When things feel out of control

Why not thing it up and add a couple more?

I’ve been feeling a bit AHHHHHH lately, like a speck in a bad way, supersoaked by the firehose of national tragedy that just won’t seem to ease up. So many friends and loved ones in vulnerable communities at the mercy of forces (governmental, environmental, just mental) they can’t control. Around the inauguration I decided to lean into this feeling of insignificance and think small. Where can I make a direct impact locally, right now, be useful to someone in a tangible way? Tangible feels productive which feels like the opposite of helplessness.

I reached back out to Girls Write Now, an organization I’ve volunteered with in years past, to get involved again as a mentor. Last time for some reason I got paired with a kid who wanted to be a lawyer. She was a sweetie and we did our best for the semester, but she could not have been less interested in what I do and I knew precious little about how to help her make her professional dreams come true. She deserved a better match. Surely, I asked this time, there must be a young student out there who’s interested in journalism or TV news who could use me as a resource?

(What was meant to be a rhetorical question is now going to hang there but we’re going to move on.)

Next thing to hit my inbox was this.

An Emily Bat Signal.

We’ve fostered with Social Tees before, but not since adopting Zadie on this fateful Clear the Shelters Day:

Real crazy GIVE ME THE DOG lady vibes

Their well-timed email blast to former fosters explained they had a litter of puppies coming in from Puerto Rico who were in desperate need of temporary homes. Social Tees doesn’t have any sort of kennel space where dogs can spend time. Their rescues go straight from the plane into a foster home and if there’s none available, that dog gets left behind. We can’t have that, can we? (Heavy on the rhetorical questions today). Within a few hours I was waiting for their delivery truck to arrive from JFK, gobsmacked as someone reached into a crate full of puppies, pulled one out and handed it to me. Then I just… walked away??

I feel like this is sufficient explanation for how I ended up mentoring (kids) and fostering (puppies) at a very chaotic time both personally and professionally.

She was the runt of her litter, nine bony pounds shivering as I zipped her into my coat to take her home on the subway. I kept thinking about the shock of going from a beach puppy in Puerto Rico with all your siblings to landing in freezing cold New York with snow and salt on the streets. She was starving, though, and not in a “I’m starving” way between lunch and dinner. Her distended belly is soft and hot. When I run my finger over ribs it feels like playing a xylophone.

She has kind of a stupid name that she doesn’t even know, so we just call her “it,” a way of not getting too attached that is scientifically proven logic-wise and airtight, emotionally. It has tender puds not yet hardened by city streets and is absolutely terrified of its leash, walks, and all things outside, but inside it came out of its shell with astonishing speed. I thought Zadie would be thrilled for the company, as I can tell she’s lonely in the winter when our trips to the dog park are more rare. As it turns out, a psychotic tree frog who uses her as a launchpad for bouncing off the walls and destroys all her favorite toys with its tiny razor teeth is not Zadie’s idea of good company.

Unfortunately for Zadie, I enjoy this even more.

It has been so funny to watch her grumble at this puppy energy and start to teach the little one some manners when she is too much, which is always. The little one, in turn, has learned just how to provoke her into a game of tug of war or chasing each other around the dining room table, occasionally bumping into chair legs with different-sized thuds. It dials it down when it wants to nuzzle next to Zadie for a nap, sneaking up on her slowly, chipping away at her resistance to snuggles when she is too exhausted to move. My main job is fattening it up, which of course I do with great relish. As someone who threw dinner parties in her college dorm I know a thing or two about nurturing skinny ladies!!

When I stand in the kitchen cooking it curls up on my feet. Sitting here now with my laptop it has wedged its snoot underneath my arm, chin resting just close enough to the keys that there’s an occasional a;lsdkfjl;adfjk I have to delete. Is this the baby writer I have been waiting for?

My sneezes upset it greatly and it licks my nose while maintaining disconcerting eye contact. Its breath smells like coffee. It is completely black, no white socks even, and incredibly difficult to photograph. It looks like negative space. I want it to take up as much space as possible while it is here, fill out, fill up every corner of the house. It’s such a tiny thing. A little Beanie Baby that came to life like Frosty the Snowman. It’s not here to stay. It. It. It.