Our New (Foster) Dog

Jim and I had talked before about fostering dogs for the shelter where we both volunteer, but had decided not to pursue it while Hana was still alive. But when I went in last week for my regular Tuesday morning shift with the long-term dogs, one of the other volunteers told me that Genoa, a five-year-old Rottweiler/Staffordshire Terrier (aka pit bull) mix who was a great favorite among the staff and volunteers, was "on the block."

Like humans, some dogs adapt to confinement better than others. Genoa, who'd been in the shelter for months, was suffering from depression, losing weight, and exhibiting behaviors of dogs who are literally at their wit's end. We'd already lost three dogs from the long-term program in the previous weeks, including Genoa's brother. The words, "Maybe I could foster her," were out of my mouth before my brain had even processed the idea.

Genoa--we call her Jenny--came to live with us last Saturday. Even with her all ribs showing, she's a big, powerful girl. She needs some brush-up work on house-training and basic obedience skills, but like most pit bulls, she's a fast learner. Also like many pit bulls, she's very affectionate and loves cuddling.

We hope that Jenny will find a permanent home soon--she'd be a perfect "best friend" for someone. Meanwhile, she's learning to live "on the outside" again, hitting the hiking trail with us and breaking in her new dog bed.

Currently #1 on the Job Hunt Nightmare List

The e-mail below came from an enormously talented and experienced librarian friend who is also job-hunting right now. The names of the organizations involved have been omitted because we librarians are nice people who don't want to embarrass large, publicly funded institutions whose employees exhibit shamelessly bad behavior.

OK, what I'm about to tell you, I think could place number 1 in bizarre job hunting events.

On Sunday, I applied for the position of [Research Coordinator] at [an institute] that is affiliated with [a large West Coast University system]. I was really excited about this position because so much of the job description was research and they also wanted someone to set up a library. OK, so I don't have fundraising experience, but all of my research experience should have made me end up on the interview list. . . .

After I sent my cover letter and resume, almost immediately, I received the form letter from HR...thank you for your interest in [the institute]... If they are interested in interviewing me, I'll hear from them (DUH!).

So, this afternoon, get this...I received an email from the woman who I had identified as the Director of Development. You can imagine how excited I was to see that in my inbox. When I opened the email, it said: "no." That's right, Katie, it had two letters, n-o. NOTHING ELSE.

City Views: Capitol Hill, 4.25.10

Ixelles, our Brussels commune, was known for its wide variety of splendid architecture. The American suburbs don't offer that, obviously.

We've begun exploring the city of Denver, though, particularly since Patrick and Rachel moved into the Capitol Hill neighborhood downtown. Denver, unlike Detroit, values its architectural heritage, from the Craftsman bungalows (which often list at $500,000 and up) to the mansions of those who made their fortunes on Colorado's natural resources.

I've started taking my camera along when I'm in Denver. From time to time, I'll post images from a city that, in its own way, provides visual pleasures similar to those Hana and I had on our daily walks through Ixelles.

The building below is across the street from Pat and Rachel's apartment. The decorative carvings and statuary are eclectic (to put it mildly), ranging from an American eagle flanked by Chinese-style lions at the roof line to medieval gargoyle heads and dragons reminiscent of Copenhagen bordering the windows.

Plumbing: $1,800. Decorating advice: Free.

The plumber charged us $1,800 for three jobs, including resetting the tub in the basement bathroom, which the house flipper completely bungled.

But the big guy (his co-worker looked like a Viking) offered decorating commentary gratis. As he passed through our bedroom to fix the master bath toilet, he commented, "Yeah, we had this paint color in our living room when we first moved in. It always reminded me of makeup color."

"You mean foundation?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it."

I had planned on painting the bedroom anyhow, but imagining greasy foundation oozing down the walls while we sleep just bumped that project up to the top of the list.

It's Baaack!

Snow, that is.

April in Colorado can be erratic. Today it's snowing huge, wet flakes that are threatening to bury my just-planted violas.

But last Sunday was sunny and in the 60s, a perfect day for the Denver Botanic Gardens. Bordered on one side by a neighborhood of old, European-style homes, the Gardens are hosting "the first major open-air Henry Moore exhibition in the Western United States." The contrast between the massive statues and the fragile spring flowers and budding trees was delicious.

And looking at the pictures again almost makes me believe that spring is here. Or was here.

A former private residence near the Gardens,
now an administrative building.

The Gardens' Japanese Tea House,
where tea is served during the summer.

"Justices Reject Ban on Videos of Animal Cruelty"

When I saw yesterday's New York Times headline, above, my heart sank. I understand--intellectually--the legal basis for the ruling, particularly after Patrick Gillette, JD and dog lover, explained it to me. But emotionally, I can't seem to get past the message it sends to people who promote dog fighting. These scum aren't concerned with the First Amendment nuances of the ruling and probably view it as a judicial blessing to keep throwing dogs into a pit to tear each other apart while they film the carnage.

Over the nearly two years that I've volunteered at the animal shelter, I've handled a lot of pit bulls and pit bull mixes. (Much of the time, they represent the majority of the dog population at our shelter, since many shelters in the area won't accept pit bulls or, if they do, they euthanize them immediately.) Some of them have been my favorite dogs to come through the shelter; one of the most battered, whose snout was criss-crossed by scars from dog fights, had a disposition as sweet as that of Buzz, our little Papillon. The idea that the Supreme Court would do something that, for practical purposes, may add to the maiming and killing of these dogs sickens me.

Who would ever think that I could agree with Justice Alito?

Below: Jenkins, one of my favorite pit bull mixes from the shelter, and me at an animal adoption event last fall where I handled him for the afternoon. The big guy was adopted two months later; his new owner reported that Jenkins is "like a big puppy" who "loves to snuggle." But I already knew that . . .

Corporate Theater of the Absurd

Letter received yesterday from Allstate, which provided landlord's insurance on our Northville house during its years as a rental. (That would be the house we sold six months ago, incidentally.)

Dear Former Customer:

We're writing because, due to a processing error, we did not send you a policyholder disclosure document entitled "Notice of Terrorism Insurance Coverage" (AP3337-2) while your Landlord's Package Policy was active. The endorsement contains important details regarding Terrorism Coverage.

We apologize for this error. To correct this, we have enclosed the endorsement document in this mailing for your reference. Also, this issue did not affect your insurance premium at any time your policy was in force.

Thank God, now I'll be able to sleep at night.

---

At least once a week, sometimes twice, for the past couple of months, Comerica Bank (home to my late father-in-law's trust fund) calls the house during the day, when everyone except unemployed losers (e.g., me) is at work. The conversation is always the same:

CB: "I'm calling from Comerica Bank. May I speak to James Gillette?"

ME: "James Gillette was my father-in-law. He passed away in 2009."

CB: "Okay then, may I speak to Jack-quezz Gillette?" (Jim is a trustee on the account.)

ME: "JACQUES is not here at the moment. May I take a message?"

CB: "No, no message."

Is it just me, or is it a little odd that not a single Comerica rep has apparently ever reported to a manager that James Gillette is deceased? Or that word of his death, for which Jim provided documentation to the bank, hasn't filtered down from above?

Not to mention that none of the reps responded to the news of Jim, Sr.'s death with even the automatic "I'm sorry" that good manners suggest when one individual tells another--even a stranger--that a family member has died. Apparently it's more important to stick to the script in corporate America . . .