Summertime...And the Living is Easy

I made a goal when I began blogging last December that I would post at least one entry per month. At first, that wasn't too difficult. I have a tendency to find adventures in the most obscure places. I'm very aware that I'm young and have a lot of livin' to do, so I do my best to be in the thick of things, no matter what the cost. Last month, however, I hit a road block. It felt like nothing worth reporting happened: no injuries, no brushes with death, no earth-shattering existential insights, no new soapbox to rant on. None of the usual material that tends to fill the cyberspace that is my personal online memoir. However, that cannot be said about this month. I have had many grand adventures within the past few weeks and the only excuse I have for not documenting them is that I have no pictures. I feel that it is my duty as a Mormon woman to not only present an insightful, inspiring blog, but also to embellish it with the most aesthetically pleasing layout, worthy of a true domestic goddess. But, domestic I ain't, so I'll just have to narrate.

My brother made the comment a few weeks ago that I 'thought' I was outdoorsy. I don't know where he's coming up with these conclusions; we speak to each other on average about once a month. However, instead of feeling affronted, I am merely going to present my case with an overview of the occurrences of this season:

Bonfire:

A couple of weeks ago, the first counselor in my Bishopric held his annual bonfire for our ward. I've been told that bonfires in Utah are child's play compared to the roaring infernos that teenagers and college students gather around in other areas of the country. Of course they are! The great state of Utah burns to a crisp like a fatty slab of bacon every summer due to irresponsible practices outdoors. Maybe it's that old adage 'better safe then sorry', but we'd rather keep our beautiful playground for further use. However, this doesn't mean Utahns don't have any stamina. It rained almost the entire day, not just sprinkling, misty light rain, but a persistent, demanding deluge of fat rain drops. And yet, Brother O'Connell's ranch style home out in remote Benjamin was alive with activity as the college students of the BYU 43rd ward buzzed around his property, riding horses, playing basketball, shooting rifles and shot guns, and driving four-wheelers. Where was I? In the thick of it, of course!

Four wheeling:

Many a friend and loved one has forbidden me from ever touching an ATV ever again, due to an accident I was in last winter. I smashed into a ditch and was thrown off, tearing several ligaments in my wrist and thumb. I personally don't think it was that big of a deal; yeah, if I hadn't landed on my feet, I could very well be dead, but I did land on my feet, so it's all good. After the cast was put on, I was fine. It was waterproof and I didn't allow it to slow me down. There was, however, a need to face that vehicle again, just to gain faith in myself. I asked a gentleman in my ward who I felt had sufficient experience with recreational vehicles to take me out on it. He did an okay job, but I guess that it had been a while since he'd driven a four-wheeler. I did end up getting knocked off again, only this time, I only bruised my fingers. Maybe next year I can look forward to an incident-free ride.

Shooting:

I don't think I've ever disapproved of guns themselves, just what they represent. As someone who is dedicating their whole life to saving lives and caring for animals, hunting is not exactly something that is on my agenda of things to do. I've had the hunting debate with friends a dozen times and in the end, it's always something that we have to agree to disagree about. It's a hard thing for me to handle, and it takes a lot of maturity on both ends to stay on congenial terms. For this reason, I decided to give recreational shooting a try. Hunters are always saying that animal lovers are hysterical, irrational, uneducated, and unfair, as some of the greatest advocates for environmentalism are the sportsmen. I'm aware of this, but I wanted to understand the thrill that comes with firing a shotgun. Quinn owns a couple of them, so when Brother O' Connell told us we could use his property as a shooting range, I agreed to join him when he got a group together for one of their shooting expeditions.

That was last summer. The boys were fantastic about teaching me about gun safety and how to hold it right so the gun wouldn't bruise me into oblivion when it kicked. And kick it did! I felt like I was going to knocked completely off my feet. Quinn said I did okay, though. Since then, I have gone shooting twice this month, first using a 203 rifle and later firing a .22. I'll admit that I'm not a big fan of shooting the bigger guns. I haven't touched Quinn's 12 gauge since that first time, and don't know if I ever will, but there was something satisfying about shooting with the .22-especially after Quinn set up one of his badly made ceramic cups for a target at about 20-30 feet-I pinged it on my second shot! I don't know that I'll ever get enough practice to ever become proficient with a gun, but by stepping out there with a bunch of experienced marksmen, I hope to win points for animal lovers everywhere. I show them I can be open minded- to a point, they in turn show me respect by not destroying anything living. We keep to our inanimate targets: clay pigeons, stuffed animals, water bottles, balloons, bad ceramics, broken appliances, and paper targets. Oh, and we always clean up afterward.

This was last year, and my first time with a .22 gauge. It's nice because it doesn't kick and it's easier to load. Maybe it's wussy that I don't love the big guns, but I am a little lady, after all.

Motorcycles:

I don't believe there is a girl out there who doesn't at some point fantasize about jumping on the back of a motorcycle with a muscular man and riding off into the sunset. I know I do. There was a gentleman in our ward who drives one and I made a joke about how I needed to figure out how to find a way on to the back of his bike. I guess he found out because one night after we were all playing at night as a ward, he asked me if I wanted to go with him, he just so happened to bring his second helmet. YEAH! We zipped along the streets of Provo, weaving in and out of traffic and beating everyone else home. It was a fun experience, but I hope someday I get the chance to do the same thing in the desert, without a helmet.

Frisbee:

If you had told me a few years ago that I would become a frisbee fanatic, I would have laughed and continued picking dandelions. That's how I used to cope when my ward would play ultimate frisbee in the old days. Last summer my guyfriends organized a game of glow-in-the-dark ultimate frisbee and invited me to play. I shrugged my shoulders and thought, hey I might as well be social. It was such a success that we continued to do that every Tuesday night for the rest of the summer. I was pretty pathetic at first, but Quinn and Jason decided to throw a frisbee around one night, and it turned into frisbee boot camp. They ran drills with me and taught me how to throw it straight. By the end of the night, I was hooked. This summer we began the tradition again and have been so die-hard that we played in the rain and hail. On the field, I do okay; I usually make at least one touchdown a game. But I don't allow myself to slack off! Quinn's latest thing has been frisbee golf, and I go with him because it improves my throwing range. We also go out and toss it around several times a week and a hour before each game. It's an awesome feeling to watch people scramble to guard me because they perceive me as a threat. It's also a great feeling to see Quinn and Jason beam with pride at their protege when I make an impossible catch.

Bikejoring:

I actually have intentions of expanding on this one in a future blog, so I won't say too much it here, just know that Arctic Rescue is still a major part of my life. I only have one more sled dog left, and he is a prince among huskies. It's been fun because we have been training each other, me as his handler, and he as my team. See, bikejoring is a Swedish sport in which you hook up your dog to a bike or scooter and fly over a mountain trail. Any kind of outdoor dog would enjoy this, but it's especially ideal with huskies because it's a fantastic way to train them to pull a sled, especially in the summer. It's also more access able for the terrain of Utah; we truly have it all! You just need your dog, a leash, and a bike and you're good to go. I've done a bit of dabbling with this, and it has been AMAZING!

If this is not enough to prove myself to Lynn, the summer is still young and there are several plans in the works. I have to make it to Zion's before the summer ends, because it may be my last opportunity to do so. There's also been talk of hiking, rafting, and cookouts. At any rate, I intend to live it up!

Happiness is...

A while back my Mom directed a play called 'You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.' It's based on the characters created from the cartoon strip 'Peanuts' by Charles M. Shultz. The illustrator in me has always been a fan of his work. There's something amazing about a man that can teach poignant lessons about life through the eyes of a neighbourhood of six-year olds. In the musical, there's a song called Happiness Is... where the children sing about the simple things in life that fulfil them. Recently I've discovered the truth of of this simple song.

About two weeks ago, I learned my future plans were not as secure as I thought. The degree I was working on had it's program changed and I wasn't going to be able to earn it before I left for Texas. Not only that, but I was told that I was no longer eligible for financial aid for the rest of the year. My world was falling apart. It made me sick to think that I was going to leave BYU after six years with nothing but accumulated debt. I went to the art department, financial aid, admissions... no one could help me. Soon it felt like there wasn't anything in my life that wasn't in the hole or out of my reach.

The weather seemed to agree with me. I woke up last week to a drizzly grey morning and thought to my self, well thanks loads, Mother Nature. Looks like you feel like I do. As I was getting ready for the day, I thought dismally about how to best dress so that I could stay strategically dry, when I remembered something. After my latest experience in the horse pastures, I decided I needed to invest in a good pair of galoshes. I found a darling pair online that had horses and horseshoes that I felt were extremely appropriate. They came in a timely fashion, but I was a little sad when they arrived because the sun was shining and I didn't know when I'd get the chance to wear them. When I pulled those sweet little rain boots over my feet, I felt a wonderful, warm sense of happiness wash over me. Who cares if I didn't get a degree from BYU? Who cares if I flunked my math class? Who cares if my laptop is no lying in pieces in it's tomb at the computer repair shop? I had rain boots! I could look cute and stay dry! I ran outside and splashed in every puddle I could find. That day, as I was walking my husky out in the rain, I realized that I had learned a valuable lesson. Happiness is wherever you find it. There is always something to celebrate. Peace filled my heart and I knew that everything was going to be okay. I just needed something to make me stop and think about how truly blessed I am.

As it turns out, everything is okay. I discussed my situation with the Vet Tech Institute of Houston. They will be providing me with funding to clear my debts from both schools, helping me find housing and send my application in earlier, so that I will be able to start my training sooner. They have been wonderful and helpful, and I no longer feel like a major screw-up that has disappointed everyone. Every time I get a phone call from the Institute I feel hopeful and grateful, fully aware that this is the Lord's hand in my life, sending me in a direction that I hadn't anticipated, but I am excited to see what the outcome will be.

So, what ever happiness means to you, whether it's celebrating Beethoven's Birthday, or holding your security blanket, or catching the ever elusive Red Baron, it's in the simple things in life that bring fulfilment. As the line in the song says "Happiness is everything and anything at all". Thanks for that important reminder, Charlie Brown.

All the Pretty Little Horses

My mother used to sing that lullabye to us. At least she says she did. I have no recollection of it. But I have heard the Charlotte Church version and I have recently rediscovered what every little girl seems to inherently know: Horses are magical.


As a child of the 80's, I was constantly bombarded with pro-horse propaganda in the form of Saturday morning cartoons. From the sugary pastels of My Little Ponies to the egotistical but marvelous steed of Rainbow Bright, Starlight, these cheaply done animated shorts banked off the innate desires of little girls every where. Who among us hasn't, at some point, day dreamed about owning a beautiful stallion with a flowing mane that could carry us off onto a rainbow? One that would let us braid it's mane and tail and embellish it with fluffy pink bows? They truly are creatures of fantasy.



Last semester, I quit my job and had too much time on my hands. I decided I needed to volunteer in order to feel like a useful human being. After looking at a pamphlet issued by the Student Service center at BYU, I found a group called Horses for Healing. Apparently BYU is affiliated with a equine therapy clinic that rehabilitates patients with mental and physical disabilities. I figured it couldn't hurt my career to work with horses, so I signed up. Technically, we're supposed to be working with the patients while on horseback, but my experiences with this group has been primarily taking care of the horses. It has been quite a rush. For while we are taught that lovely maidens who are kind to animals win their love and loyalty instantly, reality has taught me that horses are big, powerful creatures, and they know it. They're very gentle for the most part, but I have seen people get kicked, and it is not an enviable fate.





All in all, I love what I do. I went yesterday to brush the horses and help the pregnant mares prepare for foaling. It was a beautiful day and I'm loving the opportunity not only to work with amazing animals that do so much good, but also spending time with people who feel as I do.


I really was happy to be there, it's just that the sun was in my face. Actually, I was grateful for it; I've done some fairly violating procedures on these animals (the kind you don't discuss over blogs) and having cold hands does not help ensure safety.

I guess I made some friends while I was out there; one of the guys that works out there offered to take pictures of me. Later wanted me to go for a ride. I guess being happy makes me cute.




There were honest to goodness some of the most beautiful animals I'd ever seen.

Anyway, I feel very blessed to be living the dream.

"Houston...we have ignition..."

This installment is not so much a funny one, but rather one of serious gratitude. Last November my family did something completely uncharacteristic of us and traveled to San Francisco to visit my younger sister for Thanksgiving. She's been living out there for a couple of years to study fashion design at the Art Institute. I've missed her terribly, but I didn't count on how much seeing her again would impact me. Kaitlin is one of my very best friends in the whole wide world, and when I saw how much she had grown, I was so proud of her. She had become someone who was wise and tolerant and resourceful. She showed us all the sights of the city, some of them I thought were beautiful and whimsical, others I thought were overwhelming and frightening. Her world is very different then mine. As I noticed these changes in her, I felt a sense of longing that was like nothing I'd ever known before. I wanted to do what she had done, and be what she had become. I wanted to learn what it was like to leave home and have some new experiences; living in a state where I belong to the dominant religion, I've never had to defend what I believe in. I wanted to see what I could do on my own.

Promptly after I came home, I got on the computer and looked up Vet Tech schools. I made the decision that I wasn't going to attend the one in Salt Lake. I was going to make myself leave. I stumbled across a website for the Vet Tech Institute of Houston. It looked like a nice place, so I applied for information. Within days a representative contacted me. I learned that the program had a retired zoo keeper as head of staff, which meant a direct link to a future job at a zoo. I also learned that the program was a year and a half, as opposed to the usual two or four year programs. They were impressed with the fact that I was almost through with my bachelor's degree and that I had already had some experience with vet clinics and shelters. Something about it felt really good. We began the application process and the way I was treated, I thought I had acceptance in the bag.

A few days ago, I got a call from the school, telling me that all I had left to do was an interview. I wasn't concerned about it; I was told all I needed to do was convince them how commit ed I was. Easy! But when I got the phone call the next day, the head of the department told me that I lacked the points necessary to get automatically accepted, and this interview would determine whether or not I would make the cut. They asked me several different ethical questions and I answered them as honestly as I could. But after my interview, I felt sick to my stomach. This was something I wanted on so badly. I had worked hard and banked everything on getting accepted to Houston. I sat up all night that night worrying about what I was going to do and where I was going to go if this didn't happen. I had received information from other schools, but I hadn't applied to any of them, because I didn't want them. The prospect of going somewhere else made me quite depressed. The next day I got a surprise phone call from the institute. Apparently the head of Human Resources has become a good friend of mine, because when she managed to catch a glimpse of my scores for the interview and saw that I had aced it, she couldn't resist calling me to let me know. I had been accepted! She said that I had done as well as I possibly could've, and that my responses blew them out of the water. She ended by saying that she would be in touch to help me with finding financial aid and housing. I couldn't believe it! I still can't. I have a path to where I want to go. I have a plan. I have the awesome opportunity to see and experience new things and stretch myself to become the person I want to be. I'm so incredibly grateful and excited! I feel like I'll get to go somewhere with my life. I am so grateful to my Heavenly Father for giving me this chance, and I'm going to do everything I can to be worthy of his trust. Look at me go!

'Ain't That Just A Kick In The Head?'

I was listening to my newly set-up ipod and I discovered that song by Dean Martin on it. It's a cute song, and I love it, but I couldn't help but think to myself 'Wow. That would hurt!' As fate would have it, I was about to find out how much...

You see, on Valentines Day weekend, I told myself that I wasn't going to sit at home alone and hate my life like so many girls do. I was going to go out and do something that made being single fun! I did. I went country swing dancing. It was a great night, and I met several nice guys who came stag too. I was quite pleased with myself when I came home that night.
I was still under this spell when the next Saturday night rolled around. I wanted to relive that fun night and I thought I might meet up with some of the guys I met the week before. So, against all my friends' wishes I went dancing alone again.
This time it wasn't quite so promising. I didn't feel like the mood was as fun and as easy-going as it was last time. But I paid six bucks to get in, so by golly, I was going to get my money's worth! I started asking guys to dance, and I noticed this one guy who was clumped up against the wall with a bunch of his friends. I thought he was cute, and experience has led me to know that a grouping of guys like this meant that they were single and therefore safe. I asked him to dance and he smiled big at me, nervously. He led me out the dance floor and instantly started yanking me around like some kind of doll. He was over six feet and very well built, so I had a hard time putting up resistance. In country dancing, like all social dancing, it's important to stay tense with your partner, because looseness makes it hard for her to follow your lead. But this guy was like a charging rhino. He could tell that he was being a little rough on me, so he kept on apologizing. He told me he hadn't done this for a while. I found out later that 'while' meant two years. Yup. He was a freshly returned missionary. He told me he had just returned from his mission in Chile this past Tuesday. No wonder he was so uptight! Leave it to me to pick out the most scared guy on the dance floor!

I don't remember what happened next, I just know that I was coming out of some sort of spin, when WHAM! Something like an elbow hit me HARD on my face, right above my left eye. My body jammed up, my teeth clenched together hard. I remember seeing black and hearing a vague apology. I shook myself off and told him it was okay. And it should've been. I finished the dance with him and went off to find someone else to dance with. After a while I began to notice that I felt nauseous. I started dancing sluggishly, and couldn't respond in time like I should've. My head started to ache. Finally I gave up and decided to go home. I noticed that I was having a hard time walking and was feeling disoriented. When I came home, my room mate Judy noticed instantly that something was wrong. She had me elevate my feet and gave me a cold glass of water, but I didn't feel better. I went to bed early that night (by early I mean midnight) but not before I got a look at myself in the mirror and noticed that my eyes had dilated.

Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night and when my room mates went to church, I told them to go without me. When she came home Judy convinced me to go to the E.R. to have my head checked out. I made several phone calls but no one picked up, and since the hospital is only a block away from my house, I decided it wouldn't kill me to walk there. Well, that was relative. It was freezing outside, but I arrived at the E.R. without a hitch, and they actually got me in very quickly. The doctor was kind, but he didn't think there was much wrong with me. Because it was a head injury, he ordered for a CAT scan, just to be safe. After the scan he sent me back to my room and set me up with an I.V. that would inject anti-nausea anti- pain medicine. I sat there, hooked up to this I.V. for over an hour while I waited for the results of the CAT scan. All I wanted to do was sleep. Finally the doctor came in and told me yes, I had a minor concussion, but he didn't see anything too dangerous at this point. He told me to get some rest and sent me home with a single, piddling sleeping pill.

The pill worked for five hours, but when I woke up, I couldn't get back to sleep. Not only was I restless from the symptoms of the concussion, but my little jaunt to the hospital cost me dearly and I developed a cold. My nose ran like a faucet the entire night long. Obviously when I woke up, I wasn't feeling any better, but I thought I had to at least try to get to my classes. But when I looked in my mirror, I noticed that one of my pupils had dilated. I remembered that being one of the warning signs the doctor told me to look for, and sure enough, when I consulted the hospital, they told me to come back in. So, back out into the snow I went. I saw a different doctor this time. He looked like one of the Beatles with his shaggy hair and goatee. I felt instantly comfortable around him, and he and I were joking around in a matter of minutes. He made fun of me for going country dancing in the first place. I told him how I still felt sick and how I noticed my eyes were different. This doctor told me that the odds of a CAT scan missing something was like 1/1600. But, he was concerned that my neck may have been injured when I got hit, so he said we'd do a more in-depth CAT scan, this time injecting my blood with a solution called contrast, which which would dye my blood a certain color in the scans and make it easier to see the activity of the blood vessels in my brain. This turned out to be quite a trip. I'd never had a CAT scan before two days ago and I was apprehensive that it would be as bad as an MRI. It wasn't. It was quick and painless, like x-rays. However, the second time around, the contrast in my blood had this crazy effect on me. I felt heat rush through my veins, like a hot flash. I also felt like I was wetting myself. The technician warned me that I would feel this way, that it wasn't real, but I was alarmed at what a real sensation it was.

Once again I was sent back to my room to wait for the results. They didn't hook me up to any medication, but they left the contrast needle in me while I waited. This time around it was better because they let me watch T.V. There weren't very many stations, but I did manage to find the Cosby Show. Always a classic.

The doctor finally returned and told me he couldn't find anything wrong either, but he was concerned about my eyes freaking out, so he told me that he wanted me to be monitored through out the night. Have one of my room mates wake me up every couple of hours just to see how my brain is functioning. Then he asked me if I wanted a note for school and how long I felt I would need it. I ended up with a glorious get-out-of-school-free note for three days. Because he wanted me to be able to wake up easily, he didn't want to give me any heavy duty sleeping pills. I asked him if I could take something to ease my cold symptoms so I could sleep at night. Sure, he said. Benedril would be just fine! I headed home once again. I had to get to campus to talk to my teachers and buy medicine, so I gathered up my stuff and went to school. I found the medicine aisle in our little bookshop store, but I didn't see any night time Benedril. I did however, see Nyquil, and I figured it was probably the same stuff. I'd seen people get sloshed while on Nyquil before, but I thought that since I was small, it would just knock me out. The alcohol was supposed to put me to sleep. That night, I had a rip-roaring headache and a nose that wouldn't quit. I decided to take a couple of pills before I went to bed. Now I have had awful, restless nights in the past, but this one was a doozey. You see, when you can't sleep, your thoughts become confusing and frustrating and anxious and you're just sick of thinking. My thoughts stopped resembling thoughts. After a while I began to see literal sentences flash across my brain that looked like this:

>> cODElbjf8r475$^YSawtj i4tu9u49Help!n49r n&w3iv448kraken
<<

It was like I no longer had any grasp on English anymore, my thoughts were coming out like some kind of twisted computer code. And I knew, in a very hazy, slurred sort of way, that I was drunk. Sure enough, when I tried to lift myself up on to my elbows, I couldn't do it. I was too weak and I fell down in a slump. What surprised me is that it didn't feel good at all. Being drunk is supposed to be a relaxing, enjoyable feeling. I just felt dazed and bewildered. And what's more, it defeated the purpose! Yeah, my nose stopped running, but it started up again the moment I got out of bed. Plus I now had to deal the morning-after effects of drunkenness along with my cold and my concussion. It was an enlightening experience and I learned a lot:

1. No more of that Devil drug for me!
2. I can see where the term 'pink elephants' came from. Only mine were teal and they were sheep.
3. Because it made me cry, I've learned that I'm not a mean drunk, or a sweet drunk. I'm a sad drunk.
4. The morning after is NOT worth it.
5. I probably couldn't hold my liqueur very well if two gels caps are enough to take me out.

When Judy came to wake me up at 4:00 am, she could see that I'd had a rough night, and since we determined that my motor skills were up to par, relatively, she let me sleep for the rest of the night.

So there you have it. My girl-nite out turned out to be an adventure. I'm a little superstitious of Dean Martin songs now. I still like him, but I think I'm going to listen to songs about lovers in passionate embraces before I listen to anymore that mention head injuries

My First True Love

I know Valentine's day is over and done with, and I had a great time, despite the fact that I'm single. I feel like I spent that weekend the right way, but that is a story for another day. Before anymore of this month fades away, I wanted to take this opportunity to pay a tribute to an aspect of my life that has always been a part of me. My siblings will tell you that from a very young age, I felt a passion for my fellow living creatures on this planet that has impacted my philosophies and perception of life. So, without further ado, I'd like to give a little shout out to all my fellow creatures, great and small:*

* 10 points to the first sibling that catches that reference

Both the Bible and the Doctrine and Covenants mention the creation of the earth and all who lie on it. More then once, God mentions that he created animals to be for our use. I'm no vegetarian, but nothing makes me angrier or crazier then cruelty. Especially when there are so many instances when animals help us survive and live our daily lives. We live in a time when machines do most of our chores, but look at history: Where would the cowboy be without the horse? Or the farmer? Would the Middle East have ever been explored without camels? Without chimps, rats, and other lab animals, our medical knowlege would be almost non-existant. Every day dolphins, horses, and dogs bring healing to the injured and emotionally scarred. This is just a few instances of why we should go out and hug an animal today:

Picture like this always remind me of those funny Bradley Trevor Grieve books- you know, the black and white kind that have the funny pictures of animals with the witty text. But the nerd in me is touched by this; here is one the greatest and yet most threatened creatures of all time, raising funds for the desolate people in Haiti. This elephant may not be aware of the good deed it is doing, but it obviously loves some human enough to allow it to manipulate it into carrying around a plastic bucket all day. That's more then some people, who are more aware of themselves and the world around them, are willing to do.

Speaking of willingness to sacrifice, there are a thousand stories of animals that put their lives on the line every day. I'll start with the locals:

This just seems to me to be redundant. But I feel kinda strongly about it, because there was a story recently about the police dog in Layton that was recently shot and killed in the line of duty. The policeman who was his handler was devastated, but he also is very aware that if it weren't for his partner, the bullets would've taken his life instead. He gets to go home to family, because of his friend. I was very impressed by the community'response the death of this animal; Layton honored this dog as they would a fallen human officer.

No surprises here. No blog of mine would be complete with out my beloved huskies. I spent a summer in Alaska a few years ago and while I was there, I managed to find a tour of a sled dog kennel. That was when I learned about the Iditarod, the world's largest sled dog race. It is held in honor of the sled dogs that made that fateful run back in 1912, I believe it was. Anyone who has seen Balto is familiar with the story: the developing town of Fairbanks, Alaska was hit with a diptheria epidemic. Medicine was shipped to Nome, but getting the medicine to Fairbanks was almost impossible. (anyone familiar with Alaska knows the terrain is some of the most dangerous in the world). A dog sled team was sent. Those dogs faced all the perils of tempestuous weather, wild animals and every other dramatic obsticle you can imagine. It payed off. The dogs saved the town. It had it's cost, though. After the dogs arrived home, half of them died. That's the thing about sled dogs. If mushers don't stop them, the dogs will run until they die. They love what they do. The invention of snow mobiles has caused a decline in the of dog sleds as a means of transportation, but they definitely have their place in remote locations like Antarctica, where they are used for research and weather stations.

By the way, to all my faithful followers, I've found what I want for my birthday:

Isn't that awesome?!

Here is one close to home. America is currently in the middle of an extremely controversial conflict. What ever side you're on, there is one thing for certain: our soldiers deserve to be honored. Sending our sons and daughters to war is an unbearable concept, but while the death toll for this war is alarmingly high, the casualties on that list are less then then they could be because of the military use of animals. Dogs, with their sensitive sense of smell, are the obvious example. However, there are all kinds of creatures that work for Uncle Sam, including, I've heard, dolphins.

It is a well known fact that in any society, the comparision to an animal is insult. In fact, in some cultures, the proper name of an animal is a foul obscenity if applied to a human being. But I feel that sometimes, the fact that animals lack the characteristic foibles of humanity is what makes a relationship with them so special: sometimes you just need a snuggle buddy.

And last, but certainly not least, I cannot help but put in a plug for my own sweetheart:

WOOKIE POODLES!

Yes, this gorgeous German Shepherd mutt is my dog. He's become quite the presence in my life, and I can't imagine having my home without him. He's been a loyal member of my family for ten years, which means it's become painfully obvious that he's slowing down. But he's always so pleased to see me and he still takes his duty as protector and guardian of my family very seriously. To see him rush at you, or hear him, for the that matter, is enough to make any intruder piddle his panties. However, he has the sweetest heart and has been known to let babies and small children crawl all over him. He's my buddy. Happy V- day, Luke!

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing

I've always been a big fan of dances. It's been a big part of growing up in my family. Somebody would put on a great CD and we'd all go nuts. Some of my fondest memories are of my siblings and I dropping everything and rocking out to the Beach Boys, ABBA, Michael Jackson and so on. Nobody cared what we looked like; in fact, it was almost a competition to see who could come up with the funniest and craziest dance moves. Most of my siblings would never display this facet of our childhood in puplic, but I've never gotten over the rush of a dance party well danced. I've taken a class in everything under the sun, from ballet to bellydancing. (NO, I will NOT demostrate!) I've done it enough that I can get out on a dance floor and be 100% confident in my abilities-not that's in my nature to be self conscious anyway. I'm not a prima ballerina, but I do know how to move. Recently, my new favorite thing to do is country swing. Swing dancing in general is a flattering dance for short people because guys feel confident throwing you around. I've had some hair-raising expereinces, but all in all, I've had a ball.

This weekend my ward threw a special formal dance, with a black and white dress code and a 30's theme. It was whimsical and fun because half the dance was played with a 30's soundtrack. You know, jazzy, charleston-type stuff. The guy who asked me to this dance was a real sweetheart, a good friend of mine. He didn't know any of the dance steps, but he spent the entire night valiantly trying to learn. In the end, it proved to be a enjoyable alliance because others noticed me instructing him and came over to learn as well. By the end of the night, I was teaching several other couples. And anyone who knows me knows that I thrive of being in the limelight. So Todd, thanks for the dance, pal. You're a real peach.

He decided that he wanted to get a picture of the two us looking 'bad', but I think that just might be beyond both of us.

Mormons may be nerdy, but you can't deny that we love a good dance!