Where is Sarah McLachlan When You Need Her?

UPDATE: I received pictures of this poor baby. The quality is blurry because the photographer was a little afraid of getting caught trespassing. I was told the dog is tied to the pipe, with no food, or water beyond what concerned citizens bring to it.

This post isn’t about me (shocking!) It’s about a little dog being abused/neglected in a little town in Michigan, and how the “authorities” don’t want to do anything about it. I’m hoping that social media can do what it sometimes does, and right a wrong.

My friend lives in Alpena, Michigan. I’ve known her, well, pretty much all my life. She is a lover of underdogs, human and otherwise. She’s a special education teacher, mother to two amazing kids, loving wife, and a friend to all animals, large and small.

Every day she drives by a field and sees this poor little dog, neglected in a huge empty field. Every. Day. This poor fur-baby of unknown pedigree has only a plastic house for shelter. In the heat of summer, with nothing to shade it, the temperature of that house must exceed 120 degrees. In winter, I can’t begin to imagine how cold it is.

Every day my friend stops to make sure this little guy has food and water. She’s talked to the so-called owner of this “pet” and he laughs and tells her to move along. The owner knows that no one is going to do anything to him.

I hope that doesn’t stay true.

My friend, this lover of creatures in need, worries about him. She goes and talks to him. She says he wags his tail at her. Her heart breaks. She’s worried about ticks. She’s debated stealing him in the dead of night (a move I encouraged) but personal circumstances (and, unfortunately, morals) prevent her from doing so.

A few days ago, she discovered that another person was as concerned about this little guy as she was. So concerned, she wrote a Letter to the Editor of the Alpena paper in hopes that someone would save this poor animal’s life.  Apparently, no one wants to officially help.

So let’s see if we can change that.

According to the Humane Society of the United States, when you notice an animal suffering from cruelty, abuse, or NEGLECT, you are to notify the police and the proper animal welfare agency.  

Well - it just so happens I know how to Google.

You can call the Alpena County Sheriff's Department at 989-354-9839. Please tell them that you have become aware of a small dog being a victim of extreme neglect, located near 6422 Werth Road in Alpena, Michigan 49707

You can also call the Huron Humane Society at (989) 356-4794 or email them at manager.hhs@frontier.com.

I would also recommend emailing the Humane Society of the United States at this address: crueltyresponse@humanesociety.org and/or calling them at 866-720-2676 Monday through Friday 8 a.m. to 11 p.m., or Saturday and Sunday 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Eastern time.

According to the HSUS, law enforcement can get involved.   “The officer may speak with the owner and issue a citation and give the owner a chance to correct the violation.”

“If the neglect or abuse is extreme, a humane agency may take custody of the animals to protect them. The agency will present the case to the prosecutor's office for further evaluation and possible prosecution.”

Please. Do what you can to help. Call the officials whose job it is to serve and protect these animals. This little dog deserves more than to die in a field all alone, especially when there are people in the community willing to take him in and love him.

Don’t make me play the video.

Chasing Beauty

A friend tagged me in a post today on Facebook. It requested (required, encouraged, obligated...) me to post five pictures of myself in which I felt beautiful. I responded that, while her pictures were indeed beautiful, I would be opting out.

I have never been beautiful. I am not saying that in the coy way some women use in order to garner compliments. I know what I am, and I know what I am not. I am not beautiful.

In thinking about writing this post, I wondered if, in my formative years, I was ever told I was beautiful. If I was, I don’t remember it. But I don’t think so. I seem to recall “cute” - maybe “pretty” - but “beautiful” doesn’t spark any memories for me. It is not as though my mother didn’t know how to say the word, she thought both of her sisters were beautiful. She mentioned one of my friends was beautiful. But me? No. I don’t think that was ever a word connected to me.

My high school friend was (and still is) beautiful. Julee, of the huge, expressive blue eyes, the blond hair, the golden skin. She has this breathy voice that makes everything she says sound sweet, and maybe a little sexy. Growing up, she is what I thought beauty was.

In my 20s, the twosome of Becky and Traci - they were my beauty ideals. Becky is the friend my mom said was beautiful. “So beautiful, she doesn’t seems real” is how my mom described her. Hair like a rain of dark silk, flashing dark eyes, ruby red lips, and skin like porcelain. She looked like a priceless doll. She still does.

Traci was fierce. She has a black belt in karate. Wide greenish eyes, hair drawn tightly back, lips that would put Angelina Jolie’s to shame. She exuded an “I don’t give a shit” attitude behind a facade that was uniquely gorgeous. This was beauty to me.

In my 30s and now, it’s my friend Tammi. She has eyes that are like topaz. Yellow, like a lioness. Who the hell can rock yellow eyes? Hair that has been a rainbow of colors and always manages to be stunning. A wide smile of perfect, white teeth (and she never had braces). And, let’s face facts, the bitch is still a size two after giving birth to three children. She is beautiful.

I’m not. I never have been. The closest I ever came to it was on my wedding day to my kids’ dad. I felt... more than pretty that day. At least for a little while. One time, I asked my then husband what he thought when he saw me walking down the aisle? His response? This man who wrote me poetry and had a heart full of romance took the first time I ever knowingly fished for a bit of romantic prose and replied, “Nice tits.” Eh. So much for that.

It’s strange for me, this concept of beauty. I don’t often tell Claire she is beautiful. Not because I don’t think she is (I do), but because so many people say she looks so much like me, that it leaves me with the queasy feeling I’m calling myself beautiful. So I say she is strong. She is smart. She is kind. And I leave the label of beautiful for special times when I know she feels it herself.

Five pictures. Too many. Too hard. But here’s what I’ve got.

I have a picture with this man. I don’t feel beautiful, but it doesn’t stop him from saying it, every day.

These two children. They’re beautiful and they’re mine.

Okay yes... it’s the 80s. And I’m wearing a hoop skirt. And the whole thing is just too precious for words. But, it was the first time I’d ever really dressed up in my life and I felt like a movie star. So... this. Yup.

Sorry for the poor quality but after the age of 14 I started avoiding having my picture taken.I don’t know if I felt “beautiful” in this picture, but I know I loved how my hair turned it. Yes... I had “the Rachel”. And I rocked it.

These are my Minnesota friends, Tammi and Julie. I never look very good sitting between the two of them, but in this ONE picture I actually held my own. It was an ugly sweater party, so that kind of figures.

I will never be beautiful. But I am funny, smart, strong, and witty. And that’s okay with me.