My Ironic Dog

My dog's name is ironic. Actually, that's how I learned that word.
"Nice dog," someone would say. "What's his name?"
"Snowman," I'd say while beaming at the black dog. "It's ironic."
The truth is, anyone who said that my dog was a "nice dog" was really just a nice person. He was horrible.
I was in third grade with a border collie mix who knew not only that he was a heck of a lot stronger than me, he was a heck of a lot smarter to. We did 4-H together and he'd drag me from one tree to the next as the rest of the class heeled beautifully in a ring.
Around this time we were introduced to the gentle lead which I equate to a horse halter. It looks like a muzzle giving some ill-informed people the idea that at any moment the dog may attack. I could guide him by his snout and whenever he pulled it brought his head back to the right place.
Have you ever seen the movie Spirit? Ok. That movie. 8 year old girl. Giant dog. It didn't end well. He threw his head back in forth, ran in circles while we walked and made quite a spectacle of himself. Come to think of it, I can't really blame anyone for being distrustful of such a beast.
Eventually I gave up on the whole gentle lead thing. I still kept training him and working with him and laughing at him and loving him and thinking in general that I had the best, smartest, most beautiful dog whoever lived. And honestly- who's to say that I didn't.
The rest of the world didn't agree. Although he's ten now, he really hasn't calmed down that much. He's perfectly behaved when he wants to be and my increased body weight gives a little more resistance. We qualified for the state 4-H dog show because he decided one day he may as well cooperate.
When I'm trying to explain my dog to someone who thinks this crazy creature is unpleasant I tell them this story. Snowy chases anything that moves. Its his hearding drive- his instinct (not to mention his greatest passion in life). Anyway one day I come into the backyard to let him in and a mother and two baby possums are walking around our backyard. Snow is not chasing them or staring at them with his intent "I would chase you if I knew it would cost me in future pieces of string cheese" look. No. The babies would come within a few feet of my "untame" beast and he looked up at them curiously.

My point is this. Everyone- even crazy dogs- has a great heart. Lots of people missed the opportunity to adopt Snow from the shelter or get to know him later because they took one look at him and said, "No thank you!" But my advice is this- weather its a person, dog, elephant, or volunteer project, give them a chance. Odds are if you don't, you'll miss out on a great experience or, in my case, a best friend.

Never Under Appreciate

While frantically searching for notes from my sophomore year, I found my old box of grade school memories under my bed. I smiled at the ridiculous smiling alien-giraffe-bus thingy staring up at me and sat down on the floor. It was late and nothing I needed to do that night was going to go away, but that didn't really matter. I pulled out the "best" stories I had written. Most of them were written on "T0-DO" pads and scraps of napkins. I saw my first ever fast facts test that I finished and got them all correct on. My teacher had failed to put on a sticker, so I had drawn one on myself. I saw some ridiculous looking people, objects that were either flowers or balls, poems, projects, and tests. However, most of the things I pulled out were gifts.

They were thank you cards from my teachers, birthday cards from my grandparents, and "artwork" from my sisters. They were pictures of me and friends glued onto construction paper, short poems that rhymed my curly hair with things like chair, and lots butterflies and dogs. Once each person in my class wrote me "Get Well Soon" cards and I laughed at all the creative was to spell simple words.

Even- no especially- when I was little I understood the value of notes and thoughtful gifts. I'm sure some of those people gave me stuffed animals at birthday parties, but those weren't the things I had the foresight to keep. Even then it was the simple things that really mattered.

So here's my point. Every person out there can make a card. Every person out there can do one simple thing to make someone's life better. As I put away all the stuff and kept searching for those darn notes I was grateful that I had this box filled with meaningful things from people who cared for me. I hoped that someone had something from me in a box. I hoped I taken the time to make sure someone else knew how much I cared for them.
This is my challenge to you and myself. Fill as many "boxes" for as many people as you can. It doesn't have to be posters or artwork. Just let them know that you care.

My Dad's Favorite Tie

My dad just might be the most "boring man." He only wears blue or black shirts, wears the same pants in rotation, and prefers to stay home than go out. For Christmas, he gave my sisters and I a tie and said, "This is what I want." We walked into the store where they said they hadn't carried that tie for years.

My dad is pretty darn one of a kind. I don't really know how to explain that. Come to my house sometime, observe and you'll know right away.

My point is this, even my dad's predictabilities make him unique. His clothes, his ties, his laughs, his jokes- sometimes he annoys me and purposely embarrasses me. Mostly I'm proud of him and love him and laugh at him.

Sometimes we all appear to be boring and sometimes we appear extraordinary. But even the boring part is truly extraordinary. Because we are so "darn one of a kind" we each have something unique to offer.

So what can you do with your something?