Off meat.

I'm officially off meat. Forever. I've had issues with handling meat, preparing it, eating it and digesting it since I was small. For moral reasons (and for the simple fact that I don't really love it) I have thought seriously about getting off meat permanently for a long time.

I quit red meat about two years ago and have felt better, but after learning about how animal protein isn't really necessary, and how it's actually harmful to our health (causes heart disease and cancer to grow), and how hard it is on the environment to manufacture, I'm convinced now is the time to stop. I'm just ready to live a healthier lifestyle.

You would think that Chris, my carnivore husband, would be devastated by this decision. Actually, though, this was all his idea. We watched Forks Over Knives (it's on instant Netflix) and did some of our own research and decided to try a whole foods plant-based diet for 30 days. We still have some dairy items in the fridge that I don't feel good about wasting, so we're finishing that off, but we are off meat, processed foods, artificial sugar and oil and most dairy for 30 days.

No one thinks their fat, no one is trying to lose weight. We just want to see how we feel. We want to see if it'll work with our lifestyle and budget, too.

Once the 30 days is up, Chris may eat some seafood here and there and he might drink cow milk. I can't tell you his commitment level to this whole thing, because I'm not sure. But as for me, I can say with confidence I don't want meat, and unless I can find a local farm nearby, I really don't feel good about buying dairy. (Watch Vegucated, also on Netflix,  if you don't already know what goes on in factory farms.)  I will have a candy bar at the end of 30 days. I can tell you that much.

So this, friends, is the reason for the sudden influx of vegan recipe pins.  I have been sharing some of our favorite new recipes over on my other blog, in case you're interested. I'm dedicated to keeping things fun and interesting in the kitchen. I can't eat a salad for every meal and nuts for every snack.

Even though it's a lot of extra work and dishes, it's already paying off. I love how I feel after a green smoothie for dinner. I'm not bogged down anymore. I feel like working out, even after I eat. We don't own a scale, but I can feel my pants are a little loose. It's only been a week, so I'm trying to ensure I'm getting all of the calories and protein I need (this can be a struggle when meat is no longer a factor). I'll keep you posted, blog world. 

Happy new year.

Love The Ross Family, and Moose (who is still available for adoption, but barely because I really love him a lot and want to keep him).

PS: I designed this. Not that bad, eh? Photoshop: I will learn you.

Not much.

Aside from this new(ish) hairdo, not much is new in my life. It's actually kind of awesome right now. Things are coming together, dogs are happy, husband is happy, family is doing well, christmas was nice. I can't complain. In fact, I can rejoice. Just saw my lonely little unupdated blogs and decided to drop in a quick post. Have a good day, internet. Carry on.

Meet Moose.

Introducing our fourth foster, Moose.

(I wish I had a real life tiny scarf to put on him.)

If you're interested in taking this tiny fella home, fill out an adoption app. He's made himself quite cozy at our house, which I'm thankful for, but at the same time that makes me nervous. I always fear they think that our home is their forever home. Wish I could tell them, "No, this isn't your final stop. We are only temporary, as much as we love you and want to keep you forever."

Moose and Sam love to play together. I think this might be Sam's favorite foster so far. Someone as young and as bouncy as him, at his beck and call.

Ten reasons why fostering animals will change your life.

We parted ways with our most recent foster last week. His name is Ringo. A 13-year-old Lhasa Apso—completely deaf, completely lovely. Like we have done in the past, we moved a little hastily on this one. He was an urgent pup, owner surrender, stuck in the Draper shelter. He had stopped eating five days prior, so I just knew (a feeling deep in my bones) that we needed to pull him out of there asap. Turns out, our house (with its millions of stairs) isn't ideal for a senior dog with arthritis. It's sort of a death trap, actually. We kept him for four days after realizing he wouldn't work as a long-term foster in our home. 

Thanks to social media and CAWS, I was able to find a new foster mom for Ringo. Linda is home a lot during the day, so she's able to give Ringo the attention he deserves. He has a little bit of separation anxiety, probably due to being abandoned by his family of 13 years, but his new mom is patient. He also has a few special needs (eye medicine, prescription food, meds for pain) which Linda attends to with extra care. He's now eating more, limping less, and wagging his tail. I'm thrilled he will have a second chance at a happy life. He's nearing the end (this breed usually lives about 14 years) so he deserves a warm place to live and lots of snuggles. 

Okay, reasons why fostering will change your life. Here goes:

1.     The satisfaction of saving a life is unmatched. I believe all lives are valuable, and pets particularly, need us. By agreeing to foster, you are quite literally saving a life. The animal goes directly from a shelter (where they will be euthanized because of overcrowding) into your home.

2.     Service work is therapeutic. My counselor says the two biggest things you can do to improve your own mental health are volunteer work and exercise. Whether you think you need it or not, everyone could use a good boost in happiness and karma.   

3.     The formation of deep companionship. When you rescue an animal, they know it. And they thank you in various ways. It's different than the bond you form with your own permanent pet, because there's an end in sight.  This makes it a little more painful (saying goodbye sucks!) but also fulfilling knowing that YOU were the middleman who helped find this creature a permanent home.

4.     You will make lasting friendships. The people who are involved in animal rescue come from all walks of life. It's fun to get to know other rescuers and fosters. The common goal of saving lives brings everyone close to form a solid network. They will dogsit for you, offer advice, take your foster to appointments when you're not available, and share supplies. It's a kind, selfless group, and that's refreshing. 

5.     The experience will strengthen your family. Bringing another animal into your home under frenzied circumstances will cause a moment (sometimes weeks!) of upheaval. It's not easy, but once you realize that your actions were a success, you will look back and think that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Chris and I have had disagreements along the way, but we share the common goal, so we find ways to make it work. It helps us improve our communication. 

6.     Socialization for your own pets. Our dog was already socialized, but having fosters in and out of our house has made him an even better pup. Most of the time, he ends up having a new buddy to play with. Do they test his patience? Yep. But, just like people, that makes him stronger and well rounded, improving his quality of life and ours. 

7.     Developing knowledge about the community in which you live.  It's fun to learn about the counties of the state I live in, their rules concerning animals, the politics, the statistics. There are all kinds of opportunities to be involved once you get out there and actually see what's going on. I've written letters to the chief of police and council members and I've talked to shelter owners and county-ran shelter workers. Many of these conversations are ongoing and some have led to positive actions (town meetings, votes, etc) that contribute to the overall goal: less healthy animals being killed in shelters.  

8.     Each animal fostered is one less animal in a shelter that's powered by our tax dollars. Raise awareness. Improve our local economy. 

9.     It's a healthy addiction. Animal rescue is addicting. Something transcendent happens. I won't begin to try to explain it in words, but it's pretty great. It's difficult to not develop a passion for it once you start. Better than being addicted to shopping, or drugs.   

10.  Take a stand, be an advocate, do something that matters. Animal rescue is a way to give back. We get so caught up in ourselves sometimes, we forget there is a whole world of things we could put our energy toward. Stepping back from yourself is the most life-changing thing you can do. It opens your eyes.

 

All it takes is a home. If you have a home that allows animals, you can foster. You make your own guidelines about what size or type of breed works for you. Often times you can handpick the animal you want to save (depending on the rescue group you choose to work with). The only think you will be asked to do as a foster is help get the animal adopted out. This sometimes requires driving them to adoption events on weekends. If you can afford toys, bones and food for the pet, then great. It's very helpful. But if not, many rescue groups help provide what you need.

If you're interested in becoming a foster parents, and you're in the Utah area, contact CAWS or Cause for Paws Rescue Army. They are each very active on Facebook, so you can find them on there too. Most county shelters have Facebook pages where they post their available pets just after the stray hold is up. I always keep an eye on those pages as well. If you're not a Utah resident, contact your local Humane Society--they will likely have connections to organization in your area.  

Merlin: our fostering experience.

Two months. When you read it, it doesn’t sound like a long time. When you see it on the calendar, it doesn’t look like a long time.

But I learned that it is, in fact, a significant amount of time. Sixty days is enough time to feel a million emotions with great, almost unmanageable intensity. It’s enough time to fall in love, learn things about yourself you didn’t know and feel pain you didn’t think you were capable of suffering.

This is my story about Merlin the dog. It’s not a long one, but it’s an important one. It’s inside of me, begging to come out. This story is for me. My therapy. 

He came into my life when Mikhale, the head of the dog rescue group, sent me a photo. “He’s tiny.” she said. “You’ll love him.”

I’ve fostered dogs before. I’ve loved lots of other dogs before. I’ve had to say goodbye before too, but I had forgotten how much that hurts. So when Mikhale said she had a new foster dog lined up for me, I said yes.

Let me get something clear before I go any further. As a foster parent to a dog, it’s your responsibility to provide temporary shelter, care and love, until it finds its forever home. Temporary. (A word I would later forget, or just choose to ignore.)

The last time we fostered a dog, it was a bit of an unplanned disaster. It wasn’t Lola’s fault that things blew up—it was mine. My heart opened up when I saw her face and on some level I knew it wasn’t going to be a good fit. But I committed anyway. No one else was stepping up and her time was running out. She was a full-grown Labrador puppy. We live in a small townhouse—sans yard—and possess very little dog training skills.

Enough said.

But saving Lola was a good choice—one I’ll never regret. She went on to become a narcotics and bomb-sniffing dog, helping law enforcement in Michigan. I knew she had it in her. The ability to be a great companion and the skills to be a well-minded gal. 

The day I said goodbye to her was only a month before I met Merlin. I cried for a lot of reasons. One: the unknown. Would she be ok, or would she end up back in a shelter? Two: selfishness. Even though she was a pain in the ass, left poop stains on my bed and scuffs on all the wall, she was a love. She kissed me with such gratitude the day we pulled her out of the shelter. Just before she ran me over (giving me a black eye) and nearly popped my shoulder from its socket. 

This is what I thought every dog-fostering experience would be like. They’ll come to my house, cause havoc, beat up my dog, make a mess, give me a gratitude kiss then find a home that’s a better fit.

Oh how I was wrong.

After the Lola experience, or calamity, I made some better decisions about how I’d go about fostering in the future. The main thing: I’d only commit to smaller dogs. I just don’t have the muscle, skill or room to house a young, large pup. I told myself You can’t save them all, but you can save some, and you can try to do it with a little more grace and a lot more logic. Be effective.    

I drove downtown to meet Mikhale on a Monday. She let me know over the phone that Merlin was a tiny prince charming who minded his manners, insisted on tummy rubs and tolerated other dogs.

When I first saw him, I was stunned by his size, overall appearance and attitude. He was small, well-groomed, toenails trimmed, rolling happily in insects he’d found in the grass. He didn’t act like other shelter dogs I’d met. He had this air of confidence (or apathy?) about him.

I loved that. It meant he wasn’t as traumatized as he could have been. We don’t know much about his background or where he came from—only that his previous family gave him up because he marked their baby. Imagine that. An unaltered dog lifting his leg on new things he sees in their home.

Anyway.

Mikhale handed him to me and as I walked to my car, Merlin looked back at her. His sassy attitude was gone and he acted a little scared. Even though he’d only been with her for one night, he had formed a bond. Maybe it was because he knew she saved him from the shelter. Or because she had given him a cozy place to sleep the night before. All I know is that he was nervous.

I did everything I could to calm his nerves. Kissed him, pet his belly and baby-talked the hell out of him. It worked. Within minutes he’d made himself right at home in my car. He lay, belly up and eyes closed in the passenger seat, enjoying the air conditioning and massage.  That air of confidence was back.

My dog Sam hasn’t exactly been thrilled with all of these strange animals coming in and out, but he’s socialized so he tolerates it. It wasn’t any different with Merlin, at first. Sam became a little jealous with the attention Merlin received from me, Chris, neighbors and friends, but he was just fine. Sam will share his food, toys and rawhides—overall he’s a great host.

Over the weeks, though, Sam began to do more than just tolerate Merlin. He started to initiate playtime by growling and flashing toys in Merlin’s face. Merlin preferred to stay on my lap, taking full advantage of the baby talk and tummy rubs. He’s considered a senior (he’s about seven years old) so his energy level isn’t in line with Sam’s. 

But recently Merlin started surprising me by responding to Sam’s invitations to play. Over the last three weeks, the two of them acted like best buddies. Snuggles, tug-of-war, everything.

This thrilled me to no end. This foster experience was so perfect, that sometimes I forgot that Merlin was just passing through. He fit into our lives so well. He went on rides with us, slept in our bed, played with our dog. It almost felt as if we hand-picked him as our own new little companion. 

He knew how to make me feel special. I was his whole world. The one he followed like a shadow around the house, the one he reached for when someone else picked him up and the one he snuggled close to at night. I accidentally started calling myself his mom. Oops.

I couldn’t help it though. It was like a white, fluffy Merlin cloud moved in and blurred my vision, and I lost sight of what this relationship was supposed to be.      

“Lost” is a good word, actually. I knew I was getting in deep, falling in love with this little furball that learned to trust me and forgot about his crappy past. I was lost about what to do. Keep him for myself? Or continue with adoption efforts? Stay close to him, keeping up the baby talk and constant loves, or start to detach a little?

It’s a good lost to be, though. Like, when you get lost in the back roads of a charming, unfamiliar town full of big trees, or lost in the eyes of a person you love.

I was confused, and lost, but I was set on one thing: keeping Merlin and avoiding negative thoughts about the future.  I went with the let whatever happens, happen adage. 

Well, Thursday something did happen. Mikhale received an email of interest on Merlin. We did a meet and greet and everything went well. After a short trial period, we’ll know for sure if he’s found his forever home. So far, he’s fitting in well and I have a strong feeling that this is his forever home.

But wait. I haven’t told you the cool part. His new home is a senior living center chock full of folks with nothing to do but love on him all day.

Can you imagine a better scenario for a mister prissy pants? 

This senior center has a policy that incorporates one dog per 20 residents. They usually adopt from shelters or rescue groups. I DID NOT KNOW PLACES LIKE THIS EXISTED.

“Can I live here, too?” I asked the Allie, the director (who, by the way, was super pleasant and dressed in tie-dye, which earned her instant cool points with me). 

This place is amazing. It’s not smelly like you’d expect an animal-friendly old folks home to be. It’s kept sparkling clean. The overall aura was unbelievably upbeat. I wouldn’t have left Merlin there otherwise.

Mikhale and I chatted about Merlin for a while and Allie gave us a tour of the facilities. There was dogs running around everywhere. I absolutely loved it.

A sweet wheelchair-bound woman with Alzheimer’s politely asked me to put Merlin in her purse—a purse she’d later forget about and deny belonged to her. 

It was easy to see Merlin would be popular there, and very well taken care of.

I walked to my car to grab his vet records and his bag of belongings (which included a tiny teddy bear squeaker, Sam’s elephant toy, bacon treats and a tiny rawhide). 

I left Allie with specific details about Merlin’s routine. Every time I talked I choked a little, trying not to burst into uncontrollable tears.

Hold them back till you leave. Just wait till you’re at your car. Don’t let him see you sad. It’ll scare him.

I grabbed mister prissy pants from Allie one more time, removed his harness and leash and puckered up. He licked me with his mini tongue and tried to stay close to my chest. He was acting nervous, the way he did the day I took him from Mikhale. 

“You’ll be alright here, I promise. They all love you already. Please don’t make this harder on mommy.” I talked to him like no one else was around. Some might not believe it, but they understand us. Words help ease their nerves and they’re experts at reading our faces.

So I smiled and comforted him and assured him he’d be ok. Then I left him.

People ask me “Why didn’t you just keep him?” and the answer to that is long and complicated. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think seriously about how we could keep him. We talked about it often. But if we had chosen to adopt Merlin, we wouldn’t be able to foster any other dogs—at least not while we’re living in this house. The other deciding factor was that in our community, there are strict covenants, codes and restrictions concerning dogs: only one pet per household is allowed. We received special permission to foster dogs, but technically we can’t own two dogs while we live here.

I hate that rule, and probably wouldn’t have moved in here had I known about it before we started to build.   

The main reason Merlin’s not in my lap right at this moment is because I am sure he will have a better life at Silverado (the senior living center). Yes, I gave him a lot of love and everyone could clearly see our attachment to one another, but at Silverado he won’t be locked in a crate for 10 hours a day. In fact, he’ll never be locked in a crate. His little paws won’t ever hit the floor. He’ll be gracing the laps of old folks as they pet him all day long. This is what he deserves. He’s social and now he’ll have a chance to polish those skills while he makes new friends and forms new attachments to the members of that community. 

I received an update from Allie yesterday:

                Merlin update: he’s covered with lipstick from all the kisses. 

So here I am now, with Sam snuggling at my feet, feeling much better now that I’ve documented some of Merlin’s story. I’m filled with warm fuzzies at the thought of his tale. He went from a family that didn’t deserve him to a home brimming with people who will endlessly appreciate his company. Now his real life is just beginning. It may be morbid to think of it this way, but it’s the truth: Merlin will keep those residents company in their last years, and vice versa. 

Aside from the warm fuzzies, though, I’m suffering from my personal loss of a friend. His presence, his affection and all of his quirks: the way he chased flies and growled like he was tough during playtime. There’s a certain emptiness here now.

He came into my life for a reason, and he’s leaving it for a reason. I know this. But it still hurts to wash his blanket and to see his short white hairs in the car. The good news is I’ll get to visit. It’ll be best for both of us if I wait, I think. But some day, I will go see him basking in the glory of his brand new life.   

Fiesta night.

A few old friends came over last weekend for a Mexican-style potluck (you know those are my fave) and 'ritas with seriously salted rims. We had the best time catching up, laughing, telling old stories and new stories.

Ashley eloped to Manhattan with her long-time lover.

Brooke, cutie on the far left, just moved back to Utah after eight years. Oh how we've missed her!

Brit (in blue) still lives here in Utah, but I don't see her nearly enough. Same with Joni.

Merlin and Sam, as you can see, are just as cute as ever.

Girl's nights on occasion are a must. This was a blast. P.S. Thanks for the photos, Jones!