Homage to my Pup

I can’t believe I haven’t written an entire entry about my dog. Truth, I wrote an entry about dogs, but NOT about my dog in particular.

So this entry is for him. Because, you see, my dog is my life. Haters can hate, people can make fun of me, but my dog is always there– always snuggling– always my companion. I get it, he isn’t a human. I’m not a creeper who dresses him up in clothes, lets him eat from the table, etc. I treat him like a dog. He eats raw, bloody bones (yeah, weird for a vegan but he is a DOG).

He is 80 pounds of pure love.

He is the reason I get up and walk 3 miles every morning. He is the reason I make trips to the ocean, take snowshoe trips to the mountains and spend my summers exploring the many hiking trails of Washington.

Zeppelin is the reason I practice patience and meditation.

Truth, I talk about him too much. Whatever, people talk about their kids all the time, he is just as important to me.

I rescued him from the shelter, and everyday he has brought me an endless amount of joy.

Zeppelin, I raise my imaginary glass to you. Without you, I wouldn’t be the healthy, happy, well rounded person I think I am.


It was raining today. Big fat drops of rain. Windy too. Yes, I realize that I live in Seattle. And yeah, I did grow up here—rain should be my best friend. Here is the thing, we have had this surprisingly dry fall and winter. Pleasant, lots of my favorite days where the sky was clear but it was chilly. Perfect weather for down coats and wool scarves. Perfect weather for owning a dog and long ambling walks.

We all knew the rain would return. Like a habit, it came knocking on my window this morning. This wasn’t the kind of weather I wanted to face. But my dog is persistent. He just stares at me, incessantly, and wags his tail. You try and sleep with an 80 pound stinky hound dog smiling at you with adorable “walk me” eyes.

So I dressed myself from head to toe in rain gear—I’m PRETTY sure I become androgenous with my rain gear, but whatevs… that shit is practical. And like the good dog owner that I am, we did our usual hour walk. He was soaked, I was soaked—but we were both happy. Enjoying the fresh air, the lack of squirrels and the time to be with my thoughts. I think that I am a better person because of my daily morning walks. It gives me time to mull over whatever is going on in my life—and usually allows the rational part to overcome the cray cray part… which is a REAL good thing, let me tell you.

I have recently enrolled in a 6 week small group yoga class with my dream teacher. Her voice is ethereal  (I LOVE FINDING A REASON TO USE THIS WORD), her teaching style is soothing, yet difficult… she is a dream. The first session was today. It is held in this tiny little space a few minutes from my house. With paper thin windows, the sounds of rain and traffic permeated the practice.

During our introductions, Maria asked what we all wanted to work on. This is where I usually tell my sob story of throwing out my back (truth… I’m an old lady), and how I need to work on my core. Imagine my own surprise when I opened my mouth and admitted to being too critical of myself. As the words tumbled out of me, I realized how much truth is behind that. I always think that the way I’m holding the pose isn’t good enough… that the teacher MUST be thinking, “shoot, this girl SUCKS at yoga.” I am constantly berating myself.

Where in the hell did this come from? I suppose I could sit and psychoanalyze the shit out of myself—but that would lead to more break downs as I began to peel back the layers.

All I know is that I have now acknowledged it. I have sent it out to the world—I have exposed the vulnerability to my teacher. With all of those first steps, I will begin to heal. Hopefully, these six weeks I will stop pushing, trying, aching to be better and something other then myself.

It is amazing how many self discoveries you make, especially when you think you have your shit figured out.

To My Future Quirkytogether

Staying on the kick of quirkyalone, I wrote a letter to the person who happens to steal my heart.

To my future Quirkyalone:

Sometimes I get grumpy. And when I say grumpy, I mean silent and kind of mean. And when I say kind of mean, I kind of turn into the sassiest mother fucker you’ve ever laid eyes on.


I also love my dog more then you.

Don’t take this personally. It is just that he has always been there. You haven’t. My dog and my family will probably trump you every time. I think that says something about my character. Some may call it selfishness. I call it loyalty.

I probably like musical theater too much. Don’t worry; you don’t have to like it. If you do, you get one million bonus points.

The holiday season means I want to hold your mittened hand while we get a Christmas tree. I want to drink soy nog (you can drink real eggnog I guess) and listen to Vince Guaraldi while decorating said tree. I will probably ask you to hang up the lights; I am not good at that.

I really like books. You can find me at a half price book store blowing a good portion of my paycheck. I am a firm believer in keeping books, which means I’m running out of shelf space. I imagine we will sit and read together a lot. I hope you like to read.

I am somewhat of a homebody. I have roots spread pretty wide and pretty deep into the Pacific Northwest soil. I thrive off of rainy days and endless green.

Yes, I sometimes wear flannel. Yes, I drink too much coffee. And yes, I consider hiking a favorite pastime.

I hope your home is where I am, and where I am is here.

Although I always know my home, I love to adventure.

My world is a bit brighter because I have seen places. As far north as Iceland, as far south as New Zealand—I leave behind tiny fragments of my self in each place. I hope to spread myself across the globe.

Maybe your pieces and my pieces can dance the tango in Spain.

I hope that when we end up tying the knot, we will say I Do at the top of a mountain. With hiking boots on–slightly sweaty and a bit too muddy. Our dog(s) will be there. And perhaps a banjo or two. We will keep things simple. A cooler full of beers and a few good friends.

Oh yes. Most importantly, I love my freckles—as should you.



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Dogs and Their Ability to Tone Your Behind

Remember how I said that I’m fanatical about Christmas? Well take that passion, that joy, that pure LOVE and multiply it by one billion, and you have my love for dogs.

Yeah Yeah, EVERYONE loves dogs, I’m nothing special. Oh wait, I am. I creep people out on a regular basis as I approach them with a huge smile and say, “hey cute stuff.”

Get over yourself, I’m talking to that fur covered, adorable brute you are attached to.

My friends get embarrassed as I veer off to ogle and drool over any dog that is in my line of vision.

Besides being the best things that have ever happened to me, they also happen to keep me in shape. Everyday, regardless of the weather, emotional breakdowns or physical ailments I walk at least three miles. Call it mother’s guilt, but I cannot go a day without getting my boy exercised.

And because I am crazy (see last post), I also walk 3-4 other dogs daily… I am not sure of how long this will actually last, seeing as I have my days planned out to the minute. (you think I’m exaggerating? I give myself ten minute windows of free time– 10 MINUTES)


So here you go, a run down of the current dogs in my life. I like to associate them with cliché anthropomorphized stereotypes. Deal with it.

Meet my pup, Zeppelin:He would be a southern boy. He wouldn’t be the brightest crayon in the box, but by golly, isn’t he a looker? He would have a deep southern drawl, probably wear overalls, and drive a tractor (obviously). As a dog, he prefers to be inside sleeping (see picture). He snores, he drools, he sometimes falls down when he runs too fast… ah. True love.

Meet Murphy:

There is only one way to describe what Murphy would be like as a human. Woody Allen. Murphy is twitchy, and neurotic. He chases shadows. Sneezes make him nervous. Spindly, glasses wearing Woody Allen. That is Murphy to a t.

Meet Rainier:

Your heart melted. I can tell. I sense it dripping onto your keyboard. This little man is a new arrival in my life (dog walker on the side). If he were to be a human, he would be everything you love wrapped in a fuzzy fur coat. Shit, let’s be real, this little guy would be sunshine, rainbows and unicorns wrapped in the body of Ryan Gosling. I can’t even stereotype a puppy… it seems wrong.

Meet Chloe:

Chloe is crazy. (no offense Jen) If Chloe were a human, she would be a nail-biting, bathrobe wearing, chain-smoking lunatic. Chloe is nervous, and her nervousness results in a abhorrence of men, busses, and things that make noises… You get the picture. After a few lunge/bites at male friends, Chloe and I have a private relationship– just Chloe and me. Avoiding people, places and things. We have a great time.

If I were to win the lottery, here is what I would do. I would buy a tract of land. I would build a beautiful craftsman log cabin, and I would adopt approximately 15 dogs. 

Moral of this story: if you want an ass of champions, to find unconditional love, have the best snuggle session of your life and never feel the need to be sad again, get yourself a dog.