A (Canine) Refugee from New Orleans

As I write this post, I am looking from my second floor window across the alley to the house directly behind me. It is a big, well kept home and the wisteria hangs gracefully over the large deck. I see a black dog, probably of several pedigrees, running around. I can't tell the dog's age but it doesn't seem to be a puppy. Maybe two or three years old.

Yesterday I talked to my neighbor from this house as I was taking trash to the dumpster. We talked about neighborhood things--other houses up for sale, my newly landscaped back yard, the upcoming neighborhood alley cleanup.

As I was getting ready to go back to my own back yard, he introduced me to Penny, "a refugee from New Orleans." I asked what he meant. He said that another neighbor had acquired several displaced pets from New Orleans and offered Penny to his family of two teenage girls. They took Penny in and now she has a loving home.

I looked at Penny and wondered: What has she seen? How was her life turned upside down? Who in New Orleans is missing her? Or is anyone missing her at all? Was she one of those pets that was found floating on a door or on the top of a roof, the waters about to engulf her?

I am touched by the kindness of my neighbors in accepting Penny and giving her a home. Somehow and in ways I cannot describe, kindness to animals and to "all of creation" seems to me to be connected to kindness to other humans and to a better balanced world.

My partner took in a cat at his house named Webster. Webster runs in and out of the house. He eats there but doesn't always want to hang out. He makes few claims of my partner and his daughter. But one day when he was mauled in a cat brawl, he was lovingly cared for until he could go out on his mysterious prowls again. Another sign of kindness to animals.

Now when I look out and see Penny running around her new back yard, I will remember New Orleans. Many of the human refugees have not fared as well as Penny. It is strange that my most concrete and visible link to what happened down there is a dog.

Difficulty Moving On . . . . . . .

If you have read some of the recent postings on this blog site, you know that I just completed a move to a new house.

Until I got really involved in the process of leaving the apartment where I had lived happily for eight years, I thought that just another move would be the easiest thing in the world. I am fairly well-organized. I hold no opposition to the idea of change and movement for any individual or society. And I spent years traveling internationally. My image of myself was as a person who embraces and even welcomes change.

As a country, Americans are committed to change. Have you counted how many times in the past few weeks you have heard the phrase "moving on"? I have no proof but it is my belief that this phrase was hardly ever used even a decade ago. In the United States, we encourage not only physical movement but psychological movement. A person in bereavement is encouraged to move on. A divorced person is encouraged to move on. People who have suffered serious traumas calculate their health by their ability to move on.

So, getting back to my situation, I moved exactly eight minutes by car from my old apartment. In this process I have discovered a number of things about myself. Basic to these discoveries is my enjoyment of a regular fixed routine. I found that just a very small thing such as where I leave my keys when I come in the door could drive me crazy.

And the chaos! For several weeks, many of my possessions, including all of my books, were left behind at the other apartment. I found that I had not labeled the moving boxes in such a way as to be able to find things when I needed them.

Friends would ask if I am enjoying the new house. I would have difficulty trying to decide whether or not to tell them the truth (no, no yet because I feel so unsettled here) or just say something like "It is wonderful to be here."

Just learning new public transportation schedules, seeing new neighbors each day, buying groceries at a new neighborhood supermarket have all left me feeling very much at loose ends sometimes.

Yes, I myself "moved on" to a new house that I myself selected and purchased. But it has been a largely unpleasant and unsettling experience. So I am left wondering if my difficulty navigating change is something that I am developing as I age or if it is just the normal response to having a fairly regulated existence turned upside down for awhile.

As I write these notes, I have been in the new house for about five weeks. It is beginning to seem right and feel like I wanted it to feel. Now I know which drawer holds the flatware and where to leave my keys when I come in the door. Still, the experience of learning that my response to change is more brittle than I thought is unsettling.