My Life Story - The family grows!

 Ok another time slip. We're back in 1996, about March. Greg and I had only been dating for a few weeks when I missed a period. We were living at his one bedroom apartment in Carrollton with my sister and her daughter. Greg was at work, I took the pregnancy test and when it showed a very clear positive, I took it to my sister. She expressed the same mixed feelings I had, but I think she was more excited. I had just had a miscarriage in November, I had barely known this guy for two months, and I had no idea what I was going to do. How was he going to react? I was so scared. 

He got off work and came to our room. I told him to go look in the bathroom. He came back with an odd dreamy grin on his face. Then, I knew it would be ok. Somehow, it was going to be ok. My pregnancy progressed, I never really had morning sickness but started with indigestion/heartburn about a week after that positive pregnancy test. As we were not married and I had no insurance, I went to Planned Parenthood. They confirmed the pregnancy test and gave me information on options. Contrary to popular belief, nobody tried to talk me into an abortion, it was honestly never even thought of except one moment when they asked me if I knew my options and which direction I wanted to go. For a second it flickered through my mind, but then it was gone. I said I definitely wanted to continue the pregnancy and they gave me information on where to go, how to apply for Medicaid, etc. Greg and I talked, at the time he was store manager at Domino's Pizza. He made enough  money he could pay for doctor visits until we got health care worked out. 

I chose Dr. Nasiha Ahmad as my ob/gyn. Really, just because she was the one who had a space available when I needed my appointment. She was absolutely fantastic and made my pregnancy concerns minimal. I had a practically text book pregnancy, when "What to Expect" said I should be experiencing a symptom, that symptom showed up. I didn't gain too much weight, I did really well. My due date was October 29 so we hoped for a Halloween baby. That date came and went and no signs of impending labor. My mother was staying with us and my step father had bought us a car that was...well...it was crap. It didn't start most of the time so we had to push start it. But, it was a car. As the days dragged on, my doctor brought up induction. She said that she was only comfortable letting me go 14 days past my due date, so we scheduled my induction for November 12. The interesting thing about that date was that Greg and his sisters were also all born on the twelfth. He was April 12, his older sister was February 12, and his younger sister was August 12. Having our first baby on November 12 seemed like fate. 

November 11 came around, he closed at the restaurant that night. My mother and I drove to pick him up from work and the car died on the way home. Greg got out to push it, ended up over exerting himself, and was vomiting on the side of the road in the middle of the night. My heavily pregnant mind panicked, thinking this was definitely a bad sign. But, we were too far in! 

I arrived at the hospital at about 7 am. They got me hooked up to all the monitors and an IV and started the fluids and a pitocin drip. The contractions started coming and getting heavier, and suddenly my goal of a med free delivery went out the window. I remember asking for drugs and they gave me some Demerol. It made me sleepy, but didn't do anything for the pain, so I was painful AND sleepy and that made me very cranky. Finally, I was dilated enough they could do an epidural. 

I remember the doctor coming in and telling me that the anesthesiologist would be in to get me started and that I would have to sit on the edge of the bed. I dozed off and the next thing I knew I was trying to sit up. In my mind, it was just a moment since they had told me that I needed to sit up for the epidural. I guess that was funny? Anyway, the anesthesiologist finally came and inserted the needle. I don't have any memory of it except suddenly it didn't hurt. I could have kissed him. 

Then, I slept. Contractions came and went and I slept. Family came and went and the typical laboring woman scene played out. About 8:30 that night, I was finally fully dilated and they said it was time to start pushing. The epidural was still so high, I couldn't feel anything, so I just faked it but they said I was doing a good job so I kept doing that. After about 2 hours of pushing, we weren't making a lot of progress. The medical team started talking about cesarean and started getting things ready for that. I guess my body really didn't want that and suddenly we started getting things in gear. My beautiful baby girl was born at 10:55 pm on November 12, 1996. 

Today, she turns 25 years old. She's grown into an amazing, strong, intelligent, and willful adult that I'm so proud to have in my life. Every day she makes me more proud and it's been such a privilege to be part of watching her grow. 

Please forgive the video, it was badly transferred from VHS to digital. 

My Life Story - The Tale of Greg and Jami

 Ok, so time's going to get a bit wibbly wobbly here, but bear with me. So, the year is 1996. My boyfriend at the time was back in prison for who knows how long (parole violation after aggravated robbery). I had been seeing another guy who was really quite garbage (it was a theme for the time period), broke up with him and started seeing his best friend who was a decent person, but still part of the same crowd of people. They were literally neonazi skinheads, the story of how I came to be acquainted with them will be later in the blog. Names have been changed. 

Anyway, I was living in Hobbs, New Mexico. My parents were getting ready to move to Texarkana, TX and wanted me to go with them. I wasn't working currently, I had just finished a semester of Junior College and was planning on starting back in the spring. I was seeing Liam, who was sweet and young. His best friend, Thomas, was kind of in the picture, but not really. My ex, Peter, was in Lea County Jail waiting extradition to the state penitentiary. I was staying with another friend, I don't remember his name, but he was a sweet guy. He was one of the few guys I knew at the time who was not a romantic/sexual interest. Just a quick recap of the previous year: I had gotten pregnant by Peter and miscarried, he told me the day that I found out I was miscarrying that he had been cheating on me and didn't think our relationship would last, just a few days after that he came home with a hickey from some other girl on his neck. I still wanted him, though, and stayed until his next meeting with his parole officer when he popped positive for weed in his urine and was arrested again. That's when I started hooking up with Thomas, who almost anally raped me at one point and then threatened to hit me when I told him that I didn't care for him, he was just a replacement in my bed for Peter. Then I hooked up with Liam. So that's kind of a back story of that year. It's January, my parents are packing and I've moved into my friend's house. He was a hoarder and his house was a maze of old electronics and newspapers, I had my own room but the bathroom was just big enough for a shower and the house reeked of old cigarettes and mold. My parents asked one last time if I wanted to go with them, and I finally caved and got my stuff, packed up, and we headed out. 

We stopped at my step-sister's house. She and I talked and this is fuzzy, I can't remember if I planned to live wither from the start or if I decided when we stopped at her place. Anyway, I ended up staying at her house in Carrollton, TX (near Dallas) with her, her husband, and their 5 year old daughter. I applied for different jobs, got one at the Galleria Mall working for some testing company, I was supposed to ask shoppers questions and get them to sample products and such. I worked until my break and then left. 

My sister was a delivery driver for Domino's Pizza. I had worked with her at Domino's in Wake Village, TX for a while and then I worked at the Domino's in Hobbs for a while, even getting up to assistant manager. So, I figured what the heck. I'll work there until I find something better. Little did I know, as soon as my sister knew I was coming, she had started talking to coworkers, trying to get one to be interested in me so I would fall in love and live there forever. I went for my interview, met the manger, Greg, and got hired. My sister asked me what I thought of the guys I would be working with, and I said they were ok, but what about Greg? She said she hadn't thought about him, she thought he had a girlfriend. Well, I talked to him and, again, time gets weird, but I know that one night I came home from work and my sister and I sat up most of the night giggling and talking and I gushed about Greg and his cowboy hat, belt and boots...which, of course, I shared with him at work the next day. Within the week, he had asked me out on a date. We went out to dinner at Dave & Buster's and then his place where he showed me some wicked card tricks, we listened to John Michael Montgomery and then we went to see "12 Monkeys" at The Grand. Then we went back to his place. 

I know time passed, but I don't know how much. It seems like it was that week that my sister left her husband and Greg offered for us to stay at his place. My sister, her daughter and I all moved into his one bedroom apartment in February of 1996. I turned 20 in March and found out I was pregnant about that time. His younger sister moved in with us and got a job at Domino's, she was also pregnant and due about the same time. Since that apartment was very small, we all moved to another apartment in Lewisville, TX. One night, he was on the phone with his mother and I overheard him say "I don't know, probably this summer". I said "How about July?". So, we got married on July 14, 1996. My step-dad officiated, my grandfather walked me down the aisle, and Greg's cousins were his best men. 

We planned to have our wedding at my parents house in Texarkana. The day of our wedding, it rained. We crammed both our families into my parents house and car port, got married, and then took a nap. By the time we woke up, all of the food for the reception had been eaten so we had tuna sandwiches as we packed and got ready to drive to his mother's house in Aransas Pass, TX. We spent a night there, then went to a hotel in Corpus Christi. 

Our first child was born on November 12, 1996. 

Within a year, I went from a miscarriage with a nazi to being married to, in my mind, my soul mate, my beautiful daughter, and absolute happiness. My step-dad died that January, so we went to his funeral in Southland, TX. Just a month after our first anniversary, Greg essentially had a nervous breakdown and quit his job at Domino's. We didn't know what we would do, he was talking to an Air Force recruiter but having a hard time connecting. One night, my mother and I were at Eckerd Drug store getting some medicine for my daughter and I saw a Navy recruiter. I jokingly suggested I should get his number for Greg, and as fate would have it, he overheard us. I spoke to him for a minute and exchanged numbers, got his card and by the time I got home, Greg was scheduled for MEPS and he left in September for Great Lakes and Navy Boot Camp. In January, we moved to Everett, WA. 

Greg is not a super emotional man. That works well with me, who tends to be more emotional than necessary. We have always balanced each other, and through everything, we have had each other to turn to. He reaches through my darkest times and gives me solid ground to stand on, even when he was out in the middle of the sea. He can make me smile at the worst of times and I can say with absolute certainty, I would not be here without him. 

Now, here we are. Two days from now will be our 25th wedding anniversary, and just like the original, things aren't as we planned. Instead of preparing for a party to celebrate this crazy life we've built together, we are packing for a trip to Corpus Christi to meet with his family and say goodbye to the family matriarch, Big G, Greg's grandmother (his mother's mother). 

And, like we do with everything, we take it in stride, work together to make the trip, and make the best of a pretty grim situation. We will see family we haven't seen in forever, we will see places we've wanted to show the kids, and we will take a day to go to San Antonio and visit the Natural Bridge Caverns. And then, we will be home in time to have a small pot luck party with local friends to celebrate 25 years of working together to overcome every obstacle, raise four amazing people, traveling from coast to coast and loving each other through thick and thin, sickness and health, until our lives together end. 

My Life Story, Part 1- Redwater

 Hi! After talking to some people at work, I have been thinking about this life I've had the privilege to lead, and I think I'm going to tell my story. My whole story. It's weird, and it's long, and hopefully it will be entertaining enough that somebody might be like "hey, I don't regret the time I spent reading this!"

As a preface, I want to note that my mother was a bit more open with me than many parents are with their children, so I learned details that I probably didn't need to know, at least I didn't need to know them as early as I did. I was born on March 18, 1976 at Wadley Hospital in Texarkana, Texas. My mother never married my father, though I understand they were engaged for a while. He had a daughter when they met, he had recently divorced. According to my mother, he was an alcoholic but not a bad man. He loved his daughter and he loved his ex wife. He and my mother dated, I don't know how long, but they broke up and he remarried his ex wife. I am not sure, but I've always believed they broke up just before my mother found out I was on the way.  My mother often told me the circumstances of my conception. She had worked that day and they were not supposed to see each other, she was tired and went to bed. Apparently, at some point in the night, he came over and woke her, she said she woke up in the middle of intercourse, and her first thought was that they should not be doing this, it's the wrong time, and then she tried to imagine what their child would look like. The only thing she could think of was Alfred E. Neuman from Mad Magazine. You know, this is the first time I have realized that I am technically the product of rape. 

Now, my mother truly loved my father. She told me often that he was really her "one true love". But, he felt the same way about his ex wife. When she took him back, they remarried and she promptly became pregnant with my younger half sister; younger than me by three weeks. I think my mother has told me stories of my father meeting me, but I really don't know if that is true or if it is something I made up to make me feel like he ever saw me. I know that he worked at Red River Army Depot with my grandmother, that is how he was introduced to my mother. My grandmother decided that he would be a good match for her and introduced them. My mother said she wasn't immediately attracted to him. She said their first date she was stood up, but found out it was because he had been in a car accident, so she gave him a second chance. 

I know that I had met my grandparents, my mother told me that my grandfather enjoyed when I came over. He passed away in 1977. My father died in an accident at work on February 2, 1978. He is buried at Holy Cross Cemetery in Texarkana, Texas. 

We lived off and on with my grandma, who was also an alcoholic and abusive. She was in and out of abusive relationships, and when she was between boyfriends she would live with us, or when things went wrong in places, my mother would move in with her. I know at one point my mother and grandma fought and my grandma kicked my mother out of the house, but told her she couldn't keep me. I was a pawn in their relationship. I was always close to my grandma. 

In the process of moving around, one of the places we lived  was a trailer in a very bad neighborhood. My mother said she had gone to a Tupperware party one night. She brought me into the house and set her purse on the porch. She went back out to get the items she had bought and when she came back, her purse had been stolen. I was safe. In another place we lived, there was an elderly woman who lived a few houses down. My mother said that I would go into the bathroom, strip off all my clothes, and leave to go see "Miss Fanny". 

In September, 1978, my younger sister, AJ, was born. I will not use the full names in this blog. She was a sickly child, having breathing problems from birth. My mother fought with doctors for a diagnosis, she knew the symptoms of asthma, but doctors insisted a child cannot be born with asthma, and that it was just bronchitis, or a cold, or anything else. They prescribed medication that would exacerbate her symptoms. At 2 years old, my baby sister barely weighed 12 lbs. Just before Halloween in 1980, she had a severe asthma attack. My mother called an ambulance, but we lived out in the middle of nowhere in Redwater, Texas. The ambulance passed our house, so she ran out to go up the driveway to flag them down. I was left to watch over my sister, and one of my very first memories is kneeling beside the couch, my sister a strange shade of blue, as my mother screamed at the top of her lungs from the front door. It's just a picture in my head, but it's been reinforced by the  many tellings of the story by my mother. They took my sister in the ambulance, I stayed with a neighbor, and my mother rode to the hospital. My sister was not breathing, they were able to resuscitate her but she went 5 minutes without breathing. The doctors said they didn't know if there would be lasting brain damage or to what extent. As a toddler, my sister was precocious and observant, to the point that my mother said she had psychic abilities. She seemed to know things before they happened. After her asthma attack, she lost that. She was still precocious, but that extra spark was gone, according to my mother. 

My sister was hospitalized through Halloween. My mother asked the neighbor to come to our house and get my costume, but they didn't. I was taken to my Aunt and Uncle's house (my mother's brother) and spent Halloween with them and their two daughters, my cousins. As I didn't have a costume, they made me a typical ghost costume. Unfortunately, the sheet didn't fit smoothly over my head and, apparently, made a bit of a point. One of my mother's hilarious stories was how the Black families along our trick or treat route were taken aback and had to ask "Are you a ghost?", while my innocent 4 year old self would smile shyly, nod, and hold out my pillow case. 

Because of her health issues, AJ got more of my mother's affection and attention. I had my grandma, and it worked for me. 

My mother said I taught myself the alphabet. We had a set of World Book Encyclopedias, I think they were 1972. My cousins learned the alphabet, and I always looked up to them, so I decided I would learn my ABC's. I studied the encyclopedias and learned the alphabet. We lived in a house off the highway between Redwater and Texarkana, Texas. My mother didn't work and we didn't have a car. She got into raising rabbits, and there were times when that was the only thing we had to eat. She usually had a friend come out and butcher them in exchange for meat, but at one point her friend was away, the kits had reached butcher age, and she had to do it herself. She said after the first one, she felt like she was going to throw up. But, as with most things, she got used to it and it became part of our life. One of her stories was how a pair of women from a church had come to invite us to service, and one of them asked sweet, innocent 3 year old me, "You have bunny rabbits? What do you do with your bunny rabbits?"

With the glee that only a 3 year old can muster, I responded "We get em, we hit em over the head, we skin em, we cut em up, and then we eat em!" Mother said we never heard from that church again. But, there were many times people from various churches would come to visit. I haven't spent any time thinking about it, but I think my mother might have been seeking some kind of path. We weren't super religious, we would go to Easter service, and later we would go to some Christmas services. But we never went regularly. 

In the winter, things would be hard. My mother usually had somebody take her to town to get groceries. The closest store was a small gas station type place that was probably 5 miles up the highway. I know, at least one time, my mother had to leave me and my sister at home while she walked to the store. I think it was one of these times, she came home and I had done something wrong. She told me to sit in the chair and she would deal with me later. She forgot. I was so frightened, I waited in the chair for hours, before she saw me and remembered that she told me to sit there. One night, I got into her purse and emptied a bottle of perfume, her favorite. It was called "Charlie". She would remind me of things like this regularly, reminding me of things that I broke, or wasted, it was always things. It felt like the things mattered more than me. She had a set of hands that were for ring keeping, she called them her lady hands, and apparently I broke one of those as well. 

I started school at Redwater Elementary. I don't remember any of my teachers names from there, but apparently I was very close to my kindergarten teacher. The only memories of that school that I have are making snakes with play doh and the construction paper shoes that I learned to tie my shoes. Oh and the teacher made a recipe book from student recipes in first grade, I told how to make scrambled eggs. 

From that house, I remember there was a hole in the bathroom floor. I remember there were shelves by the kitchen sink. I remember the car port. I remember having a black and white stick horse that my granddaddy's wife made, I named him Cochise after Little Joe's horse in Bonanza. My uncle would visit and one time he cleaned up the yard and put all the leaves and sticks and debris in the ditch to burn. He burned my stick horse. When my mother asked him why, he said "It was outside". They got into fights frequently, she told me how she actually hit him with my baby bottle at one point, he tried to hit her while she was holding me. I remember one of his girlfriends, we went to her family's house and they had a trampoline. That was probably the first time I ever jumped on a trampoline. 

At one point, a neighbor's dog came over and my mother said she heard me cry, she came out and the Doberman Pinscher was running away and I had scratches on my head from where he had bitten me. He didn't bite hard, but Mother said after she told some friends he disappeared. We had a German Shepherd named Candy who delivered a litter of puppies under my bed. And I had an orange cat named Yankee Doodle. When we moved, we never found him and left him behind. The days before we moved, my cousin stayed with us, she was the same age as me and gave us head lice. We moved from that house in 1982. 

I was a CAET

When I worked for the animal shelter, I became certified to be an animal euthanasia technician. That means I was one of the people who put the kill in the "kill shelter".

I honestly have no clue how many animals I euthanized. Roughly 30-40 a month for 3 years, plus when I would be on call and have to euthanize, probably 1,550 animals? Somewhere in that range. Every one of them was alone. They didn't have a family crying for them. They didn't have an owner holding them, comforting them. I held each one I could in my arms, told them I was sorry. I told them they were good boys/girls. I told them they would be ok now.

Now, I work in a veterinary clinic. We see healthy animals for check ups, sick animals for treatment. Occasionally we have a client come in and their pet is at the end of its life. So far, I have not had one come in and the owner was not there with them in those moments.

After everything I saw and did as an animal control officer, all the lives I took as an animal euthanasia technician, I have a wall. I can see things that would leave many others broken. Not much gets to me when it comes to those things, not in the way that I have to walk away or that I actually cry. I see it, I process it, I think about what caused it, how to prevent it, how to fix it...but I don't cry, I don't break down.

I've noticed, though, that if the door is open when there is a euthanasia, I can't keep that wall up. Seeing families saying goodbye pulls forward all those animals who didn't have anyone, all those kittens who were so sick they couldn't lift their heads, all those dogs so covered in mange that their skin was like an elephant's hide, all the cats who just couldn't beat the upper respiratory infections or who had been attacked by animals and left to die covered in gore and maggots.

I and the person helping me were often the only kindness some of them ever knew, and that kindness was death. Right now, I am hearing people speak of the shelter I worked at, they talk about how we never cared for the animals, how it was just neglect and abuse while they are there. I think about the things I saw, the animals I picked up, the people who discarded these lives like they were old clothes. I really wish everyone could spend a week actually inside an open admission animal shelter. I wish they could see how hard the employees work, how no matter how many animals are adopted out, there's always more coming in.

I remember kitten season, with pregnant feral cats and kittens coming in ten or twenty a day. Nobody wants to adopt a feral cat. Once in a while you'll get somebody looking for a barn cat, but for the most part, if they are that wild they will never go anywhere. And there's always more.

I remember euthanizing 35 cats and kittens in one day. That's just the cats and kittens. And there were still so many. All of the kennels full, and still portable kennels with cats and kittens.

Working at the clinic, there are so many people who "don't believe in" altering their pets. They think it's unmanly to neuter a male dog. They want "just one litter" out of their female. And I remember the deaths.

My Life as an Animal Control Officer

I worked as an ACO for almost 4 years. Growing up, I was always an animal lover. I was always interested in helping, observing, nature, behavior, genetics, and rescue. One of my favorite memories with my grandmother was when I learned what the ASPCA was, and how she told me about Tennessee Walking horses and their beautiful movement. She planted the seed that would grow into an anti-cruelty activist, an anti-Big Lick activist, and the choices to sacrifice my own health and safety to save animals. I wanted to be a veterinarian. 

I was also raised in a rural environment. My mother raised meat rabbits. If not for rabbit meat, we probably would have starved some winters. My grandmother’s husband was a cattleman, and summers would be for shucking corn, snapping peas, prairie oysters, fish fries and braised rabbit. I knew the cycle of life and that death is an important part. I learned that death was not evil, and that humans have the responsibility to be humane in our actions, and that an animal’s sacrifice for our food should be respected with humane treatment and dispatch. 

When I was in high school, I fell in love with law. The details, the semantics, the way you have to choose every word to tell your story, how every detail matters and one missed detail can mean everything. I played with the idea of being a lawyer. 

Life happened. I grew up. I had different jobs. I didn’t finish high school and law and medicine moved out of reach. After four children, 18 years of marriage, and a full life, we landed here and I took the leap to apply for a job with the local animal control. I didn’t think I’d get it. I had no experience, I pretty much screw up everything I attempt. 

I got a call. They had gone with another applicant. Then I got another call. They had a temporary position to offer. I started. I trained. I struggled. But I improved. My supervisor recommended me for the permanent position. I kept trying. I kept learning. I failed. I succeeded. I saved lives. I failed lives. I kept going. I got bit. I got threatened. I learned the laws. I learned to read people, animals, situations. I improved. I failed more. I tried harder. 

Almost 4 years went by. Wednesday, I had a routine call for an owned aggressive dog. Owners let it run loose and harass pedestrians and other pets. I went to the residence, saw the dogs in the yard and two vehicles that appeared to be operational. 

I backed into the driveway, so I could get out easily. I wrote out the notice to comply. Keep your dogs confined, provide proof of rabies and license. When I got to the end of the driveway, the dogs were not out. I assumed there was somebody home who let them in. 

I got out of my vehicle with my clip board and my bite stick (a telescoping steel rod that can use as an arm extension or weapon depending on the situation.) I approached the door and knocked. A large hound/pit bull mix came out, charged at me. I pulled out the bite stick and kept it between myself and the dog, pushing him in the chest to keep him back. A smaller terrier type dog came out as well. Both barked and postured aggressively. I could tell that if I tried to move, one of them would come behind me and attack. There was no way to get out of there. I was trapped against the house. Every movement triggered another aggressive charge. 

I texted my supervisor. I need back up ASAP. Explained the situation. He and another officer left the shelter and called the Sheriff’s Office. I knew it was a race. If my coworkers got there, we would confine the dogs and impound. If the Sheriff’s deputy got there first, the dog would be shot. 

20 minutes passed. I told the dog he was a good boy. He was doing a good job, protecting his house. I’m not going to hurt anything, I just want to go to my truck. He’s a good boy and he’s doing a good job. Quiet. Calm. Praise and positive words. Soothing. The dog would bark and pace. He would charge. He bit my bite stick twice. The Deputy pulled up. The smaller dog ran out to the patrol car. The larger dog heard the door shut and ran out. I heard the deputy shout at the dogs. I heard the gunshot. 

I walked out, the dog was on the ground seizing. Cadaveric spasms. He had a single bullet hole in his head. I don’t know what I said to the deputies. I know there was a lot of blood. I know the dog was down. We discussed the spasm, and expressed regret that it happened the way it did. I expressed anger at the owners. I was overflowing with adrenaline and relief and anger and sadness. 

I waited for the dog to be still. We watched. The dog relaxed and sat up. He slowly got to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps then slowly walked toward the back of the property. The deputies and I exchanged exclamations. Mentions of zombies were made. The dog laid down near the swimming pool. I went to my truck and got my control pole. The one with the loop at the end, the quintessential animal Control Officer tool. 

I approached the dog and he got up and walked more quickly to the tree line. I followed, trying not to make him run, and he broke into a trot and then ran into the woods. I lost sight of him. I lost a dog that had been shot in the head. 

I went back to the deputies. My supervisor and coworker arrived. They looked for the dog. We found the shell casing, marked it’s location. I completed my statement  for the deputies. I annotated my notice to comply with the update that a deputy had discharged his weapon at the dog, and that it had run off. Neighbors showed up and wanted to know what happened. The owner was called, but they were far away and I don’t know if they said they were in their way or not. I had been there for over three hours, I still had three impounds and two other calls to do. My supervisor told me to leave, there wasn’t anything more for me to do there. 

I went on, picked up the animals I had to impound. Went to the shelter, vaccinated and impounded those dogs, went to my desk and started my notes and intake report. I got a call from the dog’s owner. She wanted to know what happened. Why did I kill her dog. Where is her dog. Dogs don’t just get up and run off after getting shot in the head. I tried to explain the situation. I tried to explain that her dog would have attacked me or the deputy. She was angry. I understood. By the time I got off the phone, I had gotten to the end of my professional demeanor and had said done things that weren’t completely professional. 

I finished. I checked my voicemails. The husband left two messages, calling me a murderer, worthless. Horrible at my job. 

I went home. 

The next day, it was euthanasia day. I was the animal euthanasia technician assigned. I spoke with the dog owner. She said the dog had come home, they took him to the vet and he was in surgery. I spoke with the deputy. I gave him all my notes, my report and my photographs. Then I got the euthanasia list and went to the back. 

At that shelter, the list is made in the morning. The front desk people check it against all the missing animal reports. All the animals are checked twice for any holds, owner notifications, of any other information. They were not euthanizing for time or space, so every animal on the list was either sick or had temperament issues that made them ineligible for adoption. 

I get my list, I have a handler assigned who will get the animals from their kennels and hold them for their injection. I get my drugs. Sodium pentobarbital is the euthanasia drug. Xylazine and acepromazine are the chemical restraints. 

The handler and I start. I tell him the animal’s is number, description and the kennel number. He brings the animal, we check it against the list, scan it for a microchip, and ensure that it is the same animal on the list. I have been certified for three years. I have euthanized countless animals. It’s a routine. We have forty something animals, mostly cats that are feral or have upper respiratory infections. Some ringworm. We have to be done by 3 pm because there is a staff meeting. 

We get through the cats. It’s lunch time. We come back from lunch. We get started on the dogs. I tell my handler: Black and Tan Shepherd mix, kennel kb18, id #. He brings in a dog. I know this dog. He’s dog aggressive. He’s unpredictable with people. He was surrendered by his owner a month ago. His time is up. He is Black and Tan. He doesn’t look like a shepherd but when an owner surrenders their dog, they say what they think it is and that’s what is put on the card. Especially for pit bull types, the term “pit bull” is avoided when possible, because of the stigma attached to the breed. 

It was not a surprise to see this dog in the list. We scanned him. No microchip. My handler lifted him up and held his leg. I found the vein and injected the drug. It was the easiest one that day. He relaxed. I rubbed his ears and told him he was a good boy. I told him I was sorry. We put him in the bag and went back to the list. I picked up his kennel card to put it on the stack and saw the picture. That’s not the same picture on the list. This was the wrong dog. The dog on the list was another dog in that kennel. This is bad. 

I texted the assistant director. She contacted the director and my supervisor and Human Resources. 

We finished the list. We went to the staff meeting. It was after time to go but I had to finish, I put the animals in the freezers. I cleaned the room. I cried. I went home. 

Friday, we didn’t hear from Human Resources. I took home most of my personal items. 

Over the weekend, I washed my truck. I got my uniforms together. I prepared myself. 

Monday, I had calls to do. I went out in the road. I posted citations. I did my job. I tried to make sure as much was done as possible. I tried to wrap everything up so that the others could follow up and knew where everything was. I came back to the shelter and went to my supervisor’s office. He told me that I had to be terminated. We did the paperwork. I apologized. I turned in my keys and my badge. I showed him my files, where my photographs and notes were, what cases were going to court. I apologized. 

I gathered my things. I said goodbye. My supervisor drove me home. 

Since then I have cried. I have cussed myself. I have considered ending my own life. I have prayed that I could wake up and have another chance. 

I failed. I let a dog down. I let myself down. I let my team down. There is nothing anyone can say to me that would compare to what I’ve told myself. 

I’ve had people tell me that I enjoy killing animals. I’ve had people insinuate that it wasn’t an accident. People have called me evil. 

You know what? I deserve that. I failed. 

I’m moving forward. I’m going to do better. I’m going to keep fighting. But I will not forget that I have failed in the worst way possible. 

I will not have to euthanize any more animals. Hopefully, I will never be trapped by an aggressive dog for 20 minutes again. Hopefully, I’ll never be bitten breaking up a fight in overcrowded kennels again. I will make more mistakes. That’s what I do. But I will do better. I will keep going. 

Being an ACO was an adventure. I grew in ways I never knew I could. I learned. I gained confidence. I strengthened my voice. And I ever gave in to the urge to take that bottle of fatal plus, a bag of IV fluids and an IV pack to the barn in the middle if the night, start the IV, cut a hole in the bottle, connect it to the bag, and let 250ccs of sodium pentobarbital stop my heart. 

I survived. 

Our favorite game, Covid-19, Anxiety or Psychosomatic!

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 29, 2020

Ok, so I decided I'm going to blog my journey, hopefully it's a very short, boring blog where I post tomorrow that I'm  negative, going back to work and the end.

I work as a receptionist at a veterinary clinic in Southeast Louisiana, USA. It has been open with slightly reduced hours since the quarantine began. I have been working full time, using a mask, washing my hands, sanitizing myself and my work space as directed.

I live with my family: husband who works as a stocker at a home improvement store, oldest daughter who works at a coffee place (she just got back from a voluntary 30 day paid break), adult son who works at a fast food restaurant (working part time and remotely going to college full time), and two younger teen children who are not working.

On Monday evening, April 27, I started feeling chilled and body/muscle aches. My neck was sore, I had a head ache, just not feeling well. I am obese and have hypertension so breathing is sometimes difficult just on that alone. My chest felt a little heavy but not anything super out of the normal. I took my temperature. It was 99.4. My temperature normally runs around 97.8 or so. Not super high but I definitely felt feverish. I was also exhausted and weak. I worked but not ridiculously long hours, from 8 am to 4 pm...not a super strenuous shift, and I got a good night sleep the night before, but by 7 pm I couldn't keep my eyes open and the thought of the effort to go take a shower and go to bed seemed impossible. I texted my boss and a coworker and got my next day shift covered.

I took a quick bath and went to bed. The next morning I felt ok. Still a little achey and sore but ok. Chest maybe a little tight but, again, being at my weight it's hard to tell what's something to worry about. My temp was a nice normal 97.8. I texted my boss and coworker, said I should be able to work the closing shift.

By afternoon, I was feeling poor again. No chills, just a bit achey and my chest felt more tight and taking a deep breath was just a bit more effort than normal. So, I texted my boss and coworker and let them know I wouldn't be in. I took my temp. At 5:48 it was 98.8. At 7:10 it was 99.8. It stayed about that all night.

I went to my health insurance app and did a virtual doctor's visit. He advised me to self quarantine, stay home for 7 days after symptoms started and at least 72 hours after any fever without fever relief medication. I asked about testing and he advised that testing is available but it would be treated the same regardless of the results. He said the test was entirely up to me. I asked for a test.

In this time, I've had some stomach upset. Firm bowel movements but cramping and having to go a little more frequently. I do have IBS that is triggered by anxiety.

This morning, I woke up and my temp was 97.7. I felt ok, a little sore but I slept in my son's bed instead of my own so probably from that. When I got to the testing site, my temperature was 98.8, oxygen sat was 96% and pulse was 89. They did the swab and said it would be 24/48 hours for results.

Now, I'm at home, resting, laying in bed typing this out. I'm feeling a bit weak and tired, possibly because I slept like crap and it's 10 pm (past my regular bed time). My temp a few moments ago, around 9:45 was 99.8 again.

Also, my stomach is very crampy tonight. Loose poo and smells worse than normal. Again, very normal with anxiety and my IBS but just tossing it in here as observation. 

Going to watch some tv and try to sleep. I will update in the AM.

My Career as an Animal Control Officer

I worked as an ACO for almost 4 years. Growing up, I was always an animal lover. I was always interested in helping, observing, nature, behavior, genetics, and rescue. One of my favorite memories with my grandmother was when I learned what the ASPCA was, and how she told me about Tennessee Walking horses and their beautiful movement. She planted the seed that would grow into an anti-cruelty activist, an anti-Big Lick activist, and the choices to sacrifice my own health and safety to save animals. I wanted to be a veterinarian.

I was also raised in a rural environment. My mother raised meat rabbits. If not for rabbit meat, we probably would have starved some winters. My grandmother’s husband was a cattleman, and summers would be for shucking corn, snapping peas, prairie oysters, fish fries and braised rabbit. I knew the cycle of life and that death is an important part. I learned that death was not evil, and that humans have the responsibility to be humane in our actions, and that an animal’s sacrifice for our food should be respected with humane treatment and dispatch.

When I was in high school, I fell in love with law. The details, the semantics, the way you have to choose every word to tell your story, how every detail matters and one missed detail can mean everything. I played with the idea of being a lawyer.

Life happened. I grew up. I had different jobs. I didn’t finish high school and law and medicine moved out of reach. After four children, 18 years of marriage, and a full life, we landed here and I took the leap to apply for a job with the local animal control. I didn’t think I’d get it. I had no experience, I pretty much screw up everything I attempt.

I got a call. They had gone with another applicant. Then I got another call. They had a temporary position to offer. I started. I trained. I struggled. But I improved. My supervisor recommended me for the permanent position. I kept trying. I kept learning. I failed. I succeeded. I saved lives. I failed lives. I kept going. I got bit. I got threatened. I learned the laws. I learned to read people, animals, situations. I improved. I failed more. I tried harder.

Almost 4 years went by. Wednesday, I had a routine call for an owned aggressive dog. Owners let it run loose and harass pedestrians and other pets. I went to the residence, saw the dogs in the yard and two vehicles that appeared to be operational.

I backed into the driveway, so I could get out easily. I wrote out the notice to comply. Keep your dogs confined, provide proof of rabies and license. When I got to the end of the driveway, the dogs were not out. I assumed there was somebody home who let them in.

I got out of my vehicle with my clip board and my bite stick (a telescoping steel rod that can use as an arm extension or weapon depending on the situation.) I approached the door and knocked. A large hound/pit bull mix came out, charged at me. I pulled out the bite stick and kept it between myself and the dog, pushing him in the chest to keep him back. A smaller terrier type dog came out as well. Both barked and postured aggressively. I could tell that if I tried to move, one of them would come behind me and attack. There was no way to get out of there. I was trapped against the house. Every movement triggered another aggressive charge.

I texted my supervisor. I need back up ASAP. Explained the situation. He and another officer left the shelter and called the Sheriff’s Office. I knew it was a race. If my coworkers got there, we would confine the dogs and impound. If the Sheriff’s deputy got there first, the dog would be shot.

20 minutes passed. I told the dog he was a good boy. He was doing a good job, protecting his house. I’m not going to hurt anything, I just want to go to my truck. He’s a good boy and he’s doing a good job. Quiet. Calm. Praise and positive words. Soothing. The dog would bark and pace. He would charge. He bit my bite stick twice. The Deputy pulled up. The smaller dog ran out to the patrol car. The larger dog heard the door shut and ran out. I heard the deputy shout at the dogs. I heard the gunshot.

I walked out, the dog was on the ground seizing. Cadaveric spasms. He had a single bullet hole in his head. I don’t know what I said to the deputies. I know there was a lot of blood. I know the dog was down. We discussed the spasm, and expressed regret that it happened the way it did. I expressed anger at the owners. I was overflowing with adrenaline and relief and anger and sadness.

I waited for the dog to be still. We watched. The dog relaxed and sat up. He slowly got to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps then slowly walked toward the back of the property. The deputies and I exchanged exclamations. Mentions of zombies were made. The dog laid down near to he swimming pool. I went to my truck and got my control pole. The one with the loop at the end, the quintessential
Animal Control Officer tool.

I approached the dog and he got up and walked more quickly to the tree line. I followed, trying not to make him run, and he broke into a trot and then ran into the woods. I lost sight of him. I lost a dog that had been shot in the head.

I went back to the deputies. My supervisor and coworker arrived. They looked for the dog. We found the shell casing, marked it’s location. I completed my statement for the deputies. I annotated my notice to comply with the update that a deputy had discharged his weapon at the dog, and that it had run off. Neighbors showed up and wanted to know what happened. The owner was called, but they were far away and I don’t know if they said they were in their way or not. I had been there for over three hours, I still had three impounds and two other calls to do. My supervisor told me to leave, there wasn’t anything more for me to do there.

I went on, picked up the animals I had to impound. Went to the shelter, vaccinated and impounded those dogs, went to my desk and started my notes and intake report. I got a call from the dog’s owner. She wanted to know what happened. Why did I kill her dog. Where is her dog. Dogs don’t just get up and run off after getting shot in the head. I tried to explain the situation. I tried to explain that her dog would have attacked me or the deputy. She was angry. I understood. By the time I got off the phone, I had gotten to the end of my professional demeanor and had said done things that weren’t completely professional.

I finished. I checked my voicemails. The husband left two messages, calling me a murderer, worthless. Horrible at my job.

I went home.

The next day, it was euthanasia day. I was the animal euthanasia technician assigned. I spoke with the dog owner. She said the dog had come home, they took him to the vet and he was in surgery. I spoke with the deputy. I gave him all my notes, my report and my photographs. Then I got the euthanasia
list and went to the back.

At that shelter, the list is made in the morning. The front desk people check it against all the missing
animal reports. All the animals are checked twice for any holds, owner notifications, of any other
information. They were not euthanizing for time or space, so every animal on the list was either sick or had temperament issues that made them ineligible for adoption.

I get my list, I have a handler assigned who will get the animals from their kennels and hold them for their injection. I get my drugs. Sodium pentobarbital is the euthanasia drug. Xylazine and acepromazine are the chemical restraints.

The handler and I start. I tell him the animal’s is number, description and the kennel number. He brings the animal, we check it against the list, scan it for a microchip, and ensure that it is the same animal on the list. I have been certified for three years. I have euthanized countless animals. It’s a routine. We have forty something animals, mostly cats that are feral or have upper respiratory infections. Some ringworm. We have to be done by 3 pm because there is a staff meeting.

We get through the cats. It’s lunch time. We come back from lunch. We get started on the dogs. I tell my handler: Black and Tan Shepherd mix, kennel kb18, id #. He brings in a dog. I know this dog. He’s dog aggressive. He’s unpredictable with people. He was surrendered by his owner a month ago. His time is up. He is Black and Tan. He doesn’t look like a shepherd but when an owner surrenders their dog, they say what they think it is and that’s what is put on the card. Especially for pit bull types, the term “pit bull” is avoided when possible, because of the stigma attached to the breed.

It was not a surprise to see this dog in the list. We scanned him. No microchip. My handler lifted him up and held his leg. I found the vein and injected the drug. It was the easiest one that day. He relaxed. I rubbed his ears and told him he was a good boy. I told him I was sorry. We put him in the bag and went back to the list. I picked up his kennel card to put it on the stack and saw the picture. That’s not the same picture on the list. This was the wrong dog. The dog on the list was another dog in that
kennel. This is bad.

I texted the assistant director. She contacted the director and my supervisor and Human Resources. 

We finished the list. We went to the staff meeting. It was after time to go but I had to finish, I put the animals in the freezers. I cleaned the room. I cried. I went home.

Friday, we didn’t hear from Human Resources. I took home most of my personal items.

Over the weekend, I washed my truck. I got my uniforms together. I prepared myself.

Monday, I had calls to do. I went out on the road. I posted citations. I did my job. I tried to make sure as much was done as possible. I tried to wrap everything up so that the others could follow up and knew where everything was. I came back to the shelter and went to my supervisor’s office. He told me that I had to be terminated. We did the paperwork. I apologized. I turned in my keys and my badge. I showed him my files, where my photographs and notes were, what cases were going to court. I apologized.

I gathered my things. I said goodbye. My supervisor drove me home.

Since then I have cried. I have cussed myself. I have considered ending my own life. I have prayed that I could wake up and have another chance. I failed. I let a dog down. I let myself down. I let my team down. There is nothing anyone can say to me that would compare to what I’ve told myself.

I’ve had people tell me that I enjoy killing animals. I’ve had people insinuate that it wasn’t an accident. People have called me evil.

You know what? I deserve that. I failed.

I’m moving forward. I’m going to do better. I’m going to keep fighting. But I will not forget that I have failed in the worst way possible.

I will not have to euthanize any more animals. Hopefully, I will never be trapped by an aggressive dog for 20 minutes again. Hopefully, I’ll never be bitten breaking up a fight in overcrowded kennels again. I will make more mistakes. That’s what I do. But I will do better. I will keep going.

Being an ACO was an adventure. I grew in ways I never knew I could. I learned. I gained confidence. I strengthened my voice. And I ever gave in to the urge to take that bottle of fatal plus, a bag of IV fluids and an IV pack to the barn in the middle if the night, start the IV, cut a hole in the bottle, connect it to the bag, and let 250ccs of sodium pentobarbital stop my heart.

I survived.

Perspective

So, I’m trying my new Chromebook for writing. Not sure where it’s gonna go but I’m making some big changes in life and being less adrift and more directed. 42 years old and my job isn’t guaranteed so I need to get myself together and figure out this adulting thing. First step, documenting my thoughts and feelings. I know I’ve made promises to write more and failed, and I’m not going to do the “this time will be different” thing, but I really do want to do better. So, here goes another chance.

To introduce myself, I’m Naji. Mom of four, wife of one, lover of many. My current employment position is Animal Control Officer. Because of local politics, that is threatened so I don’t know what the future holds, but then, do any of us? Aren’t we all just a misstep, an accident, an illness, or a sweep of good luck away from something completely different? We’re a moment away from an entirely different life we never predicted for ourselves, but that becomes our reality and our future.

I think quite a bit about that. I drive a lot for work, and I work in some fairly precarious situations. One aggressive dog that gets away from me and my life could take a dramatic turn. One inattentive driver and things could be totally different. It’s not the same as living in fear, because I’m not afraid, really, I’m just aware of how quickly things change.

Anyway, as I said, I’m Naji. I’m planning to have more of an online presence, start a vlog and do regular blogs. I really don’t know what all, for sure. Plus I want to work on my novel. I have four children, the oldest is 21, ciswoman, coming quickly onto 22, and living the reality of being a young adult in current society. The second is 18, cisman, and looking toward college and his future. Then there’s another cisgirl who is almost 16. She’s not in school because of her anxiety, and that gives me anxiety. Then there’s the cisboy who is 11, going into 6th grade, and a daily challenge.

Raising children is an interesting endeavor. There are these people looking to me to provide guidance, care, protection, and form them into functional adults that can make a positive contribution to society. There are so many resources to learn how to do things “right” but the wild card is that each child is an individual, with individual thoughts, needs, wants, and ideas. So what works great for most 11 year olds won’t do anything for mine. What works for mine won’t work for somebody else. That’s a harsh learning curve as a parent, because we want to give advice to others and be able to take advice, but too often somebody’s advice might help a little but it doesn’t do as much as they think it will, and sometimes it doesn’t help at all. Yet, we give advice from our own perspective, thinking that’s what others perceive. Unfortunately, each of us has our own way of viewing the world and experiencing things, and dealing with those experiences. So, when we share advice based on our experiences and perceptions, another person doesn’t necessarily share that point of view or perceive the situation the same.

Perception is such an interesting thing. In current culture, we are becoming more aware of how our actions are perceived by those around us. As an example, a woman is walking down the sidewalk. A man smiles at her and says “nice dress!”. His intention is not of ill will, he simply meant to convey that her dress is pretty, he found her attractive and it was the first thing he thought to say to start a conversation and see if she was receptive. To her, it was simple compliment. She smiled and said “Thank you” and continued on her way. That was the end of the encounter. A woman sitting nearby, however, witnessed the encounter. She had previously been stalked and assaulted by a man who had simply complimented her hair. To her, this man is being aggressive and frightening. She feels afraid for the other woman’s safety.

Are any of them wrong? No, their feelings are genuine. None of them has any further information from the encounter. The frightened woman could have been right. It gets overwhelming when we begin to second guess our every move, wondering if what we are doing or saying is going to be perceived as aggressive, mean, dismissive, or in any way beyond how we intend it to be. One of our first instincts is to become defensive. That’s not what I meant! You’re being too sensitive! It was just a joke! Why can’t you take a compliment?

What we have to understand is that the way a person receives our message is not in our hands. We cannot dictate how something affects another person. What we have control over is how we handle their expression of their feelings. When a person expresses their feelings, they are entrusting us with part of themselves. We have to be cautious that we don’t take that expression and damage it. We cannot diminish their feelings, we should not dismiss them, we should not expect them to change how they feel about something. A feeling isn’t controlled. It’s the immediate reaction we have to stimuli.

So, if somebody says that something you have said or done has upset them, don’t dismiss their feelings. Put yourself in their position and think how you would want to be treated if you were upset by something. Empathize with them and realize they are not attacking you any more than you were attacking them. Recognize that their feelings and response is valid then try to express what you meant in a way that isn’t as confrontational.