PLEASE VOTE. Brave men and women in uniform have bled and died to give you this privilege.
John McCain’s issues page
This election season, I am so amazed at how many people were actively involved in researching their candidates. This election held many firsts for me; first time I watched the DNC and the RNC, first time I watched the debates, first time I didn’t vote straight party, and the first time I voted Democrat. And it’ll probably be the first time I stay up to watch all the numbers come in at the end of the election.
Lookit me, all growin’ up an’ stuff!
‘Bout damned time.
Today I had to drag my sick, achy ass down to my Iowa Workforce Development office (i.e. unemployment office) to sign a paper about getting my hearing aids. Neither rain nor sleet nor creeping crud was going to keep me from completing this task. But it was hardly the in-and-out-done errand that I anticipated.
I was asked to take a seat at a table a little uncomfortably close to a job counselor and another female client. I can’t eavesdrop on someone’s conversation. I couldn’t hear any of their conversation except one part when she said (had to be loudly because hello, I heard it!) “I can’t leave without my dog!” and sobbed. For a moment, I was sucked back in time.
One reason a woman may refuse to leave an abusive relationship that you may not have thought of before is because they can’t take their pet or don’t have anyone who can take it/them. Do you think if someone is abusing you, that they would hesitate to abuse something/someone near and dear to you, such as your dog or cat? Fluffy or Fido; that’s the first thing on the mind of an abused woman and the last thing on the mind of everyone else. If I leave, what will happen to them?
As this woman cried quietly, I closed my eyes for just a moment and I was back there. Packing quickly, my heart thumping wildly in fear. Since I didn’t even have time to get boxes, I was just throwing things into black garbage bags; breathing so ragged, I was working through a stitchy cramp in my side. I threw all those bags out the back door onto the snow-dusted porch for my step-dad to pick up shortly; I would already be on my way out of town. Before I left, I thought, what will I do with the puppy? I paused a moment and thought, his family won’t let him hurt the puppy, no matter how enraged he was going to be when he found I was not home. We lived with his mom and dad and two brothers, and I felt that they would take care of him until I could send friends for him in a few days.
The wave of crisis rose and fell that weekend. I left. Police were called, tearful conversations were had, promises that had rang empty in the past waived their tattered banners for the final time. This time I had made sure that I didn’t meet him alone while I knew I still couldn’t trust my own judgement. Yet I felt free for the first time in almost five years.
The people who I was staying with had agreed to let me have my puppy with me at their house, and my best friend and his father went out to The Girl Beater’s house to get him. I waited for them to return, still reveling in the rather exhilarating feelings, almost manic, that I hadn’t had in years. As I emptied black bags and put things away, I had a small nagging doubt niggling in the back of my mind, but I batted it away, determined to enjoy my new found lightness of being. I heard the truck rumble up the driveway and I hurried out, anxious to see my pup after five days away from him.
But something was wrong.
My best friend and his dad walked up to the front porch where I had burst out of the door, cold air zinging my lungs.
As they raised their faces yet said nothing, I knew.
It was too late. He was gone.
I shook my head, hard, angry at the tears that were squeezing from my eyes. My best friend’s dad hugged me close and let me cry. “We buried him properly. We’ll take you to say goodbye.” he almost whispered, as my best friend wiped tears from both sides of the top of his nose, guy-style. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he said.
They told me later that The Girl Beater, his mother, his father, and two adult brothers had simply put the puppy in the basement and ceased to provide water and food. You see, those were the “consequences” of my leaving without making arrangements for his care and feeding. Five adults listened to a puppy cry until he couldn’t anymore.
I opened my eyes, the moment over; and was almost surprised at my surroundings, the flashback was so vivid. The woman was still crying quietly. The counselor sat across from her, cool and detached. My guy popped around the corner and said, “Hey, Dory, you ready?”
I got up and on the way back down the hallway, I shook, just a couple jerks, as if I could shake off those old recollections.
I’m going to start doing yet another photo meme called Weekly Winners sponsored by Sarcastic Mom. I’ll be posting my favorite photos that I took that previous week. I’ll still do Wordless Wednesday, but probably feature artsy-fartsy pics on there, and then Weekly Winners to wrap up my week. You probably won’t notice any difference with the amount I’m actually writing and I’ll post about the same amount of pictures; I’ll just be a little more organized about it. I’m so glad you guys put up with me. 🙂
Here we go with the inaugural edition (I may have been watching a little too much West Wing lately) of
Hunky sure cleans up nice!
Elli’s little JRT burrowing instinct went nuts
when she found this huge pile of leaves!
Hunky and I got a good laugh out of her diving in
and then under the pile looking for goodness-knows-what.
Feed reader peoples, click over for my night at the hockey game. Watch for Notes in the lower right hand corner, kids.
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Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Hockey and Violence. *humming Ebony & Ivory*