, which is an incredibly stupid thing for it to do since I need my vision to continue designing for the theatre (which I enjoy) and, more importantly, so I can work to pay-off all the bills I'm racking-up (which isn't as enjoyable but needs to be done). Oh well....I guess the standard "SSDD" (I'll let you look up what that usually stands for) idiom is certainly alive and well in my world.

The mighty fence hath been restored!

And there was much rejoicing....(Yay!)....

Yes, the contractors arrived bright and early this morning and reassembled the panels that had been dislodged from their posts, using the technique I originally suggested -- big freakin' screws instead of puny nails. The lead contractor told me that they usually nail the panels on so that if someone/something hits a panel at high-speed that only the panel would come down and not the whole fence. I found that quite laughable and even showed him how laughable it was since nothing had hit the fence (except air, or maybe a leaf....perhaps a squirrel) and yet the panels were all falling down.

He admitted he was quite shocked when he arrived and found my custom-made drive-gate was twisted and warped and there was no good explanation for it. So, they poured more concrete into the post holes that had settled and leveled them. They also added more dirt in places that needed it (so glad I saved the huge pile of dirt from the first go-around). And they went to purchase new panels to reconstruct my gate so that it now operates correctly and doesn't look as if it will allow half of the wildlife of our neighborhood a way into the yard.

The part of today's adventure that didn't thrill me was my "alarm" system to let me know when someone unknown has arrived at the house. Since my medication makes me incredibly sleepy each morning, I dozed-off on the couch while waiting for the builders to arrive. Actually, I'd already dozed-off before Youngest Son left for school and he had to wake me to let me know he was leaving so I could watch to make sure he got on the bus. Then I dozed-off again.

Harley, the Schnoodle which is a cross between a poodle and a schnauzer (a terrier), is usually the first part of the "alarm" system. She sits on the couch and watches out the windows or lies beside the door in the dining room so that she can see anyone or anything passing by the house. Her terrier instincts give her the predisposition to growl and grumble at anything walking within her line of sight. It doesn't have to be on our property -- if she can see it and she doesn't know who it is or what it wants, she doesn't want it around. Many leaves and bunnies and people walking in the park across the street have been given fair warning from her growling (even though they can't hear her). It's her growling that usually alerts Celeste, my trained service dog, to see what the fuss is about and make sure there is no real "threat" to the house or those of us in it, especially me.

Celeste being a Beauceron definitely classifies her as a large dog. She's every bit of 85 pounds of muscle and alertness. And she has the traditional markings, cropped ears, and deep stare of a herding dog that usually sends humans walking the other way if she stares them down. But when needed, she can bark and it's a low, powerful bark that can be heard very well. It's the combination of Harley, yapping like an idiot and giving an intruder the thought of a small dog that wouldn't do much harm, and then Celeste's booming bark, which to someone who's not heard it would translate to, "I will eat your face off if necessary, and I believe it is," that makes a wonderful "alarm" system. And it's proven itself effective, too.

But this morning, when I was sound asleep on the couch in the comfort of knowing that these two loony dogs would do their job and let me know when the contractors arrived, nothing happened. They just sat there. Oh, they may have run to the door and saw the men getting out of the truck with tools and starting to fix the fence -- but neither decided to inform me. The incessant yapping and loud barks never came. I was finally awakened by Celeste licking me from chin-to-forehead to wake me up because she wanted to go outside. You can imagine my surprise, as well as the contractors', when I opened the back door and found their truck parked in my driveway and they found two dogs barreling out the door into the yard to go "walkies." The guys had been there long enough to remount all of the panels of the fence and neither dog had bothered to let me know.

Once I was awake, however, they wouldn't leave me alone. You'd think I'd been away on safari and they were just thrilled to see me. When the contractors left to buy more materials, neither dog did anything. But when they returned, both dogs started their yapping and barking as if to say, "See! We are good at this and look at them tremble before us!" There was no trembling -- the guys outside had already known to ignore them and went about their work.

Now they're still sitting and staring at me wondering where their treats are for scaring-away the intruders who simply left on their own after we inspected the fence and made sure the work was done correctly. If it weren't for that dopey look they get in their eyes at times like this, I'd probably have to be upset. And with one dopey-eyed dog on each side of me, that's a hard emotion to bring up at the moment.

The Battle of the Pets: Winter Edition, Day 2

Well, we didn't get the snow or rain they forecast yesterday. The weatherpersons in our area have decided that it will be tonight/tomorrow that it shall arrive. Actually, today is much nicer outside than it was yesterday -- that always gives me an awful feeling of wintery foreboding. I'd blame my knee hurting on the impending snow, as it usually does, but it's still hurting from the reenactment back in January. Maybe I should get a professional to look at it sometime.

Anyway, this afternoon after running our errands and fighting the crowds of people in the grocery aisles who believe that any weather forecast for a single snowflake means they should go and stock-up on bread, milk, Pop-Tarts, and beer like it's the coming apocalypse, we decided to allow the dogs to play in the backyard for a while. Since it is warmer today they both were much happier frolicking around and chasing the football Youngest Son would throw towards them. Husband commented that he was stunned at how quickly Celeste could run and what sharp turns she made. I told him that he'd just never seen her at her playtime enough to get to watch her dig those extra dewclaws Beaucerons have into the ground and make her spin on a dime. Large divots and ruts began to appear in the moist soil from her high-speed turns as she raced Harley for the ball. Poor Harley, being a Schnoodle, has Schnauzer-like front legs which gets her really running but is stuck with the stick-like Poodle back legs that don't give her a lot of balance when turning quickly. Or the ability to walk on snow well -- they just poke right through and her belly freezes. Celeste is also a massive 85-pound dog designed for herding and running in the mountains of France, so she'll outrun Harley who's a lot younger any day -- regardless of weather, terrain, or treat waiting at the finish line.

Oh, allow me to digress for a moment. I'm sure some of you are wondering why I put the Pop-Tarts and beer in the list of things to stock-up on before a storm. Yes, I know you read it and thought it was there just to be funny or tried to skip-over it but still wonder what it has to do with anything. I can't find a copy of the report I read at the moment, but after Hurricane Katrina there was a survey done of the items that sold-out the fastest in the New Orleans area before the hurricane made landfall. Items number one and two were beer and Pop-Tarts. No kidding. You don't have to cook Pop-Tarts, so I assume that's why they made the list. Beer was for all the landfall parties that ended up not going quite the way they planned. So, there -- a little trivia for you. Now back to our regularly sponsored blog post.

After the dogs ran themselves silly I brought them back inside the house. I figured they'd each find a place on the recently-mopped hardwood floor or my new area rugs to crash. Nope. They're still wandering around the house, just like little kids who get wound-up on sugar or a good does of fresh air and sunshine. Celeste is still hunting for Cat but having no luck finding her. We were gone for a few hours, so Cat got quite the head-start on hiding today.

I will say that I was very impressed at the big box mart when we were shopping over how many people were respectful of Celeste's job as a service dog. I heard many more people telling their kids to not pet and trying to keep them out of the way when we were passing through. No drive-by pettings that I noticed, anyway. One young man, about age 8 or 9, had his hands full taking milk back to where his parents were. He walked past Celeste, making sure not to touch her at all, and said, "What a very nice dog you have, ma'am." I thanked him and waved at the parents when he got back to them. I had many other people come up and ask if she was a German Shepherd or a Doberman or both. I quickly explained that those breeds came from the Beauceron and was met with many "ooohs" and "aaahs" from interested people. Celeste kept watching everyone and making sure no one snuck up on me.

We were in one aisle and suddenly a lady with a thick German/Eastern European accent came up and started not quite yelling but really raising a fuss about Celeste. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying and since she came from behind me, I couldn't hear her very well. (I have a hearing problem where if I can't see your lips, I can't understand you as clearly.) It sounded something like, "Dog, very scared, danger" or "Dog, scare me, danger." Regardless, I have no idea where she came from 'cause we'd not passed her nor were we approaching her. If she wanted to run across the store to yell at me, she could at least have made sure I heard her. When I turned to face her, she ran away and we didn't see her again. Everyone in the aisle was stunned. I shrugged, gave Celeste a pat on the head, and everyone went on about their business.

So, that's the big excitement for the day. I'm sure they'll run around outside again later and keep searching for Cat all evening. Tomorrow night I'm going to watch the Westminster Dog Show -- Celeste's "niece" (for lack of a better term) Chaumette is going to be there. She was one of the top-five Beaucerons to be invited this year. Last year, Chaumette (who's three months younger than Celeste), En Theos (another Beauceron that's now a service dog), and Elias (also a service dog and specialized as a gluten-sniffing dog) all appeared at Westminster. Celeste received her championship and Rally Novice titles a few years ago, so she'll sit with us watching the show on TV. We'll be cheering all the Mes Yeux Vigilants dogs!!

Where do you get squirrel-flavored cake at this hour?

Today's post is going to be very short because I have two birthdays to celebrate today. And, as anyone who's had to organize birthdays for a 3-year-old and a 5-year-old will know, it takes a lot of time.

Fortunately, though, these two celebrants aren't going to mind that there are no decorations, cakes, or overly-expensive presents with which they'll never play.

I'm sending Happy Birthday wishes to Harley and Celeste, my pet and service dog respectively. I know Celeste's birthdate because of the papers that came with her since she's an AKC registered dog. Harley is a shelter rescue and we can only estimate when she was born based on her age the vet gave us when we adopted her. So, why not have them share a special day? Makes it easier on us owners who have a lot of dates to remember!

Happy birthday to them both! They're both two of the best dogs I've ever had in my life and I'm very thankful they're here.

Four-legged inspiration for today

Here I sit, another blank blog page in front of me with nothing of quality to write about. Oh, I could go on-and-on about my childhood or the political season and today's primary election in South Carolina. Or I could sit and poke a fork in my eye and probably feel better than writing about those topics.

Celeste is staring at me with her deep brown eyes -- the kind of eyes that you can get lost in and make people infer human emotions and thoughts onto their four-legged companions. And then she goes over to sniff the behind of Harley Quinn (our Schnoodle) and expects me to warmly welcome her back by allowing her to lick me on the face. Again she stares at me, looking as if she could say, "Mommy, hurry up and finish making those clicking noises on that thing that takes up so much of your time so we can take a nap on the couch together." Meanwhile, Harley -- whom I'm convinced is completely insane -- just looks at me as if this huge interloper who only joined our family last July (Harley's been around since 2009) has broken every rule in the house and should be the one left-behind when we go out.

Harley could have been a service dog and was adopted from the local Humane Society to be trained as one. My previous service dog, Cody (a Sheltie), was aging quickly and his health was very poor. Once Harley was added to the household, he began to perk-up and was even attempting to show her what she would and wouldn't be allowed to do in "his" house. Harley was basically a "nurse dog" for Cody -- licking his eyes and ears to help keep them clean, laying next to him when he'd fall asleep on the floor instead of his cushion, and was even there right beside him the day that he passed away. I used Cody as an example for Harley. I'd tell him to sit and he would. I'd praise him highly and then ask the same of Harley. She looked at me as if I'd just asked her to build a time machine and would walk away.

Cody was a "superdog" -- a phrase we use in our family for a dog that has fabulous talents and, yes, those human qualities that we shouldn't place on our dogs but we just can't help it. He was a puppy mill rescue. He'd been a breeder dog and had never known love or affection. Even toys baffled him. Roll a ball to any dog of most any age and they're going to go after it. Roll a ball to Cody and he looked at you as if to ask, "Why would you do that to me?" He never played catch; he never got into a tug-of-war; and he never tried to perform a trick or command for a treat. The only time he would ever jump on the bed was if it was storming outside. Not only could he jump up onto the bed but he could clear me and land right between Husband and me. But, if I forgot to take my medication or if I was having a panic attack, he was right there nudging me awake and looking at my purse where my meds are kept or laying on my chest to help me relax. He tried once to bring my purse to him, but the people who had him before me had so poorly taken care of him he didn't have many teeth left. Pulling with his gums was very uncomfortable yet he still tried every day.

So bringing in Harley was, I thought, a stroke of genius. She could see up-close-and-personal what was expected while hearing the commands and being able to be rewarded for properly completing them. Little did I know that when you have a dog with as much ADD as the owner, the dog isn't going to pay attention to crap. Actually, let me rephrase that -- because she did pay attention to crap. The cat's crap. And found it to be a delightful after-dinner dessert before trying to lick your face. That habit was broken VERY quickly!

But I thought that her being around a trained dog and having the structure of becoming trained as a service dog would help speed along the process. Schnoodles are Poodle/Schnauzer mixes. They're considered a "designer dog" and I felt very lucky to have found her at the pound and to give her a new lease on life. Poodles are very, very smart dogs and have hair instead of fur -- something that would be ideal for a family of asthmatics like mine. Schnauzers are terriers and are also supposed to be very intelligent with very little odor or shedding. Again, that was a big plus for us. And Harley showed every bit of the Poodle in her with the exception of the Schnauzer beard that no matter how you trimmed it still wanted to stand-out as a Schnauzer trait. I had hoped that it was the only stubborn part of the Schnauzer we'd gotten but I was wrong. So very wrong. As she got older the terrier part of her personality became very prominent. She to this day still growls and barks at every squirrel, bunny, or leaf that passes her view as if they're the largest threat ever to mankind and she's the only dog that knows it or can do something about it.

You can just say the word "squirrel" in our house and she'll bolt for the nearest window or door and begin to stand guard.

The more I worked with her, the more she tried to learn but just wasn't able to keep it all straight in her head. Plus, add a hyper dog to a person with anxiety and you've got a bad mix. She was very good at mimicking Cody by trying to lay on my lap or my chest to calm me down during moments of panic. What she wasn't good at doing was staying there until everything had passed. What was more likely to happen was she would be there for me to pet and try to calm down before she would jump off, growling loudly at something only she knew about which would then increase my anxiety even more because I'd become worried over something that I'd missed or that could actually be dangerous. I started freaking-out on my own over leaves tumbling down the driveway for no apparent reason!

Soon, the State of Missouri passed a law that only service dogs (and grandfathered service horses for the blind) would be recognized and that they had to be trained by an accredited and certified service animal trainer. That effectively put an end to my continuing to self-train Harley for the job I needed her to perform but certainly wasn't going to get. However, she was definitely assured her continued place in our household because once you've met her you can't forget her. She's hysterical and, as I said above, almost certainly insane. She's just the right size for cuddling and picks-up quickly on emotional changes of not just family members but also anyone she's around.

And if you recognized where we got the name "Harley Quinn," you'll understand that the insanity was aptly named before we ever encountered it.

So, I began my search for a service dog that would comply with the new State laws and was paired with Celeste. She had been trained very well and it took a week of training me to get me up to speed enough so that she'd realize that I was the new person in charge and that I had worth to her. That "worth" being food, water, shelter, and affection. That's another reason why I have "DO NOT PET" on her vest -- she needs to have her entire attention on me and if she gets lots of attention from others, why would she want to keep protecting me?

Celeste has tried to blend in with the family and not usurp much of Harley's "dominance" (for lack of a better word). However, when Harley has her bits of insanity and believes that a 30-pound dog can go toe-to-toe with an 85-pound dog in No-Holds Barred Hardwood Floor Rambunctious Roughhousing, Celeste is quick to put a paw on Harley's shoulders as if she could say, "Look squirt....you think you're big but you have NO idea what you're getting into and I'm gonna let you off easy even though you've been trying to bite at my ear for the past 10 minutes. How about you calm down and we'll all get along?" When that doesn't work, she just grabs her by the nape of the neck and moves her out-of-the-way. Celeste was raised in a pack and learned pack mentality. Harley was abandoned on the side of the road and we have no idea if she understands the standard pack pecking order. But she's learning it now.

While I've been typing this Harley has decided to come in and join the staring. They both are looking as if no one has ever, EVER in their lifetimes given them a pet or food or any attention whatsoever. They try to push my hands off the keyboard and, especially Harley, get into things they know they shouldn't but they also know will annoy the crap out of me and make me get up to see what they're doing. I guess I'll end today's post.

Plus, when they act like that it usually means they need to go "walkies" and that's a whole other adventure in itself.