When Life Sends You a Fur Ball

Meet Sushi Woodman.

Miles run Saturday: 8.5

Loads of laundry completed today: 4

Walks I have been on in addition to running in the past two days: 4

“I think she’s gifted. We may need to have her evaluated.”

There I sat in the exam room with her on my lap, legs curled up cozily on my work skirt. My husband looked on adoringly, not sure whether he should play along.

“I mean, she already knows so much. She’s special,” I said, petting her head.

The vet tech nodded and smiled and tilted her head to the side, trying to assess how to approach us. “She does seem very special.” Nod. Then we get the kind of look one gives a wild animal when you want to help them but are unsure if they will bite you if you reach out your hand. “Let’s just get her up here on the table.”

“We love her. We think she’s amazing,” my husband said. He stroked her head and talked super-silly baby talk while she lapped at his cheek.

There was a long pause.

“We do have children. I mean, real children,” I said. “Two.”

The vet tech raised her eyebrows. “Are they… jealous?”

 

I had a vague plan to get a dog. One day. The day when the house seemed too quiet, the kids had moved out, the hours stretched in front of me as I read the paper and planned my next trip to Tahiti.

But for the past year, our son had been campaigning. Pleading. Cajoling. Telling us in agonizing detail about every dog he met.

I really didn’t need another thing to take care of. I have trained two children on how to use the potty. And they have done it without my help for many years now. I’m not going to lie: it’s blissful.

This summer I realized that it wasn’t fair to get the dog only after the kids left. So I started researching dogs. I showed my husband all manner of dog: big, small, furry, hyper and barky, strong and silent. He was unmovable. Nope. No can do. No dog.

But then I brought up a German shepherd. He loves them. Then I mentioned a German shepherd/lab mix. “Perfect!” he said. It was a theoretical “perfect.” He just didn’t expect that a rescue puppy would turn up THE VERY NEXT DAY.

The kids and I sat on my bed and oohed at her and her siblings on the doggie rescue website. My husband walked in, and I turned the laptop screen towards him. “That’s our puppy.”

He didn’t believe it.

A local police officer had rescued three puppies from behind a church. They had their first shots, they were free; he just wanted to find them good homes.

Four days later, we picked up our puppy.

Guess who is her biggest fan?

Yep.

We are all proud to welcome Sushi to our family. She may be a doggie-school dropout (more on that later), but we love her anyway.

If you think you can handle the cuteness, drop by my work Facebook site and vote for Sushi dressed up for Halloween as SuperGirl. Vote for her animal pals demoralized by their owners. And “Like” our Facebook page just for fun.

Drop on by and check out the Boo Crew. Vote for your favorite. Then share your best dog/cat/rabbit story with me. http://on.fb.me/1clw6PO

I hope you and yours have a happy, safe, fun Halloween!

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High-Low Heels: A New Trend

Change is in the air.

Miles run yesterday: 4.5

Words written in my novel so far: 62,326

Times I have revised my resume since September: 12

Looking for a job back in corporate America of course makes me recall my early experiences with corporate America. I was in my mid-twenties, and my career stretched out in front of me with promise.

My first job after college was as a public relations assistant for the city schools. I loved it. But I was ready for something bigger; something where I could spread my wings and fly. So I applied for a new job.

Some jobs, like relationships, are doomed.

The fact that my car wouldn’t start as I left for the job interview should have been a huge red flag.

But I borrowed a generous friend’s car for the 40-minute drive, got the job, and went on to eventually wish I hadn’t.

On my second day of work, Hurricane Fran struck the Triangle. Our entire tri-city area was shut down. Trees lay across major highways, the power was out everywhere, and the newscasters were telling everyone to stay home.

But I had to go to work… I didn’t know my boss’s cell number (or, geez, if she even had a cell phone), and I didn’t yet know the protocol for what to do in an emergency situation.

So I drove through fallen limbs and debris, downed power lines and crushed cars to get to my new job.

Which was dark.

Very dark.

I tried going to HR to ask if they knew my boss’s number. But no one was there.

After waiting for a while to see if the power would come back on or people (any people!) would show up, I went home.

The job didn’t get much better after that.

One time, when my computer wasn’t working, I called in the IT help desk guy from next door.

“It would help if you plugged it in,” he said.

We did not have a close and meaningful relationship after that. In fact, I think he and his cohorts giggled every time they saw me.

My boss took a job at corporate about a month after I started and told me to move into her office immediately.

“I am telling you this to help you learn about the corporate world; I am helping you,” she said. “Move into my office now, and get situated. They won’t have the balls to move you out. Remember: possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

I moved in. It was a terrific office, especially for an almost-25-year-old. I had a big credenza, large desk, two nice “company” chairs and a fantastic swiveling desk chair. The office was freezing cold in both winter and summer, and I acquired a space heater from someone in HR that I had to hide when the office was inspected for fire safety. One time, I started getting weird burn marks on my legs, and I eventually figured out it was my heater.

The good news: there were Hershey’s kisses in a bowl on one of the secretary’s desks. I went to visit her when things got bad. I never could figure out why I put on five pounds that year.

One day, about a year and a half into the job, I was so tired. I was planning a wedding and working and couldn’t seem to get anywhere in the building without it taking supreme amounts of energy.

I looked down, and I was wearing TWO DIFFERENT SHOES.

They were both black pumps, but distinctly different heights. All day, I had been schlumping around the building, clomp-CLOMP, clomp-CLOMP.

When I had gotten ready for work that morning, I was trying not to wake up my almost-husband. I reached into the dark closet and pulled out two shoes. Not then and not until hours later did it occur to me that they could be two very different shoes.

Dangit.

When I left that job, I moved to a very similar job at another company… in a cubicle. It was the best cubicle I ever had. It was the best job I ever had. And every single thing about it was easier than the broken-down car/hurricane/great office/Hershey kiss job.

You better bet I appreciated it. Every day.

I donated one of my pairs of black pumps to Goodwill. And bought some navy blue ones with a wildly different texture. Lesson learned.