Love this, Rona. My dogs are great teachers. They don't have the busy brains that judge others harshly that sometimes mess with my clarity and kindness. They're simple and generous and remind me that life doesn't always need to be so complicated. And, wow that apple...and all the rest. Your stack looks wonderful. I love that you're wearing red and there's black and red art behind you in the photo of your corporate past. You are a woman true to her brand. Thanks for working with me at StyleYourStack! xo
Loved this tale of how Casey was a master diplomat in helping to soften the relationship with Adrian, particularly in memory. The scene in the variety store made me laugh. No one there knew if Casey was still a poop threat so you had "hand."
A lovely story that brings up questions of what we owe to people in our lives who are a drain and a disruption but depend upon us. Thanks Rona for this essay.
I have a family member who is an addict. Knowing how difficult he has made those I love, it's hard for me to like him. It's hard for me to watch what feels like enabling behavior from those who love him. It triggers me and send my mind back fifty years...back to losing my brother. Then I remember my brother, and how desperately I loved him, and how his death destroyed me for many years. I remember how I had wished members of our family had loved him, had reached out, had cared. I transpose those thoughts onto my addicted family member. And I love him.
I hear you, Linda. It’s just about impossible to separate feelings for one addicted person from what we feel for the next. We see the frustration, the bruised love, the dashed hope and the anger, not the whole person. I am so sorry for your family’s suffering.
For our first outing, I told myself I’d be a good dog mom and take Georgia to the most beautiful public lake on a warm Saturday afternoon. We’d had about six days of getting to know each other at home — me coaxing her to eat and her dragging her bed from the living room back to my bedside. I thought a big, long walk was the best thing for us to try. Little did I know.
When we got to the lake trail, sprawling with people everywhere, she nervously lunged to the ground. I tried coaxing her softly, but nothing could make her move more than a few inches at a time. She stretched her paws forward as if to show me, “See, I’m trying?” Once or twice we got a few steps linked together, but then she’d roll over again like she was doing war exercises. I took all this resistance as my cue to finally just sit on the grass next to her and rest. People walked on around us, leaving their side eyes and glances as I nervously assessed the situation.
“This must’ve been too much for you,” I said, stroking the back of her head, assuringly. And we crawled inch by inch back to the car.
For her whole life Georgia would ask me to see the real her and offer the loving response, not just what the world prescribed as “good.” Georgia let me ask for what I needed, too, many times in social situations like the one at the park. It turns out I never really enjoyed crowded parks either but would force myself to go and be anxious the whole time — but with my dog to care for, the compassion to find a peaceful walking space was now available to us both.
Thank you for sharing this excerpt, Rona. It opened a door for me to reflect and what better gift could I have asked for? 🫶
You two must have complemented each other so well, her needs giving you permission to accept your own. We are now looking for our next dog, who may be a more complicated character than the happy-go-lucky Casey. The complication will be a lesson of a different kind.
So much to think about here, Rona. My family has its fair share of Adrians but Sugar has never had the opportunity to meet them. Chances are she'd love them. Dogs are so good at love.
Wonderful to have found your page via Nan! 🍎✍️🐾 I enjoyed learning about Casey. Dogs are a great judge of character for sure. Thank you for sharing this excerpt.
It is hard to integrate addicted and/or mentally ill relatives into our 'regular, sort of' lives, especially when their bad decisions hurt people (or animals) we love. I'm glad you and Paul could work out a way for Paul to connect, but I understand your distance. I felt that way about a mentally ill brother in law who was also a medical doctor, although eventually he lost his license. After too many hurtful experiences, I just had to keep a distance. To explain just how odd he was, I don't think he would have been able to connect or enjoy Casey's company! Animals function well without judgement bones, they like you, love you, unless you do something to hurt or scare them. If they love you enough, they even forgive those moments. Maybe if we had bigger teeth or better growls we could be more like them. PS--love the new look!
This piece is exemplary of why I love your work and reminds me a bit of the piece of yours that first brought me to you. It’s filled with self-reflection. It takes such a wonderful turn, one that says yes/and just when you’re not expecting it. It looks through a tight lens ever opening onto a wide and bounteous world
Thank you, Holly. I wonder what that first piece was. The one that drew me to you was about that spiked piece you wrote for the newspaper in West Virginia (?). I still remember it.
It was the one you wrote for, was it Beyond, another Substack anyway, where you were (or I should say the character you was) seated at the end of a dinner table with a guy who you/she ended up having a surprisingly sweet and touching conversation about dogs I believe. I was taken with the prose and with the turn and the clear reflection. I wouldn’t have put it this way, but you’ve said you’re looking to see if there’s someone home in a piece of writing. And I think I very much saw someone home in that piece. I still remember it too.
Fortunately for the addicts in our lives, our dogs teach us compassion. Judgement does no one any good. Not us. Not the addict. Casey’s connection to Adrian is an example to us all of what unconditional Love can be. We need more of Casey’s loving spirit in the recovery community.
Love this, Rona. My dogs are great teachers. They don't have the busy brains that judge others harshly that sometimes mess with my clarity and kindness. They're simple and generous and remind me that life doesn't always need to be so complicated. And, wow that apple...and all the rest. Your stack looks wonderful. I love that you're wearing red and there's black and red art behind you in the photo of your corporate past. You are a woman true to her brand. Thanks for working with me at StyleYourStack! xo
Nan, it was such a pleasure. Just yesterday, I told someone she should hire you when she’s ready to launch her stack.
I had a wonderful experience working with you. Thank you for recommending! xo
Awwww, a really lovely post. Seems that animals are the glue that binds/bonds us to other 2-legged animals, despite our protestations.
They are indeed. Thanks, Katherine,
Loved this tale of how Casey was a master diplomat in helping to soften the relationship with Adrian, particularly in memory. The scene in the variety store made me laugh. No one there knew if Casey was still a poop threat so you had "hand."
A lovely story that brings up questions of what we owe to people in our lives who are a drain and a disruption but depend upon us. Thanks Rona for this essay.
Casey as a master diplomat. Such a comical term when applied to a dog. Thanks, David. I'm honored to have given you a laugh today.
I have a family member who is an addict. Knowing how difficult he has made those I love, it's hard for me to like him. It's hard for me to watch what feels like enabling behavior from those who love him. It triggers me and send my mind back fifty years...back to losing my brother. Then I remember my brother, and how desperately I loved him, and how his death destroyed me for many years. I remember how I had wished members of our family had loved him, had reached out, had cared. I transpose those thoughts onto my addicted family member. And I love him.
I hear you, Linda. It’s just about impossible to separate feelings for one addicted person from what we feel for the next. We see the frustration, the bruised love, the dashed hope and the anger, not the whole person. I am so sorry for your family’s suffering.
Thank you, Rona.
For our first outing, I told myself I’d be a good dog mom and take Georgia to the most beautiful public lake on a warm Saturday afternoon. We’d had about six days of getting to know each other at home — me coaxing her to eat and her dragging her bed from the living room back to my bedside. I thought a big, long walk was the best thing for us to try. Little did I know.
When we got to the lake trail, sprawling with people everywhere, she nervously lunged to the ground. I tried coaxing her softly, but nothing could make her move more than a few inches at a time. She stretched her paws forward as if to show me, “See, I’m trying?” Once or twice we got a few steps linked together, but then she’d roll over again like she was doing war exercises. I took all this resistance as my cue to finally just sit on the grass next to her and rest. People walked on around us, leaving their side eyes and glances as I nervously assessed the situation.
“This must’ve been too much for you,” I said, stroking the back of her head, assuringly. And we crawled inch by inch back to the car.
For her whole life Georgia would ask me to see the real her and offer the loving response, not just what the world prescribed as “good.” Georgia let me ask for what I needed, too, many times in social situations like the one at the park. It turns out I never really enjoyed crowded parks either but would force myself to go and be anxious the whole time — but with my dog to care for, the compassion to find a peaceful walking space was now available to us both.
Thank you for sharing this excerpt, Rona. It opened a door for me to reflect and what better gift could I have asked for? 🫶
You two must have complemented each other so well, her needs giving you permission to accept your own. We are now looking for our next dog, who may be a more complicated character than the happy-go-lucky Casey. The complication will be a lesson of a different kind.
Dogs see something in us we don't see, or refuse to see in each other.
It's beautiful. Dogs don't judge, they accept who we are, as we are, where we are.
They are great teachers, in part because they do not know they’re doing it.
So much to think about here, Rona. My family has its fair share of Adrians but Sugar has never had the opportunity to meet them. Chances are she'd love them. Dogs are so good at love.
They are not only loving, they inspire love in us humans. What a gift. Where would we be without it?
I noticed that apple at once! The whole look! It's lovely, Rona, as is this excerpt. Congratulations! (Also, you are dashing, giving that keynote.)
I had pretty plumage once… Thanks, Beth. Trust an artist to notice a new look.
Wonderful to have found your page via Nan! 🍎✍️🐾 I enjoyed learning about Casey. Dogs are a great judge of character for sure. Thank you for sharing this excerpt.
Any friend of Nan's... Welcome, Marjorie.
It is hard to integrate addicted and/or mentally ill relatives into our 'regular, sort of' lives, especially when their bad decisions hurt people (or animals) we love. I'm glad you and Paul could work out a way for Paul to connect, but I understand your distance. I felt that way about a mentally ill brother in law who was also a medical doctor, although eventually he lost his license. After too many hurtful experiences, I just had to keep a distance. To explain just how odd he was, I don't think he would have been able to connect or enjoy Casey's company! Animals function well without judgement bones, they like you, love you, unless you do something to hurt or scare them. If they love you enough, they even forgive those moments. Maybe if we had bigger teeth or better growls we could be more like them. PS--love the new look!
Is there an addict in every family, Leslie? I often think so. If not for Casey, I would still be mired in judgment.
Enjoyed reading this piece .
I can relate on so many levels. Your thoughts and words drew me in .
Being a dog lover , this conjures up memories and emotions I had forgotten .
Thank you, Denise. I think all of us dog people have lived a version of this story.
Abigail and god are right! You are a damn good, great, greatest writer.
Oh, I’m blushing happily. Thank you, Jennifer.
She didn’t like him.
Her dear dog licked his hand, heart.
The now dead deadbeat.
If there is an afterlife, Casey and Adrian are hanging out together. Not that I believe in afterlife.
Such a human story. And this made me LOL.
"Please, let no one in this store ever see me again.”
It’s a pleasure to make a reader laugh. I know you understand the ways of dogs.
This piece is exemplary of why I love your work and reminds me a bit of the piece of yours that first brought me to you. It’s filled with self-reflection. It takes such a wonderful turn, one that says yes/and just when you’re not expecting it. It looks through a tight lens ever opening onto a wide and bounteous world
Thank you, Holly. I wonder what that first piece was. The one that drew me to you was about that spiked piece you wrote for the newspaper in West Virginia (?). I still remember it.
It was the one you wrote for, was it Beyond, another Substack anyway, where you were (or I should say the character you was) seated at the end of a dinner table with a guy who you/she ended up having a surprisingly sweet and touching conversation about dogs I believe. I was taken with the prose and with the turn and the clear reflection. I wouldn’t have put it this way, but you’ve said you’re looking to see if there’s someone home in a piece of writing. And I think I very much saw someone home in that piece. I still remember it too.
Fortunately for the addicts in our lives, our dogs teach us compassion. Judgement does no one any good. Not us. Not the addict. Casey’s connection to Adrian is an example to us all of what unconditional Love can be. We need more of Casey’s loving spirit in the recovery community.
His love will continue to guide me. I carried a heavy grudge because of my father’s alcoholism. Casey helped me lay it down.