Chris Wampler is my favorite player of all-time. Perhaps the only guy to put butterflies in my stomach. He was a 6’3 guard for my high my school team the Tippecanoe “Tipp City” Red Devils! The summer 1985 he became the inspiration for my game as I stared at him through the chain link from my beach towel at the community pool. His smooth jumper tanned skin and handsomely set jaw had my full attention as I watched him play everyone but himself off the court in the sun up to sun down pickup games on what later also became my own little spot of heaven the Tipp City Park basketball court. There may still be a bit of sweat soaked up in the roots of the big oak tree offering shade to all who sought a moments rest awaiting the nod and “I got next…”
When winter came that shine didn’t wear off as my sweaty palms held tight to my THS Athletics program and circled every point my idol scored and maybe even dropped the pencil jumping up as he put a dagger in the heart of the Greenville Green Wave, nailing the long buzzer beater to out dual Bill Funderburg his equally lauded rival.
A guard playing without the benefit of the 3 point line he averaged over 20 points per game.* His “bag” included a decent handle, heady passes, and a perimeter game with long jumpers everybody knew were coming…opponents threw double teams, triple teams at him…but no body could stop!
*The 3 point line first arrived to high school basketball in the 1986-87 season…the year AFTER Chris graduated. With his long range it could be argued his 20 points actually translate to 30 points or more in today’s “modern era” of basketball. (And to which I say…Hold on to your ovaries Chris at least you weren’t playing 6 on 6!)
Chris a big fish in a pretty small pond…or big canoe in a little stream, lead his team to a decent record and a sectional championship in the Ohio boys high school state tournament ‘85-86…which meant I got to watch two games in the largest indoor sporting venue I’d ever experienced, Hobart Arena. An arena in the neighboring city owned by an industrial manufacturing company with a very distinct odor. It smelled like stale air, sweat, and…canned tomatoes? (Hobart Co. is a provider of industrial food service and commercial food equipment).
Chris who I thought at age 11 for sure was deserving of a spot in the NBA did not get drafted that year (holla Brad Daugherty Cleveland Cavaliers). Instead he made 2nd team All-Ohio and earned a four year scholarship to Division 1 Wright State University.
From 1987-90, my legend of the court averaged about 5 points a game and mostly a bench player struggled to get minutes at a D1 Mid-Major.
It is an understatement to say sometimes life doesn’t turn out as you thought. This would also be an understatement to the end of our story.
On a weekend home from college about 10 years later, I ran into Chris at a drugstore holding my emergency bowel program supplies, a box of liquid glycerine suppositories…and stood tongue-tied. Somehow my fair-hair hero had gone bald and looked a lot like his handsome mother.
His big smile suggested he was expecting shy giggly fan girl adoration. I stood face beaming out mild shock n horror…
“Hi, I um…just picking up a few items for my dad. I’d better get it to him…” and made a hard cut to the door!
So, Chris served as the foundation of some of my fondest childhood memories…In reflection, he was my basketball Jesus. Where his arrival in my world lead somewhere and the agony of defeat still a temporary passing surprise…the expected hardened shell of a kind of learned helplessness of a SCI (spinal cord injury) had not yet set in…
It is in the spirit of perhaps kindred spirits found on the court and the joy it still brings I offer the very first ever…
Chris Wampler Player of the Week
This is a player who best embodies his game and provided an exciting watch this week (…it’s heavily weighted toward guards and doesn’t hurt if they are also attractive!)
MARINE JOHANNES aka “Jo Jo Buckets”
Jo Jo Buckets of the New York Liberty put in a VERY impressive performance this week…including several “Statue of Liberty layups” in a losing effort against the Chicago Sky.
Hello good people the buzz is in the air can you feel it? One of the biggest days on the sports calendar is here. The Stanley Cup Final? Indy 500? start of the French Open? No! on May 19th the WNBA season begins (began)!
To make sure you’re prepared, I’ve created a primer of everything you need to know for the 2023 season…key storylines, some predictions, key players, lingo you can drop to impress fellow fans…
But before we dive in, here’s a little history about the WNBA (I’ve gleaned from extensive podcast listening)!
History of “the W” – There were other failed women’s professional basketball leagues that predated the WNBA. “The W” largely succeeded due to large scale investment from the NBA and the hard work of pioneers like “Machine Gun Molly” Kazmer (nee Bolin) who grew up playing a 6-on-6 style of basketball. She starred for the Iowa Cornets of the Women’s Basketball League (not to be confused with the cornet instrument but actually stalks of corn). After the shucking of the Cornets, Machine Gun Molly was prepared to launch a professional league but developers of the WNBA did not want her affiliated for fear of carrying over the stigma of the failed WBL…They wanted no association with the pioneers and to start fresh (which is why I’m hyping them here)…
In 1997, building off the USWNT’s basketball gold-medal winning performance at the Atlanta Olympics ’96…a Games marked by the dominance of U.S. Women!…the Women’s National Basketball Association launched as an eight-team league. The highly hyped and anticipated inaugural game was between the Los Angeles Sparks and New York Liberty.
Over the years, the league has expanded with several relocations and teams folding to arrive at the current 12 teams. Most notable relocations for our purposes include the Orlando Miracle 1999-2002 to Uncasville, Connecticut…now the Connecticut Sun and for this Ohio native the folded Cleveland Rockers 1997-2003–shout out Jen Rizzotti, Penny Taylor and someone named Pollyanna Johns Kimbrough! I’m all in on some Pollyanna happening in Cleveland…
Are there any big differences between the men’s NBA and the women’s WNBA game?
Arguably no, not to the game itself.
It is the modern game of basketball. Same court dimensions, rules…nod to Machine Gun Molly who proved she could run the entire length of the floor without her ovaries falling out (a real fear used to justify the 6 on 6 game in Iowa where girls were not permitted to run past half court).
Notable differences are that the WNBA is not aligned with the traditional basketball calendar season. Why? Because when the NBA founders pitched the idea to the broadcast partner at the time, NBC, NBC expressed interest but only when not in direct competition with NBA games, college ball or any other live event that may compete for a resource…AKC dog show, bull riding? A major weather event? The WNBA therefore is a summer league May-September with a relatively compact 32 game schedule. Two other differences to mention are that the ball is orange and white and slightly smaller. The WNBA also plays four 10:00 minute quarters instead of the NBA’s 12:00 minute quarters (I suppose everyone’s ovaries need a breather).
Biggest Storylines
There are two.
Super Teams– During the off-season, the defending champs Las Vegas Aces added two-time MVP Candace Parker to a roster already loaded with talent. The New York Liberty went from a lower tier team to a collection of Justice League All Stars signing not one but two MVPs and an elite veteran point guard. The question is will the Super Teams roll in and crush it like a Dad swatting away a kid’s shot in the driveway? or will it be like a factory farm chicken with a roided out chest so top heavy it falls on its face?
Brittney Griner’s return to the WNBA– BG spent 10 harrowing months wrongfully detained in Russia after airport customs officials found vape cartridges with hashish oil in her luggage. She was trying to enter the country for her off-season overseas gig with professional team UMMC Yekaterinburg. She was found guilty of attempted narcotics smuggling and sentenced to 9 years in a Russian penal colony. After some heroic activism efforts and diplomacy, BG returned to US soil this past December in a prisoner swap for a Russian arms dealer. Shortly upon returning home BG said she was eager to rejoin her Phoenix Mercury teammates and play in the 2023 WNBA season. Thus, you can expect at least in the early stages every BG game will feel like a welcome home tour. There will be standing O’s and important questions like…What kind of form will she return to? How is she going to use this platform as promised to bring home fellow wrongfully detained prisoner Paul Whelan? And, most important what is she going to do with her hair? She cut off her signature dreadlocks to a smart closely shorn look while in the Russian penal colony to avoid having it freeze into icicles.
7 Bold Predictions…one for every day of the week
Somebody’s underwear is going to be visibly longer than their shorts. (There is a preferred fashion trend for some players to wear the baby doll or diaper look with front thigh tucked up).
Sabrina Ionescu 2023 All-Star game MVP is going to hold up the trophy and when handed the mic dedicate it to Kobe Bryant (NBA mega star who died tragically in 2019 who she considers her biggest mentor).
A Chelsea Gray crossover move is going to break Twitter.
WNBA Commissioner Cathy Englebert announces plans for expansion 2026 that include North Hampton, Mass (LGBTQ mecca) and a new franchise the Milwaukee Buckettes!
Sue Bird unretires after watching fiancé Megan Rapinoe and the USWNT win World Cup gold…She joins BFF Diana Taurasi midseason to come back and win the championship!
Doggie daycare will be added to the CBA (collective bargaining agreement).
Rookies protesting the lack of legit roster spots and opportunity to develop defect and start their own G League (NBA feeder system) run by Chance the Rapper.
Team Previews…in no particular order
*Gay Factor- GF
5pts- married or committed couple on team
4pts- known out gay player
3pts- player non-binary they/them pronouns
2pts- gay ownership or coach
1pt- Lin Dunn
ATLANTA DREAM– GF (Gay Factor) 7 points
Gay Factor– The Dream have a fairly low but impressive GF. Although seven points is 2nd lowest in the league, they include major points for not only ousting co-owner Kelly Loeffler a staunch Trump supporter but replacing her with an ownership group that includes Renee Montgomery an African American former WNBA player with a wife! Currently Asia (AD) Durr holds a roster spot and will be challenging new League Pass broadcast announcers trying to use they/them pronouns.
Ethos– The Dream have never won a championship. This squad is young, talented and “built the right way” which means built primarily through drafting college players. So, the flip of this is also true. What’s missing is veteran leadership typically acquired through trades and signing free agents.
Star Player I like to watch– Last year’s ROY (Rookie of the Year) Rhyne Howard. A fun thing about Rhyne her mom recently shared on the “Sometimes I Hoop” podcast…Prior to some really big tournament games in high school her pre-game meal was cabbage. She ate multiple bowls of cabbage…couldn’t get enough (I would be looking for a vitamin deficiency). I’m curious does she still love it?
Notable fans– The ATL is a very black city with strong ties to hip hop culture. I haven’t spotted any of them yet but if the team gets hot and makes the playoffs I would expect some courtside coverage of the likes of Usher, T.I., Luda, Lil Baby, Waka Flocka Flame…
Lingo you can drop– “Haley Jones has a decent handle but will need to develop a 3 to stick in this league.”
Handle-def. ball handling and dribbling skills
Player I like to watch– Aari McDonald. Young, lightning quick guard with shot taking confidence.
Interesting nugget– The 16 rays on the home white jerseys were inspired by the National Center for Civil and Human Right’s “Pentagram” mural. They come together at the DREAM written across the chest…right beneath a small chest patch of the Arby’s logo…DREAM big of unlimited curly fries!
CONNECTICUT SUN– GF 17
Gay Factor– What’s crazy is they lost a lot of gay in the off-season but still finished near the top of the league. The roster includes a seriously dating couple Alyssa Thomas and DeWanna Bonner and two inter-league romances. Natisha Hiedeman is now doing long distance with her boo Jasmine Thomas (former Sun teammate traded to the LA Sparks). Dijonai Carrington might be the only player excited for a road trip to Indiana where she can kick it with her girl NaLyssa Smith of the Indiana Fever (former teammates on the Baylor Bears with a coach Kim Mulkey who was VERY gay unfriendly).
Ethos– Like the NFL Buffalo Bills. The Sun consistently field championship caliber teams, however they always go home without the trophy. It’s kinda become a thing.
Star Player or player I like to watch– Alyssa Thomas. AT has a jacked up shot. She taught herself to shoot this way to protect her shoulder after an injury. It looks like she’s throwing a shot put. AT also is noted for changing her shooting hand on free throws after coming to the league…which is unheard of. In college she shot everything with her left. She got to the WNBA decided that’s not working well…I’m going to switch to my right! And now basically, I just can’t tell which hand she’s gonna use…somehow it’s effective and however she shoots it, it works!
Notable fans– There are no other pro teams in Connecticut so there is a strong U Conn (THE dominate team in women’s college basketball for the last two decades) contingency.
Lingo you can drop– “Brionna Jones can’t jump over a nickel but she uses her body well in space.”
Using one’s body well in space- typically means one of the larger players gets in position among smaller quicker players in the painted box area and gets a lot of rebounds.
Interesting nugget– The Sun play in the Mohegan Sun Arena on the native land of the Mohegan Tribe…on a casino resort.
CHICAGO SKY– GF 4
Gay Factor– Plummeted during the off season. Married couple Allie Quigley and Courtney Vandersloot are off the roster. Candace Parker left in free agency for Las Vegas to be closer to her wife and daughter on the West Coast. Julie Allemand (very attractive) failed to make the roster for “failure to report” to the team while she fulfilled her commitment to her team overseas.
Ethos– What just happened here?
Star Player I like to watch– Marina Mabrey. Mabrey was acquired in a trade from the Dallas Wings where she starred in her role as the 6th person off the bench. She’s an agitator with resting bitch face. A streaky outside shooter she can take over a game with an aggressive style of defense that always leaves the crowd awaiting a fight and technical fouls.
Notable fans– Chance the Rapper
Lingo you can drop– “James Wade (head coach and GM) doesn’t care that his championship team is now gutted. He’s still in win now mode!”
Win now mode- a championship team executive’s decision to capitalize on remaining talent. It means bringing in free agents and former star players rather than building more slowly through the draft.
Interesting nugget– The Sky are not affiliated with the Chicago Bulls.
DALLAS WINGS– GF 8
Gay Factor– It’s there but low key. Not a lot of Wings players are outwardly out but it could be fun to play a guess who? My top three guesses Arike Ogunbowale, Diamond DeShields, and rookie Lou Lopez Senechal. Two confirmed according to OUTSports are veteran forward Natasha Howard and guard Crystal Dangerfield. Diamond DeShields drips with style in her signature wrap around glasses. She also has her own non-binary fashion line.
Ethos- Youth movement. The Wings drafted five rookies this year. If you like saying “rookie mistake” this might be your squad.
Star Player who’s fun to watch– Arike Ogunbowale- A very ball dominant scorer. An electric guard who is terrible on defense and no good at getting teammates involved. She is clutch in end game situations…nailing buzzer beaters but will never be my favorite watch because of poor passing.
Notable fans– Maybe Mark Cuban? The Dallas Mavericks owner.
Lingo you can drop– “Bang the alarm. Heat check! That grrrl is warm! Arike just banked one in from the logo (mid-court graphic)!”
Heat check- when you do something to check how hot you are. In basketball it means taking a crazy shot to see if you are so hot you can make even more ridiculous shots.
Interesting nugget– There is no NBA “G League” equivalent or feeder system into the WNBA. There are 12 teams and 144 available roster spots. One of the biggest challenges facing newly drafted rookies is are they even going to make the final roster? Many of them do not.
WASHINGTON MYSTICS– GF 12
Gay Factor– Pretty solid. Elena Delle Donne “EDD” and her wife are a good Instagram follow. They produce reliably good gay content. Natasha Cloud has a wife who plays professional softball. There’s also a gay Amanda on the roster…Amanda Zahui B.
Ethos– Don’t step on a crack. Pray for EDD’s back. EDD has a bad back. She missed the 2021 season recovering from back surgery and played limited minutes in 2022. If she’s fully healthy, the Mystics could easily be championship contenders. Without her the most likely outcome is solidly average.
Star Player I like to watch– Natasha Cloud- She is a fiery competitor who will flex, pump a fist, and chest bump her teammates after hitting big shots. She needs permission from no one and relishes the opportunity to silence a hostile crowd.
Notable fans– Joe n Jill (Biden) and possibly the real VP Kamala Harris
Lingo you can drop– “EDD is a walking bucket!”
A walking bucket- When your offensive game is so strong no one can defend you. A player who can hit any shot and score in multiple ways…layup, mid-range jumper, long three pointer.
Interesting nugget– The WNBA has 9 out of 12 female coaches. Mystics coach Eric Thibault (male, he/him) is in his first year. He is part of a father-son duo. Father Mike retired from coaching the Washington Mystics at the end of last season and moved into the front office as the General Manager. Son Eric moved over a spot on the bench from assistant to head coach. They are both very qualified but I’d like to know exactly how this happened…and if Kamala is okay with it.
INDIANA FEVER– GF 9
Gay Factor- Lin Dunn is an old school lesbian. She is the General Manager. Successful, strong, independent…possibly never dated a man or had a boyfriend, she speaks with a distinct southern drawl and is likely to show up at any media event in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans. Other notable gay Fever include veterans Victoria Vivians, Erica Wheeler and relative new comer NaLyssa Smith.
Ethos– Always a season away from being a season away. The Bad News Bears.
Star Player I like to watch– Kelsey Mitchell. She’s a The Ohio State University alum.
Notable fans– It’s notable that they don’t have a lot of fans. What they do always have are a lot of draft picks so if you follow college basketball you are likely to know some players. They could be a fun watch if you like to see young talent develop and come together.
Lingo you can drop– “You can’t have a GOAT conversation without mentioning Tamika Catchings…”
GOAT- greatest of all time. “Catch” played her entire 15yr. Hall of Fame career for the Fever.
Interesting nugget– Last year’s pop-culture inspired Rebel edition jersey is a nod to the show Stranger Things.
LAS VEGAS ACES– GF 17
Gay Factor– The Aces boast championship caliber GF. Last year’s Finals MVP Chelsea Gray is gay. Off-season acquisition former MVP Candace Parker moved her gay out of hometown Chicago to be closer to her wife and daughter on the West coast. Riquna Williams has been in the news for a troubled past with an ex-girlfriend. Kierstan Bell is not on the fence they are on the bench and non-binary. Coach Becky Hammon is openly gay, with wife and two children. It was a signature win for the “W” (and gayness) two years ago when she decided to leave the Spurs. Some believe had she stayed with San Antonio she had a legit shot of being the first woman to be a head coach in the NBA.
Ethos– SuperTeam. The Aces are playing a poker hand that’s been dealt a full house. It’s like they’re playing UNO with a bunch a Draw 4’s not just the WILD cards.
Star Player I like to watch– Kelsey Plum. She is my favorite player in the league right now…all I can say is just watch. You will understand. She’s FIRE!
Notable fans– Tom Brady. Retired NFL QB is a minority owner of the Aces. He and K. Plum share a mutual admiration society posting shout outs and athlete love on their social media feeds.
Lingo you can drop– “Wow, CG is gettin into her bag!…”
Getting into ones bag- When a player takes over a game typically offensively and starts dominating using a variety of moves…fade away, step back three, hesi dribble with a layup. A player going deep into their bag will also have signature defense and deft passing skills.
Interesting nugget– Katy Perry has a residency show in Vegas this summer. I could see her being a fan and showing up to root on the Aces. I would not say the same for fellow resident Barry Manilow he’s all about Lola…she’s a show girl.
LOS ANGELES SPARKS– GF 13
Gay Factor– Easily the best collection of gay. Curt Miller is an openly gay male coach, Jasmine Thomas is the other half of one of the league’s married couples, and Layshia Clarendon is non-binary and uses “she/they/him” pronouns. Jordin Canada is just plain gay.
Ethos– Hooray for Hollywood! The younger sister of the Lakers is ready to step out from the shadow and cement that star on the walk of fame!
Star Player I like to watch– Nneka Ogwumike. A post player who definitely remembers to send a Mother’s Day card and leads by example. Only thing better than her game is her character as a person.
Notable fans– Snoop Dogg, Jessica Alba, NBA legend Magic Johnson, LeBron James are best bets for the fan-cam if this team gets rolling.
Lingo you can drop– “Nneka is such a high IQ player.”
Hi IQ player- Someone who has a deep understanding of the strategies of the game. Most likely to have studied the scouting report and use opponents strengths and weaknesses to their advantage.
Interesting nugget– There are two sets of sisters on the squad. Nneka and Chiney Ogwumike (Nneka is the current Players Association president and Chiney a high profile ESPN basketball analyst). Karlie Samuelson is a role player with a streaky good jump shot. Sister Katie Lou who has played starter minutes is currently pregnant and on maternity leave.
MINNESOTA LYNX– GF 10
Gay Factor– This is the team with the highest potential to outperform its projection. Coach Cheryl Reeve is married to Lynx Vice President Carley Knox. They have young son Ollie who could go either way in a custody battle. Lynx assistant coach OSU legend and Ohio native Katie Smith is also gay. Veteran Aerial Powers has seven years gay experience in the league and likely has a lot of dirt on people.
Ethos– We don’t rebuild we reload! The Lynx are not used to losing. They have won four Championship titles and any Mount Rushmore debate will include mention of retired Lynx players Maya Moore, Sylvia Fowles, and Simone Augustus…all are gone, gone, gone. So, C. Reeve is a Hall a Fame coach with a lower talent roster running out of winning on reputation…and for the first time everybody knows it…and it’s uncomfortable.
Star Player I like to watch– Potential star Diamond Miller. My pick for rookie of the year. She will play a lot of minutes right away and I’m looking forward to her blowing by hapless defenders as she takes an outlet pass and puts a little sparkle and shine on it.
Notable fans– Minnesotans- This is not Titletown USA. The other pro teams have not given them much to cheer about. So they are a loud, well-attending appreciative fanbase.
Lingo you can drop– “I’d start Dorka (Juhasz)…Phee (Napheesa Collier) needs a 3 and D.”
3 and D- A role player whose job is to make 3 pointers and play good defense. Not a super star. They accept their role and make it easier for a star player to shine.
Interesting nugget– Mya Moore when arguably still at the top of her game retired to commit her passion more completely to social justice. She took up the fight to free a wrongly imprisoned man to whom she is now married.
PHOENIX MERCURY– GF 12
Gay Factor– The Mercury GF is high profile. Diana Taurasi is married to retired WNBA All-star Penny Taylor (ex-Cleveland Rocker). Brittney Griner and wife Cherelle are BFF’s with the President and there’s gay among team leadership. Coach Nygaard is gay. Rick Welts credited as the first openly gay big league sports executive was once the president/CEO of the Phoenix Suns and Mercury. He married partner Todd at the San Francisco City Hall…by the mayor…which is very gay.
Ethos– Drama. The team you are most likely to see on a Hard Knocks type reality show.
Star Player I like to watch– Diana Taurasi. DT has so much moxie and character there are even fan Twitter accounts dedicated to her bun. Arguably THE greatest of all time she is 40 yrs old now, plays no defense…often doesn’t get back on “D” after she misses a shot because she’s complaining to a ref BUT on a night where the stars are aligned she still has the magic. She will take over a game with clutch 3’s and no-look passes that transform the arena into inspired mayham!
Notable fans– NBA Phoenix Sun big three players Devin Booker, “CP” Chris Paul, and “KD” Kevin Durrant
Lingo you can drop– “I can’t tell if Sophie C. is angry about her minutes or just has resting b*tch face.”
Bitch face- angry aggressive face at rest, whether angry or not a scowling expression
Interesting nugget– BG missed the entire 2022 season due to imprisonment that included time in a Russian penal colony.
NEW YORK LIBERTY– GF 14
Gay Factor– The Liberty scored big this off season bringing in top end gay talent. Courtney Vandersloot, Breanna Stewart, Jonquel Jones all confirmed gay. Others of note “Big Mama” Stefanie Dolson and the Statue of Liberty…because everyone knows the Statue of Liberty is gay…she’s got a book, comfortable shoes, a mind for social justice!
Ethos– An owner with deep pockets went big and bought a Super team.
Star Player I like to watch– Courtney Vandersloot “Slooty”- 5ft 8, point guard. The WNBA won’t wow you with dunks but provides way more than enough with incredible passes. Slooty is an all-time league assist leader and likely to be the author of many of them. When she drives to the bucket be ready to have your hands up and jaw dropped.
Notable fans– I foresee lots of bandwagoners. In sports as in life people get excited and want to be a part of a winning team. My only hope is that fans who jump on the wagon stay should it take awhile for the team to jell or should they hit a rough road and a wheel falls off…However, I can see how the seafoam green color definitely makes it easy to desire and want to rock that swag. The unis def deserve a shout out for tops in the league.
Lingo you can drop– “Slooty is droppin’ dimes!
Dropping dimes. Droppin’ dimes or Dimin’ them up!- making really good passes to teammates
Interesting nugget– Star players in the WNBA average around $200,000 per season. They play significantly fewer games, the crowds are smaller…LeBron James is making 44.47 million for the 22-23’ NBA season and is considered underpaid (…by the business and talking heads). Um…what?
SEATTLE STORM– GF 8
Gay Factor– The GF got gutted this past off season. The Storm lost the #1 lesbian power couple Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe when Bird officially retired. Brianna Stewart arguably the best female basketball player on the planet who can be seen on her Insta feed dropping to one knee and proposing to her now wife…ended her other free agency by signing with the NY Liberty. On the positive, they got back Sami Whitcomb (confirmed gay) and got gayer via the draft, Jordan Horston. At the time of this reporting, I can neither deny or confirm but my other favorite player in the League, Jewell Lloyd consistently sets off the gaydar.
Ethos– The big one finally hit. A seismic shift…from top to bottom of the league.
Star Player I like to watch– Jewell Lloyd. Moves as smooth as buttah.
Notable fans– This is a city with no NBA team. The Seattle Super Sonics relocated to Oklahoma City and left a void that the Storm stepped in and filled with four championships. Thus, traditionally tuning in you can expect to see a very passionate and strong crowd. THE notable fan sitting courtside is Sue Bird. Sue Bird is an overachieving superhuman. She is the WNBA All-time assist leader, lead the team to four championships, won two college national championships, multiple Olympic gold medals…all while apparently aging backwards. In 2018, as she was nearing 40yr, she and girlfriend Megan Rapinoe graced the cover of ESPN Magazine’s “Body Issue…” without an ounce of loose flesh. She continues to live in the area and attend games. If she’s in the arena, the camera will always find her with the TV broadcast having her mic’d up for report!
Lingo you can drop– “Hope fans didn’t put away umbrellas because J Lloyd is making it rain inside the arena!”
Making it rain- Hitting outside shots usually with a good bit of arc on them. A phrase typically used by older announcers in lieu of that jumper is wet or nasty.
Interesting nugget– The Storm play home games in newly renovated Climate Pledge Arena. Pledges include holding zero-waste events and having 75% of food served sourced from local producers. So keep an eye out for imposters!…like S Bird noshing on a boat of those flimsy Cheese Wiz nachos.
You might wonder did I go back to working my job at Freedom Service Dogs? My job as the Client Services Manager is in part to help place and support new service dog teams. It is an environment with constant dog interactions and compassionately curious dog people.
After taking a few days bereavement, I did go back. My philosophy and motivation in taking this position has always been like Hair Club for Men, “I’m not only the Hair Club president, I’m a client too!”
If I could somehow find my way through losing Ava, I thought, I could somehow help others find a way through. So, for anyone grieving the loss of a service dog, like Seymour “Sy” Sperling (HC president) and perhaps that guy who made the “Impossible Burger” I’m looking for the better alternative…I’ve started to putting together a little “A Team” Survival Guide on…
Service Dog Grief
What it is…
Definition: It is a stronger more potent variant of pet grief most transmissible in public.
When someone loses a pet typically the loss is held and processed within the context of one’s home. Ugly cries are more or less predictable say with the sharing of a favorite memory or photo when sitting on the couch with a friend…you might start blubbering when passing a best potty spot when out on a walk and urgently avoid eye contact with concerned neighbors.
A service dog death is all of that plus reliving the loss publicly with strangers. Like any good team Ava and I had achieved notoriety and local celeb status at regular stops along our route.
My first post Ava public happening happened while I was rolling through the seasonal holiday area in the back of our Target store. (*Side note, this is already a fairly unwelcoming place to a single person with no children. I had three presents to wrap and learned wrapping paper and supplies are sold in bulk…). With like six rolls of paper and a box a Scotch tape, I came face to face with the red-vested checkout lady who likes to brag about her rescue greyhounds. I had recently challenged her and her dogs to a run off at the dog park! (…My money was still on Ava to win!) Somehow she was not at her usual station up front. When she spotted me, her eyes lit up and she enthused “Where’s your other half today!?” I wasn’t prepared. I stammered out “I I lost her…” which felt stupid like I’d accidently misplaced her or lost her underneath a couch cushion. As the tears welled up from my belly, the confusion and horror on her face erased her merriment. She quickly, threw up the stop sign “oh, that’s awful. I know what it’s like…” and she vanished into those mysterious corners of stores where I can only guess she sought out a break room and a good cry. I hope she found it.
And the bloodshot-eyed guy at the Break Time Gas Station/Liquor store where Ava and I often stopped for a pop and beef jerky treats…this guy who I’m fairly sure dabbles in the liquor cabinet in the break room…did not get the response he expected either when I sat frowning and softly cussing as the metal frame of my chair clanked loudly into the glass door…I’m f*in stuck!. He held the heavy door open and asked as I crossed that threshold alone for the first time… “Where’s the pup?”
In this instance, I shook my head and said “I I can’t …” He just looked at my face confused and said, “I’m sorry” and walked off. I rolled away as quickly as possible to a secluded aisle and cried…without tissue or napkin I blew huge snot bubbles in my shirt which was quickly becoming a crusty staple of my wardrobe.
Over and over by virtue of the amount of time Ava and I spent together…she was attached to my chair like an extension of my body. I found myself missing the intuitive dance we’d do…my weight shifts to counter kept coming up empty missing the tugs n’ pulls…Literally it felt like the world was off balance…not to be overly dramatic but she truly felt tethered to my entire existence.
In a more academic sense, the death of a service dog is so devastating I learned in my nightly “dharmathon” (i.e., dharma-marathon…I have dharma talks piping through my ear buds every evening as I go about the end of the day routine) because in losing a dog like Ava from my lips to Ajahn Chah’s zafu cushion I can identify 5 losses.
What are the 5 losses I’ve observed in losing a service dog?
One (I’m holding up fingers as I type this!)
Relationships. There is no surprise or secret here. Dogs are the conduit to new friendships and often the glue that holds them together. They are the “What are we going to talk about?” perhaps with family, old friends or out of town visitors. A service dog allows the clinically depressed and anxious to perhaps build a repertoire of words that feel familiar and comfortable with life’s essential people like frontline service workers (i.e., an office scheduling assistant, the security guy at the front door, the kid’s soccer coach). For me, the immediate FEAR and intensity of GRIEF was not in those relationships but in potentially losing a friend I found or who literally found me at the dog park…
On one of the first “thaw” days after a snow, I made the ill-advised decision to unleash “The A-Team’s” growing cabin fever at the dog park. The level of “F-U Old Man Winter I’ll show you!” must have been high in that I made it roughly halfway around the two-mile loop…off roading splashing through ankle deep puddles, cruising over the shifting glaciers of icy snow covering the path, avoiding the stroller wheel gutters in the quicksand pits of oozy mud…I pulled off in the matted down stalks of tall grass…a no-fly zone patch for the winter wildin’ out dogs and that’s where the journey ended. I got absolutely juiced out stuck in the mud.
The people passing by had not a clue or a care but soon I was nose-to-nose with a magnificent Rhodesian Ridgeback, a gentle giant dancing and bellowing out his concern. As he came bounding toward my rig, he had brought along his aptly aware person Kim, a young woman with strong authoritative voice and smart purposeful step. “Apollo! Come!” Soon the whole mess of us came together…Ava buzzed the tower thrilled to have a new friend and a big beautiful BOY to impress! Cleared eyed, Kim said “It looks like you’re stuck there. Could I give you some help?”
I’m not that stubborn (or stupid) so I said “sure.” And then in the most sheroic feet of 2019 Kim, and her petite Orangetheory Fitness frame pushed me across the open field, off-road for a good mile…all the way to clear footing on the other side of the park. A friendship was born that day as we chatted and talked the rest of the way to the parking lot.
I am happy to say my fears went unfounded and that Kim and I remain good friends. She has inspired some of my “how to support someone grieving the loss of a service dog” recommendations. Here I will just say although I did lose the JOY of anticipating our weekly dog park meet ups and seeing the budding romance develop between Ava and her boyfriend Apollo, I am finding the subtler joy of a friendship that endures over time and even deepens in hard times. Kim and I now do less frequent but equally meaningful “meet up to catch up” brunches.
The second loss…
Roles.
According to The Bible of school knowledge the Encyclopedia Britannica says A role is a comprehensive pattern of behavior that is socially recognized, providing a means of identifying and placing an individual in a society.
Given that people with disabilities are largely invisible in society, it is hard to say what the role of the service dog handler is. My experience has been that the social status one has been given as a service dog team is that of drive by petting temptation or free pet therapy session…the public loves to do unauthorized drive by pettings and talk in baby voices to your dog…
Which is also partly why the run-in with the greyhound rescue Target checkout lady was so notable…to have her drop communication so sudden and completely was a far cry from her “good doggie” voice. “Hey big boy” she would ogle toward Ava, “looks like daddy’s getting you some treats!” I gave her my would you please just scan my items face. To be not seen in so many ways was frustrating but impressive!
With a sample size of one…here’s what I’ve noted about roles from the three years with Ava.
There is a role in being a service dog handler. I was Ava’s coach, partner, and teammate. I was never her mom because I needed things from her you would hopefully never ask of a child…like licking my fingers to help warm them up and pooping on command. Also I like to recognize she had a mom and that feels important. By virtue of signing a contract in our relationship there were behaviors and expectations to maintain…not only with each other but also with an organization (FSD). I worked with Ava on her skills the best I could. There were some we nailed…retrieves, tugs, doors…but not others…leave it, recall, do the laundry. I “had her back” in public settings…and she mostly had mine. Anywhere we’d go together it conveyed in my mind an added sense of purpose and status and I loved it!…Okay except when she humped me when I fell out of my chair on the sidewalk leading into the apartments…that was bad. I was happy to lose that.
The third loss is also a biggie…
Identity. In psychology the term “identity” is most commonly used to describe personal identity or the distinctive qualities or traits that make an individual unique. Identities are strongly associated with self-concept, self-image (one’s mental model of oneself), and self-esteem.
Identity…what goes with service dog team?
For me? Ava allowed me to feel authentic in describing myself as an outdoor enthusiast, independent, as someone who is kind, capable of pouring love into something, a protector, nurturer, leader, guardian, a peacekeeper…there were at times bad blood disputes with other office dogs or alpha females at the dog park that had to be settled at the gate!
I’d argue every service dog team has a partner identity that is individual and unique. It adds depth and strength of character. Ava and I were “The A-Team” arriving from Kansas and here to take on and embrace Colorado adventures! One of the hardest parts if not THE hardest part of losing Ava was saying good bye to this identity that allowed for the stories I could tell. My A-Team updates to give family and friends taking a sudden down turn to “…well, um now she’s dead.”
A loss that we all can think of the goes with Service Dog is number four…
Functionality. Truth I could function without Ava. There’s nothing she could do that I couldn’t do myself…with other means of assistance.
Functionality is the quality of being suited to serve a purpose well. Practically speaking I could/can get my coat off myself but on a very cold day when I come inside from the cold and my hands don’t work? She served a purpose very well…I could stick my gloved fingers in her face and say “tug!”…or lean over in my chair with head stuck in my neck gaiter (a warm cover that goes between chin and sternum to keep cold out) and call out my offering “…Ava?!? Get it!”…then watch her pull it off in one yank and dance around triumphantly WOHOO! Look at what I just did! Where’s the treat? Chicken?…Turkey? I like BEEF!
Okay, Functionality…truth serum. It’s hard to admit but without Ava on a VERY cold day in January, I did come home from work one day and sat in my winter coat for about an hour and a half because my hands were too cold and I couldn’t get it off. There are certain things that are much much harder without my girl…without Ava’s help…there was nothing to do to distract or entertain. I waited…I cried.
For others, the loss of functionality may mean a world immediately shrinking as they lose access on a larger scale. Imagine the example where an individual needs a dog to tug a manual wheelchair into an adapted van after they’ve transferred inside so they can drive. What was once perhaps a nose thumbing to obstacles and barriers…a fun flaunting of functional independence now a 24/7 car pool ride with a spouse or poorly boundaried overly caring person who does not like your music. It is a big deal…loss of functionality in grief. None of it works.
The 5th loss is Material loss…this can include the loss of money, objects, familiar surroundings. Material loss is most commonly considered the loss of things like money, objects, familiar surroundings…
According to Buddha Teacher Gil, my favorite dharma instructor this kind of loss can be further conceptualized as what we consume at the sense doors…eyes, ears, nose…(Ava consumed like a whole sacred cows worth of information with hers…) skin, tongue…In this light, it’s where we spend our time and attention…with Ava I liked my consumer dollar. I noticed that I enjoyed more of what’s going on around me in nature when out on our walks. I knew which rocks in the stone wall were where the bunny rabbits darted for safety in their hidden burros, where the swallows would come swooping in waaay too close in the open field to taunt us!…I learned to tell the seasons in the changing color of mountain grasses…
I made a few spirited attempts to take Bosco (powerchair) out for a jog without my wingdog…but they fell flat. One of the greatest losses is that without Ava, nature’s just not singing to me much anymore…
What I can most easily speak to is financial loss. Service dogs are what sometimes allows someone to have a career or do their job. It is not too hard to imagine the extreme lengths this woman (see above) who is fully employed would have to go to make the commute to her job without the assistance of her dog helping load the wheelchair… A veteran with PTSD might struggle at their job waiting for a new dog as they learn to navigate an office without a partner.
Ava’s death was sudden and unexpected…again she had a garbage disposal stomach and in lighter times I would admit to flirting with the idea of…I wonder what she wouldn’t eat? Would a giant burrito bathed in Mad Dog 357 (hot sauce) take her out? I will just say I was surprised at what it cost to say goodbye to your heart. When I finally move it, large blue urn sitting on my end table will be examined for traces of gold dust.
So, the first task of Service Dog Grief is for the individual to STOP and understand their grief and its uniquely fingerprinted individual components…A second concurrent task is looking at the caring community responses beyond greyhound ladies that run away and questionable characters sneakin bottles behind the liquor counter…
I don’t really remember much about the hours or days that followed only that in the acute stages of grief nothing was working.
The only word I could find was lost. I am completely lost without my girl and in my darkest moments I’m a bit embarrassed to say but not really, I think I knew exactly what it’s like to finally give up. A crazy concept not even complete paralysis from the neck down could achieve…I share one thing and perhaps one thing only with the now fallen hero Lance Armstrong (cyclist with cancer who started the “Live Strong” movement). In an interview in a rare moment of perhaps genuine honesty, he said he had to look up the word “surrender” and read its definition. I too have fundamentally not ever understood the word surrender. It’s not in my DNA to ever give up…but for a moment give up I did.
After saying goodbye and leaving the hospital, the only thought I had was…I’m done. No food. No sleep. No consoling…I’m going to stare off into space and die tonight.
But that’s not what happened. No, I am stupidly and overly blessed with caring and loving people around me…coworkers, friends, neighbors, family. Word spreads fast in these times and the response was immediate. I was not alone and I knew it. I just couldn’t feel it. I was shoulder shaking, ugly crying through periods of numb.
In the immediate hours, I knew to get through the overwhelm of the community caring response I needed to keep the circle small…a few good friends and especially Anne. Anne did not, would not leave my side.
Anne busied about the apartment doing the immediate aftermath duties of cleaning up the last remaining evidence of death. There were no less than three deeply stained spots on the carpet and a very fragrant goose poop splotch on the arm of the cuddle couch. As she gathered supplies and scrubbed, I took up post as mourner and chief in my grandma-sized, rose-colored recliner. I tapped my foot, restless and rocked in every sense.
A flit of endless dharma talk wisdom registered and sparked half a thought.
“Anne!” I called out. “I don’t think I’m going to make it…it’s all impermanent right? Expansion and contraction of time? Take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, breath by breath…”
Anne stopped and stood helpless animal odor remover carpet spray in hand. “I know…I’m sorry. it sucks.”
“Anne!” I called out two minutes later, “She’s been gone for two hours…How much longer do I have to do this?”
I tried napping, getting a little food in my system, a trip to the frozen yogurt shop…That evening I found care and compassion filling my heart as I was held in the embrace of some of my favorite people in the world…my co-workers who stopped to check in on me after work.
Nothing feels better than getting to say “I love you” to a co-worker/marine you’ve been in the trenches with.
But nothing would take the panic out of my loss as I realized there would be a moment in life…a first where I would have to lie down in bed and not feel her there at my side.
Reasoning others offered I could stay at their house for as long as I needed but I am a creature of strong habits and find being a house guest unsettling. Besides, I was perhaps angry and not wanting to be comforted. All I wanted was Ava back and no sleeping over at someone else’s house would ever take care of that!
Chapter 4- Acute Grief
The only person I wanted in these times was…my dad. The guy who had the humor and where-with-all to see me through the previous worst moments of my life. I was lying in shock on a gurney in an ER cubicle, no movement anywhere…a young 15 year old aware that I’d been in an accident and had a spinal cord injury. I was also acutely aware in the transport from accident scene to the hospital…some volunteer fireman/paramedic had cut all my clothes off and presently it was a little breezy under the blanket!
“Dad?” I tentatively expressed my modesty “…am I nude?”
Not missing a beat my dad good naturedly teased, “I don’t know. You want me to check?”
“Daaaaaaad!!!” I cried and for a moment forgot everything. It felt like I was going to live again…someday.
The only person I knew who could be of comfort if at all that first night was my dad.
As I’d promised my support crew, I dialed the number and waited for pick up.
“Hi Dad.” (Anne had just left honoring my wishes).
I had broken the sad news earlier in a text to my family: Dad, Mom, Brother. Thankfully I did not have to explain the need or reason for my call. He knew possibly that it was coming.
“Hi Amanda.”
Immediately as you do in these situations, I broke down in tears. Soon though I found we were reminiscing on simpler times…childhood memories…a time when life felt safe, known, secure.
Dad shared a story…last week he rescued two packages sitting at the end of Jim the neighbor’s driveway. The Fedex man had propped them up against the mailbox and Jim never gets packages this way! So, Dad crossed the street, picked them up, walked down the lane to the old farm house, put them on the porch…and the ruckus roused Jim from a nap! This lead to a cumbersome neighborly exchange that ended with the ol’ farm dog’s tail getting slammed in the door!
“Hmm wow ouch…” Clearly I was distracted. So my dad double downed and launched into the details of his latest home repair.
For as gifted as my dad is in the caring and nurturing department, he is equally not blessed with mechanical skills. His tool kit is perhaps still filled with one hammer, a questionable wrench, and a dusty socket set.
Now that he is a full-on retiree his days are often taken up with supervising what I can only assume are hapless contractors and crew members.
I got a vague sense that this latest guy in for garbage disposal repair was taking longer than expected and labor cost way too high!
“Mmm, maybe you shouldn’t use that guy…or take a class…don’t they do that kind a thing at Lowe’s?Handy Man Helper for Retirees?”
Dad doubled down even harder. His mentality has always been “You can beat on old Dad!” (I don’t like cathartic rants or using people as punching bags so I find this part of his character frustrating).
He could not be stopped! He was desperate to be a good dad. Slay his daughter’s dragons, lay waste to her tormentor…
He tried even harder to keep the conversation going!
“Yeah and then the next thing I’m going to do is have a guy come in and look at our bedroom blinds. They’re not opening properly!”
And in the immediate somehow that did it! My dad pierced through the deepest layers to the heart of life…found the tiniest, tiniest, crack in the layer upon layer of numbness where joy might shine through, where humor could still exist…
“Dad,” I said, “I don’t know what I’m gonna go do right now but whatever it is…it’s got to be better than this. You’ve just told me about your garbage disposal repair and now we’re talking about your bedroom blinds. You have just bored me right out of my grief!”
He seemed pleased with himself. “Why you’re welcome!”
It’s a funny thing how it came but I realized right then consciousness it is wide wide wiiiide. There is so much outside of my life. My one reality in any given moment…it is all impermanent. I can’t even hold on to sadness forever.
For the first time I laughed. Thanks Dad.
Chapter 5- Early Stage Grief (…Holiday Grief)
I lost Ava Dec. 6th. By the time Christmas rolled around, I was still not doing too well. I saw a counselor but was still sitting on the couch considering wearing her collar like a necklace.
Grieving people should not be required to do holidays. We show up depressed, ruining the mood and generally give bad presents…not for lack of care and effort. Anne got a pillow with a dog on it and Ken a desk rock. Ryan, Anne’s son, was the only one not getting an Ava themed present. He got a gift card for Airsoft (a military simulation sport).
It was my first group gathering. The first time in Anne’s home without Ava being rushed and greeted at the door by her now confused and disappointed friends Marfa and Lizzie.
I have always felt fortunate to have had one of the sweetest, gentlest grandmas in the world. There was nothing that could speak more to what it feels like to be unconditionally accepted and loved than walking through the door at Grandma’s house only to have her stop, clasp her hands together and softly cluck in delight “Amanda! Oh Amanda’s here!” just simply for walking through a door.
THIS is about what it felt like at Anne’s house Christmas Day when I rolled into the family room. A very small woman sat swallowed up in an oversized recliner. Her eyes bright blue seemed to have flecks of sparkle come out when she smiled. Her hair was white and well-managed into a smart bob and it was hard to tell if outfit or age had given her a very short torso and proportionally longer legs. She wore an outfit someone who clearly cared had selected for her comfort. She wore dressy sweats and pulling the look all together were some bright comfy tennis shoes! I recognized them as a sign that she has seen a good physical therapist recently to assess and reduce any fall risk as she shuffled at painfully slow speeds perhaps when making urgently timed runs to the restroom.
This bright-eyed lady was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my very dark world of grief.
“Hi Amanda” Ken, Anne’s husband lead the introductions. “The rest of the crew is out on a walk. This is Anne’s mom Kay.”
I was aware Kay has Alzheimer’s and it has progressed to a later stage.
“Hi Kay, it’s nice to finally meet you. I have heard so many good things about you.”
“Hi Amanda. Nice to meet you. I’m Kay.”
I quickly learned that Kay and I would meet again and again throughout the evening.
Our conversation would go like this…
Kay: Oh hi, where do you live? Do you live here?
Me: No, I don’t live here. I live close though in my apartment about 20 minutes away.
Kay: My name is Marilyn but I didn’t like it so I go by my middle name which is Kay…
[launching into a wonderful rendition of child teasing mimicry of her own name]
Mary lynn…Maaary lynn…I was born and grew up my whole life in El Paso Texas! “Kay?…What?…you know Que?”
Me: [3 years of high school Spanish] Wow, yeah I bet that must have been confusing…Que? What? Kay! I played it up big. My name is Amanda…and I go by Amanda. I never let anyone call me Mandy.
Kay: No you don’t look like a Mandy.
Me: Thank you. I don’t think so either.
We sat pleased smiling at each other.
Kay: “Do you have a dog?”
Me: “No, no I don’t.”
Kay: Oh, I’m sorry. We have a dog! She’s here and this is my husband Jack. Those are my two daughters. Do you know them?
When I look back what Anne’s mom provided was a therapist’s dream. It was what I am calling a new wave in behavioral psychology Alzheimer’s Exposure Therapy!
Over and over we had this conversation maybe five times straight. By the end, over and over I found I was able to do the unthinkable and say with shaking to steady confidence what is real. No, I do not have a dog. Her physical presence is no longer on this earth. Her remains are in a very large blue ceramic urn sitting underneath a lamp on an end table which I have no idea what to do with…any of it.
It was healing to have my pain, my unspeakable loss held in her kind and tender presence. I delighted in the moment of clear seeing in her blue eyes. I could see my pain spark genuine care and compassion. I experienced her eyes…gathered strength in her clear seeing kindness, the witnessing…it was without guilt…my pain was leaving no lasting mark…this disease would wipe memory clean as we’d start over again…
By the time we were ready to move it to the dining room for Christmas dinner, Kay held my hand and bubbled, “Yes, I think I will have a glass of wine! And I would like to sit next to this nice young man!”
Que? I gave up all illusions of identity. What? There are no rainbows here. I just went with it and waved the white flag.
It was early December, winter just starting to pack its punch.
We were losing daylight and the Walmart grocery had again failed to deliver my almond milk…
Ava a cattle dog/Shepard mix, still needed a good run. She was off the charts in herding energy. A lasting image I will always have with me is the picture of her running her biiiiig circles…jumping five feet up in the air to snag a toss…bouncing herself up off the ground after a twisted landing…running so hard toward home base (me) her ears would go streamline…her signature ending…a dive roll with a flip to her back into a glorious wonky windshield wiper back scratching celebration!
I hopped in Bosco (my powerchair) hooked up my wingdog and on the way to Target for the milk run we stopped in some soccer fields and played an arm numbing amount of Chuck It (a turbo-charged game of fetch)…
For the last throw, the ball rolled up next to a plastic orange construction fence, Ava STILL not done…got under and took off into a tall grass area next to the playing fields. My stomach dropped and heart lurched to my throat as I yelled out in panic, frustration
“Ava! Ava! COME!!!”
I’d like to share deep thoughts about these moments, what it’s like to feel so helpless, the FEAR of never seeing her again, never getting her back…
But I still struggle and am overcome with guilt and shame.
The cardinal rule of service dog handling is NEVER LET YOUR DOG OFF LEASH. I broke that rule. …but have you met Ava? (this is the thought I allow myself in these times).
Ava ran off wildin’ into the tall grass area at the edge of the soccer fields. A “no man’s” land shared with the corner garbage truck company. I don’t know what she got into…I’ve spent countless hours guessing. I can only assume whatever Ava got into smelled fantastic and she readily ate it. Maybe some coyote poison?…antifreeze?…or it was something someone didn’t quite take all the way over to the garbage truck dumpsters?…I don’t know…and I don’t care.
Ava had gone out of sight for what felt like an eternity. In reality it was likely only 2-3 minutes. Just when I was ready to turn on my wheels and plan out the first steps of a search and rescue mission…joy and relief surged through my body. Blood again ran through my veins as Ava came shooting out like a black bullet train from among the talk stalks of golden grass.
Relief melted to anger…I zoomed over grabbed her by the collar IMMEDIATELY tethered her back to my powerchair and gave a stern scolding “Young lady you are so grounded!” I cinched up the treat bag. “We are NOT playing that game!”
I owned my authority and lead my team on to Target! Pigpen (Ava’s affectionate nickname) arrived lookin’ like hell and smelling even worse…I remember as I loaded the gallon of milk into the little tray beneath my seat…as I bent low…Ava in a down position stood ready to assist! I got a BIG whiff that almost knocked me out of my chair. “Oh my lord” I said. “You smell like sh*t!” I said it directly to her face! She had goose poop on her nose and a big brown patch of it on her floppy ear.
The A-Team quickly fired up Bosco and zoomed home.
Chapter 2- Death
The next section/chapter in this story is called “I think my dog is stoned…”
When we got home, I unloaded my grocery item (…there may have been a bag of treats that snuck in there too) and called Ava/Pigpen into the kitchen to administer the only remedy I’d seen for wild animals caught up in man-made natural disasters…
Unable to give her a proper scrubbing in the bathtub, I decided the thing to do for a dog covered in dried goose poop was to get a wet washcloth and suds her up with some Dawn dish soap! The wipe down did not go as in the commercials. My fuzzy duckling just ended up a slicked down turd dispenser. For far too long she was a combo of wet dog and goose poop walking around the apartment rubbing up against and laying on things.
In the early evening, Ava spent two hours sleeping in the bedroom on the floor. As is the usual routine, I went about my business and lost track of time until it became one of the highlights of my day…FEEDING TIME! Ava a world champ eater could put away a bowl of food in under a minute. Each chomp delivered with the ding ding DING of her hanging metal collar clasp banging against the metal bowl.
I dished up the goods, making a show of letting the dry food pellets drop loudly into the bowl. I landed the delivery with a loud CLANK of stainless steel on the hardwood floor.
I expected Ava to arrive bright eyed and tail nub bouncing…
Not what happened.
Eerie silence.
“Ava?” I called out. Scared. Confused.
What came out of the bedroom was Ava but not as I’d ever seen her before. She kind of looked like…someone who’d been out partying too hard all night. My rockstar came out of the bedroom all wobbly walking, a bit sideways, eyes way too much pupil…
“Um” I said, “let’s get you some fresh air.”
The fact that she bypassed the food alarmed something deep within me. I knew we were in for a long night.
Here’s where I’d like to stop and offer a deep reflective thought.
I love Ava but I realized in that moment I don’t want this part. The fear, panic, worry, the expense. I did NOT want to spend the night at the emergency vet.
While outside, Ava vomited a tremendous amount of goose poop. Right before its arrival we shared a moment I notched in my brain log as something fun to share with my dog friends at work on Monday when Ava’s feeling better and life’s okay again. Ava did something I’d never seen a dog do before but as a human who’s been through childhood illnesses could relate. Before goose poop palooza, she circled and circled…Ava wide eyed looked at me. I wide eyed looked back at her. She said…something’s coming out! I said I know! I know!…She said, I don’t which end?!?!!
It was puke. There was a lot of it. We went back inside.
Ava lay down on a favorite spot right outside the kitchen. She was on her side breathing heavy. I knew what I had to do…call Anne!
Anne my best friend is also a dog trainer someone who’d be there in a heartbeat.
“Uh Anne, sorry to call so late on a Saturday but…” I tried to keep panic out of my voice “something’s really wrong with Ava.”
Anne took me through phone triage. I got down on my knees, poked Ava’s gums, peered closely into her eyeballs, and noticed she was leaking urine…
“Anne, she just peed a puddle on the floor!”
“Yeah we need to take her in.” Anne coached me through calling the Animal Emergency Hospital and she and husband Ken would arrive in 20min. flat to help load Ava and drive us there. In the wait, I struggled to find compassion. My fearful mind narrowed and gripped to selfish thoughts…Ava it’s 6:30pm. I worked very hard all week. This is my only real night off. I’m sorry I took you to a field full a goose poop but did you have to go n do this? I need you to be healthy!
Ava heaved a sigh and the puddle underneath her spiritless tail nub grew.
I closed my eyes…defeated. This is bad.
Chapter 3- Animal Emergency and Specialty Care Center
My wish for you is that everyone in the world have a friend like Anne and her husband Ken.
Someone who remains calm in a time of crises and has more patience than you could imagine when surrounded in chaos.
I will admit. When the smells hit walking Ava through the sliding glass emergency doors, I wanted to spin on my wheels and run. Hospital smells generally affect me different. It is positive. They come with a memory of time spent on a rehabilitation floor a place I found caring and comfort…but animal hospitals smell like FEAR…strong antiseptic, fluids, and wet fur!
It was dark outside. We walked four wide (me, Ava, Anne, Ken) into a mass of gray walls, darkened glass, and a reception counter that was too high. A Saturday night meant a waiting area lined up with patients and concerned owners. The only thing my brain could register was a white board hanging on a wall behind the barricade (nurses station) with what must have been twenty-five awaiting patients written in blue dry erase marker ahead of us…Tex, Smokey, Riley, Blue…We were in for a long night. There was also a sign smack in front of my eyes I did not want to see. Essentially it said when this candle is lit be quiet. We’re sending someone over the Rainbow Bridge.
A vet tech in blue scrubs looked down, her care and concern hidden underneath her workload and a job she must do to survive the night.
She looked down briefly at me, made eye contact, then turned and spoke directly to my friends.
Anne politely offered, “Hi we’re here with my friend and this is her dog Ava.”
Oh this is not the time. I do NOT want to be dealing with this indignity, I thought. Tonight on top of it all I will get to be invisible too! I jerked the conversation back.
“Yes, I’m here with Ava…I think she ate something she shouldn’t have when out on a walk. She got into something in a field…and now is not herself.”
Before I could get out “Ava’s not eating!” Blue Scrubs handed me a clip board where I could give consent and the only thing that mattered, my guarantee that “I owner” would provide payment! Irritated and fully aware, I signed. I signed up for this and I don’t care I thought. I just want her better.
Inside the hospital looked like the annex wing of a church or charter school…no stick multi-purpose easy to clean tile floor with smartly placed drains, short hallways lined with cherry wood doors with the little side slit windows…enough to see that a teacher is in there conducting class but no real clue as to the other participants…
A “land of lost time” purgatory, the emergency vet waiting area. I sat wondering am I going to have a funny story to tell or is this marking the beginning of the epic next chapter in my life story…adult decision making. I wandered down rabbit holes narrating my journey…It’s a five part series!…STRUGGLE, Rise and Fall of it All, I Wasn’t Ready to Say Goodbye…
In the emergency vet waiting area there’s no good conversation to have. Anne, Ken and I offered each other occasional comforting words which no one could formulate into a conversation or thought. As good friends do, they listened to my rehashing, replaying of the armchair home vet report…“Yeah, she she was like this…not eating dinner…when I called her out she was walking funny. I thought it might be all the dried soap still on her…she doesn’t like how it feels…but she uh is still drinking and and she still wanted to do her slide thing in the grass…it was just uh weird.”
Finally, a vet tech came out and put an end to the self-reprisal.
We had a room and eventually a vet who brought back his assessment results. “Well, it’s hard to say. I can’t guarantee but what I’m seeing here is that she’s presenting like a classic pot (marijuana) dog!”
We all went to our phones and could confirm the signs and symptoms.
Check Check Check
The biggest one being the diagnostic indicator that Ava was leaking urine.
Relief and smiles swept through the room as even within the 30min. in the exam room my girl seemed to be picking up in energy and spirit.
That night there were other options laid out…none of it seems to matter now. I did not do blood work. It could only confirm the pot diagnosis and would take 3-4 hours for results to come back. Even then they would not really give an immediate answer to what’s next.
I decided to take her home. Fluids might have helped to flush the system but in these cases the only treatment I understood for a pot dog is really to watch them and let them sleep it off. The only parting words I remembered were “She might even get a little worse before she gets to feeling better.”
“Okay.” I grabbed the discharge papers.
On the way out someone’s diaper fell off in the parking lot (a dog’s). We passed the young owners as they returned for try number two. I was jealous. I wish we had a problem like that I thought. A dog injury with stitches. It’s very straight forward. There’s an incision and it heals.
Ava’s problem was “neurological dysfunction” ataxia, hyperesthesia, leaking urine.
DISCHARGE INSTRUCTIONS
Diet normal Keep Ava in a safe environment where she won’t hurt herself if she falls No follow up needed unless you have concerns (…have you met me?)
Here’s where lack of life experience did not work in my favor. I cannot say I know what it’s like to be sufficiently stoned, drunk or under the non-medical influence of any drug.
I don’t know what it’s like to be recovering from a pot hangover or a hangover of any kind.
Embarrassed to say. All the next day I was trying to guess-timate how someone might look or feel coming off having had a night of waaaay too much partying.
And it seemed about right…yes, that’s how I would look or feel…
Ava slept A LOT, eyes kind of dilated, still glassy…she drank water, walked around slowly outside…
I pretty much left her alone and sat with her holding her paw while we watched Netflix on the couch. I will also say in the self-doubt, guilt ridden days that have followed I did notice her breathing. It was a bit shallow and uneven but I thought this was part of the emergency vet’s promise that things might get worse before getting better or…perhaps in my agony this reveals an unpleasant side of my character. Deep down I felt the bubbling of the thought maybe it serves her right! There’s a lesson to be learned here young lady. Do NOT stick your nose where it doesn’t belong! You are grounded and NOT to be eating edibles!
Oh if only…I wish I could turn the clock back…
Sunday morning I called the Animal Emergency Hospital. “She um seems the same…not really rallying. I thought I might see a little more pep?”
The woman who answered the phone sounded harried as if she was reading from a script.
“Well, if you want to bring her in you can…”
“I mean no, I don’t want to bring her in…” I thought. That place is a zoo! I hung up quickly setting myself against the harsh reality that I only had this day to rest and recover before placement class, my Super Bowl of work duties started on Monday.
I reached out to Anne. Anne came over. We did the walk around talk around…ultimately my decision was to give it one more day.
That night things took a sudden turn for the worse.
Details haunt and I forever want to erase and scrub them from my memory…
I followed our nightly routine. I lay down in bed and there was no Ava. I called and called to her until she wobbled in and managed to jump up on the bed to share a last night…
Still smelling like goose poop with a dried patch on her flopped ear we shared a pillow and I felt the familiar paws in the back…there were runs to the patio to relieve her belly of whatever needed to come out…we did not quite make it there multiple times…
The smells, fluids, vomit, desperation…seared now in my memory the middle of the night realization, I’m failing I’m not going to be able to physically get my girl the help she needs until morning.
Neither of us slept well that night. I was on the phone first thing in the morning. I still had Anne, the emergency vet and a plan!
“Okay Anne, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll have you take her to the emergency vet and drop her off. I’m going to go get placement class started and then the vet will call me once she’s been seen. Thank you, thank you. Thank you!”
That’s pretty much how it happened until…it didn’t. With one phone call, the world went completely upside down and sideways.
I was expecting to hear she’s a pretty sick dog. We need to keep her here for observation, fluids, medicine…until the poison has run through and cleared the system.
No. None of that. What happened was…
Day One of placement class.
As the Client Services Manager at FSD, a service dog organization, I have (had) the privilege and responsibility of leading a two-week placement class that launches new service dog teams into the world. It was day one and despite the rumblings of heart ache awaiting at home with Ava, I was feeling the touches of anticipation and excitement buzzing through the early morning in the training space. Six new fresh faces with nervous smiles settled and shuffled through greeting folders and paperwork at their tables. I felt a hint of celebration and pride as I readied to start introductions and throw out the ice breaker…it was the first class to include all women veterans living with PTSD including MST and we even had one of our very own, my young colleague Becca in class graduating with therapy dog Lucious! I got about as far as “What is your favorite Christmas movie (ice breaker question)?” when my phone buzzed to life!
720 865-7888 ANIMAL EMERGENCY AND SPECIALTY
“hello?”
“Hi Amanda this is Doctor __ at AESC Specialty. Do you have a moment to talk about Ava?”
“Yes!” I rolled out of the room.
“Your friend brought Ava in and asked me to call you. She’s in very bad shape. We are going to need to talk about making some decisions with her.”
“What?”
“I know it’s difficult to hear. Right now I have her on oxygen. She’s septic and I’m very worried about her lungs. She’s resting comfortably but you need to get here soon.”
“Yes, what, okay…” my brain went numb. “I mean I I know she’s sick but but she’s not that sick, right?”
From the sound of the vet’s voice…the gravity of her tone…she sounded on the edge of patience/frustration, like someone who’s a seasoned professional who’s had this difficult conversation one too many times and really doesn’t have the bandwidth to let the trauma brain catch up…
She leveled. “When your friend brought her in she wasn’t able to walk…”
“Um yes, I mean of course. I’m on my way but but how? How did she get that sick so fast?”
The vet now slightly put off said “…there was the time Saturday to this morning where she wasn’t doing well.”
The world spun and shifted on its axis. GUILT time stamped forever in my brain “…uh yes, yes, I could have brought her in. Thank you. I’m on my way.”
You are lucky in life if you have one friend like Anne…the kind who holds your hair back when you puke in the toilet and carries a case of antiseptic balm in her glove compartment then pulls over to doctor up your deep paper-cut on your thumb. I’m lucky enough to have had three with me (Anne, Ken, and Lori).
I didn’t have to drive myself to the AESC. Lori B a volunteer/friend and member of what I call the “A Team” Angels pulled up in a dark SUV and helped me and my wheelchair in. As I looked down at the tan interior at the mundane trappings of the lived world…mints, coffee cup holders, inspiration ribbons dangling from the review mirror…I fought back tears and the urge to turn and tell my driver…
“I need to tap out. I don’t want to do this. Ava is MY dog! She has a garbage disposal gut. She is the healthiest, FASTEST girl at the dog park…there’s been a mistake…this won’t take long. I’m just going to go in there, have a talk and then we’re going home!”
The 10-minute trip was punctuated with anticipatory grief and shoulder shaking crying. We need to “make decisions” clearly had implied there only really being one…and it was the big one.
Early December weather in Colorado can bring anything. As we pulled into the parking lot, I noted a touch of gratitude for the relative calm and warmth of the weather and felt muscles relax and ease a bit around my clenched face as I saw Anne and then her husband Ken walking toward the disability parking spot. I knew the next task was getting out of the car.
The place had a much less sinister and heavy feel in the light of day. Somehow the freshness clanked against reality. My feet hit the pavement with a thud. A late morning with friends and family greetings, a renewed freshness, I thought…shouldn’t this be church? With the strange freedom of a kid away from school going to the orthodontist, I made my way to the check-in counter. Again, a nice young woman in navy scrubs looked to my friends for guidance.
And this time, I couldn’t blame her. I looked like someone’s grieving grandma…wadded up Kleenex, puffy red eyes…It was clear I’d been crying and in that trauma place.
I managed, “We are here for Ava.”
This time no hours of waiting…marking off the names on the whiteboard ahead…in these times you’re on the short VIP list!
We had a room. The grim-faced veterinarian came in. She laid out the life sustaining efforts being taken, what lies ahead and details of the decision.
“She’s comfortable right now…”
“Can I see her?”
Before I let the details roll around in my head and before my TLC team could help process the specifics, I said “I need to talk to Ava and have her check-in…”
Uneasily the vet tech glanced toward the door. “Well, usually we don’t do that. She’s in the back but I can see…”
Yeah why don’t you go do that!…I set my jaw n glared. You can stick your f-in policy up your butt if you come back with a no because I’m rolling back there no matter…
I followed the beeps and Anne’s jeans…
And…there she was…
“Oh Ava, oh my girl…I’m so so sorry, I’m here honey…oh my girl I love you…”
They don’t make accessible ICU stations…
I pulled to a shaky legged stand…my girl was labored breathing on her side underneath a blanket and plastic breathing mask over her brindled muzzle. Her little nub silent and perked ear flopped like her still goose poopy other…our eyes connected and I asked for the strength to listen to her soul…What do you need from me? She held me briefly in her gaze and I knew…we never minced words…something I always appreciated about my girl…she was no nonsense direct…
I closed my eyes, gathered and exhaled… “okay” I said trying to sound strong… “I can let her go…”
Was I too knee jerk acting out of self-doubt, insecurity? Was I selfish not wanting to do the hard work of riding through the uncertainties, the waiting, the costs, those upheaval days, weeks, months of a possible recovery?
Yes…in part.
It’s agony. The guilt of this decision is knowing the rundown exhaustion of working a full-time job and doing the invisible work of disability…on top of maintaining roles and relationships of friendships and family…I could NOT see an option where both she and I would survive the next several weeks like this.
No…in part.
No, it was the “right” and only decision to make…when I re-live and let experience wash through me…there was maybe a glimmer of Ava…but also the toggle back n forth to the tubes and equipment keeping her alive, the 24/7 vet tech observance, the others’ lives in the room this would affect…When you are a friend and family member of someone with a disability “normal life” requires assistance and there’s a limit to what I feel is reasonable to ask…when I am the steward of a life it isn’t without looking at the LIVES it will also affect.
ALL of that was somehow contained in the simple phrase “I can let her go…” I went in search of the person I needed to tell. I found the veterinarian behind a curtain writing notes in a file in a small side office.
“I’m uh, going to let her go…”
Okay, she looked up and said “I’m sorry…” She looked truly sad and sorry. She set her jaw, looked to the young vet tech assistant and said “ I’ll go get the things and be right there…”
The vet tech. I did not like her. Too young, too “dumb.” Clearly I don’t know how life had affected her…the traumas of her life or what she might be carrying around in her hidden struggle bucket but I did not care. She was my enemy…the innocent bystander I don’t get to be mean to…someone whose hollow condolences I have to take.
I wanted the world to disappear everything to STOP so I could be alone with my girl…I wanted to hold her on the cuddle couch and say thank you thank you thank you til she drifted off in our last goodbye.
It wasn’t meant to be this way.
I rolled over to the stainless steel exam table pulled myself to a stand and managed a shaky squat. Anne stood by my side and coached me along…
“It’s okay…her eyes are closed but she can hear you.”
“I love you Ava…ohhh I love you soooo much…it’s okay, I’m here…”
Her chest heaved and sighed…
“Oh honey…” my tears rolled down and dripped on her face.
“You YOU were the best…” I held her paw, sang our songs and cried.
“Who’s got it better than us? Noooobody!”
The veterinarian arrived with the things and like a steady cool drink of experience walked us through the procedure.
The last images I wanted Ava to have took a little narration…
“Okay okay my girl…here we go…I want you to think of Apollo and the dog park…see the tall grass? The sunshine?…that biiiig watering hole?…go girl jump in it…free let go free…”
And then…it was over…she’s gone.
I’ve never cried like that before. The wails and waves of grief possessed my body and came out…seated I reached forward and grabbed/fell into a leg…years ages rolled back until I was clinging to Lou Anne’s leg???…Uncle Joe had a girlfriend by that name…we were saying group goodbyes standing in the driveway at Grandma’s house. I mistakenly grabbed the leg I thought was my mom’s and cried…only to look up and have everyone laugh in good nature as I realized that’s NOT my mom!!! Funny the brain and the things that happen when pushed to its limits…
I clung to what I believe was Anne’s leg feeling the reassurance of her hand rubbing my back as my eyes settled on her winter boots. I sat up and breathed…
“Hi Amanda, I need to get your signature for the procedure done today.”
It was the vet tech. I turned and stifled a growl…
“Now? We’re going to do this now?”
She stuck a paper underneath my nose…
“Can I uh get a pen?”
“Oh yes…” she handed me a blue pen!
“Okay thank you.”
“…and what would you like to do with the remains?”
I glared hard. What do you think? Taxidermy n hang her on the wall? “Cremation.”
“Okay and what color would you like for the urn?”
I hate this person. I really think I hate you…this Buddhist thing is not working I thought as I glanced down at the clipboard of color options…
“I don’t care.” With a get that out of my face pointed eyebrow pop I said… “blue.” Just just blue!”
Chapter 3- Grief
I don’t really remember much about the hours or days that followed only that in the acute stages of grief nothing was working…
The only word I could find was lost. I am completely lost without my girl and in my darkest moments I’m a bit embarrassed to say but not really, I think I knew exactly what it’s like to finally give up. A crazy concept not even complete paralysis from the neck down could achieve…I share one thing and perhaps one thing only with the fallen hero Lance Armstrong (cyclist with cancer who started the “Live Strong” movement). In an interview in a rare moment of perhaps genuine honesty, he said he had to look up the word surrender and read its definition. I too have fundamentally not ever understood the word surrender. It’s not in my DNA to ever give up…but for a moment give up I did.
After saying goodbye and leaving the hospital, the only thought I had was…I’m done. No food. No sleep. No consoling…I’m going to stare off into space and die tonight. But that’s not what happened.
Ava “My Girl,” “My Heart” Vallo passed away peacefully December 6, 2021 surrounded by her person (me) and friends shortly after the ingestion of an unknown substance, a poison she found in a tall grass field outside a garbage truck station. She was roughly 4 years old.
Although there is no record of her birth, her breed was part cattle dog, part shepherd…her AKC papers would say “All American Dog”…aka mutt. She held one ear up perked for business the other relaxed, lookin’ to party. Her expressive ears were her dog mullet. She had no floofy tail for any cattle to stomp on, door to slam or wheelchair tire to run over just a little nub to wiggle…an indicator of all things…JOY, happiness, contentment and in the end….”I’m done…that’s it.” I called her “Pigpen” due to the many days she found just the right patch of dirt and dry grass to roll around in…She had jet black coloring with just enough tan brindled on her legs, chest and muzzle to make her color pop!…but not enough to disguise the strands of dry grass stuck to her coat or trail of debris they left behind in our travels. We confidently stared in the face of any shop proprietor and said “Hey if you have a problem with this we’ll take it outside!” Ava was a lover and a fighter. Her dark brown eyes, deep and soft gave window into a fiercely kind and gentle heart…
Ava’s story is that of the underdog, the fighter, a story of instincts and humble beginnings…
Her history does not show where she was born but where she landed. Mother Earth birthed Hurricane Katrina who delivered this plucky pup to a lucky shelter in Texas.
Her young fighter’s eyes were deep and eager enough to lure in the heart of a woman named Fran, her assessor. Someday in her first year of life Ava met this kindred spirit who admired her for her raw undeveloped talent, took a chance on her and brought her to Freedom Service Dogs in Englewood, Colorado.
The odds are stacked against any shelter dog making it to placement. Only roughly 9% of these dogs ever make it to a graduation day…
The odds were perhaps even a little lower for a dog who experienced the effects of a tic born illness Ehrlichia…training was slow to begin and progress slow at the start. But through the patience and dedication of many skilled hands and hearts…trainer Sam Graeff, health and medical Stephanie Guild, foster Shelby Casey, long term foster mom Ann Pollock…Ava cleared hurdles and demonstrated landmark successes. A dog who would NOT show any interest in placing anything in her mouth after watching a fellow recruit playing fetch…leapt to the task!! She was soon retrieving everything in sight, banging out handicap buttons, opening frig doors…she earned her nickname from the FSD PhilComm Department “Rockstar” and with peerless confidence RULED the FSD halls.
In December of 2018, this soldier of good fortune joined forces with her partner for life Amanda (me). Together we were…
The “A Team”
On the training compound in Kansas, Ava ran countless laps snarfing treats around the indoor track at the Blue Valley Rec Center. She crawled into the under position expertly as sweaty bodies flew by the bleachers during pick up basketball games and maintained the integrity of Pickleball as she did not break cover to retrieve balls rolling past.
In March 2019, this crack commando unit escaped Kansas and fled to the Colorado mountains…FSD still wanted them…there was a job to do…a Client Services position to fill!
Ava’s spirit and generous heart could be felt by anyone she came in contact with. Soon her circle of friends included Kelly L stopping in the office to lay down with her and pet her belly and Brenna P playfully swiping at her muzzle and inviting a two legged partner dance. Ava had a special gift of not only seeing the good in people but bringing out the best in them as well. She was an avid lover of the outdoors and spent much of her time in the mountains and on walks on the Cherry Creek Trail scaring the serene beauty they encompassed. Observing Ava in nature was something to behold as she had a way of marking every animal dropping or withering plant with a dribble delivered in a perfected 3-legged lady squat. Her love for the Cherry Creek Dog Park a two mile loop of tall grass, an agility course and two watering holes brought out the happy free spirit that defined her. At top end speed she was greyAVAhound (greyhound) fast and always made her coach (me) sit up a little taller and burst with pride as mouth gaping on-lookers turned in surprise…”Is that your dog?”
“Yes, yes it is!”
“Wow, she’s FAST!”
“I know! Isn’t she awesome!?!”
Like a true champion, Ava went out on top with a chase-race record a million to 0? *A plaque is being commissioned for engravement into the ADA accessible cement ramp she helped build “Ava Vallo 2017-2021 ~Chase Champ GOAT of these grounds forever UNDEFEATED!”
In addition to a love of racing and nature TREATS were of paramount importance to Ava…an expression of her love of FOOD and her primary motivation in embarking on high level adventure.
During her two years of service in Colorado as a member of the “A-Team,” Ava joined with special forces and helped complete several missions on Amanda’s Project Possible plan.
She went rock climbing in Eldorado Canyon. Gained favorite status in breweries with someone Amanda thought “hmm there could be something here…” dared a kayak to tip as she stood and captained it through the choppy waters of the Cherry Creek Reservoir on Craig Hospital’s Hobie Day 2019.
She put the dog in team “Bird Dogs” birding in an Audubon Birdathon and punched her plane ticket to Ohio to get eyes on a backyard birdbath and her 95 year old great grandmother Donna Moorman.
In December 2020, Ava’s love for service, the outdoors, and family were only surpassed by a need for authenticity…You can take a dog out a the streets but might never be able to take the street outta the dawg.
After a period of soul searching and struggle…when presented with a list of grievances
Picking fight with FSD graduate’s dog
Workplace harassment of employees at Target (excessive leg rubbing)
Jumping in seatmates laps on airplanes
Dumping Amanda (me) out of wheelchair on multiple occasions (once followed by a public humping)
Snapping at leashed dogs around the apartments
Forging ahead and scavenging in stores and restaurants
Not maintaining down stay while waiting in office
Getting in scraps at the dog park
Ava embraced her truth of being a dog and was relieved of most public duties. The confining buckles of her red service vest were unclicked and it came off!
Some would say Ava’s “coming out” was selfish and put herself first above her teammate. When asked this question the one who knew her best…Amanda said bullsh*t. THIS is what strengthened us and truly made us a team. Free from the burden of expectation, Ava and The “A-Team” thrived upholding a dutiful regime of walks, cuddle couch enrichment (patting belly with a long handle training tool, a touch stick), and winter ADL activities (picking up dropped gloves, mittens, hats, a neck gaiter). At evening change of clothes time, typically around dinner…it was 50:50 whether Ava would stick around to help remove both shoes. She took a good ribbing from her teammate in mock distress “Hey, Lassie, get back here!…Timmy’s fallen in the well!” The “A Team” was again fun loving, outgoing and ready for any job!
Ava was an example to so many new FSD teams and continued to be a shining light to all who knew her through COVID times which included multiple Zoom screen bombing appearances. She introduced Amanda to audible dog farts, twenty minute staring meditation (with great intensity Ava could stare/outlast any sit), and was a terrible bed hog. She’s left a huge whole of emptiness in a single bed…Amanda still clings to her side and maintains the great pillow divide.
When you think of Ava celebrate the good memories you have of her and think of her beautiful grieving boyfriend Apollo (mom Kim Melton) and the two adorable neighbor kids who were traumatized when they discovered there was no Ava to drop off a present to this Christmas. Remember her family Amanda (partner), Eric & Elly (uncle, wife), Sue & Bruce Starr (grandmother, husband), Steve & Judy Vallo (grandfather, wife) and remember that life is fragile and short and should be lived to the fullest. She will be missed more than any words could express including by her angels on earth Aunt Anne, Uncle Ken and the “A-Team Angels” but she will be forever in our hearts…
There will be an urnside service, a releasing of the ashes this Spring. Apollo will wear his harness with saltshaker attachments filled with his ladies earthly remains and spirit. Light and love will lift as he runs all over Cherry Creek…galloping through the tall grass spreading his girl with joy and glee!
The lasting legacy of Ava. Ava…was a felt understanding not an intellectual idea. She taught a grateful partner (me) seasoned in loss but novice in dogs everything that arises passes away…She is emblazoned in my soul a heart beat of my existence.
She is the Diamonds Sutra a Mahayana text passage slowly falling into a broken heart.
A star at dawn
A bubble in a stream
A flash of lightning in a cloud
A flickering lamp an echo and a dream
Thus should you view all conditioned things.
Where does it all go?
Amanda would like to express deeply felt gratitude to a special group of friends and community members the “A-Team Angels.” Their unbounded care and kindness has seen her (me) through the knee buckling grief.
My apartment has never been this clean, supply closet never stocked so full, or errands run with such speed and efficiency…your cards, flowers, supportive text, have provided a level of TLC that makes the unbearable bearable.
If you would like to join the “A-Team Angels” in uplifting spirit…
In lieu of toilet paper…(my supply closet now has 54 rolls! thank you Costco card Angel!) or flowers Amanda asks that a donation be made in Ava’s name to Freedom Service Dogs https://freedomservicedogs.org/donatefsd/ or your local animal shelter. Better yet if you support this one in Texas! https://www.midlandhumane.org/contact.html. To share a memory of Ava or send a condolence you can drop a comment on this blog and yes Mom you have my permission to share this link on Facebook.
Grandma Vallo fell off the ottoman she was standing on to clean the curtains and broke her ribs when she landed on a coffee table. All I can say is I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the disregarded step stool. I fell in the kitchen a couple weeks ago and broke my ribs.
I would like my story to be:
I was buried alive in an avalanche while heli-skiing. The rescue crew digging me out hit me with a shovel!
Instead, I have the adrenaline junkies nightmare of saying…I fell in the kitchen. I was standing at the sink, spun around to grab something off the counter behind me, turned back around, the pain tweaked my knee…My leg jumped and I went down. On the way I tried to catch myself…which put a little extra momentum into it…I slammed my side into the edge of the counter and landed on my back.
People generally cringe here and offer their sympathies, story over. What they don’t get to hear is what happened next…
I lay there, stunned, confused, like the tuna I’d just watched on Netflix. Every evening Ava and I spend time together on the cuddle couch. I like watching sports she likes nature shows. Tonight we compromised. In tonight’s pick, “Battlefish” boat captains n crews slightly more evolved than pirates flew into trash talking, woofing celebration as they yanked in their prize–20lbs. behemoths landed splattering blood on the target, a giant butcher’s block, then slid down a chute leading to an inglorious end in the bowels of the boat.
I wriggled my way across the hardwood to the kitchen threshold and lay with shoulder bolstered against the wall.
I had a good viewing angle of Ava. They say if one person can remain calm amidst the storm it avoids escalation to panic on the boat. I like to think that’s what she was doing. Ava hadn’t moved. She lay with her head propped on the armrest of the couch struggling to keep eyes open.
Hey, Ava…Lassie. Timmy fell in the well!
She, sighed, shifted head one paw to the other.
Could you at least pretend you’re concerned? Look for my phone?
Lassie continued her nap. The response however did tickle my funny bone and inadvertently assisted in my maintaining calm until I could collect myself, gather and use a good boost of numbing adrenaline to get to my feet!
Four days later, I decided to call the doctor when I realized it hurt to breathe and I’d peed myself two nights in a row not being able to get to the bedside commode in time. Best not to try to play hero ball here…and what if Ava decides peeing in the bed is a thing? Four days after the fall, I finally decided yes, I need to go to urgent care! I dare say Grandma Vallo probably hadn’t peeped a word and was still trying to run the vacuum for a week!
At “Not Too Urgent” urgent care, I was the only person in the waiting room area. I had made an appointment in the morning and now three hours later the front desk person said “Hi, Amanda!” She recognized my voice and handed me a clipboard full of forms to fill out.
“What about all that paperwork I filled out on-line ahead of time?” I said incredulously.
She smiled sweetly and said, “I’m new here. Someone will be with you shortly. Can I get you some water?”
I frowned. Shook my head and went away to work on my forms.
A man in his late 30’s, early 40’s with athletic frame in mint green scrubs walked in from the parking lot…He went straight through the waiting room and made witty banter with the lady at the front desk. She buzzed him in through the door…
Did he fill out his forms? I’ve got like 5 extra over here if he needs any…
It was the attending physician who’d been away for lunch.
Maybe now I thought, a sense of urgency?…No. I was without my wingdog to keep me company. When my help finally arrived I sat staring into a blackened TV screen now serving as a bulletin board for Covid safety precautions.
“Amanda?”
“Oh, yep, that’s me.”
Never trust a nurse in black scrubs no matter how soft the cut. She wore the wispy summer robe type that involves a “V” neck, crosses smartly at the waist, and secures with string ties. The color choice suggests they a little bit don’t get it. They’re a little bit dead inside.
She was late 20’s, sported a wrist tattoo, and had a few more that said how much she loves her kids. There were hearts and angels with delicate scripted names and dates. She was work-nice and nailed all the new patient protocols. Blood pressure, temperature, pulse/ox… check, check, check.
She sat on a roller stool, safely distanced behind a tray table and open laptop.
I had completed intake and registration forms on-line AND a small stack in-person and was in no mood…
I had the cleanest family medical history in history…Nope. Yep. Everybody’s fine. Yes, my grandpa had breast cancer. Don’t make me explain it.
When we got to What pharmacy do you use?”
I was downright salty.
If I were bleeding out of my head would you be asking me this? I do not want to talk right now…call Ava. She’s been there.
I said, “It’s a CVS in Target…I don’t know the address. You know the one. It’s a CVS in Target in CORNERSTAR!” (shopping center) and just kept repeating myself.
By the time we got to reason for my visit, some part of me…the pain deep inside was talking.
Listen. I can’t push to get up off the commode without wincing, I about face planted in some dog poop because crawling to pick it up hurt so bad…positioning in bed hurts, breathing hurts, sneezing and coughing, laughing, crying, walking, sitting, dressing, undressing…HURTS! NOW WOULD YOU GD GET THE DOCTOR IN HERE SO WE CAN GET ON WITH THIS!
“What’s your pain level?” In some way, I think she heard me.
“Well, if I sit completely still like a statue and don’t breathe it’s like a 6? But if I move…starts at an 8 and has moments much higher than that…like eye watering.”
Finally, she left and the doctor who must have been sitting right outside the door entered.
The man with athletic frame, in his late 30’s early 40’s entered. His bouncy step and enthusiastic interest suggested it had been a slow day and he was eager to have a purpose.
“Ok walk me through it. What happened?”
“I fell in the kitchen. On the way down, I grabbed at the sink with my elbow…that exposed underneath my arm. I spun and slammed my side into the edge of the counter and landed on my back…”
It was funny watching his reenactment. He looked like a big time wrestler flailing, rebounding off the ropes.
“So then what happened?”
“Well…it hurt so I lay there.”
“Did you lose consciousness? Hit your head?”
“No, no. definitely not.”
He began pushing on the back of my head, neck, down spine, upper back…
He traced the fifth rib around to the front. Right around the armpit I let out a cry of a roaring elephant. I must have given a look just as bad. The doc said, “Ok ok…won’t do that anymore…Let’s get you x-rayed. I found it.”
Anywhere else, I decided, what just happened in here was assault!
A common problem of an incomplete spinal cord injury is that the brain has trouble regulating the pain signals from below the level of the injury. My injury is in my neck so as the result of the gentle probe of my rib all the muscles in my torso clenched into a tight spasm.
This is how I arrived in the x-ray room. A bright smiley technician, a middle aged woman in sea green scrubs greeted me at the door. She looked like the type who keeps regular salon appointments and always shows up to work with just the amount of product in her curls to make them look freshly showered all day.
She had dark blonde shoulder length curly hair and pleasant voice.
“How are you today?”
Don’t talk to me.
“Can I get you some water?”
What is it with these people and the water?
“No.”
I sat looking at the x-ray table feeling all the ways muscles hang on bones under the full pull of gravity. I imagined lying flat on the hardest surface on earth, an x-ray table, and offered what makes me a favorite wheelchair patient to a technician, “I can stand! I’m able to transfer myself!”
She did not look like she spent a lot of time in the weight room so I added the discourager “I can get down but right now don’t think I can get back up.”
“Oh no, that’s fine. I was going to have you stand if you could.”
I could and I would!
The x-ray technician had very cold hands.
I completed an exhaustive number of positions and poses each to the instruction of “Now take a deep breath and hold it!”
I settled for how about I stand as still as I can and we see what you get?
Music to my ears, I completed the series of YMCA poses and she said, “Ok those came out great!”
Pretty soon she was holding up what Jockey calls a “bralette”…what I would technically call my bra.
I was gritting my teeth contemplating how I was going to raise an arm to get it back on…it’s not a back strapper with hooks n clasps, just slips right on overhead…She held it at arms length, truly perplexed by a thin shoulder strap, and watched as it dangled n twisted showing all sides…She asked, “Is this the front or the back?”
I don’t care who you are, how you identify…never a good feeling. Something should distinguish your front from the back…worse, I had to answer her question… “I don’t know. I do know I see lettering so you have it inside out.” With very cold hands, she help me put it back on.
As Grandma could tell you, there’s really nothing to be done for a broken rib. Even TLC isn’t always advised. We were not allowed to hug Grandma on our holiday visit. I was very disappointed at the time but now know the sudden impact of a kid torpedo to the chest could’ve been fatal.
After a bathroom break, I wheeled down the hall and was surprised to hear the doctor with athletic frame call out…
“Congratulations come here let me show you, you have a fracture in your rib!”
Thankfully for his HIPPA cred it was a slow day with no one else in the nurses station. He pulled up an image on a desk monitor and used a pen as a pointer while the x-ray technician did her best Vanna White alongside. “See the disconnect this is what we look for right along rib five.”
I looked closely at my ghostly insides at a small dark spot that could’ve been a bug or grease stain about the size of a dime at the end of his mark. I leaned close but couldn’t see whatever the excitement but felt the explanation…
“It’s what’s called a pivot fracture.” He clasped his hands and folded them like the roof of an A frame house. “In a pivot fracture, the bone doesn’t float around loose, it snaps and bows like a twig. Inside the break there are some jagged edges…nerves run along the rib and rub against them…he demonstrated sliding interlaced fingers back n forth like a cheese grater…”the worst of the pain is typically for the first two weeks until a big sac of connective tissue forms over them.” He clasped hand squeezing over fist “holding them together so they can start moving as one…”
I think I blacked out. “Ok then…what do I do for it?”
“Well, it’s going to hurt when you do these types of movements…” He lifted arms wide and high “or these I would try to avoid…” He said dropping elbows into short thrusting motions.
You’ve just basically shown me how to push a wheelchair.
The puzzled look on my face registered and he said in sheepish recognition “Yeah but that’s going to be hard for you.”
“yeah.”
The good news was once the goop sac formed the worst of it would be over. He added, “It’s typically two weeks but with your bone health…” He trailed off trying to soften as he again realized not the best news “it may be more like 4-6 weeks?”
“Like this!?!”
“Yeah, I know sorry.” He threw in “With the way you responded to the exam palpitations, I expect you might have fractured one or two more. It’s very common.”
Ok ok I’ve heard enough. This is what’s called piling it on.
“So is it just rest and manage the pain?”
“Yes, sorry, pretty much.”
I left with prescriptions I knew I would never fill…pain meds come with gut issues and a handout “Broken Rib: Care Instructions”
Your Care Instructions
…Even if it hurts, try to cough or take the deepest breath you can at least once every hour. This will get air deeply into your lungs. This may reduce your chance of getting pneumonia…Hold a pillow against your chest to make this less painful.
That’s all you got? Well that just…just…sucks!
Today I can say I’m 90% recovered! After six weeks the physical pain was largely gone. I’m not so sure the emotional part.
I can admit I’m scared medicine doesn’t have all the answers…I know like many others…Grandma, individuals with SCI, vets with PTSD I live on a thin line of independence. I know I have an awareness I don’t want. As we grow old, as the body ages what was once life’s hard knocks, life’s road map, a history to share…if left untamed quickly becomes the race horse who snapped an ankle.
I know I am not saddled to fate.
I know anything that seems permanent is not permanent…like pain.
I rest in the reassurance there was a little easy chair that went with Grandma’s ottoman and she learned to use it. She rocked, she read, she slept…so deep she even had a little snore…and maybe had a dream for her grandchildren where there’s no toughing it out. Tonight I embrace the words of a spiritual friend–rest is a sacred act.
Sometimes in my job there’s a phone terrorist. That one very insistent soul consistently reminding everyone and anyone who will listen that A DOCTOR says they NEED a SERVICE DOG without it they will DIE soon and it’ll be all MY FAULT if they don’t get one!
To this I get to say wow, that’s a lot and by the way I have a disability and a service dog too and know that’s not true. I spend the next for however-long trying to find a calm, patient way of telling them if your doctor’s telling you that, he/she is dumb and you’re giving away your power. I’m going to have to not accept that fault and let you hang on to it. If a dog is this critical to your immediate health (which I don’t think it is otherwise they’d hand them out at the ER), ethically I could not accept you as a client. Our current waitlist time for a dog is three years…you’d be dead.
Ok, silence…but you will still put me on the waitlist right? You can NOT discriminate from me…cause THAT’S WHAT YOU GUYS ARE DOING!!!
To this end yes, dear family and friends I am still asking for support for my birding this Saturday. If you are in a position to do so any amount will be greatly appreciated. As a premptive thank you, please enjoy this Birdathon Preview.
BIRDATHON DEFINED.
A birdathon is a competitive birdwatching event and fundraiser. It is intended to be fun for everyone and friendly to beginners. It is like a walkathon, a bike-a-thon, or dance-a-thon!
DENVER AUDUBON BIRDATHON.
Where? Anywhere there are birds. Covid continues to leave its mark. Teams can gather in person at their favorite Colorado locations for a day of birding, sit n’ bird in their own backyard or do virtually by syncing up with other bird friends wherever they are and sharing their lists via an eBird app.
When? Any 24hr. period in May.
Hoo? Anyone willing to organize a team and collect pledges. Both beginners and master birders are welcome.
What’s at Stake? Nothing? There are unspecified awards for most species identified and top fundraiser!
THE TOP CONTENDERS
It’s a 16 team field competition. Here’s what the experts are saying. If you need help filling out your Sweet 16 bracket to pick the eventual winner, Go with…
Teams with cleverly posed photos on their donation page
Or
Teams using uncommon scientific names or referring to bird anatomy
“Covid Corvids”
“Mind the Gape”
I am going with late solo entrant BIRDATHON ON A BIKE!…Kathy! She looks like a real go getter!
WHAT TO WATCH FOR…Novice Birder Mistakes. To include:
Identifying birds outside the territorial map
Talking too loud too often
Holding the guide book- “Is that a red-breasted merganser female or non-breading male?” I can neither confirm nor deny!
Saying “No, I’m fine” if asked if you want to see something through a scope
Bringing a big thermos full of coffee (too much CAFFEINE!!!)
Asking curious classification questions like “So, what kinda bird was Gonzo?”
Chasing after a bird instead of letting it come to you
Trying to make non-birding small talk…”Don’t you think it’s weird you’re wearing a coat stuffed with goose feathers?”
TOP PLAYERS
A. VALLO TEAM BIRD DOGS
Every championship contender needs a 3 n D guy. Someone who knows their role and knows to make it in this league you need to show up every night ready to do that thing you do better than anyone else. They are not the star but can contribute to the team. At an Audubon birding event, I’ve determined what I can do best is fly around n play defense!
I’ve studied up on some birding vocabulary and figure should we cross paths with the other teams I can throw them off their game or get in their heads with some heckling…
A Vallo’s birds…A Vallo and wingdog Ava’s “patch”- location birder visits frequently
I’m ready with some trash talk!
Where you bin? Crushin on trash birds? That’s nuthin to crow about!
This dude’s been rackin over here. Just added 5 more to my lifer list!
Don’t be trippin. We be grippin over here! Home girl just scoped an adolescent bushtit!
Wow, look at you flossin in your sundress n floppy hat. You sure look birdy!
Tell that SOB back home you’ll see him when you see him. You’re rackin up w me!
Think I’m in jail got so many lifers over here!
Yeah we just saw some eagle babies with mom circling the nest up there at Rocky Mountain Arsenal…Am I a stringer or a ringer? Hah! That’s for you to decide WRENagades!
Hey Masked Birders! I just see a lot of Robins over there. Let us know when you’re ready to hang with us!
Talk Birdy to Me? HAH! Talk nerdy to me!
Calling out the Covid Corvids. Lone Ranger over here…I am rubber n you are glue whatever I say bounces off a me n sticks to you…bear scat!
Okay as it might be clear now, A. Vallo/ I am an athlete forced into early retirement. I truly believe underneath it ALL in the words of Pascal the philosopher “Happiness is like a butterfly. If you chase it you will never catch it. Only when you sit and cultivate stillness and contentment does it come to you.”
I have chased many an adaptive sport in the attempt to feed my competitive fire, re-establish my identity, and find HAPPINESS but to no avail. It was a culture I could not find my place in…first attempts at wheelchair basketball I was unable to lift the ball and shoot over my head. My dream of the Paralympics and being elite athlete would never be fulfilled.
Very rude. Very hard on my heart which brings me today to competitive birding! There is so much sitting and stillness here birding is no doubt boundless source of happiness.
If you’d like to support, your generosity and spirit can be contributed here
If there’s one thing living in these times of Covid has taught me, it’s this. I’m not handling my stress well. I wish I was the type of person who could go home, turn on some music, meditate, do some yoga, drink a glass a wine…
But I’m not.
Take for instance last Friday. Thanks to Mother Nature rudely dropping a foot of snow, my much anticipated head out of work early Friday afternoon turned into observing a log jam of service dog candidates showing off their talents for me and my team. We are largely responsible for placing them with their human partner. Although observing a “Service Dog Showcase!” might sound fun, I offer it is also surprisingly stressful holding your breath to see if Banjo and Fiddle are going to step up and flip the light switch or make this their moment to announce that a service life is not for them.
It’s at times strangely like watching a favorite child sing off key, loudly by the microphone.
While waiting for another highly touted recruit to take the stage in the Showcase, I checked my phone…
Physically getting groceries is a big deal for me so I’ve accepted the help of ordering from Wal-Mart on-line and having them delivered. The problem given my constitution is that the shoppers seem to randomly leave off or be out of an essential item.
“Almond milk 1 gallon OUT OF STOCK You will not be charged!”
According to my notification, my one essential item was out of stock…milk! There are 82,000 different kinds of milk, I thought. How could you not even be able to find a substitute?
And that is how I found myself sitting with my wingdog Ava after work making a 5 p.m. milk run to Target in my power chair…
Like Alaskan Inuit people taking my dog sled out across the frozen lake on a virgin expanse of snow, fresh and wild…we were making good time, laying down tracks. From summer passes across the soccer fields, I knew every inch of the land below. It was hard and flat. A well struck soccer ball would roll as if a marble on glass. Like great Hawaiian long boat ocean navigators, I directed my course at the touch of the wind on my skin (cold blasts made my eyes tear up and it was hard to steer).
First error in judgement. I stopped to let my lead dog blow off some steam at the outpost…the second off leash she tore off heading into town on a bender! No one there to time her but she ran about a mile and a quarter loop. By the time she reached the quarter pole, not even a racehorse could catch her…Luckily, she crossed her finish line, threw herself at my feet and did her best touchdown snow angel celebration. Like a hunter gaffing a seal, I stabbed at her and managed to hook a frozen finger underneath her collar and quickly clip her back onto my rope (the leash) with a giant carabiner. In the false confidence of relieved fear, we pushed forward. I could see the red bullseye of Target. I estimated we still had 30 minutes of daylight to summit. We could NOT turn back!
We came upon drops and tracks of those who did not make it…a black wool knit glove, surrounded by the tracks of a dog that had clearly gone mad. They told the story of confused running criss-crossed with confused zoomies that ended in strangulation 50 meters south of the retaining fence.
So caught up in this world, I forgot a very important factor of power chair snow navigation. You’ve got one shot. Whatever route you pick it must be a straight course. There is no easy way to turn.
I’d driven the train straight down the track avoiding the inevitable deepening of the dips where the field starts to drop and narrow toward the natural exit…It’s a small path that leads to a very bumpy roller coaster ride across an old wooden bridge serving as a dying walkway over an actively running creek.
Stopped by the crime scene of zoomie strangulation I had a sinking feeling…We’ve made it three-fourths of the way but shit, “Ava, we gotta turn!”
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!”
Work the problem…This is no mild Siri GPS veer to the right problem. This is a hard right 90 degree delusion of a possibility turn.
Okay, let’s be honest here. Trips like these are not about the milk. They’re are about the ritual, the routine, the go withs. I’ve since realized being out on the road with Ava is probably the only time in my day I can get away to do the things that make me feel whole, alive, comforted, safe…
Why I was listening to a podcast where the guest, a transgender woman was sharing her origin story…
She started out waitressing in NYC in vinyl pants n faux fur and now was “actressing” in Hollywood being interviewed by her Hollywood co-stars telling them how to grow their eyebrows out…
I cannot say. I can say this was the background playing as I dropped to my knees in a foot a snow and tried to hump a turn out of my chair…
The next 10 minutes I have chosen to forget. There were tears and cursing and trying to avoid being humped by my dog.
I managed to line my sled back, 180 degrees, onto the tracks. And sat, exhausted facing defeat.
Most folks who climb Mount Everest never reach the summit! Ultimately, I too decided to accept reality and head back. With dwindling daylight and frozen fingers, it just wasn’t worth the risk.
We exited the snowy fields and bounced through a gravely parking lot. We maneuvered past the steel pole entrance gate, stopped, and tried to wait patiently as the office stalwarts flashed their lights and drove past. This area of town is what’s called “light industrial.” The lightly traveled streets are lined with white faced office buildings and glass doors stenciled with big block letters NOT FOR RETAIL. In the summer, the main road corner intersection is always fragrantly marked from the wind wafting over a big waste dump that sits behind a long wooden fence.
One blessing here is that stink freezes in the cold. I could still see the flattened fast food nacho boats and billowing plastic grocery bags stuck in the bushes but at least I couldn’t smell them but…Ava could!
I sat hunkered down in my chair turtling into my neck gaiter. Ava stood in heel position nose high in the air. Her elite canine sense caught wind of food and some delightful combination of small mammal most likely prairie dog and bunny rabbit…
I edged toward the sidewalk. The cold stung but what stung more was my defeat.
I am so mad! I’ll show you! G damn it! I cannot get my milk but I’ll show YOU stupid world @sshole!…
I could turn right, call it a day and head for home or go straight. In my now deluded mind, I could salvage something out of this trip. I could take some comfort in gaining some fleeting small measure of happiness…No milk but I could at least get my pop, right Ava?
Second error in judgement. When you come to a fork in the road do not let your dog decide which way to go.
We pushed onward, straight ahead to our new destination, the Stop n Go gas station.
Watch this! I can still get my f-in pop!
(Note: Where other folks get home settle on the couch and pop a beer? I grab my space heater snuggle in, twist a cap, and pop a pop. Also to note, the milk at Stop n Go often teeters on the edge of the expiration date. A purchase there was not an option!).
The look on the familiar cashier’s face when we arrived barreling through the door suggested she wasn’t sure if she should call 911 or give the usual warm friendly greeting.
She settled for something in between.
“Wow, it’s cold out there huh?”
“Yes, yes it is,” I said. “Be right back!” I went straight to the restroom and was gone for that way too long period of time when you wonder what the heck could be going on in there?
When climbing the nose of El Captain, it is typical to pee yourself in the heart of your endeavor. It is indoctrination into the brotherhood/sisterhood of rock climbing to be hit with pee drops from those above in your route. It is to be expected. Not so for this adventure! I will be damned, I thought if I have not learned my lesson by now. I will NOT make things worse by getting stuck in the snow AND peeing myself!
The Stop n Go bathroom is pretty spacious. Plenty of room to maneuver my chair and settle my team, Ava. With my 360 degree front wheel turn radius, I pulled up next to the toilet and positioned myself up into a stand. I turned, pivoted and reached back with stilted steps until I could feel the solid support of porcelain bracing the back of my calves. I knew there could be some desperate moments here. A spastic bladder and hurried movements often defy my capacity for concentration and balance…
I gritted my teeth, gave quick exhale, and realized.
Problem: I am wearing mittens. Wearing mittens I can only thumb hook my waistband to get my pants down…
For less than half a second I looked at Ava tug!?! She looked eager and ready to try pants down around the knees…but I realized I’d rather be dependent on yelling for people than being tugged to the floor by my dog.
In one motion, I desperately tugged and plopped.
“Hah! Made it!” I celebrated.
Ava found something delicious to lick in the deep lines of the bathroom tile grout… “PHOOEY! AVA PHOOEY!”
The reassembling of my clothing was equally desperate.
I removed a mitten and used frozen fingers to lobster claw everything back up. Pants up and Jockey’s ridin’ high on the right and some sad state of affairs on the left I rolled out and finally made it to the counter with my purpose!
“Hello, two pops please!” The cashier rang me up and tied the handles all nifty in the plastic bag.
“Thank you. Have a nice night and be safe out there,” she said.
“Thank you I will!” I had to turn back once I reached the heavy glass door. The spell of anger and frustration as I waited for the kindness of a stranger to open it had lifted just long enough for me to grasp at reality.
In the bathroom, I had taken my mitten off to get my pants down. Now my hand was so cold I couldn’t get the mitten back on. Damnit! When I reached the register, I found it hard to ask for help harder to share the intimate space of a child that it took to get the mitten back on.
As an adult, it is hard to make small talk with someone you barely know putting a mitten on your balled up fist.
“Well shoot…” she kept saying ”It doesn’t want to go in there!” I was beyond capacity to be much help. I kept parroting out phrases like:
“There’s a hole. Just find the hole. Put it in the hole. (My thumb)
Back out in the cold, lifted up by the kindness of a stranger I was making better decisions.
I checked my battery gauge…down to 30% juice and noted the last gasps of daylight. I decided we would not retrace the steps of our access route. Instead, we took the most direct well-lit route down a wide paved sidewalk.
Sidewalk. On a good day, the greatest obstacles are the whiz of passing traffic drowning out my podcasts and the gauntlet of prairie dogs taunting my wingdog from the adjacent field. Tonight was different. As I started to relax and entertain the thought the worst is over, I found the last 50 yards to the corner crosswalk impassable due to mounds of dirty gray snow left by the plow. I felt something in my body…the tingle of adrenaline wrapped in the cold numbness of I don’t care…Stomach hit my toes. I did not have the juice or power to navigate this giant ski mogul course.
I had only one option. Error in judgement #3.
I chose to get up out of my saddle, hump my chair off the sidewalk into the gutter…gun it and pray in dusk’s quickly fading light…I do not get hit by a dump truck sliding into the turn lane. With two tires scrapping the curb, I had Ava “safely” trot alongside up on the sidewalk until we made it to the curb cut to sit and wait for the crossing light at the dump truck station corner.
I could feel my telomeres shorten as we made our crossing and towed a tight line up a gentle hill. Some ableist sidewalk shovelers left another black diamond course forcing us again to take to the road. I grimaced and said apologies to my mother. It’s a whole different level of stress when praying for safety hanging on the thin red line of a scooter’s taillight.
I braced for impact. None came.
Surprised and grateful the next leg of my route was cold but uneventful. Pleased, I could see I was still of good mind. There was no chance I was trying to take the short cut, a valley pass between apartments now knee deep in snow and often peppered with off leash dogs.
I would like to stop here so we could all leave with the feel good of a tragically funny story…She made it home!…but…
I come from a long line of people who will tell you about the worst time ever…“There were cockroaches in the fruit bowl and they put us up in a room with bed sheets that smelled like feet…but we had a nice time!”
I must finish the story…
Error in judgement #4?
Ava and I took the long route around the apartments and sat less than a block from home ready to navigate the tight dirt path that narrows to a guard rail on the right and a 20 foot drop to the left into a dried up muddy creek bed. By now the extreme cold had really set in. I chose to white knuckle it around the joystick and move forward too cold, to numb to actually care and nudge us along single file…this is the last way I want to go…lying in a soccer field getting humped by my dog, flattened by a dump truck in my scooter and now falling off an overpass with a dog attached and drowning in a puddle of filth.
I’d never had an “aha” moment of hitting rock bottom before but this is definitely it! I thought. How long til I’d be found?
Lost in thought, we made it safely across the portage. That’s when my phone rang. I answered knowing full well it could only be one very important person. Hey, Walmart delivery guy where’s my milk!?!
“Door Dash got your groceries. What would you like for me to do with them?”
For a moment I thought hypothermia was actually setting in…Don’t you deliver them? I sputtered. “Uh what?”
“I’m at your door.”
“Well, I’m not home…”
We shared cross talk with me saying “Aren’t you supposed to just leave them by the door?”
And him, “Do you want me to stick on your patio or something?”
By now I was frustrated but also kinda curious about the something. What else might you do with the groceries…line the breezeway like luminaries? Hang them from the stairway rails? Friend, I decided. I am not too worried about someone getting into my boxes of cereal.
“Please leave them by the door.”
“Ok.” The call dropped off.
The Lord doesn’t give us more than we can handle but even for God this felt extreme. We made it home. Groceries blocking the doorway entry. Bulldozed everything inside. No milk.
There’s nothing to be done in these moments but sit, thaw, and wait to be touched by the profound. To receive my deep insights into what it means to be human…
I straightened my body’s curled, closed parts best I could beneath all the layers. Chest up, eyes closed, head level, I gritted my teeth…and relaxed…into the tears…into the pain…being with the suffering, not running from it…yep this hurts. THIS is (…a podcast). My reaching to fix my hat somehow bumped my AirPods n’ turned the podcast back on.
“Aragato…Aragato!!!” The joy in the hosts’ voices and guest’s laughter was infectious…They had a caller from Japan!
“You can interpret Tess anyway you want honey. If you want her to be a transgender woman because I am or female from birth who’s a lesbian…You do whatever you want because that’s what it’s about right? Having fun!!!”
So tonight I leave with…for me this is not a disability story or an extreme athlete’s sport story of overcoming adversity…
I leave to you to decide if the take away is sad or funny. I hope it’s both. A funny survival story…
If you’re confused, just don’t know what to think…or are my mother…I offer these words of Desmond Tutu on compassion:
“It helps no one to sacrifice your joy if others are suffering. We people who care must be filled with joy so that others recognize that caring, helping and being generous are not a burden. They are joy.”
Detail is an educational series on the ESPN+ video platform that takes an in-depth look at various athletes and informs viewers what they could have done differently in the heat of the moment. It is the creation of the late great basketball Super Star Kobe Bryant. (My relation to Kobe is complex. Undeniably a GOAT of the game, I don’t think he was the greatest person).
In the spirit of the recent anniversary of my accident and Kobe Bryant’s passing, I thought I would have some fun with this and break down some “game film” (a photo my dad sent me) of a young up and coming star. I will also offer a note of “wisdom” on the life that followed.
Episode (Opening. Black screen with elegantly stated simple quote…)
“This series is not meant for debate. This series is not meant to entertain.” -Kobe Bryant
[Me: Voice over as photo fades in]
This photo was taken after one of the last games of my brief basketball career. The photo is bittersweet. I hold it with knowledge that only a few days later I would be in a car accident in which I would sustain a serious spinal cord injury (are any of them not serious?). This was perhaps the luckiest outcome. Sarah #10, my OG, my vet was THE most talented player I ever played with died at a young age from a very rare form of cancer. Kyle #32 the teams best dancer and spark of life off the bench passed recently from Covid. Who would’ve thought cause of death could’ve read global pandemic!
[click spotlight effect]
Let’s start here. The back upper right hand corner.
Now THIS was my defensive assignment. Number 51, full sleeve, brown jersey…says ALTER (private Catholic high school). Her name I cannot fully remember. First name Erica. She’s a senior All Area All Star getting some sniffs from some D-I colleges. I am a sophomore, with the nicknames “bird” and “Bambi” for my length and limbs. I’m decent. Some would say more than decent. All I know is I LOVE playing defense!
[Roll live footage. Inbound play.]
(I am crouched in a defensive stance. Six feet from my opponent. A young guard stands next to a referee on the sideline. He hands her the ball).
Okay. See here. I am playing off to invite the pass…Don’t get up on them too early. Hold back. Don’t give them your tells. Get ‘em hyped. Get in their head. Remember for every star player in high school there’s a very average one…who’s very nervous to be throwing the ball in.
[FREEZE live footage. A time out is called].
Use the time out to your advantage. Take in the moment. Get hyped. Listen to the pep band! Try not to wonder why they’ve included an electric guitar…check in with your ride or die teammate and forever friend, who introduced you to a Soap Opera and took you on your first trip to Skate World…”You got this ‘V’ (last name “V” Vallo)!” That voice so confidently cheering…only days later breaking in tears…a shattering point in both our worlds. I awoke to hear her saying outside of the car, “Can someone please help my friend?”
But in this moment the innocence of untouched youth remained. The horn sounded. The whistle blew and to the sound of familiar cheers, I rose to my feet!
[Roll footage of the inbound play]
See. The inbounder took my bait. Can’t do that. She tried to bounce pass to Erica (private school B.W.O.C…All State, All-Star, college recruit…) I said oh no, we’re havin’ none of that!…
[Fast Rewind]
See. Step BURST deflect and tip ahead. This is when you want to use all the wide receiver/defensive back skills you honed playing backyard football with the boys. Not the time to swat the ball outta bounds. Gotta keep it in play!
[Freeze close up Erica’s face]
Now you can’t hear it but here Erica screamed “NOOOOoooo!!” That’s what you want to hear. And clock’s ticking down now so you better move fast! Five seconds…
[Roll footage]
See now, that’s just beautiful there. Continued on into the front court and with no one but open court, cheering fans ahead…and “Big E” trailing in the dust…laid it up and in with a lil’ underhand finger roll action…clock hits zero.
Let’s see that again.
[Rewind]
…and that’s all she wrote. Mr. Wertz the math teacher tallied it up to the big bulbs on the scoreboard Home 45 Visitors 42. We win!
*EPILOGUE- We always like to end our show with a question…Amanda what would you have said to a younger you, if you knew that was one of the last games of your career?
What would I say to younger me?
On Jan. 3, wrap yourself in bubble wrap. Do not get out of bed! On your 16th birthday you’re going to be lying in a hospital bed smiling with a turd in your pants surrounded by teammates. Hit the call light before they come in and ask the nurse to check your adult diaper. It’s okay.
No, it’s more what I wouldn’t say. No “rah rah” speeches, pearls of wisdom, THIS IS THE MOMENT RIGHT HERE DAWG TAKE IT IN! No, hold your breath prayers or warnings…No, life’s about to get real interesting or making earnest promises that can’t be kept…“No matter what I’ll always be here for you!” (Who’s to say you won’t get hit by a bus?)
I would listen. During the timeout, I would notice young me slightly glance toward a greater freedom. Some vivacious soul twirling her tuba in the top row of the bleachers and the still oddly curious sized American flag rippling against the wall. A very patriotic booster club member somehow seemed to have secured a giant Perkins (Restaurant) flag.
I would encourage the supple mind, experiencing the pause, the silence amidst pandemonium, the rush the noise! Wouldn’t join in the clap, breaking the huddle or force the snap back from this different kind of freedom. I would nod, nudge gently, push me toward the court.
If I had to write it down on an index card, the simple note I’d write would be a word like “equipoise” and a polite young me would take it and shrug.
It means “a situation where everything’s in perfect balance.”
Then, I’d smile, nod, bobbing along to the pep band…it’s going to be okay.
Okay.
Last thing, I will point out the black shoelace on Sarah’s #10’s shoe. It’s an athlete’s way to show love, honor and respect to a great, powerful, influential life who has passed. This is unfortunately the case and not just some quirky fashion statement. About one month before this photo was taken, we lost a classmate and the darn best friend I ever had…Holly. At 17yrs., Holly died in a tragic car accident and none of us would ever be the same…clearly Sarah can’t even match a shoelace. Holly the foundation of friendship and life that holds us all up…and now me in the grief of fallen teammates to this day.
Life will have struggles and challenges. Uncertainty, the only guarantee this day may bring. I say boo to Covid-19, cancer, accidents…if you can trust in something trust it’s going to be okay.
Amanda's Blog 