Dear Sammy,

I'm sure most people will probably think this is absolutely silly.  I mean, who writes a letter to their dog?  How pathetic of a person to you have to be to write words to something that can't even comprehend these words?

As I'm writing this, you are sitting on the couch tucked in the crease of cushions next to your Daddy.  A big thunderstorm is moving in and, as always, you are terrified and shaking and I truly think if he'd let you, you crawl up inside of him.  I sometimes wonder, at times like this, what you went through before you came to us to make you so absolutely terrified of a little thunder and lightning.  And then I realize that it breaks my heart to think about it and I force myself to move on.

One year ago today, your Daddy and I went out searching.  We knew we wanted to bring a dog into our lives and we had been searching for months for just the right one.  Daddy is allergic to most types of animals and we lived in apartment, so it wouldn't be very fair to bring a big dog into a 900 square foot space.  So to say we were limited was an understatement.

We ended up at the Doc Williams SPCA in Goose Creek.  I remember being led into the room where all the little dogs were in evenly spaced cages up against the wall and they all were whining and begging for attention.  That, truthfully, was the hardest part.  If I could have scooped every one of them up and taken them home, I would have.

I wasn't the one who saw your first - your Daddy was.  He walked right over to where you sat, all scruffy and wild looking in your cage, and knelt down and as soon as he did, you greeted him by standing on your back paws and licking the finger he stuck in the hole.  He immediately turned to me and said, "I want that one!".

And Sammy, my baby, my precious lovey-dog, I looked right at you and said, "Ewww! No, I want that one!" and pointed to a little Shih Tzu in the cage across from you.  And even to this day, your Daddy doesn't let me live it down but it doesn't matter because I now look at you, with your wild mane and big ears and scruffy "eyebrows", and I truly think that you are the cutest dog in the world.

We weren't sure at first.  We didn't know if we were ready.  We weren't sure if you were the right one.  The ladies at the shelter let us take you out and meet you.  We even got to take you for a walk, where you immediately peed on my foot.  We took that as a sign that you wanted to be ours and within an hour, you were on Daddy's lap in the car with your head out the window and your ears blown back, looking like you had just been released from death row. 

We immediately went to PetSmart and commenced the spoiling and even after a year, that hasn't stopped.  Everytime one of us goes to the store, we always end up coming home with something for you, be it a treat or a new toy.  You are one of the only dogs I know who has an entire doggy bed full of stuffed animals.  If I could just teach you to pick them up after you drag them out then we'd be rich and I'd buy you all the stuffed toys your heart desires.  Who am I kidding?  I already do!

It's been a rough year.  Your cuteness definitely disguised the fact that you were a bit rough around the edges.  We know someone must have treated you bad because you have your moments where you can be awfully mean.  We found out very quickly that you don't like your paws touched.  You don't like to be bothered when sleeping or eating.  And if you're scared, you have a tendency to lash out and snap at us.  This is a behavior we definitely don't like, as you have bitten both myself and your Daddy pretty good, but we are working on that.  We are trying to teach you to love and trust us again and to make you realize that we are there to keep you safe and take care of, not to hurt you.  And it is a long and tiring process but we have seen quite a bit of progress over the year and that gives us hope for the future.

But there are better moments that make me so very grateful we decided to bring you in our lives.  I don't have any babies but you are my baby at the moment.  My heart swells when I come home from a long day at work and you are there to greet me, shaking your tail so fast your butt moves with it and following me around the house until I finally pay attention to you.  Or when you jump up on the couch and snuggle yourself into my lap, staring up at me with those huge brown eyes that make me wonder why you always look so sad when at that very moment, you seem so very happy.  Or how, in the morning, you come out of your bed and climb in ours then find that little crook in my lower back or my belly and snuggle yourself in until you are comfortable and almost laying on top of me.  And if I move even the slightest away from you, you scoot yourself over until your body is touching mine again.

I love when I ask if you want to go "Bye-bye!" and you freak the HELL out, as if your little head is going to explode if we don't go now, right now, Mama, I want to go NOW!  And when you really want attention, you climb up on my chest after being invited and lay with your face in front of mine until I pet you.

You love giving kisses and will lick anyone's face off if they let you.  You will sit and speak for treats and have learned to go down when told.  You have learned so much in the past year and we are so very proud of you.

The greatest thing that has happened is you got your own backyard and boy, have you made it known that the yard is yours. There have been many weekend days where the sun is beating down on the grass and I've poked my head out of the sliding glass door to find you flat on your back, legs splayed and chin stretched out, soaking up the sun.  You'll lay like that for a good half an hour as if all you want to do in life is soak up the sun. 

You killed a mole the other day.  Your Daddy and I were pretty sure that's what had been plaguing our yard but we weren't positive.  You had been digging and digging for days and we will admit that we did yell at you as we had just spent about $200 planting new grass seed in most of the areas you dug in.  Then I came home one day and your Daddy said you were outside and I peeked out because no one had been watching you and lo and behold, I find you standing over something and gray.  From far away, it looked like a bird but as I got closer and you stared up at me panting and smiling, I realized it was a little grey mole, about eight inches long and it was as sure as dead.  And as I called for Daddy to come out and take care of it, you stood there looking at me expectedly, like you were so amazingly proud of what you had caught and I couldn't help but praise you for being such a good boy and getting rid of that pesky mole.

I couldn't be mad at you because, as a terrier, that is in your nature.  And to be painfully honest, that mole was starting to become a nuisance anyway.  And you were so very proud.  I just didn't want to clean it up so I made your Daddy do it and ever since, you've stopped digging and prefer to sun yourself, as if you'd slain the dragon and all was quiet in the kingdom.

Now the thunderstorm has passed and you're contently sprawled between your Daddy and I and as I look at you all curled up near us, close enough to be part of us but far enough away to feel like you have your own space, I can't help but think how grateful I am that your Daddy found you because I can't imagine my life without you!

I love you Sammy-Sam!  Happy Adoption Birthday!

Love,

Mama

(To those of you who read this without shaking your head and thinking I'm crazy dog lady - thank you!)

At my old job, we had four floors and four bathrooms.  The "basement" and the second floor were communal, with two stalls and two sinks a piece.  The first and third floor had private bathrooms, one on the first floor, and two on the third that were probably supposed to be seperated for each sex but were informally unisex, mostly because the women on the floor outnumbered the men and most of us weren't going to wait for a bathroom to open up when there was a perfectly good open one right next to.  I think the lack of labels all helped in that aspect as well.

When I first started, I had the luxury of working on the third floor.  I say this because the private bathroom was a luxury.  Being able to go in, lock the door, do whatever business you need to do, wash your hands then leave was comfortable and private and exactly how I like my work bathroom experience to be.

About halfway through my tenure, I was moved to the second floor - the floor with the communal bathroom.  And unless it was a dire emergency, I still walked up to the third floor or down to the first.  It was that important to maintain that privacy.

Now, at this job, we have only communal bathrooms.  No matter what floor your on, there are two stalls - a handicapped which is nice and roomy and a small and cramped one that you can barely turn around in.

And I hate it!

Don't get me wrong, I've never been one of those girls who can't potty in public.  Granted, I'm not about to announce my business to an entire crowd or come back exclaiming about a crowning acheivement I just left in the porcelain.  But I take the philosophy that if you gotta go, you gotta go and sometimes, you need to find a bathroom in Wal-Mart.  Or the woods, which I've done my fair share of as well (not for sport, mind you, but camping + beer = trees and leaves since there are no porta potties in sight).

I'd also like to point out that public bathrooms at places like Wal-Mart or a restaurant or an amusement park don't bother me.  Everyone coming in and out are strangers to each other and it is a rarity to find a complete stranger who willingly wants to interact with you in a public bathroom.  And there is a minimal chance that you will ever see any of them again.  And no one is judging you because hey, we all are human and we all are in the same situation.

The work bathrooms bother me.  It's the social stigma of having to conduct very private business in a semi-social place with people who you see everyday.  I don't like to converse with people in the bathroom.  I don't like knowing that someone I see and chat with everyday might be conducting their private business next to me. 

It's the questions.  Will they think I'm rude if I choose not to speak to them?  Do I have to say anything at all?  Are they thinking the smell that here when I came in is me?  Can they tell it's me by my shoes?

Seriously, I get extremely paranoid and freaked out.  When I hear footsteps down the hall, I tense up.  I don't move if someone comes in and I have been known just to hang out in the stall until they leave, even though I was there first.  I've wondered if they can see the my reflection from their stall as they look at the shared polished marble floors.  I've been overly paranoid that they can see through the crack in the door hinge because it's right next to the sink and the toilet in the stall is positioned to where if you are in there, you can look out and see who is washing their hands.  I've been known to put the hood of my little sweater over my head in cases like these, lest they peek through that crack and realize it's me in there.

It sounds weird, I know.  And it really has nothing to do with being embarassed about the act itself but more about the overall invasion of privacy that I feel.  I want to remain anonymouse because I'm so paranoid that someone is going to use that opportunity to inquire about why their email isn't working or whether they can get some computers and a phone set up in the training room.  And the last thing I was is to schedule work tasks while I'm trying to go potty.

Because what do I say later if I forget?  Sorry, I was concentrating on peeing when you asked me that. 

And it would look totally weird if I brought a pen and pad to bathroom.

At my old job, we had a problem with poo being spread all over places that weren't the toilet.  Yes, I know, great story right?  But seriously, it would get on the walls and on napkins the trash can.  And it was kind of gross.  It was a mystery how it got there.  No one could fathom how bad it had to be for it not to reach the toilet.  Everyone assumed it was this older woman in the office who we most likely thought wore the adult diapers and had a hard time cleaning herself up.

The point of telling that rather gross story - and trust me, it was much more awful to be there than to hear about it - is to say that people talk about stuff like that.  And that only heightens my paranoia.  Because I don't want people talking about my private bathroom adventures.  And even now in my office, the guys will come back talking about how someone stunk up their bathroom or how someone else thought it was kosher to start a conversation with them while they were both standing at the urinals.  And us girls know that there is someone who is on a 2pm (or roundabout) schedule and that if you entered the bathroom at that time on any given day, you should probably hold your breath.

Maybe I'm overly paranoid.  Who knows?  I wouldn't even know where to begin to get over this. 

Maybe all I need to do is move up the ladder enough so I can have my own office with my own bathroom.  My boss does and it has a shower in it!

Don't even get me started on taking a shower at work.  That's a whole other level of paranoia.

I'm going to try and follow C's advice and just write, even if I don't feel like I have anything interesting to say.

Work never stops and sometimes, I wake up and dread the idea that there's another fifty or so years ahead of me of sitting at a desk for nine hours, stressed out of my mind, only to go home, have some dinner and a few hours of reprieve before I have to get up and do it all over again.  I'm still averaging about fifty-five hours a week and am only thankful that I can do about ten hours of those from home, preferably in my pajamas in bed. 

Regardless, I still feel like I'm so far behind I'm never going to catch up.  I've taken on so much responsibility in the past few months - not because I want it but merely because it NEEDS to be done and at this point, there's no one else willing to do it.  I used to swear by the idea that when I left work, everything stayed there.  Now, I leave and spend the entire commute home wondering if there is anything I can accomplish when I get home.  Like that twenty minute drive is only a break while I switch venues. 

The guilt, it kills me.  I feel guilty because I can't get everything accomplished at work.  I feel even guiltier because I neglect Steve and the dog and other self-deemed "housewifely" duties that my brain just turns to mush thinking about after a long day.

And let's not talk about the traffic I've encountered this week.  That's enough to make my head want to explode.  My thirty minute commute has taken exactly an hour the past two days or so.  Most of it is related to accidents or rush hour but seriously, I haven't experienced bumper to bumper traffic like this since I left Philly.  And it's frustrating because no matter which back way I try to take, it's just as congested.

Aside from the fact that the most Northern thing about me is how I drive.  I cannot stand the lacksidasical approach people take to driving down here.  The speed limit on the one lane main road to my neighborhood is 40 but people insist on doing 25 because they're on their cell phone or just because they feel like seeing the sights.  

Oh, and the merging.  They should teach a lesson on merging when you get your SC driver's license.  You do not slam on your brakes to let someone in - that's why they have a merge lane.  And to those of you merging - if you see me traveling at a steady speed in the lane you are trying to merge in, do not speed up only to cut me off within an inch of my life then slow down.  If you are so worried about getting over on time, slow down a little and get behind me, the person doing the speed limit.  You cutting me off isn't going to get you anywhere faster, especially when you immediately slow down, and you'll be lucky if it doesn't kill us.

Then there's the disabled vehicles.  Most of the time, they are the ones blocking lanes in some of the busiest traffic.  I'm pretty much going to place the blame for those on the lack of state inspection in SC.  I really should start logging some of the pieces of shit people get away with driving around here.  I saw someone once puttering around in a vehicles WITHOUT A HOOD.  Like, driving with nothing to protect the engine.

I know SC used to have an inspection.  By the time I got here, it was obsolete but I heard they got rid of it because it didn't really matter.  People were getting fake stickers and not caring if they drove cars that weren't deemed safe to drive.  And I really wonder if things got so bad that they couldn't enforce it.  Other states still require an inspection and they enforce it hard.  I know I've gotten pulled over in PA because my stickers were out of date.  And even though Steve was certified to inspect my car, it didn't give me any leeway.  If my check engine light was on, he fixed it before he ever put stickers on because we knew the consequences. 

And that just leads me believe that it's beter to have regulations in place than not have any at all.  Because I know in PA, there were people skirting the law, but I also know it was harder to get away with it.  And I can only think, everytime I hear a report about a disabled vehicle blocking traffic, that if they started enforcing inspections again, perhaps we would have less of these pieces of shit vehicles breaking down and causing all the traffic problems that they do.

But I'm just a girl trying to get to work so what does my opinion count anyway?

And would you look at that ... C was right.  If you force yourself to blog, sometimes you can come up with something to say, even if it's just me whining and moaning about traffic. 

I find it rather ironic that a day that tends to be a metaphor for impending doom precedes a day that we have come to fill with drunken debauchery and rousing good times.

Of course, one could argue that they are completely unrelated, particularly when you look at which came first.

Even so, it's something to be aware of.

Have a safe weekend (we're under a tornado warning now and the storm is starting to pick up) and a Happy (but safe) St. Patrick's Day.

I had a day off today.  Because it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day.  And to be completely honest, I think many people tend to forget why we have this day.  To some, it has become just another day off.  To others, they don't even realize it as they have to head off to work and go about their lives as usual.