Gad Zooks, Great Ukes!

My brother found the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain. In their repertoire you'll find Smells like Teen Spirit, Life on Mars, the Good Bad & The Ugly, and this my favorite.

Weeping lasts for a night; Dogs come in the morning

Larry and I let the idea of a dog go for the time being. I was emotionally exhausted. But Champion Corgi Lady kept looking. She knows where to look, since it's her goal in life to rescue these guys. She found a couple of ads for corgis online and sent me links: a stud dog that's 'no longer needed for our breeding program' (that makes me sad. Why not neuter him and just keep him as a pet, since he's yours?), a seven month old pup that hadn't been sold yet.

But by the time I followed the links, they'd been scooped up. However, one ad had a link to a breeder info website. The link in question, all the pups were sold, but there was another ad for And there was one link for four-week old corgi pups!

I emailed, called, did everything to get a hold of the breeder. And waited.

Larry drove home past the bike shop. He's been resisting buying a new bike for the past year ... the cost, blah blah. But his bike is 15 years old, and he hasn't been out riding it for at least a year. The doggy disappointment sent him over the edge, so this time when we stopped he was ready to buy one. (This is what you do when you hit a midlife crisis, and you're too old to have kids and too poor to buy a sportscar: you get dogs and bikes.) Not that I'd want him to get the red sportscar. I like Larry as he is. A guy who buys bikes, not cars.

We got home and there was an email from the breeder. Yes, she had four tricolor males left, and sent pictures. "That's it," Larry said, "Tell her we want one, and send a check." Yea. Finally!

But then Corgi Lady contacted me about a 1 1/2 year old "free to a good home" corgi. My heart sank. I've wanted to save a rescue before buying a puppy, and this guy looked really sweet. I guess it's me and my bleeding heart, the person who'd rather eat fast food or go hungry than spend money on trendy gastrobars; who'd rather be married to a guy who buys a bike than a Corvette. Who'd rather save the outcast than jockey for the popular pick. But I have my cat. It's going to be Larry's dog first. And Larry's wants the puppy.

Corgi Lady's going to get the "free to a good home," and I know she'll find him one. (anyone want a really sweet 1 1/2 year old dog, let me know and I will hook you up with Awesome Corgi Lady.) And we're going to get this guy. We're paying a breeder fee, but she's half the price of the other breeders we contacted; and not anywhere near as emotionally expensive as losing a dog in a raffle.

So this is our guy. We'll get to take him home on July 11.


















The breeder said that once we choose a name, to let her know; she'll start calling him that, so he'll know his name when we get him. He's a Welsh Corgi. Got any ideas for a good Welsh boy name? Besides Aberystwyth?

Take a Dog Breather

It was two days since we lost the corgi raffle. Larry and I settled into our sadness, as well as the greater awareness that God is good even if he doesn't get involved with day to day disappointments. Well at least not those involving dogs. The longing and disappointment didn't belong to the dog; those are my emotions, not the dog's. He'll be happy wherever he goes, as long as the new owner is a good dog person I hope the owner's wife isn't the lady with stilettos. And if she is, well, maybe the chubby Chinese guy really needs that dog for solace. Who knows.

The Corgi Lady has been awesome. She started trolling the web immediately, looking for corgis for sale or adoption and sending me links. Talk about a kind, forgiving person.

I stopped by the Pasadena Humane Society, knowing it was too soon to look again; knowing that no dog would be good enough unless it looked like the corgi we lost. And then I saw this.





















Yep. Time to give it a rest.

A Dog By Raffle

It would come down to a raffle ticket. Anyone who was interested in the corgi in Kennel 7 at the Pomona shelter had to come in between 8 and 9:45am and turn in their application. You couldn't turn it in ahead of time, had to be this morning, between 8 and 9:45am. At 9:45 they would close applications. And if there were more than one applicant, they would hold a raffle. You had to be present for the raffle at 10:02 am. In Pomona.

I hadn't heard from my agents in two months. And whaddya know, but I got an audition for 10:30am. In Santa Monica. 60 miles away from Kennel 7 in Pomona. Now, often commercial castings will have a category open for an hour or two. But my agent's assistant was brand new, trying to figure everything out and do it punctiliously, so when I asked her for the casting window, it was as if I'd launched a virus in her brain. Poor gal, I could see her sitting at that busy desk in that manic office. I said yes and hung up.

Larry had back to back meetings, so he couldn't go to the shelter. Larry's heart sank. "I had a feeling just as I came home, that something was going to keep us from getting him."

"Don't think like that. I'm not giving up. I'm going there. I'll find a way."

I loaded the dog crate in the back of the car; the one I drove 30 miles to buy off a guy in Encino. And the dog collar and leash I got Larry for Valentine's Day. I kept my mind on the what ifs. What if I got the dog but because I had to go to Santa Monica they'd give it so someone else? What if someone else got the dog? I put those thoughts out of my head.

It's just a dog, right? It feels silly. We have friends who can't get pregnant, friends who've had miscarriages -- one who miscarried in her seventh month. And our friends who are trying to adopt overseas. They are really going through the ringer. This is nothing comparatively. But this is what happens when you get too old to have kids or raise kids. You get pets. And well, Larry needs a buddy. I'm going to be traveling a good deal this fall, and I don't like the thought of Larry alone and lonely. Larry's such a soft-hearted guy; he cries whenever we go to the pound. It's one of the reason I love him. True, I wish he looked good in more daring footwear like Doug can pull off. But overall Larry's got everything right. Including that soft heart.

So I was glad it was I who was driving down there to face the nerve-wracking drama in Kennel 7. I'd first seen the Corgi on Craigslist. "Is This your dog?" the post asked, hoping to reach the owner. "I couldn't keep it; I took it to the Pomona shelter." I went last Friday hoping to find him, but he wasn't there. I'd hoped his true owner found him.

But the following day we were at Corgi Fun day, and passed the shelter on the way back. "let's stop just in case." And there in Kennel 7, was Craigslist Corgi. He was adorable, sweet, alert, interested. He wasn't available unitl the following Friday. We wanted him. But so did an Asian couple at the shelter. I'd just witnessed two young Asian women with massive boob jobs at Corgi fun day. They'd parked their luxury SUV in the fire lane and left it there so they could go off and show off their uh, corgis. Now this Asian couple was drooling over our boy. The woman, in stiletto heels barked at her husband: "you are coming back for him on Friday!" I wasn't having a good experience with Asians that day.

Friday came today, and I hoped I wouldn't see her. I arrived at 8:15 and turned in my application. I was the first person there. The lady behind the desk smiled." Oh he's a really sweet dog!"

"Yeah," I laughed, "We've kind of been pining for him." She took the application and left the front desk area. Maybe she held the raffle. Maybe she made the decisions about who was raffle-worthy? Maybe she saw the longing in my face.

I sat in the parking lot for 90 minutes. Finally the dashboard read 9:44. I went back. "Yes, there's going to be a raffle for him," she said. There were other applications for him.

I looked at the people milling in the breezeway: an old white guy with a trucker hat. An elderly white lady; an Hispanic woman and her nervous daughter. A couple in their thirties. A group of four Asian 20-somethings, a Chinese guy with a pot belly. I say "Chinese because he looked like a Chinese friend of mine. I hoped he wasn't the guy whose high-heeled wife barked at him to "go get him on Friday."

My heart was racing. This was silly! I thought of Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets," crying over Verdel and then scoffing, "Over a dog!" at his own tears.

"Everyone inside for Kennel 7," a lady said flatly. We marched in. She made sure we were all present: no absentee applicants. Then she pulled out four raffle tickets -- four of those yellow paper tickets you see at a carnival. Oh my, they really did mean it. It was a raffle, with random raffle odds. No factoring in the fact I saw him on craigslist a week ago or had come to see him twice since then. No it was all a raffle crap shoot. The woman tore off four tickets, kept her corresponding tickets and threw the other four into a tin lid.

Go ahead, she said, "pick one." We stood there for a moment. I was closest to the lid. I reached and took the one on top. Oh god I should have fished around. I should have fished for another one!" This was so random and lame.

We all got our tickets. The lady shook the tin and picked a ticket.
She read out the number.
It was not our number.

The Corgi went to the pot bellied Chinese guy, who may/may not have a wife at home with stiletto heels.

"You're welcome to go look at all the other dogs we have available," the lady said.

I got into the car and cried. And how ridiculous, that I'd bothered to pray about it; an act that would make Richard Dawkins sneer. And maybe I should sneer at my own stupidity. God is the creator of the universe, he doesn't get involved. He has more important things to deal with, like world peace and Darfur and clean water in Africa. And so my little middle class white girl's disappointment is meaningless to him.

But then I wonder, you know, why "take it to the Lord in prayer?" Why bring your heart to Someone who doesn't give a flying wallenda, or is just too powerful, and important to give a flying wallenda. He still doesn't give a flying wallenda. So why why bother? And then was Larry to call -- Larry with his soft heart and inevitable tears, waiting to hear about a forever friend who was not coming home. Yes I know God is good, all the time. I know I'll get over it. I know that all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." No shizzle, Spinozza. It won't come soon enough.

I drove 60 miles to Santa Monica with an empty kennel in my car and a lump in my throat.

Loose Blogs Sink Dogs

This was a week of mounting frustration. Our search for a dog had gone on for six months, and culminated in losing a Dachshund we were foolhardy enough to name before we had him. On top of that, and maybe because it, I’ve had writer’s block. I’ve got a 90 minute solo show script that’s overdue. And I can’t write.

I fessed up to Larry and some friends about the writers block, but the confession didn't break my writer's block. Thursday night came along. I got an email from a friend who needed to vent. I vented back, and we laughed about it. I published that vent in my blog.

When you’ve got writer’s block it helps to write to somebody. You have a person in your mind when you write. You know what they like to hear, what entertains them; you're more likely to write with details and specifics, because you know what makes that person tick.

My friend has had her own pet adoption nightmare. She found a cat at a local shelter, but they interrogated her with questions like, “Will you have teenagers visiting the house? Visiting teenagers would be too disruptive for the cat.”

My friend is from the South. She knows how to be polite. So she replied in her kind Southern lilt, “Shame on you, ma’am. This cat is in danger of being euthanized. I love this cat and want to give it a home. And you are worried about teenagers visiting my house? Shame, shame on you.” She got the cat.

So when I wrote her back about my pet search frustration, I regaled her with the details she’d appreciate. As a comedienne, I look for the absurd. I exaggerate. I use details; like saying our friend Doug’s shoes looked like Aladdin and Buffalo Bill had a brawl; or calling the corgi rescue lady, the “Crazy Corgi Lady.” I was just venting out of my id. It felt good. I got through my writer's block. I even posted my email to her as a blog.

Don't ever publish a blog when it's a vent from frustrated id. Because people read blogs.

The next day I thought, “That was not a cool thing to say about Doug’s shoes.” SO I added some important details: like the fact the shoes looked good on Doug. (Doug can get away with extreme footwear because he’s a jazz musician). Or clarifying Corgi lady. We met her the next day at Corgi Fun Day. Turned out she was really Nice Corgi Lady .. and Smart Corgi Lady. she knows important things, like the fact the breed is protective of its food So no, you really DON’T want small kids playing “Tease The Corgi With His Dinner.” SO I added more about her, and wrote more about our search for the dog.

I felt better. Only ..

Well, corgi ladies read blogs too. And she found mine. Needless to say, she was not happy with what I wrote. And she was not interested in letting Bitchy Blog Bitch adopt one of her corgis. Would you, if Blog Bitch just called you crazy?

I was mortified. I wrote her back and apologized. I explained as a comedienne I exaggerate things for comic effect, it came out of my id and all that. But you know, it wasn’t cool anyway. It wasn’t cool at all. She was still not comfortable in having us see her dogs. And I hardly blame her.

When I told Larry his eyes welled up with tears. He knew I was just being a comedian. He had to delete his entire blog, because employers read something in it and took it the wrong way. So he didn’t fault me.

But I did. And not just for losing out on a dog or seeing Larry so sad. But because I hurt a really nice lady. Really, for the sake of a funny blog piece? It was so not worth it.

Corgi Lady was crazy enough to forgive me. She noticed on my blog I’d said Larry had his heart set on a tricolor male corgi. She saw one at a shelter in the central Valley and sent me a link. I called and the dog already had two people fighting for it.

We saw another tricolor male corgi at a shelter about 25 miles away. It goes up for adoption tomorrow at 10am. And wouldn’t you know, my agent calls me with an audition: in Santa Monica at 10:30. An hour away. I’m going to the shelter anyway. I’m getting that dog. I’m doing it for Larry. And for the corgi lady.

Sometimes getting over writer's block just isn't worth it.

Dogs Part Two

Today Larry and I continued our search for a Forever Friend. We went to Corgi Fun Day, an event at an RV park in Corona. I'd been to this park in junior high with my girl scout troop. I spent the whole weekend trying to avoid getting bullied by the school bully. Which is like trying to avoid dogs in a dog park. But we were there to meet dogs. And just inside the entrance we saw them: dozens and dozens of corgis. The funnest, happiest dogs you could ever imagine.

Crazy Corgi Lady would be there with two of the dogs she had available for adoption. Crazy Corgi Lady turned out to be Very Nice Corgi Lady who just happens to love corgis. Face to face she was less stringent about children. She explained it was best to introduce children slowly, and don't let them around dogs' food or toys, because corgis can be territorial. We felt much better about her, and she about us. The dog we went to meet was a sweet, sable (red) corgi. Larry had his heart set on the tricolor (black white and red), but that one had been adopted already. Ah, that sucks! When your first-choice dog is sitting right there. Aggghhhh.

Well, we played with Second Choice a while. He was good on a leash, house broken, sweet, and distracted. His original name was "Karuko," which means "roll over" in Japanese. The Japanese family who'd owned him named him after a command, then abandoned him in teh back yard. The neighbors called to report a dead dog in the back, because it smelled so bad. "Roll Over" was alive barely, but he'd been eating rocks he was so hungry. Anyway, Crazy Like A Fox Corgi lady rescued him. Larry thought he bonded with me better than him. But he'd been rescued by a lady, and abandoned by Japanesese. Larry's got those almond eyes and everything.

On the way home we drove right past the Pomona shelter we had visited yesterday -- the one we'd gone looking for the Craigs List Corgi, but who wasn't there. I wanted to stop back in to see the two muts we'd visited yesterday. They were still there. But we knew that. They will come available Tuesday morning, when we are driving home from Las Vegas. Someone's goign ot get them, we are sure of it. How could they not? A young sweet Asian couple were eyeing another dog in the same pen, but they also notice our little Redhead Mutt. They loooked apologetic to even notice her. I thought to myself, they seem nice. If they get her on Tuesday, I know she'll have a good home.

Larry came around the corner, smiling: look here! There in a new pen was the Craigslist Corgi! He was here after all! He was cute, alert, friendly. He got very excited when another dog got put in the pen with him. But then an Asian couple came up. A Dragon Lady in high heels, squawking to her man about it being a purebred and how they were coming back on Friday to GET HIM." I growled to myself, over my dead body, you will probalby feed it rocks.

"They're going to come Friday and get him," Larry said.
"Not if we get him first."
But what about Karuko?
What about Redhead Mutt?
What about Black and White Mutt?
We can't get all four, Larry. What does your heart say.

Larry sighed. He thought about Crazy Corgi Lady's red sable, the one who'd been eating rocks. The one who bonded more to me. "He's definitely ours if we want him."
"But which one does your heart want?" I asked.
"I don't want to lose them all."

I lifted my hands in abdication. "It's your dog, Larry. You make the decision."

Of course it's going to be both of our dog, the same way Honey is both of our cat. But Honey was mine first. Larry needs his best buddy to make it even. Oh well. This is what you get when you get married late. You don't get kids. You get dogs.

Our friends Ted and Lori adopted a son from Etheopia. They are part of an amazing network and community of adoptive parents, many who blog. I am beginning to understand on a pathetically small scale, what they have all gone through. Only, they will have picnics and parties and reunions and schools to share. They'll ahve conversatiosn with their children, they'll have huge families that will keep growing. We'll just have the annual Corgi Fun Day.