When things change.....

At times, I’ve thought that social media can be such a pain in the arse.

Most of us are addicted to our phones. I know I am.

The dopamine hit feels oh-so good. And depleting AF.

But yet this little social media app and its mega/meta cousin have brought us together for a hell of a lot of experiences: chickens to start with, then Dell, a few weddings, lots of travel, small business behind-the-scenes, a chicken barn into a custom home, new chicks, the loss of hens and the one that’s still hard to say out loud: Charlie.

It’s been 53 days.

Charlie is still everywhere. I find him in all the places. The Roomba will find his hair in this house until the year 2075. My car will forever smell like the inside of his hot armpit and my mind will forever take left turns with ease and caution because it remembers that he always hangs too far out the window for that kind of turn.

Let me tell you: it’s a challenge to find inspiration and creativity in anything, to ‘do it right’ when it mostly feels wrong without him here.

This thing called grief isn’t a one and done thing. It kind of rolls in a clunky way, requires me to go right through it, marinate. Wear it. If I try and ignore it, it gets more powerful like horseradish or jalapeños. Unescapable.

So, this gets us to ….how do we love again? How do we honor him in the best way possible? How do we find joy even after the heartbreak. In.the.heartbreak?

Well, we can thank good ole social media for the answer.

I saw a face, a mug, a pout, could have even been a scowl.... in my Facebook feed (Cheyenne, thanks for sharing it!). Those eyes and crinkled pointy-bat ears. His gray muzzle. Sparky was his name. (a name change would be first on the list). I thought he was cute. So old. He had his own look of grief, so worried. And then I thought about Charlie and instantly felt enormous, guilt and betrayal.

Wait a minute. How can I possibly feel joy for another thing in the midst of so much grief for Charlie.

As it turns out this guy was on the kill list. He AND.his.buddy. Their owner died and they were ‘surrendered’ at the pound in Oakland. A ‘bonded pair’ they called them. Holy F! Two dogs? Two senior dogs. Am I seriously going to bring home two dogs? What in the actual F or rather HOW IN THE ACTUAL F am I going to present this to Dennis?

There was zero information on them pertaining to their behavior, background, likes, dislikes, training. Male. Seniors. That's it.

I wondered: are they going to piss in my house, chew up my furniture, try to eat chickens, chase my moms cat, bark at the neighbors, poop in my kitchen, have health problems that will bankrupt me? Do they come when called, ride well in cars? Good with kids? Separation anxiety? Sleep peacefully? Snap at me when I get up to pee at some random dark hour of the night?

In an ideal world, I would have considered all of the above, but in a moment of love and joy and grief, I saw my way to honor Mr Charles was to love again. To take these two terrified senior dogs out of the big city and into the country, to give them so.much.love, and teach them about chickens and cows, and riding in cars, to bring them to Baja, to paddleboard on summer lakes, to walk on beaches, and hang out at bonfires in our yard and in front of wood stoves in the winter, to sleep in my bed, on our comfy leather furniture, to properly crap outside and pee out there too. To walk on a leash, come when called and to not steal food off the kitchen counter.

It’s an enormous undertaking and Sir Charles set the bar incredibly high but he taught me how to love and now I’m passing it along. Mind you, this ‘love’ is coming with the occasional F-bomb... bhut here we are.

Social media world: give a warm welcome to Bruno (L) (previously known as Spreckles, 10-11 yrs old) and Sparky (R) (8-9 yrs old). (Sparky is staying "Sparky". He's a little lightening bolt btw).

Two old guys learning to love and be loved, where and when to handle their business (💩 + P) alongside two brokenhearted humans that have a lot of love to give.