Wee Willie Winkie comes to Canada.

                                                     Wee Willie Winkie comes to Canada.

Winkie came into the Los Angeles County Animal Care and Control in Downey on September 27, 2014 as an owner surrender. He was four years old and quite overweight at 37 pounds. He was neutered on October 27, 2014. 
Then, because nobody wanted to adopt him, he ended up on the euthanasia list. This is often the time that rescues from across the region come in to save the dogs they believe are adoptable. Nobody wanted Winkie. It could have been his demeanor while enclosed in a strange place, with the sounds and smells and sights unfamiliar to him, grieving, perhaps for his old life or his "person" and confused as to where he was and why. It could have been because of how he looked, missing fur, looking “mangy”. That's what I was told. He was an ugly dog.
He was diagnosed with alopecia (hair loss) that the vet thought might be allergies, or a metabolic/endocrine disorder. There were no resources at Downey to investigate/treat this and remained up to his adopter to see a private vet for blood work and evaluation. (That would take over a year, and Winkie will see our vet on September 26.)
The heroes from Columbia Humane Society in St. Helen’s. Oregon, decided to take him. They saved him. They are a no kill shelter, and he owes his life to them and we owe our future life with Winkie to them.
He stayed there for almost a year, with no interest from adopters It must have been difficult for him to see his kennel mates come and go. But thanks to Petfinder, we found him. To say the staff and volunteers were not excited to receive an expression of interest in this guy would be an understatement. A few weeks later, on August 26, 2015, he was on his way to Canada, Vancouver Island to be exact, and welcomed at the Campbell River airport by me, Emma, and sweet and sour chicken balls (without the sweet and sour). I think he liked the chicken best.
This was all a risk and kind of ironic. The humane society told us he was not adopted because of the way he looked, yet that is why I adopted him.
You see, we had lost our dog Kessler at the end of July. He was not our only dog, but he was Emma’s dog, my daughter who has autism, and we had saved him as an 8-week-old puppy, from Los Angeles, when he was very sick and had mange and secondary infections. In the year it took for him to recover, he bonded with Emma, who was very methodical with his medications and baths, something she loved to administer, and became her defacto therapy dog. He was one of a kind. His death, 5 years later, was sudden, even though he had a devastating illness that resulted in him losing his eye via a violent seizure, the encephalitis took him after three months, just at the time everybody thought he would make it. It was an agonizing loss and a wave of sadness so overwhelming engulfed our family. 

I decided to start looking for another dog for Emma. My only pre-requisites were male, dachshund cross, and a dog that felt right. Major emphasis on the latter. I recall Winkie was around the 400th dog I viewed on Petfinder, meeting the criteria I had plugged into the search engine, and the only one I clicked on for further information. In fact he took my breath away due to his physical similarity to Kessler, and this was before I realized they were the same age, and that Winkie, too, had a skin condition. They both came from Los Angeles and were both brown ‘Doxie-crosses’. 

Their personalities are very different. Kessler came to us as a little puppy and never saw a day of neglect or abuse. Winkie, I suspect, has not enjoyed the same peace and love in his life. He is deathly afraid of coat hangers, fast-moving people, and has some aggression that I suspect comes from a latent need for self preservation. He has been snappy and growly in his first couple of weeks here, over his food, over being touched in some places, or moved off the bed, a mere facade, I expect covering up a timid heart. But it has quickly dissipated the more he realizes he is safe here, and loved unconditionally. He is astoundingly bonded to Emma, literally following her everywhere. If she goes outside he waits at the door, pining. If she gets up to use the washroom in the night, he wakes up and goes with her, as if he is sleeping with one eye open. If any of our other dogs plan to jump up on her knee, well, Winkie remains a work in progress on that front, he is very possessive. But it will all settle itself over time.
We hear often that dogs in rescue are damaged goods. Yes it’s true that some rescue dogs aren’t good with other pets, and some aren’t good with children, or men, or being left alone. Some may have fear issues, while others might be over protective.
The same can be said about dogs anywhere. Most rescue dogs aren’t there because of behavioral issues, many of them are there at no fault of their own. Many are probably there because they were considered disposable.
Every dog who's adopted from a rescue means another spot opens up for yet another dog whose person dumps them, without concern for their fate. Some of those dogs, dumped into epidemically overcrowded shelters go straight to the "kill room".

There but for the grace of Columbia Humane Society went Winkie.

When you adopt a dog you’re giving him a second chance at life.

Everybody loves second chances.

At last count, I have had and lost 28 pets in my lifetime. None of them have ever been replaced. Winkie is not Kessler’s replacement. With that, I can state as fact: No matter how many times you go through it, losing a dog never gets easier. The only consolation that we have is the time spent in-between, and our lives are so much the better for it. The pain will fade, but that canine-shaped hole in your heart never goes away. Getting another dog does not fill it, it only makes our hearts grow larger, until we amass a gigantic heart with a lot of little dog-sized holes.

Like my backyard. And my couch. And the bottom end of my mattress (because they think I wont notice.

Let Winkie’s ongoing story inspire you, give you patience when your rescue isn’t perfect and give you faith that they will be in time and with love. 

MY Girl.

September 4, 2014 is a day I almost lost my oldest daughter. She was the victim on a (sudden) domestic assault. "Sudden" because he had never physically attacked her before. It was bad. It took a long time for him to beat her as she ran for hiding places in their apartment, FInally she made it almost out the door but fell, and he slammed the door on her legs repeatedly as she grasped onto her dog Lucy and tried to crawl out. It was then she thought to call for help. But the neighbours has already called 911. He was arrested and taken into custody. Because the apartment was in his name as he was the main wage earner (as a police officer) she was given 4 hours to move out of the apartment. FOUR HOURS to relocate her life, her belongings, with no where to go. Thanks to the kindness of friends,and my brother and sister-in-law re arranging their day to help her pack what she could in the time allotted (before he got out of jail) Emelia made it out with basically the clothes on her back and her cat and dog. She was unable to retrieve her furniture, her bed which was a good one, and he subsequently sold it all. She was battered, bruised, traumatized, frightened, and lost. She loved this man and thought he was the one, and as she said 90 percent of the time they had a wonderful time together, laughing, sharing interests, he was her best friend. So she lost her best friend that day in a way you never want to end things with someone you love.
There had been "signs" that all was not right with him. Arguments would be initiated over trivial things. He couldn't let things go. He was controlling. He often tried to make her feel inadequate. Leading up to the beating (which you can imagine was well done as he was a trained police officer) there had been an escalation in his fighting mood, and I had to intervene a few times in the 48 hours preceding the event to calm him down and talk him out of his hysterics. My last words to Emelia the night before the attack, when I had spent two hours on the phone with them on speaker, mediating this argument, with him saying Emelia's attempts to settle things were nothing more than sarcasm on her part (bizarre), my last words were "Milly you have to leave him ,you have to get out of there this weekend." The next morning it happened. It started over her rubbing his arm as a way of saying good morning. He took offence and just started beating her. He smashed her lap top, broke her phone, ripped the closet door off and destroyed her clothes, he hit her everywhere but the face, bruised ribs, scratched up arms, bruised thighs, calves, severely sprained wrist when he bent it back as she tried to defend herself, and a couple of good punches in the stomach. Emelia had never been in a physical altercation before. She fled and ended up in the street below, calling me, barely audible between the sobs. she was in medical shock. The Vancouver Police Department treated her with dignity and care. After it was all over, the medical checks done, the photographs taken, the statements given. they took her to her friends house where she would couch surf until she figured out what to do, where to go, where to live and how to get furniture, even just a bed., to give her some dignity in her recovery to start over. He had sold her car, much of her furniture while they were together, replacing it with "new" stuff, he preferred things that way. A police officer even brought her some food at the end of it all after realizing she had not eaten all day, and they continued to check up on her from time to time, as did Crown Counsel. It was gold star treatment for a domestic assault victim and I owe the VPD a debt of gratitude to this day for treating my baby girl with kindness and grace. He lost his job with the police force. They don't put up with bullshit like that. He was charged with assault, mischief and uttering threats. He was put on a one year peace bond. That ends next month. My daughter, on her own, found more work in order to be self sufficient and to start over, working two jobs, working to exhaustion some 18 hour days, managed to get her own apartment in a nice area of town, furnish it over time off Craigslist, make new friends now that he was no longer in control and isolatiog her, and she benefited from the one year of counselling the Victim Services offered to her and lucked out with a wonderful therapist who really knew how to communicate with Emelia at her level. Her level of mistrust, victimization, sadness, sarcasm, and high intellect. Emelia is the Gold Standard for women in domestic violence situations. she never let it happen a second time. She did not go back even though it would have been the easiest thing to do because he had the money, the home, all she had to do was tow the line and hope that something she said didn't brew and boil over in his paranoid, narcisstic mind. All she had to do was walk on eggshells. She chose the hard road. And it was hard. There were many phone calls home crying, sobbing, scared for the future, was it worth it? Was she doing the right thing? Her body was aching, exhausted. She missed him. she missed the man in the times he wasn't emotionally abusive and controlling, But she could not erase the memory of trying to escape and the beating getting worse as she tried to get out the door. She remembered her terror at leaving her cat in the apartment and worrying what he would do to him to get to her. She used her common sense, and she continued on a difficult, often isolated journey away from him and towards herself.
It has been a year. She is a new person. She is physically healthier, mentally healing, has a new job with lots of potential for income and growth, an apartment that is hers, and hers only, with furniture that is hers, and hers only. She will be buying a car this week to commute to her new job. She is on her way.Many women who were beaten a year ago by their boyfriends or husbands remain in that living situation. Some left and went back. Others made excuses, thought they could change him, thought if they only acted differently themselves he would stop getting mad
and using their body to take it out on. My daughter said once is too much, and fought her emotional instincts to go back. She followed her head not her heart. She will fall back in love one day, when she is ready. She still doesn't trust totally. She still carries hurt from that day. But she is laughing again. She likes what she sees when she looks in the mirror. She has made new friends, not friends he approves of. She has rekindled friendships he did not allow. Emelia has defined herself at 25. She is a courageous, smart, kind, giving person, who wants to be loved, one day, by a man who will never put his hands on her except in affection. She is a self made woman, who came back from the brink of darkness and horror, and did it all by herself. As all women of abuse must. People can help you do it, but you have to make the decision to reach out and take what they are offering. Too many turn their backs and return to the darkness because it is easier.
Emelia Coryn is a warrior princess. She is not one to mess with. She is the true definition of an independent woman in 2015, and she is going to make a difference in the world. She is an artist, a writer, a cat and dog mom, an athlete, a tough mudder, an evolving gardener, a loyal friend, who has overcome disappointments in her life with grace and a lot of humour. 

That's MY girl.

Dear Aylan

Dear Aylan

Man should never have to make tiny coffins and babies should not die in the sea. When I first saw you, you were wearing a red t-shirt, blue shorts, and cute little leather soled shoes with the Velcro undone. You looked like you had fallen asleep at the beach, on your tummy, bum up, waiting for your mama to come and get you.But you were not sleeping, you were dead.You became the world’s little boy, and the world is crying for all the years you will miss being alive, sharing your gifts, loving and being loved, especially by your papa who misses you to the moon and back. So many mommies and daddies are holding their little boys a little tighter today.I wonder about you Aylan. Were your eyes the color of the ocean that sent you to heaven? Did you put your own shoes on, like a big boy on the night of your doomed journey? Did you feel your papa holding you desperately trying to keep your head above the waves. Have you found your mama and your brother Galip in Heaven?Were you light and love, mischief and pranks? Or did you live your short life in terror and sadness, hunger and squalor?I am so sorry that you didn’t make it to Canada. It is a lovely place, where people care about each other, where little boys can go to school, ride bikes, and play games, where they have choices and friends and play dates and their very own dog and don’t see horrible things little boys should never see.They don’t have to risk their lives getting onto inflatable boats in the deep ocean to find freedom and safety.Your auntie said you never had a toy to play with. In Canada you would have had Little Tykes, and Hot Wheels and LeapFrog and Megablocks. You would have been lost in the imaginary world of the Lion King and the Muppets, sung songs from Frozen, played in the snow and made sandcastles at the beach. But the photo of you on the beach puts you into a club no child should be in. You join Phan Jim Phuc, the little Vietnamese girl running away from a napalm attack, and the unnamed Sudanese baby being preyed upon by a vulture. Maybe your photo is the one that will open people’s hearts to the endless possibilities found when we don’t look away, when we stop pointing fingers towards politicans, terrorists, nations, policies, bureaucrats, traffickers, and overloaded boats carrying children and mothers to their graves. When we say we are sad but what can we do?You are everyone’s little boy Aylan, and we are all to blame for the horror you went through, and the horror too many children of the world, behind borders that don’t matter, are living every hour of every day until they, too, pass through hell on earth to get to Heaven, too early, too tragically. All of us, in the whole world, can honor you by loving each other and taking care of each other and speaking up, speaking out, and not stopping.Maybe this time, maybe this time.You are free now and I am sorry it took the unforgiving unrelenting waves of the Aegean Sea to give you what you should have had in life on earth.Freedom. Love. Peace.Even now you are sleeping in eternity I can only believe that you were planted on Earth to bloom in heaven. Take flight, my boy. Soar.

Caitlyn Jenner's Courage

                                                             

 WHAT IS COURAGE?

 I cannot remain silent anymore amidst the ongoing mocking, insulting, demoralizing and bullying of Caitlyn Jenner, and the outrage that exists over her "Courage" award. It is being said that there were athletes more deserving of the award, athletes who have or had physical ailments but achieved success, war heroes, and family members of athletes facing off with struggles of their own. They all have courage. Every one of them. As do people who are not famous, who suffer silently and beat the odds or achieve their goals in life. I also think it takes courage in today's era to be tolerant. Because those who are tolerant get bashed and ridiculed by those who are intolerant of people who are doing NO HARM, who are trying to live their lives and their truth under their God, and in doing so are helping other "different" people in the process, inspiring them, making them feel less isolated, giving them hope. I think it takes the most courage to do something unpopular, publicly, that you know will attract the haters, that you know could put you are risk physically, and in Caitlyn's case, knowing that the harassment will result in cheap shots and scorn right down to her private parts - taunts, put downs, indignities, all over social media. It is the haters who are cowards, because they cannot find the courage to accept something in others that they don't understand or relate to, something that perhaps isn't in line with their God, or their morals, but Caitlyn Jenner is not hurting anybody. Who cares what her DNA is? Who cares what body parts she has or doesn't have? Who cares what she is wearing? Who cares that she has a lot of money, mainly because she is going to use it to do good. She is saving an entire group of people, mostly young people, from killing themselves because of hatred and intolerance. She put a target on her back.

Ironically, the award given to Caitlyn Jenner has Arthur Ashe's name on it. Arthur Ashe said, "You learn about equality in history and civics, but you find out life is not really like that." Nothing BAD comes from kindness. Courage comes from being kind when in a room full of antagonists.

Goodbye, Farewell, Amen

Another Mountie has taken his life, because of  post traumatic stress, and the R.C.M.P's inability to care for its members who are terribly damaged by the work they have sworn to do, to serve and to protect.

This is very hard to hear. 

There is a brotherhood and sisterhood with mounties, whether or not we ever met each other, we share the training, intense, exhausting, intimate...we share the risks, we share the courage, the insecurities, the fear, the laughter/dark humor that often only we can appreciate, the bad days the good days. 

The first officer suicide that hit me was my troopmate, Manon Chamberlain, less than a year out of training, she shot herself with her service revolver, a young woman I lived with and shared meals with and classes with and drill with for 6 agonizing months. 

Traditionally in a troop, back then anyway, the french girls didn't really like the english girls, but Manon and I bonded over bringing up the rear in most five mile runs! I miss her even though I probably would not have seen her again after depot. 

The lives of front line personnel are not easy. They/we have seen things only soldiers in combat can imagine. You don't go home and walk it off. It stays with you as a permanent blemish on your heart and mind, a lump in your throat you try to swallow away but it comes back, over and over, the more you see, the more justice lets you down. 

We only hear of the police officers who die in the line of fire, never much who die from the fire in their souls, from failing at fixing things that just cannot be fixed, failing to serve and protect the way we intended. I have seen horrific things. My family does not know about it nor will they ever know. I am happy my career in the RCMP was not a long one because I think I was spared far more pain and trauma than many of my colleagues who take that with them into retirement, hopefully to a natural old aged death. The next time you criticize a cop for being rude or arrogant or unfair or unfriendly or make donut shop jokes or call them pigs or worse......think about my brother Ken Barker, and all the men and women on the front lines, from 911 operators to paramedics to firemen and women to emergency room staff, and then decide if you can walk perfectly in their shoes. Or if you even would want to.
Godspeed Ken....I honor you.


Sian Thomson, #37559

I'll be seeing you

I recently made peace with my adult child¹s estrangement from me. 

After hearing the false accusations, lies, delusions, blame, rumors, and heart
shattering silence on too many mothers days, birthdays, christmases, I left.

I left my hope.

I took it out of my heart and discarded it.

I know that I was being poisoned by each day that I hoped she would come
back to me. 

So with a heavy heart, I left my grief of three years, knowing that I had
already put it off too long.

For the first few weeks, my body seemed to reject this. For three years I
had thought about what if¹s, waited for the phone to ring on special
occasions, cried when something reminded me of her or my grandchildren,
prayed for reconciliation. I didn¹t know who I was without my daughter and
grandchildren. Despite the kindness of friends and even strangers. I could
not help feeling utterly alone. Even though I have other children who are in
my life, it felt like I had a broken set. 

But it was this sense of aloneness that set me free. 

Somewhere along the way, I let go. I released all of the
optimism, that she would come back to me, and the pessimism that she
would not.  

The shards of her buried deep in my brain.

I stopped wondering if the things she had made me think about myself were
true. 

I began to see how extraordinary, breathtakingly beautiful life is. 

I meditated, drank too much coffee, went to therapy, laughed, and found
joy again. 

My children who have stayed by my side were reborn in my eyes, a
new, smaller set, richer, more precious, cherished, admired deeply.

Once I discovered that my happiness depends only on myself, nothing could
hurt me anymore. I have found and continue to find peace. Each day I am
closer to it than I was yesterday. I am a work in progress but I am full to
the brim with gratitude and joy. 

And so, since I have opened a new chapter in my life, I want to peacefully part with the contents of the last chapter.

The end of my maternal bond with her was the catalyst for a wealth of
positive changes in my life. It was a symbol, but most importantly, it was an
act of self-love. It was a realization that I deserved to be happy and I
could choose to be. I am moving forward with strength and grace and deep,
lasting peace. I am going to be who I was meant to be, and take those on the
journey who were meant to take that adventure with me.

I gave her life, and she has flown away, I no longer have to look to the sky to
wonder what could have been because  what is happening now has grounded me
on an exciting path to my destiny.

Maybe she will join me on my path someday, but I know now I can make the journey without her.

Namaste

My Cousin, My Friend.

                                (ONE DAY A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WILL BE INSERTED HERE)



I grew up as an only child, not knowing that I actually had cousins, a lot of them, and half siblings, and grandparents, and it wasn't a terrible childhood, in fact it was the best one I could imagine.

I was born in 1960, a time when unwed pregnancies were not talked about and single mothers were rare; adoption was the trend in those days.

I was the child of an unwed mother, and was adopted by my grandparents. That loving, selfless act of generosity and love opened up many doors for me in terms of opportunities, being raised well, but being raised without a big family; my parents' parents were long dead, they had survived their siblings so there were no aunts, uncles, cousins for the most part; one aunt who I adored (married to my dad's brother who passed when I was 10) and one cousin who was a decade older.

I wouldn't trade my childhood for anything, not even for more family at the time I was growing up.

My parents died when I was young, the hazard of being adopted by your mom when she is 51 and your dad when he is 50. You are not going to get them much past 25 and that's what happened to me.

Verna Age 13
A time came in my late 20's when I really wanted to explore the family I didn't know. This would be on my paternal father's side. I had grown up with my two  half sisters living up the street. We were fairly close in age, me being older by a couple of years, but they moved after their (our) father was killed in an accident, and we lost touch.Through research which I happen to be good at,  I found them, wrote a letter, and they embraced me without reserve or judgement, But it was awkward. Hard. We might have shared DNA but we did not share a lot of memories, and they could not share too many of their memories of (our) father because they were under 5 when  he passed.

Sian age 13

We tried to stay in touch, it was harder with my younger sister because we were too far apart in age as children, I always saw her as my friend's kid sister.  It just has not clicked, and that's ok.

But something strange happened with this odd reunion.

It was two cousins that stood out, who blended in with my life like an old comfortable glove envelopes your hand, year after year, bringing comfort, warmth, it's reliable, you can't really replace them. Anything else wouldn't feel right. You're invested.

One of these cousins is the son of my father's sister.

But this blog is not about him, (his time will come lol)

The other is the daughter of my father's brother.

We are very close in age, in fact, three weeks apart...she is OLDER....lol.

We went to the same schools growing up, and I think we were in the same class once or twice.

Verna graduation

Funny thing is, we never connected as friends.

I don't mean we disliked each other, we just didn't stop when our paths crossed.

Fair enough, we did not know we were related.

I wish we had stopped in each other's path because I believe, today, we would have a lot of memories to talk about.

I really feel we missed out.

Me at grad (cannot find a full length one, just as well!)

I have not seen her in person for probably 45 years.

I have her image in school photos, and if anyone had mentioned her name to me while I was growing up I would have recognized it, recognized her as my friends' cousin.....my friends' who were my half sisters, at the time unknown to any of us.

It is odd to me that we lived in the same community, went to the same schools to a point, I think she moved on to a different school half way through elementary school, we were back passing each other in the halls at junior high, and then embarked on separate roads after that, but we shared things we did not realize.

A family tree for one thing!

Grandparents!

Probably hair color, skin tone (we are both dark like our fathers), who knows,maybe the same freckles, laugh, or lazy eye....(I have yet to find out about that!)

Most cousins meet at their grandparents house. 

We met, really met, over facebook.

It sounds so shallow, so "social media-esque", but I have to tell you, in my cousin Verna, I found my second self.

Are we alike? Probably a little. Maybe she is like her dad and I am like mine. I don't know  because I never met my uncle and I only have vague, little girl memories of my father pushing me around in a wheelbarrow, taking is on rides when I was at his house playing with his girls/my half sisters.

I remember he had dark curly hair and really nice teeth.

So do i.

Are we kindred spirits?

I think so.

I envision she would have been the Hardy to my Laurel, the Robin to my Batman, the Ethel to my Lucy, or  maybe the other way around. ( I am aging myself, I know!)

The Midge to my Barbie...the Mindy to my Mork....you get the point!!

Sometimes you just click with a person you are comfortable with and you don't have to pretend to be normal.

You fit.

Many times over the last couple of years I have been pretty vocal on facebook about various trials and tribulations in my life, a life she has not shared with me, about my children she has never met,  and over private messaging mostly, she has been the one there doing it when everyone else says is there anything I can do.

Comforting me. Understanding me. Not judging, just being with me. Words are powerful, especially when they are heartfelt.

I do not mean to disparage the many people in my life who support me and truly care. This is not about them.

This is about my cousin. Her words have helped me when the road has been rough and long.

Distance and time seem to have no power here, in this relationship.

 I think our fathers are in Heaven looking down on their girls and making magic happen. I really do. 

There is no other way to explain the bond I feel with a woman I have not seen in many years, a woman who was not ever really my "friend" in childhood, just a face and a name passing by on life's journey, reaching a mutual destination when we are both in our 50's.

Destination: Different, beautiful flowers in the same garden. (She can be what she wants, I am the tiger lily.....ok?)

So never underestimate the power of a cousin.  In this case, the power of two men who fathered two daughters who met, really for the first time, after half a century.

I hope one day I can be there for her as she has been for me.

Verna Coulson-Tallosi.  Happy Birthday!!! I swear we shall meet in person before you qualify for your senior's discount!!

I am right behind you cuz!

___________________________________X0_________________________________________

Verna and her lovely mum

Me and my lovely (birth) mum.