I’m Thinking Out Loud about the dangers of lawn services, how weight loss should make you happy (but so often doesn’t), and of course the furkids. There’s always the furkids!
Last week when I went swimming there seemed to be all sorts of shenanigans going on. First there was dark cloud woman. You know the people who walk around like there’s a dark cloud hanging over their head — don’t approach me, don’t even think about talking to me?
She was there last week, and she made it clear she had no intention of sharing a lane. I went later this week, which worked out much better as there was room to swim, but she was leaving as I was coming in and she still had that dark cloud hanging over her.
Next there was some item of clothing sitting in the sauna when I went into it. At first I thought it was a man’s Hawaiian shirt, but on closer inspection it was a swimsuit top. The weird thing is there was absolutely no one else in the locker room at any time while I was showering, in the sauna, or getting dressed.
I mean, I could see how you might want to dry out a swim suit in the sauna (although I wonder if it’s good for it?), but wouldn’t you also come and get it at some point? Did that person stay in the sauna too long and have a meltdown?
Finally, there was the woman who walked in to just use the bathroom. Sounding like she was coughing up a lung. You know how you hate to be exposed to germs in your taper? Well of course I needed to use the bathroom before I left and that’s the only stall. She left with a snorkel mask in hand.
Was there a full moon that day?
Ballet Bun Works
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about my happy accident in putting my hair into a loose bun instead of a ponytail when I went swimming. I did it again this week deliberately: same results, my hair stays a lot drier.
This is really good news, because the reason I usually stop swimming in the winter is that my hair gets so wet that I’m chilled when I come out. There’s no good place to blow it dry where I swim.
I am hopeful that I will be able to keep swimming — maybe even through the winter?
My Happy Weight
One of my friends is generally 10 lbs below her Weight Watchers goal weight. She looks great. Yet she’s always trying to lose weight and has a poor body image.
I was very happy to get to a weight I haven’t seen in decades this month. I didn’t stay there long, but I’m still quite happy with where I am.
Would I love to lose even more weight? Well, sure. Are there areas of my body I wish looked differently? Well, sure. I’m human.
I’ve have been working hard to get to this place for years, though. And I am happy to report that getting here actually does make me happy. It’s not just about vanity; being at an unhealthy weight leaves you open to all sorts of diseases. Being at a healthy weight doesn’t mean you’re immune, of course, but it helps to be at a healthy weight — 40 lbs overweight definitely wasn’t a healthy weight for me!
It’s really easy to fall down the weight loss rabbit hole and never be satisfied. I am glad that getting to a certain weight destination, no matter how briefly, did make me happy. Losing weight doesn’t solve all your problems, of course — I think that is often why people get to where they think they want to be, and are surprised that their lives aren’t magically all rainbows and fairy dust. And struggle. Been there, done that.
I still need to work on being happy despite the number on the scale.
Lawn Services are Dangerous
I was walking back with the dogs and one of those lawn service guys was zipping around on a riding mower, behind the service’s van, of course. The problem is that unlike a push mower, they just zip out into the street to turn around. And they’re wearing head phones.
So they have absolutely no clue that I am about to walk up to them with two dogs.
Not good at all.
Not a whole lot going on, but I wanted to share a few observations about Bandit with you. It’s easy to see in retrospect that Bandit was pretty depressed the first month we had him — with good reason, of course, he’d just been dumped from the home he’d lived in for six years with strangers and a strange cat and dog.
Getting him to eat that first month was a constant struggle. I often had to resort to putting his food on my fingers, and even then sometimes he just turned his head away. He still is much more enthusiastic about eating in the evening vs the morning, which seems totally odd and wrong to me, but that’s his pattern.
Now at least I can report that while he might be slow to start in the morning, he cleans his bowl no problem.
Bandit is much more relaxed walking around the neighborhood now. He loved it from day one. His former owner didn’t walk him much and said he’d sometimes just lay down during a walk — say what? This dog loves to walk.
He was always on alert that first month, though; his body language was very stiff. It’s much looser and relaxed now. He has a long way to go to learn how to really walk nicely on a loose leash — he’s better alone, but I don’t have time to walk the dogs separately!
Finally, there was the time that he barked at 1:30 am. He did, indeed, have to go out. I’d had trouble falling asleep that night, so I wasn’t particularly pleased. I tried to give him a diarrhea tab (talked about those in last week’s (Weekly Wrap), and he spit it out. Twice. Both times wrapped in jerky (which he ate).
I may or may not have had a hissy fit at him. Not my most shining moment. I wasn’t really mad that he needed to go out, just that he was refusing to take something I knew would help us both.
One of the things we are training him to do is stop on the landing of our stairs (so he’s not running around loose). The next morning, when I wasn’t at all mad at him, when I told him to stop he just cowered and melted to the floor. I felt horrible. And thankfully he hasn’t done it since.
Bandit’s previous owner had rescued him from someone else that was neglecting (and possibly abusing him). Seriously, I felt about two inches tall that morning. He’s never really given any indication that he was abused before. We’ve bathed him, I can pick him up, I can pick him up and carry him out to the car — no problems. The only thing I haven’t attempted yet is clipping his claws.
He’s still a lot of work, he still has a long ways to go, but the reason I share all this is you never know who will adopt a senior dog. Often it’s easy, but if you’ve been following along with me, you know it isn’t always easy.
You know in your heart that this dog has had a raw deal in life, and while he still needs boundaries, he also deserves to be loved and unafraid. It will take time. And a lot of patience. And sometimes you’ll probably fail.
But dogs are so wonderful at overlooking our shortcomings.
Talk to me. Tell me in the comments:
Ever adopted a senior animal?
Did getting to a certain weight make you happy?
Ever been afraid of being run over by a lawn mower?
I’m linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for her: