Maybe I'm Crazy

There have been any number of times in my life, where, once committed to a course, I find myself unable to vary from it, no matter how much I want to, no matter how much sense heading in the other direction makes. On occasion I go crazy: I do it quietly.

I went crazy loudly once, in Chicago, with a husband to “watch over me”. Bloody lot of help he was. Now I’ve got a better grip, and a better sense of what I need to do to keep myself sane, and a healthy dose of self-preservation mixed with a healthy dose of “the rest of you can go to hell”. Once you’ve had a nervous breakdown, well, a lot of the niceties, and the falsities, seem downright silly.

The funny thing is that more often than not, still, I have to squelch my generous impulses. Back in Chicago one of my good deeds used to be to buy the paper, read the interesting parts on the El, and then leave the whole thing for the next rider. Much easier to do a random act of kindness that way… The ex didn’t appreciate the night that I brought a crack ho home and gave her my old winter coat and all of our leftovers.

These days, when I’m flush, I want to give my friends the world. Sometimes I want to give strangers the world. Usually I can stop myself…but a part of me says, “What’s so crazy about THAT?” Kindness isn't crazy, but in this world people perceive it as strange…strange to be kind to relative strangers, strange to be kind to real strangers. Dogs don't have that problem.

I can feel it when I’m wobbling, or following a path that other people will think is nuts. Usually I can stop myself. Sometimes I can’t. There’s more than a wee bit of the obsessive compulsive in me, sometimes even though the voice of “sanity” is screaming that I’m doing something dumb I find myself doing it anyway.

I adopted another dog. I don’t have the time (oddly enough, even though I’m unemployed), or the energy to play with Harley the way that he needs to play, and dogs need a pack. Months ago I saw an add on FreeCycle for a white German Shepherd, about a year and a half old. I emailed the woman a few weeks ago, and asked if anyone had taken the beast. It had appeared in her yard in October, trailing a broken chain. The woman held onto it, put out ads seeking the owner, and gave the dog the temporary name "Sequoia". She held on to Sequoia, hoping for a good home for the incredibly friendly critter that she could not keep.

She has four beagles, a Pyrenese Mountain Dog, a husband, four kids, and innumberable farm animals; she's got enough mouths to feed. Sequoia was the "spare" dog and just didn't get enough attention. She said that she'd hoped that one of her children would take a special interest in the stray, but they didn't. Handing over a dog to the authorities though, well, we all know what happens to most of the dogs in the pound. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

Two weeks ago Friday Sequoia came for a “play date”. As with any good date, Sandy, nee "Sequoia" ended up spending the weekend...

Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m following a crazy path…I certainly can’t afford another beast, all logic dictated that I ignore this urge. That little “sane” part of my brain screamed at me…but I couldn't stop. When something in you overrides the “sanity” isn’t the sanest thing to do what your heart tells you to? If not, then what on earth is instinct for?

Sandy is adorable, a white german shephard with a little something mixed in that makes her coat look, well, sandy. Her name actually came to me because of the song from "Grease": "Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity..." Sandy moves as though she's on a cushion of air, and has the most delicate way of coming up, sniffing your nose, and then belching softly in your face. To prove her alpha status she spends a fair amount of time humping Harley's head...yeah, you heard me, his head.

She's hand and foot shy, but unlike a lot of dogs who have been abused she merely sinks down for a moment on her cushion of air, and when she realizes that the hand is reaching out to pet her, or the foot is kicking a ball for her to chase, she dives in with joy, and its like the sun coming out. Crazy I may be, but I'll take joy in her joy - and Harley loves her too, despite (or because of) all the humping.