Dear Mr. Millan,
On a recent episode of your show, you stated that 'we don't always get the dog we want but we do get the dog that we need'.
I enjoy your show quite a bit and am fascinated by the success of your techniques. Your ability to convince Howie Mandell (of all people) to handle a dog with calm confidence was impressive, as was your ability to stop the dog Jodi from eating poop by redirecting her with bananas. I am, however, writing to regretfully inform you that your above statement is wrong.
I am a working mother of two, wife of a cancer patient and leader of our pack that includes a chihuahua mix up, a boxer and a couple of cats. I am growing rather confident in the idea that I don't need the boxer. She brings a lot of trouble, which is something that I am perfectly capable of getting into myself. She Houdini's her way out of any containment. She's squeezed out of a crate, and regularly jumps the fence. She's cost me a large vet bill for quarantine and time plus fees in court after allegedly biting a pedestrian. Not needed. I now must pay a $100 annual dangerous dog license and additional insurance to keep her, as well as house her in a 10x10x6 kennel. Except she has already managed to pull the fencing up and escape that, too.
You might think that maybe I needed the exercise I received last night as I ran around the block in an effort to find her. I used to think I did need her as my personal trainer. Considering my current shin splints that I can't shake, however, I really need to be working out on the elliptical and catching up on my DVR list. Maybe you have an episode on fence jumping that awaits me? If not, would you please come to Kansas and film one? Really, I have yet to see you leave the sunny west coast.
If you prefer to focus on poop eaters in California and are unwilling to travel to the Midwest, well, I suppose I don't blame you. Can you at least find one with a fetish for cat litter boxes that you can rehabilitate? That's another quirk of this dog I don't need.
Kind Regards,
Mrs. 1inamillion
Campin' Out
When Dane's cancer returned in 2009, we started wondering what we were doing wrong. If hard times and wilderness journeys are here to teach us something, we seemed to be missing the lesson. Tired of repeating the same course, we decided we would start doing things differently. Whatever we had done before was clearly wrong so we would just give the opposite a try. We talked and joked that this would be our plan. Deep down we knew that in many aspects of life there was no longer a choice.
We reached out for help beyond family for the first time. We began to research and take advantage of the support organizations for cancer patients that we had heard mention of in the past but believed we didn't need. We fell to our church. I say fell to our church, because it was not a modest gesture for help. We walked into our pastor's door as he was working on a sermon series about Extravagant Giving. No more self sufficiency, no more appearance of having it all together. Pride? Huh-uh. We were no doubt a piece of a bigger plan. We became an example to help others give big and began to learn humility.
The help we received was overwhelming and enabled us to keep going. It minimized the impact to our children's lives and gave us the opportunity to travel to St. Louis for the best care for Mr. 1inamillion. It allowed us to secure him a place in a clinical trial for a maintenance drug. It gave us such relief. And hope.
In April we learned that the trial was not a success for him. The tumors had grown. Hello, rock. Hello again, hard place. What else did we get wrong? What else can we do differently? It's a long drive from St Louis to home. Long stretches of highway that provides time for a lot of thought. Especially following a visit with an oncologist who said your husband will likely be on chemotherapy for the rest of his life. I had always thought my job was to get us through it. Charge through and get my family to the other side of this. But this is it, no other side insight. This wasn't just his journey, it was my wilderness journey, too. And it wasn't going to end, damn it.
What can I do differently? What am I suppose to learn here? I began to realize and accept a few things along the highway. I never just sat in it. I never obsorbed or processed the wilderness experience. I certainly never talked about it. Now, understand I am not actually smart enough to have come to that realization on my own. I was reading a Priscilla Shirer bible study and she had recently just called me out with the following multiple choice question:
In a difficult season allowed by God to reveal Himself, I'm usually inclined to:
We reached out for help beyond family for the first time. We began to research and take advantage of the support organizations for cancer patients that we had heard mention of in the past but believed we didn't need. We fell to our church. I say fell to our church, because it was not a modest gesture for help. We walked into our pastor's door as he was working on a sermon series about Extravagant Giving. No more self sufficiency, no more appearance of having it all together. Pride? Huh-uh. We were no doubt a piece of a bigger plan. We became an example to help others give big and began to learn humility.
The help we received was overwhelming and enabled us to keep going. It minimized the impact to our children's lives and gave us the opportunity to travel to St. Louis for the best care for Mr. 1inamillion. It allowed us to secure him a place in a clinical trial for a maintenance drug. It gave us such relief. And hope.
In April we learned that the trial was not a success for him. The tumors had grown. Hello, rock. Hello again, hard place. What else did we get wrong? What else can we do differently? It's a long drive from St Louis to home. Long stretches of highway that provides time for a lot of thought. Especially following a visit with an oncologist who said your husband will likely be on chemotherapy for the rest of his life. I had always thought my job was to get us through it. Charge through and get my family to the other side of this. But this is it, no other side insight. This wasn't just his journey, it was my wilderness journey, too. And it wasn't going to end, damn it.
What can I do differently? What am I suppose to learn here? I began to realize and accept a few things along the highway. I never just sat in it. I never obsorbed or processed the wilderness experience. I certainly never talked about it. Now, understand I am not actually smart enough to have come to that realization on my own. I was reading a Priscilla Shirer bible study and she had recently just called me out with the following multiple choice question:
In a difficult season allowed by God to reveal Himself, I'm usually inclined to:
- acknowledge Him for a moment and then try to move forward expediently
- "camp out" to see what He wants to do in me
- grow impatient and miss what God is doing
I immediately responded with option 1 and Oh no she didn't. Did she really just say that to me? Which was followed with oh yes she did, AJ. Hope you can still find a sleeping bag. Crud.
So I'm not here to just pull everyone through and dust them off when we get to the otherside? Super. I was a Girl Scout and grew up in a family that camped every year in the Ozarks. This certainly was not Roaring River, but I'd pitch a tent. If You really want me to.
Thus the blog was born. Me obsorbing. Processing. Uncovering what God is doing within me and exposing a few of the frustrations. Talking about it all a bit more. Sharing my view from our camp site between the rock and hard place.
If it's not one thing, it's (still) the dog
I had a super time last night at court. Okay, not at all.
I was afraid to surf on the blackberry while I waited and I didn't pull out the Jen Lancaster book from my purse, because I suspected that belly laughs would also be frowned upon, so I just hoped for some exciting cases ahead of me. There weren't any. A few folks doing 55 in a 35, a minor in posession of tobacco and apparently a woman in a bar fight. I didn't get to hear the skinny on the bar fight, her lawyer established an agreement before they were even in the court room. I only heard mention of 'cowgirl to cowgirl', which I take to mean there was beer and guy. I'm sure she left thinking none of it was even worth the court fees. Unfortunately I left wondering if the bitch that brought me there is even worth the court fees, too.
Last night I paid a $25 fine for letting my dog run at large in the city plus $56 court fees. This followed the $305 vet bill I paid on Monday and precedes the expensive hoops that come with a uncontested dangerous animal charge. Here is what we jump through next:
I was afraid to surf on the blackberry while I waited and I didn't pull out the Jen Lancaster book from my purse, because I suspected that belly laughs would also be frowned upon, so I just hoped for some exciting cases ahead of me. There weren't any. A few folks doing 55 in a 35, a minor in posession of tobacco and apparently a woman in a bar fight. I didn't get to hear the skinny on the bar fight, her lawyer established an agreement before they were even in the court room. I only heard mention of 'cowgirl to cowgirl', which I take to mean there was beer and guy. I'm sure she left thinking none of it was even worth the court fees. Unfortunately I left wondering if the bitch that brought me there is even worth the court fees, too.
Last night I paid a $25 fine for letting my dog run at large in the city plus $56 court fees. This followed the $305 vet bill I paid on Monday and precedes the expensive hoops that come with a uncontested dangerous animal charge. Here is what we jump through next:
- SECURE ENCLOSURE: A locked pen or structure at least 6 feet in width, 12 feet in length and 6 feet in height, capped with a cap being secured to all sides, which provides proper protection from the elements for the animal, is suitable to prevent the entry of young children and is designed to prevent the animal from escaping while on the owner's property. The enclosure must be secured to the ground and have a floor which is secured to all sides. The secure enclosure must be inspected and approved by the Animal Control Officer.
- SIGNS REQUIRED: The owner or harborer of a dangerous dog shall display in a prominent place at the entrance to his or her premises a clearly visible warning sign indicting there is a dangerous dog on the premises. A similar sign is required to be posted on the secure enclosure in which the animal is harbored. (I am looking forward to taking a picture of little Bruiser sitting beneath one of Britney's signs).
- REGISTRATION AND INSURANCE: The owner or harborer of a dangerous dog shall annually register the dangerous dog with the Police Department and shall provide the Police Department with confirmation of the insertion of a microchip and the traceable number associated with such microchip. The owner or harborer shall pay a $100.00 annual registration fee (in addition to all applicable licenses fees) to the City and shall pay all costs associated with the microchip procedure. The owner or harborer of a dangerous dog required to be registered shall maintain liability insurance in the amount of $100,000.00 for each such dog against the potential injury or damage liabilities and hazards associated with the ownership or possession of such dog.
I've previously written that Britney is fabulous and I don't believe she bit someone, so you might be wondering why I took the dangerous animal charge without contest. Well, as exciting as the code sections listed above were for you to read, I am sure you will just accept the fact that the city code contains six definitions for a dangerous animal. ALLEGED bite aside, I would be up a creek with: 1. any animal that poses a threat to public safety or constitutes a danger to human life or property (don't they all?) and 2. any dog which chases or menaces any person in an aggressive manner (she loves to run and clearly the old man felt menaced).
I could probably get an adequate treadmill for less than the dog run we will have to get, but I think Britney still comes out cheaper than a personal trainer in the end. (No one write to tell me otherwise. That won't be helpful) We went for a run this afternoon because I was darn sure getting my money's worth out of her today. Great weather, good sweat and I was feeling a bit less stressed. Yep, she's worth it, I thought. No one feels this much better after a work out with Jillian.
I grabbed the mail on our way back in the house and saw that we got a postcard from the vet's office. I thought, that's nice. They're sending a note to say "hey, thank you for the business...we enjoyed your dog's company for the 10 days we had her." I flipped over the card and what it actually said was, "hey, your dog has hook worms. Come by and pick up medication".
In defense of Britney
Britney is home! She was released from her unfortunate incarceration this morning. I'm not sure who missed her most, Bruiser or me. Bruiser is so delighted to have his alpha dog back and has ceased wondering around lost and barking at leaves. I had some busy days last week so I did not make it to the vet's office in time to take her for a run each day. I felt guilty, but the wonderful thing about Brit is that I'll be off the hook with her after just one run.
Britney was adopted last November at Dane's demand. We did not need another dog. The very last thing we needed, in my mind, was another dog. Two kids, two dogs, a cat, a husband undergoing chemo, a house and a job were already more than enough for me, thank you. Mr. 1inamillion, however, doesn't always play fair. It's very difficult to argue with a cancer patient. He had big sad brown eyes and a desire for a dog just like the one from his childhood. No way I could win this one. So off we went to the Humane Society and to home we returned with a boxer.
She was seven and a half years old. The people that brought her in had not had her very long. They had taken her to help out a friend but could not keep her. They reported that she peed on the furniture and hated cats. Britney did not seem at all interested in us when we met her. She just sat by the door and didn't approach us. She didn't really come when we called her and didn't want to play. Lots of BIG red flags. Dane was completely confident that she would get along fine with Chloe (the cat) as well as Harley and Bruiser (the dogs). The helpful adoption assistant thought we could crate train her and no harm would be done to the furniture. Super.
We left the Humane Society with the boxer laying beneath the kids' feet. We drove through Burger King for supper--which made me incredibly nervous--but she didn't budge. She showed no interest in the kids or their food. We stopped at Petco and spent an obscene amount of money on a large dog crate. Looking for my silver lining along the way, I decided that maybe this bigger dog could help keep me on track working out.
I've spent a lot of time wondering about the first 49+ years of her life. She is incredibly mellow, unlike any dog I had ever had. That is until she is on a leash and it's time to run. The first time I took her for a walk, she took me for a run and I began to call her my personal trainer. She gets excited when it's time to run and has corralled me to the door on several mornings. Her tail starts to wiggle when she sees me in work out gear and she starts to dance when I get the leash. Time to run for Britney means just that. She has never ventured off course. Nothing distracts her and I don't think she would choose to stop on her own. She is my four legged treadmill. Once she's on the leash it's like Forrest Gump. We nearly encountered a skunk on a pre-dawn run in Douglass one day. I was so very grateful for Brit's focus that morning. She didn't approach it and we made it by before it noticed us, returning home with just our own hard-earned stink. The only thing this dog wants from me is for me to put myself on the list and take her for a run. Mr. 1inamillion was right, we needed this dog. She is my stress relief and I adore her.
She doesn't do well with containment. The ridiculously expensive dog crate proved to be a complete waste of money. It is quite possible that Brit is Houdini reincarnated. She managed to wiggle her way out of that crate more than once. We have no idea how she could have done it as the doors were still latched, yet she escaped it but left no messes. She's perfectly content as long as she has the option to roam a bit.
It has been very clear to us that whomever had Britney first loved her very much. She is a bit of a princess and is clearly a dog who had a person. I wonder what made them part ways and I think she still might miss them. Honestly, I would love to find that person and give them Bruiser for a while. Brit is so well behaved.
She's never demonstrated a true love of the cats, but she's never proven otherwise, either. I once watched MC pounce Britney in the face three times. After the third pounce, Brit lifted her head and looked at me as if to say "Are you going to fix this or am I?" Because everyone else seems to love the Mangy Cat, I shooed him outside to leave her in peace. We did struggle with peeing on the furniture as her paperwork had warned, but that was just until we realized it only happened where she sleeps. One trip to the vet and she was put on pills for incontinence which has completely taken care of that little inconvenience.
Britney has made a few jumps over the fence at the new house. Guilty as charged. She didn't venture far and was perfectly sweet with the people she encountered. The first Sunday after our move, we came home to see her tagging along with the man next door as he mowed his lawn. A young couple brought her and Bruiser home after their adventure through the neighborhood. Brit has greeted the family across the park as cordially as can be. I own our containment issue. I unlawfully let my dog run free in the city. Whatever.
Britney was adopted last November at Dane's demand. We did not need another dog. The very last thing we needed, in my mind, was another dog. Two kids, two dogs, a cat, a husband undergoing chemo, a house and a job were already more than enough for me, thank you. Mr. 1inamillion, however, doesn't always play fair. It's very difficult to argue with a cancer patient. He had big sad brown eyes and a desire for a dog just like the one from his childhood. No way I could win this one. So off we went to the Humane Society and to home we returned with a boxer.
She was seven and a half years old. The people that brought her in had not had her very long. They had taken her to help out a friend but could not keep her. They reported that she peed on the furniture and hated cats. Britney did not seem at all interested in us when we met her. She just sat by the door and didn't approach us. She didn't really come when we called her and didn't want to play. Lots of BIG red flags. Dane was completely confident that she would get along fine with Chloe (the cat) as well as Harley and Bruiser (the dogs). The helpful adoption assistant thought we could crate train her and no harm would be done to the furniture. Super.
We left the Humane Society with the boxer laying beneath the kids' feet. We drove through Burger King for supper--which made me incredibly nervous--but she didn't budge. She showed no interest in the kids or their food. We stopped at Petco and spent an obscene amount of money on a large dog crate. Looking for my silver lining along the way, I decided that maybe this bigger dog could help keep me on track working out.
I've spent a lot of time wondering about the first 49+ years of her life. She is incredibly mellow, unlike any dog I had ever had. That is until she is on a leash and it's time to run. The first time I took her for a walk, she took me for a run and I began to call her my personal trainer. She gets excited when it's time to run and has corralled me to the door on several mornings. Her tail starts to wiggle when she sees me in work out gear and she starts to dance when I get the leash. Time to run for Britney means just that. She has never ventured off course. Nothing distracts her and I don't think she would choose to stop on her own. She is my four legged treadmill. Once she's on the leash it's like Forrest Gump. We nearly encountered a skunk on a pre-dawn run in Douglass one day. I was so very grateful for Brit's focus that morning. She didn't approach it and we made it by before it noticed us, returning home with just our own hard-earned stink. The only thing this dog wants from me is for me to put myself on the list and take her for a run. Mr. 1inamillion was right, we needed this dog. She is my stress relief and I adore her.
She doesn't do well with containment. The ridiculously expensive dog crate proved to be a complete waste of money. It is quite possible that Brit is Houdini reincarnated. She managed to wiggle her way out of that crate more than once. We have no idea how she could have done it as the doors were still latched, yet she escaped it but left no messes. She's perfectly content as long as she has the option to roam a bit.
It has been very clear to us that whomever had Britney first loved her very much. She is a bit of a princess and is clearly a dog who had a person. I wonder what made them part ways and I think she still might miss them. Honestly, I would love to find that person and give them Bruiser for a while. Brit is so well behaved.
She's never demonstrated a true love of the cats, but she's never proven otherwise, either. I once watched MC pounce Britney in the face three times. After the third pounce, Brit lifted her head and looked at me as if to say "Are you going to fix this or am I?" Because everyone else seems to love the Mangy Cat, I shooed him outside to leave her in peace. We did struggle with peeing on the furniture as her paperwork had warned, but that was just until we realized it only happened where she sleeps. One trip to the vet and she was put on pills for incontinence which has completely taken care of that little inconvenience.
Britney has made a few jumps over the fence at the new house. Guilty as charged. She didn't venture far and was perfectly sweet with the people she encountered. The first Sunday after our move, we came home to see her tagging along with the man next door as he mowed his lawn. A young couple brought her and Bruiser home after their adventure through the neighborhood. Brit has greeted the family across the park as cordially as can be. I own our containment issue. I unlawfully let my dog run free in the city. Whatever.
I do not believe, however, that the sweet mellow soul that is Brit charged at and bit someone. Friends, family and neighbors that have met her do not believe it either. My father came to her rescue that day and saw the alleged bite. It apparently looked like a small scratch. Perhaps the man was scared and tried to kick her and caught a paw. That I believe.
Dangerous and Vicious? Not guilty. So not guilty. That old man is probably a cat person. A scaredy cat person that scared my dog. I sure hope the judge isn't.
LiveSTRONG Day
Today is LiveSTRONG day. In honor of that, I am offering nothing original. Instead, I share with you the LiveSTRONG manifesto. So go ahead, read on. Puff out your chest and say "HA! Take that Cancer!" After that, check out the LiveSTRONG link and see all the ways they are making cancer cry uncle.
LiveSTRONG Manifesto
We believe in life.
Your life.
We believe in living every minute of it with every ounce of your being.
And that you must not let cancer take control of it.
We believe in energy: channeled and fierce.
We believe in focus: getting smart and living strong.
Unity is strength. Knowledge is power. Attitude is everything.
This is LIVESTRONG.
We kick in the moment you're diagnosed.
We help you accept the tears. Acknowledge the rage.
We believe in your right to live without pain.
We believe in information. Not pity.
And in straight, open talk about cancer.
With husbands, wives and partners. With kids, friends and neighbors. Your healthcare team. And the people you live with, work with, cry and laugh with.
This is no time to pull punches.
You're in the fight of your life.
We're about the hard stuff.
Like finding the nerve to ask for a second opinion.
And a third, or a fourth, if that's what it takes.
We're about preventing cancer. Finding it early. Getting smart about clinical trials.
And if it comes to it, being in control of how your life ends.
It's your life. You will have it your way.
We're about the practical stuff.
Planning for surviving. Banking your sperm. Preserving your fertility. Organizing your finances. Dealing with hospitals, specialists, insurance companies and employers.
It's knowing your rights.
It's your life.
Take no prisoners.
We're about the fight.
We're your advocate before policymakers. Your champion within the healthcare system. Your sponsor in the research labs.
And we know the fight never ends.
Cancer may leave your body, but it never leaves your life.
This is LIVESTRONG.
Founded and inspired by Lance Armstrong, one of the toughest cancer survivors on the planet
http://www.livestrong.org/
See what I mean? Chuck Norris has nothing on the bad ass that wrote that.
LiveSTRONG Manifesto
We believe in life.
Your life.
We believe in living every minute of it with every ounce of your being.
And that you must not let cancer take control of it.
We believe in energy: channeled and fierce.
We believe in focus: getting smart and living strong.
Unity is strength. Knowledge is power. Attitude is everything.
This is LIVESTRONG.
We kick in the moment you're diagnosed.
We help you accept the tears. Acknowledge the rage.
We believe in your right to live without pain.
We believe in information. Not pity.
And in straight, open talk about cancer.
With husbands, wives and partners. With kids, friends and neighbors. Your healthcare team. And the people you live with, work with, cry and laugh with.
This is no time to pull punches.
You're in the fight of your life.
We're about the hard stuff.
Like finding the nerve to ask for a second opinion.
And a third, or a fourth, if that's what it takes.
We're about preventing cancer. Finding it early. Getting smart about clinical trials.
And if it comes to it, being in control of how your life ends.
It's your life. You will have it your way.
We're about the practical stuff.
Planning for surviving. Banking your sperm. Preserving your fertility. Organizing your finances. Dealing with hospitals, specialists, insurance companies and employers.
It's knowing your rights.
It's your life.
Take no prisoners.
We're about the fight.
We're your advocate before policymakers. Your champion within the healthcare system. Your sponsor in the research labs.
And we know the fight never ends.
Cancer may leave your body, but it never leaves your life.
This is LIVESTRONG.
Founded and inspired by Lance Armstrong, one of the toughest cancer survivors on the planet
http://www.livestrong.org/
See what I mean? Chuck Norris has nothing on the bad ass that wrote that.
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