Tag Archives: Dog

The Fishbowl Effect

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Sad T-Rex

Sad T-Rex (Photo credit: iJammin)

There’s a pain that comes with Peace Corps service.  At least it accompanies the first 100 days of service.  I can’t pretend that it won’t also be a part of the next 700 days, but it will be less intense.  It’s something that Peace Corps warned us about.  When they told us about it, I didn’t understand.  How could I?  Now I’ve been through it.  Now I understand.  Now…how do I explain it?

Peace Corps’ description: You are always “on.”  In the Peace Corps manual, you will find a list of Core Expectations.  I have number five circled: “Recognize that you are responsible 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for your personal conduct and professional performance.”  Add that on top of the reality that you are the only American in town, and you’ve got yourself quite the fish bowl.

This hit me hard today.  I wanted to do some writing.  I needed some inspiration, so I looked through some old pictures.  The pictures stabbed me with memories.  Beautiful memories of a time that feels so long ago.  Whenever I get like this, I like to go for a walk.  It clears my head.  But I can’t go for a walk.  My host family will ask where I am going.  I’ll tell them I want to walk.  They’ll tell me it’s not safe with all the dogs out at night.

How do you deal with this?  My host family has a puppy.  I thought I would love it.  The thing is, that little dog reminds me of my two dogs—who died within two months of each other right before I left for the Peace Corps.  But I can’t be sad.  I can sneak into my room—because that comes across as antisocial.  And I can’t cry.  Having someone ask questions would only complicate the situation.

But…I move into my own apartment in 13 days or so.  That’s the small light at the end of the tunnel.  It’ll be nice to have a whole apartment rather than a small room.  It’ll be great to control my diet.  It’ll be nice to not be expected home at a certain hour.  Most of all, I can go for walks whenever I want.  It’s this beginning part—these first 100 days of service that have worn on me.

I know there’s a part of me that will always be “on.”  That part of me will either learn to adjust or sigh a long awaited sigh of relief when I finally hit American soil in 2015.  That’s such a strange thought.  The idea of being here two years is realistic now.  The thought of returning home is so…surreal.  All the food.  The flat sidewalks.  Movie theaters.  Strong Internet.  Not having trouble understanding someone in a basic conversation.

I feel like I’m in a constant state of over-alertness.

I need a vacation.

Losing My Pug

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Young PugIt seems so unfair.  Our family had two dogs as I grew up.  Cassidy was the old, larger mutt.  Tocina was the younger, smaller pug.  When Cassidy passed in November, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.  She had survived the cancer far longer than we could have expected.  The hardest part was her quick deterioration.  I was 1,300 miles away when I got the news.  I never got to say goodbye.  That was the hardest part.  I never remembered to cry.  I didn’t cry for her until yesterday–when everything was unleashed.

Tocina was never exactly healthy.  She was allergic to so much that we had to make her food out of a strange mixture of oatmeal and turkey.  It did her well, but we still had to keep her on steroids her entire life.  Considering I will only be gone for 27 months and Tocina is 8 years old, I expected she might still be alive when I get back.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  A few months ago, Tocina desperately needed her nails clipped.  It was impossible to hold her down.  The vet put her under anesthesia to clip them.  When she came out of it, she suffered a stroke.  She suffered a second stroke a few months later.

My little Tocina has not been the same since then.  Then, last week, something started happening.  It was a small shake, like she was suffering from Parkinson’s   It would only last for a few seconds.  But, as the days carried on, it only got worse.  Yesterday, it was quite violent and lasted for 10-20 minutes at a time.  She was losing control of her bowels and we were finding blood.  Despite her youth, we knew it was time.  At the vet, my mom held her as they gave her the relaxing shot.  A few minutes later, she was a dead weight.  My mom couldn’t hold her up, so we put her on my lap.  I put one hand on her head and the other under her–so I could feel her heart.  It was relaxed.  Then they gave her the shot.  Her heart gave a single beat….then stopped.

Tocina