For Ottawa fans: help me find my planner, please!

Hey ya'll.

I have a little request for you guys. On Friday last week I lost my agenda book off the hood of my car. We were shopping at Bayshore Mall and when we left, I totally left my iPad and my planner on the roof. The iPad stuck to the roof until someone finally honked at us, but the planner was gone. Thing is, that planner has a lot of my recorded notes on things that are irrelevant to everyone else, but really crucial for me, like Corben's training practices. If you know anyone who might have seen it, or maybe if you have it and didn't know my contact info is in the front, PLEASE help.

Our travel path was: third floor of Bayshore parking lot, then out onto Bayshore Dr, then right onto Carling Ave past the Coliseum, then right again onto Pinecrest/Greenbank. We stopped to rescue the iPad at the corner of Carling and Richmond, so it fell off somewhere before there.

If you have any ideas ("I saw a man wearing a green planner as a rain hat", for example), please email me at jordandangerwrites (at) gmail (dot) com.

Thanks, friends.

Learning to Listen to Your Body: a rather candid story

My uterus is a badger. If you missed that post,
go read it. You won't regret it.

I started pelvic floor physio this week. You may be wondering, 'What the hell is pelvic floor physio?' and if you've ever been to a typical physiotherapy clinic, you're probably trying to picture what that would look like. Would there be people doing supervised kegels beside the guy with the bum knee who's stepping on and off that fake staircase? Women throwing medicine balls back and forth using nothing but their thighs and groin muscles? Well, maybe that's just my imagination. Nevermind.

It's nothing like that, of course. It's private, for one; a small, quiet exam room and a typical medical bed. There are a hundred reasons for pelvic floor physio for both men and women: tailbone pain, groin pain, injury or surgery recovery, post natal scary stuff, trauma healing...you name it. My reason is tied to my endometriosis, which I've talked about before, but in a nutshell I'll just say that my body has learned that life=pain, so my insides are in a constant charlie horse and we're teaching it to relax.

Naturally, the best way to teach your body to relax is to enter an exam room and take off your pants, right?

I'm sharing this rather personal story because this is a therapy that I've put off for years, figuring that it would be uncomfortable and awkward and possibly painful. Occasionally though, I like to share an anecdote in the hopes that it'll help other people to be brave. Well, this is for you would-be brave people.

THE BEGINNING

My therapist has pink hair and is about my age. She made me laugh almost right away, and more importantly, she laughed at all my jokes. This is the first step to making Jordan feel totally relaxed. I felt like this was someone who would totally 'get' my lady garden experience, unlike so many old men gynecologists who looked pale if I mentioned words like "labia" or "cervical mucus"; I swear, some doctors really seem more comfortable when women just use words like "down there" and "inside area".

THE QUESTIONS

She then asked me a bunch of medical questions, which I usually find stressful. But the cool thing was that a lot of these questions were ones I'd never been asked before; they were relevant to me and my symptoms. Some of these symptoms were things that other doctors had shrugged off long ago. For instance, did you know that if your insides are really really cramped up, you can experience nerve-like tingling in your thighs? Well, I know that now--and consequently, my odd tingling thighs are no longer a medical mystery. Unless you've experienced enigmatic medical symptoms, I don't think you can fully appreciate the overwhelming joy that comes from hearing someone tell you they understand why you feel that symptom, and how it works. The reassurance this gave me served to relax me further as I felt like I'd finally found somewhere that could help me.

THE PART WHERE THEY TOUCH YOU

The next step was an exam, and this meant taking off my lower-half clothing and exposing my lady parts. Male and female readers alike are probably used to exams by doctors that typically take about nine seconds: the doctor comes in, puts on a glove, pokes at an orifice, then pirouettes away from you like they're about to sneeze. I always thought the wham-bam-thank you-ma'am approach was best; I certainly have never desired to have any of my doctors lingering around down there. No, not even the cute ones, because no one looks good in flourescent lights and that includes my underparts, god love her.

Well, there's no zipping in and out in this physio exam. My therapist had me lay back on the table and asked me if I was anxious. I was. She said, "Okay, no problem. We'll just sit here 'til you get bored." And she did. She just sat calmly between my knees, quietly waiting. I felt like my therapist and my vajayjay were silently communing with one another. Vajayjay, meet Therapist. Therapist, meet Vajayjay. I pictured them both just staring at each other. I, myself, felt like an awkward third wheel: a bystander who is keenly aware of a nonverbal exchange happening between two other people. I almost started whistling tunelessly and staring at the ceiling.

Even Wonderwoman isn't on pointe
every minute of every day.

The approach worked, though. My therapist stopped and quietly waited anytime my body got tense. What takes most gynos a brisk ten seconds took us about twenty minutes. It was unnerving and wonderful at the same time. Instead of being more uncomfortable, this extended exam was the least painful thing I've ever experienced at a doctor's office. I've had more discomfort from a tongue depressor while checking for strep throat.

THE AMAZING THING ABOUT TAKING YOUR TIME

The whole thing reminded me that we all need to have patience with our bodies. We're not all Nike commercial athletes, with muscles that spring into perfect coordinated action with the shot of a starter pistol. Hell, even the Nike athletes' bodies aren't like that all the time. Our bodies aren't always up for stress, or sex, or running, or gardening, or handling that meatlover's pizza. Our bodies, inside and out, need to be listened to, and given patience. It reminded me most especially that sometimes I push my body way too hard, on way too little TLC. And what was amazing was that, here in this little room with a pink-haired stranger calmly waiting for my body to make up its own mind, it may have been the first occasion where I ever gave my body time to be itself in its own time.

It was a surreal way to be taught a lesson in mindfulness. Proof that one never knows where one's next revelation will stem from--even making a new acquaintance for your cootch could be a moment of epiphany. At least, in my world it can be.

Sharing Through Writing: Write What Matters

TO WRITE OR NOT TO WRITE?

Credit: Morguefile

I had a friend (and fellow blogger) recently ask me about writing posts that share personal matters—not the kind where I discuss my menstrual cycle, but the kind where friends or family might be involved. He’s got a potentially emotional story brewing, and I really wanted to think of the right words to encourage him; to reassure him that whatever mild discomfort his family may experience from his story would be far outweighed by the profound affect it would have on his readers.

But I couldn’t say it, because I haven’t followed that philosophy myself.

I have a confession to share with my readers: I’m a liar. Well, if omission is lying. If so, then I’ve definitely sinned.

LEAVING THINGS OUT

In my first blog, which was all about my wedding, I left out many stories about the hellish family feuds that erupted, the troubles with absentee wedding planners, the problems that my fiancé and I were having interpersonally. Likewise with my second blog which spanned the length of my marriage, and the start of a chronic illness which, to this day, I’ve only ever alluded to in my writing. Upon reflection, I think it was personally detrimental to my own processing of these events to keep things so bottled up. When I started Girl, Crafted, I swore that would change. But there were roadblocks.

 

credit: Morguefile

First off, I have chosen to write under my real name. This means that many people who read my blog actually know me and the people in my life. Even with pseudonyms, which I use all the time, those closest to us can likely put the puzzle pieces together.

Secondly, I have a fear of trolls—and that’s reasonable. There are people to this day who enjoy talking about my divorce on certain troll message boards, as if they think I don’t know they’re out there. While I understand and accept that even my tiny sliver of fame naturally comes with gossip and anti-fans, it’s hard on the nerves. Trolls can be exceptionally good at saying the exact things that our own inner critics often whisper to us in our heads.

THE REAL ME

The result, unfortunately, is this: I have people in my life who think, because I don’t blog about my deepest failures, pains, or slights, that they do not exist. Or worse yet, that I’m ignorant of them; that I’m heartless. I also fear that by sharing so little, I paint a rosy picture instead of my very real, and very relatable, human experience.

My recent breakup is a great example. Yes, I wrote a post about it. In an effort to avoid any backlash for my ex, and to avoid anyone feeling like sides needed to be taken, I didn’t blog about my own experiences—not the soul-crushing ones that led to the dissolution of the relationship, and not the anger and pain that came after. In fact, so aware was I that many of the people I talk to every day are readers, I didn’t share these things even in person. I can count on one hand the number of people who know even half of struggles. The result is that I was often labelled as callous or unfeeling; this was exacerbated by the fact that the other side of the story was broadcast loud for all to hear. Which leads to an interesting question: why is it so much worse for a writer to share their true story than it is for an individual who has a large (but face-to-face) audience? Why do we writers of the modern era fear to hit ‘publish’ on that blog post?

I want to set the record straight. My spring breakup was not easy on me. The decision to end things was painful and spanned many months. I sought counselling; I tried wildly diverse tactics and techniques to mitigate the issues we were facing. I had to come to terms with the impending loss of two kids whom I’d come to think of as my proteges. And knowing that I would be too afraid to share any of this, I had to come to terms with the fact that my true grief would never be heard beyond a very small audience—not even my household. In fact, only two people know the story.

credit: Morguefile

BREAKING THE SILENCE

It can be very isolating, writing for the public. But this weekend, for the first time, I wrote a Facebook status that shared a little bit about my breakup pain; while I was terrified to do it, the responses I got were overwhelmingly affectionate.

One in particular, though, changed my entire thinking on my practice of hiding my worse struggles. A dear old friend reach out to me…one who has been a guiding light for me in rough times. She messaged me privately to let me know that she takes strength and courage from my writing—the few stories I do share of my real-life struggles. Instead of seeing me as weak or stupid, she reads these stories and sees my perseverance as a reminder to be strong in her own journey. When I am honest and open with my readers, it turns out I give them so much more than when I slave over DIY instructions and recipe photos. And unlike the unfiltered venting that may happen in a face-to-face wallowing session, we writers tend to word things in a reflective, thoughtful manner that is healthier both for us and for the listener.

So I’m telling you all right now: I was not okay before, during, or for a long time after my breakup. If you are, or have, experienced one of your own, please don’t think for a second that you’re less awesome because you didn’t just jump right back into trying new recipes and painting new antiques, as I seem to have done. I bought a giant stuffed pony and a body pillow because my bed felt empty. A giant stuffed pony at age 32. You are not alone if you are grieving and suffering, even if your circumstances demand that you, too, keep your pain (from whatever kind of loss) hidden. I see you just as you are, and you’re still wonderful.

Even this post will be picked up by the trolls message boards, and there will be those (even friends of mine) who may see this post as self-indulgent or unfair to the people I’ve briefly mentioned here. They’re wrong. When writers share their struggles, even those that involve the people around us in some less-than-discreet way, we are doing something selfless: we are giving of our own journey to support the journeys of others.

So, to my fellow writer, I say please write your post. Hiding your story benefits no one, and beautiful things can happen when we share.

Dog Training Done Right: Dogs In Harmony teaches the human and the dog

When I first got my Aussie Shepherd puppy, Corben, we had a week of blissful quiet. He was adorable and confused and shy, and still very young. After that first week, though, he realized that everything the light touched was his…and he became a typical crazy puppy. Well, with the exception that he was startling bright. This meant that he was double trouble.

And so Lynn Hyndman entered my life.

Lynn, who is owner and trainer at Dogs In Harmony here in Ottawa, Ontario, came to visit before Corben even arrived. She helped us puppy-proof the house, prepare a crate, and talk about puppy maintenance. By the time his first training day came around and he was being a nutbar, I was honestly convinced I couldn’t handle this whole puppy thing at all. He wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t stop chewing things, and wouldn’t stop running around.

Lynn came in, pulled out her bag of tricks, and within ten minutes she had that 10 week-old puppy doing perfect ‘sits’. He was housetrained within a week, and stopped chewing non-toy items within a month. She made it look effortless, the way someone else might tie a shoe or chop a carrot—like it was nothing at all. Indeed, compared to some of the small-brained breeds she undoubtedly works with, Corben was likely a treat to teach.

Lynn has been our constant cheerleader and teacher as Corben has met and exceeded all his basic obedience and manners training, and is now well into his specialized training for his ‘day job’. However, Dogs in Harmony does not usually do the specialty work Corben gets for his job; indeed, you can hire Dogs in Harmony for your own dog anytime, at any age.

Lynn is a Professional Dog Trainer and a member of the Canadian Association for Professional Pet Dog Trainers. You may recognize her from her segments on Rogers Daytime, as well. On top of all this, she volunteers her time with various doggie non-profits, and is a Mentor Trainer for the Animal Behaviour College, testing and training novice dog trainers as well. All these credentials aside, what makes Lynn so incredible is her genuine adoration for her field.

Lynn teaching Corben to ignore
birds and squirrels.

Lynn has a natural way of explaining how a dog works, and this is key in dog training because the majority of the education happens to the owner, not the dog. I haven’t found a behaviour yet that Lynn can’t figure out how to retrain. She’s a steadfast professional, never breaking stride even when Corben does the cutest bad things—though we often laugh about them afterwards. Watching her work is like watching a fish swim: it’s as if she was born with a clicker and a leash in her hand. Lynn focuses her practice on positive, rather than punitive, behaviour correction techniques, and the results are proof-positive that you don’t ever have to whack a dog with a newspaper to stop a troublesome habit. Indeed, she gets much better results by not doing such things.

With Lynn’s guidance, Corben has become the most well-behaved dog I have ever known. And thanks to her help, he’s also one of the happiest, well adjusted dogs, too. I feel like I’ve learned how to communicate with my pup in a way that he understands and appreciates. Everyone leaves a training moment feeling accomplished; it’s like my dog and I are a team, one built on mutual respect and patience. I truly wish I’d met her when I adopted my rescued pug many years back, as I understand now how it’s never too late to teach even an old dog a new trick.

 

Lynn LOVES dogs, and it's apparent in her wonderful
training style.

This is my unsolicited commendation of Dogs in Harmony and Lynn Hyndman’s work. It’s also my very public way of saying thank you to her for all her work, research, and support as I’ve swung from, “Please tell me how to restrain myself from stuffing this puppy in the blender,” to “Okay, this dog is awesome and I can’t wait to see him every morning”. Thank you, Lynn, for your hard work with us. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful you found your calling.

Tips For Painting Large Furniture: My Buffet Hutch

TIPS FOR PAINTING LARGE FURNITURE, AS SHOWN ON A BUFFET HUTCH

It’s been a while since we DIY’ed anything here on the Girl, Crafted blog, mostly because I’ve been just painting a lot of furniture and that can get a bit dry (no pun intended). But I finished a really large piece this week and I wanted to share how fabulously well it came out. There are some great tips that came to mind while I worked on it, so I’ll share them here.

SANDING AND PRIMING IS A MUST.

I have two nightstands, circa 1970, that I did not sand before painting. The result is that their wonderful Cozumel blue paint is slowly chipping off. I know sanding sucks. I know you want to skip right to painting, and I know that lots of paints come with built-in primers now. But you will pay for your impatience with touch-up coats. Save yourself the hassle and do a good job sanding and priming to start with.

I used a mouse sander for most of this job. A mouse sander is really cheap (usually under $20.00) and even an urban-raised city slicker like me can use it. Choose a sandpaper that will rough the surface up without actually damaging it. You can ask your local hardware store clerk for help with this. You really just want to create some ‘tooth’—some texture to the surface.

Priming seems tedious, but I can tell you that on this dark piece of furniture, even with primer, I had to apply 3 or 4 coats of every colour.

CHOOSE YOUR FINISH CAREFULLY

Paints come in a range of finishes: eggshell, semi-gloss, high-gloss, etc. The higher the gloss, the better the paint will typically hold up to wiping and use. But the trade-off is that often, the high-gloss paints require more coats to be truly opaque. If this is a problem and you want to use a matte finish paint (for instance, if you grab just the right colour from the mis-tints bin at a discount) be sure to varnish your piece afterwards. There are great water-based varnishes available now.

Also, and this should go without saying: use proper house paint for this kind of work, not craft or artist acrylics. The extra cost will be worth it, and you can find great mis-tints on summer weekends in the hardware store for cheap.

CHECK TWICE

If you’re doing a multi-step piece like this hutch was, be sure to have your drawing or guide picture with you at all times. You do NOT want to paint a section the wrong colour and have to change it afterwards. Chances are, it’ll make that one section look just a tiny bit different in tone or texture.

CHECK THE WEATHER

We did check the weather, and the promised two days of sunshine was a lie. This meant that my hutch got rained on overnight, had to be dried thoroughly, and was dragged by two girls with stick-like arms for the second day where I had to finish it indoors. Be ready for anything if you’re painting outside.

PAINTER’S TAPE IS YOUR BFF, BUT IT’S NOT PERFECT

I used a lot of painter’s tape to keep edges smooth and perfect in sections where two colours join up, but it’s not a perfect system. There is usually some minor bleeding around the edges, especially on a three dimensional piece of furniture. Be ready to wait until all the paint is dry and then use a sponge brush or other high-control brush to carefully touch up the bleeding.

TAKE OFF THE HARDWARE

This is a step I always forget, except this time my best friend stopped by and caught me before it was too late. Sometimes you can’t get the hardware off—the hinges on the bottom cupboards, for example, called for some strange martian screwdriver we didn’t have—so you’ll have to decide: do you paint that hardware or try to keep it paint-free with tape? We painted the hardware here, but in a pinch I could use a q-tip with some paint thinner later on and clean them up again.

PATIENCE

A project this size is going to take time. I watched an entire season of The Mindy Project and a half-season of Scrubs while doing this project. Put the appropriate time aside for your work, otherwise if you’re like me, you’ll get halfway through, have to put your paints away, and then it’ll be months before you find time again to finish it.

BE FEARLESS

This hutch was free, as it was headed to the trash. Yes, it’s a lovely piece of wood, but no one wanted it and the dark colour was wrong in my home. I hear it’s a sin to paint solid wood, but the reality is this piece was going to the junkyard unless I found a way to love it. Now it holds all my ponies and unicorns, plus all my craft fabric and all my in-progress paperwork for my business. Worst case scenario? The paint job could have gone wrong and I would have had to start again. No big deal. Be fearless and try your best!

Following Girl, Crafted All Over the Internet

Some weeks I have a lot of time to blog on here, and some weeks I don't. Some of you crazy people may miss me from time to time. I realized this morning that I don't often tell you where else on the internet you can find me in a day. Here are some good places to start:

WHERE I BLOG (OTHER THAN HERE):

Of course, there's Capital Geek Girls. You can find me there pretty frequently. You can also watch our YouTube show, Two Girls Talking. We're currently trying to learn how to use iMovie to do some filming. We'll see if that results in fewer audio and camera issues. But they're kind of hilarious.



You can also find me waxing eloquent about marketing on Bikini Marketing. By day I'm a marketer and social media consultant, plus a part-time college prof in a business program, so have some neato things to say on this topic. And I'm never dry, as you well know.

WHERE I POST STUFF

If you haven't joined the Girl, Crafted Facebook page, I suggest you do. It's a good place to be reminded of posts that come out. After you 'like' the page, hover over the word 'like' until a drop-down menu appears, then click 'get notifications'. That way you'll always see my posts in your newsfeed. It'll be fun, I swear.

There's also my instagram, which I've been really enjoying lately. I post a lot of pictures there, many of my dog. He's cute so you'll like it, I swear.

Pinterest is my other big love. I grab a lot of recipes and inspirational stuff there.

And Twitter...well, I'm not the Tweeter I used to be, because it's gotten a bit boring on Twitter these days, but if you want to chat, I'm always up for some back and forth!

That's a good place to start. If you still can't get enough at me at that point, you may be a stalker.

How Not To Talk To A Service Dog Team

Some of you diehard readers know that I am in the middle ofthe lengthy yet rewarding process of training my own service dog. Corben is a bit of a social media celebrity—or at least I think so, as I post pictures of him regularly. He is 11 months old now, and acing his training. He’s with me most of the time now, and he’s helping me a lot with my daily life. And he’s ridiculously cute, so he’s kind of like a visual form of Prozac. Win-win, right?

Well, most of the time.

I’ve discovered that when you appear able-bodied and have a service dog with you, you’re going to experience a lot of bizarre behaviour from strangers. I think we can use these examples as a ‘How not to talk to a service dog team’ sort of list. Here it goes.

HOW NOT TO TALK TO A SERVICE DOG TEAM

1. DON’T HOLD THEM UP.

Yes, I have a service dog. Yes, he’s interesting. No, I don’t always have time to talk to you about him. Last week Corben and I got onto an elevator that a man had just vacated. As the door was closing, I saw this man turn on his heel and shove his hand into the door to keep it open. As the emergency system kicked in and the door slid open, he stared at us and said, “Is that a service dog?” Yes, I said. “Well…can you explain that to me?” I’m late, I said. “Oh. Oh! Okay…” said the man, and finally let the door shut. Yes, this really happened. Yes, I’m unimpressed.

2. DON’T ASK WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE HANDLER.

Don't get me wrong, I love talking about dogs and my dog in particular. But if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, “He’s your dog? What’s he for?” I’d have enough money to never worry about the cost of Corben’s training ever again. The problem with this question is that you are basically asking me, a stranger, to tell you what my disability is. Sometimes I even get this question from acquaintances or friends I don’t see often. Most frequently, I’m asked this in a crowded room with lots of eager ears around. No, I don’t want to explain to anyone what’s wrong with me.

 

He doesn't actually do housework.

3. DON’T KEEP ASKING WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE HANDLER.

Okay, we all slip up sometimes. It’s possible not to realize that a) you’re asking someone to divulge their personal health challenge, and b) that that’s incredibly rude. But if the conversation goes like this:

STRANGER: What’s the dog for?

ME: Service.

STRANGER: What kind of service?

ME: Medical alert.

STRANGER: What’s that mean?

ME: It means he helps me by alerting me.

STRANGER: Okayyyy, but what’s the problem with you that he’s watching for?

…you’ve pushed too far. “Medical alert” means, “I have a medical problem.” Look at it this way: if I came up to you on the street, stood in front of you, and said, “I have a medical problem.”—without Corben beside me, just for no good reason, wouldn’t you think I was being socially awkward? Wouldn’t that seem like an over-share? The presence of a service dog does not mean you should feel all rules of polite conduct are moot.

3. DON’T ASSUME THE ABLE-BODIED HANDLER IS A TRAINER.

It’s easy for me to hide sometimes behind the assumption that I’m just a dog trainer. Honestly, many of us with service dogs do let this assumption ride in some awkward situations. But in some ways, it diminishes what Corben and I are to each other. It also daily reminds me that I look healthy, so the fact that I’m daily struggling with a serious medical problem is invisible and therefor, not acknowledged. Anyone who’ suffered through a non-visible health problem can relate to this. It’s like visiting your aunt and having her repeatedly offer you ice cream even though she knows you’re lactose intolerant but just never remembers. In a way, the refusal of people to consider I may have a disability makes me feel even more invisible.

4. DON’T PET THE DAMNED DOG. 

No, you can’t pet him. See how small his brain cavity is? The smartest dogs in the world have only the reasoning capacity of a 12 year-old. If I came to your 12 year-old’s math class and started petting her while she was doing an exam, don’t you think she’d make more mistakes than usual? Every time we’re out together, Corben is performing his own version of a math exam. Every time you try to pet him, you mess up his concentration. Yes, it’s cute when he breaks stride and wriggles to be patted. No, you’re not giving him a pleasant break in his day. You are essentially giving pixie sticks to that aforementioned 12 year-old and then leaving me to get him focused back on his math test.

5. DON’T POINT HIM OUT TO YOUR TODDLERS.

If you petting him is like a pixie stick, a toddler barking at my dog—yes, they bark at him—is you giving Corben a litre of Red Bull. All concentration is lost, and any work I need him doing isn’t going to happen. I don’t run up and pet your toddlers; please keep your kids off of my toddler.

6. DON’T FORGET TO EDUCATE YOUR STAFF.

Ottawa is pretty good about not giving us a hard time. However, I went out for dinner with a friend a couple weeks ago, and a young waiter informed us that dogs weren’t allowed in the restaurant. After I pointed out his vest and told him we had our papers in my bag, he put his hands on his hips, cocked his head and said, “Yeah right. What’s wrong with you that you need a dog?” I don’t have to explain this and I’m not going to. Shop owners, be sure that even your youngest staff understand that it’s a human rights violation to kick me out of a store for having a dog, and it’s also wrong to demand to know what my health problem is.

7. DON’T EVER ASSUME WE’RE FAKING IT.

At Ottawa Comiccon this year, I managed to attend 2 out of 3 days. This is in huge crowds with poor air circulation and a lot of noise. I was able to do this because I had Corben. At one point while I was looking at a vendor table, my friend heard a man mutter something about, “strapping a vest on his dog, too, just to bring him to the con”. MJ rocks, so she turned to him and said, “Yeah, maybe that would be fun, except this is a real service dog.” You’ll occasionally hear horror stories of people faking service dogs, but I haven’t seen it happen around here, and when you look at Corben’s behaviour, you’d have to be an idiot not to see just how heavily trained he is.

8. DON’T CALL IT A PRIVILEGE.

After I answer all the questions people throw at me about my dog, their curiosity sated, I will often get a comment like, “Well how nice for you that you get to take your dog everywhere! Well I sure wish I could take my dog with me everywhere!” Listen to what you’re saying, people. You’re telling me I’m privileged because I have a disability where my best tool for normal daily living is having to raise, train, and cart a dog around with me everywhere I go. Yes, he’s cute and fuzzy. No, in many ways he does not make life easier. When I leave the house, I have to be aware of all his needs plus my own. I have to look for ways to traverse a mall without the use of an escalator. I have to choose seating in restaurants based on where my dog’s fat butt won’t get tripped on. I have to get special dispensation to take him on a plane. But yes, he is lovely and he does make my days a hundred times better. So I think it’s bogus to suggest that having a service dog is a lucky privilege; I think it’s more of a karmic balancing. I have to live with this shitty disability for the rest of my life, but the trade-off is that I get to have a sweet-faced companion come along with me.

9. DON’T ASSUME THE DOG IS A SIGN OF WEAKNESS.

I had a job interview this spring. I got to the second round before I mentioned Corben, who I’d purposely left at home for the first round. When I mentioned him, the interviewer started asking if I was really sure I could do the job, if (and I paraphrase here) I was so effed up that I needed a service dog. I pointed to my resume and said, “Everything you see on here that you like, I did with my disability present. The dog doesn’t make me less capable. He makes me more capable. I accomplished much of these things without him; imagine how much more I’ll do now that he’s with me.” She didn’t bite. She couldn’t shake her bias. The reality is, having a service dog means that people are daily reminded of my otherwise invisible disability. But instead of looking at Corben as a reminder of how I’m broken, try looking at him as a reminder of how I’ve soldered myself back together. He’s not a weakness; he’s a weapon against failure.

10. DON’T OVERTHINK IT.

It’s a dog, folks. You see dozens everyday walking around your neighbourhood. I don’t get what all the fuss is about. When you put all the attention on my dog, you make me feel like all the qualities I possess as a person are secondary…that my companion is all that defines me. Just relax and ignore him. It’s what he wants, anyway. Stop staring at the dog and get back to making eye contact with me. I’m here and better than ever.  

Back in the day. I can't believe he's grown up so much.