Hellooooo possum! I really do not know why I started with that, but you probably already figured out that I type pretty much anything that pops into my head (squirrel). Yet you still read on. Very curious. Have you discussed this strange behavior with your therapist?
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As per my usual modus operandi, my August calendar of events kicked off with our monthly support group meeting. I have mentioned before that this group is not large, but we always seem to have some interesting discussions both during the official meeting and during our traditional post-meeting cocktail and appetizer session. This month was a bit different because our moderator/co-founder/voice-of-GGness (aka Traci) is getting married soon. To celebrate, we decided to throw her a small wedding shower. We had cake and soda and gifts, and that brings me to the key experience that I would like to share with you.
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As per my usual modus operandi, my August calendar of events kicked off with our monthly support group meeting. I have mentioned before that this group is not large, but we always seem to have some interesting discussions both during the official meeting and during our traditional post-meeting cocktail and appetizer session. This month was a bit different because our moderator/co-founder/voice-of-GGness (aka Traci) is getting married soon. To celebrate, we decided to throw her a small wedding shower. We had cake and soda and gifts, and that brings me to the key experience that I would like to share with you.
To digress for just a moment or two (but directly related to my tale), I would like to introduce you to my spouse. I have mentioned her several times in this column, and it occurred to me that if I am going to continue to talk about her (as I undoubtedly will), this would be the polite thing to do. Besides, then I can refer to her by name, rather than using the term “my spouse” or “my wife” (I never did like the fact that it is very cumbersome to refer to a spouse/partner without using the possessive “my”). Therefore dear readers, I would like you to meet my wife “Sue”. OK, that is not her real name, but she remains concerned that being publicly associated with her is liable to cause me to be unintentionally outed. So back to the tale of the wedding shower gifts.
Sarah and I (you remember Sarah of course, partner in craziness, full-speed-ahead TS, ex-patriot Brit, and member of the support group) decided it would be fun to go together on the purchase of some shower gifts. Originally this was envisioned as a Sarah and Greer experience, unfortunately it ended up being Sarah and “whats-his-name, but I will get to that. Anyway, we thought it would be fun to go to our local Lover’s Lane store and buy some fun things for Traci (fun meaning sexy and probably embarrassing).
Sarah and I (you remember Sarah of course, partner in craziness, full-speed-ahead TS, ex-patriot Brit, and member of the support group) decided it would be fun to go together on the purchase of some shower gifts. Originally this was envisioned as a Sarah and Greer experience, unfortunately it ended up being Sarah and “whats-his-name, but I will get to that. Anyway, we thought it would be fun to go to our local Lover’s Lane store and buy some fun things for Traci (fun meaning sexy and probably embarrassing).
As these things go, time passed and we failed to arrange for shopping during any of my usual “heel time”. It happened that Sarah was scheduled to come over and have dinner with Sue and I (see how much space and energy I saved by saying “Sue and I” as opposed to “my spouse and I”) on the Saturday before the wedding shower/group meeting. As this would be our last opportunity to shop before the event, we figured we better go for it. As I have mentioned before, as supportive as Sue is, she is not comfortable spending time with Greer, so I was to be “what’s-his-name” for the evening (sigh). We arranged for Sarah and I to go out and do our shopping and then come back to the house for cocktails and dinner.
Before the weekend and our planned get together with Sarah, Sue casually asked me where we intended to go shopping for our gifts. I told her what we had in mind. Oops! After giving me a verbal knock upside the head, she told me in no uncertain terms that what we had in mind was totally improper, unacceptable, and un-American. She also explained with a bit of an evil smirk that it was a very “guy” idea. Ouch! That was definitely a low blow, especially since she was absolutely right.
But now what were we going to do? What kind of “real” gift would be appropriate for the happy couple? Internet to the rescue. Hmmm, everyone registers at Crate & Barrel. Sure enough, Traci had registered a long list of swell things at C&B, and that is where Sarah and I journeyed that Saturday afternoon before returning home to a marvelous meal prepared by the marvelous (and brilliant) Sue (I made the dessert though).
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The tale that I would now like to tell you has only a passing reference to the trans community. Nevertheless, I hope that you, dear reader, will find it to be a worthwhile use of your time. Of course the fact that you spend time reading this column says you place minimal value on your time, but we shall let that pass.
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The tale that I would now like to tell you has only a passing reference to the trans community. Nevertheless, I hope that you, dear reader, will find it to be a worthwhile use of your time. Of course the fact that you spend time reading this column says you place minimal value on your time, but we shall let that pass.
This tale begins with a growing desire on Sue’s part to bring a new bundle of joy into our home. No, not of the human variety, more of a canine bundle. It had been a number of years since we lost our beloved Scottish Terrier (gone to the big ceilidh in the sky), and Sue had always wanted to have another faithful companion in the house. With me spending more time “out and about” in recent months, she expressed a desire to look for a new “puppy”. Actually though, what we really wanted was a dog who was past puppyhood. In particular, one who was already housetrained.
[Note: a “ceilidh” (kay-lee) in Scotland is a gathering that usually includes traditional music and dancing]
Sue spent months investigating the various breeds available. We had fallen in love with the general intelligence and temperament of terriers, so that limited the search. We agreed that we wanted a dog that was smallish, but not a lap dog, and that further narrowed the scope. Ultimately she identified the Irish Terrier as the perfect fit for us.
Next she began scouring the internet for available Irish Terriers. We also started checking with local pet shops. It turns out that this is not a widely available breed. Apparently not currently popular in the dog-purchasing world. Ah, but Sue was not deterred. She kept looking and found a breeder in Missouri with some puppies. During our vacation in April, we paid the breeder a visit and got our first “in person” look at both adult and puppy versions of the Irish Terrier. Sue was sold on the breed, but the timing was not quite right to dive in, and we were not really comfortable with the breeder. After returning home, Sue continued to search for her perfect puppy; a female Irish Terrier, at least 1 year old.
The big break came in June. She found a breeder in Idaho with a 2-year old female Irish Terrier. The breeder had kept this particular dog as a pet, but recently decided she did not have the time to devote to her. After much correspondence, Sue decided that this was the dog for her. Business was taken care of, and arrangements were made for “Marina” to be sent to us by air on June 26. Well, on June 23, we received a call from the breeder. It seems that Marina had gone into heat, so a delay in shipping was necessary. The big day finally arrived, and we met Marina for the first time at the Delta cargo office at O’Hare on July 3.
We can now fast forward through the following weeks. We quickly adapted to having a pup in the house again. We also quickly realized that being a terrier, Marina was happy to ignore our calls regardless of what we might call her, so we changed her name to Molly, which seemed a bit more Irish (and which has just 2 syllables and is therefore perfect for a girl name). Molly was eating well, although she seemed to be putting on a bit of weight (I know, I know, but let us not jump ahead).
On Friday the 13th (honest, I am not making that up), we were watching TV. Molly was laying on her side, legs splayed out, tail toward me, and belly exposed. “Darling,” I said to Sue, “I hate to say this, but I really think that something more than just gaining weight is going on with Molly.” As we both looked more critically at Molly’s belly, we quickly agreed that a trip to the vet was in order. OMG! The next day, our local vet summed up the situation by showing us x-rays of Molly. Ten, yes ten, little puppy forms could be counted. They looked like aliens! The vet assured us that the puppies had been growing for at least 55 days. Now the astute (or very bored) reader will note that this means our adorable little Molly was “seduced” on or before Father’s Day (funny), June 20, which was two weeks before she came to live with us. Oops!
As you might imagine, we talked to the breeder, and we are convinced that she was as surprised as we were. She offered to buy Molly back (no one ever offered to do that when our daughter was going through her dark, gothic teen years) and to pay any other related expenses. She also assured us that the only possible father was another Irish Terrier, and said she would be happy to help us place the puppies through her contacts. So at least we would not be having little German-Irish Sheperriers or Irish-French Terrioodles.
After we did a bit of nesting of our own (whelping bed, puppy food, towels, etc.) we settled in for puppy watch. Fortunately, Sue was able to work from home while Molly continued to grow bigger and become more restless. She kept looking up with those big brown eyes as if to say, “what the heck is happening to me?”
I am very happy to say that the big day arrived along with the deadline for submitting my column to the editors. At about 4:00 AM on Friday, 8/20, puppies started making their way into the big, cold world. The 10th and last puppy made her appearance just before 10:00 AM. Puppies, mother and grandparents are all resting comfortably.*****
I said that the tale of Molly the Irish Terrier had a small tie to the trans world, and I have left that for the end (the tail end so to speak). A week or two after Molly came to live with us, the time came for me to dress up and go out to enjoy some heel time. As usual, I was sequestered for 10 or 12 hours getting shaved, showered, made up and dressed for the evening. Molly and Sue were in the living room watching TV. Sue had probably told Molly not to laugh at Daddy when he came down the stairs looking funny. When I began to descend the stairs, Molly retreated to her “safe place” (under the dining room table) and began to emit a low growl. When I called to her, she slowly and very cautiously came out and allowed me to pat her head, but it was obvious that she was not at all sure about me.
The next time I went out, Molly was still a bit unsure, but she was much more willing to accept me once I sat down and stroked her wiry coat. It was as though she was thinking, “OK, he is wearing a skirt, but it is Daddy. Humans. Go figure.” The following week, Sue decided to wear a nice white skirt to work along with a pretty blue print blouse. This is not her usual attire, but now and then the femme thing hits her (not as often as for me of course). Molly came into the room as Sue was finishing the look by strapping on some platform sandals. She looked at Sue as though she didn’t know her. Sue called to her, and Molly looked over at me. Sue identified the look and voiced what she thought Molly was trying to say, “Daddy, Mommy is wearing your clothes!”
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Hugs,Greer
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Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.
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Hugs,Greer
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Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.
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