I have learned an important lesson. Before adopting any dog, research the behaviors of their breed. We’ve all checked before obtaining a dog, yes. We verify that Great Danes need a lot of room to lay around. Jack Russells need plenty of exercise. But I’ve learned to REALLY look into what exactly a breed desires and thinks. I adopted Whitney the first week of March knowing that a hunting dog is probably going to need plenty of exercise. What I DIDN’T know is that a hunting dog also needs plenty of HUNTING. Sorry, puppy, but you belong to a vegetarian in the city. Whitney’s desire to hunt is out of control. One of my mom’s chickens is missing a patch of feathers to prove this. Every bird is pointed at as if it’s the only bird in Salt Lake City. Today on a coffee shop patio, Whitney let everyone at the coffee shop know that a small, defenseless bird was in the bushes by pointing and then aggressively destroying the bushes to find the feathered friend. When I finally pulled her out of the bushes, she was so uptight over the altercation, that she was drooling and shaking. When Whitney is off leash, she completely takes off. I’ve had advice from all directions. “Carry treats,” I’ve been told. Are you serious? A hunting dog could care less about a measly biscuit in your pocket when they are all the way on the other side of town chasing that one, silly sparrow. Last week, I finally went against everything I believe in and bought a shock collar. The new lesson I learned? NEVER SAY NEVER. That shock collar is the best thing that ever happened. I was getting so tired of having a dog that takes off no matter what measures are taken to ensure she stays with me. So whether she now listens to me out of fear or love, I could care less at this point.

A Trip to the Water Slide

I remember the excitement I felt as my mother pulled the car into the parking lot. My big brother acted as if we were just going to an everyday event. Not me. This was something I had been looking forward to. This was the event that had been keeping me up at night. We were going to the water slide! I was anxious to get in that giant tube and slide down. Being at the water slide was definitely something special for a five year old. We went inside and into the locker room. My swimming suit was glittery and I planned to gladly show it off. My mother finally got me to stand still long enough for her to put a life jacket on me. Life jacket? Life jackets are for babies! I don't need a life jacket. I'm a born swimmer. Well, it was fastened pretty good and wasn't going anywhere. So I decided to deal with it. Nothing was going to ruin my fun.
I walked out of the locker room with only the bottom of my feet wet. I was anxious to get the rest of me in that water. I met my brother outside of the locker room. He grasped my hand and I took off towards the steps, dragging him behind with a look on his face as if it was his line of duty to entertain me. I didn't think those steps would ever come to an end. When they finally did, I realized that those tubes were huge! I ran to the big opening and my brother sat me in the powerful water. The next thing I knew, I was gracefully sliding over the smooth plastic and warm water was pushing me. I let out a squeal of excitement. But just as soon as I had got in the tube I was being spit out. I couldn't breathe. The forcefulness of the water was pushing me under! What was happening? Where's my brother? I was panicked and my chest felt heavy. I felt a hand grab onto my sparkling swimming suit. I was brought to the surface and I gasped for air. Then a concerned voice came from a big kid I had never seen before.
"Are you okay?" the deep voice asked in a gentle and worried way.
"Uh-huh," I said with a hesitant nod. Didn't he know that I knew how to swim?
I got out of the water, shivering. I looked around to see if anybody had been watching. Then I saw my brother holding out his hand to go up the slide again. Reluctantly, I took it. He wasn't going to know that I had had a problem. We went down a few more times. But for some reason, he went down with me each time after that.

*Author's note: So yes, this really happened. I went to the water slide as a small child and got pushed under the water, back behind the water slide. I couldn't get out and the water kept pushing me under. Some stranger pulled me out! To this day, I think about it. Some guy randomly saved my life! Am I being melodramatic? I think not...who knows what would have happened if he hadn't seen me.

Art Supplies

I grew up with an artist. Knowing nothing about art myself, all of the mysterious art supplies laying around our house fascinated me. The artist, my brother, is five years older than me. When in childhood, that age difference is quite grand. It seemed as if he was so wise and experienced in the ways of the world. I longed to have something to be passionate about the way he was passionate about art.

At ten years old, chin leaning in my hand, I sat and watched him work. “Why don’t you find a hobby doing something YOU like?” he asked optimistically that day. He set me up a work station next to him in his “studio.” I was going to be making Barbie doll clothes. After about 30 minutes of piecing scraps of material together with glue, I gave up.

I longed to touch all of the interesting tools necessary in creating art. I wondered what all of those magical supplies did. I rolled kneaded erasers around in my small hands, wishing that I too, needed this conglomerate matter for something. My curiosity piqued when I saw an open palette of oil paints wrapped carefully in plastic and stashed in the freezer. When I was certain I was alone, I slowly and delicately touched a paint color under the plastic with my little finger. It was soft. How is this soft when it’s been in the freezer? I snooped through sketch books, used the sharpest colored pencils to color, squeezed the paint tubes and sniffed the paint thinner.

“Did you poke my clay?” he asked one day. I crinkled my nose, “Poke your clay?” I repeated back as if I was insulted. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said. “Did you poke my clay?”

About a month ago, I signed up for an art class. Upon receiving the list of necessary items for the upcoming lessons, I set aside a specific time to visit the art supply store. This was special! I would be going into this store and actually be needing the items for myself. Finally! Kneaded erasers galore! Shopping was divine. I tested different paints, tickled my arm with paint brushes, smelled the wood of easels and scratched my fingernails on stretched canvas. And yes, I poked the clay.